Covert Crossings

by Frank Lazorishak

  “That will be great.”

  Natalie makes a few more entries into her computer, and in a few minutes, her printer cranks out a receipt. She hands it to me with a smile. “Please post this in a window visible from the dock.”

  “Thank you, Natalie. I will do that”

  “Thank you, Captain. And don’t forget to check in with Customs.”

  “You’re welcome; and I won’t.”

  I walk over to a pay phone nearby and call the toll-free number for the Canadian Border Service. I give the Customs Officer my name, and boat name and port-of-call. Since Morning Star is a documented vessel, it carries no state registration. It is simply Morning Star out of Vermilion, Ohio. There can be only one documented vessel with a given name out of a given port-of-call, so that combination identifies the boat internationally. Within a minute he asks, “Is your wife Kate traveling with you?” It always amazes me how quickly they know. I tell the agent that she is, and add that we will be in Leamington for two nights. He asks where we will be going next, and I tell him that we will be returning to the United States. He tells me to enjoy our stay, and we both hang up. The Canadians make the border crossing formalities very easy for known travelers.

  * * *

  We walk back to the boat, make sure everything is secure, and then walk a few hundred yards west to Gaspard’s. It’s a little diner near the Leamington Ferry Dock, and it will do just fine for dinner.

  Even though it’s dinner time, I can’t resist their signature omelet with homemade sausage. Kate has a more normal dinner: a Caesar Salad with chicken.

  The walk from Gaspard’s back to the boat takes us through a nice little lakeside park. We have been coming to Leamington for many years, and I know this area as well as I know Vermilion. As we stroll back to the boat, I can’t help but notice a change. The park is usually pretty deserted in the evening, but this year, there seem to be more young men hanging out in the park. I guess “loitering” is the word I’d use. I kind of mentally shrug the thought off, and we get back to the boat just in time to watch the sunset.

  CHAPTER 5

  Saturday morning is warm and sunny. We take our Dahon folding bikes out of the aft cabin. We carry them ashore and get them ready for our trip into town. It’s less than two miles from the marina to the center of Leamington – another reason we like to come here.

  * * *

  We bike back to Gaspard’s for breakfast. I just have a giant sweet roll, but Kate gets an omelet. We’re set for a day of playing tourist. We go up the hill, past the old H. J. Heinz tomato processing plant, and into town. Our first stop is the Tourist Information Booth. It’s a favorite photo op – shaped like a giant tomato. Leamington bills itself as the “Tomato Capital of Canada.” Leamington has also been rated as the number one best place to live in Canada, so it’s a great place to play tourist.

  We basically goof off for the day, and head back to the boat in the late afternoon. We head down Erie Street to the ferry dock, and then through the park toward the marina. I know there are those who would say what I’m thinking is “racist,” but it’s what I see – and feel. Canada has a very low percentage of what they call “Visible Minorities.” Low compared to the U.S. The young men loitering in the park are not white Canadians; they are Visible Minorities – and they look Middle Eastern… This is something new to Leamington. As Bob Dylan once sang, “The times they are a-changin’.”

  Anyway, when we get back to the boat, I call Paula’s Fish Place for a seven o’clock pickup. Paula’s is a local landmark on the way to Point Pelee National Park. It’s been there as long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, Paula’s father has provided taxi service from and to the marina. It’s less than three miles, but it’s too far to walk or bike – especially after one of Paula’s signature perch dinners.

  * * *

  We get back to the boat a little after dark – just in time to relax and watch some – not so great – Canadian TV. Tomorrow we will do an excursion to Kingsville, the next port west of Leamington. It’s about seven miles, and we’ve done the trip by dinghy, but there is rain in the forecast, so I think we’ll Rent-a-Wreck. I call and reserve a car for noon. We’re in no hurry and the highlight will be dinner at one of our favorite steakhouses.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Rent-a-Wreck office is about two hundred yards from the marina. After a very light lunch aboard, we walk up and pick up our wreck. Actually, it’s a fairly new Mini by BMW; it’ll be fun to drive it for the day.

  * * *

  On our way to Kingsville, we decide to stop at Colasanti’s. I think it started out as a green house, but now they bill themselves as Colasanti’s Tropical Garden, and it is a genuine tourist attraction: greenhouse / petting zoo / gift shop / arcade / miniature golf course / restaurant / etc. / etc. / etc. Just a fun place to wander for a while.

  Kingsville itself is smaller than Leamington, but it’s a commercial fishing port, so our first stop there is the docks. There are a couple of great little fish restaurants here, but we’re saving our appetite for the Elite Steakhouse. The Elite is the real reason we came to Kingsville. Their Chateaubriand for two is not a regular menu item, it’s an occasional special, but we’re hoping…

  We wander the docks for a while, and chat with a couple of commercial fishermen. Then we head up into town to check out some antique shops we know. We have an antique steamer trunk that we bought here many years ago and “imported” by boat. It sits at the foot of our bed in Lorain. Our grandkids call it our treasure chest.

  Dinner time. We head for the Elite Steakhouse. They do have Chateaubriand tonight. Kate has a good Cabernet Sauvignon from France, and I have a San Pellegrino from Italy. An hour later, we’re pleasantly stuffed. Dessert is not an option. After a cappuccino for Kate and an espresso for me, we’re ready to head back to the boat. I’m thankful it’s only seven miles.

  It’s after dark when we drop the Mini off at the rental place, but it’s a pleasant evening for a walk back to the boat. The forecasted rain squalls never materialized, so we sit for a while on a bench overlooking the harbor. Morning Star is the biggest vessel in the marina. It is a truly beautiful boat. We are blessed.

  It starts to get a little chilly and the onshore breeze freshens; we decide to head for the boat. As we approach Morning Star, I can see a light from the cabin illuminating the dock. I don’t remember leaving a light on in the cabin. I do that if Daisy is below, but I left her on her settee. If we go anywhere during the day, she likes to stay on her settee so she can keep an eye on the salon, and the world in general. I usually leave the chart light above the helm console on for her in case it gets dark before we get back.

  I can see the chart light on. It’s odd that I left a cabin light on too, but I’m glad I did; it’ll make boarding a little easier.

  CHAPTER 7

  When we get to the boat, I check the dock lines; the cabin light I must have left on helps me see what I’m doing. But -- I still don’t remember leaving it on. Oh well. Kate climbs into the cockpit and turns on the lights there and in the main salon. I join her and go to check the helm station to make sure everything is secure for the night.

  Daisy is very happy to see us. She is agitated. She’s standing and panting. She’s not herself. “It’s okay, Daisy. Did we leave you for too long?”

  She pants and wags her tail. The message is, “Boy, am I glad you are home.”

  I prepare Daisy for her last potty break. We put down Pee Pads on the swim platform. They’re easy for her to use, and easy to clean up. I put on her life jacket – yellow with Daisies hand painted on it by Kate – and attach her leash. She knows what that means. She heads aft for the swim platform.

  When she’s done, she comes forward into the salon and stops. She doesn’t head for the companionway as usual. Odd…

  Kate is waiting for us at the companionway hatch. I smile. “Come on, girls, let’s go below.”

  Kate opens the hatch and goes down the four steps into the galley. At the b
ottom, she stops dead. I’m carrying Daisy, and I’m right behind her. “Kate, I need to come down, too.” She says nothing.

  She doesn’t move. “Kate?” She still doesn’t move. “Honey?”

  It’s like she’s glued to the floor. “Kate, I need through.” She takes one step to her right. Enough for me to go around her. She’s staring straight ahead.

  I hit the bottom. “Kate, come on.” I squeeze past her. And face a hooded man pointing what looks like an assault rifle at us.

  * * *

  I sidestep in front of Kate. My first reaction is to protect her. The intruder says nothing. We look at each other for a full minute. Daisy whines. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  He takes off his balaclava. “I am Saif.” His English is slightly accented. Middle Eastern; perhaps Syrian; perhaps Iraqi.

  “What…”

  “We will wait for my associates. Tomorrow, you will take us to America.”

  “No. I can’t. I…

  “Sit on the bed. Both of you. Take your dog.” He uses the gun to point to the berth in the owner’s cabin.

  We sit. He holds the gun in his right hand – I think it’s an AK-47, a Kalashnikov. With his left hand, he hands me an iPhone. “Look at the picture.”

  I take the phone. I look at the screen. It shows a picture of Darlene, my younger daughter.

  “Look at the others.”

  I swipe the screen. There are pictures of two more of our kids: Debbie and Devin. And of their spouses. I note that there is no picture of my oldest son, Mike.

  “You will take us to America.”

  “No. I can’t… I…”

  He takes back his phone. “You will take us. If you value the lives of your children.”

  “I…”

  “My associates will be here late tonight. We will sleep aboard. Tomorrow you will leave here and take us to Vermilion in Ohio.”

  * * *

  Kate and I look at each other. We say nothing. She grabs my hand. I smile at her – sort of. “It’ll be all right.”

  We sit. We wait.

  Saif sits on the bottom companionway step, his rifle in his lap. We try not to look at each other.

  * * *

  I’ve often said that if I were a bad guy trying to sneak into the United States to do bad things, I wouldn’t screw around with the Mexican border. I’d go to Canada, buy, borrow or steal a boat, and cross Lake Erie.

  I never dreamt that it would be me -- and my boat -- doing the crossing…

  CHAPTER 8

  Kate and I sit on the bed. We say nothing.

  Saif sits on the companionway step. He says nothing.

  * * *

  It’s been a half hour. I can’t stand it. “I can’t just take you to Vermilion. There is the border. There is Customs. How do you expect to succeed?”

  “I know how the crossing works. There is no border. It is just an imaginary line in the water. Tonight, my associates will arrive here. Tomorrow, you will call the Dockmaster on your radio and tell him we are leaving. You will return to your home port in the town of Vermilion. After dark, we will leave your boat. It will be finished.”

  “But I can’t do that. There is a Border Patrol. What if we are…”

  “Enough. You carry an I-68 card. You will radio the Border Patrol when we enter U.S. waters. You will not be bothered by the Border Patrol. Remember the pictures on my telephone. If you do exactly as you are told, they will not be harmed.”

  * * *

  Another fifteen minutes. We sit. We wait. I look at Saif. “Are we supposed to just sit here all night?”

  “You may sit; you may sleep; you may eat; you may drink; you may watch television; you may do whatever you want. Except leave. Except use your telephones. My associates will arrive after midnight. They will sleep. I will keep watch. Tomorrow we will depart for America.”

  “Kate, I’m going to up to the helm station and check tomorrow’s weather.”

  Saif looks at me hard. “I will accompany you. Kate, do not do anything foolish. Do not use your cell phone.”

  I go up to the helm station and turn on the computer. It connects to the marina’s Wi-Fi. I open Microsoft Edge and go to www.nws.noaa.gov. I select tomorrow’s offshore forecast for western Lake Erie. It calls for showers and thunderstorms in the morning with fifteen to twenty knot winds out of the northeast and three to five-foot waves. The weather is forecast to clear in the afternoon, and the wind and waves are forecast to subside. I look at Saif. “Can you read English?” He nods yes. I point to the screen. He reads.

  “This is good. We will wait here until the weather is good, and then we will leave. We will arrive at Vermilion later in the day. Ideally, I would wish to arrive just before dark. Our transport will pick us up after your Yacht Club quiets for the night.”

  “Okay. I guess. In the morning, I will ask the Dockmaster’s permission to stay until the weather clears. I’m going down to tell Kate our plan.”

  “I will stay here. Do not use your cell phone. Do not use your handheld VHF Radio.”

  Kate is watching a rerun of a Last Man Standing. We have all 130 episodes on the DVR. Those and Golden Girls are our two favorite series to fall asleep by. She pauses the DVR. I fill her in on the plan.

  She looks resolute. “So, what do we do until then?”

  “Wait.”

  The Sabre 48 has French doors that separate the owner’s cabin from the companionway and galley opposite. I close the doors, and stretch out on the bed next to Kate. I put my arm around her. She shudders. And cries just a little. Daisy is at the foot of the bed watching the door. She usually barks at strangers. But not at Saif. I think she knows that he’s a bad person. She’s afraid of him. So am I. “We will survive. With God’s help, we will survive.”

  * * *

  A single knock on the hull awakens me. I look at my watch. It’s one-fifteen. I get out of bed. Kate rolls over, but does not wake up. Daisy raises her head, but doesn’t move. Good. I go up the four stairs to the helm station and then aft to the salon. Saif is in the stern cockpit.

  He is helping two men aboard. They look like typical young Canadians. Or they try to. Somehow it doesn’t quite work. They look uncomfortable in their clothes. Each has a large backpack and a small but long duffel bag. The duffel bags could contain fishing equipment, but I know they don’t. I can tell by the way they hold them that they are heavy. More guns?

  Saif sees me watching. “Go back inside.”

  I move back to the helm seat. I watch. Saif opens the aft hatch and points to the crew quarters. One of the things that made us select the Sabre 48 is the aft crew quarters. We don’t have a crew, but we do have grandchildren – and they love the crew quarters.

  The first newcomer looks down the aft hatch and says something to Saif. There is a short but sharp exchange of words. I don’t understand the words, but I do understand the tone. The newcomer is very unhappy about his accommodations.

  The second newcomer goes below. Saif and the first newcomer come through the salon to where I sit at the helm. “This is Qasim, my second in command. He will stay in the forward cabin until the others arrive. Qasim just nods. He looks unhappy.

  Saif moves to the companionway stairs. “Follow me. Both of you.”

  When he gets to the bottom. Saif says something to Qasim and points forward. Qasim goes into the forward cabin and sits on the bed.

  Saif looks at me. “We wait for three more.”

  “How long?”

  “Within the hour.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I join Kate on our bed -- again. She is awake. We say nothing.

  Saif sits on the companionway step -- again. He says nothing.

  A half hour passes – again. I can’t stand it -- again. I stand up and look at Saif. “Now what?”

  “We wait. They will arrive. They sleep. You sleep. I keep watch. Tomorrow we leave.”

  * * *

  And that is what happens. In about another half hour, there is another single knock o
n the hull. I look at Saif. He stands. “Come.” He goes up the companionway stairs. I follow. When I get to the helm station, Saif says, “Wait here.” I do. Three newcomers climb aboard. Saif hugs the first one; I hear him use the name Ahmed.

  Saif sends the other two newcomers to the crew quarters. It’s designed to sleep two, and it’s a little crowded for two. There are now three terrorists and their gear there. I hope that they are very uncomfortable…

  Saif comes forward with Ahmed. “Ahmed is my brother. He will go forward with Qasim. We go below now.”

  * * *

  When we get below, Kate is sitting up at the foot of the bed. Daisy is lying next to her. Another of the many things we liked about the Sabre 48, is the openness down below. If you open the owner’s cabin French doors and sit on the foot of the bed, you’re facing across the companionway and toward the gallery. It gives a very open feeling for a forty-eight-foot boat. Right now, it is too open.

  Daisy is just staring at these newcomers. I have never seen Daisy act like this. She usually barks at newcomers – and wags her tail. I think she’s saying, “Hi. Pay attention to me.” Now she just looks. She knows that something is not right with these people.

  Kate looks at the three of us standing there. She says nothing. Finally, Saif says, “Kate, this is my brother Ahmed. Ahmed, the owners of this boat are Peter and Kate.” We look at each other and nod awkwardly.

  Finally, Ahmed speaks. Like his brother, his English is fluent, with only a very slight accent. I wonder where they learned… “As long as you do exactly what my brother Saif tells you, you will come to no harm. We will be gone from your lives tomorrow night.” He turns and goes into the forward cabin. Qasim has been standing at the door and listening. He scowls, but says nothing.

  Saif looks at Qasim pointedly, and he closes the door. Saif looks at me. “I shall go above to keep watch. Ahmed and I will take turns watching. I will awaken you in the morning.” He turns and starts up the companionway stairs.