Moratorium

by Chuck Sampson

  “He left in a big hurry last night,” Briana said.

  “Yes.” Cyrus replied.

  Once they were past a large cluster of pedestrians walking close to the edge of the street, he goosed the Dodge close to the red line and turned on the siren.

  “Max, when we were eavesdropping on the conversation between Moon and Duncan at the hideout, who was it said they heard Briana say she regretted being a member of Black Bloc?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I assumed it was Duncan. I figured he had overheard Briana and I talking before he walked in the door. If it was Moon, that would mean he had to be listening to my conversation with Briana somehow. Did you have the cell on speaker phone?”

  “I had the speaker phone on, listening to it, while the cell phone was sitting on the inn table in the lobby.”

  “What are you two talking about? Did you have my Condo bugged?” Briana demanded.

  “Not exactly, I had my cell phone line opened and Max was listening in.” Cyrus replied.

  “We bugged your condo,” Max said.

  “So that’s how you monitored Moon and Duncan in the abandoned house last night;” Briana said, “you dropped your cell phone into my purse, pretty clever.”

  “Actually, in the state of California it’s considered an illegal form of wiretapping,” Dana said.

  “Are you a member of the ACLU or something?” Cyrus said, “We had a warrant, if you must know.”

  Dana shrugged his shoulders and gave Cyrus a sheepish grin in reply.

  Briana folded her arms, looked at Cyrus and said, “Well I can’t get too mad, if you hadn’t done that I probably would be dead.”

  Cyrus nodded his head and turned to Max, “I heard you talking with that homeless guy, remember? Was he in the room with you?”

  Max’s face turned beet red. “The homeless guy was sitting in the chair across from me watching TV; I didn’t think he was listening. He didn’t act like he was.”

  “Was he the same homeless man who was at Rincon Beach the day Mike Tanner was murdered?”

  “Yeah, and he was the same guy who was at Rincon Beach with the tow truck driver and he was the same guy who beat me out of twenty dollars at the gas station in La Conchita.”

  Cyrus turned off the siren, slowed down, and made a right onto Beachmont Drive. It was a narrow street lined with ordinary A-framed blue and yellow houses, each with its own dock on the harbor. The GPS triangle had stopped midway down. Cyrus continued his analysis,

  “He was also at the hospital after the squad car rolled over, I saw him in the lobby pretending to be asleep when Dana and I passed by him on our way out the front door. He also showed up at Tanner’s oil rig in Big Sur.”

  “Oh man, that same night Grigoryan got his car sabotaged the same as we did.”

  “Dana, you said he was at Surfer’s Park when you got into the scuffle with Mike, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He’s about the same height as the man in the pickup, who was wearing the Al Gore mask and threw the coins at the squad car to get me to chase him.” Cyrus said. “I think the homeless man is-”

  “Jeff Moon.” Briana said.

  “I guess the homeless really are invisible,” Cyrus said, “very clever disguise.”

  “Stop the car and turn around.” Max said.

  “What’s wrong?” Cyrus said.

  “I saw the homeless man when I was hiding from Moon and Duncan. He walked up to the orange tree I was hiding behind and asked me for five dollars again. Dammed if I didn’t give it to him, too.”

  “That means he knows we are following him. They’ve set a trap. Where did the GPS say we were going?”

  “5538 Beachmont Drive, that’s on the water. I think we are already here, Cyrus. We’d better go before they get to us.”

  Cyrus stopped the cruiser and started to make a three point turn. But before he could back up, a white Van pulled alongside. Squealing tires around the corner, a black Ford pickup sped toward them from the front, and another vehicle, parked on the side of the street, parted from the curb and blocked the rear. The homeless man looked out of the driver’s seat of the white van and grinned, exposing yellow, crooked, teeth. He reached into his pocket, brought out a small square object shaped similar to a cell phone battery and dangled it in front of them by its power cord.

  “He’s holding the VCIM chip.” Max said straining to see out the passenger side window. He sat back into his seat and muttered, “Jerk owes me thirty-five bucks.”

  “Don’t worry; you’re not going to need money where you’re going. Everything’s on me from here on out.” Moon replied and then he laughed.

  Before anyone inside the squad car could get out, the side door of the white van slid open, revealing Maverick Duncan and two Chinese men, all holding MP-5s trained on Cyrus and the rest of the occupants of the squad car.

  Moon cut a hard glance at Briana, reached his hand across his face, and then he pulled off the mask he was wearing. Beneath it, his true face was not all that much different than that of the mask, slightly less wrinkled, narrowly spaced, green, eyes, and a long, slightly hooked, nose. Bending his head down slightly, he removed the false, yellow teeth from his mouth, “Hello Briana,” he said.

  “Go to hell, Moon.” Briana replied.

  “Affectionate as ever, and you brought me a nice gift. You’re so thoughtful.”

  “What gift? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I’m talking about Dana Mathers of course, Mike Tanner’s murderer.” He said, all the while glaring at Dana. “I am going to enjoy turning him into shark shit.”

  Moon nodded at Duncan, who was standing beside the door of the car next to Dana and then he said, “Get the report.”

  “Don’t listen to Moon, Dana,” Duncan said, “Nobody is going to hurt you.”

  Two Asian men dressed in black hooded sweat shirts, got out from the black pickup, ran over to the squad car, and opened the front doors on either side. Before Cyrus could move, one of the men put his nine-mike against Cyrus’s temple. He and motioned for him to get out. The operative took Cyrus’s weapon from him and led him to the rear of the large, white, utility van. The other man took Briana’s weapon from her and followed behind.

  “Come on, get them in the van,” Moon said.

  One of the Asian men pushed open the back doors. A plywood wall separated the back of the van from the driver’s area and two padded benches ran along each side. Another Asian dug the nose of his nine-mike into Cyrus’s side and motioned with a nod of his head for him to get in the van. The others followed.

  Once they were all seated, the Asian slammed the doors shut and everything went black. There were no windows on the van doors or cracks of any kind to let light in. Cyrus heard a hissing sound as he leaned over and passed out.

  Chapter 19

  When Cyrus opened his eyes, everything around him was white and wet. His mouth felt swollen from the salt water spraying over the side. Still somewhat disoriented from the gas, he sensed a steady bouncing motion and surmised that he must be in a boat that was moving at a rapid clip. Every so often it rocked slightly from side to side. He tried to move his arms but his hands were tied behind his back.

  Max lay across from him, at the foot of the captain’s chair; he was still unconscious, his hands also tied behind his back. The boat deck’s rolling motion kept Cyrus from lifting himself upright. They are probably taking us to the place where they plan to blow up the pipeline, he said to himself. He rolled onto his side and then spun around until Briana’s bronze legs came into view. Turning his head and straining his neck, he observed her sitting on the back seat of the boat. Her hands were behind her back and with half closed, bloodshot, eyes, she nodded her head. Dana was on the same back seat on the other side of the boat in a supine position.

  The vessel accelerated around a turn, pushing him over again on his back. Facing the cloudless blue sky above, he strained against the torque of the boat’s ci
rcular motion to keep from rolling over again. As soon as the force from the boat’s maneuver subsided, he felt two hands grab under each of his arms and pull him upright; it was Moon. His strength surprised Cyrus.

  Moon forced him to stand up and then walk across the deck to the port side wall of the boat. Then he pushed him back down, so that he sat in an upright position against the side. Max remained on his back, next to the pedestal of the captain’s chair with his eyes closed. Behind Max, Cyrus could see the boat’s steering wheel tied down so that the boat maintained its circular course at high speed.

  The power boat’s twin Yamaha 250 HP engines whined at a higher pitch than before. He realized he was on the Grady White, the same boat from which Duncan shot at them two nights before. As the boat continued around its wide, circular course, Cyrus spotted a larger, steel hulled, fishing trawler anchored less than a football field away. A long, rusty brown, metal boom dangled from its end a long, grey cylindrical object, just above the boat’s rail. A torpedo, Cyrus said to himself, they are going to use it for blowing up the oil pipeline.

  Carrying a tackle-box and two fishing poles, Duncan stepped down from the side runway onto the main deck where Moon was standing.

  “Grab the girl. We are taking her with us. She still has some value. We can use her to blackmail Dunbar, she’s Dick Carswell’s adopted daughter.” Moon said. Cyrus noticed that Briana was still nodding her head and was too drowsy to respond.

  “What about Dana?” Duncan queried as he set the fishing poles and the tackle box down on the rear seat between Briana and Dana.

  “He stays with me,” Moon said, “He’s going to pay for killing Mike; get used to it.”

  “We already agreed. Dana comes with me,” Duncan said as he grabbed him by the arm and pulled up.

  Cyrus flinched at the sound of the click coming from Moon’s nine-mike. He had just chambered a round and was now aiming it at Duncan, who stopped, bore his teeth at him, and then gave him a quick nod.

  An instant later, Cyrus heard the distinctive, high-pitched, metallic, ringing sound from an MP-5 automatic being cocked right behind them on the boat’s side runway. Lifting his head, Cyrus observed a small, scowl-faced, Asian man, catching Moon from behind and keeping his weapon trained on him.

  “Dana comes with me, Moon. Ask Lao.” Duncan said. Moon looked over at Lao and lowered his weapon. Duncan let go of Dana, who was alert now and sitting up on his own, and walking over to Moon’s side he grabbed the nine-mike from his hand. “You shouldn’t be so emotional about Mike. He would have wanted us to complete the mission, right? We stick to the original plan. Go down below and get the whiskey.”

  Moon grunted, shook his head, and walked down the few steps leading to the galley. He came back holding a bottle of Chivas Regal scotch in one hand and a small, blue and black handled bat in the other. LA Dodgers was written along the bat’s side. Moon set the down the whiskey and then walked over to Cyrus and grabbed him by the arm. “Stand up,” he said.

  Cyrus struggled to his feet. Moon lifted up his white sweat shirt to show Cyrus the fist-sized bruise on his chest.

  “What do you want me to do? Say I am sorry?” Cyrus said.

  Moon put his sweatshirt down, “Well that would be good for a start. Let’s hear it, Mr. Piggy. Say I am so sorry I tried to kill you Professor.”

  “The only thing I am sorry for is that I didn’t use hollow point rounds or aim for the middle of your forehead. Of that I am truly sorry.”

  “Time for a little payback, pig,” Moon raised the bat and then slammed it hard into his side, near his kidney. A spike of pain shot up through his torso and he doubled over. Shaking and clenching his hands, Cyrus wheezed several times trying to catch his breath. Moon dropped the bat and then grabbed Cyrus by the hair and pulled him forward so that he lost his balance and fell forwards into the deck, landing on the side of his face.

  Moon picked up the bottle of Chivas and kneeling down next to him he said, “Don’t worry fat boy, you are going to go down in history a famous, or rather infamous, man. You and Robocop junior are going to be the cause of the mother of all oil spill catastrophes. You see, you and your buddy here rented a boat-this boat-to go fishing. At least that’s what the papers are going to say because we fixed it with the boat rental agent to make it look that way. Forgery is one of my better talents. I followed you around until I could steal a restaurant receipt with your signature on it. That didn’t take long; you like to eat out a lot.” He poked Cyrus’s belly with a bottle of Chivas. “You never know who is handling those credit card receipts you give to the waitress, do you? I am good friends with a lot of waitresses. I practiced for several weeks on your signature until I got it perfect.”

  Cyrus caught his breath and through bloodied teeth he said, “Several weeks? Why so long, I thought you were a genius?”

  Moon straightened up, frowned, put his finger to his chin, and paused for a moment. His face brightened, and then he pointed his finger at Cyrus and said, “Speaking of geniuses, we thought it was going to be hard to capture you and we never thought we’d see Dana Mathers again for at least three years, but just like that, you broke him out of jail, just like we planned and you fell for the first trap we set. Best of all, you’ve brought Dana’s Oil Samples Report with you.”

  Cyrus’s face turned bright red and he bit his swollen lip.

  “I paid for the boat in advance, and then I forged your name on the agreement. You aren’t going to be able to pay me back, so think of it as a farewell gift,” Moon stood up and then he continued, “You came out here with your partner and got drunk. Then you threw the anchor overboard and it smacked that old, WWII torpedo, over there.” Leaning forward to keep his balance, Moon pointed the whiskey bottle towards the torpedo on the trawler.

  “Can you see it? What bad luck, such a tragedy, but it happens all the time. They say there are still hundreds of torpedoes left by the Japanese half buried all along the coast. But it’s all right, you and your partner are going to be so drunk, and you won’t feel a thing when it-”

  The sound of the twin Yamaha engines stopped instantly and the abrupt halt of the boat caused Moon to lose his balance. He fell with a loud thud and slid across the deck headfirst into the wall of the boat on the other side. He lay there still as a stick. Duncan and his Asian guard were tossed overboard by the force of the boat’s sudden stop. Briana and Dana tumbled over Moon as he slid beneath them, and onto the deck in front of Cyrus. The same force also launched the tackle box from the rear seat and emptied its contents across the boat’s bottom.

  Cyrus observed that Max had come to and was now in between the captain’s chair and the boat’s console laying on his back with a white, curled, electrical cord in his mouth. It was the lanyard, Cyrus realized. During the confrontation between Duncan and Moon, Max had managed to crawl over next to the console and yank down on the safety lanyard attached to a kill switch and flip the engines off.

  Cyrus searched the boat floor filled with fishing gear and spotted a fillet knife only a foot from him. He rolled over on top of the knife and scooted up until he could feel the handle with his hands. Rolling back over on his stomach, he held the knife so that its point stood up in the air.

  “Dana, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. What are you doing with the knife?”

  “Can you get up?”

  “I think so.” Dana replied. He sat up, rocked himself forward a few times, made it to his knees, and then stood up.

  “Come over here, Dana and cut yourself loose.”

  Dana walked over to where Cyrus lay, knelt down beside him, turned his body so that his back was to the knife and draped the tie wrap across its sharp edge. Cyrus guided him to the knife’s sharp blade and then tightened his grip.

  “Go ahead, cut them.”

  It took a few tries of rubbing the plastic tie across its blade until Dana’s hands were free. He took the knife from Cyrus’s hands and cut him loose, Max and Briana were next. Cyrus
went for the boat console to start the engine and escape, but before he could reach it, a loud cracking sound stopped him. It was Moon. He had come to and fired a round from a colt handgun into the air before Max could get to him. Cyrus ran over to Dana, who was standing next to the side rail of the boat,

  “Can you make it to shore?”

  “I’ll try,” Dana said and then he jumped into the water.

  Moon pointed his weapon at Max and walked toward him. Duncan must have dropped his weapon when he fell and Moon picked it up, Cyrus noted to himself. Moon put the barrel of the colt against Max’s head and cocked the hammer. Before Cyrus could stop Moon, Duncan, riding on a jet ski, pulled up to the side of the boat and jumped on to the deck. He pushed Moon to the floor and when Moon turned his head around, Duncan caught him in the face with a solid right cross. The force of Duncan’s blow caused him to drop the gun, sending it skipping across the deck to the other side of the boat. He grabbed him by the shoulders and made him sit up,

  “Don’t be so stupid,” Duncan said, “We need to let them die in the explosion, not take a bullet in the head.”

  Moon lowered his face, felt the side of his cheek with one hand, and raised his free hand as if he were surrendering. “All right, all right, but Dana’s escaped.”

  “How did he escape? There is nowhere for him to go.”

  “We’re only twenty five miles out, Dana will be to shore in about an hour.”

  “This idea of keeping them off balance by having the boat go in a circle was dumb, Moon,” Duncan said.

  Moon shrugged his shoulders.

  Duncan turned to the man on the Jet Ski, pointed to the east, “Get him,” he said. Lao sped off.

  While Moon and Duncan were arguing, Cyrus made a move toward the console to start up the engine. Before he could reach it, Moon stopped him by placing the barrel of the colt on Max’s temple. Moon walked Max over to the other side of the boat and pushed him down. He signaled to Cyrus to sit beside him and he complied.