Forged in Honor (1995) (18 page)

Josh shook his head slowly, knowing his cheap friend would have the same lame excuse tomorrow. He tossed a ten onto the table and nodded approvingly at Jean, who approached carrying a string that was threaded through the handles of seven plastic gallon milk containers. She handed the bundle over and screwed up her brow. "I can't believe I'm helping you."

Josh winked. "He's mine; I'm gonna get him today. You just wait and see."

Jean stuffed the ten-dollar bill in her apron and picked up the plates. "Yeah, yeah."

Holding the string of bottles in one hand and a bag of ice in another, Josh strode to Lil' Darlin' . He was almost there when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Boss, I need the keys to open the office."

It hit Josh like a bolt of lightning. He turned around and tossed the string of bottles to the startled young man. "And I need a witness. Come on, you're coming with me."

Confused, Bob Stevenson looked at the bottles, then at his boss. "Where?"

"The hunt."

"But the office?"

"We have an answering machine. Stef will be here in a couple of hours; she can handle it. Come on, you're gonna see it happen."

"What happen?"

"Him, I'm catching his big ass today. Just shut up and follow me."

Bob's new Docker slacks and his shoes were mined as he sat disgruntled in the bouncing bass boat as it made its way around Haynes Point into the Potomac River. Minutes before, two buckets of Ky's rotten fish had splashed all over him.

The whole thing would have been a little better if his boss had at least helped him rather than just snickered and rolled his eyes.

Josh turned upriver toward the busy Rochambeau and George Manson Memorial bridges, which contained the usual Interstate 395 bumper-to-bumper traffic. He steered the boat between the pylons and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. Looking back, he shouted over the rumbling outboard and Conway Twitty singing "Julia," "I've never taken anyone with me before. You'll have to swear secrecy."

Bob looked at his pants and wrinkled his nose. "I swear I'll never tell a soul you stole the fish heads."

"I didn't steal them! Ky puts the buckets out for me. Hey, I'm serious. You can't tell anyone about how or where I hunt."

"Fine," Bob said, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

Reading his look, Josh patted his assistant's shoulder. "You still upset about the spill?"

"No. I'm upset that you talked me into going."

Josh smiled in understanding. "It's good to get away for a while. You're gonna love it. How do ya like the music?

Conway sure can wail, can't he?"

Bob nodded with a tight, forced smile.

They passed beneath the bridges and Josh motioned to their right. "Over there's the tidal basin. We can't hunt in there." He nodded to an opening just ahead. "We're going in there-Lady Bird Johnson Park and Marina. Just on the other side of the marina is the riverfront entrance to the Pentagon; you'll see it on the left as we go by."

Josh steered into the small harbor and cut back the power, bringing the boat to a crawl. "There's a waterway ahead, a kind of canal we're gonna take. It's the hunting ground. Remember, this is all secret. If Ky knew I got the turtles less than a mile from his Emporium he would shit a brick. I tell him I hunt up and down the river. Great con, huh?"

"Yeah, great," Bob said without feeling.

"Here we go. There's the first float marking one of the traps."

Josh cut the engine and glided up to the floating milk container. He reached into the water beneath the bottle, grabbed a thin nylon rope tied to the handle, and gave a little tug.

"Yeah, we got some," he said excitedly.

Bob found himself caught up in his boss's excitement. He grabbed the rope and helped haul the trap up, surprised at the heavy resistance. The chicken-wire and steel-framed trap looked similar to a lobster trap; to his horror it was half full of flopping fish, a snake caught within a chicken-wire loop, and what must have been five or six very angry, muddy turtles.

"Hot damn!" yelled Josh, who held the trap level with the water. "Pull the snake out and help me get the trap into the boat."

"Are you crazy?" Bob exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

"It's just a water snake. Pull him out!"

"No way!" Bob backed away from the slithering reptile.

His arm muscles trembling with the strain, Josh worked his hands down the rope hand over hand until he could grab the top of the trap. He took a breath and suddenly lunged backward, bringing the trap with him. The snake's body slapped Bob's face and shoulder as the trap tumbled into the boat.

Josh grabbed the snake and flung it over the side in a single movement. "Is this fun or what?" Josh asked, looking into the trap with glee.

At that moment Bob knew his boss was totally insane.

Josh saw what he was thinking and laughed. "Come on, help me get 'em out. You'll learn to appreciate this, I promise. We keep only hard-backed turtles that weigh three pounds or more. Toss everything else back."

Bob knew there was no way out. He'd have to humor the lunatic until he was safely back at the pier. He looked into the trap of flopping fish and clawing turtles. "Do they bite?"

Josh was already unwiring the top. "Yeah, so watch how I do it. Forget the fish until we get the turtles out, pick one out aaaand ... grab him like that! See, get the back foot or tail and lift him quickly before he has time to fight." Josh dropped the turtle into the weld between the seats. "No sweat. Okay, your turn."

Bob took a breath, squared his shoulders, squinted, and reached in. His scream echoed up and down the canal until Josh calmly reached over and squeezed the turtle's elongated neck and it let go of Bob's little finger.

The young man waved his hand as if it were on fire, but he'd at least quit the bloodcurdling scream. Finally he looked at his finger, and a sudden stillness settled over him. His eyes slowly shifted to his mentor. "It didn't even break the skin."

Josh tried to keep a straight face but couldn't, and he broke up laughing. Bob tried to act hurt but couldn't, and joined him.

By the fourth trap Bob was as excited as his boss. But the wire contraption he pulled up was just a battered ball of twisted metal. "What the heck happened to this one?" he asked, lifting it up into the boat.

Josh's jaw tightened but a gleam sparked in his eyes. "Him ... he's here." He quickly stepped forward to the front of the boat and untied the special trap. "Today's the day. I've designed a secret weapon to get him," Josh said as he spun around and reached for the bucket of rotten fish.

Minutes later Bob watched his boss lower into the water a heavy-duty steel trap that looked to him like a small shark cage. Josh attached three milk bottles to the rope and dropped them overboard. He steered the boat to shore, got out, and motioned Bob to follow him. "Come on, we'll wait on shore and see if we get him."

Bob carefully stepped over the turtles between the seats and joined his boss. He asked, "What or who is 'him'?"

Josh gazed out at the floating bottles. "About a month ago I tried to pull up a trap but it wouldn't budge. I tried harder and nearly broke my back hauling it in. When it surfaced I saw him. He looked directly at me with his huge black eyes.

He'd bit through the wire to get the bait, but caught his front foot in the chicken wire."

Josh turned and looked at his mesmerized assistant. "He's big, a monster-the king of the turtles. He must be 100 years old and weigh at least 150 pounds." Josh's eyes slowly shifted back to the water. "The King looked at me, kinda daring me to reach down for him. I made the move but his eyes rolled back and he suddenly kicked free and was gone. The old King tears up two or three of my traps a week. He does it to show me who rules the river."

Bob closed his gaping mouth. "You're exaggerating, right?

I mean about his size?"

Josh shook his head in silence, sighed, and leaned back against a tree.

Bob looked at the still water with a greater respect for what lay beneath its tranquil beauty. He leaned back and spoke quietly. "So we just wait?"

Josh looked up at the tree limbs above him. "I'm going to let you in on another secret. I don't hunt all morning like everybody thinks. I sleep here a couple of hours, just lay back and rack out. Ky thinks I work hard at catching them, and I add to the con by telling him I can catch only a dozen a day."

"We've got that now," Bob said, sitting up.

"Right, and that's the big secret. We could bring in twenty if we wanted, but then Ky would know they're easy to catch.

To protect my business, I keep the secret from getting out."

"Boss, why do you do it? I mean, you've got a good business. It's not like you need the money."

Josh shrugged. "It's a challenge. An old teacher of mine once told me a man has to have one now and then just to know who and what he is. It probably seems stupid to you, but ... but I like it out here. I like knowing I'm doing something nobody else does."

Bob looked at Josh's profile and made up his mind. "Boss, I guess it's as good a time as any to ask you something. It's about Stefne. I ... well, I would like to ask Stefne out. I'm asking you because I don't want you to think I'm trying to get ahead by asking out the boss's daughter. She ... she's a ... a ..."

"A challenge," said Josh, helping him find the word.

"Yes, kind of ... She's different from other women I know. She's beautiful and yet doesn't know it or doesn't seem to care. She doesn't play the usual games, just looks you in the eye and tells you what she thinks."

Josh smiled. "Some would call that opinionated. You don't have to ask me for my permission. Hell, you're old enough and so is she. But I gotta warn you about Stefne. Beneath that know-it-all exterior is a very sensitive woman. Her mother was like that, hard as a rock on the outside. People thought they could say anything to her and it wouldn't bother her, but it did. I know-I hurt her a few times. I could see the loss of a small spark in her eyes. It tore me up and I never forgave myself." Josh picked up a small stone and cast it into the water. "They seem to be tough, yet they're fragile, so goddamn fragile. I wish I'd known before she ..." He broke off and glanced at Bob with embarrassment. "Sorry, I was just tryin' to warn you that Stefne has a heart that breaks easier than most, that's all."

Josh lay back against the tree and lowered his old cap's bill to his nose. "I'm gonna rest a little while. Wake me up at twelve, huh?"

"Sure," Bob replied. He lay back and looked up at the tree limbs, knowing he'd seen a side of his boss that few ever were allowed to see.

State Department General Summer stood in front of a projector screen briefing the Coordinating Subgroup for Narcotics about recent satellite photos taken over Burma.

"... and here you can see a huge number of poppy fields in the northern mountain area, making it the largest poppy growing area in the world. Based on the size and number of fields, analysts believe that this region is capable of producing upwards of seven hundred tons of raw opium a year, which can become almost seventy tons of heroin. How much is that? American addicts consume only six tons a year. Next slide, please. This photo was taken yesterday. You can see in this close-up of a valley; if you look closely you will see camouflage nets. These nets are extensive and cover what we believe to be a large heroin production facility. Next photo, please. Here you see the same area, but it was shot with an infrared camera to pick out hot spots. You can clearly see a very large building that shows up as a red rectangular box-- it's the metal roof of the building, which retains the sun's heat. Note these smaller red areas. These are vehicles. When we compare the previous photo and this one, we can see that they are trying to hide a very large complex, complete with motor pool. Gentlemen, in the interest of thus I've showed you just one probable production facility. We have photos of four other such facilities, all located in the northern mountains. Lights, please. Gentlemen, do you have any questions?'

The director of the DEA, John Tuckerman, pounded the table with his fist. "Goddamn it! What in the hell are you intelligence people trying to pull? I get a call last night and this is what you people wanted me to come here for? This?

A wild-goose chase? You people are overreacting! Your cockamamie heroin theory doesn't stand up to the facts. The Burmese government is not trafficking heroin. In fact, the reverse is true! In the last two years the flow of heroin from Burma to the States, or any other country for that matter, has been next to zero. We know this because we monitor the drug flow and seizures throughout the world. The junta has been cooperating with our people in eradicating the poppies, and--"

"Goddamn it, John, we're not here to listen to how successful your eradication programs are!" Director Jennings said coldly. "The Intel photos, and the killings of our people-including your country team chief-support our theory."

Red-faced, 'Rickennan snapped back. "Your theory stinks, and not bringing my people in on this earlier stinks!"

"What do those photos tell you? Are you blind? Those are drug factories!" Jennings yelled.

The DEA administrator waved his hand at the screen.

"Those pictures don't prove a thing! They could be producing fertilizer, for all we know."