Danger Point

by Douglas J Bourg

  “Did he say anything?” I ask. “And why would he do that to you?”

  “Yeah, he said ‘Salt Creek is for locals only.’ Then he called me a fucking kook. Me!” he continues to yell. Then he lowers his voice, “Hey, let’s wait for that moron to get out of the water so I can kick his ass.”

  “Let it go, DJ, we already have enough trouble. We don’t need to start anymore.”

  He stares out at the water, watching for the jerk. Finally he says, “You’re right, Bobby. It just pisses me off that someone would try to hurt someone else for surfing here. You don’t get any more local than the two of us. We’ve been surfing here since we were kids.”

  Localism, surfers trying to keep other surfers from surfing their home break, has been going on since the sixties. It’s a turf war without the turf.

  “C’mon, let’s grab some lunch,” I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m buying.”

  “Damn right, you’re buying,” says DJ with his first smile of the day. “I’m always up for free food. Besides you guys ran up a pretty good size tab at the Yacht Club yesterday.”

  We walk up the beach trail toward the car. I glance up at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, overlooking the ocean, and think back to when I was a kid and there was nothing around here. As we come around the truck, we see Alexis sitting on the lowered tailgate.

  “I was watching you. You guys are pretty good,” she says, getting up so we can slide our boards into the back of the truck. “I saw you fall on that wave, DJ. That would have sent me home, but you made the next one seem so easy. One might even say, graceful.”

  I clear my throat, “Weren’t you watching any of the other surfers out there?”

  She turns to me and smiles, “You were pretty good, too, but you didn’t do a face plant on the front of a wave. What happened out there?”

  “Join us for lunch and I’ll tell you all about it,” says DJ. “The second best surfer in the world is buying.”

  “That’s true,” I say. “I am, on both counts. But you didn’t just come down here to watch us surf, did you Alexis?”

  “No,” she says. “I called a friend at the agency and asked some questions that nobody wants to answer.”

  Chapter 43

  DJ and I pull into Big Jack’s, a Dana Point restaurant specializing in Italian and great seafood. At this time of the day it’ll be quiet, allowing us some privacy. Alexis pulls up next to us in the parking lot, gets out of her car and locks the door. She looks wonderful.

  “Did you go home and get all spruced up for us? You really look great.” I ask. I’m so smooth.

  “I did,” she says. Do I detect a blush? “Thanks for noticing.”

  She’s wearing white jeans, a dark blue blouse that sets off the color of her eyes and beaded sandals.

  “Hey, Bobby, quit drooling. You’re embarrassing yourself,” DJ says, shaking his head.

  I pull myself together and we walk into the restaurant. I can see Alexis hiding a little smile. Jack, the owner (obviously) looks up from the reservation book and comes over to greet us. Jack is about 6’8” and all Italian: Dark hair, dark eyes, handsome and charming. If he was younger than his fit sixty years, I’d be a bit more worried.

  “DJ, Bobby, how are you?” he reaches out to shake hands before turning to Alexis. “And you, young lady, are you lost? Surely you’re not with these two?”

  “Jack, this is Alexis,” I introduce her. “We found her stranded in the parking lot.”

  “Clearly you don’t know who you’re with. Just give me a signal and I’ll show you how to escape through the back of the restaurant.” He takes her hand and kisses it.

  “Very funny,” says DJ. “Jack, would we be able to get a table in the back where we can have some privacy?”

  “Sure. I don’t blame Alexis for not wanting to be seen with you two.” Jack picks up three menus and takes us to a dark corner of the back room of the restaurant. “I just received a shipment of the Foggerty Pinot Noir from the Santa Cruz Mountains. Should I open a bottle?”

  “Just water for me,” says Alexis. “But you guys go ahead.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” Jack says with a slight bow, then leaves us.

  Alexis looks around, “This place is gorgeous. I feel like I’m in Italy.”

  Jack had decorated the dining room in an Italianate finish: plastered walls, marble floors and wood beams that looked two hundred years old.

  “Yeah, Jack had a vision when it came to decorating the old place,” says DJ.

  “Let’s not forget the magnificent craftsman who did all the work, Mr. DJ,” says Jack, returning with water and bruschetta.

  “You’re too kind,” says DJ.

  “Oh, I know how much time it took you to make it this beautiful, since I was the guy who paid the bill,” says Jack. “But it was worth it. It feels like home.”

  “So, you and Bobby did this remodel?” Alexis asks DJ.

  “I did all the trick work,” replies DJ, reaching for some bread. “Bobby and Kevin did most of everything else during the framing and finishing sections of the project.”

  Jack returns with the wine and we order our meals. Once Jack’s gone, we sit back to listen to Alexis.

  “Prior to my going to work for my current employer,” she begins, “I used to work for the CIA. I was recruited right out of college. They were impressed by the fact I spoke several languages and with my athletic abilities. My old handler, Harold White, ran me during my career at the agency. I won’t bore you with what I did and where I did it, but I spent several years running around the world, dealing with this and that.”

  I take a drink of my wine, needing the fortification. I know Alexis’s ‘this and that’ is very different from mine.

  “I called Harry and explained our current situation to him,” she continues. “He’d like to meet with us tonight. It involves using your boat, DJ, and Harry wants you to sail your boat down to the Swift Response Base at Camp Pendleton.”

  “Who is this guy, Alexis?” asks DJ. Alexis looks at us for a moment; then she reaches for her water and takes a sip before answering. “Harry White was a field operative with years of service abroad. When 9-11 happened, the then sitting-president formed a new division within the CIA to deal with domestic surveillance of terrorist suspects. Harry was appointed as the Deputy Director in charge of this new division. He answers only to the director of the CIA himself. That’s all I can tell you. He called me while you were out surfing, and told me he needed you two and the boat.”

  Jack brings a tray of antipasto and leaves as quickly as he had appeared.

  “That’s all I’ve been told. He wants us at Camp Pendleton tonight at ten p.m., including John G. and Detective Murphy. Here’s the radio frequency he’ll use to contact us once we leave the harbor.” She writes a number on the back of a Starbucks receipt and slides it across the table to DJ.

  “Let me get this straight, Alexis” DJ says. “You want me to turn my sailboat over to the CIA so they can use it in some capacity to possibly take down General Sandoval? What about my family? Who’ll protect them?”

  “We’re working on a plan to keep your family completely safe, but to answer your first question, yes, we need you and Bobby,” she says, reaching for some bruschetta. “We think the agency I work for, the DEA and the Orange County Sheriff’s Department might have been compromised in some way by The General. The plan that White has is the best and fastest option that we have. We know that we can trust both of you, based on the complete background checks White has done on you. The CIA works fast, and agent White makes decisions even faster.”

  “We have two conditions, Alexis,” I say. “First is that DJ’s family is protected and second is that DJ and I want to be part of the team that does the take down.”

  DJ looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you insane? I can’t be part of this! What about my business? I have jobs on the books and crews that need me right now. And let’s not forget that I’ve invested tens of thousands
in the restoration of that boat.”

  “I understand your reluctance and concerns, DJ.” Alexis tries to calm him, “but we’re running out of options. We don’t know who we can trust anymore. I assumed that you both would want to be part of the team, and you both have been cleared in full. Nobody knows that boat like you do, DJ. We need it and you.”

  Our meals finally arrive, giving us time to pretend we’re concentrating on eating. This is huge and we all know it. We eat mostly in silence, other than commenting on how good the food is. Finally the bill comes and I pay it. We say goodbye to Jack and make our way to our cars.

  DJ looks over at Alexis first, then at me and says, “We’re in, Alexis, under two conditions. First, I need assurances about my family’s protection. Second, if my boat is destroyed, the CIA will find me a replacement boat.”

  Alexis opens the door of her car and looks at us, “I have a few errands to run. I’ll call White and express your concerns to him. I’ll call you as soon as I get some answers. I’ll meet you at the boat around seven p.m. Make sure you pack for the next few days. Stock up whatever food supplies you think we’ll need 6 people for a week and the agency will reimburse you. We won’t be returning here until this is all over.”

  We nod as she closes the door and watch as she roars down the street.

  DJ looks at me. “I guess you’d better hit the grocery store.” He says, “In the meantime, I’ll go to the house and call Kevin and put him in charge of both jobs. I guess then I can give the sub-contractors instructions on what they need to get done on each job. I hope Kevin’s ready to handle running my company. Once I’m done with that, I’ll meet you back at the boat.”

  “I’m glad I’m in charge of provisions. We’ll need plenty of beer,” I reply, watching Alexis’ car disappear up the road. “I hope she knows what she’s doing. Can you drive me to Murph’s house so I can pick up my van?”

  He lights up a cigarette and blows smoke away from me.

  “Let’s roll. I sure as hell hope we know what we’re getting into.”

  Chapter 44

  “Captain, there is a U.S. submarine off our port bow, bearing zero-five-zero, at five thousand meters. They’re dropping sonar buoys on the surface. Are they trying to track us, sir?” the helmsman asks.

  “Helm power down one-third and maintain running silent,” Captain Popovich says into the ship’s communications line. He knows that if they can elude the Americans’ attack submarine and the sonar buoys, they will have no trouble moving on to their destination undetected. He orders the engines slowed to eight knots. He will push the engine speed back up to fifteen knots if, in the next two hours, the Americans do not detect the Russian submarine’s presence.

  Aziz walks into the control room and asks, “What’s going on? Why are we slowing down? I must arrive at the rendezvous position on time or my mission will be a failure.”

  “Aziz, go back to your cabin, now. If the Americans are actually searching for us then we need to be cautious for the moment. If they do not detect us in the next hour or two, then, and only then, will we increase our speed. We will still arrive with more than enough time for your pickup in American waters. Now, leave my bridge and let me do my job,” he turns his back on the terrorist as a dismissal.

  What a piece of shit, thinks Yuri. In war, you do what you need to do. But Aziz’s country uses women and children to carry out their terrorist acts, while the men stay behind the scenes professing their devotion to Allah. What bullshit. If you believe in your cause, you do it yourself. You don’t hide behind your women and children.

  “Steady as you go, helm,” the Captain says. They hear a sharp sound. “They are actively pinging with their sonar. They are searching for something.”

  They hear the ping again.

  Captain Popovich knows the next ten to fifteen minutes are critical. He afford can’t to lose much time because of how long it will take to deliver the cocaine to General Sandoval’s dealers. He had helped The General’s men devise a tube-type container that was made of a composite material that could hold drugs, weapons, cash, or if needed, a man. When the submarine arrives at the designated drop site, the mock torpedo will be loaded into the torpedo tube, which is then be flooded with water and the container ejected out into the ocean. With mounted homing devices and buoyancy compensators attached to the containers, they will float at a depth of five or six feet under the surface of the water. When the drug runners arrive in the designated area in small fishing boats, they will activate the homing devices, find the containers and tow them back to the harbor. From there the drugs, weapons and anything else in the containers will be distributed to other dealers in the network. He doesn’t care what happens once the packages are picked up. He will have done his part and been paid for each successful shipment. The General and the Captain are getting rich making the deliveries.

  After an hour and a half of toying with the Americans, the submarine has still has not been detected. Popovich decides it is safe to proceed. “Helm, increase our speed back to twelve knots for the next ten miles. If there are no sudden moves by the Americans, increase our speed to fifteen knots after that. Notify me at once if there are any changes. I’ll be in my cabin.”

  ◆◆◆

  General Sandoval sits in his hotel room overlooking Newport Beach, planning his last attack. His plan is straightforward. After each container of cocaine is deployed through the torpedo tubes, the runners will pick up the containers, check the purity of the drugs and make sure the kilo count is correct. They will then wire-transfer payment to The General’s private account in the Cayman Islands. Once the process is completed, he will deactivate an explosive charge that is built into each container. If the payment does arrive, well, it’s simple. Pay me with money or your life.

  The General’s aid comes into the room and hesitates before asking, “General, we have located the targets. What would you like us to do?”

  “Nothing at this moment, they will be dealt with shortly. Now leave me and do not disturb me until I call for you.” Yes, The General thought, his plans are falling into place very nicely.

  Chapter 45

  In the grocery store, I load up the cart buying everything I think will be needed to keep us going for the next few days. Back at the harbor I unload the van onto one of the harbor dollies to get everything down to the boat at one time. Murph and John G. are all waiting on the boat. No one says much as we load the provisions below and make sure everything’s secure. Murph gives me a look when I hand him a case of Heineken in cans. “What? DJ told me to get whatever I thought we might need.” We’re finally loaded when Alexis and DJ arrive.

  “Here, DJ.” I hear her say, handing him a piece of paper. “These are the coordinates that White wants us to sail. We’ll be met by a Marine swift boat escort that’ll guide us into their training center. White will meet us there. We need to shove off soon if we’re going to be on time.”

  DJ looks at the coordinates, then at me, “Bobby, will you type these coordinates into the SAT-NAV system?” He hands me the slip of paper.

  I nod and head below as he turns to Alexis. From below I can hear him tell her, “I think we should motor down to the meeting point. That way we’ll be there with time to spare and we won’t have to fold sails once we get there.”

  “I think that makes sense, DJ,” Alexis replies.

  I come back on deck and look around at our crew. Alexis has told us she sailed in the past, and I know John G. has, so they both know their way around a boat. I don’t think Murph has much sailing experience, but he’s got the cop thing going for him, so that’ll be helpful. I’m sure we can handle anything.

  It’s dark, windy and there’s no moon as we motor out of the harbor. The entrance to the harbor is U-shaped and we feel the wind really hit us as we come around the breakwater. It’s pretty choppy as DJ heads the boat south toward the Camp Pendleton Marine Base.

  DJ and I are familiar with the coastline and we motor past the San Clemente pier in silence.
According to Alexis, the rendezvous spot is a couple of miles off the coast where the base is located. Camp Pendleton is a beautiful stretch of land and the coast is unoccupied between San Clemente and the town of Oceanside, twenty miles south. We see the lights from the San Onofre Nuclear Power Facility, but for the most part, it is pristine California coastline. If California could sell this piece of real estate, it would wipe out our state debt. Instead the land is used for training Marines to defend our country and for military exercises. It’s not unusual to see helicopters, aircraft carriers and Marine tanks and personal engaging in war games.

  We chat a little, but for the most part no one has much to say. I can tell everyone is nervous, unsure of what we’ve volunteered for.

  “Skipper, off the port bow,” Alexis finally calls to DJ, “about two hundred yards, that’s our escort.”

  DJ throttles down to about three knots and guides us alongside a low profile Marine swift boat. John G. and I toss a couple of lines to the Marines and they tie up beside us.

  “Permission to come aboard,” a familiar voice calls into the night.

  “Permission granted, Delany,” replies DJ.

  John G. and I give Delany a hand up. When he gets close to me I can see that he’s dressed in naval uniform with commander symbols pinned to his collar and a Navy SEAL badge on his chest. There might be more to this guy than I thought. He must have been sandbagging after that sailboat race. He’s probably never been seasick in his life. I see two divers flop backward into the water off the side of the swift boat.

  “Thank you for volunteering yourselves and for the use of your boat for this mission,” he says, shaking DJ’s hand, then turns to the rest of us. “We have a lot of ground to cover in the next few days if we’re going to be successful. We know that General Sandoval has moles inside my organization, so we’re going outside of normal channels. Director White has been recalled to Washington and is returning as we speak. He has every confidence that we can pull this mission off with the crew we’ve assembled.”