Always Ready (2 page)

When the boat stabilized once more, she grabbed a life preserver and stood amidships, testing her balance as she swung the life ring back and forth. A moment later she tossed it out over the waves. Not until it landed with a splash did she see the fisherman’s head. The man reached, fell short, rallied, and tried again. Once more, he failed to catch the life ring.

Awkward movements to her left caught her eye. Seaman Gavin, in the bow of her boat, had clipped a line to his life vest and handed the coil to another man. Now he stooped and was removing his boots. Before Caddie could protest, he dove over the side and swam toward the Russian.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched his progress. Even though Gavin wore the lifejacket, he wouldn’t be able to survive in this rough, icy water for long.

As the Russian man began to sink again, Gavin reached him and yanked him to the surface by his hair. The man dove toward Gavin, overwhelming him in an embrace that carried both beneath the surface.

“Pull them in,” Caddie yelled. Three seamen jumped to obey.

Already, Gavin had popped up again and managed to turn the weakened Russian to a towing position. In minutes the two were in the boat.

Again Caddie evaluated their situation. They now had five Russians aboard, and the fishermen’s boat held eight. Had they lost one? She looked all around, searching the waves. The Russians had four oars in the water and attempted to row toward the towering side of the
Wintergreen
.

Caddie cupped her hands and yelled at them, but the wind caught her words. One of the Russians saw her and raised his hand. Caddie shouted, “Five!” She held her gloved hand high, fingers outspread and then pointed into the bottom of her boat. “Five men!”

The Russian frowned then nodded. He jostled the man next to him and spoke to him.

“Should we head in?” Jackson yelled.

She swung around and scanned the sea again. There had to be one more man. When she looked back toward the Russians, their boat had reached the lee of the
Wintergreen
and huddled against the ship. Coastguardsmen above yelled instructions down at them, and one of the Russians reached for the ladder he could climb to safety.

Caddie pulled out her radio. “
Wintergreen,
this is
Wintergreen 1.
I have five Russian fishermen in my boat. Request you get a count on the passengers in their boat. There should be fourteen total.”

During the pause that followed, she looked over the drenched men shivering in her boat. They shook with cold, despite the blankets. One man lay on the deck with his eyes closed, his lips blue. Caddie watched his chest for a long moment, terrified until it rose with his gasp for breath.Gavin also trembled uncontrollably. Several of her other men were soaked through and hugging themselves for warmth. They all stared at her, waiting for her order.

“
Wintergreen 1,
we’ve got eight Russians. Over,” came the captain’s voice over her radio.

Caddie’s heart sank. “Any sign of another man in the water? Over.”

“Negative. We’ve been looking. We thought you’d got the last one.”

She inhaled deeply. “Await your instructions, sir. Over.”

“Come aboard, Lyle.”

“Aye, aye, sir. We’re en route to the
Wintergreen.
Our ETA is five minutes.” She nodded to Jackson. “Return to the ship.”

The last of the eight Russians from the rowboat was climbing the ladder as Caddie’s boat approached the ship. The now-empty, fifteen-foot wooden boat was tied to the ladder and bounced as each wave hit it. It swung around and crashed into the ship’s hull.

“Careful!” Caddie turned to tell Jackson to ease in and let one of the other men latch onto the empty boat. They would have to move it out of the way and position the workboat beneath the davits to be lifted.

Just beyond them a giant wave towered. “Hold on!” she screamed and groped for a firm grip on the gunwale.

The wave hit them with a shock that pulled loose her grasp and threw her against the thwart. Air rushed out of her lungs. Icy water engulfed her for a few seconds. Amid the yelling and thrashing of the men, cold and weakness overwhelmed her. Then came excruciating pain.

❧

Boatswain’s mate Aven Holland picked his way among a horde of huge salmon, across the slippery deck of the fishing boat
Molly K
. The skipper, Jason Andrews, who fished out of Seward, had crossed his path before. He operated his boat just within the boundaries of safety and commercial fishing regulations. Aven determined to check every detail today.

Two of his crew of four seamen climbed up the ladder from the fishing boat’s hold and crossed the deck to where he stood near the boat’s owner. Aven took a few steps to meet them.

Seaman Kusiak kept his voice low and glanced past Aven, then back into his eyes. “Sir, their weight is off.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry. But it is.”

“You sure?” Aven asked.

“Yes, s—Yes.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred pounds, give or take.”

Aven whistled softly. “I’ll come down. We don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Kusiak’s shoulders relaxed. “Right.”

Aven said to the second man, “Wayne, you stay up here with the skipper. Don’t take any guff from him.”

As he headed for the ladder, Aven called his commanding officer on his handheld radio. The law enforcement cutter stood off a quarter mile, waiting while three teams conducted inspections on fishing vessels.

Aven wished he’d gone to check another boat. But no, he’d asked for this one. Did he want to cross swords with Andrews again? He didn’t like to think he was spoiling for a fight. Last time he’d let Andrews by with a warning on a minor violation and regretted it. Did he secretly hope for a rematch and a chance to catch the fisherman breaking the law? Aven had nothing to prove. Maybe he should have let the other boatswain’s mate take this boat and avoided the confrontation with a man who already disliked him.

When the operations officer on the bridge of the
Milroy
answered his call, Aven said, “We have a weight discrepancy and will be issuing a citation.”

He climbed quickly but carefully down into the work area in the lower part of the fishing boat. The deck below lay ankle-deep in fish, mostly big salmon. Refrigerated lockers on both sides bulged with thousands of pounds of fish. The footing was slimy and treacherous, the stench overpowering. Aven gritted his teeth. At least he was in charge of the detail now, but it seemed he would still end up weighing, measuring, and counting fish, the same as his men had been doing all day. He might never want to eat salmon again.

Two more seamen, wearing jackets and gloves in the refrigerated area, continued the inspection process of weighing, measuring, and recording. They probed into all the recesses of the ship to be sure they’d seen everything. Sometimes fishermen pulled in a catch and threw overboard the lower-grade fish they’d snagged, keeping only the top grade. The only way to prove this illegal and wasteful practice was catching the fishermen in the act. Or they might accidentally catch protected species. Apparently this crew hadn’t tried to keep any illegal bycatch.

Checking the amount of fish in the hold against the numbers in the fishermen’s records was tedious but doable. Aven spent more time doing this than anything else during Alaska’s fishing seasons. The crew of his law enforcement cutter made sure commercial fisheries didn’t harvest more than the law allowed from Alaskan waters.

The
Milroy
had been out a week from Kodiak, plying the most popular fishing shoals. The cutter’s appearance in a new location this morning had no doubt made a lot of fishermen uneasy.

As soon as today’s work ended and all hands were back aboard the
Milroy
, the cutter would head back to Kodiak. The quick thought of his home base brought an eager longing. Aven had been at this for eight years now, the last four in his home state’s frigid waters. He didn’t mind a cruise on the roiling, icy sea, but the hassle he got from fishermen who broke the law made the job less attractive. Still, it was worth being close enough to home that he could get to Wasilla to see his family several times a year.

Right now the fatigue of fisheries law enforcement had worn him down. He’d be glad to get back to Kodiak Island and spend some time on land. Maybe he’d even make it to church this Sunday.

Church. Would the buoy tender
Wintergreen
be in port now? If so, the new boatswain’s mate third class would probably be at church Sunday morning. He’d met her there a few weeks ago, before her ship put out for an extended deployment. Caddie Lyle. He could picture her serious blue eyes and pert nose. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had a wholesome attractiveness and a quiet determination that appealed to him. The memory of her perked him up considerably as they weighed the slippery, smelly fish. Next time they were both in port, he would ask her out. That settled, he got on with the job.

An hour in the cold storage unit was unpleasant, but it gave him enough time to double-check the seamen’s weigh-ins. Time to issue the citation to the boat’s captain. Meanwhile, he assigned another man to run through the checklist of safety requirements.

He emerged smelly and sticky into the fresh air on deck again, convinced his men’s assessment was accurate. He pulled in a deep breath. It was summer in Alaska, but the sea air still held an arctic edge, and the waters remained icy cold. If a man fell over the side, the frigid waves would sap his strength in seconds, and his heavy clothing would drag him down.

On the main deck, Wayne still stood a few feet from Andrews, who looked none too happy. The rest of the boat’s crew had stopped working and milled aimlessly about the deck, waiting for Aven’s verdict. Adjusting his gait to the rolling of the boat, he walked over and handed the skipper his clipboard and showed him where to sign the inspection form.

“I can’t talk you out of this?” the bearded man growled.

“No, sir. You can appeal if you wish, but we’ve verified the discrepancies in weight twice. You’re carrying way more salmon than your records claim.”

“Your scales disagree with mine.”

Aven shrugged. “Ours were calibrated three weeks ago, and they’re the official instruments. If you were off by a few pounds, we wouldn’t think much of it.” He turned to Seaman Kusiak. “Did you check on mandatory safety equipment yet?”

Kusiak nodded. “Yes. They’ve got most of what’s required.” He held out a form.

Aven looked over the checklist and noted the lack of two personal flotation devices and a case of flares whose expiration date had come and gone. The captain would face a stiff fine for certain because of the bulging refrigeration lockers below. The safety violations would add more fines and red flag the boat for another inspection soon.

Aven beckoned Wayne a few steps away, down the deck, and asked quietly, “Anything else I should know?”

“Just that they’re not happy.”

“They never are. Did they threaten you while I was below?”

Wayne hesitated.

“Come on.” Aven walked several paces away and turned around so that he faced the captain and crew but Wayne had his back to them.

“The big guy in the red hat.”

Aven scanned the crewmen and nodded.

“He said something to the skipper about how easy it would be to get the jump on us.”

“What did Andrews say?”

“Said he was nuts. The Guard would be all over them like a flock of seagulls on a garbage dump.”

“He’s right. Anything else?”

“No, just muttering and dirty looks.”

“Okay. You and Kusiak be ready to get down into the boat. We’ll board in a minute.” Aven strode back to the captain and met his gaze for a long moment. “Make sure you’ve got all your PFDs next time.” He tore off the carbon and handed Andrews the citation. “You’ll be notified soon when and where to appear in court.”

“Yeah, right.” The captain squinted at the paper. The wind fluttered it, and he reached up with his other hand to hold it steady. Half a dozen of his crewmen closed in around him, glaring at Aven and his team. The hulking man in the red knit cap looked over the captain’s shoulder at the paper and swore.

Aven did a quick mental assessment. When a man’s livelihood and that of his whole crew was threatened, anything could happen. The Coastguardsmen were outnumbered. Although he had a pistol, his men were unarmed. No telling what weapons the fishermen carried. Prudence dictated that they make their exit.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said.

“Just get off my boat.” Andrews glared at him.

The big fisherman spat out a filthy insult, advancing a menacing step toward him.

Aven held his gaze. “I’d advise you to stay calm. I have the power to arrest you.”

Three other men fell in beside the big man. One of them held a hooked fish gaff.

Aven reached for the button on his radio. The big man swung fast—faster than Aven could react. The blow to his midsection sent him sprawling backward toward the rail where his men waited.