Chapter 8

10:15 PDT Wednesday, August 7th, 1991

Oakland Yacht Club

1101 Pacific Marina, Alameda CA, 94501

Lenore carefully filled out the forms for application to the University of California and the NROTC application, writing on the chart shelf in the Joy Redux' bridge. Chewing the end of the pen, she watched a small white Chevrolet car drive around the parking lot, looking for a spot to settle in. That car looks official, she thought. It might have something to do with the Government license plate. Amused with herself, she went back to the line she was looking at, authorization to retrieve transcripts.

Her attention was caught again, as the occupant of the tiny car was ... marching, she supposed was a good word, toward the Joy Redux. She noticed he was dressed in chinos and a Madras shirt, not what she would have thought of as official wear. Curious, she put her paperwork back in the folder she stored it in, and back in her small backpack, and stowed it in the corner.

She left the bridge, and walked back down to the deck, as the unknown man was walking up to the ladder. Fairly tall and lean, very wiry and somehow hard-looking, sporting a short brown haircut, the man was holding something, a small object, blunt and squarish, like a kid's walkie-talkie.

The unknown man reached the ladder, where Lenore looked over and saw that he would need to take short steps up it, one handed, until he could put the object on the rail or on the deck. Putting the object on the rail risked it falling into the water. He stood for a moment on the ladder, in indecision.

Lenore reached over and took the object. Heavier than she expected, she saw it was a brick of plastic with some sort of flap on the bottom that folded up onto the rest of it.

The man looked at her. "Thanks." He stood on the deck, and did something that caught Lenore by surprise. He turned and faced the stern, straightened, then saluted. Then he pivoted neatly on his right heel, and saluted Lenore.

"Permission to come aboard, Ma'am?"

Startled, Lenore nodded, then a moment later added, "Permission granted." Another moment later, since he held his salute, she returned it the way she'd seen the Lieutenants Brophy and Rudolfs do. What the heck, he seems to expect it.

The man nodded at her after finishing his motion. Lenore handed him the object he'd been holding. "One moment, please," he said, and then he flipped the bottom hinged portion of the object down. A strange series of finger stabs into the object, and Lenore realized he was dialing a phone without wires.

"Yes, I'm here," he said into the device, and then he gave Lenore an appraising glance. "No, she did well." He listened for a moment more, then closed the bottom of the device, a flap that extended to be positioned before his mouth when he spoke, but stowed for portability.

He handed the object back to her. "Miss Collins, this is a Motorola MicroTAC, and it is, as you've probably guessed if you've never seen one, a cellular telephone. In two minutes, the phone will ring, and it will be for you."

Lenore raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you could explain what this..." she cast about for a word, "intrigue is about?"

The other simply smiled. "Perhaps you should ask the person who will call you in a minute."

Lenore stared at him, at an impasse. Considerably sooner than one minute, the device in her hand rang with a brash electronic ringing sound. With her eyes on the other man, Lenore flipped the plastic hinged piece open, and put the device to her ear. "Hello?"

"Miss Collins, I hope you have been treating my mistress well?" the voice of Chief Kostowe came to her.

"Chief! Yes, very well."

"Very good, Miss Collins. Please, make the Joy Redux ready for a short jaunt. How much fuel do we have aboard?"

"Chief, there are twenty-two hundred gallons of maritime diesel aboard in the main saddle tanks, and trace amounts in the bow and stern tanks and lines." Lenore rattled off the summary without hesitation.

"Very good, Miss Collins. Please take the person on the boat wherever he directs you. Do not worry about the replacement fuel."

"Chief, what is going on?" Lenore was honestly perplexed.

"You are taking an acquaintance of a friend wherever he directs you, Lenore, and it is with my knowledge and permission. After you take him where he wishes to go today, you may be invited to go with him tomorrow. If so, please, do."

"Aye aye, Chief." Lenore didn't know what else to say, and it seemed like the best answer she could give. There was a series of clicks in her ear, and then the phone went silent. Thinking furiously, Lenore closed the flap mouthpiece, and slowly handed the phone back to the man. This has got to be some sort of a test.

"Sir?" At the other's nod, Lenore continued. "I am to take you wherever you direct."

The other nodded. "Very good, Miss Collins. Do we have enough fuel aboard to reach the Panama Canal?"

Lenore gave him a level stare. "No sir. I have enough fuel to make it to someplace down the Baja or Mexican coast, where I would need to take on more fuel. How far down the coast would depend on how fast you wanted to get there. And there are passport issues."

The other nodded. "I think we will be able to handle the passport issue, but we will finish the exercise. Can we make Point Reyes and back in time for supper, Skipper?"

Lenore nodded. "Sixteen knots, sir." Not sure why she was being as politely stilted as she was, she continued, "Would you join me on the bridge while I plot out a course?" Then it came to her that she was unconsciously imitating the Chief.

"I'll wait here for a few moments, Miss Collins. I have another phone call to make."

Shrugging, Lenore went into the bridge to plot a course. How much are those cellular phones anyway?

After Lenore had, needlessly, she was sure, laid out a course on the Lexan in grease pencil, she stepped partially out of the bridge doorway. "Excuse me," she called, "what do I call you?"

"How about 'Mister Dillon' for now?" the other suggested from the deck.

"Mister Dillon, I have plotted a course. Please review it." Lenore wasn't sure if that sounded polite or stiffly pissed-off. I wish I knew what was going on.

With a grin up at her, he simply shook his head. "Very well," she said, "I will blow the bilges. Would you assist with a visual inspection?"

'Mister Dillon' gave what she thought was a considering look. "Okay," he said. "Yes, ma'am, I can assist as deckhand."

Lenore stared at him, then gave herself a quick shake. It's as if he were considering if the rules of this game let him participate. He'd better; I can't get this boat out alone without doing her damage.

A few minutes passed while Lenore started and warmed the diesels. Lenore had Dillon free the spring lines on the starboard, while she freed the port, dock, side. Lenore called for him to slip the stern lines while she nudged the throttle in reverse and gave him working slack, and had him pick up the port line while making slight turns with the port engine. When she saw the line was free and heard him sound out, she smoothly piloted the ship away from her berth. As she fed in a minor amount of power and steered toward open water, she called out of the open bridge, "Mister Dillon, the fenders, if you please." She laughed a little for the thrill of taking the big boat out – doing this seemed almost illicit, but the Chief had been clear in his direction to her. The lilt in her voice when she called "Mis-ter Dillon" had made her laugh, and Lenore felt as alive as she could remember ever being. This is how the Gunny makes me feel. And then, This must be why the Chief loves the sea so much.