The ties that bind...and gag.

Cruising at a steady 18kts., the F/V Flyer made good time on the trip, ending up @ the Sea-Tac docks at the appointed time, o'dark thirty. He let anchor approximately 2 mi. out and decided to tell the"cargo" as he referred to the two Women aboard, that they had reached their destination, and as such, it was time to "gtfo". The old fishing vessel rode easy in the 2-3 ft chop, not bothered in the least by the deck motion, the Capt. moved with the speed and ease of a 20 yr.old, not the 75 he was. "Allright ye lil scurvy Maidens, time to put on your best and get the hell off of my ship!" the Capt. bellowed down the hatch where the ladies had esconced themselves. He busied himself loading a pipe of borkum riff and cherry flavored tobacco. The mix allowed him to think, and ruminate on the past events. Being approached by a Woman, no less two at a time, had flustered him, and surely he'd be the talk of the docks when he returned, for everyone there saw them climb aboard, and then pull out no less than ten minutes later. 50,000 dollars will do that to a man whose average net per year was far below that. After some time, he noticed the ladies hadn't come up, and bitching mightily, for the climb hurt his knees, he descended the ladder into the belly of his ship. "Ladies. I know it's dark and cold and very early in the morning, but we are where you told me to go, and it's time for you go get off my ship! I'm expected back in S.F. in four days and I have people depending on me to go to work!". The last part is what kept the old Salty Dog at the helm. Teaching the next generation of "idiots, nerds, and the occasional dipshit" as he put it, the tricks of the trade of commercial fishing was his passion. He'd made and lost fortunes in his lifetime, but to see someone succeed and enjoy something he knew all about...well that just about "put a knot in my knickers" as he said.
No reply REALLY pissed him off..he stormed into the bunkroom where the Women should be, and fell unconscious just inside the doorway. Blinding light and a feeling of warmth on his legs was all he felt.

Waking up groggy, cold, wet, and disoriented weren't new to the Capt. He was a bit of a drinker after all. However, this was different. Like he couldnt "connect" things for a moment. He awoke when he heard his radio crackle "Attention F/V Flyer. This is the Canadian Coast Guard, are you in distress or adrift?" This made no sense. He was in Seattle wasn't he? "Ahhh, copy that canuck coastie, I'm aboard and ok now. I fell down the gangway and knocked myself out, clumsy move" This brought the 45' cutter alongside, with a admonition to "Not move a nautical inch". A tiny figure carrying a large black bag swung easily from the railing of the cutter to the deck of the lil boat. The Capt. was amazed to find a tiny waif of a Woman who called herself "Doc" planting his ass in a chair and shining lights in his eyes, feeling him up, and generally, asking way too many questions. After a 1/2 baked excuse, regarding how he fell, when, etc, the "Doc' began to fawn over him as if he was her own grandfather. Checking his pitiful stock of rations, she refused to "cut him loose" until he ate a meal and his ship was checked for damage. The crew jumped at the chance to spoil someone, and 3 hours later, the Capt. motored away SOUTH chuckling, then figuring out HOW he got here, 40 miles off the coast of Northern Canada. His Gps system, never as easy as his old maps, was "pooped" or not working..Opening the drawer beneath it, he took out the manual, well thumbed and smelling vaguely of fish, and a note fell upon the deck. Curious, the Capt. picked up the note and read..

Capt. We are sorry for this, but it's to keep you safe. You see, we are not who we appear, and are only the beginning. You were rendered unconscious by a electric stun-gun. We placed you in your bunk and sailed your ship to where you are now. We have gone, and apologize for any trouble or problems we have caused you. In the main hold, you will find a bag that you may find usefull."

p.s. just plug the Gps into the socket...it works fine!

The Capt. chuckled, wondered what the hell was going on, and setting a course for S.F., he went below to find a old Navy "Seabag" in the corner. Heavier than "Donald Trumps hairspray bill" it took him ten minutes to drag up the stairs, interrupted by a shrill warning that sounded impending doom from his ships radar. The M/V Independence, a processing ship owned and operated by Trident Seafoods, was bearing down on him quickly. A flick of the wheel and he was safe...Now, to the bag.

The bag was filled with 100 dollar bills, with strange bits of shredded paper mixed in. At the bottom of the bag was a lockbox similar to that used by garage sales professionals the world over. Opening it, he found a key, attached to a silver necklace and a note. "This is your key to the kingdom. When the time is right, and you will know the time, present this to the correct people, and you will be assured all is well". Cryptic as hell, he pondered the money, his engine happily burbling away due to the minstrations of Janelle, a "Shade tree mechanic" who'd done a lil work to it. He threw the chain and key into a drawer, hid the money aboard his ship, a far harder task than one would think, and wondered exactly what he was going to do with 100,000 dollars..