Arch Patton

by James Strauss

The German was hugely strong, and I watched, from my deck position, the Immigration Agent recoil in pain.

  “How come nobody ever knees James Bond, when he says something clever?” I asked, my voice still a broken whisper from the blow.

  Günter helped me to my feet. My wincing was worse than Maxwell’s and I could not straighten up to walk well, not with my hands cuffed behind my back. We worked our way down the corridor.

  “We’re going down to the bilge deck. We’ll make the luggage room into a temporary jail until we get to Sitka,” Borman said.

  I halted, making both Borman and Günter stumble. Maxwell smirked at my reaction.

  “Oh, I’ve already got both of those illegals you stashed away there. How the hell do you think I knew about the luggage room? Where did you think I was all that time?” He didn’t wait for an answer, before going on. “I was following you! You led me right to them.”

  I winced when he said those words, but not from physical pain. We were so close, yet here and now the mission was again in great jeopardy.

  “Take me to the lido deck,” I demanded. “You need to use the radio on the chopper.”

  I didn’t move, even when both Borman and Günter pulled on my arms. Instead, I resisted, my legs planted onto the heaving deck. We rolled together, from one side of the narrow corridor to the other. I worked my right hand into my back pocket as we struggled to stay upright. I pushed the transmit button on the radio and prayed.

  “So,” I said loudly, “I am being arrested and dragged through this corridor by Agent Maxwell and his evil minions. He’s found the boys. Yet, I must get him to use his radio on the helicopter. This is a problem. What should I do?”

  I looked from Günter to Borman. I could tell that neither man had much enthusiasm for the work they had, probably unknowingly, taken on.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Maxwell said, from behind us.

  I allowed myself to be slowly ushered down the corridor. By the time we neared its end I was very relieved to see Dutch, Benito, Don, and the Basque standing there. I hoped, sincerely, that the Basque had brought another steak knife.

  “Get out of my way,” Maxwell screamed, attempting to drag me forward. “This man is my prisoner and I’m taking him to a holding cell until we get into Sitka. He’s wanted by the Russians and he’s smuggled illegal aliens aboard this ship and into American waters. I’m well within my rights.”

  Maxwell’s last sentence was a big mistake. Everyone standing in front of him visibly reacted to the agent’s weak statement of his rights. Just saying those words implied that even he did not feel he was within his rights.

  Borman and Günter released my arms at the same time and stepped away. They were both distancing themselves from the whole affair, at least for the time being, but I was still cuffed, and therefore helpless. If I had known about Maxwell’s discovery of the boys, I would never have let myself be willingly cuffed in the first place.

  Nobody said anything, but nobody moved either. We all just stood looking at one another. Finally, I spoke.

  “Maxwell, as much as you don’t like it and as much as you don’t like me, you need to listen to this.”

  I waited for just a second to see if I was reaching the man. He didn’t interject anything, but he didn’t turn his head to look back at me either.

  “You need to call your headquarters. They need to call the number I’m going to give you. If you don’t do that, and this whole thing turns into an international incident, then you are going to lose your career. And much more. You’ll lose your retirement pay. You’ll lose your bank accounts and your home. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency, which you’ve already guessed. They’re merciless. You must know that. I could never have called those fighters in, as you watched me do, unless I was working for them.”

  I finished. Still nobody moved. Maxwell did not react. I watched his breathing slow, however.

  “And the rest of you,” I focused on Borman and Günter, then stared across at my saviors, “you’re employment will be over. This ship will never ever leave Sitka again, except to be towed to India for scrap metal a few years from now. Some insurance company will pay it off, but you’ll never see a dime, and you’ll be ashore in a small Alaskan town with few prospects.”

  Then Kessler staggered into the back of the group, bumping into Don’s bad shoulder, as he reacted poorly to one of the huge swells heaving under us. Don cried out, then jerked away, but caught himself and helped the Captain stay vertical.

  “What’s going on here? Why is this man cuffed aboard my ship, without my permission? Why is this group meeting here? What has this man done now? Gott im Himmel!”

  Kessler’s finger kept pointing from person to person. He only stopped yelling because of fatigue. I was amazed, given the seriousness of his wound, that he was even standing, much less speaking so forcefully and as cogently as he did. All of a sudden, everyone talked at the same time.

  “Quiet!” Kessler screamed after he had recovered himself.

  He stood, a shoulder pressed into one bulkhead. Everyone’s balance problem was suddenly gone, I noticed, including the captain’s. We had entered the Western Channel leading into the Bay of Sitka. We were in protected shallows near the coast. Soon, we would round the spit that sticks out from the airport, built out on the peninsula beyond the village proper. We were not long from Sitka Harbor.

  “Take the cuffs off this man!” Kessler directed Maxwell. “You’re an idiot,” he went on to Maxwell. “You have no authority unless I confer that authority, which I certainly do not, and where the hell is he going to go, anyway?”

  Maxwell hesitated and then tried to respond verbally a number of times, but quit each time before getting a word out. Finally, with bowed shoulders, he made his way back behind me,and then unlocked the handcuffs. My feeling of freedom, as each cuff came off, was pure and clean. I rubbed my wrists, even though the cuffs had never been applied with real pressure.

  “You haven’t heard the end of this, by a long shot,” Maxwell grumbled in my ear before backing off.

  “I told you that you need to make that radio transmission. If I have to make a phone call before you report this, then it’s going to go much worse for you. I don’t like you, not one bit, but I am honestly trying to help you. This is my thirty-seventh, and probably last, mission. I’ve watched many good men get ground up and spit out by the people I work for. You don’t have to be one of them, unless you wish to be.”

  The manner in which I delivered my warning affected him. In truth, I did not know what Operations at the Agency would do, it they judged him to be counterproductive to national interests. I knew, however, what it was capable of doing. Nor did I know if my superiors would honor all of the promises I had made. I did not know what the upshot of the whole mess that had occurred at the gulag would be. I was not even sure of what really transpired myself. But I did know that a likely resolution to the whole affair would involve an after-the-fact, applied “justice” that would not be understandable by anyone who had not played a role in any of it. That, after all, was what I was regularly accustomed to.

  “Where are the boys?” I queried Maxwell.

  “On the lido deck, drinking hot chocolate. I’m not some sort of child abuser, you know,” he answered, pulling the suppressor and automatic from his pockets.

  He held them in his hands. I guessed that he was going to try to use them to convince Kessler of something or other, but had thought better of it.

  “If I were you, I’d lose those,” I said, shaking my head gently. “This whole affair has the potential of being hushed up and white-washed. Hard evidence will, most likely, cause the most damage to whoever has it last. The music is about to stop soon and you’ll want to have a chair.”

  Did the man have enough mental horsepower to come to grips with what I was saying? I wondered.

  I pulled my Mont Blanc f
rom one of my pockets. Without paper and leaning over to hide my movements, I tore a corner off a hundred dollar bill. I penned the appropriate Washington two-oh-two number on its edge, handing it to Maxwell. He took it, read it, and then departed without a word, taking the small scrap, and the empty armament, with him.

  “You,” Kessler said to me, gesticulating my way. “Get yourself up to the lido deck. I’m going to dock this ship, then I want to see you there immediately.”

  Marlys had not come down to join the group. She probably had not been notified. There had been no time.

  We climbed the stairs up to the lido deck, talking and laughing about nothing at all. When we arrived on deck, the place crawled with passengers. We walked over to the back of the deck and stood near the helicopter. Its pilot and co-pilot had abandoned their places behind the canopy and were sitting at the bar, drinking and admiring Marlys, who was working way too hard serving everyone to notice me. Both Ivan and Kenneth were conversing with the aircrew, obviously enthralled.

  The Lindy passed the Sitka airport complex at good speed. We were only minutes from the main harbor. A long dock jutted toward us for almost a quarter mile. The beautiful clean town looked like it was sitting up at the base of a long extended white finger. Gray clouds scudded above a distant mountain range, and a light wind blew over the port railing. It was cool and refreshing.

  I inhaled deeply, at a loss as to what fate and serendipity had in store for me next.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX:

  See You Real Soon

  I felt Don’s huge presence nearby before he hunkered down, forearms atop the rail next to me.

  “Sitka,” he said, his gaze following mine across the extended docks, and beyond, sweeping up into the green mountains. “It’s a cold but hospitable place, if you were thinking of taking up full-time residence there.”

  He looked over at me seriously and then we both laughed.

  “I didn’t really think so,” he said. “If you have a minute, my friend, I would like to talk to you about everything. We’ve got to make some decisions quickly.”

  “Kessler told me to wait right here,” I informed him. “I think he’s running at full gale and wants to run out the plank, or maybe drum me off the ship when we finally dock.”

  We re-entered under the cover of the lido deck. I walked to the bar. The passengers had nearly disappeared. The Coast Guard helicopter was spooling up to depart. I could feel the vibration of the ever-faster moving blades on my face and chest, until the sound became nearly overpowering in the contained space. I covered both ears with my hands, while Don did the same.

  Marlys crouched down behind the bar. Napkins and plastic cups laying about blew right off the ship as the big bird lifted then tilted to the port side.

  I looked through the clear canopy. The co-pilot gave me a thumbs-up, then ran the thumb under his throat. Don saw the gesture. He looked over at me, his eyebrows pulled together.

  “Maxwell’s not on the chopper,” I replied to his unasked question when the sound diminished enough for me to lower my hands.

  “What’s Kessler going to do if you’re not here when he comes back? Throw a hissy fit or something?” Don said.

  Marlys placed three wine glasses on the bar. I met her stare, as she brought out a vintage bottle of Don David, no doubt procured when the Lindy sailed in Argentine waters and loaded up with fine Malbec Reserve from the Cafayate Valley.

  I moved to the bar with another Don at my side. Marlys poured a couple of inches into each glass.

  “Boat drinks,” she said, raising one glass, her expression ultra-serious.

  I took my own glass, but could not help smiling.

  “Boat drinks.”

  A phrase common to prisoners caught up in the American system of brutal incarceration. Boat drinks was spoken to reference a time when the prisoners talking on the inside were out and once again enjoying the good life. They would meet again on the stern of a boat and enjoy boat drinks together.

  Don took his glass. We hoisted our Malbec glasses all together and then clinked once. We drank the wonderful wine down. I felt like I should throw my glass for dramatic effect, but the side of the ship was too far away. Instead, I put the glass down, softly.

  “Here, eat this,” Marlys suggested, pushing a small dish of crackers at me. “High class wine drinkers always eat crackers to clear their palates.”

  I accepted a cracker, unclear as to what she was talking about. I chewed. It was educational. I had never had such a great cracker in my life. I took another, bit into it to be sure about the acutely satisfying quality. Marlys smiled.

  “Diamond crackers from Hawaii,” she said, and then went on. “Actually, made there. We load up every time we pass by Oahu. I’ll put a case out for you.”

  She turned, then disappeared through the door into the bar supplies area. Don and I headed for his cabin, full of good spirits.

  “And here I thought you were going to get a whole lot more than a case of crackers from that mysterious angel. If she is an angel,” he said.

  I followed the big man down the stairs and up the corridor. We filed into his cabin. The Basque occupied her usual place; several travel bags were closed and stacked next to the bunk.

  “You getting off in Sitka?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  Don closed the door behind me.

  “She can’t stay aboard,” Don interjected. “Not with the situation being what it is between her and her step-father. So she’s got to go with you.”

  I stood there, unable to talk. After a few seconds I got past the shock of his announcement.

  “Where am I supposed to take her?” I asked, in a genuine state of befuddlement.

  “Where you’re going, back to Nome,” he pointed out. “Back to get outfitted for the expedition. You have to leave out of there. Anywhere else is just too far away, unless you have a cruise liner hidden somewhere.”

  I breathed deeply, in and out. Nobody said anything. I decided to try to clarify my situation.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. I’ve got to make some calls, to make good on some promises. Marlys and her mother are part of all that. I’m not my own man. I can’t just traipse off on a gold hunting expedition. You must know that.”

  I threw up my hands in frustration.

  “Do you remember that gold vein?” Don shot back.

  I nodded.

  “Ever see anything like that in your life and travels?”

  I shook my head.

  “So, you’re going.”

  I waited a full minute, reflecting, thoughts racing through my head, before I accepted destiny.

  “Good,” Don said, matter-of-factly, “I’ll make sure her bags are at the base of the gangplank. You’ll need a cab. I’ll see to that. You’ve got the boys. You’ll need some room. I better make it a van.”

  I sat down on the bottom of Don’s bunk and rubbed my face. I was trapped, once again, by powerful forces over which I exercised no control. Don continued to talk.

  “I have to stay on until Prince Rupert to get paid off. I’ll take the ferry over to the airport there, day after tomorrow, and fly to Nome to meet you. The World Discoverer’s not staying in Sitka. We’re only here to get rid of you and the young problems you’re traveling with.”

  I wanted to ask him about his family back home in Canada waiting for him, but I didn’t. Shipboard morality was not a subject either open to discussion or even overtly acknowledged. What happened on the ship was supposed to stay on the ship. Las Vegas had stolen the expression from nautical lore and then used it to make television ads. But we were getting off the ship and shipboard life was getting off with us. I signaled my agreement, seeing no other course of action open to me.

  “What has she got for papers?” I asked, as Don grabbed for the bags.

  “You’re taking care of that,�
�� he said, huffing a little, with the weight and heft of all her bags. I did not offer to help him. “You’ll recall the notes at Fatima and the one to me in Yugoslavia. You’re supposed to take care of everything.”

  His air of belief and of “everything will be alright” was just too strong to oppose. I got behind him in the corridor with the Basque in tow.

  “Filipe wanted to see you before you got off,” Don remembered.

  “What? He’s got a flock of Filipino children he needs to have taken care of?” I said sarcastically and then went on. “Perhaps a sick dog? Maybe a bird with parasites? And besides, didn’t you say that your message involved doing what I told you to do? How does that work here?”

  I kept talking, but to myself, as I took the steps down to the bilge deck alone. I had a long list of potentially needy creatures, and characters, that I might just as well assume full responsibility for them all, right now. I walked up to Filipe’s cabin door and knocked. Gloria opened the door with joy on her face.

  “One thing, Filipe,” I asked eagerly, “Are you Catholic?”

  “Yes, we’re both Catholic,” he responded.

  “How did I know,” I replied, my voice tight. “What is it?”

  I went on, impatient to get back on deck to walk the plank or whatever else Kessler had in store for me, not to mention the hidden traps or ambushes set by that weasel-of-a-man Maxwell.

  In my pique and impatience, I had not noticed anyone else in the cabin. All of a sudden I heard Hathoot’s distinctive Lebanese accent. I leaned forward, looking around Filipe’s body to see the purser sitting next to Benito on Filipe’s bunk.

  “Indy, they just want to thank you for everything. Whatever comes of all this, they will accept, even if it’s been only that they have enjoyed you and the adventure you brought with you. I’ve heard it called élan vital.”

  I recoiled at his words, but I also recalled my conversation with Benito about life and my part in it, at least from her perspective. I was not accustomed to being thanked. I was used to just moving on. I did not know what to say or what expression to wear.