Chapter 6

“So ... what happened tonight?” I asked.

Cyn was a mess.

“I couldn’t sleep ... and there’s things going on.”

“Like ... bump in the night?”

“And the boat suddenly lurching ... like someone was climbing on board. Heavy breathing outside my port light. Slithering on deck ... and more lurches ... and splashes ... all night long. You scared me half to death when you fumbled with the lock.”

“Harbour seals,” said Zoe. “They’re a problem. And protected.”

“Can’t blame her,” I said, “We were kidnapped in Auckland. Surprise saved us.”

“What?” Zoe exclaimed. “Kidnapped?”

“Unmarked narrow RIB boat ... just like the US military uses. The boat they deny having but everybody knows they do.”

Then I had to relate the entire situation and outcome.

“Huge black outboard?” Zoe marveled, “No markings?”

“Yup,” I said. “At least 300 hp ... probably forty-four thousand dollars in a marina. Probably more ... deniability costs extra.”

That got a chuckle from Zoe ... and a look of outrage from Cynthia.

She said, “Why? Why did they want us? We don’t know anything.”

“Fear of the unknown possibility ... government can not stand not knowing.” JW ... getting radical ... I thought. No ... honorable. Government can’t handle that. “I’m hungry. Zoe?”

“Well, in or out,” she asked.

“Out,” Cyn and I cried, “Bacon!”

“Eggs!” I said.

“Hash browns!” Cyn drooled.

“Toast!” I said, “With real butter!”

“Kippers!” said Zoe.

“Eww!”

“You just don’t know what’s good,” Zoe said.

“We’ve been eating fish for 6 days,” we said like twins.

“Oh,” Zoe said.

“We do need to take care of Sailbait’s needs.”

“What?”

“Fuel, water, hauled and scrapped, rigging check, engine check, steering and autopilot, general maintenance ... like that.”

“No problem ... all the boats are gone ... happens every S to H race.”

With Zoe directing, we turned on the fans, started the engine, pulled lines and headed up stream from the Port.

A short ... less than 2 miles ... motor upstream and we were tied up and in an office.

“Hello Zoe, how’s your mum ... and dad.” said the receptionist.

“Good, Grace, they’re good. We need to speak to Ken ... business.”

Ken was 25, about 2 meters tall and 17 stone ... big ... really big. In his onesie uniform he was impressive. Cyn thought so too.

“G’day, Zo.”

“Dayee, Ken. I brought business.” She made proper introductions.

After I made my needs known and Ken ran my card, we settled on price ... baring unforseen circumstances ... of course. It was less than New Zealand would have cost.

“Where is the boat?” Ken asked.

“At the lift,” said Zoe.

“Without asking first?” Ken said.

“Forgiveness is easier than permission, Ken. You taught me that.”

“True, too true.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be busy ... Sydney to Hobart.” Zoe said. “Now we’re off to brekkie...” before Cyn could speak, Zoe said, “ And the shops. I’m fairly sure JW would rather stay here.”

I couldn’t deny it.

Arrangements were made to live aboard for the duration of the refit.

“Only if you ladies are out by start and stay away ‘til clockout. JW ... I’m supposing you’ll want in on the refit.”

I nodded.

With no boat, it was either taxi or feet. It was close enough for feet.

Brekkie (breakfast) was a low building surrounded by about a million trucks and twenty police cars.

“Always look for the places the truckers and police eat,” Mom had said the last time we spoke.

So ... even though it looked like a police raid we entered, were seated, fed and out the door in half an hour. That included Cyn and Zoe busing most of the tables in our area.

Zoe was not only known but famous for helping out.

Cyn wasn’t known ... but it wasn’t long. Rushing around with the coffee pot and bending over enough to mostly expose heaven took the place of formal introductions.

When asked, Cyn said, “Zoe knows.”

They pointed in the direction of the boat yard and hailed a cab. Just before they sent me on my way ... Zoe relieved me of my card.

Suck it up, I said to my self. Get used to it.