The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) (24 page)

Port McNeil, Canada

“Good evening,
welcome aboard.”

Ted bristled as the
uniformed man held Meagan’s hand a bit too long as she stepped from the dock across
the stainless steel threshold on the
Pegasus’
swim step.
Why’s she
wearing those stupid heels on a boat anyway?
“I’m Captain Evans. Mr.
Bouhier will be with you in a minute. Please follow me.”

He looks more
like Delta Force than the captain of the Love Boat
, Ted thought. Evans led
the trio across the afterdeck past a large rigid inflatable boat with a huge
outboard and two jet skis on chocks and into the cabin.

Ted stood
openmouthed as he looked at the high-gloss burled walnut paneling. “They don’t
have anything like this in East LA.”  He walked over and ran his hands across
the paneling. “It’s so smooth. It almost feels like plastic.”

“Do you think this
is real?” Meagan asked as she tapped what looked like granite columns on each
side of the portal between the main saloon and an elegant dining room.

“Of course it is,
my friends.” Yves came down the spiral staircase, perfect for a grand entry.
“My taste runs towards the classic. Those are Doric Columns with a small capital
to top them off.”

“What do you mean
dork columns?” Ted was rather pleased with his witticism. No one else seemed to
be.

“Doric, dufus. Not
dork.” Meagan slapped Ted’s shoulder, then ran her fingers sensuously up the
smooth grooves on the columns. “What makes them Doric?”

“Their shafts are
fluted with twenty parallel grooves and they’re topped by a smooth
capital. I know it’s silly, but I like harmony in my life.”

“Everything looks
so perfect.” Meagan smiled at Yves. “How did they put it together?”

Ted’s feathers
ruffled at her unabashed flirting with the creep.
All she needs to do now is
flutter her eye lashes and bump her hip at him.

“The craftsmen at
the shipyard in the Netherlands used lasers to cut the marble. It’s really hollow,
with a balsa core, to save weight. On a ship designed to go this fast, weight
is a major concern.” Yves waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “The paneling
is veneer as well. Really not very thick.”

Turning his attention
to the main saloon, Ted noticed the plush, plum colored furniture. It looked
more like a mansion on TV than a yacht. Persian carpets covered the marble
tiled deck. A fine wooden credenza opened to reveal a widescreen plasma TV.
Beyond the credenza a large oval table filled the dining room.

Above the table sunlight
poured in through what appeared to be a skylight. On closer observation, it
wasn’t a skylight at all. It was a light fixture built into the ceiling that just
looked like a skylight. Beyond the table the spiral staircase led up another
deck and down into the bowels of the ship.

“My suite is on
this deck,” Yves followed Ted’s eyes. “We have four guest cabins on the lower
deck. The sky lounge is on the deck above us. That’s where the pilot house is
as well.”

“I’d love to see
your suite.” Meagan cooed.

Ted bit his lip.

Yves walked
towards the spiral staircase. “Perhaps later we can do a tour.” Laying one hand
on the polished walnut banister and waving up the stairs with the other Yves said,
“For now, let us go up to the sky lounge. Drinks await us before dinner.”

“Uh, you got a
head on this barge?” Ted asked.

“But, of course. Use
the head in my private suite, just forward of the dining room.”

Chris and Ted
exchanged glances.
Distract him.
Chris got the message. He followed Yves
and Meagan up the stairs.

“You guys go
ahead.” Ted moved forward towards the bathroom. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

****

Ted walked
casually past the dining room to the massive bath room. With marble sinks and counter
tops, a raised soaking-tub, and gold plated fixtures, it looked like something
out of a sultan’s harem. He waited for a few minutes, then silently opened the
door and peeked out.

No one was on the
main deck. Stepping softly on the tile floor, he made his way back to the main
saloon and to the desk below the credenza. He had spotted Yves’ laptop earlier
as they walked through.

Ted flipped open
the lid on the computer.

“Shit.” It had a
fingerprint scanner built in.
He really doesn’t want anybody getting to his
data.

Ted tried the desk
drawers. They were all locked. Nothing else was on the desk top.
Now why
would he have to lock his desk when he’s at home?

“Are you finding
what you are looking for?” a small dark-haired woman in uniform asked.

Ted jumped,
startled at the interruption. “Oh, ah . . . I was just checking out Mr.
Bouhier’s laptop. I’m a bit of a geek myself.  I wanted to see what he was
using.”

“It is zee very
latest technology. ’e ‘as a satellite ‘ook up to zee Internet. ‘e can conduct
business from any place in zee world.”  

“Ah. . . Yeah, I
can see it’s
mucho
high tech. You don’t, ah . . . see many laptops
protected with biometrics.”

“I believe Monsieur
Bouhier is serving drinks in zee sky lounge.” With that the woman herded Ted
towards the spiral staircase.

“Ah, Teddy,” Yves
pronounced it Ted-eee. “You have rejoined us. I see that you have met my
steward, Madame Trufaunt?”

“Yeah. We met down
stairs.” Ted looked at his sneakers.

“What would you
like to drink? Madame is quite the bartender.”

The quiet woman
slipped behind the glass-topped bar.

“I’ll have a
margarita. On the rocks.”

“Meagan? Chris?”

Ted hated the way
Yves said “Meagan,” like it was going to take him five minutes to get her whole
name out.

“White wine’s good
for me.” Meagan replied.

“Do you have
Guinness?” Chris asked.

“We have
everything.” Yves waved his hand in an expressive gesture.

Smug bastard
,
Ted thought.

“What kind of
tequila would you like in your Margarita, Mr. Higuera?” Madame Trufaunt’s hands
were a blur of action, but her eyes locked firmly on Ted.

How did she
know my name?
“What do you have?”

“Mr. Bouhier is
very particular. ‘e insists I stock ‘is bar with only zee best.”

We’ll see about
that
. Ted smiled.

“Do you have Herradura?”
That should show him.

“Blanco or añejo?”

Shit.
“Ah.
. . Añejo, please.” The smile left Ted’s face.

While Yves took Meagan
to the windows to look out at Malcolm Island, Ted pulled Chris aside.

“I don’t like the
way that creep looks at her.” Chris glared at Meagan and Yves.

“Me neither, but
she said she had a plan, dude.”

“I don’t care. She
doesn’t have to dress that way. She’s practically seducing him.”

Chris usually
didn’t complain about what Meagan wore. Ted liked the skin-tight jeans and
scoop neck T-shirt. The ‘come-fuck-me’ heels were a little ridiculous on a boat
though.

“Chris, focus.”
Ted tried to get Chris’ attention back. “He’s got everything locked up tighter
than a drum,” Ted whispered. “He has a biometric scanner on his laptop.”

“Bio-what?” Chris,
still staring at Meagan and Yves, kept his voice low too.

“Biometrics. It’s
a fingerprint scanner. No one can use the lap top without scanning in their
fingerprints. It’s the ultimate security.”

“What if someone
just cut off his fingers?” Chris smiled.

“That wouldn’t work.”
Ted liked the image. “It tests for body temperature too. It’s as good as it
gets these days. His desk is all locked up. I wonder what he’s hiding.”

“Maybe he’s just
being careful.” Chris glanced back at Yves and Meagan.

Ted followed his
glance. That son of a bitch had his arm around Meagan’s waist.

“My dad says that
people steal each other’s trade secrets all the time.” Chris turned back to
Ted.

“I dunno, dude. I’m
in
the security business. That much security is because he doesn’t want
anyone to know what he’s up to.”

****

On Board the
Star of the
Northwest

“Candace.”

Candace felt a
tugging at her arm

“Can I . . . ah .
. . talk to you?” Sarah, dressed from head to foot in black, pulled Candace
towards the ship’s rail.

She looks like
Morticia Adams,
Candace thought. “Sure, what’s up?” Candace eyed the
younger woman suspiciously.

“I, ah . . . have
a problem.” Sarah looked everywhere but at Candace. “I don’t know who to talk
to. . .”

In the six months
that Candace had dated Harry, neither of his children had shown her anything
but hostility. It surprised her when Sarah accepted her offer to be maid of
honor, but she hoped she might be winning her over. She waited for Sarah to go
on.

Sarah leaned
against the rail with her arms folded over her chest. An awkward silence filled
the air.

She’s waiting
for me to start
.

“What is it,
Kiddo?” Candace nervously fingered the string of pearls around her neck. “What
can I help you with?”

“Maybe we should
just forget it.” Sarah turned away. “This wasn’t a good idea. Forget I said
anything.”

Candace took
Sarah’s arm as she tried to slip past her. “Sarah, please. Go ahead.” Candace
held Sarah’s shoulders. Sarah felt so bony and frail.
When’s the last time
she ate a decent meal?
“You can talk to me. I want to help.”

“I . . . I just
don’t know.” Sarah wrenched free. “You’re not my mother . . . I don’t have
anyone else to talk to.” She sagged back against the rail.

“Go ahead. What is
it?” Candace leaned against the rail, next to Sarah.

 “I . . . ah . . .
it’s school.”

“What about
school, sweetie?”

“The U. Dad wants
me to go to the U.” Sarah, staring out into the night, spoke in a mechanical
monotone. “He’s got everything set up. . . I just . . . can’t stay here.
Candace, I have to get out. I can’t live in this town another minute.”

“Why not?”
I’m
not cut out for this touchy-feelie stuff.
I can’t be a mom to this
anorexic Goth.

“It’s the way Dad
looks at me.” Sarah slowly turned to Candace and finally met her eyes. “Like
he’s always angry. He looks at me and sees Mom. He wishes she was here and I
was dead.”

Candace drew a
deep breath. She pictured Sally as she had seen her in old photographs.
She’s
right, except for her dark hair, she’s the image of her mother when Harry
married her. No wonder she tried to change her appearance so much.

“That’s not true,
Sarah.” Candace struggled for an answer. “Your dad loves you. He just can’t
think of what to do to make you happy.”

There was a long
silence between them. Candace waited for Sarah to say what she wanted. Sarah
stared down at her black combat boots.

“You can talk to
him. He listens to you. Can you tell him?” Sarah paused. “I’m not going to
school. Tell him that I want to move to San Francisco. I can’t live in Seattle, his house another minute. I have to get away. Can you ask him for me?”

Just for an
instant a thought flashed through Candace’s mind.
If she moves to San Francisco, she won’t be here to mess up my marriage.

“Ask him what?”

“My college money.
. .” Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Since I’m not going to school . . . Can you
ask him if I can just take the money with me? . . .”

This is as
vulnerable as she’s ever going to get,
Candace thought.
I have to win
her over now.

Candace put her
arms around Sarah and pulled her close. For an instant Sarah warmed to the
human contact, then went rigid. Sarah pulled violently away.

“It’s okay,
sweetie. We’ll figure this out. We girls have got to stick together.”

Oh-oh. I’ve
said the wrong thing.

 “Here give him
these,” tears streamed down Sarah’s cheeks. “I don’t want them.” Sarah pressed
a set of keys into Candace’s hand. They went to the red Mustang convertible
Harry gave her for graduation. “I’m not like Chris. He can’t buy me.”

“Sarah, your dad’s
not like that. He’s not trying to buy your affection. He just wants to see you
happy for once.”

“This was a big
mistake.” Sarah voice went up two octaves. “Forget I said anything. Don’t
bother telling Dad. I’ll handle it.”

“Sarah, I can
help. Trust me. Let me help you.” She was talking to the empty deck.

Port McNeil, Canada

The sky lounge had
a more nautical feel than the lower deck. Glossy white walls contrasted with
the dark-stained teak woodwork. Brass fixtures gleamed everywhere. The teak and
holly deck reminded Ted of the
Defiant’s
cabin.

Ted took his drink
and settled into the large, over-stuffed sofa opposite Yves. VH-1 played on a
huge plasma TV on the bulkhead. The soft leather of the sofa felt supple under
Ted’s hands. He stared at the plates with nuts, dates, several kinds of olives
and crackers that covered the teak coffee table. He looked at Chris, not quite
sure what to do next.

Chris reached for
an olive.

“Etienne, my chef,
says he has quite a treat for you tonight.” Yves waved his hand in the air. “He
loves to have, how you say? . . . The chance to show up.”

“I think you mean
‘the chance to show off,’” Meagan corrected.

“
Oui
, the
chance to show off.”

“Is there anything
you don’t have on this boat?” Ted nibbled a cracker.

“We manage to be
quite comfortable.” Yves, sitting across the coffee table from Ted, stretched
his arms along sofa’s back and crossed his legs. “You have been long on the Inside Passage?”

“About a month.”
Chris popped the olive in his mouth.

“Where have you
been?”

“We came up the
Straits of Georgia, went up to Princess Louisa Inlet. All the usual stuff.”

“
Oui
. It is
most beautiful there.” Yves leaned forward in his seat. “You are all very
young. How do you come to have such a big boat?”

“It’s my dad’s. He
let us take it for the summer as a graduation present.”

A small round man
in whites and a tall chef’s hat entered the lounge with a tray.

He’s as wide as
he is tall
, Ted thought.

“
Le moules
,
monsieur
.” The chef presented the tray to Yves. He said something in
French, speaking softly so that Ted couldn’t make it out.

As if Teddy
understands French anyway.

“Local catch,”
Yves translated. “From today.”

The chef seemed
quite pleased with himself.

“
Mercí
,
Etienne
.”
Yves motioned to the others to sample the hors d’oeuvres. “Etienne steams then
in a white Burgundy with lots of fresh garlic and shallots.”

“Hey, dude,” Ted looked
at the platter filled with black shell fish. “That looks like bait.”

“It’s just mussels,
silly.” Meagan put a couple of mussels on her plate. “They’re no different than
clams.”

“I dunno. When I
was a kid my uncle used to take me fishin’ on the Santa Monica Pier. We’d go
down at low tide and scrape these things offa the pilings for bait.”

“They’re fine,
Ted.” Chris picked the meat out of a mussel with a tiny oyster fork and dipped
it in butter. “These look great.”

Ted reluctantly
forked a mussel onto his plate.
Next thing you know, they’re gonna be
servin’ Teddy snails and goose poop. . .

****

After drinks, Ted
and the others followed Yves down the spiral staircase to the dining room.  

Yves held Meagan’s
chair for her, much to Ted’s chagrin. As she took her seat, a hard-looking man
entered the room and whispered in Yves’ ear. Yves nodded.

“This is
Jean-Paul, my chief of security,” Yves said as the man left the room.

Ted’s eyes
followed the man as he left.
I don’t trust him for an instant.

“Why do you need a
chief of security?” Chris asked.

“I am in a highly
competitive business. Some of my competitors are somewhat, how you say?” There
was that sissy-assed hand gesture again. Yves flipped his palm open as he found
the right words. “. . . without Ruth?”

“Ruthless?” Meagan
touched Yves hand.

“
Ouí
.
Ruthless.” Yves smiled at her. “They would not think twice about sabotaging my
equipment so that they could sell theirs. I like to have capable men around
me.”

“These guys on
your crew look more like commandos than sailors.” Ted said.

“I am very
particular in the staff I choose. They all have military backgrounds. Captain Evans,
he was a seal in your Navy. Jean-Paul, he was a paratrooper.”

“And Mrs. Trufaunt?”
Meagan pulled at her bra strap.

Does she have
to be so obvious?

“Oh, Madame Trufaunt.”
Yves laughed. “Despite her diminutive size, she is the most dangerous of all,
no? In addition to her other talents, she can fly anything with wings.”

Meagan leaned
forward and cradled her hand seductively on her chin. With her elbow on the
table and a low-cut top, her boobs practically jumped out.

Jesus,
Chica, put those babies away.

“Your
crew,” she cooed. “The ex-military guys. How many do you have?”

Yves stared
momentarily at her chest. “I have eight altogether. Do you need a sweater
perhaps? You look a little chilled, no?”

Meagan sat up
straight. “No. I’m fine. . .” An embarrassed look spread across her face. “How
come you have so many? Does it really take eight guys to run this boat?”

“I have a captain,
an engineer and a chef. Of course, you have met Madame Trufaunt. The other
four, they are deck hands, but they all have particular skills. Underwater
demolition,” Yves paused momentarily and looked at Chris, “communications and
such.”

“Demolitions?” Ted
butted in. “What do you need a demolitions expert for?”

“Sometimes, my
customers need things . . .,” this time he stared into Ted’s eyes, “removed . .
. “

****

Madame Trufaunt
entered the dining room carrying a tray covered with a silver dome. She removed
the dome at the side table and served the diners without a word.

“Ah, l’aperitif.”
Yves said.

“Hey, this stuff is
great,” Ted said stuffing his mouth. 

 “Ah, yes. The
salmon mousse. It is one of Etienne’s specialties.”

God damn, he
has a corny
accent
. Yves pronounced specialties,
“spec-y-al-ah-tees.”
He probably thinks it’s sexy.

Meagan took a
taste of the mousse. “This is the bomb.”

“You have good
taste.” Yves smiled at her. “Madame, the champagne please.” Yves motioned towards
the two bottles in ice buckets.

The steward shot
him a glare, then popped the cork and poured a few drops into Yves’ flute.

“Excellent.” Yves
waved at his guests, indicating that Madame Trufaunt was to pour the champagne.

Ted stared at the
label.

“I know,” Yves
said. “Dom Perignon is a bit cliché. But 1996 was such a lovely vintage. Notice
the nose.” He took a loud sniff from his flute. “You can smell walnuts,
chocolate, spices. I think you will find this a worthy wine.”

Chris leaned over
and whispered to Ted. “This stuff costs two hundred bucks a bottle.”

Ted reached for
another portion of the mousse.

“Hey, amigo,”
Chris said. “Take it easy. This meal’s going to last a while. We may have food
coming at us for the next two hours. The trick is to eat small portions of each
so that you can taste it all.”

Ted stuffed the
bite into his mouth. “We’re eatin’ so damn late that I’m starvin’,” he mumbled.

Madame Trufaunt
cleared away the dishes. Ted felt like he lost his last friend as she reached
for his plate.

The steward
replaced the appetizer dishes with elegant china soup bowls and silver spoons.
Meagan stared at the bone-colored porcelain tureen with red roses and gold trim
that Madame Trufaunt placed in the center of the table.

“Ah, yes, you
notice the tureen. It is Louis
Quatorze
,” Yves smiled.

Madame took up the
soup bowls and ladled a rich, brown broth into each.

“Mushroom bisque.
I think you will find it interesting.” Yves picked up his soup spoon.

“Ted don’t eat
fungus.” Ted eyed the soup suspiciously.

“It is a far cry
from your condensed mushroom soup, my friend.”

Ted sipped
tentatively at the soup. The flavors danced on his tongue. There was an
earthiness, a saltiness, to the broth. The tiny pieces of mushroom had a
texture and taste similar to beef, yet wildly different.

****

Ted put down his
soup spoon for a moment.
Damn
, he thought as Madame Trufaunt cleared
away the bowls.
I wasn’t finished yet.

Madame Trufaunt
left the room with the soup tureen. Etienne swept in pushing a little cart draped
in a burgundy cloth with a large domed silver platter and chafing dishes on it.
 Bunches of green and purple grapes entwined with grape vines and leaves around
the serving dishes.

I wonder what
the little bastard has for us next,
Ted thought.

With a flourish, Etienne
removed the dome and set it on the sideboard.

“For
le plat
principal
,” Yves smiled, “The main course, Etienne has prepared
filet
mignon aux
oignons
et pommes
with
gratin
dauphinois
. He finishes the filet in a
sauterne
sauce.” Yves clapped his hands. “You must appreciate the sheer artistry of
Etienne’s work.”

Ted had to admit
that display on the cart
was
beautiful.
That serving dish must a cost
more than my car.

Etienne sharpened
a carving knife, looking directly into Meagan’s eyes, while the blade of the
knife slipped up and down the steel.

I’m getting’ a
little sick of them looking Meagan that way,
Ted thought.
She’s not a
piece of meat. 

“That doesn’t look
like any
filet mignon
I’ve ever seen,” Chris said.

“Ah, this is the
filet
d’
porc
. I think you Americans think only of the filet of beef.”

A light brown
sauce smothered the small round piece of meat already covered with onions and
apple slices. Enticing aroma filled Ted’s nostrils.

“So, you have been
up here a month now.” Yves kept his attention on Etienne as he addressed Chris.
“What will you do next?”

“We’re gonna stick
around Port McNeil for a while.” Chris responded quickly. “We have some
business to take care of.”

“Business?” Yves
looked away from the serving cart. “I thought that you were on vacation.”

“Yeah. . . This is
boat business.”

He’s no good at
lying. The secret is to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“We need to talk
to the Coast Guard about something,” Chris finished

“The Coast Guard?”
A worried look crossed Yves face. “What business do you have with the Coast
Guard?”

“Ah . . . when we
ah . . . crossed the border, we lost our safety inspection sticker. We need to
get the boat re-inspected.”

Before Yves had a
chance to react, Etienne lifted the lids off of the chafing dishes. Ted
breathed a sigh of relief when Yves attention diverted to the potatoes au
gratin and fresh steamed asparagus, beautifully presented. Then Yves eyes fell
on a silver platter.

“Etienne! You have
outdone yourself.” Yves clapped his hands again. He and Etienne exchanged a few
words in French.

“We are fortunate
indeed,” Yves beamed. “Etienne tells me that he has managed to procure some
white truffles, fresh from Provence. He presents them in a champagne sauce”

“Truffles, aren’t
those the mushrooms that’re found by pigs?” Ted asked.

“
Oui
,
mon
ami
. The white truffle, it is the most rarest of all. Calling them
mushrooms is like calling the Hope Diamond a rock.”

Etienne’s fingers
flew. He deftly arranged the potatoes and topped them with slices of the
fillet, then gently ladled the rich sauce over it. He bundled the asparagus
together and tied them with a scallion, then topped them with Béarnaise sauce.
Finally came the truffles, which Etienne handled like a new lover. The plates
he produced were works of art.

When Etienne
filled a plate, Madame Trufaunt was there to serve it. They worked silently
with clock-like precision.
They is good
. Ted had helped his father cater
a few events in LA. He knew that this was special.

“Madame has
managed to acquire a little red Bordeaux for this course.” Yves nodded to
Madame Trufaunt. She took a cut crystal decanter from the sideboard and poured the
wine into tall broad wine glasses. Ted hadn’t even noticed when the champagne
flutes magically disappeared.

“Wow! This is
beautiful,” Meagan whirled the wine in her glass. “I could get lost in it.”

“A fine wine is a
feast for all of the senses.” Yves words came slowly, as if he was thinking
deeply before he spoke. “Once again, I ask you to notice the nose.” Yves took a
long sniff of his wine. “The best taste of the bottle is always the first. It
explodes upon the senses, excites the palate. The sips to come grow more subtle
and you taste all the diverse flavors as your palate becomes more accustomed to
the taste. But the first sip, it is like the first time you make love with a
new partner.”

I’ve had just
about enough of that shit.
Ted’s temper rose as Yves stared into Meagan’s
eyes.  

“So, what are you
doing in BC?”  Chris asked.

“I have a client
interested in oil drilling. I buy oil field equipment from a client in Calgary, and sell it to one in BC. It is a good business, no?”

“There’s no oil in
BC.” Chris sipped at his wine. “There aren’t any oil fields between Southern
California and Alaska.”

“That’s what we think
now. Who knows? Maybe my client is right. What if he could find oil off the
coast?” Yves twirled his fork in the air. “It could make Canada a major player in the oil market.”