Their conversation was interrupted by a large, fast-moving panga just off the beach that whizzed by, executed a sharp u-turn, headed directly for us, gunned it, killed the big engine, lifted the prop from the water, and expertly skidded to a stop on the beach.
Our guard scrambled out of the way and hid his handgun behind his back. “There you are,” boomed Craig, totally ignoring the other people on the beach. “You guys, you gotta get back to camp! I’ll take Po Thang with me. Come here, boy!”
I let Po Thang go and he bounced into the panga without even a look back at his endangered mom, the little traitor.
All the men in uniform were frozen in place, looking undecided as to what they should do. Finally, one of them said what translated to English as, “Holy crap, what now?”
Craig raised his radio and said, “I found them. I’ll go out and tell the kayakers to come back in, too.” He suddenly looked like he just noticed the soldiers on the beach. “!Hola!” he waved.
I saw the leader make a split second decision. “You should go,” he said to Jean Luc in English.
And boy, did we.
Jean Luc drove like a bat out of hell toward Gonzaga Bay, blathering on in Franglish in his excitement. I reached into the back seat, not a stretch in a Fiat 500, grabbed the wine and opened it.
I took a slug of wine from the bottle and handed it to him. He gratefully downed half the bottle. Very un-French, if you ask moi!
“Hetta, your sangfroid! It is amazing. When the man rose from the sea and threatened us, you remained unshaken. Were you not afraid?”
I shrugged. “I’ve become somewhat accustomed to dangerous situations. Besides, he could only shoot one of us, and I planned to skedaddle faster than green grass through a duck.”
He looked confused for a moment, then got it, and smiled widely. “Your sense of humor is intact, I see. Very funny.”
Little did he know I wasn’t kidding. Given the chance, Po Thang and I would have left him in our dust the first chance we got. We’re loyal that way.
“At any rate, the experience was wonderfully exciting. I’ve never felt so…alive. Thank you.”
“What for? Craig was the hero of the day. Had he not shown up, those dudes were probably gonna take us on a one-way cruise out to sea. As it is, we’re safe for now, but I’m really curious as to where that diver went.”
“Perhaps he is a merman who lives in the sea?”
“Yeah, right.”
Po Thang ran to meet us when we got to Jan’s base camp, followed by Jan herself. Roger was still keeping an eye on the big picture from on top of his hill.
“Looked to me you and your boyfriend there ran into a mess of trouble,” Jan said when Jean Luc walked away.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Anyhow, we lost our radio, damnit.”
“We know. Roger’s already deactivated it, so we’re back on the air.”
“All right! What’s been going on while I was busy with a sea monster and a bunch of narcos?”
“Come back to the RV. We’re using it as the command center while Roger is out there on his own. He told us all to sit tight for now. You hungry?”
“No, too much adrenalin in my system, but I could sure use a cold beer.”
“Roger said no drinking.”
“I was damned near shish kebabbed, so screw Roger and that over-priced hummer he rode in on.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
While Jan and I sipped our forbidden beers, we listened to Roger giving updates on the radio. Becky and Jackie B had charts spread out and were making X marks tracking Raymond Johnson’s whereabouts.
My boat was on the move again, slowly making for shore. The wind had picked up, but nowhere near elefante strength yet. Jan had moved my RV, facing the rear in the wind’s direction to keep us from blowing over.
Chino and his helpers were busy staking down everything that could move, so Jean Luc and Craig jumped in to help them. The local fisherman had pulled their pangas up on the beach, and told us the wind would arrive before long, so we called Roger and told him he might want to get off that hill.
“I will,” he said, “but I’ve got a rabbit up my sleeve and want to use it before the wind gets too strong. Stand by. Over.”
“Roger Dodger. Standing by.”
Jan got us another beer. “Wonder what he’s up to now?”
“Who knows?”
“So, Chica, what did you and that gorgeous hunk of French toast do to pass the time out there on the beach?” Jackie B wanted to know.
“Nothing interesting, trust me. In fact—what’s that noise?”
We went outside to investigate just as our radio sprang to life. “You girls ditch those brews. Over.”
Jan and I exchanged a surprised look when a drone dive-bombed us.
“Smile. You’re on Candid Camera,” Roger brayed into the radio. “You two are so busted!”
“Want me to shoot it down, Jan? I have my handy little .380 with me, thanks to the Mexican permit Nacho managed to get me. ’Course, when he did, he didn’t expect me to use it on him, but times, they are a’changin’. ”
“Red, I can heaarrr you,” Roger said.
The drone banked sharply and headed out to sea.
“Dang, outta range.”
“Yep.” Roger said, “My drone, I call her Hippo, is going out to take a look at Raymond Johnson. She’ll be taking video and broadcasting it in real time.”
“Well, hell, Roger. If we can’t drink beer, we should at least get to watch. Can we do that from here without internet service?”
“No problem. There’s an app for that. Download this into your iPhones.” He gave us the app’s name and in just minutes we had, literally, a bird’s eye view of Raymond Johnson.
“Look, Becky, there’s Jeff!” I yelled.
She rushed over to peer over my shoulder. “Oh, thank goodness. He looks just fine. Why didn’t the bastard call and tell me so?”
“Because,” Jan drawled, “he’s a guy.”
“Not when I get through with him,” Becky snarled.
Jackie B had joined us and was ogling Jan’s screen. “Wow, who’s the hunk with him?”
“That’s Nacho. The guy who stole my boat.”
“Hell,” Jackie B sighed, “I’d a given it to him.”
“Uh, oh,” I said, “I think he’s spotted Hippo.”
As we watched in horror, Nacho unearthed an AK-47 and took aim at the drone. Roger saw it too, because the drone flew straight up and away.
“What the hell is that?” Jan asked, pointing to a dark spot in the water, not far from Raymond Johnson. “A whale?”
Jean Luc and Chino had walked up to the RV and heard Jan.
“A whale?” Chino said. “This far north? I must see him.”
Jan muttered, “He’s never that excited to see me.”
Chino took my phone and stared at it. “That is not a whale. That is a submarine.”
I immediately grabbed the radio and told Roger, so he circled the drone on high, checking it out. “Looks like she’s sitting on the bottom. World War II wreck, you think?”
“More like a merman cave if you ask me,” I said, grinning at Jean Luc. “I guess you were right about where that frogman lived.”
Before anyone could ask if I’d lost what was left of my mind, a gust rocked the RV. “Roger, unless you have an anchor to deploy on that rig of yours, you’d better get your butt back down here.”
“You read my mind,” Roger answered. “I just got a heavy up-draft. Gonna land Hippo in front of your RV, so heads up. Draw a target for me in the dirt. I have the case, so just take her inside until I get there.”
We all rushed out to make a large X in the sand then stood back to watch the landing and Roger did not disappoint. He put her down right smartly on target, drawing cheers from our group and some kayakers who’d joined our circle.
We’d just gone back inside when a serious gust hit us.
I looked out to sea, worried about my boat, but saw that
Nacho had anchored her as close to shore as was safe, and was taking advantage of the rapidly ebbing tidal flow to hold them bow into the wind. I couldn’t have done better myself.
Even so, they were in for a bumpy ride.
But nothing like when I got them in my clutches.
❋
By the time Roger joined us, folded up the drone and stashed her in his combat-mobile, things were getting a little compacted inside the compact RV. And to add to our spatial problem, I thought it wise to retract the slide considering the wind force.
However, after watching dirt fly and getting sand stung, we’d all agreed to move inside to share our day’s discoveries and try to come up with our next move.
Craig, all six-plus-feet of him, took the passenger seat, which I’d turned to face the rear, and Roger took the driver’s seat. Antoine, Jean Luc, and Jan were cozied up on the settee, Jackie B sat cross-legged on the step-down between the driver and passenger seats, so Becky, Chino and I stood where we could. Which begs the question, just how many people and dogs can you cram into a twenty-five-foot RV?
Scruffy and Po Thang, after being shoved around for being in the way, decided it was time to take a nap on my bed, which, thank goodness I had the foresight to cover up with a plastic tarp. I turned on the air conditioner to counteract all that body heat and beach dawg stink.
Chino who was standing nearest to the door, told us that the local fishermen were predicting this elefante was probably only a two-dayer, then he had to leave to make certain the kayakers were all safe. He had rented every available room at Gonzaga Bay, and moved almost all of them off the beach. As he left, he said, “And the local fellows tell us this wind will not be all that strong. Maybe only forty knots or so.”
Roger joked, “Well, that’s good news. Anyhow, before I left the hill, those narco dudes had moved away from the beach to protection below a cliff, so I figger nothin’ is gonna happen for at least two days.”
“And,” I said, “it looks like my boat is safe for now. Also, if Nacho and Jeff are here because of the narcos, they won’t look suspicious, because I noticed two large Mexican fishing boats have hunkered down just like Raymond Johnson.”
Roger nodded, pulled out his phone and fiddled with it. “What we have to figger out is how this,” he tapped his phone, “submarine fits into the picture.”
“At least we know where our sea monster came from, and he was taking orders from the head dude in that narco caravan. Coincidence? You be the judge.”
“Exactly my thoughts. My guess is we have a shipment of guns and ammo destined to be loaded onto a sub in order to by-pass the highway military stops. Any thoughts?”
“Oh my God,” Becky said, “Jeff is a gun runner?”
“Au contraire, Becky. Just the opposite. He and Nacho are most likely here to keep those guns out of the hands of the cartels. Jenks thinks Jeff is a fed.”
“How did they plan to pull that off?” Craig asked. “There’s only two of them.”
Jean Luc dramatically stated, “But no longer. We are here!”
I stood, threw my arms wide and started to sing, with Jean Luc and Antoine joining in.
“Aux armes citoyens!
Formez vos Bataillons!
Marchons! Marchons!
Qu’un sang umpur
Abrevuve nos sillons!”
Antoine was grinning from ear to ear as we sang. On the other hand, both Po Thang and Scruffy were howling. Everyone’s a critic.
Jan clapped. “That was way cool, Hetta.”
“What did it mean?” Becky asked.
Jean Luc told her, “It is La Marseillaise. The French National Anthem.”
“Oooh, I’ll bet it’s so pretty when someone else sings it.”
I whacked her arm.
“I think she was magnifique,” Antoine said, in my defense. “Especially for an American. Would you like me to translate?”
“Yes!” several people said.
“Grab your weapons, citizens! Form your battalions! Let us march! Let us march! May impure blood water our fields!” He shrugged. “It sounds better with a large orchestra and in French.”
Roger said, “That’s fer sure. Okay, battalion, anybody got any questions?”
I stuck my hand in the air.
“Yes, Hetta?”
“Really, Roger? Hippo Drone?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When everyone quit laughing over the Hippo Drone thing, Roger said we had decisions to make, and we fell silent. Only whistling wind broke the quiet as we contemplated the situation, as we knew it.
“Let’s start with what we know, or think we know,” I suggested.
“Good idea. What do we think we know?” Jan said, pulling out her laptop to make notes.
“I’m pretty sure there are weapons in the narco camp that are destined for the submarine,” Roger said, “so that’s what I think I know.”
I nodded agreement. “And if I know Nacho, he plans to either take them or stop them.”
“Yabbut,” Jan said, “do you think Nacho knows about the submarine? Or is he hanging around waiting for one of those rust-bucket fishing boats to pick up the goods?”
“Good question. So, I guess we have to decide whether to try and contact Nacho. And if so, how?” Craig offered.
“There are several ways,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “VHF radio, email, have Jenks try talking to them via my SeaCurity System, or we just go out there and knock on the hull.”
“You forgot Morse code via mirrors,” Roger teased. He looked out the window as a towel flew by. “Just go out there? You first, Hetta.”
“Ya know, Hetta,” Jan said, “that’s not such a farfetched idea you have there. Raymond Johnson is close enough in that, at night, one of our heavy kayaks with extra ballast and a skilled paddler on board could make it out there on the ebb tide, undetected.”
“Okay, then, I’ll go,” I said.
“Hetta, you’re great ballast, but did you miss the ‘skilled paddler’ bit?”
“Watch that chunky-shaming, Miz Jan.”
“Okay, snowflake, but you can’t argue with me about your kayaking skills. They suck.”
“I have a bad rotator cuff,” I whined.
“If you say so, Chica. At any rate—”
Antoine broke in. “We could take two kayaks. I can paddle one, and tow the other with Hetta in it. She does not have to paddle, as I can do all the work.”
“Too iffy in these conditions. If something goes wrong, you could end up being blown out to sea, Hetta. How about we have four paddlers in two tandems?” Jan said, then added with that mean grin of hers, “Four able-bodied, less lazy, kayakers?”
I stuck my tongue out at her. “Hey, I just do not like kayaking. However, in this case, it’s my boat, so I go.”
Roger held up his arms. “Okay, but only after we have exhausted all other possibilities to reach them. Keep in mind that Nacho pulled an AK-47 on my drone, so I don’t suggest sneaking up on Raymond Johnson. Those guys are packing, big time.” He hit a few buttons on his phone and showed us Nacho with his gun, and Jeff, crouched down behind him with something large and lethal looking.
Still thinking about my boat’s well-being, I said, “Well, at least I see they’ve taken down my canvas for the blow. The Bimini cover on the flying bridge is missing.”
“Nah,” Jan said. “Betcha they never put it back up, cuz it was off when I saw the boat in Santa Rosalia. Boatyard in La Paz probably stashed it.”
“And you know what else is missing? They ain’t got no stinkin’ dinghy, either. I left it at the marina dinghy dock and stowed the motor in the aft lazarette. Makes one wonder just how they planned to intervene in this operation, since the weapons are obviously being brought in by land.”
Jackie B asked, “Why can’t we just call them on the VHF radio? Chino has one set up in the kayak camp, and we have several handhelds.”
“Because two to one the narcos do, as well. And if they’re on scan
mode, they’ll hear us,” I said. “Just like the people in Punta Chivato do. When Jenks and I anchor there, we leave ours on scan so we can listen in on what’s going on.”
Jackie B smiled. “Everyone does. If you want to keep a secret in Chivato, you gotta use the phone.”
“Speaking of, do you think I should try to call Nacho? I have a number for him,” I said.
“Ha!” Jan chuffed. “If he sees it’s you calling, he sure as hell won’t answer.”
“Why?” Jean Luc asked. “Are you not friends? He seemed so pleasant when we met in the South of France.”
Jan and I burst out laughing.
“Nacho, friend, and pleasant do not belong in the same sentence,” I brayed.
Roger spoke up. “We can discuss Hetta’s love-hate relationship with Nacho later. Right now, let’s get back on track. I’m going to call Jenks and put him on the speaker, but first let’s review. Jan, can you read your notes on what we know for certain?”
“Hookay. We know that Raymond Johnson is anchored just offshore, and Jeff and Nacho are on board. And that there was a submarine sitting on the bottom farther out.”
Roger sighed. “So, everything else is pretty much speculation. But, Hetta and Jean Luc were threatened by a frogman we think is from the sub. And he was taking orders from what I have labeled as narcos; ergo, the sub and the narco caravan are connected.”
We all agreed. Then I added, “And, I overheard the narcos discussing armas.”
“Okay, what else do we have for Jenks?” Roger asked, picking up his cell phone.
“Tell him I’ll call when I can get a little privacy, hint, hint,” I said, looking pointedly at all the people in my over-crowded RV.
❋
After Roger gave Jenks a status report, Jenks said he agreed that we had a good handle on the situation, and that contacting Nacho seemed the right thing to do. “I guess there is no reason now not to let him know about the SeaCurity System. I’ll talk to my techs and see if we can turn on the voice capability by remote. We removed both video and voice as a courtesy to our customers. They can activate it, but we’re not supposed to. Seems like the logical solution right now, though, so we’ll try to give it an override command and see what happens.”
Just a Happy Camper Page 15
