The 75-hp Yamaha outboard motor could not propel the 18ft Lund Alaskan, with its three passengers, plus Link… with Sam at the helm… any faster. Sam and his crew were plowing their way to China.
Conversely, Biggy THE BOAT Pescatore was pulling away from the pack. It did not help matters when the “second shot” from moments ago… Turned out to be our very own MNR Officer Marlin Salty, accidentally squeezing the trigger on his Smith & Wesson .40 caliber pistol and shooting a half-dollar sized hole thru the floor of his skiff.
This tidbit of info was learned… Once Sam—Sally—Tawny—Alvin—Link, pulled alongside the vessel… Watched Nev bail water with his brimstone hat… The one with the bullet hole in it… And heard the hum of the bilge pump spraying a one-inch stream of lake water from its exit hole.
“Did you try plugging the hole with something?” questioned Sally, as they held their boat alongside the gunnel of Marlin’s.
“Not yet, but thanks,” he responded.
“Is that a bullet hole in the floor of your boat?” questioned Alvin. “Was it the bad guys?”
There was no response. Marlin and Minister Neville, having been caught—Fishing without Bait—refused to exchange glances.
Sally sensed that a portion of her FSFO rescue team was in full-on panic mode. “Here, stuff this fish towel in that hole, then push it tight with these needle-nose pliers, until you get it to seal.”
Two more minutes and Biggy’s boat would be beyond eyesight. “You guys limp your way back to Moose Island,” ordered Tawny. “We’re losing Biggy if we sit here another second.”
“Don’t leave!” pleaded Nev… “I don’t have enough prayers in my pastor’s pantry to ward off the voodoo at that place.”
Meanwhile, back on the south shore of Moose Island… “Clarence, you can come out of the bushes. We’re good,” called Rusty.
And quite honestly… Rusty knew they were better than good. She looked like a billion bucks—hopping out the cab door of the Cessna 185 Skywagon—sticking her landing on the port side float of the plane. This was Eagle-Two in action. The one and only, Ellie Waylayer.
As she drifted the last few feet toward the beach… Rusty could see the Australian sun had been treating her well. Perfect tan—bleached blonde hair—remarkably gorgeous.
“You boys got yourself in a bit of a jackpot here?” she offered, while leaping off the float of the plane, then approaching Rusty with arms held out.
Rusty drew in a deep breath as they embraced. Her scent was a combination of coconut sunscreen and jet fuel. He held the hug with his butt out, awkward stance, for about three seconds longer than it needed to last.
“How’d you know where to find me?” asked Rusty.
“A little birdy told me… Or should I say a cuckoo? I think her name is Celine,” continued Ellie. “I buzzed into camp—she said Moose Island.”
Ellie was trained in the art of deception. This had been part of her intense studies with the Canadian underground before being approved to deploy and participate in The Kraken assignment down under.
What Rusty did not know, was that after all the ruckus back at the Gold Rope Ranch in Montana… Ellie had agreed with Sally to have him micro-chipped. Both gals could always have a bead on him.
“HQ gave orders that Eagle-One and Eagle-Four were in a pickle… I left Hazel in Australia… Hauled ass back up here… So, where are they?”
Rusty rubbed the backside of his left bicep. Ever since Montana he would occasionally get a burning feeling in his arm. Such was now the case. His arm was sparking.
His immediate thought attributed the constant sting to overstimulated hormones. Specifically, the boost brought on by the presence of Ellie Waylayer.
Or possibly, he pondered… “Have I been bitten by some rare and electro-charged venomous insect?”
“Ellie… Don’t take this the wrong way—but I get a crazy burning sensation when you’re near me,” said Rusty.
“Here, look at my arm,” he continued. “There’s something with this bump on my arm. I told Cos about it after the Montana trip. He said it might be the Kissing Bug (Conenose). But I’ve only ever kissed you and… um… Sally.”
“Well… If it burns while you’re peeing… I’ve got nothing to do with it,” she piped.
He instinctively reached down to safeguard his crotchel region—but then thought otherwise and continued rubbing his bicep.
Twenty-three seconds later Ellie Waylayer was in her pilot’s seat doing an expedited prep for takeoff. Clarence was seated to her right (flying shotgun) strapping in and tightening his shoulder harness. Rusty was standing on the starboard float, at the rear of the plane, pushing them off the beach and into deeper water.
Thirteen seconds later Ellie gunned the throttle… Clarence was still in the copilot’s seat… And our main man Rusty Flathers had one foot inside the plane and one foot still on the starboard float.
Rusty was surprised at how fast the Cessna got out of the water. He was also shocked at how quickly they gained altitude over Lac des Bois.
With one hand on the rear door, his feet remained spread eagle, while trying to get off the starboard float and fully through the rear door frame. He also noticed the tingling sensation in his bicep had gone away.
To worsen matters… While he was bearhugging the float strut with his opposite hand… The dock rope attached to the base of the diagonal brace had securely wrapped itself around his lower calf and ankle. The nautical term for sailors would be a cleat hitch. This knot was also successful in terms of cutting off the circulation to Rusty’s leg.
The engine of the Cessna roared as all eyes sitting on the lake, north of Moose Island, watched Ellie Waylayer ascend, barely clearing the treetops with what appeared to be a stick figure hanging from the float strut of an airplane. Then she bombed nose first, gaining speed as the plane descended on Sam’s boat—which was still holding tight to Marlin’s boat.
Minister Nev’s eyes were the size of softballs—he identified Rusty’s silhouette when Ellie banked hard to the starboard side—Nev then crossed himself with a held breath and a prayer.
Ellie identified Sally—picking up her pseudo Aircraft Marshall signals. She was holding one arm straight at the plane, elbow locked, palm up, and fingers spread wide. With the opposite arm she was pointing repeatedly to Ellie’s right and then cranked her arm in sporadic whirlwinds like a woman’s fastpitch hurler.
This diverted Ellie’s attention long enough to make two rationalizations. A) someone or something was hanging off her float strut. B) she needed to go full-send to catch that boat on the horizon. The same one that Clarence was already pointing to.
Ellie quickly tipped each wing for confirmation—gave a peace-out sign to Sally—and banked again, HARD right.
Rusty’s left ear was swollen… Every time they banked HARD right without notice… Which was EVERY time… His lobe banged off the fuselage.
A ten-count of full-throttle air travel passed… Then simultaneously, both Rusty and Biggy Pescatore mouthed the words, “OH SHIT—NOW WHAT!”
Rusty saw their target as Ellie brought the plane out of its freefalling maneuver. She came in low and tight… Then pulled up at the last possible milli-second… The plane was within an inch of the boat.
Biggy Pescatore saw something in the eyes of Ellie Waylayer that he did not see in Sally Squatsnfishes. He had seen it many times in the reflection of his victims’ eyes, just before they swam with the fish.
–To Be Continued—
Rusty Flathers 