Page 39 of One Last Chance

Shep always seemed so reserved, the kind of guy who thought first, left his emotions at the door. But now he slammed on the lights. “We got a call from Echo—Axel used the boat’s ham radio and got ahold of someone. He’s on a life raft—at least, he was a few minutes ago.”

Moose headed out the door to the office just down the hall. Boo stood in the doorway and stepped away as he barreled inside.

A big room with radios and weather monitors, and the female director standing behind the radio operator seated with earphones, listening.

“Angie, what do you know?”

The director looked up at Moose’s question and stepped away from the radio operator.

“We got a call from a ham-radio operator out of Copper Mountain,” Angie said. She nursed a cup of coffee in a well-seasoned cup. “They gave us the frequency of the boat’s ham radio, but so far no answer.”

He looked at Boo, then Shep and London. “We gotta go back.”

“The storm’s still pretty rough,” said Angie. “Wind’s at forty knots, easy. And who knows what it’ll be out at sea?”

He turned to her. “The sun is on the upside—it’ll be full daylight soon. The ocean always dies a little in the morning—we’ll use that window.” He looked at his team. “Wheels up in five.”

They took off and he grabbed a cup of coffee, emptying the pot. Then he turned to Angie. “Keep trying. And alert any ships in the area.”

“It’s a pretty big area, Moose. You keep track of that bingo.”

“Roger. But I’m not coming back without my brother.”

She raised her cup and he left, finishing his coffee on his way out of the hangar.

The rain spat down on the chopper, but London had already climbed into the copilot’s seat. Boo was sliding the door of the belly shut, and he got into the pilot’s seat.

He commenced the check with London, then, “To be clear, I won’t risk your lives. But I do want to bring Axel home.”

London looked at him. “Let’s get him.”

He radioed the tower, they cleared him, and he eased the bird into the air. The rain had died, but the wind fought him as he rose. Still, he’d flown in worse conditions in Florida, and even the Gulf of Alaska.

Okay, none of those included rescuing his brother. But he’d searched the sea many times for lost sailors.

Please, God, help me find him.

The sea still churned, and he rode high, the winds less brutal as he headed to Axel’s last known position. Below, the vastness of the foamy gray sea seemed an endless lethal cauldron.

“Get out your glasses! Boo, portside, Shep, starboard. London, log our coordinates. We’ll search in a box pattern . . .”

The sun had risen, brilliant gold over the horizon, the mountains white-capped and glistening. Below, the sea also gleamed under the light, creating impossible shadows, the glare blinding.

The sea had simply gobbled him.

A dispatch came through the radio from Homer. “Air One Rescue, advise that we have picked up an EPIRB. Sending coordinates. Hold.”

Moose looked at London and she nodded. The lats and longs came in and she adjusted their course.

Five miles to the southwest.

“Keep your eyes peeled!” He angled the chopper toward the coordinates, the wind still fighting him, but over the last hour, it had died nearly to thirty knots. He spotted Augustine Island to the west, the volcano rising from the ocean, less than a mile away, maybe. Beyond it, from the mainland, the McNeil range rose, a rocky, forbidding game land.

No boats to be seen amidst the vastness of the water, and in the sunlight, the water turned a ghastly green.

He could almost see the shoreline of the island now, the waves breaking at ten or twenty feet over the shallower shelf. “Where are we on those coordinates?”

“Right above them, sir,” London said.

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