The Keeper

by George C. Chesbro

  “Sir, the boat that was destroyed belonged to a fisherman who had netted a dead Jolly Roger. I saw it. But it wasn’t the mine on the Jolly Roger that blew up the boat and accidentally killed a family of four. I believe it was a Navy SEAL team that took out that boat, using two or more separate charges of plastic explosive, after removing the mine. This was done so as not to risk having any evidence that might link the Jolly Roger to the Navy.”

  Without hesitation and in an even tone Roberts asked, “Have you discussed these suspicions of yours with anyone else?”

  “Of course not, sir. Even though the Jolly Roger program was officially abandoned some time ago, I assume all information about it is still classified at the highest level. I would be breaking the law if I discussed it with unauthorized personnel. I’m also fully aware that I would be breaking the terms of my agreement with the Navy.”

  “I’m glad you appreciate the fact that your behavior could have very serious consequences. You’re breaking your agreement just by making this call.”

  “No, sir, I am not. I’m calling as a concerned private citizen and loyal Navy veteran with specialized knowledge who’s trying to do the Navy a favor. I’m personally alerting you to a potential problem so that you can exercise damage control before the matter gets further out of hand. The consequences to me of breaking my agreement would seem minor compared to the consequences to the Navy if it is ever implicated in that explosion at the Cairn Marina. You should thank me, not threaten me.”

  “Has anyone else around there, say police or reporters, been sharing your suspicions?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Not yet, at any rate. Up to this point, as far as I know, the local authorities are buying the story that the device the boat’s captain took on board and the subsequent explosion are the work of terrorists.”

  “That happens to be true.”

  “Admiral, that happens to be nonsense.”

  Roberts’ voice abruptly turned even harder and colder. “I don’t even have to talk to you, Gemstone. I could have you thrown in jail and your pension forfeited just for contacting me. But I am talking to you, so I want you to listen to this very carefully because it does happen to be true. The United States Navy had absolutely nothing—nothing—to do with what happened in Cairn.”

  There was something in the man’s voice, grace notes of sincerity and absolute conviction, that gave Jade pause for a few moments, but then she reminded herself that the head of Naval Intelligence was a trained liar, just as she was. “I saw the Jolly Roger, Admiral. I was the one who advised the captain to call the Coast Guard. He’d called me down to the marina to look at the damn thing, so I was in a situation I couldn’t avoid.”

  “I don’t care what you saw, or thought you saw, Gemstone.” Roberts paused, and when he spoke again his tone had softened. “You may not believe this, Jahli, but I don’t wish to see you get into any difficulties. I give you my personal assurance that the Navy is in no way involved in this matter. I’m doing this as a personal favor to you.”

  “I appreciate your solicitude, sir, but I have to insist on your hearing me out. I didn’t have to risk your displeasure and sanctions by calling you personally to let you know that the Navy might have a problem. Sooner or later, people are going to be asking questions, and they’ll be based on the public record. For example, why didn’t the Navy send investigators immediately after notification by the Coast Guard? The Coast Guard knew enough to call the Navy, and somebody on your end had to have recognized a Jolly Roger from the description of what was in the nets.”

  “You’re making a number of assumptions, Gemstone, all of which are incorrect. Yes, the Coast Guard called their Naval liaison, but Naval Intelligence was never brought into the loop until after the fact. This department was never informed of the situation or given a description of the device until after the explosion. Either the Coast Guard didn’t clearly communicate the gravity of the situation to the liaison, or it wasn’t clearly communicated to them by the fisherman in the first place. A decision was made at a relatively low level in the command structure to refer the matter back to the Coast Guard, but then nobody acted on the matter in a timely manner. A snafu like that shouldn’t surprise you, of all people.”

  “Well, somebody acted in a timely manner. After the Coast Guard notified the Navy, a man proceeded to call the Cairn police and identify himself as a Naval officer. Are you suggesting that the Coast Guard’s call was intercepted by terrorists who were responsible for the Jolly Roger in the first place?”

  “That’s something you’d have to take up with the Coast Guard.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, I do. You can’t discuss any aspect of this matter with anybody without risking the most severe sanctions that would impact on your children as well as you. I gave you my personal assurance that the Navy wasn’t involved in any way. That should be enough to put your mind at rest. Now back off and let the F.B.I. handle it.”

  “Just when I thought we were getting somewhere by reasoning together, you start threatening me again. I’m disappointed.”

  “This conversation is at an end.”

  “Not quite yet. I extended to you the courtesy of giving you a heads up on a potential public relations Armageddon for the Navy. I’ve given you time to clean up any mess you might have, and you can take personal credit for it. You haven’t asked me what I want in return.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you want.”

  “The fisherman who lost his boat has no other way to earn a living, and every penny he owns was tied up in that trawler. His insurance company won’t pay, and both the Coast Guard and Navy are ignoring his claims for compensation. This proud man’s reward for trying to be a good citizen is likely to cost him not only his boat, but also everything else he owns, including his house and car. He’ll be forced to go on welfare. I want you to make good on his losses, Admiral. I think seventy thousand dollars would be just about enough to buy him a new trawler and compensate for some of the grief he’s been caused.”

  “You must be joking.”

  Jade did not reply.

  After a few moments Roberts continued, “The United States Navy is not in the habit of issuing checks for seventy thousand dollars to local fishermen who lose their boats as a result of terrorist activities. To do so might even be interpreted as admitting some culpability.”

  “I never suggested official action by the Navy, sir. I said I want you to make good. Cash would be preferable to a check, since it can’t be traced. This business about terrorists planning to use a mine strapped to the back of a sea lion is ridiculous on the face of it, and that’s what reporters are going to be saying when they start looking into the fisherman’s story about a carcass with a metal box strapped to its back.”

  “You’re way over the line, Gemstone. What I hear is you threatening to leak classified information, and attempted blackmail. Do you really want your son and daughter to be visiting you in prison?”

  “One way or another the Navy is damn well responsible, Admiral. Jolly Roger was a Navy program, and that thing on the boat was a Jolly Roger. Even if the Navy wasn’t officially involved in this incident, people in the Navy most certainly were. You have renegade officers on your hands. There’s just no other plausible explanation. Thanks to me, you’re getting a jump on solving the problem before some Congressional committee decides to do it for you. The price for my good deed is seventy thousand dollars to compensate Jack Trex for your lack of vigilance; counterintelligence should have been on to these people from day one. Use cash from your discretionary fund, which I assume is still kept pretty full and safe from the prying eyes of Oversight committees. I’m asking you to do your job, which is to protect the U.S. Navy and its personnel from threats both foreign and domestic.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, simply by making this call and discussing these matters on an open line you have abrogated the terms of your agreement with this service. I am going to let it pass just this one time,
Gemstone, because Jack Trex hired you and you probably feel a personal obligation to the man. However, if I ever hear from you again, or if I have the slightest indication that you are either leaking information or pursuing your own line of inquiry, I will have your pension cancelled for cause and notify the F.B.I. that you are engaged in criminal activity.”

  “Just do the right thing and pay the man, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Jade shouted, and slammed down the receiver.

  ii

  All his life he had found that being out on the water soothed him. But not now; not when he was forced to be out in a dinghy fishing for eel and crab, or anything else he could catch with a rod and reel, for his wife and him to eat.

  He had been a fisherman all his life, but he had always fished for a cash crop, not survival. Hating the situation in which he found himself, feeling almost paralyzed with frustration and despair, he had waited until the day before, more than a week after his boat had been destroyed, to apply for food stamps and welfare; he had been told it would be at least a week before his application was processed, and another week after that before any emergency cash grant could be authorized and released. He had been given two cans of surplus peanut butter. There was no other food in the house, and he had firmly refused help from friends and neighbors. As far as he was concerned, feeding himself and his wife was his responsibility. He was a fisherman, and so he would fish—even if it was for flesh contaminated with PCBs. And he would try not to be overwhelmed by the shame that burned in his belly like a colony of ulcers.

  He had strained his back rowing, an activity he was not used to, for more than two hours to the south, against the tide, so that he could drop anchor and fish on the other side of Hook Mountain in Upper Nyack, where he was unlikely to be spotted by anyone who knew him. He could not tolerate the thought of having anyone pity him.

  He glanced into the bottom of his dinghy at his catch of three eels, two crabs, and a small striped bass. He knew he would have to start back soon if he was to get home before dark to clean the fish for his wife to prepare dinner. At least he would be rowing with the tide for the return trip, which was a good thing because his back ached and the muscles in his arms and shoulders occasionally twitched in spasms and cramped.

  The thought of his wife, of how he had failed her and how she must now suffer with him, brought tears to his eyes, and he shifted his gaze to the unopened bottle of Scotch that also rested in the bottom of the dinghy. That was his last refuge, he thought.

  There was one last source of money he hadn’t tapped, and that was his paid up life insurance policy for thirty thousand dollars. Finally, before he became trapped on welfare and was forced to scramble for petty, menial jobs in order to make ends meet, he would take his own life. The life insurance payment would at least give his wife enough money to get by on for a little while, perhaps until she met another man who could take proper care of her.

  Like all fishermen, he had a healthy respect bordering on reverence for the seas and great rivers like the Hudson. Along with this respect came an intense fear of drowning, which was why he would bring the bottle of Scotch out with him each day he fished for food; when he felt the time was right, he intended to get very drunk and drown himself. It would be on a day when he could gather sufficient courage to slip over the side of the dinghy and sink into the dark depths of the river without even saying goodbye to the woman he loved.

  Or he might simply row out into the middle of the deep channel and let some barge or tanker do the job for him.

  But he knew he would have to be very drunk before he moved into the path of a tanker, no less drank than he would have to be before he let himself fall out of the dinghy and breathe in the river. Even if the captain of a tanker or a tugboat pushing a barge saw him, there would be no time for him to stop or even alter the course of such a large ship, and the impact with the steel hull would probably mercifully knock him unconscious—but not necessarily. It was possible that he would remain conscious while he was sucked under by the vortex created by the great engines, then feel the sharp kiss of steel just before the whirring propeller blades hacked him to pieces. This is what had happened to the previous riverkeeper, and he did not like to think about it.

  Contemplating his own death only made him miss and love his wife more, and he began to cry. On this day, he decided, he would row back home, leaving the bottle unopened, and live one more day.

  Musing on the death of the previous riverkeeper caused his thoughts to shift to the present one. There had been times during his weeklong descent deeper and deeper into a seemingly bottomless sea of depression when his increasing bitterness had caused him to blame Jahli Aden for his present predicament, and he had damned her for not supporting his initial instinct to dump the thing he had netted back into the river. But he knew that blaming the woman wasn’t fair. He had been a professional with a problem, namely concern for the health of the river and the welfare of the people who boated on it and lived along its shores, and so he had sought the advice of another professional, the riverkeeper. The people to blame for what had happened were the Coast Guard and the Navy, and certainly his insurance company, but it was useless to fight them, and so he had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to live with his bad luck, at least for one more day, and then perhaps die because of it.

  Jahli Aden was the first Arab he had ever met, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have hired her if he’d known at the time she was an Arab; he’d heard and read too many scary things about Arabs. Her twenty years of Navy experience and her areas of expertise had made her far and away the most qualified candidate, and he had refused, both for professional reasons and out of a personal sense of justice, to follow the advice of some others and reject her because she was a woman. Except for the times when he lost control of his emotions and blamed her for his loss, he in no way regretted his decision. This riverkeeper was very good at her job, thorough, hard working, and fearless out on the river and in court; she made him look very good for having the good judgment to hire her.

  Suddenly he experienced an odd sensation, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck as if somebody might be watching him. He turned around and was startled to see a distinctive blue and white Boston Whaler bobbing in the swells a mile or so out in the river. It was the riverkeeper’s boat. He could see Jahli Aden standing in the cockpit, late afternoon sunlight glinting off the binoculars she was using to watch him. Shame and humiliation surged through him, and he quickly turned back, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders and hoping that the woman hadn’t recognized him.

  iii

  Jade was enraged, her body trembling as she stood stiff-legged at the helm of her boat with its powerful twin engines running at full throttle during the fifteen minute ride north back to Cairn. She tied up the Boston Whaler at one of the remaining floating docks in the marina, then went looking for Roy Mannes.

  She knew why a weeping Jack Trex was anchored off Hook Mountain in a dinghy miles from his home; he was being forced to go directly to the river for food for his wife and himself because of advice she had given him, and it was a situation she could not abide.

  Vice Admiral Hubert Roberts had ignored her request, and it was time to up the ante.

  She spotted Roy’s unmarked police car parked outside the station house, a two-story stone building near the center of town and down by the river. She wrote down Roberts’ private phone number at the Pentagon on a slip of paper, and then started up the steps to the main entrance of the station. Roy was just coming out, and he almost bumped into her.

  “Wooaa,” Roy said, taking a step backward and raising his hands in mock alarm. “From the look on your face, I’d say this wouldn’t be a good day for cowboy boaters. What’s wrong?”

  “Did you know that Jack is going out in a goddamn dinghy to fish for food to put on the table?”

  Roy’s smile vanished as he nodded curtly. “Jack wouldn’t be too happy about either of us knowing that. I�
��ve offered to lend him money, and so have a lot of other people, but he won’t take it. He was financially strapped even before he lost the boat. His friends are trying to figure out a way to help him, but that isn’t so easy. He’s a very proud man, and stubborn as hell.”

  Jade’s fury still burned in her, unabated. She took a deep breath, slowly let it out. “I may have a way to help him. It involves you, and there are certain conditions to the plan. You must follow my instructions to the letter, and you can’t ask me any questions.”

  “Just tell me what you want me to do, Jade.”

  “Call this number,” she said, handing Roy the slip of paper. “Use a pay phone, and make certain you dial it correctly. It’s a kind of Navy public relations office. Say to whomever answers that you think it’s a damn shame that the Navy isn’t doing right by the fisherman in Cairn whose boat was destroyed as a result of their negligence. Say that a lot of people around the county are talking about how it should be the Navy’s responsibility to compensate the man for his losses, and they’re thinking of writing to their congressmen to demand an explanation. That’s it. Don’t give your name or any other information. Simply say what I told you, and then hang up.”

  Roy glanced down at the number on the paper, then looked back up at Jade. “Why should I use a pay phone to call a public relations office?”

  “No questions, Roy!” Jade snapped. “If you want to help in trying to get the Navy to cough up some money for Jack’s boat, just do it!”

  Jade wheeled around without waiting for a reply and hurried back down the stone steps at the entrance to the police station. Now she would go home to wait for the F.B.I. to arrive at her home and arrest her, something she believed was now inevitable and which could happen within an hour or two.

  iv

  She waited the rest of the afternoon and through the dinner hour. Finally, at 7:30, there was a knock on the door, but when she answered it she found Roy Mannes, not an F.B.I. agent, standing outside.

  “You look like hell, Jade,” the man with the gray hair and eyes said evenly.