by Paul Snyder
Andrew struggled with things she didn’t understand as the boat’s motors started, and the captain pulled up anchor. Why didn’t the boat captain pick-up Rick earlier when he was still swimming out to the rocks?
She leaned back and ripped herself out of Andrew’s arms. She wanted to escape Andrew’s hold and climb to the top of the jetty. Maybe I’ll see Rick down deep in the water, escaping the shark. When she reached the top of the breakwater, Rick was gone.
She turned away from the ocean, squeezing her eyes shut, her mind replaying everything, but in the end, she had no right to object or overrule and tip the scales of poetic justice. After everything he’d done, it was all destined, and she reminded herself it was just the way that things were meant to be. After all, there’s dignity, honor, even greatness in the depths of a watery grave.
Rick was here every day. It was the place he loved most. And he died while doing what he loved most, more than anything in the world, swimming in the San Gabriel River. There was a moment of hesitation. She attempted to calm herself. But then her thoughts went forward. They said Rick had more lives than a cat. More than nine lives! They lied. Rick is dead.
41
Earlier in the evening, while Andrew and Meghan were a long way from the end of the jetty, Rick Weber drifted out to sea toward the Outerlimits rescue boat. A bright sliver of sunlight pierced the dark clouds. He grasped his white gold necklace with the diamond pendant, then kissed the cross and placed it back inside his shirt.
Days ago, after deciding to help Meghan in plain sight of the police and FBI, Rick figured faking his death at sea was his only option to avoid capture by the FBI. Needlefish were more dangerous than sharks, so to falsify his body’s destruction, without arousing too much suspicion, he staged a struggle between himself and a school of needlefish, which would draw blood for a mako shark.
After fabricating needlefish and a twelve-foot mako shark out of fiberglass and resin, Rick hired two scuba divers to ride in his friend’s Outerlimits speedboat. The first diver would pull the fiberglass shark underwater by ropes to simulate a shark attack, while the second diver would yank on ropes tied to his feet, pulling him underwater.
If Rick focused long enough, his entire plan would come to mind as he swam out to the rescue boat to meet the divers. But soon, another twenty-foot wave would crash down on him, forcing him back into survival mode.
Where the San Gabriel River empties into the Pacific Ocean, nature is in charge, not man, and any physical fight against oceanic atrocity is useless and detrimental. Any effort I make wastes precious oxygen stored in my body while underwater. So he relaxed and held his breath underwater, preserving his oxygen. When the turbulence stopped, he swam upward, hard, through the silvery bubbles, and then gasped for air at the top, finding himself closer to the end of the jetty where Andrew and Meghan were still walking to meet him.
Rick and Andrew were advanced open water divers with deep diver certifications at a hundred and thirty feet. They’d dived here at night often and knew the dark sides to the current. At the end of the Alamitos Bay breakwater, there were powerful underwater currents, and any mistake could cause Rick to surface a great distance from the jetty.
Some divers feared the underwater currents at night, but Rick, Andrew, and their diving friends always brought backup dive lights with blinding strobe features. They anticipated and loved the thrill-ride of the powerful underwater currents while night diving.
Jennifer’s shooting spree also worked in Rick’s favor. Bullets from the AR-15 sealed his faked death's success after Rick threw his diamond necklace to Meghan while the scuba diver pulled at the ropes tied to Rick’s feet. The fake mako shark and Rick went underwater fast. Moments later, they were down on the ocean floor in their lighted staging area where his fins, weight belt, diving cylinders, and mask rested in a metal cage.
Soon Rick’s weight belt and scuba kit were as comfortable as his favorite pair of jeans. Rick was breathing easily, and with the two divers' help, he was holding his strobe lights and ready for an underwater escape to Naples Island.
Something familiar about the slivery light from the water’s surface came to Rick. There was something strangely Dejavu about where he was in the ocean. While scuba diving, he was always more relaxed, moved slower, and more at ease for safety. But, in its intangible familiarity, he knew that there was something cosmic about being here.
He let out a small, glorious sound as he saw freedom. In all his bad business, he’d made mistakes, hurting so many people. But in the reconstruction of his life, he deserved a level of forgiveness and redemption where there would be no memories of his past, no more people wanting him to pay for his crimes.
There would only be the acceptance of his gray-haired visitors in their lighted scuba gear. Then for an instant, he did see both. Their eyes made contact in the dark water. It was brief and explosive. The scuba divers were releasing silvery bubbles.
He was suspended deep in the sea, staring at their faces. It was almost always like this in the darkness, for they had dived in the dark, so many times, preparing, for now, in place of Rick’s nightmares and dreams, right here, at the end of the jetty.
It was the men who assisted him with the donning of his scuba gear. Their grey hair was outside their masks. With their gauge consoles in place and blue cushioned regulator mouthpieces in their mouths, Rick swam off to the rocks led by Dennis Peterson, a retired naval officer, a commander in amphibious forces, who recently relocated to Naples Island from Naval Base Coronado in San Diego.
The three of them said it might happen. But Rick believed it now, for sure. I’m dead, again, for real. No longer a man, I’m just a ghost in the silvery bubbles of the sea, in the happiest of my dreams.
He recalled the goliath waves where Andrew and Meghan were walking on the jetty. Andrew and Meghan were in the most dangerous part of the ocean, where watermen gained mastery over the earth's most powerful forces. There were vast clouds of white spray blowing off the backs of those mountainous swells. Right now, Meghan is one of the greatest swimmers in the world, and Andrew will have to play catchup to match her mastery. I am old and tired and more a fisherman than a surfer. I’m exhausted.
Rick relaxed close to the silvery bubbles of his scuba equipment. Then for an instant, he saw his retired navy buddy, Dennis Peterson. Their eyes made contact again. The gray-haired scuba diver was suspended next to him, signaling upward. It was almost time to swim back to Naples Island.
42
Temple helped Jennifer Davis into the ambulance. Her body was racked with force trauma created by gunshot wounds, and after the paramedic put iTClamps over the injuries, she was exhausted from compound fractures, so Jim pounded on the ambulance door, shouting at the driver, “put a rush on the bus.”
The ambulance dashed out of the parking lot for St. Mary Medical Center in Long Beach. Jim slid into the passenger seat of Dan’s black Aston Martin. Twenty minutes later, they left Cerritos Bahia Marina in Meghan’s fifty-nine foot, Cigarette Racing speedboat.
Temple rushed along the port side past the refrigerator and wine rack and down into the cabin below. He then went up and into Meghan’s helm, where they motored in comfort through Alamitos Bay. Raindrops tinkled the windshield glass and stayed to freckle Temple’s view of the jetty, against the backdrop of the dark, windblown Pacific Ocean. Temple studied the display monitors of Garmin computer marine technology, showing fifty mile per hour wind speeds and the south-west swell directions of tropical depression Yolanda.
They cruised out of Alamitos Bay and into open water, and Jim forced his mind back to the fisherman. He wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. He was returning to the FBI Laboratory and Washington D.C. with the arrest of the man who killed Andrew’s family, the congressman, then robbed his bank. Plus, Jennifer's name, Dale Sanders, the man who funded Wilkerson's contract. Only then would his work be done.
Still, his new west coast lifestyle and old east coast stomping grounds were so entirely separate that
it was difficult for him to imagine returning to Washington D.C. Suddenly, the thought of buying a beach house in Huntington or Sunset Beach was like a fantastic fairy tale. It was a rotten way to feel. But, in a few moments, Temple would have to place the fisherman, Keith Davidson, in custody.
Temple went topside to the stern and stopped at the transom part by the six, black, four hundred horsepower Mercury racing engines. The boat rocked wildly in the channel. Dan edged closer to the jetty. Temple would have to make do without handcuffs or risk the fisherman falling into the ocean, unable to swim.
From the Alamitos Bay channel, the jetty was deserted. But, as he exited the boat and topped the rocks and looked south towards the Seal Beach Pier and Mexico, there was a brown speedboat like Meghan’s, floating in the ocean thirty yards from him.
Temple shoes were soaked and squelched with every step across the slippery, black rocks. It was strange how it all looked. A bolt of lightning flashed bright. Thunder instantly cracked. It popped my ears. Lighting struck right here. This is Meghan’s territory, not mine. Temple hurried to the jetty end and stood, staring at the ocean, windblown and wild, dark. When will the fisherman swim to Andrew and Meghan at the water’s edge?
A sizeable, large diamond cross dangled from Meghan’s hand. It was peculiar. Meghan talked with Andrew as though she had been crying for some time. She said something, and then she turned her back on Andrew.
She faced Temple, her eyes bleak. “Rick was swimming for me.” There was an eternal silence in the dark, and then big drops of rain fell hard on the rocks. Lightning flashed, and thunder crackled in the dark sky, and then Meghan’s eyes had an expression he’d never seen. “Rick’s face was bloody, and he was holding a needlefish.”
Small tears spilled into Meghan’s cheeks, and then Jim wanted to hold her for a moment, and the tears began to flow again. He ached to know what had caused her to sob. Please stop crying, Meghan. “It’s okay, Meghan. Is Rick on that boat?” The fisherman’s name was Rick. “What’s Rick’s last name?” She dried her eyes, seeming to be frightened by his sudden question. She seemed to want to keep Rick’s last name a secret.
“His last name is… I mean, it was Weber. His name was Rick Weber.”
Jim waved at the boat off the end of the jetty. “Did Rick swim to that boat?”
The brown Outerlimits speedboat edged close to the jetty. Jim’s eyes held Meghan’s face meaningfully, and then they walked to meet the marine craft’s operator. The fifty-two foot ship trimmed close. “Why didn’t you help him earlier before the shark got here?” Meghan shouted. “Tell me, why did you sit back and watch Rick suffer!”
“What happened?” Temple shouted to the boat’s operator.
“He was attacked by needlefish and then pulled underwater by a massive shark.” He shouted. “It was too late for me to act. I tried to help, okay.” The man propelled his boat away from the breakwater and towards Alamitos Bay.
Meghan walked over to where Andrew sat, and she touched him on the shoulder with a trembling hand. Andrew stirred sleepily and then squinted his eyes and looked up at her face. Andrew signed to Meghan.
It was as though they were messaging, secret codes, stealthily. There was nothing friendly in Andrew’s signing or face. She seemed to want to stay near Andrew, but she stared at Jim, with that bewildering cross dangling from her hand.
“What exactly went on here?” Jim got right to the point.
“Who are you?” She looked up with a look of innocence and curiosity in her eyes. “Who are you?” Meghan walked to Temple. “Who are you, and what’s this all about?”
“That’s a peculiar question,” Temple replied.
“Where’s your partner in crime, Jennifer.”
“Jennifer’s in the hospital with two broken legs.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What do you do?” Meghan persisted. “Exactly.”
“Actio personalis moritur cum persona.”
“What is that?”
“A personal action dies with the person.” Jim came here to arrest Keith Davidson, Rick Weber, or whatever the fisherman called himself today. But now, the fisherman was dead. Tomorrow he’d fly home after getting Jennifer’s affidavit. “Right now, I’m more interested in you. How are you?”
She looked like she didn’t believe a word. “You mean, why didn’t Detective Davis kill me in my home?”
“What about that man in his boat, anchored right off the jetty, for a little afternoon picnic, in the worst hurricane in twenty years?” Temple countered. “He just happened to leave the moment I arrived? I’ll say one thing. He’s got a fast speedboat. You and Andrew and Rick Weber could have been deep in Mexican territorial waters, real fast.”
“They were coming to my house to kill us. You knew it and sat in your car and watched and let them do it, anyway. Everywhere you go, there’s death. And you want to know what I’m doing?” She stood tall and held her head high. “What the hell are you doing?”
Suddenly Jim wondered if he’d been wrong. He’d be heartsick if she were telling the truth, and he’d been falsely accusing her. His eyes faltered for a moment, and when he saw the large diamond cross dangling on a white gold chain in her hand. He reached over, grabbed it, and held it high in the air like a prize. Needles of rain stung Temple’s face. “What’s this?”
“His cross.”
She stood there, rainfall pouring down her face. “He gave you his cross?”
Lightning pierced the darkness as fierce winds blew into her face. “He died because of his cross, and then he gave me his cross.”
There was no other way to find out the truth. “You were escaping justice with a man who has a history of escaping justice.” He gave the cross back to her.
“What’s the secret you’re holding from me?” She demanded. “Why were you allowing the police to kill everyone in my house?”
“There’s no secret.”
“What’s the reason for you to allow the State of California employees to kill everyone in my home while you watch from your car down the street?”
“There’s no reason.”
“Why are you covering up for a police department employee with a radio frequency jammer that’s police department equipment?” The accusation unleashed fury in her. She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze. “Why did you authorize the employees of the State of California to take away my 911 privileges?” Jim was silent. “What the hell is so important that you’d authorize the State of California to kill everyone in my house. What’s the secret you’re hiding from me?”
“A confession.”
“That’s it. Isn’t it?” Pensively, she looked out into the darkness. She struggled to stop herself from pondering. “This whole damn thing was about a confession.” She demanded. “Wasn’t it!”
“Yes.” Temple admitted. “It was. Jennifer was predictable.”
“Well, I hope you got your confession, and it was worth it.”
“I did, and it was.” His voice was rough, and he lowered his head.
“So, you got your confession here in Seal Beach.” At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head and listened. “And you indicted your congressman for ballot fraud back in Oregon. But at what cost to us? Philip still suffers permanent damage from brucine poisoning by a police officer. Jennifer’s in the hospital with two broken legs. Her husband, Steve Davis, is dead.” She raised her voice. “Rick Weber died while saving us from what you caused by staying in your car. You traded Rick Weber’s life for a confession, and you killed children for oil in the Middle East, in Iraq.” She had an inward look of pain. Her eyes drew closer, brows creased. There was slackness in her face. She looked down, avoiding eye contact. “At what cost to us, at what cost to the world do you do your work? This is a tipping point of truth for both the United States and the world. This can’t happen in our country. It can’t, or we don’t have a country.”
Temple thought thos
e to be dark, hurtful words. She stands at the end of the jetty, looking out to sea… She must want to push me off these rocks. Maybe there’s a mako shark out there with my name on it, just like Rick Weber. “I can never make up for what I did. People would hate me forever if they knew what I’ve done. I don’t deserve forgiveness, and I’ve seen the video of Andrew’s father.” Jim felt heartsick but not defeated. He wasn’t ready to give up. “Andrew’s father was off-duty when he tried to shoot Philip that night with a shotgun while he slept in bed.”
“Off-duty? Rick Weber went through all the legal channels before taking matters into his own hands. Rick Weber was a Fortune 500 home builder. His company was traded on the New York Stock Exchange, and he lost his life’s work, everything, even his own life, because of you and corrupt police officers. Why are police officers committing suicide while off-duty? Is it because they are forced into the blue wall of silence by their chain of command while on-duty?”
Jim sat down on the rocks and dropped his face into his hands. Her suffering was etched too deep in her, and the pain she felt was real. She must feel like hell with all this bottled up. Why hasn’t she talked about it? After she relaxed for a second, he looked back into Meghan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I want to buy a beach house here in Sunset Beach or Huntington Beach by the pier. I like Fifth Street down by the apartments. I’ll call you later. You have a lot to learn about fieldwork. It drives you off your rocker sometimes. I capped out my GS pay scale. I want to retire from fieldwork and vacation here and maybe live here, someday, in Sunset or Huntington Beach. And be a surfer like you and Andrew.”
His words were empty and becoming emptier, and he knew it. He was going nowhere, fast. She was deeply disturbed and tearful, and although he sought to ease her grief, she still had a big chip on her shoulder. Somewhere, deep down inside of all her pain and sorrow, there must be a rainbow of hope shining. Why can’t she see how fantastic she is?