“What time do you have, Chet?” Bradley asked, as he stood up and drank the last of his beer.
“Eleven o’clock,” came the answer as Bradley pulled another beer from the cooler and tossed the empty off the pier and into the bay.
“Why did you get this stuff? You know how I hate domestic lager,” Bradley said, then sat down next to his friend.
“You know I can’t afford those fancy micro-brews. Besides, when did you start complaining about free beer?” chuckled Chet.
They both sat silently as they took in their surroundings. They were in the shadow of a large crate at the end of the pier, overlooking the mouth of the Duwamish Waterway. In front of them lay Elliott Bay which filled the crisp air with the smell of salt. Directly across from them was the Seattle skyline, softly lighting up the bay.
“Did you see Cranston’s face tonight?” Bradley laughed. “I thought his head was going to explode!”
“You shouldn’t push him so much, you know. He is your superior officer.”
“That jerk can’t tell his head from his butt,” Bradley said. “It won’t take me long to get his job.”
“Look at you. You’re in an awful hurry to climb the ladder. You sure have changed since we were back in college,” Chet observed. “Back then all you cared about was having fun and chasing women.”
“What’s changed?” Bradley joked. There was no change. Alan had never told Chet about the plans he and his father had. “If anyone’s changed it’s you. You were so idealistic, trying to change the world by writing about all the injustice.”
“I still want to do that, but it doesn’t always pay the bills, ya know,” Chet replied. “At least I’m not stepping on people to get to the top.”
“Don’t give me a lecture on ethics, pal,” Bradley argued. “You’ve been known to put your own little twist on stories before.”
“Only to serve a greater purpose,” Chet defended. “People won’t listen until you liven things up a little.”
“Exactly my point,” replied Bradley. “If I waited my turn, like those other bozos, I’d be ready to retire before I could change things. Look at us-we’re young, empowered, and filled with energy and ideas. Isn’t that what we were taught in college? That our generation has to take charge and fix everything that’s been screwed up for so long. If so, who cares if I push a few old dinosaurs out of the way as I go?”
“I guess you’re right,” Chet said, timidly.
“Of course I’m right!” Bradley assured him. “It’s like I’ve been telling you for years. You and I can be useful to each other. You can give me the press coverage I need to become known throughout the city, and I make sure you get the exclusive interviews and coverage of all my arrests. Just like tonight. Your story will be on the front page tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we’re like Ali and Cosell,” Chet joked.
“Look at Governor Wilson and my father,” Bradley continued. “There’s a prime example of what two college roommates can do for each other. They stuck together and got to the top of their fields. You just stick with me and you’ll have your own news staff working for you in no time.”
They both were silent, for several minutes. They thought of the possibilities while sitting and listening to the waves breaking on the pier, gazing at the city that was laid out in front of them. From somewhere off in the distance, a soft drone broke through the otherwise tranquil atmosphere.
“What’s that noise?” Bradley asked. Chet strained to listen as the low hum of a small boat came over the water.
“Fishing boat, I suppose,” he said as he leaned back against the crate.
“Maybe,” Bradley said. “But what is there to catch at this time of night and where are they? I don’t see any running lights.”
“Big deal, so his running lights are out. Is that a Federal crime?” Chet joked. “Why don’t you just sit back and have another beer, Sherlock.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Bradley laughed, then leaned back against the crate. He tried to relax, but something about the lack of running lights nagged strongly at the back of his consciousness as the hum came closer. Bradley slowly leaned forward, squinted his eyes then lifted his hand and pointed. “There.”
Chet leaned forward as he watched Bradley’s finger trace the path of a dark shadow moving slowly among the waves.
“I wonder why he has no lights on.” Bradley commented.
“If his running lights are burnt out, maybe the rest of his lights are too. Also any light on deck could trash his night vision, making it tougher to see where he’s going,” Chet guessed.
“Yeah, maybe,” Bradley said. “I wonder where he came from?”
“It’s not uncommon for boats to ferry seamen to and from those freighters anchored in the bay, you know,” Chet informed Alan.
“That’s true, but something rubs me the wrong way about it,” Alan replied, as the shadow moved past them and up the river. “Stay here.” Bradley stood and walked behind the crates where his black corvette and Chet’s red Chief Grand Cherokee were parked. Bradley opened the corvettes trunk, and pulled out a pair of binoculars.
“What are you going to see with those?” Chet asked, when Bradley returned.
“When the boat moves under the West Seattle Bridge it’ll pass under the bridge lights. Maybe I can see something then. Come with me,” Bradley said, walking up the pier in the dark after the boat. Bradley trained the binoculars on the shadow as it slowly moved into the light.
“It’s a dark blue twenty footer, with a single outboard and forward cabin. The drivers the only one on deck,” Bradley reported softly. “Wait a minute.” As he spoke another man emerged from the cabin carrying a coat. The man looked around slowly and he started putting on his coat.
“What’s that?” Bradley asked himself out loud, focusing the field glasses on the man’s shoulder. The man had an oozie strapped under his arm that he quickly covered up with the coat. As the man traded places with the driver, Bradley watched the driver pick up a pistol from off the dash and stick it in his coat. At that instant, the boat passed out of the light and back into the darkness.
“If those are fishermen, why do they need guns?” Bradley asked Chet when he lowered the binoculars.
“Guns?” replied Chet, surprisingly.
“Do you have your gear with you?” Bradley asked.
“Of course, I’m never without it. Why?”
“Something’s going on and we’re going to find out what. Come on! We’ve got to hurry.” Bradley and Chet ran back to their vehicles. Bradley pulled out a map and a flashlight, then opened the map on the hood of the Cherokee.
“Let’s see, there are four boat moorage clubs on this river, they’ll have to go to one of them,” Bradley said. “Quickly! Follow me to this first one. And keep your lights off.”
Alan stuffed the map hastily in his car and started it up. Chet jumped into his Chief and followed as Bradley raced down the pier and onto the street. When they approached the first boat club, Bradley parked a half a block away and ran to the fence with his binoculars with Chet close behind. They scanned the water.
“There!” Chet pointed. The shadow had already passed the club and was moving up stream.
“Let’s go! The next one is a mile away,” Bradley said. They ran to their vehicles then sped off. They were gaining on the boat now, but when they arrived at the next two clubs the result was the same. They crouched in the shadows and watched as the boat slowly moved up river.
“One left. That’s got to be it. It’s two miles upstream, we should get there well ahead of them,” Bradley said as they again jumped into their vehicles and raced off.
It was just past one in the morning when they approached the last club. They parked further away then before in an alley and ran quickly to the fence, crouching in the darkness. Bradley scanned the club below him slowly with his binoculars. There were four separate docks filled with boats. Each dock had a s
ign labeling them “A” through “D”. There were a few empty slips scattered among the moored boats.
While they crouched in the darkness, Alan scanned the docks. “Nothing,” he whispered. Then he had an idea. This was the perfect opportunity to try out his new toy. “Wait here,” he told Chet, handing over the binoculars. Chet continued to scan the docks, but saw nothing. Alan raced back to his car and pulled something from the trunk. Running back to Chet, he crouched down and powered the unit up.
“What’s that?” Chet asked.
“A night vision scope,” Alan replied. “I ordered it from a catalog and it just got here the other day.” He put it to his eye and started to scan the shadows. The darkness opened up as if lit by a green moon. He was careful not to focus on the marina. The lights from the marina were blinding to anyone using night vision, as if looking into the sun.
“It could dock in any of those,” Chet whispered as he counted up the empty slips.
Bradley continued to scan the darkness slowly. “Wait a minute,” he whispered. He caught some movement above dock D, the farthest one up stream. A figure moved slightly, but just enough for Bradley to notice. Behind a crate, he could barely make out three figures. They were well camouflaged, and he would’ve missed them all together if it weren’t for that slight movement. Alan smirked slightly at the rookie-type mistake and guessed accurately that the figure was Agent Anderson. That meant O’Leary had to be one of the others.
“There are lookouts above dock D,” Bradley reported. He then stood up slowly, being careful to stay in the shadows. Alan watched closely.
The three figures sat motionless behind the crate, using it to shield themselves from the light emitted from the direction of the marina as they patiently waited and watched for something on the river down stream. They were waiting for the boat, he guessed. There was something definitely going on tonight, he was sure of it. Alan and Chet were out of the lookout’s field of vision, and weren’t likely to go unnoticed.
“There has to be drug agents down on the docks,” Bradley whispered. He took the binoculars and examined the dock carefully, but saw nothing.