Moratorium

by Chuck Sampson

  Sitting beside Max and rubbing the side of his bloodied jaw, Cyrus noticed that the fishing vessel now appeared much larger, he observed that as soon as the Grady had stopped, it started drifting toward the trawler and was now less than twenty or thirty feet away. He could see the trawler’s name, Diane Marie, printed clearly in large black letters on its bow. It was much wider and heavier than the Grady White, probably forty ton. And though it was not powered at the moment, its momentum was much greater than that of the Grady and when they collided, it would be the winner. The prospect of hitting the trawler and sinking frightened Cyrus, but before he could warn either Moon or Duncan, he was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the boat.

  Duncan held Briana by her pant’s belt and pulled her back. She waved her arms wildly in an attempt to strike Duncan. Grabbing her by both arms, he sat her back down on the rear seat. An Asian man appeared on the rail of the Diane Marie, just above the Grady. “Throw down a line!” Duncan yelled out, keeping his colt trained on Briana.

  Moon grabbed a pole from below and used it to slow down the boats movement into the side of the larger trawler. A line, with a monkey’s fist knot on one end, landed on the deck behind them. Duncan put the nine-mike he carried up to Briana’s head.

  “Grab hold or I’ll finish what I started on the pier at Rincon Island. Don’t get any ideas about resisting. You are expendable; I only need those two for the plan.” Briana climbed up the knotted rope and onto the deck of the trawler. Duncan kicked at the fishing gear and clutter that covered the bottom of the boat. He found the broken bottle of Chivas Regal and threw it overboard with a sigh of disgust. He handed Mike’s nine mike back to him and took back his colt, then he said, “Go down below and bring up a couple more bottles of scotch.”

  Moon walked down below and came back with two bottles of Chivas Regal, he handed one to Cyrus and one to Max. He pointed his nine-mike at Cyrus and said, “Start drinking pig.”

  “You go ahead, I don’t drink. If you want to shoot me, be my guest.”

  “You think you’re a hero, don’t you?” Moon said, “So you don’t care about your life, what about Briana’s?”

  “You wouldn’t kill her, Moon; you still want her, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, I want her all right, I want her to take a cap from my nine mike in the back of the head, especially after she’s been with a pig.”

  Cyrus stared back at Moon and then spat at him. Moon darted to the side to avoid the bloody phlegm.

  “You’re the craziest pig I ever saw,” Moon said and then he kicked Cyrus again in the side, in the same spot he had hit him with the bat. “O.K. you’re a hero and you got guts. But you better start drinking or I’ll blow a hole through your partner, here.” He pointed his gun at Max’s chest.

  Cyrus took a sip, gagged and wheezed, and then spit it out. He could hardly breathe. Moon pushed the barrel of the gun as hard as he could against Max’s chest. He started to force another drink down Cyrus, but stopped and then laughed.

  “The fat boy can’t swim and he can’t drink,” he said, “No wonder you became a pig, you’re a loser. That’s okay, as long as you get the stuff on your breath and your clothes that’s all I need. You too, Robocop, take a big drink, now.”

  While Max drank down a small gulp of the scotch, Moon walked over to the boat’s console and broke the key off in the ignition. He grabbed the microphone of the VHF radio and yanked on it until it broke away and threw it onto the deck. He walked up the runway and tossed over the anchor. Cyrus could see Duncan signaling him to hurry up. Moon walked back over to the side of the boat where Cyrus and Max were still sitting.

  “You can’t swim and your partner can’t let you die alone. Besides, Max, you would never make it if you tried to swim back. The ocean water temperature is a brisk fifty five degrees. A man of your swimming ability wouldn’t last more than an hour, maybe two at the most. The ocean swells are somewhat calm out here now, but inshore the waves are breaking head high and there’s a strong undertow. You might as well keep Cyrus company. Besides all that, if you do make a swim for it, you’ll get a bullet in your head from the guard up there.”

  Duncan grabbed the rope and started climbing up toward the rail of the trawler. “Come on Moon,” he said, “They’re not going anywhere, we got Briana as a hostage. If they try to escape we’ll kill her.”

  Moon knelt down so that he was face to face with Cyrus. “I’m going to kill her anyway,” he whispered.

  Cyrus jerked his head forward in an attempt to deliver a head butt, but Moon avoided the blow and then laughed. “Take your chances on the boat,” he said, “you probably won’t be killed; you’ll just wish you were dead because you’ll be blamed for the oil spill. I did the math; the force from the torpedo explosion will be deadened by the water because the ocean bottom here is about sixty feet down. You’ll more than likely just capsize.”

  Moon grabbed hold of the rope and shimmied up to the trawler’s rail. Cyrus looked over at the anchor line and sighed. He was relieved that Moon had tightened it so that the boat was no longer in danger of colliding with the trawler.

  “What the hell did you do all that for, Cyrus?” Max said, “Are you crazy? He could have killed us both.” He stood up, smiled, and waved at the guard. Then he grabbed Cyrus by the hand and helped him up.

  “Relax, Max, he couldn’t kill us, Duncan removed the firing pin from his nine-mike.”

  Max returned a puzzled gaze.

  “I saw the hammer earlier,” Cyrus explained, “When he had it pointed at your head, I saw the firing pin was missing.”

  “Cyrus, I think you’re wrong. Moon had Duncan’s piece when he pointed it at me, after they scuffled, he gave Moon back his nine-mike. You saw Duncan’s colt with the firing pin missing, didn’t you?”

  Cyrus nodded affirmatively and then said, “Oops.” He and Max stood near the rail of the Grady for several moments deciding what to do when they heard a loud voice call out. It was Duncan; he stood near the bow of the trawler and held a megaphone with one hand, with the other he held a gun pointed toward Briana’s temple.

  “Get on the Jet Ski, Dana, or we’ll kill Briana!”

  A moment later, Duncan lowered the gun from Briana’s temple and pushed her back from the boat rail and out of sight.

  “They got Dana, Cyrus.” Max said.

  “We have got to get on board; somehow, we need a distraction.”

  “Get on board? And then what? We don’t have a weapon and they have Dana and Briana as hostages. Besides, there are four of them and two of us.”

  Cyrus ran his tongue along his bruised and swollen gums, and then he bent down and picked up the bottle of scotch. He held it up to the guard above who waved back and then he took a big swallow. Max raised an eyebrow, “You O.K.?”

  “My jaw hurts like hell, Max.” Cyrus held up at the bottle of scotch, stared at it for a moment, and then he said, “Civilization is a kid with a Molotov cocktail; culture is the L.A. cop who guns him down.”

  “You shouldn’t drink, Cyrus,” Max said, then he took the bottle of scotch from him. “You’re already babbling.”

  “No, it’s one of the quotes from one of the fanatics Moon admires. I just want to change it around a little.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am talking about being a Santa Barbara cop with a Molotov cocktail.” Cyrus took back the scotch from Max, “Are you finished?”

  Max nodded affirmatively and Cyrus emptied the remaining whiskey in the bottle onto the deck. Picking up the fishing knife, he knelt down next to the gas line of one of the outboard engines. “Stand in front of me so the guard doesn’t see,” he said, while he cut the rubber hose.

  “Hey Cyrus,” Max said, “The trawler’s moving away from us.”

  Once he finished filling each of the whiskey bottles he stood up. “This is a rental boat, maybe they have a flare gun on board.”

  “They have to keep a flare gun on board, Coast Guard regulations,” Max s
aid.

  He and Max crawled on their bellies to the cuddy cabin and went below. Two cushioned seats lined either side of the cabin space and a small table sat in between them. There was a small bathroom near the forepeak. Cyrus handed his whiskey bottle filled with gas to Max and then opened the door to the bathroom. He searched the medicine chest above the sink and found the first aid kit. There he found a flare gun and several flares and gathered them up. Spotting a candle and some gauze, he grabbed them as well. He laid all the material on the cabin table. He picked up one of the whiskey bottle filled with gas.

  “Get the other bottle and copy what I do,” he said to Max. Max rooted around the cabin and found the other whiskey bottle. He returned to the cabin table and stood next to Cyrus.

  As Cyrus stuffed a couple gauze pads down the neck of the bottle he said, “This gauze is the wick. Don’t push it in too far. You have to keep the end of it above the gasoline so that when the flame reaches inside the bottle, the fumes explode before the gasoline ignites.” Max put a couple of gauze pads in the other bottle while Cyrus lit the candle. They each set their bottle down on the cabin table. He spread the melted wax around each bottle’s opening and sealed it closed.

  “The wax-” Cyrus started to say.

  “I know,” Max said, “The wax will help maintain the pressure and build up fumes.”

  Cyrus nodded affirmatively. “Let’s get out there and really start a party. Don’t forget the flare gun.”

  They scrambled back out to the deck of the Grady and hid close to the side out of sight of the guard. Max loaded the flare gun and took aim for the trawler.

  “Don’t shoot the guard; we need to get his friends busy too.” Cyrus said. “Try for the window of the wheelhouse.”

  “What is a wheelhouse?”

  Cyrus made a dour face. “You know all about Coast Guard regulations but don’t know what a wheelhouse is, you are a strange bird. Aim for the front window, there.” Cyrus pointed to the front window of the wheelhouse and the Asian looked over the rail and glared, simultaneously pointing the MP-5’s muzzle at them. Cyrus put his hand on Max’s chest and said,

  “Wait a minute Max, until the guard settles down again.”

  Once Lao put the MP-5 down, Max stood up from his hiding spot and fired a flare into the front window of the trawler’s wheelhouse. The sound from the flare gun frightened the guard. When he turned to one side to see what had happened, Max and Cyrus each lit their gasoline bombs with the lighted candle. As Max began to throw his cocktail, Cyrus grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said and then staring intently and the burning gauze he started to count, “One, two, three-now!”

  They flung the gasoline filled bottles for the bow of the boat near the wheelhouse. An instant later a succession of two explosions and two streaks of orange and blue fireballs engulfed the wheelhouse of the trawler. One of the Asian guards emerged from the pilot house screaming and covered in flames. He dove over the side.

  Lao fired a volley of several rounds wildly across the deck of the Grady, sending Cyrus and Max scurrying for cover. Crouched down against the starboard side of the boat wall, the rounds from the guard’s automatic barely missed them.

  Jumping up and down and yelling something in what sounded like Chinese to Cyrus, Lao pointed at the two other guards. Cyrus peeked up over the boat rail and saw the other guard meet the excited Asians and then together they ran to the wheelhouse, one carrying a bucket and the other dragging a large hose.

  The instant the guards were out of sight, Max and Cyrus jumped over the side of the Grady White and swam for the trawler. The rope with the monkey’s fist was still hanging over its side. Once he reached the vessel, Max grabbed the line and started shimmying up toward the boat rail.

  “When I get to the top, I’ll pull you up, Cyrus.”

  Kicking with all his strength and swinging wildly with his arms at the water, Cyrus finally reached the hull of the big boat. Exhausted, he grabbed hold of the monkey’s fist and tried to pull himself up. He made little headway. He managed to get about three feet further up the rope by the time Max pulled him up close enough to reach the rail of the trawler. Cyrus fell over the rail and landed on his back. Max helped Cyrus up and they looked around for the guards.

  “What do are we going to do now?” Max asked, “Try to take them? There are two of us and five of them.”

  “Four actually, the pilot jumped over the side covered in flames. And if we free Dana and Briana first the sides will be even. Besides the guards are busy putting out that fire,” Cyrus said through chattering teeth. “So actually it’s two against two.”

  “Yeah, and Duncan is holding a gun with no firing pin.”

  “Can you get up on the roof of the cabin?”

  “I think that ladder at the end of the walk-around goes to the roof of the cabin.”

  “You go up on the roof and sneak up on them from the port side and I’ll come at them from this side.” He reached down and picked up the pole Moon had with him when he came on board.

  Max looked around and found a foot long length of chain lying on the deck.

  “Probably came off of the chain they used for securing the torpedo onto the boom.”

  Cyrus walked slowly down the walk-around toward the main deck as Max climbed up to the top of the cabin and over to the port side runway. He stopped at its end where he could see Dana and Briana sitting on the trawler’s hatch. Moon stood beside them, holding the nine-mike and talking. Probably bragging about his grand plan for restoring Mother Nature, Cyrus thought.

  Since Moon faced the same direction he was coming from and he would be instantly spotted by him if he made a move towards him, he decided to wait. He had forgotten about the guards however, and when he stepped back from the light to hide himself, he stepped into the grasp of the two Asian guards. They grabbed the pole from him before he could use it and gripping him by each arm, they pushed him out on to the main deck.

  “Pretty impressive, the pig can swim after all,” Moon said. “Man, you are really starting harsh my mellow. I think that the only way we are going to be able to pull this off is to go ahead and put a bullet between your eyes and make it look like your partner shot you.”

  “You don’t even know what it is you are pulling off Moon. You think I’m dumb, at least I knew that what I was trying pull off didn’t have much of a chance. You are deluded if you think creating this oil spill and starting a second Platform A disaster will change anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am just saying, all you are going to do is trade an American technological Satan for a Chinese one. Duncan’s a true believer, he’s no anarchist. Why do you think he wants to keep Dana alive?”

  “Because he doesn’t believe Dana killed Mike, but he’s wrong, Briana saw him.”

  “Duncan could care less about who killed Mike Tanner. He needs Dana to get to the oil. Only Dana can tell them how to locate the oil off the coast of Santa Rosa Island. The Chinese oil company Duncan works for needs him to interpret the data and learn his algorithm for finding more oil. It’s in his report, the Oil Samples Report. You know about that, don’t you?”

  “I think you still have residual effects from the sleeping gas, fatso. There’s no oil near Santa Rosa Island.”

  “Yes there is, Moon.” Dana said. “The area is rich in hydrocarbon deposits. Even old man Gherini had a small oil rig on his ranch on nearby Santa Cruz Island. The seismic response data I analyzed showed the probability of finding a sweet crude deposit there to be greater than ninety percent.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Moon!” Duncan yelled out over the noise of the diesel. “They’re trying to pit us against each other. Go ahead and cap him!”

  “Why would Duncan be helping me cause an oil spill if he was working for the Chinese? Once this torpedo goes off and floods the beaches with oil, the moratorium will be set permanently. That means no new oil exploration or any new oil rigs.”

  “No new oil exploration by law abiding
American Oil Companies, not secret Chinese oil companies with controlling interests in a small-time, local oil company, like TANOCO.”

  “TANOCO, now I know you’re crazy. Old man Tanner is too much of an old school patriot to be dealing with the Chinese.”

  “Just shoot him, Moon. He’s talking nonsense!”

  “It still doesn’t make sense. If Duncan works for the Chinese, then why would he help me make the moratorium permanent? TANOCO can’t secretly drill for oil out here, no one can. We’re twenty five miles out and it’s still another five miles to Santa Rosa Island. Tanner’s special rig, the one Mike told me about can’t go that far. Besides, the California EPA would be all over him if he tried a stunt like that. I will personally turn him in.”

  “You need to turn him in then. Peter Grigoryan claims his new rig can get out to at least thirty miles off shore.”

  “Duncan is not a traitor. He’s not working for the Chinese, I don’t believe it.” Moon spoke softly for the first time.

  “He’s what Kaczynski called a true believer, remember? You know, green on the outside and red in the middle. If it’s true he’s not working for the Chinese, where did you get the money for the boat, for the DET, the torpedo, and those ten thousand dollar a piece, illegal as all hell, MP-5 automatic weapons?”

  Moon lowered his gun. For a moment Cyrus believed he had broken Moon’s trust of Duncan, but then Moon raised his arm and aimed the nine-mike he was holding at him, “Mike Tanner, that’s who, so shut up before I cap you!”

  “Mike could have given you money, Moon, but you can’t buy MP-5s from a local Wal-Mart. You can’t buy them legally anywhere unless you are the FBI or some other representative of a nation-state, like China. Your torpedo is filled with DET, a very expensive and state controlled explosive. It’s not used for clearing out tree stumps, it’s weapons grade. Think about it, Moon, how come all the guards Duncan picked were Asian, and where could Mike find an authentic WWII Japanese torpedo? You ever heard of the Camorra gang, Moon?”