Chapter 17 - BOARDING

BALI was clipping along nicely under reduced sail, and the wind was finally backing southwest. The big Concordia was almost on a beam reach, and her leaks were barely seeping, but Caldwell was worried. Ever since that patrol aircraft had circled BALI at low altitude, he was convinced someone had tipped off the feds about the coke shipment. He and his shipmates had gnawed on the ramifications, and were getting snappish.

"You say that P-6..." Cyr started.

"P-3," Caldwell corrected. "P-3 Orion out of Brunswick."

"Yes, O my Capitan," Cry said slowly. "That P.. 3.. Orion, out of Bruns-week, is an anti-submarine aircraft?"

"Mostly, but they could do boarder patrol and interdiction sweeps, too," Caldwell said.

"But she could just be sub-chasing?" Cyr continued. "And she continued on her original course."

"Could be looking for other possible pick up boats," Caldwell countered. "Why did she circle us?"

"Sheeps at sea, mon ami," came a drawl from under Walker's Stetson. He was sitting with his back against the cabin, hat tipped over his eyes, his legs stretched out on the cockpit cushions in front of him, silver-toed boots crossed at the ankles. Walker had remained silent during most of the squabbling.

"What's that?" Caldwell asked sharply.

"Da Navy keep da leest of sheeps at sea, skeepair," Walker drawled. Then in his ordinary voice he said, "They keep a record of all reported vessels and locations, it's broadcast every day. We used it on our recc flights." Walker had done his draft dodging in the Louisianna Air National Guard, protecting the bayous from invaders out of South America.

"Still.." Caldwell worried.

"Hackie, my dear," Cyr interrupted. "Unless your grandma had a Gypsy in her woodpile and you can read the tea leaves, we shall have to wait, as they say.. and see."

Walker got up and stretched elaborately. Caldwell was looking astern, sweeping the horizon for aircraft. Walker winked at Cyr, thumbs hooked in his tooled and studded belt, tilted his head back sharply twice, sniffing, and went below. A few minutes later the actor casually followed him.

Caldwell continued to fret. He vaguely wondered why a merely possible threat loomed so much bigger than an actual one. When he thought BALI was sinking, he just did what had to be done. This waiting for disaster was precisely what had run him off the main line to begin with. He'd dutifully tried to fit himself into the family firm, managing the investments of Buck's County matrons, but the level of petty anxiety and the office politics put him in a tailspin. His father's brothers seemed to be worried men, despite their considerable wealth, and his cousins panicked at every downturn in the market, as if their very Jaguars were at risk. It reminded him too much of Andover, where an excess of timidity had condemned him to mediocre performance, and kept him miserable in that meritocratic hothouse. The joys of boatbuilding, a nice clean shaving off a cedar plank, and a tight fit when you hung it.. the simple surety of physical work.. had led him to linger on the coast. This smuggling caper was supposed to be a bold act, a quick risk, for a big reward. But now he was shaking like a leaf at the mere sound of an aircraft.

BALI was standing more upright, and the wind was definitely easing. "Time to shake out a reef and put on a bigger jib," Caldwell thought. "At least that's something I can do."

He lashed the tiller and stepped forward to call down the companionway for a hand. But when he looked below, he was stunned into silence. Walker was bent over, snorting along a fat line of coke laid on the cabin table with a rolled $20 bill, while Cry was chopping more drug with a razor.

"Sweet Jesus," Caldwell finally blurted.

"Don't be blasphemous, Hacky dear," Cyr replied. "This IS a sweet toot, but hardly the horn of Gabriel. Will you join us?"

Walker chuckled. Caldwell was outraged. "You'd do blow? And let the boat be dirty? With the Coast Guard breathing down our necks?" Caldwell sputtered.

"Calm thyself, child," Cyr intoned. "You have only to confess, and all will be forgiven." He crossed himself and worked imaginary beads. Walker had a fit of giggles.

"Forgiven?" Caldwell raged. "Forgiven? Goddam it, you're putting us at risk, and I should be forgiven?"

"We-all's riskee.. you-all's friskee," Walker observed, and went into another fit. Caldwell gripped the sides of the companionway and shook in speechless anger.

"Take a purchase on thyself, Caldwellington," Cyr advised looking up. "Had we gotten the goods, we would be even more dirty, as you say, and I don't see the Horribilous horrendous Guardia Coastal peeping in the porthole." Caldwell shook his head, in disbelief, and grudging agreement.

Walker began to vocalize the opening bars to "A Whiter Shade of Pale": "Tah.. dah .. dadadadah.. dah.. dah.. dahdadah..DAAH..." and Cyr joined in with the lyrics: "We tripped the light fandango, turned cartwheels 'cross the floor..." Caldwell was mute with astonishment. These clowns were singing party music while the noose might be tightening. Then Caldwell raised his head and looked out across the waves ahead.

He gasped. "Oh my God."

Caldwell could just see the superstructure of a military vessel nicking the horizon, dead ahead. "They ARE coming. I can see them, I can see them," he yammered. Cyr and Walker froze in silence.

Caldwell took a deep breath. "Get rid of that stuff right now, and scrub this boat clean," he ordered.

"Now skeepair, doane pease da bloomaires," Walker answered. "We-all kin trow ow da bat watere widout loosin da bebe," he continued.

Now Cyr sniggered. "Presto-Digitation," he announced.

Caldwell was beside himself. "You'd try and hide your stash from.. from.. a military search?" he stammered.

"Das wat in mah mil-it-tary mine, say-lor," Walker said, winking at him. Cyr groaned in amusement.

"Mary and Joseph," Caldwell said quietly. He leaned forward and switched on the marine radio fastened to the cabin top. Any doubts he had about the intentions of the approaching ship were quickly resolved.

"Sailing vessel BALI, sailing vessel BALI, this is the Coast Guard Vessel POINT HANON, do you read me, over?" came out of the receiver. Cyr snorted the last line of powder, while Walker saluted the radio.

"Sailing vessel BALI, sailing vessel BALI, this is the POINT HANON, do you read me?" Caldwell reached in and grabbed the mike, stretched out it's spiral cord toward his mouth, and pressed the send button.

"Poin.." his voice cracked, and he started again, clearly this time, as
Cyr waved like a conductor.. "Point Hanon, Point Hanon, this is BALI, what can I do for you?" Walker and Cyr gave Caldwell a thumbs-up.

"BALI, this is POINT HANON, please prepare for boarding inspection, repeat, please prepare for boarding inspection."

Caldwell was silent. Cyr gestured with his upturned hands for him to go on.

"POINT HANON this is BALI, I don't understand? Is there some problem? Over."

"BALI this is POINT HANON, please prepare for boarding. Take down your sails and be ready for us to come alongside." The 82' Coast Guard Cutter was now full up over the horizon and Caldwell could see the white wave under her bow as she approached at full speed.

"This is BALI. I object to your boarding. Repeat. I object to your boarding," Caldwell said into the mike. Cyr and Walker were both shaking their heads no, but Caldwell waved at them to be still with his free hand. "But I will take down sail." He clicked off.

"Sonsabitches," Caldwell said. "What right have the feds to interfere with some sailors out for a pleasure cruise?" He declared. Cyr and Walker laughed, and high-fived each other.

"Now he in da play," Walker announced.

Caldwell started up the engine and oversaw the dousing of the jib and main sails, putting BALI dead to windward and holding her so she just had headway. It wasn't but a few minutes before the cutter was edging up alongside from astern, making a lee, then quartering in, putting BALI's deck in shadow.

""Please have all on board on deck and in the cockpit," came a call from a loudhailer on the PT. HANON.

"I would like to voice my objections to this unwarranted search," Caldwell shouted across the gap.

"Do you intend to resist our boarding?" Caldwell could now see the hailer, a short stocky man in a Master Chief's Uniform.

"Are you the captain of that vessel?" Caldwell replied.

"This is Master Chief Robinson, I am the commanding officer, and I have the authority to stop and board your vessels under the laws of the United States. Do you intend to resist?"

"No," Caldwell shouted back, "but I think this is a rude and unnecessary operation."

"Your objection has been noted," Robinson replied, as the cutter closed the gap, setting BALI neatly up against the big fenders on the ship's side. There were two coasties holding carbines standing at her rail, and two others, wearing 45 caliber pistols and portable radios clipped to their belts, leaped down onto BALI, fore and aft, with decklines in their hands. The two vessels were laced together, and the Master Chief set aside his hailer and spoke down over the rail.

"You may cut your engine." Caldwell did so.

"You are within the territorial waters of the United States. My men will do a thorough search for contraband and illegal persons authorized under the appropriate statutes. Could you gentlemen give your names and show some identification to my men?" Robinson said firmly, without hostility. "Are you the owner of this vessel," he asked Caldwell.

"It's my uncle's," Caldwell returned. "Oscar P. Hackmatack. She's registered out of Small Point. I'd like to know why you are searching a pleasure craft on a lawful cruise in home waters?" He said pompously.

"We have reason to believe you have been in Canadian waters, is that not correct?"

"Yes," Caldwell admitted. "We were intending to cruise over to Lunenburg and back, but we began taking on water, and turned around."

"Are you leaking badly," the chief asked. The 2nd class boatswain's mate and the 3rd class engineer who were aboard BALI were reading data off the proffered IDs into their walkie-talkies.

"We were when it was rougher, but the pump is keeping up now. I stuffed some bad leaks forward of her step," Caldwell reported.

"Will you need assistance getting to port?"

"No.. thank you," Caldwell said grudgingly. "Is this really necessary, captain?"

The chief didn't answer, but nodded to his men who then went below and began to search BALI.

"Mah fren is a mite sensitive about his legal raghts, Chief Robinson, but we know y'all ahr jes doin yoah job. A maghty hansom vessel you have theyah," Walker drawled. The skipper of the PT. HANON laughed lightly.

"Are you an admirer of old cutters, then?" He asked Walker.

"Nossir, ah doane know the firs ting about 'em, although ah HAVE been aboard some awl vessel in da Gulf which ahr reminiscent of yoah ship."

"Port Authur?" Robinson asked.

"Mattah fack," Walker agreed. "Mah uncles run a lil bidness outa theyah, yall know it?"

"Been stationed there. What business is that?"

"Carranza Ah-sociates," Walker said nonchalantly rolling the Latin rs. Robinson whistled. Carranza Associates was the biggest oil platform supply operation in the Gulf, and any Guardsman along that coast would know the name well.

"And you are?" the chief asked.

"Mah frens call me Wahka, chief."

"So how do you like this part of the world, Mr. Walker?"

"When da sun shine, she fine as silk, chief, but ah was a bit un-easy bout gettin mah feets wet back theyah," Walker jerked his thumb downwind, and grinned.

Walker had climbed up onto the side deck to be closer to the cutter's captain, and was standing on the port toerail, holding onto the after shroud. He now leaned toward the chief, holding his hand up so he was speaking behind it conspiratorially, "Ah was jes as glad as kin be to see y'all comin," he winked. Robinson was looking at something on a clipboard handed to him by a crew member.

A crackle of radio noise could be heard from below on BALI and on the PT. HANON's deck. The two guardsmen came up on deck, shaking their heads at Robinson, negatively.

"That's it, gentlemen, " Robinson said flatly. "We apologize for any inconvenience." He paused. "Oh, by the way.. it's illegal to carry a concealed weapon in the State of Maine without a permit, so I hope you'll keep that nickle-plated 45 revolver securely stowed below decks while in these waters." Caldwell looked startled.

"Ah shirley will, chief. Yall have mah word," Walker stated.

The guardsmen had untied the lines to the cutter, and the chief now ordered them to come back aboard. "Have a safe voyage," Robinson said, and, at his nod, the POINT HANON pulled away from BALI, made a turn to port, and picked up speed on a course toward Smithport.

As BALI came out of the cutter's lee she began lifting and falling to the waves again. Caldwell switched on the engine and throttled her up to headway speed. "Let's get some bigger sails on her," he said. His companions looked at one another and grinned.

"Excellent theater, gentlemen," Cyr said, clapping his hands lightly.