Across the Border

By Glenn Swope

Many people arrive in country without going through normal channels, clearly-marked routes or official scrutiny. Certain parts of the country lend themselves to unusual methods of entry. Madelaine and Ian, arriving together but with separate missions, take a route that would almost seem normal, if the arrangements weren't made by a spy organization and a mob family. After they part, never to meet again, their paths cross and Madelaine learns that her quarry is connected to Ian's problem. While comparing notes, the attractive Madelaine discovers Ian is indeed handsome, as well as unattached. She worries about his intentions and fears her emotions. After a brush with death they discover they must each finish their now-closely-tied missions back in Italy. But passion fuels their desire to finish their jobs and see if they can carve out a future built upon their smoldering love. A return brings them closer to danger and death, and allows them a peek across another border which holds their future happiness

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenn Swope
• Release date: Feb 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985128227

Glenn Swope

After 40 years as a clergyman, Glenn Swope turned to theater in retirement, both as a professional actor and a theater critic. While writing has been his business, he only recently turned to novel-length writing. He has studied and taught coastal navigation, is a licensed small-plane pilot, and learned the human condition in years as a counselor and confidante. His wife, Carole, is a musician and teacher, and has written four books on teaching music. They have 5 children.

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Across the Border

By Glenn Swope

Copyright 2011 Glenn Swope

Published by CGS Arts Resources at Smashwords

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ACROSS THE BORDER

The Albin 40 Express Cruiser headed up the rock-bound coast of Maine, past Bar Harbor, headed for the Moosabec Reach. It went on the back side of Petit Manan Island, where one sees the unique 123 foot tall light house, visible from 26 miles at sea. One has to be careful over the Petit Manan Bar, and stay over to the southeast side or be sure you have a high tide to give more room.

The Moosabec Reach runs almost due east, a bit south, under the Beals Island Bridge into Chandler Bay. The 40 footer, drawing four feet, was searching for the Thoroughfare into the lagoon that creates Roque Island Bay. It’s a tricky little entrance, marked not by the Coast Guard, but by the locals, and one hopes the locals maintained the buoys they posted. There was absolutely no room for error. Many a cruiser had scraped bottom paint on some of the rocks, and more than a few had to have a propeller reconditioned when they got back home. It was a tough squeeze for the 40. The woman at the helm used the big twin engines to keep a proper course through the buoys. The bow thruster helped as well.

Once inside the lagoon, there is a beautiful and peaceful sight. An exquisite sugar white sand beach is on the north side of the lagoon. The rest is almost completely surrounded by an attractive ring of small granite islands with a few spruce trees on them. Signs invite boaters to land and use the beach --- and go no farther. It is a private island and the people who live there value their privacy. On occasion one will see one of the family’s children riding across the top of the dune on a horse. Other than that, no one is seen.

The woman at the helm of the Albin 40 had looked carefully at her chart so she would not go too far in toward the beach. After reaching a depth of about 19 feet at low tide, the bottom becomes hard. She also looked at the tide table and saw they were at about half tide and it was rising. Through the hailer’s speaker she told the man on the bow to let out about 125 feet of the chain anchor rode fastened to the big plow anchor, for a nearly five to one ratio of chain length to depth. She remembered to include the height of the bow into the mix. The chain allowed them to shorten the ratio they would have used with a nylon anchor line. When he had gotten the proper amount over the roller on the anchor platform and had it tied off, he signaled the helm. She carefully and slowly backed up until she felt the boat stop. The anchor was well set in the sand.

The man at the bow then began to let out some more chain, letting the boat drift astern. A man at the stern had prepared a smaller Danforth, a kedge anchor to tie on a cleat, primarily to keep the boat from swinging in the cove. The woman pulled forward to set the stern anchor, the bow chain was shortened. All was set; all was serene.

The FBI agents on Great Spruce Island watched all this from their carefully crafted hiding place. They had guessed right. The boat did come. An informant had told them about people coming in and out of the country via this lagoon. They had information that Roque Harbor was a frequent stop for this craft. They were concerned about illegal aliens they had heard of who came into the country by boat --- possibly this boat. And they had information that a friendly country was going to try to insert a spy into the United States. All they had to do was watch carefully for strange activity --- and swat mosquitoes. They saw two couples uncorking a couple of bottles of wine and eating some snacks. It was starting to get dark, so they assumed the party would move inside. The mosquitoes were not choosy about who they nibbled on.

The lights were on as they watched the two couples prepare for dinner, the women puttering around the galley and the men cooking meat of some kind on the little propane grill fastened to the stern rail where it came around to the port side. They could hear a faint stereo providing music and even saw one of the couples try to dance in what must have been a very small space in the galley/dining area. After dinner the lights were turned out in the boat’s interior and the party moved to the fly bridge to enjoy the beautiful night as a canopy of stars covered them, undiminished by ambient lights.

The agents did not see the two people move out of the aft cabin --- which was dark --- through the galley to the helm station and out the starboard door. They moved slowly. They were completely covered in black wet suits. Each carried a black waterproof pack and a mask and snorkel. There was no scuba equipment. The boat had been positioned so that anyone on Great Spruce Island would not see the activity on the starboard bow. The two individuals climbed quietly over the rail, using a boarding ladder, and slid almost noiselessly into the water. They swam silently to shore and emerged on the far eastern edge of the beach, found the trail which wound around that part of the island, below the dune, and emerged on the other side. They re-entered the water and swam a short distance to a lobster boat that was painted all black. Only one tiny flashlight guided them. They climbed aboard. The boat had come from the harbor at Mahone Bay, off the lower part of Nova Scotia, to pick them up --- and to allow the couple who had come from Nova Scotia on the boat to get into the water.

As the lobster boat prepared to leave, the second couple went over the side, found the right place to climb out by the light of a tiny flashlight left by the other couple and followed the trail to the lagoon. They saw no regular lights on the Albin cruiser but, hanging down from the side, at the ladder, was a tiny flashlight, their only guide. They knew they were supposed to climb aboard, go through the darkened cabin, and go into the blacked-out aft cabin and shed their wet suits and get into their own clothes from the packs they carried.

The man and the woman were aware that they needed to forego modesty and dress in the small cabin without concern for their partner. They found on the sofa bed a double sleeping bag and pillows, towels to dry off after their swim, a small head where they could wash up, and a place to hang their clothes for the night. They couldn’t be squeamish about sleeping in the same bed: this was all the room they had. They looked thoughtfully at one another but were too tired to consider anything else, so they climbed into bed in their underwear and almost immediately went to sleep.

When the folks on the fly bridge determined the transfer had been successfully made, they ended their party up top and headed into the salon. Turning on the lights to see their way, they put away their party supplies and prepared for bed. One couple slept in the salon which was converted to a double bed. One couple slept in the main cabin forward. Lights were extinguished. They were set for the night. The agents on Great Spruce Island were positive something must have transpired, but they had no idea what really went on.

In the morning the 40 footer left the lagoon --- carefully --- since the tide was much lower. They didn’t want to go through the Moosabec Reach too fast, at least until they passed Petit Manan light. It was, as the natives say, Thick'a fog. Past 'Tit Manan they swung out to sea and opened up the twin 370 horsepower Yanmar diesels and quickly headed for their next meeting point.

BORDERS

Borders exist between countries all over the world. Some are formidable, carefully patrolled by armies. Some are mere surveyed lines agreed upon between two sovereign countries. Some are a combination: a trail cut through a forest, with some of the line marked by painted stakes or pipes, with occupied guard houses peopled by border patrols at convenient crossings. The United States has a combination of formal and informal boundaries and crossings, some easy to penetrate.

Several of the boundaries established by treaty are imaginary lines at sea defined by latitude and longitude and GPS, the global positioning system. If they are patrolled it is by sparse coast guards who can’t do it all. The United States Coast Guard provides a formidable force, particularly in the Caribbean, between the U. S. and Haiti or Cuba. But with all the coves on the Maine Coast and the coast of Nova Scotia, it is difficult to tell who legally comes and goes. While alien boats are supposed to fly the quarantine flag, and meet with an officer from customs, it is difficult to control.

Such were the conditions for this trip. Mahone Bay was a unique place, with comfortable, if modest, accommodations in the local inn and the opportunity to relax in the bay-side hot tub inside a glassed-in green house and wait for the appointed time. Slipping out at night, the party could follow the trail around the small bay which allowed boats to get into the town of Mahone. They could quickly suit up in a little grove near the shore, slip into the water, and look for a tiny light which identified the boat, swim to the other side, and climb the boarding ladder. The boat would head southwest awhile to avoid Cape Sable, at the end of Nova Scotia, the graveyard of ships, and head through the islands very close to Machias, Maine, to its position off Roque Island.

The couple who came ashore in Mahone Bay wandered the same trail to the inn, after shedding their wet suits and putting on regular clothes. They had a key card for the hotel door which they were given on board the lobster boat. They entered the appointed room. Then they donned swim suits, grabbed the robes from the clothes closet, and headed for the hot tub. The key to a car was on the night table. The next day they would wander out to the car and head east to Halifax, where they would board a plane to Toronto, then to Iceland and Europe, and go their separate ways.

THE OTHER END OF THE LINE

The Albin needed to find the right landing point in Maine. Portland was a choice, but it was tricky. The only busy place was a marina which had a huge former ferry that housed a popular restaurant. Wandering up into the Old Port would make finding transportation easy. But Portland would be under surveillance. In Penobscot Bay there were better choices. Belfast would be a good place, or Rockland. But the slower pace in these towns would make strangers quite obvious.

Camden was a busy port, filled with tourists from all over. If