P Deutermann - The Moonpool

Then we heard a shout from our left. It sounded like it had come from down below the edge of the pier. We ran to the edge in time to see Ari Quartermain floating past in the current about twenty feet off the pier, waving frantically. The lights from one of the gantry cranes shone down into the water, or we would never have been able to see him.

“Get it,” I yelled at Frack, who went over the side in one big jump and splashed down into the water. He surfaced a moment later and began paddling in the direction of the struggling Quartermain. Tony found a life ring with a rope attached, and we started walking to keep up with the current as Frack dragged the man closer to one of those ladders we’d spotted. The dog had Ari by his jacket collar, and, fortunately, Quartermain wasn’t fighting the dog, but swimming with him instead. When they got close enough, Tony made sure Ari could see the life ring and then tossed it to him. Once he had it, Tony belayed the rope on the pier and let the current bring both man and dog alongside, close enough for Quartermain to grab one rung on the next ladder. Up the pier I could hear sirens approaching.

Frack still had a mouthful of Quartermain’s jacket, but Ari, thinking faster than I might have managed under the same circumstances, held on to the ladder with one hand while he poked the life ring over the dog’s front end. I called Frack off, and the three of us hoisted him back up to the pier while Quartermain clung to the bottom of the ladder. I’d swear Frack was grinning as we hauled his fuzzy wet butt over the edge of the pier. That mutt loves an adventure.

Tony went down the ladder and helped Quartermain climb up. Once they were topside, Ari flopped down on the concrete, gasping from his exertions in the icy water.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“One of those runners knocked me into the river,” he said, still puffing. “I think he went in, too, but I didn’t see him again.”

Frack stuck his nose into Ari’s face and gave him a big lick. Ari patted the dog’s head and thanked him formally for saving his ass. Up the pier there were more cops arriving, and several vehicles were starting to prowl the virtual canyons between all the stacked containers. We flagged down a passing security truck and asked the rent-a-cop to take a badly shivering Ari up to the scene to see if they could get a blanket for him.

Tony and Pardee automatically had started to walk up the pier, but I called them back.

“Bad idea,” I said. “Bunch of embarrassed cops and feds up there. Time for us interested parties to dee-part.”

As we drove back into Southport, I asked Tony if he’d found any decent gin mills in town. Tony, being Tony, knew of four; he was nothing if not attentive to important logistical details. We stopped at one a block in from the municipal beachfront. I left the shepherds in the vehicle. The place was about as dead as an off-season beer joint could be, which suited us just fine. The bartender was down at one end of the bar, eyes glued to the evolving story of a mass escape of stowaways down at the container port.

“Well,” Tony said, “Quartermain wanted the attention off Helios; that mess should do it.”

The television was now showing aerial views of the container pier.

“Anybody ever say if the radiation they got over there was similar to what they found inside Allie?” Pardee asked.

“They think they had alpha at the truck scene,” I said, “and that’s the best candidate for what got Allie.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda my point,” Pardee said.

“As in, these could be two related incidents?”

“Three incidents-Allie, the hot trailer, and now a bunch of illegals in a container.”

Tony finished his drink and put the glass down with an audible clink. “I don’t know, boss,” he said. “Maybe we should just do what Creeps suggests. Radiation poisoning? Gamma fucking rays? Human smuggling? That’s all federal shit. This is no place for us local gumshoes.”

“Granted, but I still want to know what happened to Allie.”

“We know what happened to Allie,” he replied. “We just don’t know why.” He paused to deliver a mild burp. “Although I have a theory.”

“Which is?”

“She ran into a ‘thing’ in the night,” he said. “A national security ‘thing.’ It went bump and then ate her up from the inside out. I’m sorry for her, don’t get me wrong. But shit happens, you know? As in, wrong time, wrong place?”

This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Pardee?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’ll stay if you want,” he said. “But whatever the hell’s going on here is gonna go major league after tonight, and I, for one, don’t want to disappear into one of those overseas rendition centers.”

I sighed and studied my glass for a moment. I could understand where they were coming from. When we set up H amp;S Investigations, we agreed that it would be mostly part-time work-basically, guys would put in as much time as any of them wanted or needed to make some money. None of us had to take on a case if we didn’t want to, and, after a life of chasing vicious street criminals, additional excitement was typically not the objective.

“All right,” I said. “I copy all that. Lemme talk to Quartermain tomorrow, see if we’re still in the picture. Although…”

“Although what?” Tony asked.

“You guys are probably right-we should back out of this hairball. On the other hand, working some bullshit for Quartermain likely gives us our best chance to find out what happened to Allie-and why.”

“Isn’t that what the Bureau’s gonna do?”

“They might, but if this is part of a larger national security picture, they just might bury the part that involved Allie.”

I looked over at the television, where the bartender was switching through the local Wilmington channels with the mute button on now. The same picture kept coming up-an overhead of the container port from a helicopter and the world’s supply of flashing blue and red lights dispersed along the pier, trying to surround the gazillion containers stacked out there. The runners were definitely not in evidence. I suggested it was time to call it a day.

The next morning, I left a message for Quartermain with the delectable Ms. Samantha Young. Then the three of us went down to the marina below Southport and picked out a boat. We settled on an Everglades 290, which was twenty-nine feet long, with a supposedly unsinkable fiberglass hull and twin 225-horsepower Honda engines. It was designed primarily for daytime sport fishing and was rated to carry up to fourteen people. It had an enclosed cockpit structure amidships, a GPS navigation system, two radios, a fathometer, and a Decca short-range radar set. I booked it for two weeks, with the understanding that it would be berthed each night back at the marina. I paid in advance for the first week’s rent, full-replacement insurance, and a damage deposit. Tony was a boat enthusiast; I had owned a lake boat at one time, but he would be the designated driver.

Quartermain called my cell as we were finishing up at the marina. He wanted me to come to the plant. I told the guys to find some charts of the area and to lay out a track to get up to the plant from Southport. Then I drove over to the power plant. I left Frack in the Suburban and took Frick in with me. I didn’t really need a dog with me, but I wanted everyone I encountered to know that when they saw me, they’d better look out for at least one German shepherd.

Samantha escorted us over to the main reactor complex this time, and then into the spent fuel storage building security office. There I was surprised to run into Colonel Trask, who said he’d take me to the upper-level control room himself. One of the security people checked me into the building, duly noting the presence of the dog in the facility log. A plant technician took me into an adjoining room, where I dressed out in a lightweight spacesuit and registered my current TLD reading. Then Trask and I proceeded into the moonpool access area.