by Wolf Wootan
Sam used an electronic key card to enter the parking area reserved for boat owners, and Becky followed them in, using her own key card. The gray Toyota that had been following them went on down the road toward The Beach House restaurant.
Bo helped Sam carry the cooler down to the slip where the Helena Belle was moored. They put the cooler down next to the ladder that was hooked over the port side of the boat.
Bo exclaimed, “Wow! This is it? I thought we were going to be putting around in a boat! This is a . . . damned yacht!”
Sam replied with a shrug, “Not quite a yacht, but it’ll do. It’s quite comfortable and well outfitted. It’s a trawler design, so it’s quite safe at sea in rough weather. Let me get on board, then you and Becky can hand me the cooler.”
The Helena Belle—named for Sam’s mother—was a 39' trawler built in 1996 with extra amenities added to suit John Crown’s needs and desires. It was designed for long distance cruising, but it rarely was motored further than Catalina Island, except for the annual trek to Ensenada when John and some of his buddies went out in search of marlin and swordfish. It had a well-equipped flying bridge, an ample aft deck, fully-equipped galley—oven and microwave, full-sized refrigerator/freezer, abundant cabinets and counter space—and a first-class head with a shower.
Bo stepped into the salon and gasped. It was cheerily accented in teak and the two chairs and couch were covered with soft, wine-colored leather.
“Wow! What a layout!” exclaimed Bo.
Becky finished lashing down the cooler on the port side, where straps were available for that purpose, then joined Bo in the salon. Sam was in the wheelhouse firing up the twin 230 horsepower diesels.
Becky bubbled, “I’ve been fishing with Grandpa on her. Sometimes we stay out three or four days. It’s fun going to Catalina, too! I know how to drive her! Grandpa taught me when I was 13. Do you ever go fishing in Colorado?”
Bo was mesmerized by Becky’s youthful enthusiasm. She had completely forgotten that she was an FBI agent on a mission. She was completely absorbed by the adventure she was sharing with Becky and Sam.
“Never on a boat like this! We fish from the river bank, or go out on a lake in a small boat with an outboard motor. This is a ship compared to what I’m used to.”
Sam yelled, “OK, swabby, loose the lines and up the mizzen mast! We’re puttin’ out to sea!”
Becky shouted back, “Aye, aye, Cap’n Hook!”
She then jumped off the boat and expertly untied the bow line, then ran along the slip and did the same with the aft line. She tossed both ropes onto the boat.
“Raise the mains’l, begorra, Cap’n!” shouted Becky as she pulled the fenders on board. “Take ’er t’ward the ’orizon!”
She clambered up the aft ladder and expertly began coiling the ropes she had tossed aboard. Sam pushed the throttles forward and backed the boat out of the slip while Becky watched for other boats.
They have such fun together! thought Bo, a surge of envy making her tingle. Bo joined Sam at the helm, enjoying the view of the harbor through the wraparound windows. The starboard side had a sliding door, making deck access easier for shorthanded cruising.
“This is such a treat! Is there anything I should be doing? Becky’s busy as a bee doing nautical stuff. She’s quite the deckhand!”
“Yes, she is. There’s nothing for you to do at the moment.” He turned and looked at her profile. Her nipples were pushing against the material of her tank top. “As soon as I clear the harbor, you can fetch us some drinks.”
“Aye, Cap’n. I want to feel like a part of this adventure, not an intruder. I can tell that you and Becky do this together often,” she said, getting into the adventure.
“You’re no intruder. Your company is extremely welcome. You light up the boat!” he smiled.
She considered making a snappy retort, but merely said, “Thank you.”
***
Once out of the harbor, Sam opened her up and got up on the plane and headed out to sea. Becky stripped down to her bikini, retrieved her sun block and a novel, grabbed a large towel from a cabinet in the salon, and headed up to the aft deck of the flying bridge.
“I’m gonna get some sun before lunch. Call if you need me,” she said as she climbed the wide, molded steps up to the flying bridge.
I’ll give ’em some privacy. See where it goes, she thought. I like Bo!
“There’s beer and wine in the cooler, Bo,” said Sam. “I’ll have a beer. There’s a corkscrew and glasses in the galley if you want wine. Some designer water, too. In a few minutes, I’ll slow down and put ’er on autopilot. Then we can relax for awhile.”
Sam put the boat in a slow, wide circle and joined Bo in the salon. She handed him a Bud Light. She had a glass of White Zin.
“We need to keep an eye out for boats. I don’t want to ram anyone, but no one’s in sight right now. The jet skis usually don’t come out this far.” He lifted his beer can and said, “Cheers.”
“Cheers!” she answered with a smile, then sipped her wine.
“Did you check out the master stateroom? Great bed in there. This couch makes into a bed, too. With the guest stateroom, she sleeps six comfortably,” remarked Sam.
“Awful lot of talk about beds,” observed Bo.
“Relax, dammit! This is a family picnic, not a tryst! I was merely pointing out some of the amenities,” he snapped.
“Sorry, Sam! I was out of line. It won’t happen again. Thanks for letting me be a part of your family outing,” she answered.
He smiled to diffuse things. “Just relax and enjoy.”
***
Earlier, when Sam was backing out of the slip, the dark-haired man was watching from the walk in front of The Beach House restaurant. He took a high-tech satellite phone out of his pocket and punched a speed dial number.
“We couldn’t snatch ’em in the car. They came in two cars—the kid in one, Crown in the other. He’s got some broad with him. They just went out in a boat. What do you want me to do?” he said into the phone.
“We need to know what they know! I want you to find out!” snarled the voice on the phone. “This boat thing may be a break for us! Don’t you still have that fast boat at the harbor?”
“Yeah. You want me to do this at sea?” asked the man.
“Yes. Go highjack ’em. Squeeze that girl and that P.I. Crown. After you get all you can out of them, sink ’em! Unfortunate accident at sea.”
“OK. I’ll send Vlastok and his two henchmen out after ’em. It’s more their style than mine.”
“Just don’t fuck up! This is critical!”
The phone went dead.
***
Becky spread her towel on the fly-bridge afterdeck and stretched out on her stomach to read a novel, something she forced herself to do at least once a week. She untied her bikini top so she wouldn’t get any strap marks that might show when she wore her low-backed prom gown. She was the first to see the large, rooster tail wake of the speedboat. She watched it curiously for a minute. It was definitely getting closer.
She yelled down to Sam. “Sam, do you see the speedboat coming our way? Starboard side.”
Sam scoured the horizon until he spotted it. “I see it, Beck. Thanks. I’ll change course.”
He went to the helm, disengaged the autopilot, then turned 15 degrees away from the incoming boat. The speedboat changed course with him.
“What the hell is wrong with them?” he mumbled. He unclipped the powerful binoculars from their rack on the dash and focused in on the incoming boat. He saw three men, one driving, two behind the driver. The latter two had what appeared to be automatic weapons.
“Shit! What is this? Better be safe than sorry!” he muttered to himself. Then he yelled, “Bo! Becky! Hold on! I’m going to full power! Get into life jackets if you can!”
He eased the throttles forward and the boat picked up speed, climbed up on the plane.
“Becky!” he yelled over the roar of the engines. “Ta
ke the helm up there!”
When Sam had yelled, “Hold on,” Becky had raised up to see what was happening. The sudden rush of wind swept her bikini top overboard.
“Shit!” she groaned. Then Sam had told her to take the helm.
“OK, Sam! I’ve got it! What’s happening?” she shouted back.
She was standing at the wheel on the flying bridge topless and was powerless to do anything about it at the moment. She settled back into the leather seat and checked the instruments.
“Just keep aiming at that speedboat until I tell you different.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” she yelled as she turned hard to the starboard.
Bo staggered over to Sam and said, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. That speedboat’s populated with men with automatic weapons. I’m not taking any chances until I know what the hell is going on! If they break off, I’ll just call the Harbor Patrol and report it.”
He opened a teakwood panel on the starboard side of the wheelhouse and extracted a shotgun and pumped a shell into the firing chamber. Bo ran to her tote bag and retrieved her nine millimeter.
Bo said, “OK, I’ll go take up a position on the stern and watch them from back there. You can stand by here.”
“OK, but put this life jacket on—just in case.”
“OK. You do the same, all right?”
They both donned life jackets.
Sam opened the sliding door and held on to a brass handle and saw the speedboat veer when Becky turned into it. Becky kept in her turn, confusing the speedboat driver for a moment.
Shit! thought Sam. We’re outgunned and they have the speed advantage! What in hell is going on?
“Hot shit!” Becky screamed, having a ball!
The speedboat, of course, was much faster than the trawler, so it outmaneuvered Becky and came screaming up on the starboard side and one of the men let loose with his AK-47. Two of the slugs hit close to where Sam was standing. Becky turned sharply to starboard again, quickly closing the distance between the two boats. Bo didn’t hesitate. Since they had been fired upon without provocation, she mentally declared this attack an act of piracy on the high seas, a Federal offense, and holding her nine millimeter in two hands resting on the railing, carefully hit the driver twice in the body with two rapid shots.
The driver’s body flipped overboard, but since he was wearing a life jacket, the body didn’t sink. Sam calmly stepped out on the starboard walkway and put two shotgun blasts into the engine compartment. The boat—exploding in a big ball of fire as the gas tank blew—came to a stop. Becky continued her starboard turn and throttled back, circling the debris and the floating men. The one Bo had shot was floating face up—not moving—but the other two were flapping around, trying to get away from the burning fuel of their destroyed boat.
“Hold it here, Beck!” Sam yelled, and Becky throttled back. Sam laid his shotgun down on the couch and got a long-handled boat hook. “You cover them, Bo, and I’ll fish ’em out.”
“I’ve got ’em in my sights! Assholes!”
“Why, Ms. Trout, I do believe you used a curse word!” smiled Sam.
After the two unwounded ones were pulled aboard and tied up, Sam pulled the one Bo had shot aboard, then he called the Harbor Patrol and, using his GPS, reported his position and what had happened. They dispatched two fast boats immediately. Bo was using the boat’s First Aid kit to stop the bleeding on the wounded attacker.
Sam yelled up to Becky, “You can come down now, Becky. Everything’s under control!”
“OK, but I’m freakin’ topless up here! Bo, could you bring me my shirt?” she responded.
***
Bo declared the whole thing a Federal crime scene under FBI control. She called the L.A. SAC, who in turn dispatched Carl Fenster and two of his agents to the harbor. Bo turned the details over to Carl (it was his jurisdiction afterall), saying that she had a pressing appointment (Becky’s prom preparation), without revealing what it was.
Sam called the guy who maintained his dad’s boat and told him to fix the bullet damage on the boat as soon as the FBI released it. At 3:00 o’clock, Bo told Sam and Becky that she had cleared things so they could leave.
“Good,” said Sam. “It helps to have your own personal FBI agent. Sorry we missed our picnic lunch. I’m famished. I’ll spring for lunch at a local watering hole.”
Bo responded, “I could eat a horse! I’m for it. How about you, Becky?”
Becky sidled over to Bo and whispered in her ear, “Bo, I’m braless under this tank top! The men staring makes me uncomfortable. I think I’ll go on home. Make a sandwich. OK?”
“Sure, sweetie, you go on. I understand. They’re ogling me, too, but I’m used to it. I’ll be there for you. No later than 4:30. OK?”
“Thanks, Bo. By the way, you were awesome out there today!”
“So were you, Beck! Grandpa taught you well!”
Chapter 30
Saturday, June 2, 2001
Capistrano Beach, CA
It was after 4 o’clock when Bo and Sam finally got back to the beach house. Any romantic interlude that might have happened on the boat had been obliterated by the attack on the high seas. But Sam’s main concern now was for Becky. He hoped this traumatic experience hadn’t upset her too much to keep her from enjoying her prom. He had mentioned this to Bo on the drive from the harbor to Beach Road. Bo had said that she would help Becky calm down, and help her get ready for the prom. Sam told her that he appreciated her help.
They found Becky out on the deck sprawled on a lounge with a can of Sprite in her hand. She was looking wistfully out to sea.
“How are you, Beck?” asked Sam.
“I’m OK, Sam. I guess. You know, I’ve looked out there at the ocean so many times, and not once have I ever had thoughts of violence. Not even during storms. It’s always been a soothing feeling before.”
“Want to skip the prom? Maybe I can track down Dr. Sue if you’d like to talk with her,” offered Sam.
“No way! I’m not going to let those assholes—whoever they were—ruin my day! Sorry. There goes my foul mouth again!” exclaimed Becky. “You must think badly of me, Bo!”
Bo went to her, sat down on the lounge next to her, and put her arm around her. “Don’t keep worrying about offending me, Becky. I can swear up a storm myself when I get upset. Now . . . what’s the schedule for the prom. We need to get you primped and ready!”
Sam answered, “The prom is at nine, but I have a limo coming at seven. Billy should be here at seven because I told the limo driver to pick him up on the way down the road. The kids are going to dinner, then to the prom.”
“So we have only two and a half hours to get ready! Let’s get moving! You run jump in the shower and I’ll be right up to help you,” exclaimed Bo, showing her excitement.
Sam said, “You have over two hours. What’s the rush?”
Bo and Becky glared at him, looked at each other, then said in unison, “Men!”
Becky rushed inside and up the stairs to her room.
Bo said to Sam, “Keeping her busy is the thing to do now. Keep her mind off it. Mine, too. I’m gonna have a smoke while she showers. I wonder if I could have a drink? I know it’s a little early, but my nerves are a little shattered, too. It’s not everyday that I shoot someone.”
“At least you didn’t kill him. The red tape would have been horrendous. That I know. I’ll join you in that drink. I hope I’m not screwing up by not having Dr. Sue come over and talk to her.”
“Dr. Sue?”
“Becky’s shrink. She meets twice a month with her. Has been seeing her ever since she came here. She has a lot of issues to deal with,” explained Sam. “What do you want to drink?”
“A white wine will do nicely. I have to stay sober till I get Becky out the door,” she smiled.
As Sam walked to the wet bar, he said over his shoulder, “And after she’s gone, you’re gonna get sloshed, eh?”
Bo sat on a stool a
t the bar.
“I didn’t say that! You’re twisting my words!” she laughed as she lit a cigarette, exhaled. “But I’ve been known to with less provocation.”
Sam handed her a glass of Chardonnay. He popped the top on a can of Bud for himself.
“What would you like for dinner tonight? After the kids leave, I can whip us up whatever pleases you. Or if you prefer, we could go out—in case you’re wary of being alone with me. After all, I promised you a chaperon and she’ll be gone for awhile.”
Bo sat down at a table and looked at him closely. “You said that with a straight face. I think you’re really serious.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was throwing you a curve ball. And there are some nice restaurants in the area.”
“I’m really not afraid of being alone with you, Sam. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. And I’m armed and dangerous—as you know,” she smiled.
“Yes. I saw that up close and personal today. So . . . what’s your preference?”
“I think it’s lovely right here, and I won’t have to get dressed up. Whatever you’d like to cook is fine with me. I’m not particular. I’ll even help you,” she said as she stubbed out her cigarette in the abalone shell ashtray. “Now I’m going up to help Becky. Any instructions?”
“From me? Just make her beautiful!”
“You got it! That should be easy!”
She took her glass of wine and went up to Becky’s room, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. They slipped easily into angry thoughts. Those pirates had put Becky in danger and that really pissed him off. He probably should have killed them!
***
Becky came out of her bathroom wearing a terrycloth robe and was drying her hair with a fluffy towel.
Bo asked, “Did you use a good conditioner on your hair?”
“Yes, ma’am. I always do.”
“Do you have a curling iron and some hairpins?”
“No, but Nana has some. In the master bath. But we shouldn’t need those. I was just gonna pull my hair into a ponytail with a fancy barrette.”
