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“That has to be it,” declared Maria.

“Yep, a logging camp linked to Kane,” said Mike.

“Looks like there’s one road in and out,” observed Rick.

“Yeah, and it looks pretty narrow,” added Jenny.

“I’m guessing that almost all movement to and from the camp is by boat,” said Mike. “That’s how they move timber in this part of the world. Whoever runs the logging operation will have workboats that Kane and anyone else could hitch a ride on.”

“Didn’t Joni say that the Hells Angels were into illegal logging? They might be using this place to shift wood that’s been cut elsewhere.”

“Yeah, so our recon mission needs to be super discreet,” said Rick. “Any movement via that track is almost certainly going to be monitored. Is there a lot of maritime traffic along the coast of Vancouver Island?”

Maria was looking at her phone. “I’ve found a live shipping tracker. It shows lots of movement along the coast. But it doesn’t include small fishing boats and pleasure craft.” She tapped her painted fingernails against the screen. “There are lots and lots of fishing charters in Vancouver and Victoria.”

“Who needs an intel guy when you’ve got Maria?” said Rick. “Let’s book a charter and head up the coast for a look.”

“We’ll need someone flexible and low-key,” said Mike. “Maria, can you find a small owner operator?”

She tapped at her screen. “Chuck’s Fishing Charters,” she replied. “I’ll give them a call. Are we all going?”

Mike glanced around the group. “I’m guessing you ladies aren’t about to sit this one out.”

“Hell no,” said Jenny.

“Yeah, we’re seeing this through,” said Ali.

“Right,” said Mike. “I guess that means the dogs are coming too.”

Maria nodded. “Two dogs and five adults. I’ll make the booking. Then we’re going to need to get some food. We can’t head out without provisions.”

Chapter Seventeen

The team met their captain at a Marina in the coastal town of Sooke, a short drive west of Victoria. Chuck, also known as Charlie, was a former Canadian Navy submariner who’d retired in the late nineties. His boat, the Okanagan, was a shipshape Grand Banks 36 constructed in 1980.

“Welcome aboard, guys.” Charlie held the gangway as Maria, Ali, Jenny, and the two dogs clambered across onto the boat.

He watched Mike and Rick wrestle Maria’s supplies onboard and directed them to stow the coolers and bags on the stern deck under an awning.

“Lads, can you cast off bow and stern? We’ll get underway.” He deftly climbed the stairs to the flybridge and turned over the engines as Mike and Rick unlashed the lines and held them taut. After a groan, cough, and a splutter, the twin Ford diesel engines clattered to life, and he gave the boys the signal to cast off. They stepped onboard, stowed their lines, and joined him on the bridge as the girls relaxed in the cabin below and Axe and Saber made for the bow.

“Charlie, thanks for accommodating our canine pals,” said Mike.

“All good, I had an old lab who used to come out with me. He loved it when the dolphins surfed the bow wave. He’d be up there barking away, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t squeak back. They still check in on me even though Duster’s been dead nearly five years.”

“Hopefully they check in today,” said Mike. “I know Axe would get a kick out of that.”

“So, you boys in the Navy? I mean, you handled those lines like you’d done it a few times.”

Mike shot Rick a look, who shrugged, confirming their thoughts were aligned. “Yeah, we’re Navy guys.”

“Marines or SEALs?” asked Charlie.

There was an awkward silence.

Charlie laughed. “You boys might not know ropes, but you don’t look like your average keel haulers. You got that look about you. Sort of boys you don’t want to start a fight with.” The Canadian worked the helm, guiding the boat out of the marina and into a channel as he spoke. “We used to get guys like you two on the boats all the time. Big, square-jawed fuckers that would swim out through a torpedo tube if they had to.”

“You got us,” said Rick. “We’re divers.”