Roger Ellis - AK-239

Jack grabs the microphone, “Just push this and you’ll be talking to Coast Guard Ketchikan on VHF.”

Mike now disgustedly stands to leave,

“Ya, they all know who he is. Captain Jack and The Black Pearl .”

As we draw near to Kendrick Bay my phone vibrates.

I check.

It’s a text from FBI Portland that Mohammad Al Aqsa (MAA) is flying to Ketchikan!

I can’t believe this, so I jokingly think:

Maybe MAA is now tailing me.

Another text arrives from Robert Stone, Police Chief, Ketchikan:

FBI, Portland just notified us of MAA.

I can pick up your suspect and hold him for you. What charge?

I type a text back saying, No charge. You must tail him until I return tonight. This is already against the FBI’s new six-month rule but I’ll just create a new file.

The police chief answers: This isn’t Portland. NO resources.

So I text, where is he now?

He texts: His plane lands in one hour.

I text back: I’ll call you as soon as I get back. In Kendrick Bay. No service.

Thank you, he responds.

I guess I was very lucky to get any texts as my iPhone 7 suddenly shows: No Service.

Kendrick Bay, Alaska

As we enter Kendrick Bay silence runs across the boat.

Actually there are two things running: The low hum of a Detroit Diesel and our adrenaline. The sun has actually broken free and the weather, although a brisk thirty-four degrees, it’s actually pretty nice.

Snow is covering Bokan Mountain in the distance and a fresh blanket of snow is on the trees and the ground.

We pass a large buoy in the water that shows the international radiation symbol in red with bold red words:

DANGER RADIATION

Jennifer says, “That’s weird. I was told by research geologists that there is no dangerous radiation anywhere here.

I look at Jennifer saying, “What is this place?”

“Bokan Mountain used to be an old uranium mine but it was closed down in the 1970s after the price of uranium was deregulated by the federal government and the price crashed.”

I notice the huge sign again and say, “That sign looks brand new.”

Jennifer looks at the brightly red painted buoy and now looks through binoculars and sees there are several more of these signs leading to the old barge by the dock on the far shoreline.

“This place is supposed to be a historic site. That means no one can move anything in or out.”

Much later Jennifer told me she thought right then and there, “I should’ve called for backup but what good would it have done except get more people killed.

Jennifer said, what bothered me at this point was: These rugged guys are going to think I’m a wuss. It’s one old man on a barge. I can handle this.

Jennifer was so wrong!

The barge is really a piece of junk. Paint is peeling and the plywood frame looks ready to fall apart.

I started scanning the shoreline and entire area with binoculars looking for any sign of life. There is none. It fact, it’s unbelievably quiet as we quietly glide toward our own deaths.

As we near, Jennifer is at the rear of the boat trying to look like a fisherman.

I see Mike nearby trying to help. “Here’s a bucket.”

Jennifer takes the empty five-gallon bucket used to separate fish. She smells it, reacts, pulls her gun and carefully places it at the bottom of the bucket.

Jack’s boat slowly pulls up alongside the barge.

The windows on this rusty old boat are all boarded up with plywood.

I couldn’t see any movement, anywhere.

Jennifer remarks, “It’s unusually quiet. Usually, birds are making noise. That is unless people are nearby.”

Jennifer later told me:

Practically everybody in Alaska owns a dog for warning but there is nothing but absolute silence.

So I just felt something was wrong too.

Jennifer already said that she would run point as she walks to the bow. We didn’t need to do this as I have a no-knock warrant issued by a federal judge in Portland for the arrest of George Ruddy.

Jennifer calls out to disarm anyone inside,

“Hello? Anybody on board?”

Her voice echoes across the calm waters of the bay but returns empty. After another attempt also yields no result, I exit the bridge. It’s as quiet as a mouse on the barge, as I see Jennifer motion Jack to pull closer.

As we touch the barge, Jennifer walks from the bow of her boat directly onto the barge.

She is holding a tie rope and looking like a giant target in those huge red overalls and that neon yellow jacket.

Meanwhile, at the back of the boat, even though it’s December, I notice hundreds of salmon swimming around and think,

I love Alaska.

Those thoughts would soon be gone as I jumped onto the back of the barge.

Jennifer and I have pulled our guns as we head for the doors.

I motion for Jennifer to stand back as I’m about to kick in the door.

Jennifer stops me and checks the handle.

The door easily opens.

Jennifer just looks at me in disgust.

So much for trying to impress my partner.

I shrug my shoulders.

Inside is a dreary mess. If the outside looks to be in shambles the inside is filled mostly with trash. This is one giant room. Toilet, kitchen, bed and trash are all together. The first thing I see is stacks and stacks of sockeye salmon tins.

I walk to them and pick up a can saying, “The salmon capital of the world and this guy is eating it out of a can?”

Jennifer is not paying any attention. She’s looking at some rocks on a table. They look to have a shiny silvery center. Another rock looks to be goldish in tone.

I begin going through the drawers on a desk. Nothing seems significant.

Jennifer spots a map that says, Bokan Mountain Road in large red letters.

“These look to be mine entrances,” Jennifer says.

I casually walk to a stack of identical black suitcases. Curious, I pull the top one off the stack and open it.

My mouth drops open!

Stacks of fresh $100 bills. There must be a million or more in just this one briefcase. I start opening other briefcases.

It appears there are fresh $100 bills in every one!

There are twenty-two briefcases.

“Uhh, we might have stumbled into something else here,” I said.

I don’t realize that Jennifer has already gone outside.

I pop the last suitcase and on top of a million dollars in cash is this picture:

Kendrick Bay, Alaska – Russian TK-20 and her Typhoon sister, TK-17 , in a rare daylight appearance

Photo: Kolokolov Igor

The eyewitnesses were right!

And that’s a steel reinforced dock!

What the hell is going on here?

I walk out and show Jennifer this picture saying,

“Here are your Typhoons!”

She says, “Holy shit!”

“Well, now we know: There are at least two of them!”

“I know a mining company was testing up here.”

Jennifer looks at the heavy machinery in front of the subs.

“That’s no mining operation. That machinery looks specifically designed for these subs. It looks like they can offload something from the front of the subs, doesn’t it?” asks Jennifer.

“I guess.” I answer, carefully looking at all of this heavy equipment.

Jack is on the bow of his boat with binoculars toward Bokan Mountain.

I then say, “This isn’t the half of it. Inside there are twenty-two suitcases filled with…” I don’t have time to finish as Jack sounds worried saying, “There’s movement at the tree line.”

Jennifer and I stop to look.