Covert Crossings Read online

  Covert Crossings

  Frank Lazorishak

  Covert Crossings is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Rick Holland: MyVisionPress.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Frank Lazorishak

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  As always, to Debbie, the love of my life, my best friend,

  and my number one fan.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My heartfelt thanks go to my two beta readers, copy editors, critics --

  and friends:

  Amy Henderson and Barb Inserra.

  PROLOG

  Fifty million dollars hasn’t really changed our lives that much.

  It has been over a year since we returned the Red Diamonds to the Russian Federation. Kate and I went to Moscow this spring for the grand opening of the Red Diamonds display at the Armory Museum in the Kremlin. We were invited by the Russian Federation, flew over in a Russian government aircraft, and were generally treated like celebrities. We tried to keep our connection to the Red Diamonds quiet, but several members of the press smelled a story and asked us lots of leading questions. We answered that we had played a small part in the recovery of the treasure lost since the Russian Revolution, and that the Russian government had asked us not to discuss the matter. I hope that they don’t dig too deeply in their quest for a story.

  Actually, the kids and I all received cautionary calls from Assistant FBI Director Wesley Harper, one of the gentlemen who brokered the deal for the Red Diamonds. He urged all of us not to spend large amounts of money in ways that would raise questions about our new-found wealth. He pointed out that no good would come from people getting curious.

  So… Kate and I still live in our Lakehouse on the shore of Lake Erie just west of Cleveland. We have made only two major changes in our lives.

  One, we traded our condo in Key Largo for an ocean front home on Sunset Drive on Lower Matecumbe Key. It sits on one of the few white sand beaches in the Upper Keys. Across the street is a guest house, and a dock on a canal leading to the ocean. It’s our dream winter home. None of our friends have any idea that our new winter home cost us over three million dollars.

  And two, we traded our Beneteau 423 sailboat in on a Sabre 48 powerboat. Morning Star sits proudly at Vermilion Yacht Club. Our boating friends have all looked at this as a move from sail to power. It’s a not uncommon move for boaters our age; at some point, big-boat sailing just becomes too strenuous, and a power boat allows you to continue boating, but at a less physically demanding pace. Our non-boating friends have no idea that our new Sabre cost us well over a million dollars.

  Winter home, boat, and several very large donations to some of our favorite charities add up to about $10,000,000.

  $40,000,000 to go…

  EXPLORING LAKE ERIE

  CHAPTER 1

  I have been around boats all my life. My father always had small power boats. I grew up fishing and water skiing on Western Pennsylvania’s inland lakes. I was solo canoeing by age ten. Solo power boating by twelve. And I fell in love with sailing at fourteen.

  I have sailed all over the Great Lakes, the Florida Keys, and much of the Caribbean. I hold a U.S. Coast Guard Merchant Marine 100-ton Master’s License. An old high school friend once asked me why my email address starts with captain.peter@. I told him, “Because I am one…”

  But – I have never piloted a forty-eight-foot, twin engine, powerboat before. Morning Star is a whole different world for me. It is, to say the least, a challenge. The Sabre dealer provided an experienced Captain to show me the ropes. George has been a godsend. We have spent several hours casting off, maneuvering in close quarters, and docking this 40,000-pound beauty. We have cruised Cleveland Harbor, the Cuyahoga River, and the open waters of Lake Erie. He rode with us as Kate and I moved the boat from Cleveland to the Vermilion Yacht Club. Now it’s time for me to take it out on my own; with Kate as my First Mate.

  Our first trip is to the Erie Yacht Club in Pennsylvania. It’s roughly a hundred and twenty-five miles along the south shore of Lake Erie. On Our Adventure, our sailboat, this would have been at least a sixteen-hour trip; we would have stopped overnight in Cleveland, and maybe in Ashtabula, as well. On Morning Star, it should take us between four and five hours. But we may stop in Ashtabula anyway – just to show off our new toy. A long time ago, we were members of the Ashtabula Yacht Club; we may meet some old friends.

  It’s just at nine o’clock on a beautiful morning in May as Kate and I leave our dock and head down the Vermilion River. We round the breakwater at the end of the river and head off shore on a slow plane. Kate enters our first waypoint, Avon Point, and I engage the auto pilot. I bring the boat up to cruising speed, twenty-seven knots, and settle into the Captain’s helm seat to watch the world go by – at about three times the speed I’m used to.

  The salon area directly behind the windshield on Morning Star is designed for cruising. The actual helm station is on the starboard side. To the far right is the Captain’s Stidd Helm Seat. To the left of the Captain’s seat is the Mate’s Stidd Helm Seat. They are super comfortable and designed to be sat in for long periods of time. All of the vessel’s instruments are within easy view. Amidships is the companionway going below. It has a weatherproof door and a sliding hatch above for easy access in any weather.

  On the port side is a two-person settee. The settee is Daisy’s spot. Its velour upholstery allows her to lay down comfortably without sliding around. There’s a spot for her water dish, and a window for her to look out. It is her spot.

  In minutes, I’m feeling the difference between passage making in a sailboat and passage making in a powerboat. Our Adventure cruised at about eight knots in a good breeze; Morning Star cruises at over three times that. Both are equipped with auto pilots. With a sailboat, the captain has lots of time to react to his surroundings. He is constantly monitoring the set of the sails and tweaking sheets to optimize speed made good. With a powerboat, things happen much more quickly, but there is little to do other than watch for other boats.

  There is one other difference. Our Adventure had a fifty-gallon diesel tank; I filled it at the beginning of the year, and once again late in the summer. Morning Star has two 263-gallon diesel tanks; I suspect that I’ll be filling them a little more often. According to Sabre, I can expect to burn thirty-four gallons an hour at cruising speed.

  But that fuel consumption does have its advantages. In well under an hour we round Avon Point and head for Cleveland. We pass the Cleveland Harbor entrance a little over an hour after leaving Vermilion; this would have taken the better part of a day on Our Adventure; I can get used to this. Another hour puts us past Fairport Harbor and heading for Ashtabula. Three hours after leaving Vermilion, we round the Ashtabula Light and head for the Ashtabula River. I call the Ashtabula Yacht Club on the VHF radio and request transient dockage. The Dockmaster asks if I’m familiar with the club, and I tell him that I used to be a member. He welcomes me back and tells me to tie up along the wharf at the mast hoist. I tell him we’ll be there in fifteen minutes unless we have to wait for the drawbridge. He asks my air draft, and I tell him fourteen feet. He says, “Wait.” I agree, and we head up the river past the coal docks.

  Daisy is looking out the port side window at the passing scenery. I’d be remiss if I didn’t explain that she approves of our switch from sail to power. Daisy is our sixteen-year-old Maltese. She’s an old lady, but she still has lots of heart, and she goes with us pretty much everywhere we go.

  She never really approved of sailboats a
nd sailing. Floors – decks – that moved around and tilted at odd angles upset her. She was constantly standing up, and trying to compensate. Power boats, especially big ones, are much more stable, and much more to her liking.

  After a ten-minute wait at the drawbridge, we dock at AYC. The three of us – Daisy always needs a potty break when we hit dry land -- walk up to the Clubhouse to sign in. It feels good to stretch our legs. The plan is to walk the couple hundred yards into town, and look around until dinner time. Kate and I are both anxious to see how the town has changed since we called AYC home almost thirty years ago.

  It’s a weekday; except for the Dockmaster, the club is deserted. We pay for a night’s transient dockage, and walk into town. Most of the businesses and restaurants are new. But the bars haven’t changed; I’m not sure what that means. We walk up the hill to the Hil-Mak Seafood Restaurant. It used to be one of our favorites. It looks the same as it did thirty years ago; I’m not sure what that means either. We both have perch dinners – always a Lake Erie favorite – and walk back down to the boat. One of our favorite things about cruising is curling up on the boat in the evening after a day on the water. I suspect that that will never change.

  CHAPTER 2

  We’re less than fifty miles from the Erie Yacht Club, so we’re in no hurry to leave. After a leisurely breakfast on board, we spend some time chatting with the Dockmaster, and exploring AYC. I find it interesting that the AYC “Landscaping Mounds” are still in place. Over thirty years ago, AYC dredged their riverside docking lagoon. It was silting up to the point that deeper draft vessels were in danger of running aground. They applied for, and received, a permit from the EPA to do the dredging. However, the EPA said that the club would have to pile the dredgings on their property until they were “dewatered.” After dewatering for a couple of months, the dredgings could be trucked to a nearby landfill.

  Well... After the dredgings were dewatered, the EPA changed its mind. It said that the dredgings contained too much mercury to be moved to a landfill. When the club asked what they were supposed to do with the dredgings; the EPA said, “You have a problem -- you can’t move them off of your property unless you can find a hazardous waste site that will take them, and you can’t put them back in the river.” So… Some creative club member came up with a solution. They bulldozed the dredgings into mounds to hide the boat storage area from the club grounds proper, planted shrubs and grass, and declared them landscaping mounds. River bottom silt may contain mercury, but it sure is fertile; the landscaping mounds still look great thirty years later!

  * * *

  It’s early afternoon, and we’re off to Presque Isle and the Erie Yacht Club. It’s another easy trip. In less than two hours, we’re tied up at a transient dock at EYC. AYC was a small, friendly club with an almost workingman’s air about it. And Morning Star strained the facilities there. EYC is a very large, very formal club. Morning Star looks right at home here. There is more activity here, and several members come over to admire our boat, and to chat. The VYC burgee on the stern tells them where we’re from. Several want to know more about us. They are content with, “Summer home on Lake Erie west of Cleveland, and winter home in the Florida Keys.”

  Our original intent was to spend one night in Erie, and then head home with an overnight stop at Geneva-on-the-Lake. We have decided to spend two nights in Erie, and then travel non-stop back to Vermilion. We’re starting to get acclimated to cruising at almost thirty knots instead of eight. There is lots to do here in Erie, and we’re in no hurry to get back. We can borrow bikes from the club and bike into downtown, or make the two-mile trip using our dinghy.

  * * *

  After two days of playing tourist, we’re ready to head home. We say goodbye to EYC, and make our way out of Presque Isle Bay and into the open lake. Just so we can monitor our progress, Kate puts Vermilion into the Chart Plotter, and we’re off. In what seems like way too little time, I see the entrance to the Vermilion River.

  We go up river to VYC. As we pass the clubhouse, Norman, our Dockmaster waves. I wave back and make the turn into Ontario Lagoon and our home dock. All in all, it’s been a very successful first passage. In two weeks, we’ll do another solo passage, except we’ll head west toward Lake Huron.

  CHAPTER 3

  After our very successful trip to the Erie Yacht Club, we intended to go west next week to Lake Huron. It’s roughly the same distance, but instead of being a run along the shoreline, there would be a fairly short open water passage, and then a twenty-five-mile trip up the Detroit River to Lake Saint Claire. After crossing Lake Saint Claire, we’d have had a forty-mile run up the Saint Clair River to Sarnia, Ontario, at the entrance to Lake Huron.

  * * *

  Two things have happened to change our plans.

  First of all, Kate and I haven’t been able to get excited about what looks like a rather boring trip -- especially the slow-speed river passages -- just to gain a little more experience with Morning Star.

  Much more importantly, our radar is acting up intermittently. We’ve cruised the Great Lakes for years without radar, but now that we have it, I’d like it to work. It will take another week for the Raymarine factory technician to get to Vermilion, so we’ve decided to cancel our Lake Huron trip and wait. When we ordered her, I specified Raymarine instruments for Morning Star. I’ve used their equipment for years, and like the equipment as well as its reliability. I don’t regret the choice. This looks like what the industry calls an infant failure. My guess is that they will replace the display, the radar head, or both. We’ll wait.

  Until the radar is fixed, we’ll spend our time fine tuning the boat, its equipment, and its provisions. Our next voyage will be a big one: across Lake Erie to Canada!

  * * *

  And there is something else going on. I think both Kate and I feel it, but neither of us want to say it. We have sailed the Great Lakes for thirty years. When cruising in a sailboat, “Getting there is half the fun.” Someone once described sailing as, “Hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.” That’s a bit of an overstatement, but there is definitely boredom and occasionally, some terror. But the whole process of getting where you want to go by relying only on your skill and God’s gifts of wind and sea is a rewarding challenge. Power boating is more like a road trip as experienced by a teenager. You’re stuck in the station wagon and get impatient to just get to your destination. I’m not saying this well, but I think we’re both just a little bored with roaring along the water at four times sailboat speed with nothing to do but watch for other boats.

  I hope it gets more exciting…

  FIRST CROSSING

  CHAPTER 4

  It’s thirty-eight nautical miles at a bearing of 340 degrees true from Vermilion to Leamington. It’s all open water, and we don’t have to worry about a thing except other boats. Our radar is working now, so even other boats won’t be an issue.

  There will be a difference, though. Aboard Our Adventure, this would have been a five-hour sail – if we had fair winds. Aboard Morning Star, it will be a little over an hour.

  * * *

  We leave Vermilion just before noon. The lake is flat, and the winds are light. It will be an easy crossing. There is really not much to do, but Kate takes the helm and I relax in the Mate’s seat next to her. Daisy stretches out happily on her settee, but keeps one eye on us.

  We chat about previous crossings, and in just over an hour we see the red and green markers at the entrance to the Leamington Marina. I ask Kate if she wants to take her in. She says, “No thanks, Cap’n. I’m not ready for that yet.” We swap seats and she calls the marina for a dock assignment as I bring the Sabre down off of plane and enter the marina basin.

  Many years ago, when I first got my Captain’s license, I proudly hung the framed license above our nav station. I pointed out to Kate that “Captain” is a courtesy title like “Mr.” or “Ms.” I read her the text of the license. It states that I am the “Master” of certain classes of vess
els. I told her that she could now call me “Master.” She said, “You’re going to sit on this boat all by yourself for a long-damned time waiting for me to call you ‘Massa.’” She does however, call me “Cap’n...”

  Kate has gotten our dock assignment from the Dockmaster. Because of our size, he wants to put us on the “D” dock near the shore rather than in a finger dock. We have been here many times and I know the marina well. I will head in toward the fuel dock, make a U-turn to starboard, and tie up with our portside toward the dock. With our joystick-controlled pod drives, it will be an easy maneuver.

  Kate puts out fenders as I idle in toward the dock. I make the turn to bring us in to the dock, and she throws a bow line, and then a stern line to the waiting dock boy. I shut down the engines and go ashore with spring lines. In just a few minutes, we’re secure. I thank – and tip – the dock boy. A big reason that the Leamington Marina is one of our favorite destinations is their impeccable service. The staff always go out of their way to make visitors welcome. That, their proximity to downtown Leamington, and their very visible security make this a great place to visit.

  * * *

  The three of us walk the fifty yards to the marina office building. I present my Leamington Marina Captain’s Club membership card to the young lady – Natalie, her nametag says – behind the desk. She welcomes me back and enters my membership number into her computer. It populates her display with everything she needs to know.

  She asks how long we will be staying.

  “Just two nights.”

  “Fine. Should I charge the Amex Card we have on file?”