He recognized the name from the long list of merchant ships on their “to do” list. China, he recalled. About fifteen down the list of ships that were going to enter the Bay, up to Baltimore, he thought.
He pulled away from the ship to get a better angle, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he throttled the engine he looked over his shoulder and began to wonder if he hadn’t just lost sight of the plane as it continued to fly up the Bay. Or had he really seen a small aircraft land on the deck of the Fong Hou?
During the hour-long trip back to the Chesapeake Bay Pilots Quarters just inside Lynnhaven Inlet, his confidence faded in what he had seen. It was dark and his goggles weren’t the best. There were maybe twenty-five ships anchored in between the mouth of the Bay and the Ocean. And he had a giant cobia in his live well. Maybe the screech of the wheels had been the pull of his drag on his reel.
He tied his own boat up to the pier and bounded up the steps to the Pilot Quarters. Opening the door he saw Rich Burns and Blake Sessoms. Burns was the second in command and on duty tonight. Sessoms was a volunteer who liked to hang around the 45-foot twin-diesel boats. Gary thought Burns was a decent boss, but a bit strict. Sessoms, on the other hand, had surfed Hatteras with him a few times, was rich, had his own rig, and was trying out as an apprentice pilot, Gary thought, just to have something cool to do.
“What are you doing here, junior?” Burns asked, putting down a deck of cards. They sat at an old picnic table that had been in the Quarters since Gary’s dad was the chief pilot.
“Gary,” Sessoms said, acknowledging his friend.
Austin grabbed a seat and looked at Burns then Sessoms.
“You guys may think I’m crazy—”
“No doubt,” Burns said, holding the deck in his hand.
“That’s been established,” Sessoms added, looking at the two cards Burns had dealt.
“Listen you dickweeds. I was just out doing some Cobia fishing—”
“Catch anything?” Burns asked.
“He ain’t got nothing,” Sessoms said. “Every time he catches a minnow, he brings it up here like it’s a citation.”
“Guys, quit giving me shit, here, okay?”
“Then what did you come in here for on your day off?” Sessoms quipped. Then, to Burns, “Hit me.”
Burns flicked a card at Sessoms and then looked at his own.
“I think an airplane just landed on the Fong Hou.”
“Fong Hou?” Sessoms asked. “Is that like, ‘One Hung Low’?”
“Bite me, Sessoms,” Austin said.
“Fong Hou’s number seventeen on the list,” Burns said, looking at his cards. “We’ve got four operational boats. Takes a day per ship. We’ll get to it in five days, junior, if we get the word to move ‘em.”
“What’d the plane look like?” Sessoms asked.
“It was small,” Austin said. “Wings above the fuselage and some kind of crazy v-shaped things between the wings and the rest of the airplane. Like bat wings.”
“Like a flying saucer?” Burns joked.
“You can bite me, too, Burns.”
“Listen, Austin. After the hookers in Baltimore and the alcohol on your breath, I think you ought to be a bit more,” Burns paused, obviously looking for a big word, “circumspect.”
“I’m telling you, man.” Austin shook his head in dismay.
“Alright, dudes. I’m out of here,” Sessoms said, throwing his cards on the table. He stood, his long sandy hair flowing down to his shoulders. “Going up to the mountains early in the morning to catch up with, Matt.”
“Garrett?” Burns asked.
“Yeah. His sister sent me the S.O.S.”
“It’s been a while. Say, ‘hey,’ for me, will you, Hope he’s okay,” Burns said. By now, they were both ignoring Austin, who had walked to the digital docket that displayed the long list of ships awaiting pilot assistance.
“Sure. Hey Austin,” Sessoms said. “Wanna show me that cobia?”
“Might as well,” Austin sighed.
“Later, Burns.” Burns and Sessoms did a knuckle punch and then Sessoms walked out with Austin.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Austin asked.
As they approached Austin’s twenty-five-foot Dixie, Sessoms said, “Why wouldn’t I? How big?”
“I’m talking about the airplane,” Austin said.
Sessoms stopped and put his hand on Austin’s shoulder. He was over six feet tall and towered above the younger man.
“Look, Gary—”
“This ain’t got anything to do with bringing a couple of chicks on the pilot boat, man.” Gary looked down at the ground.
“Probation is probation, man. I wouldn’t push it with Burns.”
“But what if it’s something?” Austin asked.
Sessoms looked at the glassy water of the Inlet then back at Austin.
“Okay, let me think about it tonight and then we’ll chat tomorrow. I’ll call you. Deal?”
“Thanks.”
“Least I can do is give you some top cover with Burns.”
“He’s just pissed ‘cause he ain’t getting any.”
“He’s still your boss. And no matter who your old man was, you’ve still got to be careful.”
By now Austin had opened the top of the live well. Blake stayed on the pier as Austin lifted the enormous cobia.
“Steaks tomorrow night?” Sessoms asked.
“Deal. Thanks, bud.”
“Good land there, Austin. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Sessoms called over his shoulder as he walked one pier over to his Boston Whaler.
He cranked the engine, backed away from the pier, and throttled his way quickly to his home on nearby Broad Bay.
As he navigated the channel, he remembered three things: Fong Hou, small airplane, and bat wings above the fuselage.
CHAPTER 42
Meredith pulled her car into the familiar driveway. She parked next to the other cars in front of the guest cabins that the vice president had converted into the alternate command and control center.
She could see the lights on in the center cabin, which was the primary communications center. Behind the “command post,” as Hellerman called it, were the other two cabins. All three were constructed in a stone cottage style that made them look like they had jumped off a Thomas Kinkade painting. The other two cottages primarily housed staff and Secret Service personnel, who stayed on site twenty-four hours a day.
The size of nice suburban homes, the cottages each had bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and all the usual amenities of a house. The big upgrade had been in communications equipment. A communications team had spent months installing satellites, laying fiber optic cables, and essentially digitizing every phone, radio, television, computer, and camera. The entire compound was wired with Top Secret phone lines and Internet connections.
Meredith looked across the field about a quarter mile to the mansion, which was strictly off limits to everyone except herself and some select Secret Service. The mansion was a medieval-looking stone building, like the cottages, but five times the size. Meredith thought that it seemed like a dark and brooding father watching over his three children. Tonight the mansion was dark but for a room on the second floor.
She entered the command post and could hear the steady rhythm of an operations center. Fax machines were chugging away, CNN and Fox News were playing on two separate televisions, phones were ringing, and there was a computer running at every desk. She saw Jock Evans, Zeke Jeremiah, and Stan Rockfish from the Rebuild America discussion group and waved.
“Hey guys,” she said, walking over to the flat panel display monitor that summarized significant activities. “What do we have tonight?”