David Dun: The Black Silent

They were past Wasp Islands in minutes, traveling at forty-five knots.

As they neared Friday Harbor, just north of the point of San Juan, McStott called again.

"They have Glaucus and they've gone."

"Which way?" Frick asked.

"Toward the Straits of Juan de Fuca. Glaucus is in a tank under a blue tarp."

Frick stopped the boat in San Juan Channel and looked with glasses. He sighted the workboat moving down San Juan channel, ahead of them, toward the straits.

"We got 'em now," he said to Khan. "Get the rocket launcher ready."

"Head toward the straits, but stay in the middle of the channel," Ben said. Sam flipped on the bilge pump because Glaucus was sloshing gallons of water out of his tank as he struggled.

Haley's phone rang.

"Answer it," Sam said, thinking it might be a cop.

Haley was bouncing around on Glaucus and held up her phone. Ben took it and answered.

"It's Ernie," he said to Sam.

"Yo," Sam replied.

"I'm at the docks at Friday Harbor, Where are you?"

"Get a boat and follow us. We're just pulling out of Friday Harbor. Forty-foot aluminum boat. Wheelhouse on the back."

"I see you. Can't you come and get me?" Ernie said.

"No time. Get a boat and follow."

"How the hell… Okay… I got cash. There're some guys here. Bye."

By dangling his tentacles, Ben said, Glaucus knew that the wide blue sea wasn't far. He obviously thought he could crawl there pronto.

Haley tried again to get the tarp down all around the huge beast and keep all his tentacles in the tank, but she was losing the battle. A set of massive suckers felt her back and played with her shirt. It was almost comical. Then the creature erupted and Haley was on a wild ride, trying to hold it down and keep herself in the boat. Ben took the wheel and Sam tried to keep the tarp down, but the creature was strong enough to throw the new intruder off its back.

Haley managed to stay mostly in place, bouncing up and down, constantly fondled by Glaucus's tentacles.

Sam crept up beside Haley, then grabbed as much of Glaucus's bulk as possible, giving him a mighty squeeze. For some reason the bear hug calmed Glaucus, or distracted him, much like pinching a horse's upper lip. Gradually Sam worked him back over the edge of the tank.

When Glaucus moved again, Sam squeezed harder. It was a standoff.

Sam looked at Ben, wondering how long he'd have to remain engaged with the wily invertebrate.

"When octopuses make love, they get in a hug with all eight tentacles," Ben shouted, laughing. "They'll do it for hours."

"Great."

"Behind us," Haley called out. A boat was approaching a quarter-mile off.

The boat was obviously a fast one, closing the distance quickly. The bilge pumps were still pumping, but the aluminum workboat carried too much weight and too little power to make it a race.

A new noise joined the clamor. Sam looked behind them, then upward. It appeared to be a coast guard helicopter.

"It seems we have both the good guys and the bad guys converging," Sam yelled.

"They can't see us drop Glaucus in the straits. They can't find him," said Ben. "Let's keep going."

Sam nodded. The big orange-and-white helicopter swooped low; the men inside obviously wanted them to stop.

"Can't trust anyone," Ben said over the whine of the chopper's jet engine.

Silently Sam agreed. Ben kept the outboards running at max throttle. Haley pumped water from the tank and bilges to lighten the boat. Sam kept Glaucus in an octopus embrace. He guessed they were cruising at just under thirty miles per hour. Frick was in a very fast boat and gaining on them.

Haley's phone rang again. It was Ernie.

"My boat is slow," Ernie said.

"So's ours. Keep coming," Sam said.

"Frick will catch us long before we get to the Straits of Juan de Fuca," Sam said after he had hung up.

"That's apparent," Ben said. "You would think he wouldn't do anything with a coast guard helicopter standing by…"

It was overcast all around, with a low, soft, undefined ceiling. To the right lay Griffin Bay, a broad expanse of water in the large hook of San Juan Island. Where San Juan Island and Lopez Island nearly converged, they created a narrower passage to the Straits of Juan de Fuca, replete with tide rips and bad seas on heavy wind days.

"Venture. Too. Venture Too. this is United States Coast Guard helicopter Lima, Papa, Bravo, Alpha, Tango. How do you copy?"

Ben said nothing. Sam tried putting a line around Glaucus, and pulling it tight as a substitute for the bear hug. The creature moved about like a simmering stew, but stayed put. Sam moved to the wheelhouse and picked up the mike.

"This is Venture Too" Sam said.

"Switch and answer twenty-two alpha."

"Roger that, twenty-two alpha."

Sam changed the channel.

"This is Venture Too."

"Venture Too, please return to Friday Harbor. We have some government officials and your friend Rachael Sullivan, who would like to speak with you."

"Copy that," said Sam. "We have a seven-hundred-pound octopus in the tank that we'll be delivering to the straits."

"Negative on that, Venture Too. Please return to Friday Harbor."

"We believe the boat right behind us is driven by Garth Frick," Sam said. "He's the murderer that law enforcement will soon be looking for. He's going to try to kill us."

"This is Special Agent Gayle Killingsworth; that doesn't seem very likely, so long as we are here."

"Get your guns ready," Sam said. "Last we saw, Frick has a rocket launcher."

"Say again. Rocket launcher?"

"Give me that," Ben said. "This is Ben Anderson, formerly of the Sanker Foundation.

Garth Frick is behind us and most certainly has been trying to kill us and won't hesitate to blow your ass out of the sky. Is that plain enough? I need to deliver this creature to deep water. It's a matter of life and death-he can only live out of the water for thirty minutes maximum-and I'm afraid we can't comply until we're done."

"The octopus will die if you turn around?" Killingsworth asked.

"Yes."

Haley had come up and was listening. She and Sam shared a glance at Ben's lie.

The coast guard's silence spoke volumes. Sam assumed that Rachael Sullivan had something to do with their arrival. If so, he could imagine Rachael pleading their case.

Ben gave the wheel to Sam, took the flask from Haley, stepped to the stern of the boat, and put it in a locker.

"I'll tell you if I decide to dump it," Ben said.

"Are you sure?" Haley said. The scientist inside her was no doubt screaming. They watched Frick's boat pull up behind and then swerve to the side, accelerate, and then come in close.

Frick waved a gun, motioning for them to stop.

Rachael and Lew sat, side by side, on a bench seat in the coast guard helicopter; Gayle Killingsworth sat to the far side of Rachael. Behind them sat two more FBI agents and one state police officer. Ahead and to the right was one airman and near a large open door another airman. In the front of the cockpit sat a pilot and a copilot.

They had been to San Juan, Lopez, then Orcas, and were returning to Sanker when Rachael saw what looked to her like the Sanker workboat in the distance, so they followed after to check it out. Gayle's attitude toward the mission had improved. The obvious evasions had convinced her that something was wrong under Garth Frick's command. After catching the workboat they had tried to turn them around, but Ben Anderson was a stubborn man. For his part, Frick insisted he was in hot pursuit of a murder suspect.

Gayle held a police radio provided by the sheriff's department. It crackled, the sheriff's dispatcher putting her in touch with the long-awaited county sheriff himself.

"Tiger One," the dispatcher said, using Gayle's chosen moniker. "I have Sheriff Larson, patched in on a landline."