Just a Happy Camper

by Jinx Schwartz

  My phone rang and I saw it was Jenks.

  Hoo-boy.

  “Hi,” I chirped.

  “I just talked to Roger. I’m glad Antoine is not badly injured, but I think you should get out of there with the entire group on board.

  “And let the narcos get away with weaponized anthrax?”

  “Yes. I have contacts who will handle that problem.”

  “Does Nacho agree with you?”

  “He at least wants to stick around for the handoff. I strongly disagree.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll leave.”

  Jenks’s disbelief virtually sang through the ether.

  “Jenks, I’m tired, my son who I just found was almost killed, and for now my boat is in one piece. Unless Nacho can come up with a way to safely do in the narcs and their cargo, I’m done. I am not up for anymore dustups. I’ve already run the numbers, and we can make it to Bahia de los Angeles for fuel.”

  “Okay, who is this, and what have you done with my Hetta?”

  That made me laugh. “She’s actually growing up?”

  ❋

  Nacho was not exactly pleased with my decision to run for Bahia de los Angeles, but he had to admit I was wise to get out of Dodge and take everyone with me.

  Roger also thought I should leave, but he and Craig refused to join us, and said they would take Antoine’s rental car back to Yuma.

  Craig ferried Jean Luc, Trouble, and a joyous Po Thang out to Raymond Johnson in the big expedition panga and picked up Jan, and Nacho, who refused to vacate the area until he’d gathered enough information to later locate the sub.

  Becky flat rejected any idea of giving up her search for Jeff, and decided to stay in my RV until I returned for it. Jan invited Nacho to bunk at the kayak camp until they left, as Chino had decided to delay a day to let the weather settle before leading his flock south.

  I was so tired my emotions were out of control, and I tearfully said goodbye to Craig, Jan, and Nacho before raising anchor.

  Jean Luc and Antoine made a last minute decision to go to the beach and join the kayak expedition.

  Jackie B, afraid she was going to miss something, would also go only as far as Bahia de los Angeles, then hire a panga so she could rejoin the kayak expedition herself.

  Turning the boat south, I had just brought her up to eight knots when Craig, Nacho, and Jan caught up with us in the panga. I went to neutral and Nacho jumped on board while Craig tied up.

  “The sub is just offshore,” Nacho said breathlessly. “The arms are being pulled out on a cable.”

  “In broad daylight?”

  “Can’t see them from shore, they’re twenty feet under. We spotted them when we went right over them. Needless to say, we didn’t stop.”

  “And you are telling me this, why?”

  “I have an idea,” Nacho said, and told us what it was. Then he added, “Jenks will kill me, but we can do this, Hetta.”

  His plan made sense and seemed safe enough.

  “Okay, I’ll bow to a show of hands.”

  Po Thang raised a paw, followed by everyone else.

  “Jenks is going to murder all of us,” I said. “Okay, all ashore who’s goin’ ashore. We gotta get underway.”

  “Ack! All ashore. All ashore. Oberto!”

  “Nacho, can I borrow that AK-47 of yours for a minute? There’s a nuisance in the cabin.”

  ❋

  After Nacho and Jan returned to camp with Craig, the rest of us secured for sea while waiting for Roger to deploy Hippo.

  The drone stayed with the sub as long as it could, feeding us real time video as it did so. They were doing about eight knots and throwing a visible wake, so we stayed well ahead of them.

  Just before Roger had to recall his drone, we saw the sub send up what looked like an air pipe. Antoine got on my computer to investigate narco subs that had been captured by the US Coast Guard and the Mexican navy.

  “I don’t think they have an air supply,” Nacho said, looking over Antoine’s shoulder and pointing to similar pipes extending from captured models. “That’s why they kept surfacing. It means it’s homemade, as I suspected.

  “So how are they moving at eight knots?”

  “My guess is they’ve jerry-rigged an outboard.”

  “Which means they have a fuel tank?” I asked.

  “They must. However, I think this sub is a one-trip vessel, poorly designed and welded together from scrap metal. It is only about twenty-five-feet long, and much of that is taken up by the storage bin Antoine described. I feel they will head for an island or remote beach and wait for a mother ship.”

  “I guess chemical weapons don’t weigh much?” Jackie B asked.

  “No. That trailer the narcos hauled in wasn’t large, and most of the weight was the casings. I think this submarine was built for this load only, and is not capable of going far, or very fast.”

  “Which is why you think they wanted my boat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has it occurred to any of you that the sub is following us?” I said, only half joking. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  “Turn sharp to port and we’ll soon know.”

  Sure enough, after a few minutes we spotted that pipe dogging us.

  I looked at the depth sounder. “Only five hundred feet here. How far are we from much deeper water?”

  Nacho checked a chart. “The northern sea is relatively shallower than the southern, but there is thousand-meter water not all that far south.”

  “That’ll do. Give me the coordinates.”

  I set a course, and put on a few turns to see if the sub fell behind. They did.

  “So now we know,” I said, pushing the throttles to make twelve knots.

  Antoine, who seemed to sop up information like a sponge asked, “But did you not say we were low on fuel?”

  “Yes, but we have more on board in jerrycans. We’ll make it somewhere, and besides, we’re going to stop soon, non?”

  He smiled. I think he liked this devious side of his birth mother.

  My depth sounder was only good to six-hundred feet, so we had to rely on the charts for the thousand meter spot. Two hours later we reached the waypoint and stopped.

  With almost no wind or seas, we drifted while charting what we thought was the sub’s progress. I wanted this mission accomplished before dark, so we were all hands on deck, watching for that air pipe, and once we saw it, I yelled, “It’s come to Hetta time. Here, little subbie. Let’s deal with this SOB right now.”

  When I said “Here,” Po Thang rushed to my side, thinking a treat was in the offing. This broke some of the tension as I turned Raymond Johnson around, put on some turns and headed straight for the sub. With the setting sun in their eyes, by the time they spotted us coming at them it would be too late.

  They must have heard us because when we were only a few hundred feet away, they surfaced, a hatch opened on top of the sub, and a man popped up.

  Jackie B had her binoculars trained on the sub and yelled, “Hetta, that’s Jeff! And, if I’m not mistaken, he’s got that M-16 aimed at us!”

  The sub tried without success to turn away from us, but we were barreling down on them at a good fifteen knots. No contest.

  “Everyone take cover!” I yelled, as Nacho joined me on the flying bridge. “Nacho’s going to play Whack-a-mole!”

  Jeff got a couple of ineffective shots off before Nacho sprayed the sub with machine gun fire from his fully automatic AK-47, sending Jeff back into the sub and pulling the hatch closed behind him.

  We all broke into cheers, and Jean Luc and Antoine rushed to the bow, where my big anchor and all three-hundred-and-fifty feet of chain lay.

  “Everyone hang onto something!” I yelled. “They may try to dive.”

  I cranked Raymond Johnson over hard to starboard, and cut back the throttles at the last minute, allowing Jean Luc and Antoine to throw the anchor across the sub. Then I hit the throttles and chain played out at an alarming rate, s
cuffing my decks and teak rails as it did so. When we hit the bitter end, I was almost jerked from my feet.

  Poor Raymond Johnson groaned and shuddered under the strain, then forged ahead.

  Fish on!

  “Okay, you pieces of crap,’ I mumbled to myself, “enjoy your last ride.”

  Only a few hundred yards later, the sub turned turtle and stayed that way. The prop whirled uselessly for a few minutes, then stopped.

  I moved the boat away and Antoine released the bitter end of my chain. When we were at a safe distance Nacho unleashed his AK-47 on the sub again, this time concentrating on the area where the prop exited.

  We were beginning to worry that our plan was failing, when there was a puff of smoke, and a FAHWHOMP! as the internal fuel tank exploded, and the prop went airborne, leaving a gaping hole in the bottom of the hull.

  The poorly built submarine took on water immediately and rapidly sank from view

  “Let’s get out of here, just in case that anthrax container fails,” I said.

  “I do not think it will, nor will it float,” Nacho said, “It is most likely headed down two thousand feet, where it will rest until we can safely retrieve the canisters.”

  “Good. I sure as hell hope we don’t have to do any serious anchoring anywhere cuz my spare anchor and nylon rode suck, but are fine in calm weather. And Nacho, you owe me a new anchor and chain, which you can have delivered to the dock in Santa Rosalia.”

  “It was worth it.”

  “So you say. Okay, let’s go back to Gonzaga, then San Felipe where you can get fuel, Nacho.”

  “You will trust me to take your yacht back to La Paz?”

  “Oh, why not? Besides I gotta go back to work in Texas.”

  “What will we tell Becky about Jeff?”

  “Nothing. When they retrieve the sub, it will be reported that Jeff’s body was found somewhere. It’ll leave Jeff a hero in her eyes.”

  “Okay, then, what will you tell Jenks?”

  “I’m leaving that up to you Nacho. I’m too damned tired for a scolding. Do you guys think you can get this tub back to Gonzaga without getting us blown up? I need some sleep. Wake me up when we’re off Gonzaga Bay, por favor.”

  I went to my cabin, leaving Trouble in the main salon.

  Pouring a small shot of Captain Morgan, I pulled back the covers, then sat on the bed and sipped the elixir of the Gods. Po Thang watched until I lay down, then he circled and cuddled up to me.

  I slept soundly until roused by my slowing engines.

  Turning on my phone, I saw Jenks had called twice.

  Sighing, I pressed the callback key and when I heard his voice, I said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “What for? Great work. I’m proud of you.”

  “But you said I should head for La Paz.”

  “Well, yes, but when you said you might be growing up it scared the hell out of me. Just stay as you are, okay? See you in Texas soon. Love you.”

  “Love you back.”

  I hung up to go and assess the damage to my boat.

  Nacho was in for one hell of a bill.

  Smiling, I wondered if somehow I could also charge the Trob, as well.

  Nothing makes me happier than double dipping.

  And me? Mature?

  Sure, when porkers take wing.

  I tried maturity once, and it was the worst two hours of my life!

  Epilogue

  “Jenks, I still feel I owe you an apology.”

  He put his arm around me and gave me a hug. “What for? If you’d done what you did in any country except for Mexico you’d get a medal.”

  Jenks and I sat on Daddy’s dock, soaking our toes and watching the sunset. The remodelers had my parents’ house’s interior torn asunder, so we’d parked the RV in the driveway.

  Po Thang hovered nearby, on the lookout for snapping turtles and water moccasins.

  Trouble perched on Jenks’s shoulder, mumbling, and watching for seagulls. He’d evidently gotten confused by spotting a flock of white pelicans that call Lake Buchanan home. If there were pelicans, then his nemesis, the dreaded seagull, must lurk.

  An eagle landed nearby, catching both my critters’ attention.

  Po Thang barked indignantly at the huge bird that invaded one of his trees. Trouble scrambled down inside Jenks’s jacket collar and peeked out from that safe haven.

  I’d been back in Texas for a couple of weeks when Jenks arrived, and I was once again working with the hydrologists. No one bothered us once they were convinced that our study was not meant to steal their land and views.

  Jenks arrived just in time to attend Jeff’s celebration of life Becky held at her cabin.

  I sighed. “I feel really bad for poor Becky. Kinda hard to celebrate someone’s life you never really knew. No known family, or history. Hell, she doesn’t even know if Jeff was his real name.”

  Jenks nodded. “I was surprised Nacho showed up. After all, Jeff was no Boy Scout, but I do wonder if he was somehow convinced by Nueva America that they would use the anthrax as just a threat to put the pressure on Mexico City. You know, make the politicians do something besides yak, steal, and take money from the cartels.”

  “Could be. I don’t care. Jeff tried to kill Antoine, and for that alone, I’m glad I had a hand in sending him straight to hell.”

  “Is that a mama bear instinct I’m picking up on?”

  I laughed. “Whodda thunk it?”

  “Antoine’s a fine young man. Attending a memorial for a guy who tried to drown you is very honorable.”

  “He did it for Becky. We’re all trying to be supportive. She is, as you saw, a wreck. ”

  “Still, it was a nice gesture on the part of Antoine and Nacho. Are you ever going to tell Becky what really happened?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it. Do you think those Nueva America guys will try a stunt like this again?”

  Jenks nodded. “Oh, yes. Maybe in a different way, but they have both money and determination.”

  Nueva America’s plot was so diabolical no one would believe it had not Jenks’s contacts (whoever they are) found, in a watertight compartment on the sub, a document laying out the proposed attack. Within a single twelve-hour timeframe, twenty-four four-pound anthrax bombs were to be dropped on Mexico City, virtually wiping out eighty percent of the city’s population and the center of government, at the same time. Thirty-two more were destined for all the state capitols, and ten of the largest cities, but none within sixty miles of the United States border.

  Nacho figured the plotters were sparing the border area to curry favor with the United States, and he also surmised they had a similar, devastating plan for border cities like Tijuana, Nueva Laredo, and Juarez. Something not airborne, but just as deadly.

  “Jenks, who are these guys? I can understand someone trying to wipe out Mexico’s drug cartels, but killing off a large percentage of the entire population of Mexico? What then?”

  “Nacho figured out only twenty percent of people within Mexico would survive, leaving a little fewer than thirty-million survivors. He also found out that there is a sudden and mysterious lack of anthrax vaccine available world-wide, so we’re guessing Nueva America is handpicking their own government by virtue of vaccinating the chosen. For now, the immediate threat has passed, but you can bet your bottom peso they’re working on another. These Nuevo Americanos make the drug cartels look like a bunch of choir boys. ”

  I had a thought, not a good one. “La Paz! It’s the capitol of Baja California Sur!”

  “Yes, it is,” Jenks said. “And, of course, no one there will know anything about their narrow escape.”

  “But I do. Where can I get vaccinated before I go back and get my boat out of the yard?”

  “Gosh, let me think. Do you happen to know a veterinarian?” Jenks teased.

  “Craig and Chino!”

  “Yep. Being arranged. Quietly. If word of this failed plot gets out, not only the vaccine, but antibiotics like Cipro, which can t
reat Anthrax if caught immediately, will be as scarce as hen’s teeth.”

  “In that case, I’m gonna stockpile,” I declared.

  “I rest my case.”

  The End

  From the Author

  I want to thank every one of you who take the time to read my books. You are the reason I keep writing, and I wish I could meet y’all in person. Now that I’m RVing full time, that could happen!!!

  If you have enjoyed this book, please tell your friends about Hetta, or post a short review on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub, or any old where. Word of mouth is an author's best friend and is much appreciated.

  On Facebook? Friend me at Facebook at Facebook.

  BookBub also alerts my readers when I have a book featured with them, or a new release. You can follow my author page to be notified: BookBub Author Page.

  I have great editors, but boo-boos do manage to creep into my books, no matter how many talented people look at it before publication. If you find an error, it’s all on me. And, should you come upon one of these critters, please let me know and I shall smite it with my mighty keyboard! Thanks! You can e-mail me at jinxschwartz@yahoo.com

  Also, we have to thank Kepler Biard: Champion, Canine Good Citizen, and Therapy Dog. He’s a fun-loving boy with a wonderful smile who hangs out with his friends, and likes sailing, paddle boarding, and hiking. He cheers up patients in hospitals and during the school year enjoys listening to classroom kids read to him. He also was kind enough to suffer the indignity of wearing a straw hat for this book’s cover shoot.

  For the fab cover art, I have Karen Phillips to thank, once again.

  And Uvi Poznansky for formatting, something I seem incapable of mastering.

  Acknowledgements

  Holly Whitman has been the editor of every one of my books, and she keeps me out of the ditch when I write myself into one. The last eyes on the book before I hit the "publish" button, are Donna Rich's. Thanks Holly and Donna

  AND, I have some amazing beta readers! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate these sharp-eyed readers for catching boo-boos I overlooked. And here they are, in no particular order: Cori Smelker, Wayne Burnop, Lela Cargill, Jeff Bockman, Jenni Cornell, George Burke, Carmen Respold, KarenHayes, and Barbara Weaver.