“Way to much attention there.” Finne replied. “We’re going to a nice spot for the night. Don’t worry. Now, hold on!”
Finne throttled the 38-foot Donzi he was now captaining to half speed as they departed the resort’s no wake zone. Tom had given him a run down of his routine with the boat, which included a fast and loud acceleration at the zone exit daily as he traveled back and forth to work from the ranch. The engines were loud and Sarah could no longer question Finne as the twin V12s underneath them overpowered their voices.
The trip to the ranch would take 15 minutes according to Tom. The only time they needed to slow down was going in and out of the dock on each end. Finne knew Tom would provide him with a safe house to hideout for a bit. He also knew Tom would ask any questions and wouldn’t leak anything to anyone asking questions.
Finne met Tom early in his career. Tom was a junior agent with the DEA and Finne was partnered with him on a joint task force following the early Columbian cartel penetration of the U.S. They bonded like brothers over the cases they built together. They also owed each other their own lives more than a few times over for numerous incidents where one saved the life of the other and vice versa. Long gone from the DEA, Tom now provided “support services” to a discreet clientele of special agents and spooks in his retirement leveraging the vast networks of assets he had developed over his career. He was still one of the good guys, but he interfaced with the dark side when official channels couldn’t.
Tom offered the vessel and his own quarters to the pair of hideaways knowing that they would provide them with near anonymity in this part of the bay. The loud Donzi traversed the area shoreline so often that none of the locals gave it any attention anymore. Any tourists that asked about it would no doubt be told it belonged to Captain “Purdy” and any number of exaggerated details of the Captain’s wealth and fame.
Truthfully, Bruce “Purdy” Purdue was rich and his family was famous for raising and slaughtering nearly a quarter of the country’s poultry supply. Purdy’s uncle, Frank Purdue, was the famous member of the family, although the family wealth was distributed much wider than to just his direct heirs. Purdy was a favorite nephew of Uncle Frank. He was given a trust fund and little responsibility other than to travel the world and “check in” on the various family cottages, chateaus, ranches, and mansions. Purdy loved the Maryland Eastern Shore and was an excellent sportsman. He favored Duck and Geese seasons especially, so he had purchased his own land along the waterfront and built it out to suit his needs.
Rarely in the area, Purdy hired Tom to house sit the Maryland property and keep it in shape for the several hunts he hosted for his worldly friends. Purdy was currently on a fishing trip in Alaska with a couple of Senators and their aides. Tom had told Finne that the property would be free of visitors for at least two more weeks.
Finne backed off the throttle and slowed to a glide as he entered the channel that had been excavated deep into a desolate creek extending off the Choptank. The entry was less than 20 feet wide but well marked with proper channel markers. “Red, right, returning,” Tom always thought to himself when coming back to port. In this case the last navigation light was fixed to the end pylon of a heavy sea wall supporting a two-story boathouse built along the creek’s edge. The depth measured 6 feet on the glowing dashboard instrument panel meaning that the excavation work had extended well into the wetland. The Donzi was eased inside the structure and tied to the inside dock. It fit perfectly, as if the boathouse was built for the boat. A cursory scan provided Finne the sense of safety and security he had lacked for the last twenty hours. No one could reach the boathouse except via the creek or the 200-foot boardwalk that ran up to the main house. Ample warning of any visitors. Finne and Sarah’s presence could go unnoticed. Anyone on the water or on land would see only what they saw every day, Purdy’s house sitter coming and going on the Donzi and living in the boathouse. Nice life if you can get it.
“Welcome to the Chicken Ranch!” Finne exclaimed. “Well actually, the Chicken Ranch Boathouse.”
“Huh?” Sarah uttered, her ears still ringing from the ride over.
“I’ll explain later. Let’s check out the fridge, I’m starving.” Said Finne.
