Senator Harry McCallister is in his office preparing for a briefing on fair housing legislation currently pending in the senate.

The intercom interrupts his preparation.

"Senator, Mr Alexander on line one," the intercom said.

Harry pushed the reports he was reading to one side.

"Mr Alexander," Harry said, after picking up.

"Senator McCallister, what can I do for you?"

"Meet with me. I have business that requires a man of your caliber. We met three years ago. You were appearing in front of the appropriations committee."

"I remember you. You're the environmental senator," he said.

"I am. I need your services. First we need to talk about what services you offer, and then, I'll explain what I need."

"Go ahead, Senator. I'm listening. I'm at your service."

"I can't talk on this phone, Mr Alexander."

"Call me Bob," the man said. "Your phones are compromised?"

"I don't trust them. What I need from you is a private affair. It's a personal situation I'm embroiled in. I've got to move before someone close to me does something stupid."

"You've called the right number. If you like, I can see to it your phones are safe. We provide that service. We have some new technology that we use. It gives a signal if any listening devices are installed between the scheduled sweeps for bugs."

"You do sound like the man I need. Yes, I need my phones, my offices, and my planes kept clean of listening devices. The situation you'll be handling for me involves an agency of the government. They are nobody's fools and I don't plan to let them take any more liberties with the people closest to me in my life."

"I'll be in Washington Thursday. I have meetings at the Pentagon that morning. Why don't we do lunch Thursday at the Hay-Adams. I'll be there over the weekend. We can discuss your problem and develop the actions necessary. Any direct actions we take on your behalf are strictly confidential and are subject to your approval. I'll see to it we work within whatever parameters are acceptable to you, Senator."

"Call me Harry," Harry said. You're the man I've been looking for. Hay-Adams at one Thursday afternoon. I may have meetings at three that day, but I'll lay out what I need from you and the next time we meet you can brief me on what you think I need to achieve optimal success."

"I can have your offices swept tonight and we can install detection devices. We'll do a sweep of your offices and all of your communication devices twice a week thereafter."

"My people will be expecting your people, Bob. My plane is the only four engine Beachcraft at Hyde Field, in Clinton, Maryland. I won't be using it until the end of July, but I'd like it swept regularly."

"We can firm up those details on Thursday, Harry."

"I'll see you Thursday, Bob," Harry said, hanging up the phone.

Senator Harry McCallister looked at the phone. It would be the final time he worried about having his phone conversations monitored. He'd been busy. He'd been thinking about how to get Clay off his back. Not taking his phone calls was a poor plan, but once he'd had time to consider his options, he realized he needed a military contractor to interrupt whatever the Company had planned for Ivan.

What Harry had in mind … get Ivan home without ending up doing a stretch in the federal prison system. Bob Alexander's Minute Men came highly recommended by people in the know at the Pentagon.

*****

Clay guided the Sea Lab back into her slip. The bump was so slight it hardly registered, but he automatically shifted the craft into neutral, letting the engines continue to run. He stayed at idling speed once he reached the cove, but the mechanic who worked on Sea Lab told him to let the engines run five minutes once you stop.

Cooling them before shutting them down will keep them happy. Clay didn't think much about Sea Lab's happiness, but if he was given an instruction by an expert, he tended to listen the way he hoped people listened to him.

Once he was satisfied, he shut the engines down. Returning to the main deck, he placed his equipment on the dock. He climbed up, double checked the lines before putting the two cameras over his shoulder, picking up the air tanks in one hand and the small cooler in the other. He walked toward the end of the dock.

There were two root beers and a Coke in the cooler. Clay didn't drink root beer, but he didn't take the two root beer out of the cooler the last time Dylan went diving with him. He thought of his son each time he took one of the Cokes out to drink.

He nodded to the Vietnamese woman hanging wash and to Boris' wife, who was busy sweeping the deck.

In the heat of the day, the boat people were inside. Clay stepped off the dock and walked in front of the huge front window of the Dive Shop. The bell tinkled when he went inside. He dropped the cooler and cameras inside the front door, and he took the tanks back to set them beside the compressor.

Tag looked up from the fat novel he'd brought to read. He watched Clay move past the counter and go to the back of the shop. He needed a shave. He needed a clean pair of cutoffs. His white tee-shirt was on the yellow side.

"Make a fresh pot, Taggart?" Clay asked. "This is old."

"Yeah, it is. I can't drink it fast enough by myself. After my second pee of the morning, I try to cut back," Tag said, having his face back in the novel as Clay made a fresh pot.

"Busy," Clay asked.

"About usual. The heat keeps them from moving around a lot. This is the time of day they swim and walk on the Gulf beaches."

Clay sat in his chair next to the gigantic mahogany desk. He sipped the fresh coffee, after he poured Taggart's cup full.

When Ivan was here, he went outside to wave as soon as he heard Sea Lab coming back into the cove. By the time Clay brought the tanks to the shop, there would be a fresh steaming cup of coffee sitting next to his chair. It was a nice thought.

"Anything new shaking out there?" Tag asked, turning the page.

"Mama octopus is still sitting on her eggs," Clay said.

"Doesn't she get tired of that. Sounds boring," Tag said.

"She's a mother. It's what an octopus mama does."

"Still sounds boring," Tag said. "Maybe they'll hatch soon and she can get up. You think maybe she gets up while you aren't looking?"

"No," Clay said, scratching his chin, realizing he needed a shave.

Tag turned another page without looking up.

Clay sipped coffee and looked out the huge front window.

Clay's problem wasn't that he didn't have enough to do. He had plenty to do. He didn't do it. He needed to focus, but he couldn't focus. He needed to go to the lab and sit at his desk and write a report on that day's dive. That's what he should do all right. Maybe he'd do it after another cup of coffee.

He had trouble getting to the lab and staying there long enough to write a report on his dive. When Harry came home, he read every report generated by Clay's dives. Clay went diving every day the first week of July. He'd yet to write a report.

His dives got his attention. Something about being in the water, under it, was the most stimulating thing about life while his men were gone. Walking around, talking, making the moves you needed to make on dry land requires effort. It all requires thinking, and thinking reminded him of his missing men.

Once Clay sank into the sea, he was suspended. His cares and woes faded away. He didn't need to think to breathe. In the water all you needed to do was breathe and float.

Suspended, floating, going to and from a reef took no effort. He went down, down, down until he reached the bottom, floating back up when it was time. Air was the only consideration. When you had air, you stayed down. When your air was running out, you surfaced.

He took a dive every day in the first week of July. It made his lonely world more tolerable. Once he stepped onto Sea Lab, he only needed to be aware of where he wanted to go. He knew how far it was and how long it would be before he was back in the cove.

Diving took time out of the day. From arrival at the marina to his return from a dive, it took an average of three to four hours, depending on how far it was to the reef.

Some days he needed to go a long way. The second best thing, after diving, was being on Sea Lab and going. Once Clay left the cove and entered the Gulf, he pushed the throttles all the way forward.

He wanted to go and keep going.

The wonders in the deep took his breath away. Documenting his findings could be exhilarating, but he had to come back to the cove. Normally, Clay went directly to the laboratory. He'd sit at his desk and write a report while the facts were still fresh in his mind. The details were important and what Harry wanted to read.

Distracted report writing wouldn't please the senator. Maybe he'd have better luck writing a report tomorrow. He tore the empty sheet of paper in three pieces and managed to get two of the pieces in the trash can.

Two out of three wasn't too bad.

Dylan was safe in Bill's hands. For Bill, Dylan was like his own child. Bill didn't have children. Since shortly after Clay finished school, Dylan was always with him, and Bill was fond of his best student's son.

There was no one Clay trusted looking after Ivan. He didn't know where Ivan was or under what conditions he was being held. Bad people had Ivan and they had no reason to take care of him.

"If I don't come back to you, realize I died trying to get home."

Ivan thought they would try to kill him. He knew too much and they had to let him go the first time, but this time was different. Clay couldn't sit around and wait to find out how it turned out. He had to do something. Ivan had been gone for too long.

He had trouble with the idea he was helpless and couldn't do anything. Ivan was out of reach and therein was the problem, but it wasn't his problem alone. He made it Harry's problem. It was Harry's government, and that made Harry responsible for what happened to the man Clayton Olson loved. Heaven help Harry if Ivan was killed.

After a dive, he needed to readjust to the lesser world. He found it amazing that so many people were on the water in boats without having any idea what is a few feet below their feet. An incredibly beautiful universe is right below their feet.

Coming home without either Ivan or Dylan made returning unremarkable. Why did he come back at all? His life no longer had meaning. Without his men, life had no value.

Clay always looked for Boris when he walked down the dock from Sea Lab on his way to the Dive Shop. He knew Boris before the war. He knew Boris when he was a carbon copy of Ivan.

Boris made his heart tingle. Ivan's brother was the only other boy who could turn his head even a little. When they swam naked behind the house next to the river, Boris held him from behind and got Clay's attention in a big way. With his erect penis slipping up and down the crack of Clay's ass, it made Clay faint with desire.

Boris laughed and acted like it was all good clean fun. On those hot summer days, Boris made Clay sweat. Boris never came on to him when Ivan was around. Ivan would gone nuts if he knew what Boris was doing with Clay, but he never knew and Clay still felt guilty.

Boris was different now. Whatever happened to him over there changed him. Boris was a teenage boy when he teased Clay in the summer heat. He was a teenager when he went to Vietnam. Ten years later, when Ivan brought Boris home, he had gray hair and he shuffled when he walked. He looked more like Nick than Ivan.

Clay wanted to take up some of the slack Ivan left behind. He wanted to help. Where Ivan spoke the boat people's languages, and they laughed and talked together, Clay had trouble with hello.

They invited Ivan to take tea with them and he had lunch once or twice a week with the fisherman's families. Ivan picked up their groceries and made sure each family had what they liked. Clay felt awkward and out of place.

Clay was unable to participate in the care and feeding of the boat people. Popov was now responsible for them in Ivan's absence, but he spoke their language and in spite of his size, the boat people seemed at ease around the big Russian.

Clay offered Taggart moral support and he helped Popov distribute the food on days he came back from a dive during a grocery delivery. Ivan did so much more than anyone knew. It was his marina and these were his tenants. Ivan was a responsible man.

Clay didn't mind tea. Drinking it in place of coffee certainly wasn't his cup of tea, but he knew some people preferred tea.

Clay felt closer to Ivan at the shop, and that's where he went after a dive. He went to the shop and drank coffee with Taggart. He walked to JK's to buy orders of clams for lunch.

Popov made sure all his people had plenty to eat and a nice place to live. It was Popov who found himself taking over Ivan's responsibilities. Clay didn't think Popov knew just how much Ivan took upon himself to do for the boat people. He knew now, and he drank tea with his fishermen on the days he delivered groceries. Taggart helped Popov the same way he helped Ivan.

Popov was an immigrant. When he came to the cove, Russians were about as popular as Attila the Hun. When Popov didn't speak English that well, people stared and made rude comments about him learning the language if he wanted to live here.

Once Popov owned most of the cove, people were still rude, but the big Russian didn't care. He didn't want his fisherman exposed to the hostile locals. The boat people loved America, but Americans didn't always love them back. The boat people were different. They weren't from here, but they did work here. They caught the fish Americans loved to eat.

It was the reason why Ivan started doing the grocery shopping for the boat people at the marina that was now his responsibility. Ivan didn't want these gentle people feeling unwelcome here.

Ivan's absence created extra work for Popov. He didn't mind, because he was helping his fishermen. He got rich on the fishing fleet's profits. He lived well. He made sure the men who caught the fish shared in the prosperity. Buying groceries was part of it, but he liked that part of it better when Ivan did the grocery shopping.

No one needed to tell Popov his business partner was absent. When the trouble started, Popov kept his distance. He had a temper. What he'd heard about Ivan's trouble didn't make a lot of sense. He knew Ivan. He knew he didn't kill anyone, but when he heard the American government was involved, it became the senator's problem.

Popov willingly took over Ivan's chores. He hadn't talked to Clay yet. Like Clay, Popov was waiting to hear the senator took care of it and Ivan was on his way home. A few weeks became a few months, and once again, Popov needed to go buy groceries for his people.

Popov wasn't certain Ivan was coming home. The American government was no one to fool with. Popov had already escaped the Soviets as a young man. You never truly escaped the Soviets. For years, he waited for them to come after him. He wouldn't get into that situation with his new government, if he didn't need to, and he was still waiting.

Maybe it was time to talk to Clayton about Ivan. He was the person closest to his business partner.

Clay was a fisherman in Popov's fishing fleet starting at fifteen. Popov was fond of Clayton long before he became an important marine biologist. They hardly saw each other these days. Popov was always gone and Clayton was always busy diving, and going on speaking engagements, but it was long past time they talked.

One day, after a dive, Clay was on his second cup of coffee in the Dive Shop, when Tag looked up from the new copy of Rolling Stone. Looking out the huge front window of the shop, he said, "Fishing fleet's home."

Clay took his cup of coffee to the window to watch Popov's trawler lead the nine big boats into the cove. He watched Popov maneuver his craft into position to be unloaded. Men scurried around the deck and Fish Warehouse employees scurried about behind the Fish Warehouse.

"Popov. Popov. Popov," Clay said, watching the activity a few hundred yards away. "Does Popov know where Ivan is?"

"I don't know what Popov knows. When I help him with groceries, he mostly talks about who gets what. When we're done, he gives me a big hug. Kind of makes me glad we only do groceries once a month. My ribs couldn't take more than one hug a month."

Clay laughed.

"He is affectionate," Clay remembered.

"Tell me about it," Tag said, rubbing his ribs.

"Popov," Clay said, thinking of how in charge the man was.

They watched how fast Popov's trawler was unloaded and going to anchor in the middle of the cove as Captain Tito moved his trawler into place.

"Popov," Clay said as a thought occurred to him. "Popov and I need to talk."

"I must confess, Clayton, that doesn't sound good for Popov."

"If he doesn't know where Ivan is, he needs to know. If he knows, it's time he did something about it."

"Please don't talk to him before we deliver the groceries. I don't want to get stuck doing it by myself," Tag said.

"I'll help you," Clay said happily.

"That's OK. Popov knows what he's doing. I'll stick with him if you don't mind," Tag said firmly. "Talk after we do the groceries."

"Yes, Sir," Clay said, sipping coffee and looking at the fishing boats unloading one at a time. "Popov, you de man. Why didn't I think of you before?"

Clay and Popov talked when Ivan was first taken into custody for Mason's murder. Popov didn't believe Ivan hurt anyone, and when he found out Taggart was taking care of the shop, he stopped worrying about it, because Tag knew what to do. No one asked Popov to help.

The big Russian was Ivan's business partner in Cove Enterprises, but their interests were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Ivan ran Cove Enterprises, Popov owned 25% of the business. He had nothing to do with the operation. He didn't need to know. Ivan ran it and he was doing a damn good job.

"What has he said about Ivan?" Clay asked after a while.

"It's the kind of thing I don't understand. Popov and I don't speak the same language," Tag confessed.

Clay laughed.

"Part of his charm," Clay said.

"Is that what it is. In any event, I can't understand him. I nod and smile a lot."

"He did say, 'You KGB is being bad boys, Tag. Popov is not being impressed.' Do you know what that means?"

"It means I need to talk with Popov."

"He asked me, 'Is Taggart needing Popov's help.' I told him my uncles were picking up the slack. They take out the Gulf tours and the deep sea fishing folks. I can do the rest. He only asked once. Seemed satisfied with my answer, but after he nodded approval, I could see he had questions."

"Popov is a careful man, but once he decides to move, it's best to get out of his way," Clay said. "He was here ten years before I came. He knew Ivan's grandfather. Ivan's grandfather came in the 30s. When Popov sailed into the cove, it was Ivan's grandfather who had the idea of the fishing fleet working directly with the new Fish Warehouse that wasn't finished when Popov first got here."

"Ivan's grandfather built Ivan's house," Tag remembered. "I remember Mama talking about Harry's father selling that section of beach. It's where he wanted his house."

"Now it belongs to the boss," Tag said. "Beautiful house but too close to the water for my taste."

"Why don't you like water. You're clean enough," Clay said.

"I like water fine. I just have no desire to get in it. I will take a bath if I need one, but I'm a shower kind of a guy. Going into water has never appealed to me."

"Tell him I want to talk to him about Ivan," Clay said. "I've talked to Harry until I'm blue in the face. I don't know if he won't help or he can't help, but he's going to wish he did help after I finish with him."

"Harry? You're gunning for the senator?"

"How long has Ivan been gone?"

Tag counted the weeks and months. He was locked up first. He was in Tampa next. Now he was over there somewhere.

"Too long," he said.

"Too long. It's time Ivan came home. I don't know what I intend to do, but I intend to do something if I need to go after him myself."

"Oh my Lord," Tag said, putting his face in his hands.

"I've got money put away. I'll hire men. Dylan's gone for the rest of the summer. I'll hire men to go with me, and we'll go get him."

"You don't know anything about people like that, Clayton," Tag said. "You're going over there to get yourself shot. Those aren't people you fuck around with."

"You don't think I can do it? I'll do it fine if decide to do it."

"You got a kid. What's he going to say when both of his fathers are gone when he comes home? You aren't that naive, Clay."

"We'll be back by the time Dylan's home," Clay reassured him. "Listen to yourself," Tag said with alarm. "These people framed Ivan for murder. You think his lover coming to town is going to get them shaking in their boots. Get a grip, Clayton."

Clay got up and went to the coffee maker. He dumped out a half pot of coffee and he started preparing a new pot.

"Do you remember Big Carlos?"

"One of his men put a bullet in me. I have nightmares about Big Carlos."

"The FBI came. Big Carlos was on the FBI's Most Wanted list."

"I remember Kramer. He was OK for a fed."

"He was," Clay said. "He was a regular guy dealing with a really bad man. Kramer was on our side. Do you remember what Popov did? What he told Kramer when he found out he was FBI?"

"'Best you are not getting into Popov's way. He is bringing you this Big Carlos,' I think he told the FBI."

"What did Kramer say? You said that he said something funny.'"

"'Who the hell is Popov?' is what he said. I told him, 'You just met him.'"

"What did Popov do?" Clay asked as he recalled the incident.

"He got himself shot. We have matching scars," Tag said.

"What else did he do?"

"He brought Big Carlos back. Actually, Captain Tito delivered him. Popov was a bit under the weather," Tag said. "Bullets do that."

"It's Popov's cove. He did what he said he'd do then. He got his man. I don't know how I forgot that. All this time I've been depending on Harry to do something. He's powerless to do anything. It's time to shift gears. The next time you see Popov, tell him I need to talk to him about Ivan," Clay said.

"That sounds like a much better idea than you going over there," Tag said. "We'll be doing groceries before he goes out again."

*****

Bill did the Texas two step as the Horizon rolled to the starboard as he came in through the film lab door.

"Is the film ready yet?" Bill asked.

I turned to look at the professor. Logan looked over his shoulder.

"Just came out of the drier," Logan said, and Bill took two steps to port as he tried to stay on his feet.

I stood over Logan's right shoulder as he threaded the film on the editor in a way that allowed him to go frame by frame. It was ten minutes into my shooting Bill that the shadow appeared. I reminded Logan how far along it was before the shadow hovered over us.

It was quiet for what seemed like forever. I kept moving right and then left, and back to the right again. Logan wrapped his feet around the legs of the sturdy editor's table to hold himself in place.

I watched Logan stiffen before reaching for the magnifier next to his right hand. He leaned deep into the editor.

"Is that it?" Bill asked.

Logan moved several frames forward, went back, went forward, and he went back again.

"Did I get something?" I asked.

"You got something. Jesus Christ. What is that fucker?"

"Let me see," Bill said. "I want to see what it is."

Logan continued moving the film forward and back.

"Jesus, what are you? I've never seen anything like this."

"Like what?" Captain Hertzog said as he came into the film lab with Dolf on his heels.

*****


Send Rick an email at [email protected]

On to Chapter Seven

Back to Chapter Five

Chapter Index

Rick Beck Home Page

"The Gulf and the Gift" Copyright © 2024 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer