Chapter 41

Junior didn't get away that easy. Wendolyn Too convinced Andrea to stick around awhile. Lake Erie was coming up next and navigation lessons were just around the corner.

"A good USEABLE sextant isn't cheap," said David. "We're heading off to prove it."

They all piled into a rented Ford Econoline Van and headed out. Everybody but Junior and Greg. They went back to the boat in a poke.

The huge doors were blocked by a chain link fence with barbed wire overhangs on both sides. It was immediately evident that the next-door neighbors valued their privacy. On the other side of the fence was a wide alley, then a lengthy series of loading dock doors.

"Well, let's go talk to them," suggested Junior.

"I don't know who they are," confessed Greg.

"If that isn't just like a big city ... no idea who your neighbors are," she said. "Well ... let's go find out."

They walked out through the building to the yard and then back to Greg's Boat office. They turned right at the road and walked north along the street. The fence started immediately at the boundary between the lots. On the fence ... right at the corner and every fence post thereafter was a red, white and blue sign about 18 inches high and 30 inches long. The chain link part had those inserts that keep people from looking in. The inserts were rather worse for wear.

"STOP! No Trespassing! WARNING! The President of the United States of America has Authorized the use of Deadly Force against violators of this property."

The next sign in line read. "FEDERAL PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. By Order of the War Department."

The two signs alternated all the way to the end of the fence.

In the middle of the fence there was a complicated Entry ... such as one would see at a TOP SECRET installation. A funnel layout with a power roller gate and a sort of barbed wire tunnel ... if you were supposed to be there you passed the tunnel and a second roller gate. If you weren't I imagine they dropped you down a manhole and washed your body out in the river.

There was an Armed!! gate guard ... and he wasn't having it.

"No sir. No access without written permission."

Junior asked, "How do I get permission?"

"You have to check with Washington."

While Greg was following a circuitous path questioning the guard, Junior gave a peek through a hole in the worn inserts. There was a large empty parking lot. Beyond the lot was a grayish brown building with dirty windows and a set of double doors that were chained and padlocked shut. The lot had a great deal of blown in trash and the base of the dead low bushes around the front of of them was trash, trash and more trash. But she could hear the heaters and blowers running.

"Hey, get away from there, girl."

"Greg? Let's go ... I have the address number and the Department name. We need to call your Congressman and Senator."

Thus did the full might and power of the Congress of the United States of America fall upon the denizens of the Pentagon ... who didn't know a damn thing about it.

"What building? Where is that? War Department? We haven't been the war department for nearly twenty years."

Eventually ... actually ... pretty damn quick ... the shit flowed down hill to a civilian bureaucrat who was responsible for PAYING for the gas, water, sewer and electricity for every abandoned, but still on the books, installation, base, ship and cave and making sure the wages of the Army Guards who guarded said installations, bases, ships, caves and various and sundry other things of absolutely no use ... such as the armory in Montana that eventually ended up storing the muzzleloading cannon used by the Confederacy and captured by the Union during the Civil War ... got paid.

"Assets!" the minor bureaucrat claimed. "You never know when they might be needed!"

In secret, the Congressional Committee for Dirty Tricks and Silly Walks questioned Generals and other REMF's, military politicians all, most of whom said, "That's confidential." or, "That's beyond the scope of my knowledge."

Soon, but not soon enough, a Bill was scheduled, run through committee, vetted by leadership, passed and signed into law by the President authorizing the sale of the building, lot, abutments, contents and whatever else showed up ... demiled of course ... to one Greg Masters, of Greg's Boat Company, Detroit Michigan, for the sum of one dollar ... plus Michigan sales tax.

One dollar and three cents. Total. One dollar to the Fed and three cents to the state.

It took three years. Very fast for a government.

While Greg and Junior were chasing their tails, David, the Twins and Andrea were exploring. Julia was developing film at the local branch of National Geographic. While she was waiting, a 'ghost writer' was asking her about the trip so far. As she talked, he wrote.

Kowalski Maritime Chandlers had sextants ... cheap to Oh my God ... brand new brass and beautiful cases ... high quality and higher priced ... the higher the quality the more bells and whistles.

"This one does it all for you. Push a button and it aligns to the horizon and shoots the sun."

"Does it do the math and tell you where you are?" asked the Twins.

"Hahahahohohahahohoho." When Kowalski stopped laughing he said, "Like that's ever going to happen."

The cheap ones were made in India ... perfectly fine if you never got out of sight of land ... and had intimate knowledge of the coast ... and they were two hundred dollars. The one that did everything but the math was five grand. The best one that actually worked was 2 grand.

"How about Nathaniel Bowditch's, The New American Practical Navigator?"

"A copy comes with every sextant."

"Not just the book?"

"Nope ... just with a sextant."

"Thanks," said Andrea, as they left.

"Ok ... now you know how important a sextant is," said David. "Kowalski prices his equipment high ... how much do you value your life high."

He started the van and pulled away from the curb.

"Where to now, David?"

"Now we pawnshop." He grinned. "Boys? we're looking for anything but a sextant ... ok?"

"Huh?"

"Discover one and ask me if you can have it." He laughed, "Be prepared to be cussed out. You look like college freshmen decorating your dorm room."

Quisitive looks. Then..."Oh ... right ... I think."

Ever seen a Pawnshop where NOTHING is in groups? Where it's a danger zone of falling junk and moving from one spot to another might get you killed? The only thing behind a counter are guns? Heaven forbid that you ask the counterman to help ... He's a Schultz ... with accent. Back before time was discovered, pawnshops were like that.

Not to disparage the Jews ... but most of those pawnshops were owned by men of the Semite persuasion ... they love ... they exist ... their world revolves around a bargain.

"If you're selling it's junk ... If I'm selling it's an antique."

There lived an entire two block area where both sides of the street ... and halfway down the side streets ... there was nothing but pawnshops ... except for the centrally located shop ... a Kosher deli. Old men sat out on their stoops, drank very strong coffee in tiny cups and commiserated each other about the last bad deal.

The Ford Van parked at the only available spot and unloaded. David locked the doors. They walked down to the very beginning of the neighborhood ... one of the side streets. And it began.