Carr’s Pt.

Team Leader Vasyl checked his watch as he steered the 47 ft. sailing yacht Angel through Rosario Strait past the approach to Anacortes. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon, some three and a half hours since he and his team had commandeered the vessel and dispatched its crew. He knew they were now in the closest proximity to a land-based US Customs and Border Protection station they’d be at any time during the remainder of their mission. “Viktor, keep a special eye out for a CBP pursuit vessel,” Vasyl shouted, worried that somehow the authorities might possibly have learned something that would give them reason to intercept and board the yacht. Should that occur, Vasyl knew, their only recourse would be to claim—whatever the CBP might have heard—that theirs was simply a routine bare-boat charter. How that would play out would determine whether Project Mt. Olympus could even be launched. Borys and Andriy, surprised by Vasyl’s shout, rushed topside from belowdecks where they’d been taking inventory of their equipment. “Just a ‘head’s up’ to Viktor…didn’t mean to alarm you two,” said Vasyl. “You think we should repack the equipment and rig the duffel for jettisoning overboard just as a precaution?” asked Borys, clearly worried despite Vasyl’s reassuring tone. Vasyl thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Probably not a bad idea…let’s give ourselves another hour of sailing before we conclude we’re not likely to have aroused the interest of the authorities.” “See to it, Andriy,” said Borys. “I’ll remain on deck…it’ll give Vasyl another pair of eyes helping Viktor on look out.” Andriy nodded then silently stepped through the companionway and descended belowdecks. * * * After the hour had passed with no sign of either a Coast Guard vessel or one of the CBP’s distinctive orange-clad helicopters the team began to relax. They had just cleared the southeastern corner of Lopez Island, visible in the distance off their starboard side, and were gearing up for a straight run to Port Townsend some 24 nautical miles due south. Viktor relieved Vasyl at the helm so that he could join Borys in the cabin below for a strategy meeting. Vasyl knew the two-person intelligence team led by Borys was getting nervous and needed to be reassured. Neither man had spent any time at sea whereas both Vasyl and Viktor had served in the navy where they’d received special training in small boat handling and marine commando tactics. For Vasyl, the idea of using the pretext of a bare-boat charter to insert counter intelligence personnel into a locale where inquisitive strangers were likely to come under scrutiny made perfect sense; it was a novel tactic, he knew, and one he believed would put Borys and Andriy above suspicion. Borys and Andriy were already seated in the cabin lounge when Vasyl climbed down the companionway ladder. Before joining them, he went over to the navigation station and secured a pad of paper and a pen. He nodded a preemptory greeting then chose a low stool across from the settee, one where he could more comfortably access the low coffee table that lay between them. Borys and Andriy watched as Vasyl began to sketch. “This is how it’ll work,” said Vasyl as he slid the drawing over to Borys and Andriy, “Carr’s Pt. Marina was dredged out of tidal shallows east of Main Street and south of Ninth Street…there,” he added, pointing to the sketch. “A breakwater protects the marina from strong weather and limits the amount of sediment the tides can bring in. Satellite photos have shown that the tie-up docks are fairly short and positioned close together. Presumably, this was done to ensure the marina could accommodate a maximum number of boats. But in adopting that design the builders were forced to limit the size of boats eligible to use the marina. I’m guessing the largest vessel that can comfortably maneuver and tie up would probably be a 36 footer. Paradoxically, that’s why we chose to commandeer a vessel significantly larger than that.”