Precious Cargo

I let go of Longhorn’s hull. The current shot me back along the tunnel between the boats, like a bullet from a rifle barrel. When I exited the tunnel, I plunged a paddle blade in the water and held on. I didn’t have time for a stroke. Fast water pushed against the blade, forcing the kayak to carve a turn around the stern of White Rhino. Finally, I gripped the paddle tightly and dug water, heading into the shadows of a nearby fairway.

Out of sight of Longhorn’s skiff, I held onto the edge of a dock. I gave myself time to catch my breath and allow my heart rate to drop. Then I pushed off and wove my way through the maze of boats and docks. The full moon glowed overhead. The ebb tide had returned. It flushed me from the marina, past the breakwater and toward Ediz Hook.

Back on the Noble Lady, I lay on my bed in the dark, hands clasped behind my head, looking up. Framed by the skylight overhead, stars moved slowly across the sky, first one way, then the other, in time with the gentle rolling of the boat.

I could go to the local police and ask them to search Longhorn. “I tapped on the hull of a boat . . . a few taps came back . . . you need to search it, then arrest the owner for transportation of illegal immigrants.” Somehow I didn’t think that would go over too well. If I were local law enforcement, I’d sooner arrest the person who came to me with such a preposterous story.

I could call ahead and have someone intercept the boat. Maybe my buddy, San Juan County Sheriff Ed Sykes. I could hear Ed. “I need a little more to go on than you ‘think’ a crime’s been committed. I need some solid evidence.”

Solid evidence meant more than a few taps from the inside of Longhorn. It made sense for me to stay in Port Angeles, keep an eye on Longhorn, then head out behind her when she left.

A SHAFT OF BRIGHT LIGHT filtering through one of the stateroom portholes awoke me with a start. I pulled myself up and peered out the porthole. A heavy fog had rolled into the harbor. I looked toward Longhorn. I blinked my eyes several times and looked her way again. Then I bolted out of bed.

I jumped into my clothes and raced upstairs, shoeless, into the pilothouse. I cranked the Noble Lady’s engine over, then I hurried downstairs. While the engine warmed, I slipped on my tennis shoes, tucked my shirttail into my pants, and put on a fleece jacket. Longhorn’s radar arm rotated, a sure sign of her impending departure.

I went back up into the pilothouse and turned on the GPS, radar, and VHF. Then I grabbed my binoculars and watched Longhorn. No mooring lines attached her to White Rhino. Exhaust spewed from her aft. Water gurgled near her bow. She slid slowly sideward, away from the dock. Her big engines groaned. She spun around like a giant pointer on a board game and slipped into the fog, headed toward the breakwater.

I scurried down the pilothouse steps and made my way through the galley onto the rear deck. I stepped off the Noble Lady onto the Queen. I’d bent down to unravel my stern line from a cleat on the Queen’s deck when a heavy, rough hand clamped down on my shoulder. My body shuddered.

I spun around to face Calvin, the beer-bellied fisherman holding onto me. Behind him, his other shipmate stood, glaring. I slapped Calvin’s hand away.

I reached down for the mooring line. Calvin jammed his fleshy palm into my shoulder. I stumbled away from the cleat.

“Like hell you are,” Calvin said. “Some of our gear is missing. Brady and me think maybe we oughta take a look on your boat for it.”

“Like hell you are.” I mimicked the vague hint of a southern accent in Calvin’s voice. “No one comes aboard the Noble Lady uninvited.”

At the edge of my vision, Brady’s tall, slender body disappeared to my right and behind me. These guys hankered for a fight. Why? I spun around. I backed against the gunwale of the Queen. Calvin launched a right hand toward me, dumping the heft of his body into the punch. I sidestepped him and threw my elbow into his upper back, sending him sprawling into the Queen’s gunwale.

No sooner had Calvin flown by than Brady came at me. Not in a heated rush, but coolly, like a man who’d fought before. He moved from side to side eyeing me, sizing me up. I dropped into a crouch and held my hands up in loose fists, moving away from the gunwale so I could keep both men in view.

Brady threw a few jabs my way. Nothing serious. I got the feeling he’d done so only to measure his reach. His long arms did give him an advantage. Meanwhile, Calvin had pulled himself off the gunwale. His footsteps rang heavily on the aluminum deck. He wandered out of sight, which left me facing Brady.

Brady feigned with his right, then swung a fast left hook. I whipped my right arm up and blocked it, but he came at me quickly with a right jab. I dipped my head, but his fist caught the side of my face. My cheek stung. My ear rang from the blow. He smiled as though proud of himself. Sometimes it takes getting hit to get into a fight, particularly one you’d rather walk away from.

Brady tried a right-hand feign again. When his left arm shot out, I dropped even lower, swung to one side, and kicked hard and fast. My heel caught him at the top of his thigh, close to his groin. He winced. His leg began to buckle. I stood up quickly. He threw a feeble left. I grabbed his wrist and let his body follow through with the motion of his punch. A short upward jab with my palm under his armpit and a downward tug of his arm sent him flying toward the back of the Queen. He hit the metal deck with a thud. I turned around, looking for Calvin.

I fought to loosen myself, but each movement only further ensnared me in the net. Calvin came at me with a volley of punches. I dropped to my knees, covering my body as best I could. Calvin sent his boot into my side several times. I winced with each blow. Hot flashes of pain coursed through me.

Calvin sent another boot my way. It caught me in my lower rib cage. I went face down onto the deck. Calvin pounced on me. The rounded flesh of his belly pressed me further into the deck. He pummeled my back with his fists, and a fiery pain shot through my body. I walked my fingers along the metal deck, searching for the edge of the netting.

My fingers found the doubled-over edge of the net, and I worked my hand free. I rolled over onto my side and curled into a fetal position. Calvin swung his leg to kick me again, but this time I swung my hand with the edge of the net up and caught his ankle just as his boot plowed into my body. I grimaced, but I held on. I yanked with all my strength, pulling his leg out from under him. He plummeted to the deck and fell in a seated position with a clunk. He yelped in pain.

I kneeled on the deck, trying to step out of the net. Brady pushed off the gurdy and dived at me. He drove me down to the deck again, onto my back. I still had a portion of the net in my hand. I wrapped it around his head and his neck. I pulled hard. He raised his hands to get it off, and the moment he did I rolled him over onto his back. I slammed my forearm into his throat. He coughed, wheezing and choking as he struggled for a breath.

I wriggled out of the net. My body ached from top to bottom. I stood bent over, breathing hard. Blood oozed from a gash in my forehead where Calvin had kicked me. I looked down. Brady writhed on the deck, with half of his body caught in the net. Calvin sat, red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks. Chances are he’d broken his tailbone with a fall like that. I thought about landing a kick in the middle of his fat gut. Instead, I jumped behind him and caught his neck in a chokehold.