Deadly Shore, page 10
It didn't take long for people to realize that something was just not right. Not only were the reporters not asking the questions about rescue and the authorities not volunteering the information, there was no activity coming from Otis. Formally known as Joint Base Cape Cod, most people knew it as Otis Air National Guard Base, or just Otis. Covering 22,000 acres on the Upper Cape, it was home to Camp Edwards, a National Guard training complex. Otis also housed a Coast Guard Air Station, an Air Force facility, and other training groups. Despite the large area, the population of the base had dwindled significantly over the years from budget cuts and realignments. Otis had several airstrips, and during the 9/11 crisis, Cape residents could hear the jets taking off like clockwork every day for months. When they reassigned all of the jets to other bases, noise from the base had become only an occasional event.
Today the base was quiet. No military jets or cargo planes bringing supplies, and no helicopters. The only news coming from the base was that they had announced they were opening it to any displaced tourists. Anyone driving or walking to the base would be allowed in and they would also send trucks out to collect those who needed a place to stay and had no transportation.
While that was all good news, it didn't answer the questions on most people's lips: What were the authorities doing to protect everyone, and how were they going to get all the nonresidents off the Cape? And after the hurricane hit, it might be more than just the tourists who would have to be relocated.
By 10:30 the rumblings started on the air. Reporters were well aware that the lack of information was troubling those on the Cape. More importantly, it was affecting their credibility as the source for news. No news station wanted to be the last to report what was really going on. It started as hints by reporters that they were being instructed not to ask certain questions. Once the ice was broken, others became more bold, insisting that something much larger was at stake and demanding that the governor address the situation on air. Finally, a press conference was hastily set up over the objections of the president and shortly before noon, this announcement was made by the Governor:
"This will be a short statement and I will not answer any questions. Yesterday, as you all know, this country—this state—once again became the target of terrorists. Several hundred people were killed when the bridges to Cape Cod fell as a result of bombs planted by the terrorists. Panic by the citizens of the Cape and those who were on vacation there led to a night of violence that resulted in several more deaths. With the ferry docks and airport both disabled, transporting people off the Cape is an option not available to us at the moment, and we ask those stuck on the Cape to be patient. Joint Base Cape Cod was not attacked, and the logical questions have been asked of why we haven't sent aircraft in."
The Governor shifted uncomfortably at the podium.
"We have been in contact with the terrorists. At this time I am not at liberty to tell you who they are or their reasons behind this barbaric attack. What I can tell you is that they have made threats that they will commit an atrocity worse than yesterday's if we attempt to bring in the military or try to land planes at the base, even for the purpose of evacuating people. Judging by what they have already accomplished, the FBI tells us we have to take their threat seriously. We will be able to make airdrops of food and water in the coming days, and we will do so aggressively. We are well aware of the situation and feel a tremendous amount of compassion for everyone dealing with it there. We are also following the track of Hurricane Chad with great concern and will keep everyone up to date on its progress. Our emergency management team is on the job round the clock making preparations for keeping everyone safe."
He stopped and looked directly into the camera. His frustration at the situation was reflected in his face. He seemed to go off-script at this point.
"I understand your fear and I feel your pain. I also know that the information I've just given you doesn't answer your questions, and for that I apologize. It's a delicate situation that dictates our discretion when talking about it. I ask that you trust me when I say that your health and safety is our number one priority. As soon as I have any more information, I will pass it on. Good luck and God bless."
Not surprisingly, instead of calming the people of Cape Cod, the Governor's speech had the opposite effect. The questions flew: What was the threat the terrorists were holding over the government? What could be so serious as to halt any attempt to come to their aid? "Good luck and God bless" seemed like a defeated response. The prevailing thought was that it had to be a nuclear weapon. With that in mind, what was once an overwhelming fear had turned into total, debilitating terror.
Chapter 23
Ann Lawrence hadn't slept a wink. She had done the neighborly thing by allowing Joe Doyle to spend the night, but now he had to go. Having another person in her house—a complete stranger no less—was frightening. She heard him on his phone shortly after she had gone into her room. She tried to hear what he was saying, but her hearing wasn't what it once was. He was whining about something and she heard him say he was stuck on the Cape. She also heard him say that something wasn't fair. But that was about it. After he hung up, he was quiet for the rest of the night, but it didn't help her sleep any better. Now it was after seven and she was trying to figure out what to offer him for breakfast before kicking him out. She usually had a bowl of oatmeal, but somehow he struck her as a bacon and eggs kind of guy. Well, she had eggs, but he'd have to forego the bacon.
The breaking news just a few moments earlier was a relief to her. Otis had opened up for refugees, and Joe Doyle definitely fit the profile of a refugee. She could drive him to the center of Truro and he could wait for the truck or bus or whatever they were using to pick people up and she'd be done with him. Maybe tonight she'd get a good night's sleep.
If he was at least an interesting person—well-read or well-travelled—it wouldn't be such a dreadful experience. But he seemed so common. She realized how that sounded in her head. Snobby. Hey, she was eighty. She could afford to be snobby. Besides, it wasn't snobbery at all. She was happy to talk to anyone, and often did. It didn't matter if it was a millionaire or a homeless person, she was always happy to talk. Doyle was different, though. It was like he was hiding something.
She opened the door to her bedroom and walked into the kitchen. She looked over at Doyle on the couch. He was sitting up and looked terrible. He didn't look like he had slept at all either.
"Good morning," she said, trying to put a little enthusiasm into her voice—enthusiasm she certainly didn't feel. "Would you like some coffee?"
"That would be fine, thank you."
"How about some oatmeal or eggs?"
"No thank you. I'm not very hungry." In fact, he was starved, but after discovering the item in the bag with the money, he felt like throwing up.
"Suit yourself. I just heard on TV that they've opened up the base to refugees. I think you fall into that category. I'd be happy to drive you into Truro. They are sending busses out to gather people."
"Ann," said Doyle, hoping that the use of her first name would soften her up, "if you don't mind, I'd rather just stay here. I have plenty of money on me and can pay you for your hospitality—in cash."
"I appreciate that Mr. Doyle…"
"Please call me Joe."
"Okay, Joe. Please understand that I'm used to living alone. Having a guest here—especially someone I don't know—just wouldn't work."
"Please?"
"I'm sorry." Ann felt horrible turning him away, but she just couldn't have him staying there. "I'll drive you into town when you're ready."
Doyle got up off the couch. "Ann, you're a real nice lady, and that was nice of you to let me stay the night, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that I stay a while longer."
Ann was speechless for a moment. How dare he say that.
"Mr. Doyle, I'm going to have to ask you to leave … right now. You scare me with talk like that."
"Not as much as with this." Doyle pulled out his gun. Ann gasped and pulled back against the sink.
"I … I don't understand," she said. "I let you stay here the night."
"And I really appreciate it. I just need to stay a while longer."
"If you want to rob me, feel free, but I don't have much to rob." She was regaining a little courage, but not much. "You are welcome to take my Jeep."
"And where would I go? I'm not going to hurt you if you cooperate. You're a nice person, but you don't understand. I'm safer here."
"But I'm not, not with you here. You're pointing a gun at me. I have enough to worry about. I don't need to deal with a gun." And then she thought of the words he used, and asked, "Safer here from what?"
"None of your business." And then thinking that he'd be better off trying to be friendly, he said, "I'm sorry. There are some people looking for me. No, not the police. If they find me, they'll kill me. I'm safe out here in the sticks. They'd never think to look here."
"And if they do? Then I'm dead too." Now she was just mad.
"They won't."
"My niece calls me a few times a day," a slight exaggeration. "If she can't get through, she'll call the police." That was also not quite accurate. The other item she heard on the news that morning was that the phones were down—landlines and cell phones. Everything was overloaded and they all finally crashed during the night. The authorities had no idea when phone service would resume. No time soon, for sure.
"Then you'll have to convince her that you are fine. But I think you know as well as I do that it's not an issue. I turned on the news too. We are both aware that the phones are down." He realized that his call to Murphy the night before might have been one of the last calls out. In retrospect, he might have been happier not knowing that Flint was aware he didn't make it off the Cape. Ignorance was bliss. Ignorance would also get him killed. No, it was better that he knew. "Seriously, you have nothing to be afraid of. I have no reason to hurt you. I just really need to stay here. Maybe we can even get along. I'm not a bad guy."
Ann was stunned. She had never experienced anything like this. She was being held captive in her own house, and with no way to warn people. She thought of Officer Parker. Normally he would make one more attempt the day before the hurricane to convince her to go to a shelter, but she couldn't count on that this time. She heard on the news all that had gone on yesterday. He'd have his hands full. It would be a waste of time coming out to an old lady who he knew would refuse to move. Better to put his attention on one of the countless other emergencies.
The fact was, she was stuck with Doyle. In fact, he hadn't seemed like a bad guy at all, just not very interesting. Bad guy or not, he had forced his way into her life and she resented that. There had to be something she could do. And then she remembered the gun. She had put it in the drawer next to her bed to keep it close after her experience in the supermarket parking lot. She would bide her time, and when it was right, she'd give Doyle the surprise of his life. In the meantime, she had to make him think she was accepting of the situation.
"You say you're not a bad guy, but you also told me that people were wanting to kill you. How does that make sense?"
"I robbed some money from a crook. The guy is bad news. He deserved to get robbed."
"And you deserved to be the one to rob him?"
"Something like that."
"So what you're telling me is that you are a good guy because you robbed the bad guy? Do you know how stupid that sounds?"
"Hey, don't forget I have the gun," said Doyle, stung by Ann's comment.
"A gun you won't use on me." Doyle started to object, but Ann put her hand up to stop him. She had calmed down considerably and was looking at the situation logically, as she did with most situations in life. "You may think I'm just some old lady you can frighten by waving a gun around—which you can, by the way. But what people your age—what are you, 37 … 38?" He nodded. "What you don't get is that people like me were once your age. I actually remember what I was doing at 37. We may move a bit slower, but we have a lifetime of experiences behind us. So I can take one look at you and figure you out because I've met lots of people like you."
Doyle didn't say anything, so she continued.
"The fact is, you're a punk. You say you're not a bad guy, but that's bullshit." She figured a swearword from an old lady would help make her point. "You're a two-bit loser. You're lazy and not willing to work for your money. Maybe this man you robbed is really a crook, but I can bet he's not the first person you robbed. You had to work your way up to him by preying on people like me. How many honest people did you rob or scam, or whatever it is you usually do, to get to this point? I bet you've been doing this since you were a teenager. Have you ever held a real job?"
"None of your business, lady."
"I'm not 'Ann' anymore? I can see the real you is coming out now…"
"Yeah, I've had real jobs," he said, interrupting her. "They just didn't pay enough. I don't want to go through life wondering what it would be like having money…"
"And look at you," she interrupted right back. "I don't know how much you stole, but you're scared to death that he's going to find you and kill you. Are you enjoying it yet?"
Sometimes Ann liked being old. She could see right through people and tell them, and couldn't care less what they thought.
"Okay, so maybe I'm not such a great guy. The fact is, they won't find me here and when I get off the Cape I'm heading for a Caribbean island and live the way I want. So just shut the fuck up."
Ann, anger mounting, was thinking of the gun in her bedroom. She didn't know if she could really use it on someone, but if things continued at its current pace, she might just find out.
Chapter 24
A little after noon on the 6th, people were thinking clearly … in a desperate sort of way. The Governor's speech managed to make people believe that they had to get off the Cape any way they could. The bridges were down, so cars were out; the airport was damaged, so planes were out; and the ferries were disabled and the ferry docks were destroyed. That left small boats. It was only the larger docks—large enough for ferries and Coast Guard vessels—that were gone. All of the smaller docks and berths were still there. The answer was to hire a small boat, or appeal to a boater's generosity, to take them to Boston, Plymouth, Fall River, Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, or wherever the hell they wanted to take them, just so they were off the Cape.
A good idea, for sure, but not if tens of thousands of other people had the same idea. The swarms of people heading for the docks from Bourne to Provincetown actually began long before the Governor's speech. By noon the rain was still coming down and the harbor areas were clogged with frantic people, each hoping to catch a boat ride out of there. They quickly realized upon arriving that their great plan had no chance of working. There were no boats.
The minute the bridges came down, boat owners up and down the Cape knew that they had the means to escape both the terrorists and the hurricane. While everyone else was running to the stores, the gas stations, and in circles, private boat owners quietly headed down to the harbors with their families and maybe their close friends (if space warranted it). They had gathered precious few belongings knowing that time was their enemy. If they waited too long, they might get to the harbor and find their boats gone.
Not all boats were in the water. Many were still sitting on racks in the boatyards. Boatyard owners, or in some cases their fast-thinking employees, made it down to the boatyards to help people get their boats out—for a price, of course. Nobody on either side quibbled about price. The boatyard people always started their requests high, but not all of the boat owners had a lot of ready cash on them. Some paid as much as five or six hundred dollars to get their boat in the water, while others got away with paying thirty or forty dollars. Still, not all went smoothly. Some boats were hijacked once they were in the water. Some of the boaters and virtually all of the boatyard employees had guns, so some of the potential hijackers ended up face first in the water. In the haste to get boats in the water quickly, some toppled from the forklifts and crashed to the ground, ending those families' escape plans. The people who owned boats on the Cape, but who weren't there that weekend, were both lucky and unlucky. While they didn't have to deal with the situation on the Cape and could watch it all on TV from the comfort of their off-Cape homes, they also lost their boats to theft. In the long run, and considering all that was happening, they were more than willing to sacrifice their boats.
So by noon on Monday the harbors were almost empty. In many cases, near-empty boats and their owners were sitting in the middle of the harbor looking in dismay at the bedlam on the docks. Some had tried to make money on the deal, selling seats to the highest bidder. Others had a more noble purpose and were willing to ferry people for no charge. Both ideas failed. Every time they got close to the docks, the crowds would stampede toward them, causing them to head back out to the middle. Some people jumped off the docks in the hope of swimming out to the waiting boats. However, there were so many swimmers and the water was so choppy from the rain and wind, the boaters finally left the harbor altogether, in their near-empty and half-empty boats, for fear of getting swamped.
When they could, the boaters picked up individuals in the water who were far from the crowds of swimmers. As long as they felt it was safe to do so, they were happy to help. If they picked up someone particularly obnoxious or demanding, the person went back into the water—not voluntarily. One boat picked up a man in his twenties who stood up in the stern of the boat and did a little dance and gave the finger to the crowds on shore in an "I made it and you didn't" gesture. The man and his finger were helped back into the water by all of the other passengers.
When the news helicopters sent video back to their stations showing the scene at the harbors, emergency management personnel scratched one idea off their list. Someone had come up with a plan to send a flotilla of private boaters down to pick up stranded Cape Codders. While they knew it would be a slow process, it seemed like a viable plan until they saw the video.
