Chase Fulton Box Set

by Cap Daniels

  “Call your guy and have him deliver the oil and filters you need. I’d like for you to do it this morning if you can. I’ve worn out my welcome here. I have to find a new place to drop the hook.”

  “Oh, no! You can’t be leaving us. Everybody here loves you . . . especially me. Why do you gotta be runnin’ off?”

  “It’s work,” I said. “Some of us have a real job and can’t afford to live in the lap of luxury like you, Earl.”

  “Hey,” she said. “I’ve got it all. Smarts, sophistication, and good looks, baby.”

  “I know you do, Earl. I know you do.”

  Earl, whose real name was Earline, was barely five feet tall standing on a dock cleat, and she probably weighed close to two hundred pounds. Her gray hair was an inch long and stood straight up all over her head. She’d never win any beauty pageants, but she was a great diesel mechanic.

  Since Clark cooked, I cleaned up the breakfast dishes. I was finishing when Skipper and Tony showed up, looking like they needed a few more hours of quality sleep.

  “Good morning, guys. Have you eaten?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we ate at the Waffle House on the way here. Tony loves that place.”

  “Where’d you stay last night?” I asked her.

  “At Tony’s. Why?”

  “I thought you might have crashed at Kirsten and Chloe’s place. I hope they got some sleep.”

  “You’re thinking about Kirsten. You really like her, don’t you?”

  “No, I mean, yeah. I like her. I just. . . .”

  “It’s cool, Chase. She’s a cool girl. You should like her.”

  “I hate that I dragged her into that mess last night.”

  “Hey, that’s the life you live,” she said. “It comes with the territory. Believe me. I know.”

  Clark yelled from the bow. “Tony, give me a hand, will you?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there,” he said.

  I doubted Clark needed Tony’s help with anything, but I appreciated him giving me a chance to talk with Skipper alone.

  “You want some coffee?” I asked.

  “No, I had some already.”

  “I need to talk with you for a minute, okay? It’s pretty important.”

  “Sure.” She plopped down in a deck chair. “What is it?”

  “After what happened last night, I have to leave St. Augustine.”

  “Yeah, I figured that’s what this talk would be about.”

  “Clark and I are taking off in the boat for a while. We’re not sure where yet, but we can’t stay here. If I don’t move, it’ll be too easy for the guys who came after me last night to find me.”

  “Yeah, I can see that, and I understand.”

  “You’re welcome to come along if you want.”

  “You don’t want me hanging around, Chase.”

  “I told you after Miami that you were welcome on the boat as long as you wanted to stay. And that’s what I meant. This is your home for as long as you want it to be—no matter where we are.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “That really means a lot to me. I’ve tried not to be in the way and to do my share of the work, and I know you’ve been supporting me.”

  “Skipper,” I said, “you’ve done more than your share of the work.”

  She grimaced. “Do you think maybe you could start calling me Elizabeth?”

  “That’s going to be a tough one,” I said. “You’ve been Skipper to me for so many years.”

  “I know, but I’m not really a kid anymore, and I’d rather be Elizabeth.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “So, when are you leaving?”

  “Probably this afternoon.” I flicked my wrist, checking the time. “Earl’s changing the oil for me, and Clark’s going to help me sail the boat.”

  “Oh, wow. That soon?”

  “Yeah, we really can’t afford to wait.”

  She stared at her feet. “I’ve been thinking about going back to Athens.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. I miss Mom and Dad, and it’d be nice to see them. Maybe Tony can come visit for a day or two while I’m there. I’d really like for him to meet them.”

  “Your dad will scare the crap out of him.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think Tony’s afraid of anything. I really like him, Chase.”

  “I know you do, Ski . . . Elizabeth. He’s a great guy and he really seems to have his stuff together. I like him, too.”

  “Have you, uh, told him about what happened to you in South Florida?”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Yeah, we had that talk. It sucked, but I knew I had to tell him. I was scared he wouldn’t want me after that, but he’s okay with it. I mean, he’s not okay with it, but he doesn’t think I’m some skank or something. You know?”

  “That’s good. He needed to know. It says a lot about his character that he can get past that. And I think it’s good for you to have a man like that in your life. I think you two are good for each other.”

  She smiled. “I think so, too.”

  “Wait here a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  I left the upper deck and headed for my cabin. I made a couple of calls, pulled five thousand dollars out of the safe, and stuffed it into an envelope. I climbed back up on deck and sat beside Skipper . . . Elizabeth.

  I handed her the envelope. “I’ve made arrangements with a guy named Jack Shipley out at the airport. He has a Bonanza, and he’ll fly you to Athens whenever you’re ready to go. His number is written on the envelope.”

  She opened the flap on the envelope and peered inside. “Chase! You don’t have to do this. I can’t—”

  I closed the flap of the envelope she was holding and pushed her hands into her lap. “You’ll need some money. You have to eat and live. It’s not charity. You earned it. You’ve done a lot of work on the boat since you’ve been here, and I really appreciate it.”

  She hugged me. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I would have done without you . . . not just when you saved my life, but after that. You’ve really been good to me, and I’ll never forget it.”

  “You’ve been good for me, too.” I choked back a tear. “I’ve loved having you on the boat with me. We’ve both been through some pretty tough stuff. We needed each other.”

  “Yeah, we sure did.”

  Earl yelled from the cockpit. “Hey, stud muffin. Your oil change is done, and I changed the belt on the starboard engine. It didn’t really need changing, but I need more than twelve beers to get me through the heartache of you leaving, so I had to do something extra so I could charge you a little more.”

  “Of course you did, Earl. I’ll be right down.”

  I turned back to Skip. . . Elizabeth. “I’ve also made arrangements for you to stay at the B and B where Kirsten and Chloe were. Stay for as long as you want.”

  “Even with the money you gave me, I can’t afford to stay there,” she protested.

  “It’s taken care of,” I said. “They’ll charge it to me, so stay as long as you want.”

  “But Chase, that’s too much. It costs a fortune to stay in a place like that.”

  “It’s fine, Skipper. I made a little money on a previous assignment, and it’s invested well. Before I leave, I would like you to do one thing for me.”

  “Name it. You know I’ll do anything you want.”

  “I want you to call your folks and tell them what’s going on, and that you’ll be coming home to see them soon. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, I can do that. I’ll call them right now.”

  We hugged a long, meaningful hug—the kind you never want to end. I loved that girl.

  I bounded down the ladder into the cockpit. Earl was laid out on the settee like an old lazy dog. I did a little striptease for her and tossed her my shirt.

  “Ooh, baby! Take it all off for momma!”

  “You couldn’t handle it, momma.” I headed for the safe and the cooler.

&nbs
p; I returned with a handful of hundreds and a case of beer. I set the beer beside her and helped her to her feet. “Get up, old woman. I want a hug.”

  We hugged, and I slipped the hundreds into her palm. She glanced down at the bills and grabbed the back of my neck. She pulled me to her and planted a huge, sloppy, Earl-from-the-end kiss right on my lips.

  “You better not be lettin’ nobody else work on them motors. You hear me?”

  “I hear you, Earl. My engines and I wouldn’t dare cheat on you.”

  “I love you, kiddo. You be safe wherever you’re going and whatever you’re doing. By the way, I know you ain’t no writer or no consultant or none of that other shit you been tellin’ folks. You’re up to something, and I reckon it ain’t none of my business, but you be safe. I’m gonna miss you, you fine hunk-o-man.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too, Earl. Thanks for the oil change and the new belt . . . oh, and for the kiss, too.”

  “There’s plenty more where that one came from, stud muffin.”

  With that, Earl from the End waddled down the dock.

  10

  Deceptive Departure

  I settled up with the harbor master, told him we were headed for Puerto Rico, and thanked him for having me. He said I was welcome any time and wished me fair winds and following seas. I then headed off to see my friend Charlie the bridgetender. I took him a case of Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel and told him we were off to St. Croix. He thanked me excessively for the whiskey and said he’d tell any lie I wanted told . . . and then he winked.

  Skipper moved into the B and B temporarily, and Clark and I waited for nightfall to depart on the outgoing tide. I’d laid the groundwork of misdirection in case anyone came asking where we were headed, and we used the cover of darkness to make us a little harder to follow.

  Running away in a sailboat is the stuff of middle-aged, middle-management fantasy, but in reality, it was a terrible method of running. Sailboats, except for America’s Cup racing yachts, can’t outrun the speed of smell, let alone a pursuer, so I had to use every advantage I could manufacture.

  The wind was sixteen knots out of the southeast, and the seas were three feet. It would be a good first night northbound on the open ocean.

  I still hadn’t decided where we were going. Charleston was two hundred miles away, and we could easily make that in eighteen hours, so that would be our first stop.

  The sailing was easy, and the boat performed as she should. Clark had a little sailing experience on small boats, but other than the time he’d spent with me, he’d never handled a cruising catamaran.

  I explained, “The only differences you’ll see once we’re on the open ocean are the stability, speed, and apparent wind angle. She’ll sail almost dead flat with very little heeling. If the wind will sustain fifteen knots or better, we’ll make ten or eleven knots of boat speed. The only negative you’ll notice with a cat is that we can’t sail as close to the wind as a monohull. Forty-five degrees of apparent wind angle is the best we can do with just the genoa up. We might squeeze forty degrees if we put up the main, but that shouldn’t matter on this trip. We’ll be sailing downwind most of the way if the weather holds . . . which it rarely does.”

  “So, essentially, we’re babysitting the autopilot and watching for other traffic?”

  “Essentially,” I said, “but if the radar detects that another boat will come within a half mile of us, you’ll hear an alarm.”

  “Well, that’s handy.” He seemed impressed.

  “It’s not foolproof, though. The radar doesn’t see small sailboats very well unless they have a reflector up, so we’ll still have to keep our eyes open, and we can’t sleep at the same time.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll take the first watch. You look like you could use some sleep,” he said.

  “Okay, we’ll do four-hour watches. It’s almost nine now, so wake me up around twelve, and I’ll take the midnight-to-four watch.”

  He nodded his agreement, and I headed for my bunk. I had faith that Clark could keep us from hitting anything for three hours. I hadn’t known him long, but something about him gave me the confidence to trust him with my life.

  * * *

  The rising sun streaming through my porthole woke me, and a moment of terror struck. Why didn’t Clark wake me up at midnight? Did he fall overboard?

  I leapt from my bunk and ran up the stairs and into the cockpit. Clark was nowhere to be found. I bounded up the ladder to the upper deck and found him leaning against the mainsheet with a pair of binoculars pressed tightly to his face. He was wearing a lifejacket and scanning the horizon.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up for my watch?”

  “Hey! Good morning, Captain. You’ve had a rough time the past couple of days. I figured you could use the rest. Besides, I’m a Green Beret. I can live on twigs and mud, and I only need a dozen hours of sleep a week. You’re still soft, so I thought I’d let you sleep.”

  I silently thanked whatever god hears the prayers of an assassin for a friend like Clark. I started down the ladder. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “None for me! Some slave-driving captain made me stand watch all night. I need some rest.”

  “I thought you Green Berets only need a dozen hours a week?”

  “Yeah, well, I take mine when I can get ’em.”

  “Thanks, Clark. I owe you one.”

  “Ha! You owe me more than one.”

  I did a walk-around to check the rigging, making sure none of the big parts had fallen off overnight. Everything appeared to be in shipshape. I scanned the horizon for other vessels, and finding none, I headed for the galley.

  I scrambled some eggs and made coffee. Food always tastes better at sea. I thought back to the day in the stands at the Foley Field stadium where I’d played baseball at the University of Georgia. Anya had experienced her first chili dog and her first foul ball simultaneously. The ball had been stopped in the backstop netting fifty feet in front of us, and the chili dog had been stopped primarily by Anya’s shirt and shorts as she reacted to the rapidly approaching foul ball.

  The memory made me smile. In the end, almost everything about her may have been an absolute lie, but there were moments she and I shared that I would never forget. I would miss those moments, but they would never outweigh the pain and outrage associated with her operation to infiltrate not only my life, but the life of Dr. Richter. She played on every emotional trigger she could find to squirm her way into American covert operations, and then reported every detail back to Colonel Victor Tornovich.

  I sat on the upper deck in the bright morning sun, eating my eggs and drinking coffee from the same cup I used every morning aboard the boat. Anya had warned me about the dangers of being predictable, but I didn’t think drinking from my favorite coffee cup would lead to an international incident.

  Overnight, the wind had fallen to twelve knots, but the sun was quickly warming the morning air and freshening the breeze. It had built to a steady eighteen knots. I checked our position to find we had less than seventy miles to the sea buoy at the entrance channel to Charleston Harbor.

  We’d be sailing past Fort Sumter where the shot heard round the world was fired on April 12, 1861, beginning the American Civil War. General P.G.T. Beauregard had started that fight when he ordered his fifty-gun shore battery to open fire on the Yankee-held Fort in Charleston Harbor. During the following day and a half, General Beauregard’s guns lobbed some four thousand rounds at the Fort until finally, Major Robert Anderson surrendered Fort Sumter to the Confederates. Less than forty-eight hours after Anderson’s surrender, President Lincoln issued his proclamation, calling for seventy-five thousand volunteers to quell the Southern insurrection. What followed would be the bloodiest war ever fought by the United States. Being a Southerner myself, I doubted if Lincoln or anyone else would ever be able to fully quell our insurrection.

  It occurred to me that blood wasn’t the only evidence of war, bodies weren’t its only product, and bullets weren’t
its only weapon. Anya had been a weapon fired at my country, right through Dr. Richter and me. Although she’d been stopped before she could cause irreparable harm to American intelligence. Her victims suffered wounds that would never fully heal, and she left scars that would influence the remainder of my life, and forever change how I perceived the world.

  Offshore cruising is an exercise in boredom. On a well-rigged vessel like Aegis II, there isn’t much to do at sea other than occasionally scan the horizon for other boats, and hope to spot a pod of playful dolphins or whales. There were no whales to be seen, but too many dolphins to count escorted us northward under the brilliantly blue Atlantic sky.

  I polished some stainless steel and serviced a few pieces of equipment on deck that needed attention, but all in all, it was a perfect sail aboard a magnificent boat.

  Life at sea makes it easy to forget that troubles ashore exist, but my troubles weren’t those of the typical sailor. I had a team of Russians under the command of an SVR colonel chasing me, kidnapping me, and interrogating me. That sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen in America. That’s cloak-and-dagger Cold War activity—not the stuff of modern intelligence operations. They’d found me on Jekyll Island and followed me to St. Augustine, but I believed I’d been able to escape the Matanzas River without being followed by anyone, especially the Russians. Time would tell, but I was somewhat confident for the moment.

  Having run out of things to polish, lube, or otherwise work on, I stood on top of the main boom some fifteen feet above the water, staring at the far horizon as the sun reached its zenith in the summer sky. Sailing with the wind on the stern of a sailboat is the hottest point of sail. The boat speed diminishes the apparent wind felt on deck so that there’s very little breeze onboard. I was hot and sweaty, and probably didn’t smell very good. I didn’t shower at sea very often, choosing instead to conserve the fresh water in case some unforeseen incident left us needing the water for survival. It was an unrealistic precaution since we’d never be outside of hailing distance of the Coast Guard, but good habits at sea pay off in the long run.