The First Step, page 5
“Local color?”
“More like the beating heart of this place. He’s the last in a long line of sailors—mostly fisherman, but a few who ran moonshine in the day.” Zach typed something into his computer, then turned the screen to show Reed an article with an August 1996 date up top.
Captain Martin “Marty” Gaines welcomed home in a ceremony at city hall. The mayor and members of the city council declared yesterday, August 5, 1996, to be Captain Marty Day in Wilmington, North Carolina. Veronica Lewis and the local chapter of the Society of the Colonial Dames of the American Revolution sponsored a crab boil on Market Street, and the Wilmington High School band entertained the crowd.
“Nice sendoff,” Reed said after he scanned the remaining few paragraphs of the article. “Is Captain Marty still around?”
“His wife passed a few years back. His son lives in California. I don’t think they were on very good terms. Last I heard, he wasn’t doing very well. He’s been at Stately Pines—it’s a nursing facility about a mile outside town.” He tilted his head to one side. “You lookin’ to interview him about the pilots?”
“Sort of. Someone mentioned he was the reason my pilot got into the business.”
“Your pilot?”
Reed nodded. “Maybe that’s taking too much ownership over him,” he joked. “His boss offered him up as a sacrificial lamb. Probably because he didn’t want to deal with me himself. Maybe you know him. Justin Vance?”
He shook his head. “Name sounds familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“I searched the internet, but I only found him listed on the Wilmington Cape Fear Pilots website. Nothing else. He’s about thirty-four. Says he grew up Down East, but I couldn’t get much more out of him.”
“Let me see if I’ve got anything on our database. We haven’t been online for very long, but I got some help from a UNC-W journalism major, and we’ve got a cross-referenced list of stories from the past fifteen years.” Zach typed Justin’s name into the computer, scrolled down, then looked up at Reed. “I knew I remembered that name.” He clicked something and the printer hummed.
“What did you find?”
“Look for yourself.” Zach handed him two sheets of paper.
“YOU’RE NOT going to believe this,” Reed told his editor that evening. “The pilot who I’ve been interviewing? He was there four months ago when another pilot was seriously injured during a transfer.”
“A what?” Cal asked.
“A pilot transfer. That’s where these guys get on and off the big ships in the middle of the ocean.”
“I thought they took helicopters.”
“Good thing you’re not writing the story.”
“Smartass.” Cal chuckled. “So how do they get from one boat to the other?”
“At least around here, they use rope ladders. They used to call them Jacob’s Ladders.”
“Seriously? Rope ladders?”
“Yeah.” In photos he’d seen, the ladders on the big boats looked much like the ladders Reed had climbed as a kid in sailing camp. Back then, falling off them had been half the fun.
“Interesting.”
“I looked up the stats. There are least a few injuries and even deaths each year.” Reed glanced back at the printouts spread all over his bed. “Most of the deaths involve experienced guys. Half the time they’re doing this in the middle of the night. If the ladder’s slippery, they can fall, and in the darkness, it’s hard to spot them. A few of the guys were killed when their own pilot boat ran over them after they fell.”
“And your guy? Vance, was it?”
“Apparently Justin was there when one of his colleagues fell. The newspaper article says there were ten-foot seas and wind gusts around thirty knots—thirty-four or thirty-five miles an hour,” Reed said. “This colleague hit his head and was unconscious for a few days. His pelvis was shattered, and he broke a few ribs when he hit the side of the pilot boat. Sounds like he was lucky.”
“That’s lucky?” Cal asked.
“He’s alive. He’s in rehab, but it’s not clear if he’ll ever go back to work.”
“Must’ve been tough for your pilot to watch. Have you asked him about it?” Cal pressed. “Might be a good angle for the story.”
“I just found out a few hours ago, but I will.” Reed didn’t expect that conversation would go any better than the others. “He’s not exactly a conversationalist.”
“Then you need to make him one. You know the drill with any subject—they need to trust you if you expect them to open up.”
“You don’t have to remind me.” Dinner the night before had definitely helped—by the end, Justin wasn’t quite as tight-lipped. But he wasn’t going to be an easy person to get to open up.
“How about the GenX story?”
Yeah, that. “I still need some photos of pleasure fishermen for the piece,” Reed said. “I’ve got a boat booked tomorrow. I’ll take some photos of the pilot boats while I’m out there.” He had less than a week left to wrap both stories, so he’d changed the location of the shoot to Southport to save time.
“Fine. I read through the outline you sent, and it looks good. Once you have a draft, I’ll have the feature editor review to make sure it’s what they want. Can you get that to me by tomorrow night?”
That would mean finishing the draft tonight. He’d order room service and spend the rest of the day writing. If it meant impressing the big boss, he’d keep his head down and get the job done right. “Sure. Oh, and thanks for reaching out to Zach Caldwell.”
“He get you set up?” Cal asked.
“Even better. He handed me a file on the pilots.”
“Good. They don’t get much better than that guy.” Cal’s voice vibrated with something approaching reverence.
“You know him?”
“Yeah. Worked with him years ago,” Cal confirmed. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize his name. He used to be an anchor on the local New York affiliate.”
Reed thought for a moment, and then it hit him. “He’s that Zach Caldwell.” Of course Reed had heard of him. He just hadn’t made the connection. With his beard, Zach looked nothing like the young anchor he remembered.
“That’s the one.”
Left the limelight for the beach, huh? Interesting. And a story for another day. Reed had more stories than he could handle at the moment. “Night, boss man.”
“I’m expecting that draft soon,” Cal said.
“Yep. That you are.” Reed disconnected the call. He’d write for a few more hours, then get a little sleep.
Chapter Eight
REED LET the camera hang around his neck as he waved to Ellis, the captain of the small center-cockpit fishing boat he’d hired to take him out on the river near Southport. He sighed and inhaled the slightly salty air as he eyed Bald Head Island in the distance. Here, the Cape Fear looked like a small bay, surrounded as it nearly was by Southport, Oak Island, and Bald Head. On a Sunday with a steady wind, barely a cloud in the sky, and a warm sun overhead, a ton of boats were headed onto the ocean.
“Ready to move closer to the inlet?” Ellis asked as Reed stepped off the bow and sat inside the boat. “Should be good weather for some shots of fishing boats headin’ out to the ocean.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” Reed watched as a charter boat passed between Bald Head Island and Jay Bird Shoals on its way through the inlet to the Atlantic Ocean. “Where does the Cape Fear River end?”
“You’re lookin’ at it,” Ellis answered. “That there’s the cape.” He pointed to the island in front of them.
“Bald Head?”
“Bald Head’s part of the cape.” He gestured to the land to their left and right. “This here’s the rest of it.”
“How did the river get its name?” Reed had done the research, but he wanted to know what a local knew about it.
“Way back, there was an expedition,” Ellis said as they slowed off the shore near Oak Island. “They got stuck near Frying Pan Shoals, up around the other side of the island. Thought they’d wreck. Story goes the men were afraid, so they named it Cape Fear. Lots of wrecks this way too.”
“Sounds like they picked the right name.” Reed smiled.
“Reckon they did.” Ellis smiled and pointed to the first marker for the channel that led to the ocean. “You’ll get a good view here. There’s a lot a current, though, so it’s a little hard to keep ’er in one place.”
“No problem.” Reed double-checked his camera and climbed onto the bow again. A boat came by them, moving quickly toward the inlet. The little boat rocked from side to side, and Ellis compensated. “Kind of like surfing up here,” Reed joked.
“Might be safer if you stand inside the boat.” Ellis looked a little worried.
“I’m fine.” Reed tapped his lifejacket and smiled back at Ellis. “I’ve got pretty good balance, and it’ll just be a few minutes.” He lifted the camera to focus and snapped a few photos of the shoals to their right, then zoomed in and took a couple of the channel markers. Several gulls sat atop one of them, watching the water. Reed guessed they were waiting for the sun to set before looking for dinner.
He aimed the lens at a small boat working its way through the channel, fighting the waves. “The inlet looks pretty rough.”
“Tide’s going out. Makes for an excitin’ ride if you’re comin’ in ’round now.” Ellis shrugged. “There’s a whole lotta current ’round here. If you time it right, it gives you a nice boost. Like havin’ a supercharged motor.”
“Sounds fun.” Reed took aim at a fishing boat coming in behind the smaller boat—exactly the photo he’d been hoping for. He took three or four shots, then turned his attention to Bald Head Island, where a beautiful sailing vessel was headed out from the marina. He snapped a few shots of the boat as it turned toward them and motored toward Southport.
“Sure wish I could spend the day sailing,” he told Ellis. “Nice breeze. Clear day. Just the kind of day to—”
“Hang on!” Ellis shouted. A small motorboat whizzed by them, causing their boat to rock and roll. Reed managed to maintain his balance as Ellis did his best to compensate.
“Thanks, Ellis,” Reed said. “For a minute there I thought I might be swimming back to the—”
Shit. Reed saw the wake right before it hit the side of their boat. He tried to counterbalance and jump into the cockpit, but another wake hit the boat’s bow. He splashed into the water, surfacing an instant later thanks to the life vest.
“Reed!” Ellis tossed a rope toward him. “Grab on to that and I’ll pull you in!”
Reed reached for the rope, but the current was already pulling him away from the boat and toward the inlet. No problem. I’m a good swimmer. I’ll head back to the boat.
He kicked and tried to use his arms, something made far more difficult by the flotation device. He dropped the camera—he hadn’t even realized he was still holding it—letting it hang on the strap. It’d be fine with its waterproof case. He, on the other hand, wasn’t doing as well. He kicked and kicked against the current, but he couldn’t even manage to stay in place against it. It was worse than trying to walk into a wave at the beach.
Ellis turned the boat around and headed toward him, tossing the rope once again. Reed struggled to reach the rope, making it within about ten feet before the current pulled him farther toward the inlet and the shoals. Without the life vest, he’d be sinking about now. He was already exhausted.
Not exactly my idea of a day on the water.
In front of him, the sailboat he’d been drooling over just minutes before passed within about fifty feet. Someone shouted, “Grab on!” and a big yellow float flew through the air, landing in the water about twenty feet away.
No way. Even working as hard as he’d been, he hadn’t even managed to stay in one place, let alone make progress away from the inlet. He turned to see the first channel marker just yards away.
This is really bad. The sailboat’s captain shouted something to Ellis, who waved and appeared to back off.
“Reed!”
For a moment Reed wondered if he was hearing things, then realized the sailboat captain had just called his name. He wiped the water from his eyes. Not fucking possible.
LEILA SAT at Justin’s side as he steered out of the Bald Head Island Marina and onto the Cape Fear River. Justin waved at the Bald Head Island Ferry as it passed him on its way to the ferry landing, then turned toward Southport. They’d sailed out of Masonboro Inlet that morning, spending the entire time sailing a stiff northeasterly wind. At two in the afternoon and still a balmy ninety degrees, the breeze off the water felt really good on his face.
They’d stopped at Bald Head to fill up with diesel and give Leila a bathroom break. The passage through the inlet had been really rough, but Justin always enjoyed the thrill of riding the waves. With sunset at seven thirty that night, they’d take their time and head upriver on the ICW back to Carolina Beach.
He spotted the small center-console boat a few hundred yards from the beach near Fort Caswell, on the tip of Oak Island that faced the inlet. Someone stood on her bow, holding what looked to be a camera.
Reed. It had to be. Who else would be so precariously perched on the edge of the ICW, taking photographs? At least Reed was wearing a life jacket.
Justin chuckled and turned to Leila. “Guy’s a complete idiot, isn’t he?”
As if on cue, a powerboat zoomed by, rocking the little boat several times. Throughout it all, Reed managed to stay on his feet. Then another boat sent a much larger wake toward Reed’s boat, and Justin watched as Reed tumbled off his perch into the water.
Justin wanted to laugh, but he knew this area too well. The tide was now fully on the retreat. Reed was riding it on a one-way trip out to the ocean, and the waves were huge out there. The water wasn’t too cold this time of year, but the shoals were dangerous, and if he made it to the open sea, it’d be nearly impossible to find him.
“Damn.” He took a quick look around. Other than the little boat Reed had come from, there weren’t any vessels nearby. “Leila. Go below.”
Leila jumped onto the deck from her perch and headed inside. Justin had trained her to stay out of the way when he was working the lines on deck. If they got any closer to the inlet, things would get rough—he didn’t need her falling in the water as well.
Justin grabbed a flotation device and fastened it around his waist, then opened the Lifesling that hung on the side of the boat. He pulled the C-shaped yellow float from the bag and ran to the bow. The boat Reed had fallen from had run aground near Oak Island. Now Justin’s boat was the only game in town.
“Grab on!” Justin shouted. The float landed close to where Reed had been, but with the current, he was already another twenty feet or so toward the inlet.
Shit, shit, shit. He’d done this drill more times than he could count, but not in conditions this dangerous. In another minute or two Reed would be washed out to where the waves were really high. He’d need to get the tether or he might get separated from his boat, and they’d both be screwed.
Justin pocketed the wireless autopilot and retrieved a harness and tether from his emergency stash, then pulled the harness over his shoulders and clipped it shut. Keeping Reed in his sights, he climbed onto the foredeck and attached the tether to one of the chrome railings. At least if he did fall over, he wouldn’t get separated from the boat. In the distance, Reed gasped and struggled as he was swept past the first channel marker.
“Reed!” Justin shouted as he steered a wide circle, all the while maneuvering to keep the Lifesling between him and Reed. Reed didn’t respond, but he was clearly struggling against the current and reaching for the float.
“Justin!” Reed waved his arms wildly.
Good. At least he’d gotten Reed’s attention. “I’m going to pull around you,” Justin called back. “Keep the Lifesling in view and grab on to it, okay?”
“Got it!”
Justin turned the boat again, careful to follow the current out toward the ocean so Reed wouldn’t slam into the side. He was so close to the shoals now that he held his breath, waiting for the telltale pull on the helm that would signal he’d run aground. But as he steered back toward the channel, the boat passed over the rocks without incident.
An instant later Reed managed to get a hand on the rope. Justin allowed the boat to move ever so slightly toward Reed. The moment Reed grabbed the float with both hands and pulled it over his head, Justin turned sharply back toward the river. They needed to get out of the channel and away from the inlet before Justin would be able to pull Reed aboard.
“Hang on!” Justin increased his speed and breathed a sigh of relief as Oak Island came into view on the boat’s port side, signaling they were beyond the shoals.
He maneuvered back toward Bald Head Island now, past the channel, into the harbor, and over toward the beach. It was shallower here—the depth meter read eight feet—but the current wasn’t quite as strong. He glanced back to reassure himself that Reed was still trailing behind the boat, then pressed the button on the windlass to drop the anchor.
Once sure the anchor had caught the bottom of the seabed, Justin ran to the stern and held the lever to lower the swim platform. He grabbed the Lifesling rope and climbed onto the platform a minute later, pulling Reed close until he was able to reach the step.
“Go slow,” Justin warned as Reed slipped off the step and back into the water. “You’ve been working your legs pretty hard. Let me pull you up.”
Reed nodded, and Justin grabbed the rope and pulled until he could reach the back of Reed’s flotation device and haul him aboard. Reed smiled weakly, tried to say something, then promptly collapsed onto the platform.
Chapter Nine
“REED? HEY, Reed?”
Opening his eyes was a lot harder than he’d expected. “Hey.” Justin’s very worried face slowly came into focus.
