by Donal Myrick
Prior to his arrival, Glen had made arrangements to have the boat provisioned for his guests. This included food, drink, and diesel for an extended trip. With a full load of fuel, the boat had a range of over twenty-eight hundred miles. They would be able to complete their mission, make one fuel stop, and leisurely cruise to the port of Mobile, Alabama.
The next morning, Max and Peggy enjoyed one last sumptuous breakfast at the BNB.
Max confessed, “These last few days have been most pleasant. Unfortunately, it is time for us to get back to work.”
“Indeed, it has. I could get used to this kind of life,” lamented Peggy. “You don’t suppose Glen, and crew could run this next operation without us, do you?”
“Actually, I am sure they could, but we would never live it down if we opted out now. What I mean is that they would never let us live it down,” Max corrected himself. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.”
“I suppose you are right, but still, this has been fun. Do you think we have fooled our nemesis into thinking we are just partying now and have nothing for them to see?”
“I would like to think so, but I have this creepy feeling that eyes are watching us at this very moment.”
“Maybe we need to party harder and be more convincing.”
Max laughed, “I think you are absolutely right. We need to try harder, and with sufficient practice, we could get good at this!”
“We must use more alcohol in order to be more convincing.”
“Good Lord, that could be disastrous. You know my limit is two beers at a time.”
“Yes, I have noticed how you manage to nurse one beer all night while your buddies down a quart or two. I’ll bet that even I could out drink you.”
“Now, you are just being mean.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bruise your ego.”
“Apology accepted, just don’t use that knowledge to take unfair advantage of me.”
Peggy smiled and said, “I would never think of doing that.”
Max used cash to settle up their BNB bill and hired a ride over to the marina where Glen was waiting.
“I was expecting you all sooner. Did you get lost?”
“No,” Peggy answered, “We just had a slow breakfast.”
“Well, welcome aboard. Let me show you around.”
“Wow,” Peggy exclaimed, “This is some yacht! What kind of drugs does your dad peddle to afford this?”
Taking feigned offense, Glen retorted, “He doesn’t sell drugs, he used to manage several large investment funds, but he is retired now. This yacht and his fishing friends are his life now. This boat has five staterooms, including the master stateroom, and Peggy, since you are the only lady on this cruise; you get the master stateroom.”
“Oh, wow, I don’t know what to do with all this space.”
“Don’t get used to it; I am afraid we won’t be doing a lot of sleeping for a while.”
Max asked, “When do you expect Scott and crew to get here?”
“Hopefully, they will get here sometime late this evening. They should arrive in San José around six, and then it will probably take them another four to five hours to motor over to here.”
“Is there anything that we need to be doing in the meanwhile?”
“Just wait for Scott to check-in. I have a list of stuff we need to buy locally that wasn’t part of the provisioning for the boat. After Scott checks in, we get to go shopping.”
“Oh goody,” said Peggy laughing, “I love shopping. It’s what girls do best.”
“I don’t think that is the kind of shopping Glen has in mind,” quipped Max, “But what do I know?”
Just then, Glen’s phone buzzed. It was Scott. Glen answered, and Scott said, “It looks like we will be arriving in San José on schedule. We should be in Limón around eleven this evening.”
“Roger that,” Glen said. “Max and Peggy are here and ready to go. We are just waiting on you all.”
“Okay, we will see you this evening.”
CHAPTER 51
Offshore Airdrop
Once everyone was on board, Glen said, “Look around and get familiar with the boat. Pick a place to sack out, other than the master suite; Peggy already has claims on that one. I have made sure that all of our paperwork is in perfect order, because, when we get to Mobile, we will be boarded by the Coast Guard. They are sticklers on the paperwork and insist that it be perfect. Otherwise, you can expect a white-glove inspection. Once we cast off, it will take us about thirty hours to get to our rendezvous area.”
“Carlos and Geraldo are awaiting our call,” Scott said. “We will update them with the rendezvous time and coordinates. After that, things should get very interesting.”
Sam asked, “Glen, are the boat’s wiring schematics on board?”
“Of course, and that is one of the things you will have to update when you integrate the RMD. Handwritten notes are acceptable.”
“Any last-minute thoughts?” Max asked.
Glen suggested, “Since there are six of us, let’s run two shifts of three. We can overlap in time by as much as six to eight hours since we are all used to eighteen to twenty-hour days. I’ll take shift one with Scott and Sam, and Max, you take shift two with Peggy and Jim. I figure we will stay at sea for however long it takes us to get the RMD integrated into the boat. I have planned for one refueling, but if we need more time, that won’t be a problem. So, let’s get underway.”
The next thirty hours were spent sailing northeast from Costa Rica to an open area in the Caribbean Sea approximately two hundred miles directly north of Caracas, Venezuela.
Glen and Max were in the helm together. Glen had been watching the weather and commented, “It looks like we are going to luck out on the weather. For the next couple of days, we can expect light winds, and a low overcast, but probably little or no rain. If someone is watching us, they are going to have a difficult time with the cloud cover.”
Max replied, “Perfect. There is no reason why we should make it easy for them. I’ll bet they are pissed that their satellites are useless.”
“You called Geraldo a little while ago, didn’t you?”
“Yes, they are loading the plane as we speak. When they get airborne, they will give us a call with their ETA. It’s raining down there now, so they have some weather to deal with. Carlos indicated that it wasn’t going to be a problem.”
“It will take them about two and a half hours in the air to get here.”
“Yes, that’s about right, maybe a little more. I think the 208B cruises at around one hundred seventy to one-eighty knots, so depending on the wind, and whether or not they choose to put a couple do dog legs in their flight path.”
“You said Carlos said the weather wouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“That’s what he said. They can fly above most of this weather, then drop down below when they get near.”
Sam poked his head in and said, “Carlos said that they were airborne. Their ETA was three hours. By the way, Geraldo said that he would be joining us. He wanted to make sure we didn’t leave without him.”
Max noted, “I guess he decided to come after all. When I spoke with him last, he was still undecided.”
“I hope he is bringing his passport,” Glen remarked. “That would be a problem if he forgot it. You better check with him to make sure before he jumps.”
“I’m sure he is prepared, but I’ll check just to make sure.”
Max said, “I guess it is time for Jim and me to get our swimsuits on and get the jet skis ready to launch. It is just about showtime.”
The next couple of hours passed quickly as preparations were made ready to retrieve the airdropped packages.
Geraldo called in on the satellite phone, “We ducked under the cloud cover a little sooner than we had planned. There is a military aircraft covering us up high. So we are coming in low just so he has radar only eyes on us; no visual. Be there shortly, so be ready.”
Ten min
utes later, Carlos said, “I have you in view. Packages will be dropping on your port side.”
“Geraldo said, “Package one away.” Thirty seconds later, “Package two away.”
Carlos said, “Circling around for the second pass.”
Max and Jim were speeding away from the yacht on the jet skis towards the anticipated splash down spots. The parachutes drifted down slowly and were carried by the light breeze. Each chute carried two packages because they were rated for much heavier loads than either of the packages alone. Jim chased one chute, and Max chased the other. Both were right on top of their quarry as soon as it splashed down. They quickly cut the chutes loose and latched onto the floating packages and towed them back to the yacht.
Carlos was coming around for his second drop run when Glen asked him to go around again, giving them more time to deal with the first two drops. Jim and Max pulled up to the stern of the yacht, and Sam and Scott secured the tethers so Jim and Max could go chase the remaining package drop.
As Max and Jim sped off, Scott and Sam struggled as they tried to pull the bulky packages on board. That task proved to be more difficult than they had anticipated, and after a few futile tries, they opted to wait until they had more muscle to help with the task.
As Carlos approached for the third time, the last package came out the side of the plane, its chute opened, and it began to float slowly down. Once the last package was away, Geraldo bailed, opened his chute, and expertly guided his chute to the rear deck of the yacht and made a picture-perfect landing. Peggy was there to watch and remarked, “Show off!” Meanwhile, Jim and Max latched onto the last package and towed it to safety. With adequate muscle at hand, the packages were quickly manhandled aboard and safely stowed. Two chutes were retained along with the netting and floatation for two packages, and the rest of the chutes and materials were deep-sixed, never to be seen again. The Cessna 208B returned to Caracas, and aboard the yacht, a short party celebrating a perfect mission was held.
“Now the real work begins,” remarked Max. “We have a lot of work to do and only a short time to get it done.”
CHAPTER 52
Dash for Home
Later that afternoon, Scott received an encrypted message from Connie. The message read:
Our familiar courier dropped off another message for you.
Mr. Mueller,
Kuznetsov has reasons to believe that you have found and have in your possession evidence of the nature we have previously discussed. He has directed a fast attack submarine, which is currently operating in the Atlantic, about four hundred miles northeast of Jacksonville, Florida, to intercept and board your boat before you reach U.S. territorial waters. I estimate that by the time you receive this message, they will be less than forty-eight hours away. Do not let them apprehend you with any evidence. The rocks you are carrying are not considered a threat. I recommend you immediately do whatever is necessary to secure your safety.
Regards,
Sergei Vassilov
Max pondered, “How come he knows everything about what we are doing in real-time. We just now have the stuff onboard?”
“They must have satellite trackers on us all the time as well as eyeballs whenever we are in a port,” Sam said with disgust. “I wonder what else they know about each of us.”
Glen said, “In forty-eight hours, we can only make it to the northern tip of the Yucatan, but then we will need to take on fuel. There is no way we can make it all the way to Mobile before they intercept us.”
Geraldo pulled a large scale map of the Gulf of Mexica and the Caribbean Sea out of the map cabinet and laid it across the table. He pondered it for a few minutes and then said, “I think we can make it really difficult if not impossible for them to actually intercept us.”
“I’m all ears,” said Glen.
“I knew there was a reason you needed to be on board with us. We need your tactical thinking.”
“Glen is right,” Geraldo pointed out. “Mobile is out of the question. However, if we head northwest so as to appear as though we are going to go around the west end of Cuba and then go north to Mobile, they will have to commit to the southwest and head towards the Florida Straits in order to get to the Gulf of Mexico. However, if instead of continuing to the northwest as we near Jamaica, we cut back to the northeast and make a dash through the windward passage towards Acklins Island; we can trap them on the inside of the Bahamas, and we can then proceed northward on the outside. We can stay in relatively shallow water and proceed to Long Island, then to Great Exuma and right on up the chain of cays to Acabo and Grand Bahama.”
Geraldo continued pointing to the map, “I can guarantee that when that sub starts a sprint towards the Florida Straits, the U.S. Navy is going to be all over them like a dung beetle on a pile of cow poop. They will have to be very careful, and they can’t operate in all the waters that we can. We can track the Navy, so we will know where the sub is. That way, we can time our sprints across open areas when we have a landmass between them and us.”
Max asked, “If the Navy will be tracking them so closely, how in the hell could they think that they could possibly justify intercepting and boarding an American registered vessel in international waters?”
Geraldo answered, “I think that option will be out for them. I think instead, what they will try to do is ram and sink us and call it an accident.”
“Wow, that’s a sobering thought,” Peggy said softly.
Geraldo continued, “Once we get to the islands, we can play cat and mouse until we either get home free or they are forced to retreat. They can’t stalk us for very long before the Navy catches on and runs them off. Then, of course, we can expect some very close scrutiny from the U.S. because they will want to know what we have onboard that the Russians wanted so badly.”
“Well,” max said, “That hopefully won’t be an issue because we have known all along that we will be inspected with a fine-toothed comb when entering the U.S.”
Glen said, “That is true, so let the games begin.”
Max pointed out, “Let’s not lose sight of the fact that we must hide the alien devices in plain sight. It looks like we need to get that done within the next forty-eight hours.”
Glen set a northwesterly heading into the yacht’s autopilot and set the cruise speed to twenty-five knots. The yacht could do thirty-three knots, but the fuel consumption would go up dramatically. Glen thought it best to save that capability until it was needed.
Everyone else went below to begin work on camouflaging the alien devices. The hoverbarrows were the easy items. The plan was to fit them out with a set of wheels, a fish grinder, and a coat of paint. The sides would be emblazoned with the words ‘Mississippi Mud Bait Bucket’, and then seasoned well with raw fish parts. After seasoning, they would be stashed away with the other fishing equipment, and should easily pass off even to the trained eye as standard gear.
The RMD presented more of a challenge. The plan was to replace the small auxiliary power plant with the RMD. This required disconnecting the alternator from the small diesel engine, faking up an interface, and then integrating the power output with the yacht’s electrical system. It turned out that the mechanical aspects of the project were what was the most difficult since the diesel engine didn’t actually do anything except run. It had no load, but it had to look like it was driving the RMD. The electrical interface turned out to be nothing at all. The RMD proved to be really smart; it sensed the requirements of whatever was attached to it and provided the appropriate voltage type and current. It was as simple as that. The hard part was making it look good and not look like some sort of boatyard kludge.
For the past twenty hours, they had been heading steadily towards the western end of Cuba. Now they were about eighty miles south of Kingston, Jamaica, and there was a large weather front moving in from the west. Glen noted that this boded well. Even though the seas were going to be rough, the heavy cloud cover would obscure their movements from the satellite trackers. The front w
as coming in at just the right time. Glen reckoned that if he made a sharp right turn now and headed directly towards Kingston, the move would not be interpreted as a change of course, but rather a dash to a sheltered port to avoid the approaching storm. Three hours later, they were in Kingston, and the storm was on top of them. Glen took the opportunity to take on a full load of fuel. Two hours later, they were headed back out to sea under the cover of the storm, and steering northeast towards the Windward Passage. The seas were rough, but the seventy-two-foot yacht was very seaworthy and handled the ten-foot swells easily.
Geraldo was certain that by now, the Russian submarine, with the U.S. Navy quietly in trail, would be heading west through the Straits of Florida in anticipation of intercepting the yacht as it emerged from the Caribbean Sea into the Gulf of Mexico. He was absolutely right. The Russians had already co-opted the Cuban Navy into intercepting the yacht on the false pretenses that they had strayed into Cuban territorial waters. The Russians could then covertly surface, board the yacht, and do whatever they deemed appropriate.
Twenty-four hours later, the Russians and the Cuban Navy were waiting for the American yacht to emerge from the storm in the southern portion of the Gulf of Mexico. They were extremely perplexed when it did not emerge on schedule and instead was reported to be heading north along the eastern shore of Long Island, moving rapidly northward Cat Island.
The Russians immediately realized that they had been fooled and that the only slim opportunity that they now had for completing their mission was to rapidly retreat back and attempt to intercept the yacht as it crossed the Straits of Florida from the Bahamas to Port St. Lucie. They knew if the yacht reached Port St. Lucie, it would enter the Intercoastal Waterway and forever be beyond their reach.