by John Avery
The newly acquainted couple toured the bay for a while, taking in the sights, checking out the spectacular downtown San Diego skyline.
Aaron steered the Zodiac under the Coronado Bridge and into Glorietta Bay, on the east side of Coronado Island near the Hotel Del Coronado.
He asked Ekatarina to brace herself, and then he ran the small rubber craft up on the sand in a secluded area of the beach.
* * *
They unloaded their gear and carried it up onto the grass. Aaron spread out the soft blanket Ekatarina had brought, and she placed the picnic basket and some beach towels in one corner.
A steady, cool breeze blew in off the water as they sat and watched the sun going down behind the hotel.
“Where did you get that scar?” Ekatarina asked, referring to the jagged line running down Aaron’s left cheek.
Aaron touched his hand to his face, unsure what to say. Then he decided to tell her the whole story: about how he had met a writer named Michael St. John, and how Michael’s novel Saturday Night Crash had been turned into a successful movie, and how he’d been working on a sequel.
He told her how, after knowing each other for only three days, Michael had become like a father to him — the father he had yearned for ever since he was nine-years-old and his real father died in combat.
He told her about those three horrific days: the two eccentric thugs, Needles and Beeks; and the deadly bank robbery, and how when he had tried to stop it, Johnny Souther shot him.
“As if that weren’t enough,” he said at last, “and after all we’d been through together, at the end of the third day I lost my mother, my best friend, and Michael St. John to a hit-and-run driver.”
Ekatarina looked at him in disbelief. “You poor thing,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
Aaron finished by telling her about the kind detective who had found him after the crash and saved his life. “If it weren’t for Detective Harness,” he said, “I doubt I’d be alive today.”
She could see that Aaron had been severely traumatized. She took his hand and held it gently. “It was wrong for me to ask,” she said. “Perhaps we should talk about something else.”
She opened the picnic basket and pulled out a peach, taking a generous bite that sent peach juice running down her chin. “Oops,” she said, catching the drips with her hand.
Aaron reached over and gently wiped her mouth with a napkin, making her smile.
“What do you do for work?” she asked.
“Until recently I was down in the Cayman Islands working as a dive instructor. But like Michael St. John, my passion is writing. I hope to finish my first novel someday. I’ve been at it off and on for years, but something always seems to come up that keeps me from writing.”
“I’d love to read something you’ve written sometime,” Ekatarina said.
Aaron remembered an item he’d been carrying in his pocket since he left the Cayman’s. He hadn’t intended to ever show it to anyone, but the moment seemed right. He pulled it out and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she said.
“It’s nothing really… just a little five-by-five I wrote back in the Caymans.”
“A what?”
“A complete short story in twenty-five words,” Aaron explained. “Five sentences long with exactly five words per sentence.”
Intrigued, Ekatarina unfolded the little piece of paper.
Hastily scratched in pencil were the following five lines:
“What troubles you, My Lady?”
“They all stare,” I replied.
He shifted, blocking their view.
I smiled at the man.
He let the axe fall.
Ekatarina took a moment to absorb the full meaning of the short story. “I love it. It’s a bit dark, but I love it. How can you say so much in just twenty five words?”
“Hemingway once wrote a complete story in just six words,” Aaron said.
“‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn.’”
Ekatarina had to consider that story for a moment as well. “Deep,” she said at last. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you and Hemingway were really screwed up.”
Aaron laughed. “And you would be correct,” he admitted.
Ekatarina took another big bite of her peach, controlling the juice with her napkin this time.
“What do you look for in a woman?” she asked.
Aaron paused, the random question catching him a little off guard. “Oh, I guess I don’t really care… as long as she’s sweet, and pretty, and funny, and a little naughty, and smart, and loving, and a loyal friend, and —”
“So what you’re trying to say is, you aren’t picky,” Ekatarina said, laughing.
“Precisely,” Aaron said.
“Let’s take a swim,” Ekatarina said cheerfully, jumping to her feet. “We can pretend we’re on a deserted island.”
“What? Uh — I didn’t bring a suit,” Aaron said awkwardly.
“Neither did I, silly. Come on. No one’s around…”
Just like that she stood and kicked off her sandals and pulled off her shorts and top, leaving nothing but her bra and panties. Aaron’s eyes widened at the sight of her slender, perfect body, her breasts straining to be free of their restraints, the setting sun adding a soft, sensuous glow to her smooth skin.
She waded out a bit and gestured for him to follow. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” she said, laughing at herself for using that tired Hollywood cliché.
Aaron looked around and then stripped to his boxers and followed her into the pristine waters of Glorietta Bay.
Ekatarina watched him, grinning widely, splashing the clear water with her fingers.
Up to mid-thigh now, she dunked under for a moment, and when she surfaced she turned toward Aaron, and, pretending not to notice that her underwear had become see-through, did a full body stretch, arms overhead, arching her back, wringing the seawater from her long, straight black hair as the salty liquid dripped from her invisible bra and shimmered down over her smooth stomach and legs.
Aaron swallowed hard, thinking, Oh my God, am I dreaming?
He quickly dunked under as well, hoping to extinguish the conspicuous fire Ekatarina had ignited in him. She was kidding about it being warm.
“It’s freezing,” he said, laughing, clutching his arms to his chest.
As a trained diver, Aaron could easily hold his breath for long periods, and he decided to play a harmless trick on her. He waded out a little and then dunked under again, and this time instead of surfacing right away, he stayed down for a while — a long while.
Ekatarina watched the ripples rolling away from where he’d been, the concern in her eyes deepening. He was staying down way too long. A myriad of potential aquatic horrors flashed before her eyes as she looked around for him.
Suddenly Aaron surfaced, splashing her playfully, laughing at his childish prank.
She splashed him back hard. ”Don’t do that!” she said. “You scared me.” She didn’t mention that her younger brother, her only sibling, had drowned in a canal at the age of eight, and that she had been the one that found him. She gave Aaron a shove that nearly knocked him over. Then she ran giggling out of the water and up onto the grass where she flopped onto her stomach on the picnic blanket.
* * *
Aaron walked up the beach, wiping the excess water from his chest and arms, and sat down next to her. Her cute bottom was clearly one of her best features.
The sun was very low now, and the air was cooling. Goosebumps were forming on Ekatarina’s skin. Aaron reached for a towel and laid it over her, and then he grabbed one for himself and dried his hair with a quick buff.
He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out an apple. “I appreciate you putting this nice picnic together, Ekatarina.”
“You’re very welcome.” She sat up and pulled the towel around her, covering her body entirely. Then she turned her head slightly to the side and smiled at him in
a way that made his heart leap. “You know, Aaron… in Russia it is customary for lovers to refer to each other by an affectionate name.”
Aaron paused, confused. Did I hear her right? Did she say ‘lovers’? Please tell me she said ‘lovers’.
“Mine’s Katya,” she said. “And you already have yours.”
Before Aaron could say anything, Katya pushed him gently down onto the blanket. She dropped her towel and reached behind her back and unclasped her wet bra and tossed it over her shoulder. Then she lay over him with her breasts on his chest and pressed her warm, moist lips firmly against his.
At first her directness embarrassed him, but he let himself go, bathing in her intoxicating sexuality, responding passionately to her open-mouthed kisses as if he knew he would die tomorrow. He wanted to be in this moment forever — just the two of them — spinning through space and time, safe in their dream, safe from a world gone mad. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Please, God, he prayed. Let this be my moment. Let this be my life. Let this be my eternity.
Her goosebumps had gone now, and her skin was warm to the touch, and softer than he could ever imagine. He kissed her neck and shoulders then tore away what little remained of her clothing and slowly, intently, explored every inch of her nakedness. The goosebumps returned as Aaron’s hands and mouth caressed Katya’s lively, willing body like a thousand silk handkerchiefs, intensifying her already fiercely burning desire.
“I want you to make love to me,” she whispered breathlessly into his ear.
He looked into her eyes, and then kissed her passionately on the lips, draining the last of her remaining strength.
“You will be my first,” she said with a slight nervousness in her voice.
Aaron touched a finger to her lips. “You are mine as well,” he said quietly. “You can trust me, Katya. I will honor you.” He kissed her lips again, gently this time. She closed her eyes as in a dream.
Then, as the sun slowly settled into the Pacific, he patiently and carefully made himself one with her.
Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
Chapter 39
James Harness and Larry Holt took a taxi from southern Baja’s Aeródromo Internacional into downtown Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It was hot outside. Really hot. After questioning several locals, the two ended up at the infamous Cabo Wabo Cantina.
* * *
The nightclub was huge, with a stage and a set of drums toward the back, and wild, festive lighting and decorations covering every inch of the space. However, considering it wasn’t even 6:00 p.m. yet, the men weren’t surprised to see that it was deserted.
As they approached the bar, Harness pointed out a wall full of Van Halen memorabilia, and Holt was first to notice the vast collection of ladies underwear hanging above their heads.
* * *
It was hotter in the Cantina than it was outside, and Officer Holt looked at Harness expectantly. Harness looked back at him with a look that said, What the hell do you want?
“Are you gonna buy your partner a drink or do I have to buy it myself?” Holt said. “And don’t feed me any of your bullshit about us being on duty. If I can’t have a drink in fucking Cabo San… Wabo, where the hell can I drink?”
Harness gave him a disgusted look. ”I’m a little busy at the moment,” he said, jerking his head toward the bartender to remind Holt that they were there to gather information, not to get drunk. “And if we were on duty, I’d have your badge for insubordination and abusive language.”
“Fuck you,” Holt said.
Harness turned to the bartender. “Two shots of your best tequila and two beer backs, please.”
“I’d buy my own damn drink if you’d pay me once in a while,” Holt mumbled.
“Whatever makes the big baby happy,” Harness said.
“Kiss my big black ass,” Holt said.
* * *
They watched with dry throats as the bartender poured the shots and delivered their order to the bar.
Holt threw back his shot and chased it with his entire beer. He hoped that everything he’d heard about the potency of Cabo Wabo’s tequila was true, since it was unlikely he could pry another dollar out of Harness’s wallet.
“You’re not supposed to chug the beer, Holt,” Harness said. “It’s for sipping.”
“Where’d you come up with that?” Holt said. “And why don’t you just shut up about it?”
* * *
Harness downed his shot as well, along with a sip of beer, and then he introduced himself and showed the bartender Jason’s picture, offering him the usual $50 cash incentive.
“He looks a lot different out of uniform,” the bartender said, stuffing the $50 in his tip jar. “But yeah, I saw him. About three days ago. He was with a hot redhead and some young guy that looked like a surfer or something. They had dinner and drinks… lots of drinks.”
“Three days ago, did you say?”
“Yeah, Tuesday night, I think,” the bartender said. “I heard them say something about San Diego.”
“Did they say anything else?” Harness asked.
“I don’t know… They were all pretty hammered by then.”
Harness shoved another $50 across the bar.
The bartender scooped up the bill and glanced around the empty club, and then he leaned toward Harness, as if he were going to divulge a national secret. Holt leaned in as well.
“Here’s where it started getting really weird,” the bartender said in a near whisper. “The guy you’re looking for? The guy in the picture? He started going off about a plot to assassinate some high-level official in the United States government.”
“What?” Harness said. “He had to be bullshitting.”
“How the hell should I know?” the bartender said. “But he was talking about torpedoing the son-of-a-bitch.”
“Yeah, right,” Holt said. “Where’s the guy gonna get a torpedo? Fucking Walmart?”
“He mentioned an old Russian submarine that’s part of some museum in San Diego,” the bartender said.
“Cobra,” Harness said to Holt. “She’s moored at the MMSD. But she barely floats.” But he knew better than to underestimate his adversary’s resourcefulness.
“Just telling you what I heard,” the bartender said.
“His companions,” Harness said. “Were they in on it?”
“It was hard to tell… they were pretty fucked up. But I doubt it. It was a one-sided conversation at that point, and the guy didn’t seem to care if they were listening or not.”
“The redhead,” Harness said. “What did she look like?”
“She was hot,” the bartender said.
“That’s it? A hundred bucks and I get ‘She was hot’?”
“What do you want from me?” the bartender said, annoyed now. “Beautiful face, long, flaming red hair, smokin’ body… You’re the detective… You describe her.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. She’s hot,” Harness said. “No need to get your panties in a bunch. Did they say anything about a day and time? For the assassination, I mean.”
The Bartender paused for a moment. “Friday night, I think.”
Harness turned to Holt. “What day is today?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Holt said.
“Today is Friday, come to think of it,” the bartender said.
“Damn it!” Harness said. “How long does it take to get from here to San Diego on a motor-yacht?”
“San Diego? Under power? Oh, I’d say two or three days tops — assuming the weather holds, and including stopping for fuel.”
Harness checked his watch and looked at Holt. “It’s 6:00 p.m. If they left here Tuesday, they could be there by now.”
He turned back to the bartender. “How long’s a flight from here to San Diego?”
“Two hours and ten minutes.”
Harness thought maybe he could get a call off to Naval Command in Point Loma. “Do cell phones work here?” he asked.
“Not necessarily. You’d
have to arrange that with your provider, and the dialing out is different here. And you need to understand basic Spanish because the operator recordings are —”
“Do you have a house phone?” Harness demanded.
“Yes, but it’ll only handle local calls,” the bartender said.
Harness couldn’t believe his luck. Here he was, stuck down in Cabo San Lucas while Jason Souther attempted to bring America to its knees. He asked the bartender to call a taxi.
“Drink up, Holt,” he said, sliding his nearly full glass of beer in his direction. “I think our problems just got a lot more serious.”
Naval Base Point Loma
San Diego
Chapter 40
The Executive Officer checked his watch. 7:00 p.m. The final security arrangements had been made, and now he had the privilege of escorting the President of the United States and his four secret servicemen on board the 362-foot nuclear submarine USS Hampton, joining its standard complement of 12 officers and 98 crewmen. He unhooked the maroon-velvet rope guarding the gangway.
“Are you ready, sir?” he asked.
“It’s that time already?” the President said.
“You seem nervous, sir,” the XO said.
The President was a bit apprehensive about riding along on the Emergency Nighttime Surface Drill, but he wasn’t sure why. “Just some pre-cruise jitters, is all,” he said.
“There’s no reason to worry, Mr. President,” the XO said. “Tonight’s is just a routine drill on board a technological marvel, commanded by one of the finest officers in the Navy.”
The agent with the carnation gave him a look that said, You better not be bullshitting, asshole…
“If you would follow me, gentlemen?” the XO said, and they proceeded up the gangway.
* * *
The captain of the submarine, Commander Adam Byrd, greeted the President on the bridge. “Welcome aboard, sir,” he said.
“Thank you, Commander,” the President said, shaking his hand. “I hear I’m in for quite a treat tonight.”
