Sailing the Curvature
Of the Earth: A Vision Quest
Stephen W. Brooks
Published by Stephen W. Brooks
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Stephen W. Brooks
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Author’s Note and Acknowledgment
A vision quest is a turning point in life wherein one takes time to find oneself regarding one’s spiritual and life direction. This romantic adventure novel was as therapeutic as it was fun to write. All characters contained herein are mere figures of fantasy derived from my mind, such as it is. However, there may be personality traits of real characters, ne’er-do-wells, rouges, scoundrels, and lifetime friends who always had my back, as Grandpa would say. It is up to you, the readers, to decide if it could be you…and you may know who you are should you see yourself... but it would be your perception. I have tried as much as possible to accurately research and recall all locations I traveled and traversed and those where I lived. The bars, joints, restaurants, hotels, and dives are as real as I remember them to be, at whatever time of day or night I was there.
To you Allessandra, who ever you truly are, whether you are real or fantasy, for being the woman you are although woman in conflict and torment, that all men want and all women wish to be.
I wish to thank those who inspired me no matter the pain, tears, and laughter involved; and encouraged me, making comments both good and bad during the odyssey that became this novel. As the Oz would say, “Don’t mean nuthin’, drive on.”
For all you reading this, sit down with a glass of your favorite adult beverage, strap in, hold on, and enjoy the adventure.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Three years Later
Chapter 2 The Far side of the world
Chapter 3 The Prom queen
Chapter 4 The Beginning
Chapter 5 Frantic
Chapter 6 After Glow
Chapter 7 Mafioso
Chapter 8 Dancing with the Devil
Chapter 9 Catching uP
Chapter 10 A new adventure
Chapter 11 new crew
Chapter 12 Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Chapter 13 The Game’s Afoot
Chapter 14 A Tale of three Women
Chapter 15 Riding the Wind
CHAPTER 16 THE Golden Isles
Chapter 17 Bermuda
Chapter 18 Charles Towne
Chapter 19 The Reunion
Chapter 20 Sins of thy Father
Epilogue
Prologue
After the Massacre of the Israeli athletes during the 1972 Summer Olympic Games in Munich, Germany and then the shootout between the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) and the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA) in 1974; the law enforcement community foresaw the critical need for the development, training, and deployment of highly specialized law enforcement tactical units to combat the evolving criminal terrorist threat to our communities and ultimately to our national security. In preparation for the 1984 Olympic Games to be held in Los Angeles, California, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) created an elite unit of FBI agents in an effort to avoid a repeat of the tragedy that occurred ten years prior in Germany. This one hundred-fifty man unit was christened the Hostage Rescue Team, or simply - HRT.
As traditional law enforcement agencies found themselves facing a deadlier and deadlier foe with organized criminal elements becoming more sophisticated, they had to adapt as well. Many enhanced the capabilities of their already existing Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) Teams. Such as the LAPD did after the 1972 shootout and many states followed suit as well.
The State of Arkansas developed their HRT program based upon that of the FBI model to support the Department of Energy’s (DOE) Transportation Safeguards Division (TSD) that was transporting nuclear weapons across the state weekly along I-40 from Sandia Laboratories in New Mexico to Oak Ridge Tennessee. This was an effort to augment and enhance the capabilities of the twelve Special Response Teams (SRT) located in each Troop across the state. Troopers were chosen and subjected to a rigorous selection process prior to undergoing basic HRT training at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas. In 1986, after months and months of training, the fledgling HRT participated in the readiness exercise “Operation Humble Servant” which was deemed a rousing success and given the green light to go operational. The HRT was housed at the State Police Academy in southwest Arkansas where members would train everyday to keep their perishable skills, such as shooting, razor sharp. But, like all such tactical units, they will eventually train to too sharp an edge and when they can no longer maintain that level of efficiency either physically and/or psychologically they will have to do something else…usually they go back to general fieldwork or instructing; and in some cases changes agencies, as did Mac and his crew. We begin our journey…
The cast of characters, ne’er-do-wells, rouges, scoundrels and gentlemen adventurers:
William “Mac: Mackenzie Donovan (call sign Precious) – Retired Admiralty and Maritime lawyer from Charleston South Carolina began his career as a patrol officer with the Hot Springs, Arkansas Police Department before moving on to the Special Operations Division of the Arkansas State Police and becoming a Hostage Rescue Team Leader. Eventually, Mac landed in southeast Georgia as an Antiterrorism Specialist for the Federal Government working in the field of seaport security/antiterrorism. This saw him traveling the globe in support of his countries national strategic position in the maritime arena. After retiring, Mac and the love of his life settled in Charleston, South Carolina opening the law firm Laidlaw and Donovan before his world was torn asunder by Allessandra.
Paul Truscott – The logical stoic Yankee from New England Mac considered his best friend. A friendship that spanned decades since both men joined their federal counterterrorism unit at the same time; outsiders as both come from state law enforcement agencies and dealt with domestic terrorism; Paul from the State of Georgia and Mac from Arkansas. Both men had experienced many bad days together on varying continents that could only be appreciated by those did so likewise and lived to tell about it. Though most men so fortunate to have survived were also unfortunate to have live with the memories of those dark and often times bloody days. No day was as dark as the day Mac had to go to his friend to inform him of the death of his fiancé who had ended her on life without warning.
Allessandra Francesca Laidlaw – A retired operations analyst and real estate attorney originally from rural York County South Carolina fell in love with William “Mac” Mackenzie Donovan while both worked for the federal government in southeast Georgia. After retirement from service to her country, Allessandra moved to Charleston, South Carolina with Mac and established the law firm of Laidlaw & Donovan, Counselors and attorneys at law. Allessandra eventually lost interest not only in the practice of law but in Mac as well and left both suddenly and without explanation. Allessandra carried a heavy burden and secret she would not share, not even with the man who loved her without question or reservation.
Tomasina “Tommie” Sanderson – A true genteel southern lady from Brantley County Georgia who was Allessandra’s best friend and the connecting thread between Allessandra, Mac, and Paul. Tommie was the glue who held the group together through some of the most trying times and was always there for Allessandra and Mac when ever either one needed a shoulder onto which literally cry on, or to vent to. Though a born and raised out in the “country” at it is commonly known, Tommie was a lady in the truest sense. She never smoked and being a good practicing Baptist, alcohol never touched her lips, ever. Tommie is a most vivacious and hysterically funny woman with a rapier like wit that could cut one to the bone, and seemed to have beguiled Giovanni during the Charleston confrontation.
Tran Kuhn – A former navigator and member of the 144-man special operations force within the Military of Thailand. The unit was set up in 1956 with the assistance of the U.S. Government and has trained with United States Navy SEALs. A small element within the Royal Thai Navy's SEAL Teams, trained to conduct Maritime Counter-Terrorism missions. This unit has close ties with the U.S. Navy's own SEAL teams. Tran has experience from his involvement in a number of skirmishes along the Cambodian border, and in anti-piracy operations in the Gulf of Thailand.
Quay Savanh – A child hood friend of Tran, they joined the Royal Thai Navy together with Quay becoming a ship’s cook prior to joining the 144-man special operations force within the Military of Thailand along with Tran. Quay along with Tran conducted Maritime Counter-Terrorism missions. This unit has close ties with the U.S. Navy's own SEAL teams. Quay gained his Spec-op experience from his involvement in skirmishes along the Cambodian border, and in anti-piracy operations in the Gulf of Thailand.
Victoria Anne Thomason – Victoria was first girl that Mac ever truly loved and the only woman to have received full approval of his family and acknowledgment that “she was the one”. As would be repeated many years later, Victoria walked out of Mac’s life with little warning or explanation when they were both young and impetuous. Victoria walked back into Mac’s life on a deserted beach on a Greek Island after 36 years and would come into and out of his life trying to stay half-a-step ahead of some sinister group as she may have witnessed an abduction of a girl in Aruba.
Captain Palo Sabatini – Harbor Master of the Port of Siracusa, Sicily and formerly Capitano Sabatini, commander of Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale (ROS) of the Carabinieri. Palo was also a classmate of Mac’s when both attended the U.S. Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island and over the years worked several transnational criminal cases together. Palo’s carries the burden and guilt of having the husband of his current lover go missing while working undercover of a human trafficking case that he, Palo, was the lead on, and is still unsolved.
Giovanni Leone – Childhood friend of Palo Sabatini and formerly Chief Petty Officer Leone of the ROS, and an expert navigator. At the request of Palo, Giovanni joins the crew of the Allessandra after Tran decides to remain in Siracusa and work for Palo. Giovanni becomes enthralled with the lovely and captivatingly funny Tomasina during the showdown in Charleston.
Sir Reginald (Reggie) Thornbush, GBE - Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the British Empire who, unbeknownst to her, is Allessandra’s biological father. Sir Reginald, after a long and distinguished career as a British Naval Intelligence Officer assigned to the ultra secretive MI6, and became a very wealthy entrepreneur; making a vast fortune in shipping as well as the hotel industry among other enterprises. Sir Reginald carries with him a dark secret he tries to put behind him before its too late and carries over to his daughter Allessandra Francesca.
Dave “Matthews (Call sign The Oz) – The Oz was the Operational Control for Mac’s Hostage Rescue Team (HRT) and in this capacity was responsible for planning and maintaining supportive control of any tactical operation that The HRT would undertake in support of the 12 Special Response Teams (SRT) that were located within each of the State Police “Troops” within the state. With the Breakup of the HRT, The Oz was reassigned to work homicide down south near the Texas border until he too wandered to southeast Georgia and the Feds.
James Christopher (Call sign Toodlums) – Toodlums, like Mac, started his career with a municipal police agency in Arkansas and then assigned to the State Police Training Academy for a number of years along with Mac and The Oz where he learned the fine art of breaching (both mechanical and chemical). After the HRT began to break up with Mac moving to southeast Georgia, and Brucie moving to the highway Police, Toodlum was reassigned to the Arkansas/Oklahoma border where he worked narcotics. Prior to retiring early and moving to New Mexico and eventually to Charleston, South Carolina, Toodlum also spent a number of years assigned to Highway Patrol Division chasing taillights and working wrecks.
Bruce “Brucie” Havachek (Call sign Mudbone) - Mudbone was the prior military member of the HRT as Brucie’s law enforcement time came from his service as a military police officer. Brucie gained experience while on active duty and then in the U.S. Army Reserves where loyally served before retiring at the rank of Lieutenant Colonel with 30 years’ service. After the HRT began to breakup, Mudbone transferred to the Highway Police for a few years before he followed Mac into the world of federal law enforcement and intelligence before retiring as a regional director for in agency in Dallas, Texas.
Scot Ellersbee (Call sign Doc) – Doc was the elder statesman of the HRT. A warrior poet if there ever was one, and true Renaissance man. Doc was Harvard educated and as comfortable in a custom tailored tuxedo as he was in battle dress utilities. He could handle the latest in foreign weaponry and explosives and after his 30 years of government service, including 25 years with the U.S. State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service (DSS), he could handle a difficult Ambassador; both with such subtle diplomacy that it would make Henry Kissinger proud. Doc was Mac’s mentor, advisor and confidant without whom Mac probably would not have survived his fist year of government service. Over the years Doc would serve quietly behind the scenes as “of counsel” to the firm of Laidlaw & Donovan on some of the more delicate international matters involving admiralty law.
Daniel Xavier O’Shaughnessy - Danny was a retired City of Charleston Police Detective who after retirement worked as an investigator for the law firm Laidlaw & Donovan, Counselors and Attorneys at Law. Allessandra and Mac helped Danny through one of the most difficult times a human being can face-the, the premature death of a spouse. The bond that was forged between Mac and Danny originally formed due to the mutual respect the two former street cops had for one another was only enhanced over time as lives paralleled one another; each fighting demons that came from their past.
Chapter 1
Three years Later
William Mackenzie Donovan and Allessandra Francesca Laidlaw had been a couple and were devoted to each other for many years. They were happy and satisfied with every fleeting moment they had together, however infrequent and short those times were due to the work schedule of both lovers and the exigencies of the government. It seemed Mackenzie, better known as Mac, and his best friend Paul Truscott were always on the move around the world, wherever there was a seaport security issue or some other antiterrorism related issue that needed to be addressed; and Allessandra was often deployed on temporary duty (TDY) with her agency as well. Unfortunately, for both Mac and Allessandra, these travels never coincided at the same time or to the same place. After several years of globetrotting Allessandra and Mac left their country’s service to open a law practice in Charleston, South Carolina, which over a period of years, was one of the more successful firms in the city. Allessandra developed a thriving real estate practice and Mac one of Maritime and Admiralty law.
Eventually, without explanation, Allessandra began to lose interest, not only in her work and the firm, but in Mac as well. Allessandra told Mac she wanted to concentrate on caring for her aging parents in northern South Carolina and in order to accomplish this she wanted to sell her share of the firm and move back to rural South Carolina to live on her grandfather’s old farm in York County. Allessandra had purchased property years before with the idea of eventually restoring her grandfather’s farmhouse; and she along with Mac would retire there, just down the road from her mom and dad. However, Allessandra moved her parents to the farm instead and the life she had known with Mac had begun to unravel, eventually she would leave him, suddenly, without any rational explanation. One day she walked into Mac’s office, which adjoined hers, and told him she wanted to move on with her life and start a new chapter. When Mac asked directly if she loved him, Allessandra replied that she didn’t know any longer and simply turned walked away without another word.
Only wanting to please his best friend and lover, Mac reluctantly complied with her request and sold the firm. While they had their moments during the previous years, this was different. This was something Mac felt that was one of the few things he had faced in life that he could not negotiate with, resolve with diplomacy, or conquer with the appropriate amount force surgically applied. Therefore, it was with heavy heart that he sold the firm and secured their house on Sullivan’s Island for he also no longer wanted to practice law, or even remain in his beloved adopted city of Charleston. In fact, Mac had lost interest in most things.
After Allessandra had left the city, Mac finalized the selling of the firm, placing her share of the proceeds into a trust account and arranged for the care and maintenance of their beachfront home on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina. Mac drifted around Southeast Asia for a while before finally landing in Antwerp, Belgium where he found the sail boat of his dreams, naming her Allessandra. Mac than began the long and laborious task of restoring and modernizing her, loving every minute of it for he knew she would carry him back to his Allessandra from the far side of the world.
As Mac stood at the helm of the Allessandra, she sliced through azure blue waters of the Aegean Sea at a steady 12 knots with her main, mizzen, and both jibs full with the warm Grecian air. The Allessandra, a 72-foot double masted ketch was a tribute to the love of Mac’s life before she decided to leave him without warning or explanation. For some unknown reason Allessandra always had trouble accepting and understanding was that she was the most important thing in Mac’s life. Like her namesake, The Allessandra was sleek and elegant, but a firm hand was needed from time to time, to keep her headed in the right direction. They were indeed a rare sight to see one a wooden hulled sailing vessel, plying the seas under full sail and the other, a beautiful and highly intelligent woman, who was dependent on no one for her success or direction in life, or so she thought.
Mac’s best friend Paul, originally from New England, had tried vainly to talk him out of buying the boat, with what Mac called typical Yankee logic, when Mac called him on the satellite phone from Antwerp, Belgium to tell him he had found a treasure.
Paul literally shouted, “You freaking Nut! You know how much work it will be to keep her in shape?”
“Yes,” Mac calmly answered. “I do know. It’ll keep my hands busy and I’ll have to touch and caress her every day, oiling the teak and polishing her bright work.”
“You bet your ass you will.” Paul snorted. One year, six months, and 27 days later on April 30th, 1999, Mac and the Allessandra left the dry dock under sail and never looked back. Mac had many unanswered questions as to why…Why had things turned out the way they did. Why had Allessandra left? Why was he still alive when so many of his friends had perished, performing the same duties he performed?
With such thoughts running through his mind, Mac left the harbor of Antwerp heading west toward warmer climates and the Aegean. After a few months of moving from port to port, Mac began to grow listless and this was a dangerous thing for him because he had a habit of finding some cause, any cause, to focus on; and the bigger the fight, the better. Mac always seemed to find someone who couldn’t stand up for themselves and took their place. This in and of itself, while noble, could cause problems for Mac as he always seemed to gravitate toward a fight over principle, regardless of consequences, rather than one that could be readily won. This was in direct conflict with every maxim taught to him in law school and the one he lived by in his trial practice of maritime law in Charleston, South Carolina; as well as a clear violation of everything he learned from reading “On War” by General Carl von Clausewitz at the U.S. Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island.
While wandering west through the Bosporus Straits, Mac found two former Thai special ops sailors, Tran Kuhn and Quay Savanh, in the waterfront bar Anjelique at Muallim Naci Caddesi Salhane Sokak No: 5 Ortaköy, in İstanbulin Istanbul, Turkey of all places, while laying over there buying supplies. After several evenings of swapping stories of Bangkok and expatriate bars like Buckskin Joe’s at Soi Cowboy #1 in Bangkok and downing quantities of Flag Èspeciale, a Moroccan beer Mac grew to like while on a seaport security operation with Paul in Rabat, Morocco during the mid-1990’s, it didn’t take Mac long, or much convincing to get his two new found expatriate friends to accompany him on his adventure and sign on as crew with the Allessandra.
Early in the pre-dawn morning, Mac with his two new companions set sail from Istanbul headed west toward Greece. As soon as Mac had cleared the breakwater, he unfurled the main and mizzen sails to take advantage of the freshening breeze. By mid- morning the Allessandra was given her head, and both jibs were added to the canvas already billowing, propelling the restored classic fantail ketch back from the far side of the world, while Mac added both Tran and Quay’s names to the ship’s log as crew.
Mac and his “boys”, as he began to think of Tran and Quay, fell into the easy routine of sailing the open ocean in fair weather and on calm seas. Each man had various duties and manned a watch. The days passed with warm sun and the occasional sighting of either bulk freighters or car carriers leaving from one of the numerous ports in Europe headed for the United States. Mac often wondered which, if any of those sighted, were going to his homeport of Charleston, South Carolina.
Mac was different than most masters and owners of luxury yachts, in that having spent all of his adult life enforcing the laws of his community and defending the U.S. Constitution, he was not only a citizen and a patriot, but also one who believed in supporting his nation to the fullest. While others looked at which state or country provided the best tax haven as the determining factor where to register their vessel, with Mac there was not a doubt, the Allessandra would be a U.S. flagged vessel. Just like a human, a vessel needs a name and an address, in addition to other things, to function in the real world. Registration is the main test of a vessel's nationality and Mac was definitely an American, so anything other than a U.S. registration was out of the question. Also, in these days of ever more complex and changing regulations of the European Union, yacht owners have to carefully consider the most suitable Port of Registry to use, in order to ensure that it reflects the owner's needs. Mac never wanted the Allessandra to ever be caught up in some petty squabble between European bureaucrats or some mid-eastern potentate and seized because of where she was registered, so United States registration was not optional.
Chapter 2
The Far Side of the World
‘The far side of the world’, a thought that still haunted Mac since he uttered the words to the taxi driver who picked him at dawn on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina so long ago, after Allessandra had left him; and he made arrangements for the house there to be maintained with the ever fading hope she may someday return. Mac remembered leaving his home like it was yesterday. In his mind’s eye, he could still see himself standing at the dune line on Sullivan’s Island, gazing out to sea when he sensed his best friend approach from the house.
“Well, everything is secured,” Paul said. “Good,” Mac responded, never taking his eyes off the rose-colored glow of the rising sun.
“I never thought it would come to this,” Mac said.
Paul replied, “You never know what life is going to bring.” “Its better not to question it, rather remember and cherish the memories of the good times,” and he continued, “Allessandra always had some issues and Sandra’s death took its toll too.” “She is doing what she thinks is right.”
“Yeah,” Mac started, “but I always thought we would be together.”
“Just wasn’t meant to be, my friend.” Paul said as he stood by Mac, also staring at the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon.
Earlier in the week, Mac had closed on the selling of Laidlaw and Donovan to a group of associates who had acquired enough money from venture capitalists to purchase the law firm, its name, and the building, as well as the house at 46 Hassel Street in downtown Charleston, South Carolina.
“Why didn’t you sell this place too”? Paul asked without averting his eyes from the sea or looking at his friend. “I know you; you’ll never come here again.”
“I know I won’t,” Mac responded still staring vacantly out to sea. “But I want her to have something to come home to should she ever want to, and she loves the beach so much.”
“Well,” Paul continued, “her jag is fully gassed with fuel preservatives added and I’ll see that the management company checks on things whenever I’m in port.”
“Good,” Mac said as he shifted the weight of his gear bag in his hand.
“Where will you go now?” Paul asked quietly.
“Think I’ll head west,” Mac thought out loud. “Bangkok first, maybe a month wandering the city to sort things out, I need a mental break. I may then head down south to the beaches - to Chang Mia and maybe Phuket, then possibly to Morocco and then Europe.”
“Watch your ass ole’ buddy, we don’t heal the way we used to at our ages.” “Sounds like you’re just going to drift around.”
“Yeah,” Mac said. “I am. She was my anchor and rudder, and now I’m adrift.” “I guess I had my head in the sand on this one - I damned sure didn’t see it coming.”
“I remember how it is,” Paul almost whispered. Paul had an unblinking thousand-yard stare as he remembered his former fiancée Sandra, who was Allessandra’s best friend. “It took me a while to adjust to life without her.” As the sun began its climb and the world was bathed in the surreal half-light that is not quite night, and yet not day, Paul very quietly asked his old friend and comrade, “How long do you think we will continue to love them?”
Without diverting his gaze from the now blood red sun Mac slowly said, “How long do you think we will live?” With that, and not another word, both men embraced as only two old friends who have shared many a dark and blood day can. Then Paul turned to check the house on Sullivan’s Island one last time to ensure everything was copasetic and to set the alarm system so it would be ready if Allessandra ever decided to come home, or Mac decided to sell it; while Mac went to the taxi waiting at the curb.
As Mac slid onto the rear seat the driver asked, “Where to?”
Mac looked into the eyes in the rear view mirror and said, “Some place on the far side of the world.”
As the Allessandra glided west, a routine naturally established among the men based upon skills. Before getting into the world of special operations, Quay was a ships cook and Tran was a navigator. Members of the Royal Thai Navy, like their counterparts in the U.S. Navy, maintained their ratings or occupational specialties from their “A School”. This military occupational rating is maintained regardless of subsequent duties assigned such as special operations and special naval warfare. All Mac had to do was tell those two sailors what he wanted to eat and where he wanted to go and they handled the details with what could only be described as a quiet and ruthless efficiency only an operator from the special ops community could appreciate. The three men shared the watch, each standing an eight-hour rotation regardless of weather and seas. This equality is something seldom seen aboard a vessel, where the Captain is Lord and Master and historically someone to be obeyed and feared or suffer dire consequences. Mac didn’t run the Allessandra in that manner. It just wasn’t in his personality, nor was that type of heavy handedness prevalent in the special operations world. Spec Ops Teams, as they are commonly known, are usually small in number, spend an inordinate amount of time together, and unit cohesiveness is of paramount importance to the success and even the very survivability of the team. That is how Mac ran the Allessandra.
Mac chose the mid-watch so he could see the setting of the sun. Mac loved this time of day as he could be alone with his thoughts and memories while he tacked west-south-west leaving Athens, Greece headed toward the Mediterranean and Sicily, then from there to St. Bart’s in the French West Indies to meet Paul and his new wife aboard their trawler. Mac stared at the horizon as it changed through gradient hues of copper, rose, and indigo with the setting of the sun. It was almost as though time stood still as the Allessandra chased the disappearing sun and she, the real Allessandra, seemed to materialize. At times Mac thought he could have simply reached out and touched her, and at those special times, Mac thought he could actually smell the faint scent of Giorgio, her favorite perfume, on the wind.
The sound of Quay rattling pots and pans while preparing the evening meal brought Mac back into the present and he smelled the distinctive aroma of Thai spiced lobster being broiled below in the galley. Mac sighed as his special time was coming to a close as the three men always ate together and shared their dreams, disappointments, and aspirations before the watch was set, and tonight would be no different, Mac thought to himself. However, on occasion the three men would eat in relative silence, each man to his own thoughts, speaking only to ask for condiments on the table to be passed, or for more wine to be poured. Tonight would be one of those silent times as Mac was not in a talkative mood. The unanswered question of why she left was always just under the surface of his consciousness and at times such as this evening, it would breach the surface and cloud his memories. As usual, Mac finished his meal first as he had never been to break his old habit of eating quickly, a habit picked up as a patrol officer with the Hot Springs Police Department in Arkansas and only had thirty minutes to eat his meal. All patrol officers during that era ate hurriedly in case they received a radio call for service. Mac remembered having to leave many a meal uneaten or thrown out the patrol car window because he received a call for service from dispatch. When receiving a call to respond to a crime in progress, such an assault with a weapon, a cup of Wendy’s chili and a single with cheese had to wait.
After dinner, Mac retreated to the captain’s cabin in the stern of the Allessandra while Quay and Tran cleared the table and washed dishes. Once Mac entered his inner sanctum he leaned against the door after he closed it behind him; and gazed at the sixteen by twenty inch oil portrait of Allessandra above the bed. To Mac it seemed as though her eyes, as always, were looking into the very essence of his being, beckoning to him, almost taunting him to come for her. The painting was one of Mac’s favorites, with Allessandra lounging back on a deep red velvet chaise that was in the sitting area off the master bedroom in the house on Sullivan’s Island. Allessandra had dressed in a black silk translucent dressing gown and looked directly into the eyes of the artist. It was provocative yet tasteful. It had inspired many of Allessandra and Mac’s female friends to have similar paintings done for their husbands or boyfriends. The painting had hung for years in Mac’s law office, behind his desk, then above the mantel in the gathering room at their beachfront home. The painting was the only thing Mac had taken with him when he closed the house on Sullivan’s Island.
Looking at the built-in teak and mahogany furniture surrounding the king sized bed Mac wondered if Allessandra would love this boat as much as he did. It didn’t matter, he finally decided, it was now his and always would be. Even though she was now his home, she also would carry him on any adventure he cared to strike out on, in any direction, and never fail or disappoint him. He undressed and took a cool shower after setting the air conditioning unit to a comfortable level. As he lay in bed, Mac closed his eyes and like every night since she left him, he reached out for her but she wasn’t there. Eventually Mac drifted off into a sleep that wasn’t truly restful as he seemed to float somewhere between sleep and just lying there with his eyes closed. He could feel the movement of the Allessandra she as rose and settled with every wave, and at times smelled the tea his Thai shipmates prepared during their watches.
As he had for years, Mac awakened at dawn and lay in bed thinking about the day. Before she decided to move her life in a direction without Mac, he and Allessandra would awake during the early dawn hours and then hold each other and have their most intimate conversations. Whispering to each other as only devoted lovers can, when they thought someone could over hear them, even when they would be the only ones in the house. Today, as Mac stared at the leaded stained glass in the skylight above his bed, he watched as the ocean and mermaid scene slowly became illuminated as though glowing from an inner source of light. Once the skylight was fully awash with rays of the morning sun Mac knew it was time to start the day. Mac threw the covers back and reached for an old ratty pair of khaki SEAL swim trunks, that had seen better days and been rinsed in sea water for the last month, to slip on. Mac stood looking in the mirror and saw a deeply tanned very much thinner and greyer version of himself from many years earlier and half –a– world away, the old bullet and knife scars were lighter than the rest of his skin tanned darker from sea, wind, and sun. “Not bad for an old man,” Mac said to himself. “It’s not like those other two are vying for best dressed sailor either.”
“Morning,” Mac said as he stepped from his cabin and saw Quay busy preparing breakfast. Quay looked up and never stopped stirring the eggs he was mixing with the leftover lobster from the night before.
“Good morning Captain,” Quay responded. To Mac it sounded more like “Goood Morning, Capitaine.”
Mac looked directly at his friend, ‘slash’ cook, ‘slash’ shipmate, and said, “I’ve told you over and over, I’m not the damn Captain, I just own this boat.” Quay just grinned and nodded as he usually did and went on preparing breakfast. Tran came down from the helm, after setting the sails and the autopilot, to have breakfast about the time both men started to laugh. Tran look puzzled when he saw Mac and Quay both standing in the galley off the main salon laughing at nothing.
“What did I miss?” Tran inquired.
“A simple discussion as to who’s running this barge,” Mac said.
Tran still looking somewhat confused replied, “I thought you were Captain.”
“Don’t you start with that crap now,” Mac said with mock sternness as he slammed his coffee mug onto the counter. About that time, Mac noticed that both men were grinning and he knew they were just screwing with him. Just like the old days, Mac thought to himself, On the HRT we used to do the same things to one another, a long time ago, just to see the look on each other’s face.
After the three men had eaten their breakfast, Tran returned to the helm and Quay did the dishes as Mac sat at the navigation table to plot the next leg of their journey. Mac pondered over charts of the Ionian Sea to ensure that the Allessandra had clear passage into the port of Siracusa on the Isle of Sicily. Mac and his crew had been at sea for three weeks and were looking forward to a little rest and recreation on dry land before continuing west to the Straits of Gibraltar. Mac also needed to have his satellite phone battery replaced so that he could check in with Tommie for news of Allessandra, should there be any, not that he expected any or had confidence in receiving any. Tommie was really Tomasina Sanderson and the one thread between Mac, Allessandra, and Paul as she was close friends with Allessandra and Allessandra’s best friend Sandra, who was also Paul’s fiancée, before she tragically ended her own life without explanation. That, as with other such sudden emotional upheavals without any apparent cause, drew small close-knit groups even closer, and that was the case with Mac, Allessandra, and Tommie.
Tommie and Paul even joined an upstart new agency together, in an effort to begin anew. The Transportation Security Administration (TSA) was the U.S. government’s first attempt to create a cabinet level Federal agency in fifty years, and it was a rocky start at best for them. Both of Mac’s friends stayed with the TSA for about a year and both left as soon as they could find a place. Tommie joined a national training center focusing on providing state-of-the-art law enforcement training for state and local agencies and Paul joined a group in Charleston, South Carolina to run a seaport security program where Mac occasionally taught maritime and admiralty law.
Chapter 3
The Prom Queen
Mac shook away the cobwebs, and concentrated on the chart before him and decided spontaneously to plot a new course. Mac had always wanted to visit the Greek Islands since his oldest daughter Madeline had spent a summer there as an undergrad student studying religion and philosophy. And now by God, this was a perfect opportunity, he thought to himself. Mac began to work out the course for Sporades. He had always said he would go there after watching the movie “Mama Mia” with both Madeline and his younger daughter, Mollie Mackenzie, named after her father, while they were growing up. One thing Mac learned early on, was when you have daughters rather than sons, is that you learn to like the girly stuff. Plus, he genuinely liked the movie. It was what he called a ‘feel good’ movie and had watched it many times over the years. Mac grabbed the chart and headed up the companionway to the helm station where Tran had the watch. “Here you go lad,” Mac said to Tran as he handed him the chart folded to where to could see the island of Sporades and Mac’s notations and compass headings.
“What is this Captain?” Tran asked as he studied the chart. “Aren’t we going to Sicily as planned?”
Mac just grinned the sly crooked grin of his and replied, “Of course we are laddie, in due time. We’re just going make a little detour first. I want to see something I’ve been waiting to see for a very long time.”
Tran, looking at the chart asked, “What is this place?”
“This place,” Mac replied, “is a group of eleven islands off the eastern coast of mainland Greece, four of which are inhabited; and if I remember correctly what my daughter told me, there is a wonderful old port there where we can lie at anchor.”
Tran just shrugged his shoulders, spun the mahogany ship’s wheel with both hands, and set a new course for The Greek Sporades Islands in the Aegean Sea to the east and south east of Thessaly's Pelion Peninsula. He knew he and Quay were about begin another of the adventures Mac had told Quay and him to expect that night, in the bar in Istanbul, when they agreed to join the Allessandra as ship’s company. Both men had come to expect and even admire the spontaneity of their Captain’s nature. It was something neither Thai had experience with, but they found it exciting.
Mac descended below and began to study the four inhabited islands of Skiathos, Skopelos, Alonnisos and Skyros on the Internet. Mac thought to himself, satellite communication is a wonderful thing. With a laptop and a wireless card, you can be anywhere in the blink of an eye. Skiathos it seemed has a lively beach scene and an even livelier nightlife. Hmmm, Mac pondered, maybe if I was in my 30’s instead of my mid-50’s. The website advised the island’s beaches are its greatest attraction and are among the most beautiful in the Mediterranean. Photographs of the south coast showed it peppered with pine-fringed coves amid long stretches of golden sand.
Nearby Skopelos appeared to be less commercialized than Skiathos, but considerably more tourist-orientated than tranquil Alonnisos. That bit of information pretty much caused Mac to consider crossing it off his list. But, the island has two of the prettiest towns in the Sporades to include the main port of Skopelos Town where charming cobbled streets wind up to the hilltop Venetian castle from the bustling waterfront, and delightful Glossa which steadfastly refuses to make any concessions to mass market tourism. Now we’re getting somewhere, Mac thought as he made notes on his legal pad. Skyros was the odd man out of the group, lying southeast of the other three islands and isolated from them by a lack of regular ferry services. The main town is more reminiscent of the Cyclades than the Sporades with its dazzling, flat-roofed whitewashed buildings, and labyrinthine lanes. Mac discounted this one as being a little too laid back.
“OK, it’s settled!” Mac exclaimed aloud. “We are going to Skopelos!” Mac stood at the plotting table with hands on hips and looked like a mighty conqueror surveying his latest conquest. Mac grabbed the chart and headed back to the helm station with a huge smile on his face. Mac spread the chart before Tran and Quay who had finished his duties below and came topside for some fresh air.
“Here!” Mac fairly shouted to both men as he pointed to the island of Skopelos on the out stretched nautical chart, with the location circled in red grease pencil along with the GPS coordinates Lat 37.867845 Long 24.043506. Quay looked over Tran’s shoulder, who was still standing his watch at the helm station. Both men looked quizzically at their Captain and waited for further explanation. “Damn!” Mac emphatically said while shaking his head is dismay. “You two are simply amazing.” “Don’t you realize that Greece is the cradle of civilization?” “Not only that,” Mac continued, “But this is the location where the movie musical Mama Mia was filmed.” During the voyage thus far, Mac would attempt to educate his shipmates on the intricacies of living in a house full of women, growing up and raising two daughters, no easy task for any man. This included what was termed back in the day as a “chick flick,” a movie that was produced primarily for a female audience. Mac however enjoyed most movies, including musicals, if the acting was good and he found the plot interesting. It would amuse and befuddle Mac’s friends throughout the years when he would tell them he knew that a woman’s handbag and shoes were supposed to match before he knew that a man’s shoes and belt were to match for the man to be properly attired. That bit of knowledge came from being greatly outnumbered by females on either side of his family. Not only was Mac outnumbered, he was one of only four males in his entire extended family, and it showed. However, not many people anywhere in the world had the intestinal fortitude to make fun of Mac when he said he preferred the ballet versus NASCAR from spending years attending his daughters many performances over the years.
Mac continued to pick good-naturedly on his crew saying to them, “You uncultured heathens how in this whole wide world is it you two managed to get this far in life without knowing any of this, or seeing the movie?” In response, they just stood there speechless, looking from one another to the master of the Allessandra. They were somewhat used to the eccentrics of their Captain, but this is was new one. “OK,” Mac sighed with feigned resignation, “we’ll rent or buy the movie when we go ashore.” “I’m sure there are copies all over the island.” Both sailors just grinned and nodded their heads as they were not quite sure what was up with all the sudden changing of plans and the seemingly obsession with a movie musical.
Several hours later, with Mac at the helm and Tran in the spreaders, the Allessandra entered into the almost circular harbor entrance to Skopelos town, past the limestone cliffs that give the island its name (“the rock”). Mac looked in amazement at the ruined Venetian castle, sitting in the bright blue sky, high on the cliff and leading down from it a ridge of stone, crowned by four brilliant white churches, along whose flank the old town seemed to lie languidly against the green, forested hills.
As the Allessandra moved swiftly on the incoming tide, Tran and Quay bustled about making preparations for securing her to her prearranged anchorage. While the sails were being furled into the automatic rollers, Mac engaged the dual diesel engines to better manage the Allessandra and to ensure he had better control and steerage. The rumbling deep within the boat could be felt through the teak decking and in the ship’s wheel. Tran let go the anchor at precisely the moment for it to catch on the pebble and shale bottom of the harbor for the Allessandra to glide to a smooth stop, as Mac reversed the engines as a brake to slow the Allessandra’s way.
While Quay set the fenders in place, Mac started the shutdown process of the engines and vented the engine room with the blowers to dispel any diesel fumes or exhaust that might have be blown back into the compartment. One can never be too careful when dealing with petroleum fumes in confined spaces, even when it was something as stable as diesel fuel. After several minutes, Mac shut off the blowers in the engine room and finished securing the helm station by covering the large brass compass with its canvas cover and drawing the cord tight around it. Mac and his boys did not bother going below to clean up and change; they just lowered the zodiac from the stern cleats and headed for the beach.
“I don’t know about you lads,” Mac said over the roar of the outboard motor. “But I’m ready for a very large and very cold beer.” Both Tran and Quay smiled from ear to ear flashing dazzling white smiles against their tanned faces.
Mac pulled the small zodiac alongside the dock that runs along the left of the harbor. To Mac, Skopelos Town was certainly the most picturesque port in the Sporades, if not the world, and he had seen most of the world’s ports during his career. This one, with its long harbor wall and a tree-lined promenade, backed by houses rising up the hillside, was idyllic. Mac kept the zodiac in place, tight against the dock, with the outboard so Quay could safely jump to the dock, while Tran prepared to throw Quay a line that he caught moments later, and made it fast to the cleat at his feet. Mac followed Tran out of the boat and onto the dock and after double-checking the lines, Mac led the other two up the stairs to street level. The three sailors found themselves on a wide tree lined boulevard with a lot of pedestrians, buses, taxis, and mopeds. Mac stepped from the curb waving down a taxi and once Tran and Quay were safely in the rear, Mac got into the front passenger seat beside the driver and said,
“Take us to the best hotel on the island please sir.” The taxi driver nodded and took into the flow of traffic. After a short ride, the driver pulled up in front of the Skopelos Village Suites Hotel. It was a beautiful four-star hotel overlooking the bay near Stafylos Beach. Mac checked all three into the hotel, with each man getting a private suite with a bay view.
As Mac handed them their keys he told them, “Let’s get cleaned up later and then find some chow.” “While you guys are getting a beer and getting settled, I’ll go back and get the jump bags.” Each man kept a change of clothes and toiletries in a black canvas bag just as they did when they were operational in case they were activated on short notice and could not go home and pack. Mac rented a moped from the rental kiosk in the lobby and motored back to the boat to grab the bags. A half hour later Mac returned and found Tran and Quay sitting in the shade on the patio overlooking the bay with a champagne bucket between them filled with crushed ice and bottles of Mythos Beer. Mac pulled a green bottle from the bucket and looked at the label. “Any good,” he asked to both men.
Tran shrugged his shoulders saying, “It’s cold, but it’s not Singha,” the popular beer from Thailand. Mac found the old style beer opener referred to as a “church key” hanging from a chain attached to the handle of the bucket and opened the bottle in his hand and took a pull from the neck.
“You are right my man,” Mac winced as the very cold carbonated liquid went down his throat. “It is definitely not a Singha.” All three men looked in silence at the bay stretching out below them for several minutes before Mac announced,” OK, all hands shaved, showered, and in appointed uniform of the day in the lobby in 45 minutes.” “Any questions?” Mac looked from Tran to Quay and back again with neither man responding. “Good, then.” “Let’s get to it.” “There is wine to be drunk, and food to be eaten, and wenching to be done.” With that said, the crew of the Allessandra headed for the elevators.
Exactly 45 minutes later the three men walked out of the elevators in typical “off-duty” attire. Khaki shorts, subdued color polo shirts, and running shoes. The three old law enforcement officers could not have looked anymore like the police if they tried. It was true it seemed, once a cop always a cop, whether in uniform or not. Mac hailed a taxi from the stand outside of the hotel and asked the driver to take them to a nice restaurant with a bar.