Roger Ellis - AK-239

Outside the rain had stopped but looked like it could pour at any time, typical of Ketchikan and Portland.

Feels like home.

Sitting at the dock across the street from the New York Hotel was a fifty-eight foot Northern Jaegar.

His “boat” had barely squeezed into the Thomas Basin, boat moorings and docks. Our ride had managed to back his fishing boat right up to the Stenson Bayside Float which I could see from my hotel window.

The crazy guy has red and green Christmas lights all over his boat.

It seemed there were more Christmas lights on the boats than on the businesses and homes!

But I did see a Totem Pole with Christmas lights.

So I walked across the street to the docks. As I walked toward the boat the captain was standing on the dock, which had the smell of creosote. The captain had the smell of diesel and alcohol.

The captain was talking with who, I hope, is my partner for the day. She looks much better in person than her mug shot in the FBI database.

Her black hair looks to be tucked in a tight bun and well hidden.

She stood out like a sore thumb. A beautiful woman, all dressed up and talking with this crusty old fisherman with a cane.

I sure hope she isn’t a tourist but instead is my Profile Softening Partner (PSP) for the day.

The PSP was an acronym I made up that spread throughout the FBI like wildfire. In my Navy SEAL days with Black Squadron several operators, both men and women, had been paired so as to not stand out in surveillance and espionage. Black Squadron is the only SEAL unit that currently has women.

I quickly slap myself back to reality as I introduce myself.

“John Denning, Special Agent, Portland FBI.”

Jennifer shook my hand and replied, “Jennifer Tavana, Special Agent, Juneau FBI and this is Jack Tanner and his partner, Mike Gardener, is on the boat somewhere.”

I then say, “So you guys didn’t have anything better to do on Christmas Eve either?”

Jack ignores my insult saying, “Three hours out. Three hours back. Assuming the weather holds.”

I’m a bit concerned, “And if it doesn’t?”

“The weather across the Clarence Strait can turn on a dime. If I see the line of death, I’m not crossing. The swells can go from nothing to 25 feet or more in no time.”

“I’ve looked at a map. Isn’t that side of the island protected from the Gulf of Alaska?” I ask.

Jack smiles, “That Strait acts like a funnel. When the tide is going out and a storm is coming in wave frequency is amplified. On the other hand, I looked at the weather, we’ll be back before dark, right Lieutenant-Commander?”

Jack is looking at Jennifer and I now realize that I read about this woman when I was in the Navy.

She’s the first woman to command a U.S. submarine!

Girls shouldn’t be doing some “men” things (As you’ll see, this philosophy will come back to bite, torture and nearly kill me!)

For now, I’ll pretend not to know. The Navy Times said, “Lieutenant-Commander Jennifer Tavana wasn’t just the first woman to command a U.S. submarine, she also made it to commander in the shortest amount of time.”

Great, I thought, now I’m seeing the face of political correctness.

The girl probably slept her way to the top.

I realize everyone is staring at me.

Jennifer and I both notice the strong stench of alcohol (From the crusty captain), creosote from the wood on the docks and his diesel exhaust.

We both back away from the eye-watering fumes seemingly emanating from him that had engulfed us.

I try making a joke of it all,

“Ah, nothing like the smell of creosote and diesel on the open waters!”

Nobody reacts to my bad joke so I shut up.

Jennifer Tavana’s Diary

Great! These boys probably think I’m too girly and have no idea who I am or what I’ve done. Toughen up soldier girl!

I’m getting to the bottom of this story: This drunken idiot thought he saw a “sub!”

Probably only after a 5th of Jack Daniels too!

The only reason I’m taking this drunk’s boat is to get to the bottom of this fish story that’s been going all over Southeast Alaska.

These sub sightings have gone on for the past five years. And the fish stories are only growing. “Captain Jack” isn’t the only moron that claims to have seen a sub. Seven Alaskans now swear they’ve seen a sub too. What makes me think they might have some credibility is:

They all describe the exact same type of boat without any pictures, diagrams and none have any naval experience or know each other.

A RUSSIAN S.S.B.N.

TYPHOON BOOMER!

Impossible!

I’m the only one, on my own time, who’s gone out and interviewed all seven people. If I told the FBI what I was doing I’d probably no longer be an agent.

While most people are wonderful here in Alaska, there are also a few crazy people that give us all a bad name.

Now everyone is staring at me, the girly girl!

My Diary

After the awkward moment the captain welcomes us aboard.

I’m thinking: That was weird!

We all just stood and stared at each other.

Maybe they all have PTSD!

Jennifer tosses her bug-out bag to Mike before stepping aboard.

Mike looks in the bag and starts taking inventory, “Four, aluminum space blankets, four lighters, freeze dried food, reindeer jerky, a first aid kit stocked with gauze, bandages, tape, scissors, a personal ELT and Celox.”

Mike looks at Jen, “What the hell is Celox.”

I’m already impressed with this “girl.” She’s definitely Ex-Navy. Anyone with a little military experience knows that Celox is an over-the-counter coagulant used to quickly stop bleeding.

Jen looks at me and I smile, probably the only other one on the dock, who gets it!

Mike continues in his ignorance: “Oh and a big frickin bottle of hydrogen peroxide.”

I smile again thinking, Cheapest sterilization and disinfectant around!

Jennifer’s Diary

My dad was a stickler for hydrogen peroxide.

I never want to hear my dad’s voice going off in the middle of nowhere.

Could have used a bottle of peroxide now, couldn’t you?

My mom fled Iranian when I was just five. We had to leave dad behind. He was a doctor in Iran and the government wouldn’t let him leave because he was considered “necessary personnel.”

My dad helped her and me flee the oppressive, totalitarian government to give her and me a better life. My mom found out my dad was jailed, tortured and killed by the Iranian government in 1990.

My mother enlisted in the Navy and studied nursing and was transferred to a Navy hospital ship. Women weren’t allowed on any other types of ships in those days.

When my mother got out she went to the University of Alaska and got an engineering degree. She met a nice Aleut native on campus and before she left school they married and had their first child, my sister.

Again, this Denning guy looks handsome but he probably thinks I’m all beauty and no brains, which is exactly what he looks like.

I’m embarrassed with all of these gross men staring at me.

Mike tosses the ropes onto the ship and hops aboard.

I notice “Captain Jack” is trying to cover a very distinct limp.

As our crusty old fishing boat creeps away from the dock I made my way to the bridge.

I knew I might not have another chance to talk with the captain about the sub.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk around town about your tall tale, wanna tell me?”

Jack deflected, “Which one?”

I smile, “The one about the sub.”

Jack shrugs, “Oh, I was drunk. Don’t believe every story you hear.”

I pause before asking, “So you made the whole thing up?”