Stabenow, Dana - Blindfold Game (v1 Read online

  Sara, however, sympathized, and was thinking a lot worse than the captain was saying out loud. The Coast Guard had run into this before in the Bering, one or more Russian vessels making an incursion over the line at the same time, so that the one vessel being boarded occupied the attention of the lone cutter on patrol, while the other vessel pulled in their gear more or less at their leisure and moved back to their side of the Line. Bait and switch.

  Ops said into the mike, “Here five two, this is the Sojourner Truth, have you identified the vessel, I say again, what is the vessel?

  “Sojourner Truth, Here five two, their IRCS number is about six inches high and on the front of the flying bridge.

  Which meant that the foreign ships four-letter international identification number had been deliberately painted too small for the Heres crew to read from two hundred feet up going one hundred seventy knots, which meant the cutter couldnt input it into their onboard database.

  “Five bucks says its the Agafia, Seaman Razo said.

  Chief Edelen snorted. “No bet.

  The Pheodora and the Agafia were both leased by the same Russian fish processor. In the litter of three-hundred-foot vessels maintaining a year-round presence in the Bering Sea next to the Maritime Boundary Line each year, the two could always be found near each other, and all too often a little too close to the line for comfort. This put them both in the HIV or High Interest Vessel category.

  The captain said nothing. Sara wanted to scream with impatience. Instead she said to Ops, “Ask the Here about fuel.

  “Coast Guard Hercules aircraft one seven five two, Sojourner Truth, how much fuel do you have?

  There was a brief pause. “Sojourner Truth, Here five two, weve got maybe four hours before the point of no return.

  “Raise Kodiak and tell them to dispatch another Here, the captain said. “Then get the helo back here to refuel. Tell the Here on the scene to maintain contact until they can hand off hot pursuit to our helo.

  Kodiak came on the air and confirmed the dispatch of the second Here with so little questioning that Sara knew theyd been monitoring the channel from the beginning of the incident and had been standing by for just this request.

  Maintaining hot pursuit was critical in making a legal case in a federal court against a substantial piece of property owned by a foreign corporation. The Russians lawyers were usually American and the best that money could buy, and the first thing any decent attorney said in this kind of case was that the pursued vessel hadnt heard the order to give way.

  As if she had spoken out loud, Ops keyed the mike and said, “Russian fishing vessel Pheodora, Russian fishing vessel Pheodora, this is the United States Coast Guard cutter Sojourner Truth. You are trespassing in American territorial waters, I say again, you are trespassing in American territorial waters. Reduce speed and stand by to be boarded.

  “Any answer? the captain said, formally and unnecessarily.

  “No answer, Captain, Ops replied, equally formally.

  There was a long moment of silence. “Break out the .50 caliber.

  “Sir? Sara said.

  The captain chose to overlook her involuntary exclamation. “Muster the gun crew and mount it forward to starboard.

  Sara pulled herself together. “Aye aye, Captain.

  “I want two boarding teams ready to go when we catch up to her. He paused, and added deliberately, maybe even raising his voice a little, “Each boarding team is to be issued shotguns.

  Yeah, Sara thought, not without respect, the old man was really pissed. It gladdened her heart, even though she didnt believe anyone should ever be shot over fish. “Aye aye, Captain, she repeated.

  “XO? the captain said.

  “Sir?

  “I want you to go with one of the boarding teams.

  There was a brief, startled silence. “I want you to report to me personally every step of the way, the captain said. “Go codes one, two, three. Understood?

  “Understood, Captain, Sara said. She reached for the IMC and her voice boomed out over speakers all over the ship. Through the aft windows she could see men and women boiling out of various hatches and swarming around the two rigid-hulled inflatables lashed to cradles on either side of the ship.

  Like any capable executive officer Sara knew her crew, from EO Nathaniel McDonald, who so far as she knew never left the engine room except to eat, sleep, or depart the ship, to FS3 Sandra Chernikoff, a mess cook not a year out of boot camp and an Alaskan like herself and Eugene Razo. She knew which of three categories each member of the crew fit in, the keepers, the time-markers, and the no-hopers. She knew who was on watch and who wasnt. From memory she reeled off a list of twenty names, beginning with Ensign Ryan, their legal enforcement officer and boarding officer, and ending with PO James Marion, a fireman, damage controlman, and boat crew member. Everyone on board had at least two jobs and probably three. She had about twelve the last time she looked, but then she was a keeper herself.

  By the time she got to the armory the rest of the team had donned their orange and black Mustang dry suits, Kevlar vests, helmets, life jackets, helmets, and sidearms. She jerked her chin at the rack of shotguns and said to Chief Petty Officer Marvin Katelnikof, “Break out the shotguns.

  He complied without comment. Katelnikof, a balding veteran with twenty-nine years in, had earned his cuttermans pin before Sara had graduated from high school. Not a lot surprised him. She accepted a shotgun and headed below to the fantail where the rest of the BTMs were mustering, followed by Katelnikof, who was their designated Russian translator on board. The two Zodiacs had already been lowered into the water with their three-man crews and were now circling back to pick up the boarding teams.

  Ryan saw her coming. “Youre stylin, XO. Something about Kevlar that really does it for you. He nodded at the shotguns. “The old man must really be pissed off this time.

  “The Agafias over the line just south of here.

  Ryan whistled low and long. “Man, theyve just got to push it, dont they? Youd think they would have learned after the last time.

  Sara scanned the horizon. “Yeah, wheres the Russian Federal Border Service when you really need them?

  Ryan followed her eyes and stiffened. “Hey

  “I see them, Sara said, and keyed the mike clipped to her shoulder. “Captain Lowe, XO. Im seeing a couple of other vessels approaching our location at speed.

  “We have them in sight, XO. There are three vessels, identified as the Nikolai Bulganin, the Nadeshda, and the Professor Zaitsev.

  “So, okay, this is new, Ryan said. He cocked an eye at Sara. “Do we go?

  “Captain, do we go?

  There was a momentary pause. The wind bit into her in spite of the dry suit, and her face was already damp with salt spray. “Go, XO, the captain said.

  “Yep, Ryan said, “seriously pissed. He grinned and climbed over the side to scamper down the rope ladder and drop solidly into the small boat. The rest of the first boarding team followed. “Rrrrrraaaaamming speeeeeeeeeeeed! Ryan yelled at the coxswain in a passable Animal House imitation. The Zodiac roared away and the second pulled up neatly behind it and Sara led the second team down.

  Petty Officer Duane Mathis hated not to be first in line for anything and roared after the first boat. The hull thudded over the top of the chop in a bone-jarring but exhilarating ride. Sara looked over at the coxswain and he was leaning forward, teeth bared as if he wanted to take a bite out of the wind. Mathis was from San Francisco, she remembered, and hed grown up off the coast of Peru on the deck of his fathers tuna boat. He and Sara had swapped a lot of lies about fishing over this patrol, although it seemed to Sara that the only difference between fishing off Peru and fishing off the Aleutian Islands was the temperature and the species of bycatch.

  They stood off as Lowe goosed the Sojourner Truth to overtake the Pheodora, giving the Russian just enough sea room to slow down and no more. If youre the captain of an oceangoing vessel in the middle of the Bering Sea, ninety miles fro
m the nearest land and that land not under the flag of your own nation, there are worse things than having a two-hundred-and-eighty-four-foot Coast Guard cutter bearing down on your port side with no indication of slowing down before impact, but not many. When the distance between the two closed to two hundred yards the Pheodoras skipper caved and pulled back on the throttle. A moment later a rope ladder was tossed over the lee side.

  Sara was first on deck. The conditions of the processor were about what shed expected, the deck slimy with guts and gurry, lines loose from gunnel to gunnel, and anything with a moving part so long overdue for an overhaul that it all probably ought to have been junked. Ten feet away the deck sported a jagged hole, which disappeared into darkness and whose edge had yet to be cordoned off and flagged.

  Seaworthiness had two entirely different meanings on either side of the Maritime Boundary Line. Sara revised severely downward her estimate of how much the Pheodora might fetch at auction. They might just possibly be able to sell her for scrap.

  “XO? her radio said.

  She keyed the mike clipped to her shoulder. “Code one, she said in a mild voice. She didnt like anything about this situation, but as yet the boarding team had not been threatened, not counting the imminent peril everyone stood in of breaking an ankle tripping over crap scattered across the deck.

  “Code one, roger that, the captain said. “Keep me advised.

  She clicked the mike twice in reply. A man in a bulky sweater and stained pants stepped forward. In heavily accented English he said, “Vasily Protopopov. I am master of vessel. It came out “wessel and behind Sara there was a snicker, followed by the flat slap of a hand on someones helmet.

  Ryan stepped forward. “Captain Protopopov, I am Ensign Henry Ryan of the United States Coast Guard. You have been stopped because you were fishing over the Maritime Boundary Line in American waters.

  Protopopov let his eyes slide past Ryan to Sara. He gave her a long, leisurely once-over. Sara, crammed into her dry suit like chopped pork into a sausage skin, girded about with Kevlar like a medieval knight in his armor and feeling almost that seductive, felt like laughing in his face. Instead, she remained silent, keeping her expression calm and nonconfrontational. Protopopov waited just long enough to make his rudeness clear, and then shifted his attention to CPO Katelnikof, standing at Saras elbow holding the shotgun shed handed off to him in the Zodiac. “No gear in waters, he told Katelnikof.

  Chief Katelnikof, a salty old fart and the last man to agree that women on board ship were a good thing, was already stiff with outrage at Protopopovs insolence to his executive officer. This blatant untruth did not soften his attitude. He dropped the shotgun from shoulder arms to cradle it in deceptively casual hands, the barrel now pointing at the deck between himself and the Russian captain.

  Sara looked aft and saw that Protopopov was correct; the Pheodoras gear had been reeled on board.

  The captains voice came over her radio. “XO? Status?

  She keyed the mike. “Code two, Captain.

  The codes were the captain and the executive officers way of assessing a boarding situation. Code one was standard operations, no threat. Code three was get us the hell of here. Sara didnt see any weapons other than their own, but it was a big ship, the crew was obviously hostile, and there were too many windows and doors looking out on the foredeck in which someone with a weapon could be stationed.

  Lowes voice was full of grim purpose when he responded. “Stand by, XO, and well fix that for you.

  Sara clicked her mike twice in response. Ryan looked at Sara. He was the boarding team officer and the person to whom Protopopov should be addressing his remarks, but the Russian captain had good instincts for spotting a superior officer. Not to mention which, it was the first time since Ryan had rotated on board that shed come along on a boarding. She jerked her chin and he turned to face Protopopov.

  “Captain, Ryan said, “we have you, with your gear in the water, on videotape, a good mile to the east of the line. As this seems to becoming something of a habit with your vessel, Im afraid we are left with no option but to seize your ship and your catch and to place you and your crew under arrest.

  Protopopov looked at the boarding teams, both now fully assembled on the deck of his vessel. They each had nine-millimeter sidearms strapped to their waists, and half of them carried shotguns. He raised his head and opened his mouth. His eyes looked past Sara and his sullen expression lightened.

  She turned to see what he was looking at, and found that while theyd been talking the three other Russian vessels had arrived on scene and were now circling the Sojourner Truth and the Pheodora about three hundred yards off.

  “One boat its a Sunday sail, two boats its a race, three boats its a bloody regatta, Ryan said.

  Nobody laughed. Protopopov looked back at Sara with an expression that couldnt be called anything other than triumphant. “Maybe you leave now.

  “I dont think so, sir, Sara said, who had been monitoring the activities on the deck of the Sojourner Truth out of the corner of her eye.

  “Oh, yeah, Katelnikof said approvingly, following her gaze, and Protopopov turned to look as one of his men let out a warning shout.

  Lowe had closed to within a hundred yards of the Pheodoras port bow without slowing down. The .50-caliber gun now mounted to starboard was manned, with a belt of ammunition already threaded into the magazine. In addition, Lowe had manned the starboardside 25-millimeter cannon, which Sara happened to know was the one that worked. The portside cannon had been waiting on parts for months. They were U.S. Navy guns, and the navy had never liked the idea of giving weaponry theyd bought and paid for to another service.

  Lowe gave the Russians a good long look as the Truth flashed by, to cut neatly across the Pheodoras bow with what felt like inches to spare.

  Somebody screamed. Sara hoped it wasnt one of hers. Captain Lowe was doing the thing in style, and she had to repress a chuckle.

  Ryan didnt bother repressing anything. “Flame on, Captain Lowe!

  They all staggered as the Pheodoras helmsman panicked and spun the wheel and the processor lurched abruptly to starboard. Protopopov let out a stream of Russian, face going from red to white to purple. He could have been yelling at his helmsman, but then he turned on Sara and pushed right up into her face, still shouting.

  “Im so sorry, Captain, she said blandly, ignoring the spray of spittle, “Im afraid I dont speak Russian.

  “But I do, Katelnikof said to Protopopov, or so he translated for Sara when they were back on board the Sojourner Truth. “Dont let this broads lack of balls fool you, Captain. Given half a chance shell order our ship to run right over the top of this paddle wheeler of yours.

  Aghast and agape, Protopopov stared at Katelnikof, whose grin was wide and not at all friendly. The Russian captain rounded on Sara again. “Your captain crazy! What you do, ram us, sink us! Russian government will not stand for this! I lodge complaint!

  The combination of speed and the show of weapons, in addition, Sara believed, to the display of extremely able seamanship, was enough to cause the other vessels to veer off and make best speed for the horizon.

  Besides, they all had catch quotas, which if not met might relieve the skippers of their commands.

  And it wasnt like there wouldnt be another opportunity to yank the Coast Guards tail on the Maritime Boundary Line. Job security, she thought, for all of us, and turned to Protopopov, whose face had yet to regain any semblance of normal color.

  “Captain Protopopov, I relieve you of command of the Pheodora. Chief, she said to Katelnikof, “have Captain Protopopov identify the rest of his crew and place them under guard. Ensign, she said to Ryan, “go below and tell the working folks that theyve got an all-expenses-paid trip to beautiful downtown Dutch Harbor.

  An hour later they were under way, following the wake of the Sojourner Truth as she headed south-southwest in pursuit of the Agafia.

  The Pheodoras bridge was in a little better shape than the rest
of her, but not much. A large spoked wooden wheel reinforced with tarnished brass stood at the center, ranged about with a fathometer and radar and radios and a GPS. The GPS had been trashed, but that was to be expected, the crew covering their asses. All Sara really cared about was that at an ambient temperature right around fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, it was warmer than the bridge of the last foreign vessel shed had to board.

  Ryan entered the bridge through the port wing hatch. “Ships crew all secure in the galley, XO, and the workers are getting out their party clothes. I put Katelnikof on watch in the engine room. Not that the Russian engineers want to miss out on a shopping trip in Dutch Harbor, either.

  Everyone laughed, a little giddy at the success of their mission. Their mood was hardly dampened when they saw the helo return and land on the Truth, which meant that the Agafia had slipped back over the line before they could arrive on the scene. Bagging the Pheodora was enough of a prize, and besides, they were headed back for Dutch Harbor riding on a white horse, in distinct contrast to their recent exit.

  Sara couldnt keep the smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. Looking around, she saw that same suspicion of a smile on the faces of the rest of the other two boarding teams.

  It was hard sometimes for her to believe her luck, that she got to whup bad guy ass on her nations territorial frontier. “Just another day at the office, she told Ryan, a big fat lie if there ever was one.

  “We are the defenders of the homeland, Ryan said, dropping his voice to his best basso profundo.

  “We are the shield of freedom! Sara said, and the bridge exploded into laughter, in part triumphant because they were the prize crew of a seized vessel and because at heart every Coastie was part pirate, and in part relieved because no shots had been fired and everyone was going home alive.

  JANUARY

  ANCHORAGE

  HUGH COULD BARELY WALK when the Federal Express DC-10 rolled to a stop at Stevens International in Anchorage. It had taken eight hours and change en route from Tokyo, crammed into the cargo net seat the crew had hung from the fuselage. The ambience of the airplane, one enormous cavern crammed with pallets and igloos lashed down with a spaghetti-like construction of webbing and belts, was not enhanced by what seemed a preponderance of crates of chickens. Every time the airplane hit an air pocket the chickens clucked and shrieked and little feathers floated out through the cracks of the crates. Hugh would inhale one of the feathers and wake up in the middle of a sneezing fit. Why the hell anyone would air-freight chickens to America was beyond him. He would have thought there were already plenty in residence.