Terror at South Point

By Wayne A. Tanguay

The State of Maine. Quiet. Laid back. The mecca of many tourists from many of the northeastern cities and states. Some of these people come to Maine for the pristine scenery, the boating, the camping, the seafood, or just to get away from it all. However, for one small Maine community, a few undesirables enter the state with ulterior motives. A mysterious and alarming chain of events start to occur at a small Southern Maine marina during their short summer season. Many of the veteran charter captains at the marina begin to see a pattern in a strange series of events. Serious questions start to emerge when local and federal authorities become involved. When asked, the authorities offer no explanations other than the fact that there is an ongoing investigation. After the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, many of the transportation laws and rules were tightened by the federal government. These new rules went into effect for all forms of transportation, including water travel in harbors. Undaunted by these new restrictions and with the help of some key people at both the police department and Coast Guard, the charter captains decide to take matters into their own hands to protect their seaside community and their harbor from what might be a suspected act of terrorism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503567511

Wayne A. Tanguay

Wayne Tanguay is the son of a 1930s era pilot and federal game warden who patrolled many of the remote areas of Maine. Although raised in the Southern United States, Wayne made yearly visits to relatives living in Southern Maine. A 1969 University of Maine graduate with a degree in biology, he became interested in fresh- and saltwater ecology. Wayne finally relocated from Massachusetts to Maine in 1972. Living very close to the ocean, he purchased his first boat in 1975. Enjoying the ocean, he attained his one-hundred-ton master’s license around fifteen years ago and has cruised the Eastern Seaboard from the Montauk, New York, to the coast of Maine. At home on the ocean, he started fishing for lobsters and has held a lobster license since 1990. An avid salt- and freshwater fisherman, he started his own successful charter business around twenty years ago. Many of the stories and events that took place during those years inspired this story.

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CHAPTER 1

It was a warm, springlike day when Wayne Trottier left his home in Scarborough and headed for South Point Marina. He needed to get an early start to pull his strings of lobster traps that were set on the east side of Cushing Island. Weather forecast called for clear conditions, light southwest winds, and two-foot seas. It should be an ideal day for catching bugs (lobsters). Lobstering had been slow, but with the water warming up, he hoped to get a few hundred pounds on the Cushing Island haul. Winter had been tough. He had set some strings well off shore, but this season, the Portland area had been in the middle of a northeasterly jet stream, generating a storm about every other day. His thirty-foot lobster boat was constantly getting pounded in those offshore gales. Many times, it was just too rough to get off shore and pull the traps. In the winter and early spring, the wholesale prices were plenty high, but getting the bugs from off shore to market was grueling, time consuming, and dangerous. Still, many lobstermen did it just to pay the bills and make ends meet. Wayne had always looked forward to spring, warmer weather, and calmer conditions. In the last two weeks, he had set the final 100 traps by Ram Island. He had a total of 500 traps set in Casco Bay, and now, he hoped to start showing a profit. The May wholesale price was still around three dollars and fifty cents per pound, but he knew that it would be going down once all the lobster boats started setting traps. By mid-July, prices would have dropped to around two dollars and twenty-five cents per pound. He had 150 traps set outside of Cushing Island, 150 set on the outside of Peaks Island, 100 more set off of Cape Elizabeth, and the final group set outside of Richmond Island, south of Two Lights State Park. He stopped at Shirley’s Wholesale Bait Shop on in Portland, picked up a barrel of herring for bait, and made his way down Broadway toward the marina.

He stopped by the Corner Market for a hot tea, a coffee and continued past the vocational school, into the marina parking lot. His stern man for that day, Al Assad, had agreed to help him out on the first pull.

Usually, Wayne worked alone, but having an extra man would cut his time in half. He and Al had been close friends for a long time. They liked to get off shore fishing and just chew the fat—no worries, no phone calls. It was just plain peaceful being on the ocean and away from everyone.

Alan Assad had immigrated to the United States from Iran around twenty years ago. His real first name was Ali, but he found that using Al made it easier to assimilate in the United States. When he came to America, he knew very little English, but he attended and graduated from college in Bangor, Maine. He met his wife, Rhianna (Reni), while attending college and married her after graduation. She was a Houlton farm girl who attended the same business college. Together, they were very entrepreneurial and made a good team.

In Iran, Al worked in counterintelligence under the shah’s regime. When the shah was deposed, he was able to get out of the country just before the ayatollah took over. His parents, brother, and sisters remained in Iran, but one by one, over the years, he was able to arrange to get all of them relocated to the United States and to Canada. He never talked much about what he did while working for the Iranian authorities, but he had enough connections that enabled him to get his relatives out of the country.

Al was a bodybuilder, which made him ideal as a stern man. Rebaiting and lifting 150 four-foot lobster traps was not for the faint of heart. For him, lifting traps was a cakewalk, similar to lifting barbells. He had his own boat, the South Wind, which he also kept at South Point Marina. He was a tireless worker at his business. The boat gave him an outlet from the day-to-day work-related stresses.

He would sometimes bring his wife and daughter with him and just cruise the bay. His wife loved the boat, but his teenage daughter was beginning to be more interested in boys than being on the boat. Having a teenage girl in the house was starting to be a struggle for Al and Reni. The both knew that the next few years would be interesting to say the least. It was more difficult for Al. Reni grew up in the United States and understood that teenage girls went through a phase where boys were a big part of their life. Al, on the other hand, had strict Iranian parents. Many of the marriages in Iran were arranged by the parents, and the girls had no choice but to do as their parents wished. Al thought that any male suitor who came to see his daughter should first come to him to get his okay. Reni and Al were both struggling with this.

At the marina, Wayne went down the dock ramp and saw Al loading some gear on his own boat. It was the beginning of spring, and everyone was anxious to get their boats rigged and ready for the fishing season. Al waved and headed for the Katrina. Together they loaded the bait barrel on the boat.

After all the gear was stowed, Al said, Where’re we headin’ today, Cap.?

Out beyond Cushing, replied Wayne. Those strings have been soaking for three days. Hope the lobsters have found a home in some of them traps. How’s business been treating you?

It’s been slow of late, said Al. But things should pick up now that the warm weather’s here. If we can ever get out of this friggin’ cold weather, people might start getting out and about. Worst winter I’ve seen in a long time.

Amen to that, said Wayne. I still have two feet of snow in my yard at home. Probably won’t lose it all until mid-May. He added, I gotta get somewhere where it’s warm most of the year.

Yah, yah. Here we go again. You say that every year, replied Al. And every spring, you load all those traps on the truck, bring them to the marina, and put them back in the water. You’re a creature of habit, and I don’t see you ever leaving the good ole state of Maine.

Wayne just grinned and started up the engines.

After the gear was loaded, they headed out past Spring Point Light to the mouth of Portland Harbor where Wayne spotted the first orange and white trap (float).

Wayne attached the warp to the hauler and started pulling the first ten-trap string. Over the next three hours, they pulled, rebaited, and reset 150 traps. They landed around one hundred lobsters or around 125 pounds. If Wayne had pulled them alone, it would have taken him six hours to get the job done. He was grateful that Al was there. It was nice to be out with someone that enjoyed the ocean and boating in general.

Wayne commented, It doesn’t get any better than this!

Al nodded as he looked seaward toward Ram Island. As they were resetting the last string, Al noticed an outboard boat with a center console, about a half mile away. It was over by Ram Island, drifting toward them in the incoming tide.

Al pointed toward the Ram Island Lighthouse and said to Wayne, Look over there. Doesn’t look like there’s anyone in that boat. Where’s the binocs?

Below. I’ll get ’em for you, said Wayne.

Al looked through the glasses, scanning the boat and the surrounding water. I don’t see anyone, said Al. No one in the boat, and no one in the water. That’s kinda strange.

Guess we better have a look-see, said Wayne. Maybe it’s just a boat that’s come off its mooring.

As they headed toward the drifting boat, they noticed that there was no name on it or apparent registration on the bow.

Wayne pulled up alongside the craft. Al jumped in with some lines and secured the drifting boat to the Katrina. The boat was a nineteen-foot center console, powered by a 150-horsepower outboard. It had a two-way radio, a depth finder, and a GPS, all turned off.

Both Al and Wayne searched the boat and could find no identification as to who owned the craft. On the back deck of the boat, there was a dried red solution on the floor next to the motor housing, which looked to be transmission fluid although there was no apparent smell.

This sucks! said Wayne. Now I have to call the friggin’ Coast Guard. He added, I really need to get them lobsters over to the wholesaler at the Portland Exchange. Disgusted, he just said, Crap. Guess I gotta call them.

Wayne radioed, "Coast Guard, fishing vessel Katrina, channel 16, over."

On the radio, he heard, "Fishing vessel Katrina, this is the United States Coast Guard, Portland, Maine. Is this an emergency? Over."

No emergency, just found a boat adrift, replied Wayne.

Captain, switch and answer channel 22 alpha, replied the Coast Guard.

Wayne switched channels and explained that they found a boat adrift over by Ram Island and there was no one aboard. He gave them the GPS coordinates, identified the boat as nonregistered, and said that he was tied up alongside it. The Coast Guard asked them to stand by, and they would send one of the orange inflatables out to meet them.

Wayne offered to tow it back in to the base, but the Coast Guard insisted that he wait with the craft until they arrived. Disgusted, he agreed, knowing full well he had to do what they said. He also knew that he had to get the lobsters into market before they closed for the day.

I knew them assholes were going to make me wait for them, said Wayne. They better get here pretty soon, or I’ll tow the boat into South Point and they can pick it up there.

Easy there, Wayno. You can’t afford to cross the Coast Guard, said Al. They already have your boat info and will come lookin’ for you!

Wayne was just muttering under his breath and slamming gear around the boat.

You also better get that gun put away so they don’t see firearms when they board you. Al then smiled and said, They don’t take kindly to armed boaters.

I got a concealed permit for that! said Wayne, And I can carry it or put it wherever I want to. Maybe I oughta to strap it on! Reluctantly, Wayne took the pistol from the helm and stowed it below.

In around twenty minutes, they could see the orange inflatable approaching, so they waved their arms to get their attention. The Coast Guard craft pulled up on the outside of the abandoned boat and tied up to it. There were two people on the boat, Lieutenant Junior Grade Emily Watson and Seaman First Class Robert Curran. Curran operated the boat, and the lieutenant stood next to the helm watching Al and Wayne. She stared at Wayne, and he stared back at her. She finally said, Sir, are you the one who radioed about the abandoned boat?

Yep, said Wayne. He then thought, There are no other boats around. Doesn’t take a friggin’ Einstein to know that this must be the place.

She said, My name is Lieutenant Watson, and this is Seaman Curran. May we come aboard?

Don’t see why not, replied Wayne, But I gotta tell you, I have a load of lobsters that I need to get to the fish exchange before they close.

She said, We’ll get you out of here as fast as we can, but understand, we have to make out a report.

She came aboard the Katrina, and the seaman boarded the center console and started taking pictures. She took all the information as to where the boat was initially found and asked if either Wayne or Al went aboard.

Wayne said, Al, my stern man went aboard, but just to tie her up. Been waitin’ here ever since. He added, Tide’s floodin’ now so we probably moved a few hundred more yards into the harbor from where we were.

The seaman called the lieutenant to look at the red stain on the deck of the boat. She looked at the red stain and then looked up at Wayne.

Figured it might be transmission fluid, said Wayne, although we couldn’t smell nothing.

Looks like dried blood, said Lieutenant Watson. We will tow the boat in to the base and have our people go over it.

Wayne asked, Can we go now?

Yes, Mr. Trottier, we have all your information and will contact you if we need anything else.

As the Coast Guard was securing the boat, Wayne asked, Hey, if they don’t find the owner, what happens to the boat?

Watson replied, "Don’t worry, sir, we will find the owner."

Wayne just muttered to himself as he cast off the lines to the inflatable. He thought it would have been nice to have a small boat for fishing up tight to the shoreline. The Coast Guard secured a line to the center console and headed into Portland Harbor with the boat in tow.

Wayne said to Al, She’s still eyeballin’ us. Think I’ll scoot around Cushing and take Whitehead Passage back in. Should be able to get in front of them. He went on, Their towing speed is slow enough where I should have plenty of time to get back to the inner harbor before they see us again.

They secured the boat and took off. At twenty-five knots, they were easily able to get around the island and into the harbor ahead of the Coast Guard. They made it to the exchange before it closed for the day and sold 160 pounds of lobsters. He grossed around $600. When he offered to pay Al for his help, Al refused, saying that it was great just to get away from the store for a while. Besides, Al knew that during the course of the summer, they would both be going out fishing on each other’s boats. The two of them and David Chase were fishing buddies and always tried to get out on the ocean two to three times a week. They all took turns using different boats depending on weather conditions. On calm days, they took Al’s boat, and when the wind was kicking up, they took Wayne’s Steiger Craft. In a month or so, everyone would be out in the bay fishing, and they were both anxious to get out and wet a line.

CHAPTER 2

Lieutenant Watson made her way past the exchange on route to the Coast Guard station. She had her binoculars out and had been watching Wayne’s Boat, Katrina, as it rounded park light. She had made a note of their speed and wake. She would let Sam Addison, the harbormaster, know so he could monitor the boat speeds when they were traveling through the inner harbor. There were speed regulations in place for all areas of the harbor. However, several of the commercial boats felt they had special privileges because they worked in and around the harbor. It was her goal to see that all boaters obeyed the maritime regulations, especially in the inner harbor.

Her plan was to work closely with the Harbor Patrol and the Department of Marine Resources to keep Portland Harbor safe for all boaters. She knew that the Coast Guard had received complaints regarding some of the boats docked at South Point Marina.

She had compiled a list including Katrina, owned by Wayne Trottier, Rebel, owned by William Johnson; Reelin’, owned by Joe Tyne; and Black-Jack, owned by Michael Ricks. Over the years, they had all been involved in altercations with the local marine authorities. Some of the issues came to the attention of the Coast Guard when the use of firearms took place. In the old days, boaters settled their differences man-to-man or boat-to-boat. It was like the law of the sea prevailed, and it was understood by all that most of the boaters operated under a certain code and everyone lived by that code. Then came September 11, 2001. Terrorism closed the harbor, and traditional boating changed forever. There were new laws and regulations enacted, and old-time boaters could no longer do what they had been doing all their lives. Many of the old timers refused to abide by the new rules. The Coast Guard was constantly intervening in disputes. Lieutenant Watson had vowed that on her watch, all regulations would be followed.

Watson had just been promoted to lieutenant JG (junior grade) at the Boston CG Base and had been assigned to the South Portland squadron as a squad leader. She went strictly by the book. The commandant, Captain John D. Hall was another spit-and-polish career man, so he liked the fact that she was ambitious and went by the book. He had put her in charge of the less-than-motivated sailors to see if she could bring them around while increasing productivity. He had been pleasantly surprised with her results. At five feet six inches and one hundred and thirty pounds, she used to be a marathon runner and was in excellent condition. At the academy, she had received award for marksmanship and had graduated in the top 5 percent of her class.

She had purchased a small house just off base that she shared with Annie Chung, a Korean graduate student who attended the local vocational school. Lieutenant Watson’s primary assignment at South Portland was executive officer on a one-hundred-foot buoy-tending ship, the USCGC Spar, LB400.

She also commanded a crew of six seamen aboard a thirty-six-foot armed patrol boat, USCGC-RBM, named Vigilant. The forty-four-foot aluminum patrol boat was self-righting and armed with two M240B machine guns with mounting turrets fore and aft. It was the newer version, propelled by two eight-hundred-horsepower water-jet systems. Its top speed was forty-three knots with a range of two hundred miles. Both vessels were housed at the South Portland Coast Guard Station. Of all the jobs she had, she liked the patrol boat the best. It gave her an immense feeling of power.

Lieutenant Watson’s schedule put her on the water three to four days per week unless she was offshore tending or repairing buoys. The rest of the week was spent either training or at the command center monitoring channel 16. She truly enjoyed her job, strived for perfection, and jumped at any opportunity for advancement.

After Emily purchased her house in South Portland, she advertised for a roommate to help offset her monthly expenses. Annie Chung had been looking for a place off campus that would be quieter so she could get her studies completed. This was her last year at school. In order to complete her master’s degree in business, she needed to concentrate on her courses. On campus, there were just too many younger students, too much drinking and partying. She had a part-time bartender’s job at the Deep Six Pub over by South Point Marina. Between her job, her scholarships, and some financial support from her parents, she was able to live comfortably while attending school. She and Emily hit it off even though Emily was more outgoing.

Annie had strong parental guidance while growing up and had developed a strong work and study ethic. They both had dated some of the local guys in South Portland and at the university, but so far, neither had a serious relationship. Annie was also friends with a lot of the people who owned boats at South Point Marina.

The bar was a hot spot for the university crowd, many of the locals, and a lot of the boat owners. Jay Lorenzo, the owner of the bar and the Shore Front Café, let Annie manage the bar operations in his absence. She was a tall and muscular woman, five foot ten inches and one hundred forty pounds. She commanded a lot of respect from most of the patrons. She wouldn’t put up with drunks or druggies. She had schooled the wait staff on recognizing when to cut off patrons. The pub hired bouncers on the weekends, but the rest of the time, she would handle altercations by herself. With the South Portland Police Department only three miles down the road, all she had to do was make a call to the police and they would be there in minutes. The locals weren’t much trouble, but many of the students were partygoers. She had the usual problems with fake IDs, power drinking, and drug use. Occasionally, the same could be said for a few of boat owners at the marina. Periodically, some of the boat owners would have a little too much to drink or be pissed off at something that happened that had spoiled their day. In any event, Annie usually handled all the situations.

Many of the boaters made the best use of their weekend holidays by bellying up to the local bar at the marina. To Annie, the job was a means to the end. Once she had her degree, she would be able to go out into the private sector and get a good job. Her hope was to get into business management and then own her own business.

Wayne pulled the Katrina back into her berth at the dock and tied her up. Al said that he had plans with his wife, so he had to scoot.

Wayne spent some time washing down the boat to get her ready for the next trip. He took the rest of the bait, put it up in the dock freezer, and then washed up at the marina bathroom facilities.

South Point Marina had constructed a building that housed washers and dryers and four full bathrooms, complete with showers. South Point had built it for the convenience of the boaters and to lure transient boaters to stay at their marina. The marina had been listed in many of the saltwater magazines as an excellent place to stay because of its many amenities. They did a pretty good business with transient boaters.

It was 5:00 p.m. when Wayne had everything done.