4. Daniel
FOUR
DANIEL
The rumble of the Zodiac’s engines cut through the morning calm as we made our way down the Atlantic side of the Outer Banks to Hatterwick Island, the furthest Southern tip of the chain of barrier islands that ran along the North Carolina coast. Finally. I wished the trip was for the personal reasons that had drawn me across the country to begin with, but if I wanted the opportunity to actually stay, my duty had to come first.
With the hurricane inbound, our official mission today was part patrol, part storm prep and evacuation assistance, but I was keeping my eyes peeled for any evidence of the drug runners hoofing it to move product before the storm hit. The inevitable chaos that frequently surrounded evacuations could provide good cover. But with less than forty-eight hours until Hannah was due to make landfall, the pressure was on, and that could likewise lead to mistakes. I could only hope to be fortunate enough to be able to execute both pieces of my mission while I was down here. It could never hurt to impress the brass.
“Skipper, I’ve got a flashing light at ten o’clock,” Vance called out over the din.
I looked to the left and spotted the distant flicker of a signaling lamp. “Let’s check it out.”
Angling toward the light, I bumped up our speed, cutting neatly through the swells. As we approached, the sleek lines of a stranded sailboat came into view, sails luffing uselessly. A single sailor stood on the decks, waving at our approach. Legitimate distress, or could this guy be waiting out here to make some kind of transfer of goods?
“Look alive, y’all. Be ready for anything.” I pulled the Zodiac alongside and throttled back the engines.
The sailor, a middle-aged man with a weather-worn face and silver at his temples, curled his hands around the rail. “Y’all are a sight for sore eyes. Engine gave out. I was trying to make it back before the storm, but I didn’t get far.”
“Headed to Hatterwick?” I asked.
“To the marina there, yeah.”
Courtesy of the surveillance photos we’d been studying in our task force meetings, I knew exactly where that was. “We’ll give you a tow.”
Peterson helped secure the line, and we turned toward the marina on the southwest tip of the island.
After three weeks of studying charts and aerial photos from our task force meetings, I expected it to look more familiar than it did. But two-dimensional tactical representations could never capture the soul of a place. The island rose up from the waves, a long, low shape with the green of maritime forests as a backdrop to the mega-houses that marched along the coast like colorful jewels. But on the otherwise empty beach just to the north, I saw a cluster of dark shapes moving along the shoreline. The wild horses Hatterwick was known for, I assumed. I’d seen them marked on our patrol maps as a local wildlife consideration, but seeing them in person was different. I wished we had time for a closer look, but there was work to be done. God and a good grovel willing, I’d be spending a lot more time down here in the future, and there’d be another opportunity..
We delivered the sailboat to the harbor, getting it safely back to its slip and secured before we moored our own vessel. Echo team gathered our gear and made our way into Sutter’s Ferry to check in at the fire station since it was our designated command post for the duration. Despite being team lead, I hung back slightly, letting Vance take point. No need to draw attention to myself just yet.
The village itself was laid out more or less in a grid, with a main thoroughfare following the curve of the harbor that faced Pamlico Sound and the distant mainland. We kept to the sidewalk, walking past dive shops, fishing supply stores, restaurants, and a whole host of tourist shops with kitschy names like Tides and Trifles, Ocean Oddities, and Seas the Day. Were any of these fronts for moving product other than tourist souvenirs? Drop sites? That was the kind of thing we needed boots on the ground to uncover. After the hurricane was past, I intended to make the recommendation that we embed a few men undercover to better make such an assessment. I hoped like hell I’d be one of them, and that it would give me a chance to make things up to Gabi. But one thing at a time.
The streets and sidewalks were bumping with people. Despite the fact that I wasn’t a native, it was easy to tell the tourists from the locals based on the frenetic energy surrounding them as they made last-minute stops and gathered up their things before heading for the last ferry.
I hoped the ferry company had enough ships running and enough time to get everyone off-island who wanted off.
Vance hooked a left, back toward the sound. According to the map in my head, the clinic where Gabi worked was three blocks east of here. Not that I was counting. There’d be time to head that way, eventually. Mission first.
The fire station was a tidy clapboard building on a corner. The main section rose two stories, with three bays that marched across the front. A taller wing that obviously housed living quarters sat at the far end, with multi-paned windows set at even intervals in the pale blue siding. The whole place was well maintained and inviting, as such spaces went. A crew was already at work installing hurricane shutters as we approached.
Good. Less prep work for us.
We ducked inside through the first open bay. It seemed men were everywhere, going over equipment, testing radios. Hurricane prep was already in full swing around here, which would make squeezing in any surveillance work trickier. But we’d see what we’d see.
A dark-haired guy broke away and headed toward us. “Can I help y’all?”
I extended a hand. “Petty Officer First Class Daniel LaRue of the Coast Guard. I’m here to meet with the fire chief about how we can best help with storm prep around here.”
“Chief Thompson’s off for a meeting with the chief of police, but I’m Captain Hoyt McNamara. It’s good to have y’all. The extra hands are much appreciated.”
As I introduced Peters, Vance, Rawlings, and Martinez, my gaze automatically sharpened on the man. I recognized his name. McNamara. This was Gabi’s brother-in-law. Did he know about me? About what had happened in New Orleans? His expression remained professionally neutral, so either Gabi hadn’t mentioned me, or he was better at hiding his thoughts than most. Either way, it seemed he wasn’t looking for the likes of me today. Not with everything else going on. In case he’d be more inclined to plant a fist in my face, I’d keep things on the down low until I knew more.
“You ever been through a hurricane before LaRue?” McNamara asked.
“Plenty. I’m a bayou boy, born and bred. I’m just recently posted to Nag’s Head, so this is my first Atlantic hurricane. Used to them sweepin’ up from the Gulf, but I don’t expect it’s much different here than back home.”
I waited to see if that little detail sparked anything, but there wasn’t a flicker.
“Was that where you were before? Louisiana?”
“I’m actually most recently coming from a brief posting in Seattle.” The posting that was supposed to have made my career. “But before that, I worked Gulf Coast drug interdiction. Saw my share of storms there.”
“Seattle’s a long damned way from the South.”
I flashed a grin and let a little more bayou slip into my voice. “You ain’t wrong. I appreciate bein’ back in the South, where everybody understands that the default when you say ‘tea’ is sweet, iced, and they know how to make it proper.”
“Amen. How long do we have y’all?”
“For the duration. We’re set up to assist with evac coordination, facility security, and emergency communications.” I gestured to our gear. “Brought our own supplies, so we won’t tax your resources.”
“Appreciate that. I heard there’s already been two brawls at the market this morning. As if that last roll of TP is gonna save anybody from having their roof ripped off.”
“There’s something about weather panic that always makes people nuts about toilet paper, bread, and milk.” I flashed a wry smile. “You got family riding things out here on the island?” Careful, casual. Professional curiosity only.
“My wife’s pregnant with our third. She and the kids are riding things out with my parents here on Hatterwick, so I’m freed up to deal with things as needed.”
Nothing said about his sister-in-law. Was she evacuating? Staying? Working? The clinic was designated as essential services, according to our briefing. She’d likely be there through the storm. Not that I could ask without raising questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Locking my curiosity away, I clapped my hands together. “Well, put us to work, Captain. The clock’s ticking.”