by Dave Balcom
“Roger, Cappa Larry. Stand off and observe, please. Do not, repeat do not, attempt to board. We’re launching our forty-seven-foot motor lifeboat from Fairview. They’ll be on site in an hour. Can you determine if anyone is aboard?”
“Nothing is visible, and we’re losing light here. She’s dark. I’ll try hailing her.”
“Roger, give it a shout.”
Stan toggled his radio, and turned it into a loudspeaker. “Ahoy, Mary Loose. This is the Cappa Larry. Ahoy, Mary Loose!”
We could hear the amplified voice echo off the bluff that marked the south end of Goschen Island, three miles away.
“Prince Rupert Coast Guard, this is Cappa Larry, over.”
“Go ahead.”
“No joy on the hail. We’ll stand off here lit up, and try to make sure nobody runs into her until your guys get here.”
“Stand by on sixteen, out.”
“Cappa Larry, out.”
15
After the motor lifeboat arrived on scene, and had determined no one was aboard the Mary Loose, Stan had notified them that he was heading to the village of Queen Charlotte on Graham Island to refuel before heading home.
“Roger, Cappa Larry,” the Coast Guard radio operator responded. “Thanks for your assistance; Coast Guard out.”
While at the fuel dock, the girls got some food to go, and I took the time to clean the fish with a little guidance from Stan. The salmon were nothing new, but the halibut took a minute of instruction on how to deal with their flatness.
I had cleaned up the fish and washed down the deck when Stan came back from paying for the fuel about the same time Jan and Betty hit the dock with fried chicken and burgers.
The ride back to Prince Rupert had been quiet, and we all went to bed without much to say, either.
Jan and I had chosen the cottage, and we were up and around when the phone rang the next morning, “Liske here. I’m goin’ up to see Rafferty and a guy from the Coast Guard. You wanna go?”
“Sure. When...,” but he’d already hung up. “I think Stan’s in full Liske-mode,” I muttered to no one.
Milt Rafferty was with a young Coast Guard officer, Lt. Gerald Magnusson, when we arrived at the RCMP office. Rafferty made the introductions, and turned to Magnusson, “Gerry, Stan here is a good friend of the missing couple as well as my good friend; Mr. Stanton is a retired newspaper reporter who has helped Stan with some investigations down in the states, but is up here on his honeymoon. Of course, I’ve extended every courtesy to Lt. Liske as a professional and personal friend. I would hope you’d share whatever you are comfortable sharing with all of us.”
The young officer looked at his watch, and smiled. “As of this moment, our kidnap team is touching down at the Sea Port. I’ll be part of the team briefing them in just fifteen minutes, but I think we can look at the chart I brought and give you folks some thoughts to ponder.”
He unrolled a chart of the area south of Prince Rupert. Liske held one end and Rafferty put his phone on the other to keep the chart flat.
“Here,” Magnusson said, pointing at the chart, “is where you folks found the Mary Loose, and it had been there, circling aimlessly on auto pilot for most of the day, according to the report from the Carleton.
“We’re thinking they were taken pretty close to this location on Sunday evening, and the Mary Loose was left there rather than scuttling her for some specific reason that we cannot fathom at this time. Is it a clue or a red herring?”
“We might shed some light on that,” Liske said. “While I was waiting for Jim this morning, I noticed that the inflatable was missing from the Mary Loose. It’s an eighteen-foot inflatable with a fifty-horse Evinrude E-Tec engine.”
Both of the Canadian officers looked at each other. Magnusson shrugged a bit, “I should have wondered if they’d carried a runabout or tender, but I didn’t.”
Rafferty sat back in his chair, put his pencil to his lips and wondered out loud, “So how far could you go on a craft such as that, given gentle seas, and, say, twenty liters or so of petrol?”
Liske spoke up, “I’m figuring one person, given the gentle winds and seas we’ve had here this week, could average thirty knots. I’m guessing it could go forty miles or more on a full tank.”
Magnusson spoke up, “If that’s accurate, we’d have to figure that the boat was seized in location A, the Whitmans were taken aboard another vessel, even perhaps to location B. Then the Mary Loose was piloted to the southeast end of Goschen Island where it was set in motion and the pilot took the inflatable and ran back to join the kidnap party.”
He pulled a compass from his briefcase, set the pencil at forty miles from the spot where he found the boat, and scribed a circle with a forty-mile radius. “Whew, that’s some kind of haystack,” he muttered.
After a few seconds of silence, Rafferty spoke up, “I’ve got patrols that can search the possible landing points in that circle if they used the inflatable to catch ground transportation on the mainland. I’ll put three cars on it immediately.”
Magnusson nodded. “And we’ll task our helicopters out of Fairview to search the seaward sites where the boat may have gone to ground on the islands in that circle. We’ll also get help from the RCAF Search and Rescue birds out of four-forty-two Squadron. If that inflatable is on the beach, we’ll find it.”
“If that inflatable is still floating, we’re dealing with crazy amateurs,” I said softly. “I don’t doubt some element of crazy, but there’s nothing amateurish in what’s gone down so far.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Stanton?” Magnusson asked.
“I don’t think they’d hesitate to scuttle that boat when they were done with it. Hell, they turned a million dollar yacht loose without giving it another thought. They wanted it found, and they wanted it found where we found it.
“The only reason that makes sense is they want us chasing our tails on a forty-mile circle for the next two days so we don’t end up raining on their pay day.”
Liske looked at me for a long second, then asked softly, “So what’s the question you’d like to ask?”
“Any strange boats coming and going at odd hours at any of the out-of-the-way ports forty or so miles away from where we found her?”
“This time of the year, there’s countless strange boats in all of our ports,” Rafferty said. “Really.”
“But these people won’t be spending much time in any port. They’ll be coming in after dark, topping off water and fuel, perhaps buying food, and then out again. Maybe every other night, but I doubt it. A party of as many as seven will use a lot of water and food.”
That left everyone thinking in a brooding silence until Magnusson’s beeper went off. “Gentlemen, I have to run to the briefing. I’ll share your thoughts with our team, and we’ll get back to you if we figure out some way you can help.”
Liske stood up and reached out to shake the Lieutenant’s hand. “You figure on some port or ports out on those islands you need checked, and Jim and I’ll be there to check them. My boat is at your service.”
The younger man smiled and nodded. “If we figure out a task for you, we’ll send one of our youngsters to keep you company.”
After Magnusson left, Liske remained on his feet, and then sighed. “Milt, we’re going down to our boat, and start looking at the charts to see if we can come up with some ideas.”
“Remember, please, Stan. This is not your jurisdiction. You don’t have any official capacity here. Don’t, please, go running off and mucking up the works.”
Liske smiled sweetly. “Of course not, Milt. But I can’t see how thinking on this will muck up anything, can you?”
The RCMP captain smiled back at him. “Don’t make me go all official on you, that’s all.”
“They’re lifelong friends of mine.”
“They’re our responsibility.”
“Come on, Stanton. Let’s go be bystanders.”
I shuddered at the thought. Sitting at a desk while real re
porters or investigators were out doing real work was not my long suit. Never had been, and still wasn’t.
16
We went back to the Orca, and started pouring over the charts. Stan talked a continuous stream of tour-guide knowledge about every port in the circle he’d inscribed on the chart that included Goschen Island, but there are three charts that cover the general area surrounding Prince Rupert, and he had all three of them marked up in short order.
“Why do these three charts converge like this?” I asked. “This third chart fills in the pie-shaped gap between the other two. That’s weird.”
Liske grunted in response. “Stay focused on task.”
As he continued to provide a rundown on the services available at each port on the chart, it became obvious to me that there were not a great number of options in this pursuit.
Liske’s phone went off just before noon, and he took it on deck to talk. When he came back in, he was rubbing his hands with anticipation.
“They’ve invited us to take a look at Queen Charlotte. It’s the lowest priority possible on the list, but at least it’ll give us something to do.”
“What are we going to tell the girls?”
“I called Betty, told her we were going, and that we’d get back to them tomorrow after the ransom deadline.”
I nodded and headed out to start tending lines. Liske stopped me. “We have a passenger coming. He should be here in just a few minutes, and then we’ll go.”
The passenger was Sgt. Seth Richmond, a rescue specialist under Magnusson’s command. Richmond was a miniature bear of a man at five-foot, eight-inches tall and two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle. He moved with the confidence and agility of an athlete, and one with a calm and thoughtful outlook and demeanor.
“He dives into freezing water on command,” I thought. “That’ll put ice water in your veins if anything will.”
As we motored out of the harbor, the young sergeant studied the controls as Liske brought the Orca up on its step. The big boat surged onto plane, and the two-hundred-fifty horse power engine was humming as we cut across the nearly flat seas.
Liske was running the boat from the bridge, and I took Sgt. Richmond down into the cabin where I had tea steeping.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Saskatchewan.”
“Really? How did a flatlander like you end up in the Coast Guard?”
“My grandfather lived in Quebec City, and was in the Canadian Merchant Marines during the war. After the third time his ship was blown out from under him, he packed up my grandmother and headed west, carrying an oar...”
“And when someone asked him what that thing was...?”
“Right, he settled right there. My dad is a wheat rancher. When it came time for me to choose my future, I remembered all the stories my grandpa told about the sea, and then I went to see a Royal Canadian Navy recruiter. He told me that another option was the Canadian Coast Guard, and so I went to the academy in Sydney, Nova Scotia, and fell in love with Search and Rescue...”
I thought back to my own youthful decisions and wondered, “Is it as good today as you thought it would be when you made that decision?”
He nodded. “It’s not all excitement. There are tedious details in everything we do in life, but then the call comes... The chance to serve people in need, that never gets old, you know?”
We sipped our tea in silence for a while, watching the horizon. We felt Stan turn the boat southwest, and I looked up at the chart he’d posted on the wall above the table. “We just cleared the last island, and it’s a straight run to Queen Charlotte,” I said.
“Stephens Island,” he nodded. “It’s about an hour or so from here, and the sea’s still flat.”
“How much time do you actually spend on the water?”
“We drill every day, but not always on or in the water. We use the lifeboat and we do some scuba work. I’ve been here three years, and I’ve left a boot print on pretty much every island out here...”
I liked his quiet sense of humor and I got a feeling that he wouldn’t panic at the first twist in the road. “Are you armed?”
He nodded and smiled sheepishly, “I’m not very adept with a side arm. I’ve qualified on the range, but I have no practical experience.”
“I wouldn’t think we’d need a weapon. We’re just supposed to observe and report; at least that is my understanding.”
“Mine too. Are you armed?”
“Nope. I’m licensed to carry back home, but we’re not back home. My weapon is under lock and key.”
He nodded again, drained his cup and headed for the after deck. “I’m going to watch Mr. Liske, and see if I can learn something.”
“Don’t tell him that; it’ll go straight to his head.”
Queen Charlotte is a village of fewer than a thousand souls who call the “Haida Quaii” or “islands of the people” their home. The name officially changed in 2010, as a result of negotiations between the Canadian Government and the native Haida. Still commonly referred to as the Queen Charlotte Islands, the Haida Quaii is known as the archipelago of the north for its unique scenery and wildlife. The village of Queen Charlotte and its harbor are accustomed to dealing with visiting yachts and fishing boats.
We heard all this from Seth on the way over, and we discussed various approaches we might try to help the ever-watchful residents recall something about a recent visiting craft.
We presumed the kidnappers wouldn’t risk keeping the victims in the harbor night and day, but they might use the little harbor as a touch point to take on provisions, water, whatever.
We reached the port just after three, and started looking for locals to talk with at the bar, coffee shop, and post office.
We quickly identified a cruiser that had been making nighttime stops to the village for the past two weeks.
“It’s a sleek craft, but is in obvious need of maintenance,” one man sitting at the coffee shop told us.
He said the boat arrived after dark, took on fuel and provisions through the night, and was always gone before sunrise.
The clerk at the liquor store told us that two men from the black boat had no time for the chit chat that most tourists welcome. Instead they handed her a typed note, she filled the order, and they paid with cash.
“I got the impression they don’t speak English,” she said. “I tried French, but that got nothing. I know just enough Spanish to be dangerous, but “Como esta ustedes” made no impression either. They’re kinda weird.”
We decided to hang around the village and try and learn more about this vessel. Just after dark the boat showed up at the fuel dock.
“That’s got to be it,” I told Seth.
“Should I call the base?” He asked.
“Not yet. Let’s see what we see first.”
“I’m going to get on the Orca,” Stan said. “If they pull out, I want to be ready to follow them.”
Seth and I chose a spot where we could watch the boat, and settled down to wait.
After about a half hour, two men left the cruiser and headed for the village. We figured the crew numbered three, so that left a third member on board and out of sight.
Seth and I followed the two seamen. Stan could monitor the boat from the Orca without displaying too much attention.
The two seamen went to the grocery store and then to the liquor store. By then they had their arms full of bags, and they headed back to the boat.
We were close enough to hear the two men speaking to each other in English.
When they got to the boat and went below, I felt a need to find out about this boat immediately. “You sit tight here, Seth. I’ll be right back.”
I followed the pair onto the boat, and used their motion to cover my entry into the main cabin.
There wasn’t much of a place for searching, but I started looking through the drawers at the navigation station illuminated by a chart lamp. “Can I help you?”
I turned and saw the
third man, presumably the skipper, standing between me and the exit. His right hand was alongside his pant leg, and I figured he was holding a weapon.
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing with what looked to be a large-caliber handgun.
We went below, and the two crew men were surprised to see me make my entrance. “Where’d you find this?” One of the crew asked.
“He was searching the navigation stand. You pick him up in the village?”
The taller of the two crewmen came closer and looked at me for a second, then nodded. “I believe we did. He was with another guy, shorter and beefier. I saw them walking toward the harbor when we came down from the liquor store.”
“You think you were followed?” The man with the gun asked.
“Duh?” said the first man, nodding at me, “You think?”
Without further discussion, they tied me to a chair. Then the taller man and the one with the gun went above. The other crewman busied himself going through the routines of stowing supplies and preparing the boat for departure. I heard the man with the gun scolding the taller man.
“I swear, you guys never bring everything on the list. I’ll go get it myself.”
I felt the boat lurch as he jumped onto the dock, and I heard his footsteps fade into the night.
About ten minutes later, Seth, his nose bleeding, was brought down the ladder into the room where I was tied. In seconds, he was tied next to me on another chair.
“He was watching closely, so I snuck up on him,” the leader said. He ruffled Seth’s hair playfully, “Time to go sailing, sailor.
“We’ll take her out right away,” the leader said to the two crewmen. “We’ll run up the coast a bit, maybe a mile, and then we’ll shut her down and go dark to see if anyone is interested in these two guys. Okay?”
The crew members said nothing, just scampered up the ladder and made ready to leave.
I felt the engine go quiet just minutes after we left the harbor, and I could feel the tide pulling the boat to the east.
