Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (11 page)

 
          
It
also told Ehrlich that the
Numestra
was very probably dealing in a cargo other than scrap metal and coffee—like
drugs.

 
          
Since
the
Resolute’s
HH-65 helicopter had
no night-tracking equipment Ehrlich had requested support from Coast Guard air
units out of New Orleans as well as a fast patrol boat. The patrol boat, he was
told, could not be spared but the C-130 would cruise by twice a day in its
patrols, and a scanner-equipped Falcon jet was assigned to operate with the
Resolute
for a few nights while the
freighter was in the area.

 
          
But
the freighter had stayed out of U.S. territorial waters, out of direct Coast
Guard jurisdiction. Boarding a foreign freighter was illegal in international
waters without clearance from the skipper or the country of registry, so
Ehrlich had been obliged to request permission to board the
Numestra
from the Panamanian government.
After two days the request was still “being processed.” Translation: they were
being stonewalled. Not a refusal but a definite stall. And it was a certainty
that the skipper wasn’t going to give permission to Ehrlich to board his ship a
second time, so Ehrlich had decided to stay just outside the freighter’s radar
range to watch and wait, with the Falcon jet scanning the area for small boats
trying to rendezvous with the freighter.

 
          
After
three days of shadowing the
Numestra,
however, no small boats had been detected returning to the freighter.
Resolute
began to lose the use of their
Falcon for longer and longer periods of time when it was called away for other,
presumably more urgent jobs. The investigation was going nowhere, and Ehrlich
had begun to feel pressure to get on with his patrol when he noted the
Numestra
was beginning to creep toward
shore again. A few ships also started to move toward the freighter, gradually
at first, then noticeably closer each day. He would hang in. Something was
going down . . .

 
          
But
if the
Numestra
moved out into
international waters there was little Ehrlich could do if the freighter’s
skipper decided not to stop for inspection. And Ehrlich wasn’t about to open
fire on the freighter—the Coast Guard couldn’t fire on anyone unless they were
under attack themselves, and even then firing on a ship on the open seas was
politically and diplomatically explosive stuff.

 
          
But
Ehrlich had a gut feeling this skipper was dirty, and now he was looking for
international waters as fast as his old tub could carry him.

 
          
Of
course the Reliance-class cutters weren’t exactly speed demons, either. This
intercept was taking forever . . .

 
          
“Range,
McConahay.”

 
          
“Eleven
miles and closing, sir. I’m picking up a second vessel, sir, moving away from
the freighter at high speed . . . possibly a third target appearing now, sir.”

 
          
“Have
the Falcon pick up one of the targets and track him,” Ehrlich said. “Better
call in Customs and some more of our boats to round up these turkeys. We’re
staying on the freighter. I think we’ve got a live one here ...”

 
          
“Should
we get the helo on deck and ready, sir?” Ross asked.

 
          
Night
helo operations with a cutter going full speed were tricky, but it was a calm
night and Ehrlich had some good pilots on board. “Yes, Mr. Ross, see to it.
Then get communications on the horn and see if he can get that freighter to
heave-to. Broadcast in English and Spanish.” A precaution for a future court
appearance. The freighter’s skipper could always claim he did not understand
the Coast Guard’s orders. More than one smuggler had received suspended
sentences because of that dodge.

 
          
“Communications
reports no reply from the freighter on common area or emergency frequencies,”
Ross reported. Unless the
Numestra
had
lost all its radios—in which case it would be required to heave to and use
light signals to call for help—it was definitely ignoring its radios and trying
to flee American waters.

 
          
“Range,
ten miles and closing,” McConahay chimed in. “Freighter is approaching the
twelve-mile limit.”

 
          
“Have
comm start running through the green book,” Ehrlich ordered. The green book was
no longer a book—it was a computerized list of private shipping frequencies
that each company was required to turn over to the Coast Guard. The
Resolute
's computerized radio system
would broadcast a warning message on each frequency in the book as further
proof that it issued a warning it was in pursuit. “Then have them report our
situation to District headquarters.”

 
          
The
Resolute
was closing, but with only
about five or six knots’ closure rate it was like watching paint dry.

 
          
“No
response on all green-book frequencies,” Ross reported a few minutes later.
“We’ve got radio checks from other stations, though. We’re definitely going
out.”

 
          
“Any
word from District?”

 
          
“They’ve
acknowledged our messages,” Ross said. “No word yet from State about permission
to board.”

           
“Advise District that I have reason
to believe an emergency exists on the
Numestra
del Oro
and that I intend to intercept and board her, on my authority,”
Ehrlich said. “I’ll need clearance from Area headquarters as soon as possible
but advise them that I intend to proceed without delay.”

 
          
“Aye,
sir.” As he made the orders to the communications room, Ross asked, “For the
record, sir, what emergency did we see on the freighter?”

 
          
“Obviously
a radio malfunction,” Ehrlich snapped. “That’s a safety of navigation violation
for a vessel theii size. I’m also concerned with those smaller vessels that
were spotted around the freighter—they could have been attackers or there could
be a medical emergency on board. We need to investigate immediately. I don’t
see any running lights, either—definitely a hazard to navigation.” Ross nodded
and smiled. The skipper, although fairly young and only a commander, had a
veteran’s smarts.

 
          
“Range
four miles,” McConahay reported after several more long quiet minutes. “He’s
well outside our waters now, sir.”

 
          
“I
understand, Mr. McConahay,” Ehrlich said. “But the bastard’s not getting away
so easy. He’s either radio-out or ignoring our calls, and both cases give us
authority to intercept and board him. Mr. Ross, get the helo airborne. Have him
flash light signals at the freighter’s bridge.”

 
          
Ross
began monitoring the preparations on the brilliantly lit helipad as the crew
made ready to launch. Even though the seas were calm they were using the
spear-trap on the helipad—the spear-trap was a device resembling a spearhead attached
to the underside of the Dolphin helicopter that helped launch and recover the
chopper in bad weather. The spear fitted inside the trap, a large clamplike
device in the center of the helipad. When landing in rough seas the spear would
be lowered to the helipad and engaged in the trap, the helicopter would take up
the slack under power and the trap would winch the helicopter onto even a badly
rolling deck.

 
          
“Attention
on deck. Prepare for spear-trap launch,” Ross called over the PA, then turned
to Ehrlich for final approval, which was given with a quick nod. Ross rechecked
the area around the ship on radar, gave the helo a once-over with a pair of
binoculars and hit a button that changed a bridge-clearance light from yellow
to green. “Clear to launch helo.”

 
          
Moments
later the Dolphin rescue chopper carrying medics and rescue specialists—each
well armed—was ready for liftoff from the helipad. Liftoff was just the
opposite of a landing. With the spear engaged in the trap, the Dolphin began to
apply power for liftoff; then, simulating that the ship was at the top of a
swell, the trap swung open and the Dolphin shot into the air well clear of the
cutter and was quickly lost from sight in the still night air, only its
red-and-green running lights visible as it raced ahead toward the freighter.

 
          
"Three-and-a-half
miles,” McConahay reported. The freighter was barely visible as a moving shape
against the horizon, but its engines roaring at full power could be heard
clearly.

 
          
The
Dolphin helicopter reached the freighter quickly, and its powerful three
thousand-watt searchlight could easily be seen painting the freighter’s entire
deck. “Mama-San, this is Puppy. I am over the target now. Wheelhouse is
occupied. I can see men on deck. No sign of emergency, no sign of signals being
transmitted. Clear night, no fog. Signals should be easily picked up.”

 
          
Ehrlich
spoke into the microphone. “Roger, Puppy, give them the stop signal and stand
by.”

 
          
The
Dolphin searchlight operator shined the light directly into the freighter’s
wheelhouse, moved the beam out, then swept it across the deck in front of the
bridge—the international signal to stop or shut down engines. The freighter did
not respond. The Dolphin moved closer to the freighter and swept the beam
across the wheelhouse once again. This time the crew clearly saw men inside the
wheel- house shading their eyes and gesturing for the Dolphin to move away.

 
          
“Receiving
unfriendly response from the crew on the target’s bridge, Mama-San,” the
Dolphin’s pilot reported. “They show no sign of slowing. They’re still going
fifteen knots—about full blast for this old tub.”

 
          
“Try
’em on your radio,” Ehrlich ordered. “It’s possible they didn’t hear us.” To
the ship’s officer of the deck: “Mr. Ross, signal the crew for intercept procedures.
Have the forward 3-inch and the port and starboard .50 cals mounted, manned and
standing by. Call Mr. Applegate to the bridge.”

 
          
Ross’
stomach was queasy—the fact that this was not a drill was beginning to sink in.
He flipped on the ship-wide address system: “All hands, general quarters. All
hands, general quarters. Man your battle stations. Mr. Applegate to the
bridge.” The announcement was followed by an electronic gong, the “law
enforcement” signal that reverberated through the ship. Before the blare of the
gong had stopped, Lieutenant Commander Richard Applegate, the
Resolute
's first officer, had rushed
onto the bridge wearing a lifejacket and blue baseball cap with
“USCG U.S.S. resolute”
on the peak.

 
          
“You’re
relieved, Mr. Ross,” Applegate shouted. He grabbed the binoculars from around
Ross’ neck, checked the radar screen and scanned the dark horizon. “What’s up,
Russ?”

 
          
“We’ve
got a five-thousand-ton Panamanian freighter out on our nose about three miles,
Dick,” Ehrlich told him. “No response on any radio channels. We’ve got our
Dolphin up flashing him light signals. No reply.”

 
          
“We
gonna bust him?”

 
          
“We
caught him inside the limit with ships alongside. He intercepted a radio call
between us and the Falcon and booked. Now he’s heading for open ocean. Yes,
we’re going to bust him.”

 
          
Just
then on the ship’s radio speaker they heard, “Panamanian vessel
Numestra del Oro,
this is Coast Guard
Helicopter One-Seven Mike from the United States Coast Guard cutter
Resolute
on Gulf Coast Emergency Channel
Nine. You are ordered to stop and prepare for inspection. Acknowledge by radio
or light signal.”

 
          
Ehrlich
took up the mike again. “Puppy, this is Mama-San. Radio check on GUARD.”

 
          
“Loud
and clear, Mama-San,” the Dolphin pilot replied.

 
          
“Well,
we know the radio works,” Ehrlich said, making another log entry. “This bastard
just doesn’t want to—”

 
          
“Sir,
the freighter’s slowing down,” McConahay broke in. “Range two miles and closing
rapidly.”