Sunset at [20 47]

by Peter Kingsmill

“He sure is. Hadn’t really got to know him until last night and today. Someday I’d like to hear his story... he’s so well spoken he puts the rest of us to shame.”

  “It’s a wonderful story of love and respect, and a sad story of loss and disappointment at the same time. Some day I would like to be as wise, but the only thing we have in common is choosing to go our own way... and here comes my taxi.”

  The helicopter thundered overhead and churned up a small sandstorm as it settled onto the landing strip. Anderson scrambled across to the open door, acknowledged his fellow passengers as he climbed aboard, and strapped in as the very new-looking helicopter rose quickly and swung over the village into the late-afternoon sky over the lake. He watched as they flew at about five hundred feet over Ship Island and swept along Awan Lake’s east shore. Soon he could pick out his launch, hove-to about a mile off Robertson Mines with her bow thirty degrees off the wind and stopped. A crewman opened the port door while the pilot brought the chopper overhead of the launch and dropped to about seventy-five off the deck. The two officers slated to be offloaded were already in harness, and the first one soon disappeared out the door while the crewman worked the winch. One-down-one-up three times... Anderson had been strapped into a harness and was the third man down. He waved at the sergeant, stepped into the wheelhouse and took over the wheel from McMichael, who would be the last man up.

  The combined noise from the chopper’s main engine and rotor had been deafening throughout the transfer process. When the helicopter pulled away into the sky and headed east to the shore, the sense of quiet was almost like a sedative suddenly taking effect. The sergeant introduced himself and Anderson to the newly-arrived officers, showed them where the coffee was, and came over to the wheel to talk with Anderson. “So Plan A is in motion, apparently?” he chuckled.

  “Yes, the FBI and Anita should be coming down the river to the lake by now, and Willy will have left the village for the island in his skiff a few minutes ago. The FBI know to make contact with no one but Willy or Captain Frank; they should be coming into radio range shortly but I doubt they will call until they are quite close. What happened to Juan, his boat, and the drugs he had onboard?”

  “Well, he actually landed at a little dock just outside the Robertson Mines’ chain link fence, just to the north. I called that in, but by then the RCMP were active within the fence checking worker IDs and interviewing management staff. Our guys had pulled back along the main road, so by the time they got to the beach, he had presumably off-loaded the drugs and pulled offshore. As you predicted, he took off south along the shore at speed. Meantime, our guys are assembling for a search... this extra chopper will be useful. I think we should move in closer to discourage anybody leaving by boat – maybe just parade back and forth along the shore keeping our eyes wide open and ready to respond.”

  Anderson flipped the wheel and gently pushed the throttle forward, heading into shore directly opposite Robertson Mines. The sergeant took over the radio and set the new officers to maintaining a watch on the shore. It was close to 18:00 hours and the wind was dropping noticeably.

  ***

  “Motorboat behind us and further offshore coming up fast, maybe over a mile back.” They had been running on the first pass north along the shore, and roughly opposite the former provincial park, when the officer at the stern called it out. Anderson took a glance, but couldn’t pick it out against the waves. He checked the radar, but nothing was showing so it was low in the water and probably not steel or aluminum. He twisted the squelch control on the marine radio right to the edge and waited.

  A couple of minutes later the officer called out, “Motorboat is moving further offshore and will pass us on the left. Boy, is he ever moving!”

  Anderson picked his fieldglasses off their hook beside him and called the sergeant over to the wheel. “Can you take this for a minute? I want to check out that boat myself.”

  It didn’t take long. He steadied his elbows on the open window sill on the port side of the wheelhouse and took a glance through the glasses. Returning to the wheel, he resumed his seat and said, “Almost positive that’s the FBI. It is definitely a jetboat – you can tell from the long plume of water at the stern – and it looks like there are three men onboard.”

  “Three guys - what about Anita?”

  “I told Willy to tell the guys to stuff her under a seat, or the deck, or somewhere. Poor gal, I hope she doesn’t get seasick under there. I used to love being under the deck when I was a kid, but it’s not everyone’s cup of tea!”

  He unclipped the microphone from the marine radio, keyed the transmit button and said, “This is Captain Frank calling FBI. I repeat, Captain Frank calling FBI. You are just passing me to your starboard.”

  There was a short silence, then: “Captain Frank, this is FBI. Where is Crazy Man?”

  “Crazy Man Willy should be getting to the island within a few minutes. You have time to stop and greet. I will stop and hold position when you turn. Come alongside starboard to starboard. You need to know I have three OPPs onboard but they are AOK.”

  “Roger that, Captain Frank. Turning now.”

  “John, would you please flip three of those docking fenders over the side? No point wrecking their paint job!”

  It was a big jetboat, almost three-quarters the length of The Beaver. The crew, too, lived up to their acronym: two men who could have played offensive line for the Ottawa Redblacks and a gal who could join them at tailback. Happily, they all had big smiles. There were quick introductions all around, and Anderson said, “I assume your cargo is safe and sound?”

  A small hand appeared from an open hatch under the dashboard, and waved. “Safe, not necessarily sound,” said the big voice behind the small hand. Anderson laughed: “Hi Anita. We’re all awfully glad to have you safe. Can’t wait to talk with you – then I’ll tell you if you are sound. I suspect you are, very!” He turned to the jetboat’s helmsman and pointed out the barely visible outline of Ship Island to the north. “That’s where you are headed, and there is a little bay on this side of the island with a shaky old dock. I think you should be okay to dock on the left side of that, but don’t go too far in because there is no beach – just rocks. Willy should be there soon and he has a key to the cottage. He may even be there already. We’ll stop by when we’re done out here, whenever that is.”

  “Gentlemen, keep your eyes open and be safe!” said the sergeant. The boats parted company and got underway, with the jetboat continuing north to the island and The Beaver headed back south along the beach. “Frank, I’ve been able to talk freely with Super George (as you call him – hate to think what you call me!) at The Falls. The RCMP are done their sweep of the Robertson Mines facility and found a number of illegal workers – it wasn’t just Hassam, after all – and they detained for questioning two senior management staff – one American and one Mexican – both of whom had records. They are on their way to Ottawa, where they will have a long night.”

  “How about the guys who got smoked on the island – are they still out there?”

  “Not any longer. The first chopper (the one that took you to the village) went out to the island and landed on the beach after you took off from the village to come back here. The boat was basically just a lump of aluminum and parts, but the two bodies had really only been scorched. Our team took photos and bagged and loaded them – they are now on their way to The Falls for identification and autopsies.”

  “Anything on the ground over here, outside the Robertson fence?”

  “Yes, a couple of arrests. You will be tickled to know we picked up old man Giordano for possession and a number of possible extortion charges. There were three or four other guys and a couple of women in the camps who had outstanding warrants, so they, too, are headed for an overnight stay at The Falls and arraignment tomorrow morning. The drugs from this morning, however, we have not found so far. It is possible that we can squeeze some information out of the folks we picked up, and it is also possible – may
be more than likely – that Juan still has them on his boat. And we have no way of knowing where he has gone to ground. It seems likely he went upriver to Willy’s place, but your FBI buddies told me they never passed another boat on their way down to the lake.”

  “He could have passed Willy’s, I suppose, except that you’d think they would have heard that thing go by even if they didn’t see it. Or, he could have stopped along the south shore out of sight in a marsh. It’s a fast boat, but it doesn’t stick up much! So, Sergeant MacLeod, what’s next on the agenda?

  “Several things. First, I’m going to release the one remaining OPS car on the shore over here and tell the two officers to go back to the village, have a relaxed supper, and wait on me for further orders. Second, unless you have a better idea I will release the second chopper, which is wondering if he should return from delivering Andy and Ajay and the other two officers he picked up from the boat. Third, we have some officers onboard who need to get to the village to take over the village patrols. We need that to continue until Juan is dead or arrested. I confess I hardly care which, after he murdered those two guys this morning. And fourth, I think you have a lady waiting for you at the village, and there is another one I’d like to see, so if in an hour and a half from now you and I and those ladies were sitting in the Spirit Inn with a steak, that would be a desirable way forward.”

  Anderson had already begun a leisurely one-eighty. He fed the engine an almost full diet of diesel and headed back to the village while the sergeant informed the command office in Maple Falls and talked to his staff who had been waiting patiently on the well deck.

  ***

  Half an hour later, they were passing north of Ship Island. Anderson sounded a couple of quick blasts on the air horn and dialled Willy’s cellphone. “Willy, you’re at the island I assume and your gang and Anita are safely with you?”

  “Hi Frank, yes, we’re all here and all is well, although someone has broken into the cottage and made a bit of a mess – likely stole some stuff too. I see you are headed to the village?”

  “Yes, we are. Our crew here will be on patrol in the village and John and I will go have some supper. Do you folks have food for tonight?”

  “Yes we do. I brought some nice steaks with me and a six-pack, which will be enough for now. Go and see your missus – she’s at Marion’s and she’s worried sick.”

  Anderson chuckled: “You bet, will do. All of you keep your eyes and ears wide open tonight – you’ve got a good crew there but although his army is probably defeated we haven’t found Juan yet. You have my cellphone... we may come out to the island later tonight but I’ll let you know. Depends on what we learn in the next couple or three hours. You and Anita and your team there are our priority. Later, my friend!”

  The sergeant brought Anderson one of his own beers from the forward cabin. “Here, I’m passing out one of these to each of us, so we are temporarily off-duty and I promise not to arrest you for having open alcohol onboard. If I did that I’d have to pour it over the side and that would be both polluting the environment and a criminal waste. Anyway, I think the government ruled that this tradition is still valid in the navy, Captain Anderson.”

  “Thank you, Admiral MacLeod. I’ll go to any length to win the battle against pollution.” They were about twenty minutes out of the village, so he dialled Marjorie: “Hi Marjorie, it’s me!

  “ Oh Frank, I have heard all about you but I have needed to hear your voice, How long is your boat?”

  “Thirty seven feet. Why?”

  “Then I plan never to be more than thirty-seven feet from you, ever again.”

  “Well, the comfortable part is about twenty-five feet. Will that do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, there are two idiots here who want to invite two pretty girls to dinner at the Spirit Inn in about a half-hour. You game?”

  “Yes. Wendy has already booked us a room there, and is over there now. I am still at Arnold and Marion’s place.”

  “You don’t need a room. I have an empty one. I’ll pick you up... we’re about twenty minutes off the dock so... like I said, about half an hour?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “Love you, lady!” Anderson blurted out, and clicked off. He sat for a moment wondering about himself, then called to the sergeant: “The ladies will have dinner with us – I have to pick up Marjorie at Arnolds, but Wendy is already at the Inn.” The docks were ahead, and he slacked off the throttle and began to plan his landing. It was an early weekday night before the long weekend, so there was little or no boat traffic and he was able to get in quickly.

  The officers and their sergeant pitched in to tie down and lock the boat. Anderson dipped his fuel tanks and was in the process of shutting everything down, the sergeant came to him and said quietly, “Frank, we are all actually on duty one way or another. The officers here will be on patrol in the village, and you and I are still on twenty-four seven. So, please check over your sidearm and holster it on your belt. And of course, the girls can drink over dinner but we can’t. Which doesn’t bother me much because I plan to eat a whole lot.”

  “Works for me,” and Anderson struggled with his belt, attached the holster and checked the pistol for action and load. “Not exactly used to this thing,” he muttered to the sergeant. “It’s embarrassing, sort of.”

  “Don’t worry. It rides well on you!”

  ***

  There was only one police cruiser at the docks – the sergeants – so he directed his officers to take it, drop him off at the Inn, and sort out how to get another car to the village sometime this evening. Anderson had left his truck at the dock, so after checking the boat one last time he climbed into the truck and headed for Arnold’s place. They were sitting in the front garden, and Marjorie ran over to greet him. The hug was enthusiastic and the kiss was long.

  “Time for a drink?” asked Marion after they had quit being affectionate. “Either that or we’ve got a room upstairs!”

  “Hey,” Arnold called, “look at this! Now quiet old Anderson is armed. Holy crap!”

  “Oh, that? John made me wear it. Sorry about that!”

  Marion rolled her eyes, and Marjorie looked at his waist and shrugged. “Whatever. I just hope he doesn’t have to wear it to bed, and can give it back tomorrow.”

  “Me too. Thanks so much Marion, and Arnold, for everything. Hopefully we’ll all get together tomorrow, but right now I have something to show Marjorie.”

  “I’ll bet you do!” Marion called across the lawn. “That pistol’s bad enough!”

  “Wise-ass broad, not that!” Anderson laughed, and he bundled Marjorie into the truck and drove back down to the dock.

  “Where are you going? I thought we were going to the Inn...”

  “Hang on a moment. You’ll see.” He drove onto the dock and up behind the launch before he stopped. “There.”

  Marjorie looked, then suddenly saw the name on the transom. She sat dead still for a moment, then her eyes filled with tears and she slid across the front seat and buried her face on his shoulder. “Oh Frank!” was all she said. “Oh, Frank.”

  He hugged her close for a couple of minutes, then cupped her face gently and said, “Glad you approve. Dinner?”

  “Mmm hmm. Let’s.”

  ***

  The Inn had a section of the lounge that served as a dining room in the evening, and it was empty except for John and Wendy, who were happily chirping at one another at a corner table for four. “Thought you were lost,” said Wendy, who stood up and gave Anderson a hug. Marjorie greeted the sergeant warmly and the four sat down.

  Georgina was on shift and she almost skipped across to Anderson and said, “Is it true? I’ve heard from Marion that you may have found Anita. Is that true?

  “Yes it is. If it wasn’t for Willy and his people, and John here and his people, we wouldn’t have, but yes it’s true, and I’ll make sure that you and Fred get to see her tomorrow.” He glanced across at the sergeant: “That
will be possible John, I hope?”

  “We’ll make sure it happens, Mrs. Antoine. Yes, she is alive, she still has a great sense of humour, and she is safe tonight.”

  “Oh my God. Thank you God, Thank you friends... here’s a menu, I’m gonna call Fred right now. Haven’t told him yet. I couldn’t see his heart broken again!” And she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I am so happy for her,” Wendy said. “The last three or four weeks must have been terrible!”

  “There will, I hope, be another reunion in the next couple of days,” said Anderson. “Fred’s dad is Willy, and they haven’t talked for many years – maybe twenty. Two nice men like that deserve better... let’s hope it happens!”

  “Twenty years? That’s a very long time for a father and son to be silent,” said Wendy.

  “Well, it happens. Misunderstood blame, I think. And booze just never helps. I just hope they sort it out. Okay gang, what are we gonna eat? This is on the Crown’s tab tonight, so enjoy. And you ladies can even have drinks, too, although Sergeant Anderson and I will have to wait until another time. We’re still on the job.”

  “Sergeant Anderson? is there something I don’t know?”

  “Don’t worry Wendy. It’s a condition I’ll get over as soon as everyone else is healthy. Hopefully very soon... I kinda liked being a small-time contractor with a boat.”

  “Well, okay then,” Wendy replied. “I mean, I happen to think that police officers are especially sexy, but I just didn’t think of you that way. I mean...”

  “Thanks a lot, lady! Anyway, that’s a good thing ‘cause I think your sister might have something to say!”

  “Damn right I would!” And the four could feel the day’s tension evaporate as they laughed together.

  ***

  It happened so suddenly. Meals had been ordered – rib-eyes, rare, for the boys, and crab-stuffed chicken for the girls who were sipping wine while Anderson and the sergeant drank coffee. A tall, good-looking and well-dressed man with jet-black hair walked into the bar, looked around and saw the sergeant in the corner. He pulled a small pistol from the waistband of his slacks, waved it around the room and strode half-way across the bar where he aimed it square at the sergeant: “You! Fuckin’ cop! You’ve been fucking me around for a week and tonight it’s over. Where’s Anita, that black whore? You have five seconds to tell me...”