Inside Passage to Murder

Inside Passage to Murder

By

Alan Scott

An Alan Scott© Original Publication

Published by Alan Scott© at Smashwords

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ISBN - 9780463150597

Copyright©2018 Alan Scott

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Published By:

Alan Scott©

INSIDE PASSAGE TO MURDER

By

Alan Scott

Table of Contents

Copyright(s)

Chapter One, Sunday Morning

Chapter Two, Sunday Morning

Chapter Three, Sunday Afternoon

Chapter Four, Sunday Evening

Chapter Five, Sunday Night

Chapter Six, Monday Morning

Chapter Seven, Monday Afternoon

Chapter Eight, Monday Evening

Chapter Nine, Tuesday Morning

Chapter Ten, Tuesday Afternoon & Evening

Chapter Eleven, Wednesday Morning

Chapter Twelve, Wednesday Afternoon

Chapter Thirteen, Wednesday Night

Chapter Fourteen, Thursday Morning

Chapter Fifteen, Thursday Afternoon

Chapter Sixteen, Thursday Night

Chapter Seventeen, Friday Morning

Chapter Eighteen, Friday Afternoon

Chapter Nineteen, Friday Afternoon

Chapter Twenty, Friday Night

Chapter Twenty One, Late Friday Night

Chapter Twenty Two, Saturday Morning

Chapter Twenty Three, Saturday Night

Chapter Twenty Four, Late Saturday Night

Chapter Twenty Five, Sunday Morning

About The Author

Other Titles By Alan Scott

Chapter One

Sunday Morning

Mark Shotridge jerked awake, rousing from a deep slumber. Consciousness took over in a rush and he sat up, startled. Something had disturbed his sleep. Shivering in the cool air, he tucked his arms back underneath the warm covers and listened; trying to determine what woke him. Nothing in the house stirred and he couldn't discern anything moving around outside either. Only the rain making soft noises as it dropped from the eaves, but was too quiet to have roused him.

September in Alaska, he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. The dim gray light filtering through the windows told him the sun hadn't risen yet.

So much for sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Mark rose and shuffled to the window, peeking through the slats in the blinds. He wrinkled his nose at the musty odor of dampness seeping into every nook and cranny of his house.

The short summer was fading fast. It seemed like winter came to Alaska earlier every year. And stayed longer.

SOS!

Save Our Ship!

His thoughts rushed back to his sudden awakening. A dream, a recollection just on the edge of his consciousness.

Across the bay, Mark could just make out the lights of the city of Douglas. Traffic was starting to pick up on the Glacier Highway, below his house, past the bay into the capital, toward the docks where the cruise ships disgorged hundreds of tourists each week.

Cruise ships.

SOS!

Save Our Ship.

Something clicked in his mind. The half remembered dream. He had a dream with a cruise ship in it. Innocuous enough, so why had it disturbed him so much?

He returned to the bed and lay back down on top of the covers, and placed his hands behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankles. He closed his eyes and strained to recollect his dream. Pieces came back together one at a time, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a picture in his mind.

No, not a jigsaw puzzle. It was more like scenes of a movie watched long ago and forgotten, trying to reassemble and recreate the story. Who were the performers? Where was it set? What was the plot? With mental effort, the many images in his mind ordered themselves and he began to relax, grasping at each scene, latching on to its familiarity, and allowing it to grow as the movie scenes spliced together. A few pieces came together but he could recall a silent cruise ship at an empty dock.

Mark opened his eyes. There had to be more to the dream, but nothing else emerged from his subconscious. He remained on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to interpret this strange scene. He'd received images and visions before, but to get a premonition in the form of a dream was rare. And disconcerting.

Damn it. Why can't clairvoyance show me good stuff once in a while, he grumbled. Only the bad shit.

And now it was encroaching into his dreams.

Resigned to the fact he would not get back to sleep, Mark got up and made a half-hearted effort to straighten the sheets and bedspread.

He walked into the kitchen, the tile floor feeling ice-cold to his bare feet, and started the coffee maker. While it brewed and filled the kitchen with a satisfying aroma, he sat down at the table and reflected on the vision. The empty port in his dream resembled the one in Seward, south on the coast, for tankers and other vehicles but it was the only place where cruise ships docked at such an austere-looking town.

Was a cruise ship in danger? Was something amiss in Seward? Mark thought of several scenarios, including sabotage, smuggling, and terrorism. Or was it something more sinister?

The silence of the ship disturbed him.

Mark poured a cup of coffee and walked into his office to boot up the computer.

He searched the internet to identify cruise lines operating out of Alaska.

Just thinking about threat to his beloved state almost brought his blood a boil. The rugged, untamed beauty of Alaska commanded his loyalty and anything to damage or harm it would have his wrath to contend with. His abilities usually alerted him to illegal poaching, environmental misconduct and the omnipresent law breaking by the dregs of humanity. His 'gift', inherited from his grandmother and honed by the U.S. government, often felt like a curse. It interrupted his thoughts and now his sleep.

Mark scowled at the notion. He took a sip of coffee and slammed the mug onto the desk, spilling some of the hot liquid onto the surface and his hand.

Shit, he muttered, shaking his hand to rid it of the coffee and then wiping it on his shorts.

Gotta watch that temper, his mother's stern voice echoed in his mind.

He just wanted to sleep another couple of hours and then drive to Denali National Park. Maybe get some hiking done before the cold weather set in.

Then it will be skiing season! He grinned at the thought but sobered as he remembered the reason he was up so early.

Mark searched website after website, looking through schedules, amenities and pricing. His eyes widened in surprise as one particular vessel captured his attention the minute the image appeared on his screen. The dark hull and the lines seemed to leap from his monitor.

It was the ship from his dream.

I have to be there.

Chapter Two

Sunday Morning

Mark studied the information. According to the home page, it was one of the ships owned by the Netherlands Star Company, which had a regional office in Anchorage. He knew of the Holland-based corporation, but never had the opportunity to travel on one of their liners. Perusing the web site further, Mark saw the company operated a ship called the Mist of the Ocean, which was scheduled to sail that very evening for a seven day cruise down the southeastern coast of Alaska, through the Inside Passage to Vancouver, British Columbia.

It's the only ship due to sail today. And since I don't believe in coincidences and this ship has to be it.

Because it disembarked in just a few hours, he feared he would not be able to book passage on such short notice, but luck was on his side. Now in early September, near the end of the cruise season and with schools back in session, a few staterooms remained available aboard the crowded ship.

Damn. Why couldn't there have been one of the larger suites with a balcony left?

He had seen those cabins many times before on the ships in port and they looked grand. Oh, well. He booked an outside cabin stateroom. The window would help the room seem larger than the inside cabins, which he considered to be little more than large walk-in closets.

Besides, what's the use of being at sea if you can't see it?

He called Barbara Baldwin, the Psionic Corps liaison to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence Responsibilities and Activities or CIRA. Although early in Juneau, it was late morning in Washington, DC.

You're up early, Mark, Barbara said in a cheery tone when she answered. Must be important.

In as few words as possible, Mark told Barbara about his dream and his fear something was wrong on board the Mist of the Ocean. I would like you to relay this information to Hobbes and the committee as soon as possible.

You know what he's going to say, Barbara said. Something like 'we've trained you and pay you the big bucks to solve unsolvable crimes and not take cruises'.

Mark laughed at her impersonation of Senator Robert Hobbes, the chairman of CIRA. As the Corps eyes and ears in the committee, Barbara attended all the meetings, relaying information between the Corps and CIRA, and going to bat for them if they needed or wanted anything. Barbara, took her job seriously, and was not one many senators wanted to face, especially if she was on a mission. Her high heels could be heard echoing in the hallways of the Pentagon and Langley, giving anyone a chance to hide or run the other way if she was looking for them. Barbara mentioned on several occasions that if people did not run and hide whenever she appeared, she wasn't doing her job.

He might get snippy when he hears I'm going on a cruise, even if it is on just a hunch.

Don't worry about it, Barbara said soothingly. Do you have anything other than a hunch?

No, Mark replied. But I have a strong feeling something bad is about to happen. Tell him if I wanted to take a cruise, I wouldn't do it in my own background.

You don't have to convince me, Barbara replied. It's my job to convince Robert.

The Psionic Corps still has its critics in the House and Senate and I know Hobbes gets pressure all the time about our funding from the Hill.

I doubt the Corps funding was in any danger of being cut or eliminated, Barbara said sounding more certain than Mark felt.

Since its inception, the Corps, one man in each of the state capitols, had brought crime down, far below expected levels, so they weren't doing anywhere. But Mark didn't feel like pressing the issue. I seriously need to do this. I have to follow my instincts.

All right. Just keep me posted.

I wouldn't even think about doing otherwise, Mark said with a smirk but Barbara had already hung up.

While he packed to prepare for the week, Mark turned on the television in his bedroom to watch the news while getting ready for his trip. Gas prices were up because of the Labor Day weekend. No big surprise there. There was unrest in the Middle East. Even less of a surprise. Then, the weather report began. Since the rain and cool temperatures were ubiquitous to early Alaskan Septembers, the local newscasters had little to say. No surprise at all. The newscast turned to the area of the world where the climate was newsworthy.

The South Atlantic Ocean had been active this season. A tropical depression off the coast of Africa had increased in strength faster than predicted and was escalating into a tropical storm and then some. Now dubbed Hurricane Gloria and crossing the Atlantic Ocean, she was heading west toward the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. Even though Mark had limited experience with such phenomena, he knew the path of hurricanes was not easy to predict. The news correspondent reported that weather forecasters were trying to figure out where Gloria was headed with state-of-the-art computer models and with the latest reports coming in from the hurricane hunters

Heading for the U.S.? Which means Ian's there.

Mark sat down on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. He summoned his telepathy, and a slight giddiness washed over him. He sent his power southeastward, searching for Ian's psionic signature. The awareness of traveling over the long distance between Alaska and the Bahamas created a feeling of dizziness as if the mattress had tilted to one side.

Still more reliable and gets better reception than cell phones.

Ian's psionic-enabled mind stood out among thousands of others, acting as a homing beacon. As Mark made contact, Ian's mind shifted, the beacon becoming more focused and turned toward the summons.

Ian?

What's up, Mark?

He established a telepathic link. Are you busy?

Not for a while, at least. I just got back from a nine-hour trip with the hurricane hunters and I'm exhausted. Gloria's becoming a very high maintenance girlfriend right now. I figure she'll become a Category Four soon. I'm not scheduled to ride with the hunters again until tomorrow, when I will have recovered enough, I hope, to go back out there. Fortunately, it's Sunday Ian continued.

Hurricane hunters don't go out on Sundays?

Duh! Football? A ubiquitous and permanent pastime that all Oklahomans like Ian enjoyed.

Should've known. What's up with Gloria now?

She's up to a Category Three at this point in time. Her eye is not well defined right now, but it still stretches my abilities. The hurricane hunters and meteorologists think she is going to turn northward soon and hit the eastern seaboard, but I think she's going to keep heading west and threaten the US Gulf Coast.

Precognition? Are you getting clairvoyant on me?

Mark felt rather than heard a chuckle. Even in telepathy, emotions could be conveyed.

I'm not going to crowd that playing field, Ian said. Actually, it's just the feel of her that makes me think so. We'll see who's right soon enough. Let's just hope it is soon enough. If she gains Category 4 status, it'll mean a lot of damage, no matter where she hits.

What are you doing right now? Mark asked.

I'm relaxing, having a beer and about to watch the Dallas Cowboys whoop up on your Seattle Seahawks.

Mark ignored the jibe to his favorite NFL team. Are you going to be ready by tomorrow? Alcohol can really mess up your powers.

I know but I'll be fine. Ian sounded confident. It's only one. Anyway, I don't have enough power or energy left in me right now to get out of my chair." Even Ian's fatigue was apparent in his telepathic voice, even though his mood was light.

I had a dream last night and I'd like to bounce it off of you. Hear what you think.

Ian hesitated. My premonitions are few and far between and I never have prophetic dreams, Mark. But I will help out however I can.

Mark described his dream, while Ian listened; only speaking to ask questions for clarity. Premonitions like his were difficult to interpret, and being wrong could have serious consequences. If he were wrong in this case, Mark may have to face the wrath of the congressional sub-committee. Despite the success of the psionic program and the fact that Mark couldn't be replaced easily, the senators could be harsh about wasting taxpayers' money.

When he finished, he felt Ian mulling over in his mind all he had heard. Besides, he didn't have time to discuss this in a committee. Unless Ian or someone else told him differently, that his dream meant nothing, he was determined to follow up on it. Something potentially as serious as sabotage or terrorism wasn't to be taken lightly.

I certainly agree that your interpretation of the dream is possible, and you have to follow up on it. But I do have concerns about the Alaskan psionic officer on an Alaskan cruise. You might be recognized by whomever is on board for nefarious purposes, and they could cancel their plan. Good for you but they might try again. Will you have another dream to warn you of another attempt?

Mark considered this for a second. Since few Alaskan citizens will be on this cruise, so I think it is unlikely I will be recognized. I suppose there is a chance I could run into someone who knows me in some of the ports, but I don't plan on taking any of the side trips. I'll either stay on the ship or do my own thing in town. I may not get a second dream.

So at the very worst, if your premonition isn't correct, you get to spend a relaxing week on a cruise ship.

Well, if you put it that way, yes. Mark laughed. Until I return to Juneau and Hobbes with nothing to report.

Ian understood what he meant. You could always ask for asylum in Oklahoma. The winters are much milder.

Yes, but the summers are more brutal.

But Oklahoma doesn't have avalanches.

And Alaska doesn't have tornadoes.

Which would you rather face? An F-5 or Senator Hobbes?

"Hmm…let me get back to you." Both men chuckled.

The conversation ended, and Mark dropped his telepathic link. He finished his preparations for the weeklong cruise ahead. The phone jingled softly. Mark knew who it was without relying on his caller ID.

Grandma, he said with a smile as he picked up the receiver.

Hi, honey. Her reed thin voice was faint but still vibrant, given her advanced age. You came into my mind strongly just now so I just called to see how you were doing, she said with maternal solicitousness.

I'm doing fine, Grandma, Mark said. But since you called, let me bounce something off of you. He told her about his dream and his decision to go on the cruise, because she was one of the few people outside of his colleagues Mark felt at ease discussing such arcane subjects. His grandmother had premonitions, and had been revered in her youth for her powers, but many people had reservations about her assertions. Mark never doubted her abilities, since it seemed he may have inherited his propensity for clairvoyance from her.

When he finished telling her his dream, he met with only silence on the other end of the line. Weird dream, don't you think?

What do you want me to say, dear?

Do you think my interpretation is correct? I'm taking a big chance going on a cruise at the last minute and on the dubious evidence of a dream. Not that I won't enjoy a relaxing break, but I've been in Dutch Harbor investigating claims of smuggling against some of the fishing companies for the better part of the last three weeks and I'm tired. I'm not sure I'm thinking clearly. Mark feared was sounding whiney.

On the contrary, dear. I think you're quite lucid. But if you're looking for validation, I can't give it to you. And neither can your friends. This is your experience, and no one can take it away from you or tell you what to do.

Thanks, Grandma. I knew you'd understand. Was that why you called?

No. I just feel something wonderful is going to happen to you soon, she said confidently. It's why I knew I had to call you and see what was going on. Mark knew she was concerned for him but certain he could take care of himself. I'm very proud of you, honey. Call your mother so she won't be shocked at your last minute plans.

Will do, Grandma. I promise, Mark replied, rolling his eyes, before hanging up.

* * * *

Mark loaded his luggage into his Jeep Wrangler, and crawled into the driver's seat. He sent his psionic field again out far to the northwest, ignoring the overwhelming sensation of light-headedness, far greater than his conversation with Ian. He gripped the steering wheel to keep upright. The garage provided some degree of privacy, which he could use to his advantage.

He found Seward easily enough but he needed to find a place where he could materialize unobserved. His mind's eye traveled north from the town along the Seward Highway near the western edge of the Chugach State Park on the Kenai Peninsula. Mountains, landscape and buildings all faded to shades of gray as his percipience flew past them.

He located a familiar spot, and searched the nearby area for potential witnesses. He concentrated on both the secluded spot and his Jeep. Mark gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He allowed the scene to fill his mind, imagining he and his vehicle were there. A warm sensation filled his mind, but far more disorienting than telepathy. He released his psionic energy. A bright light quickly enveloped the Jeep, illuminating the surrounding landscape. Juneau vanished from Mark's sight.

At the same instant, it reappeared on the secluded side road, over five hundred miles away, nearly the length of Texas.

Mark had teleported to the Kenai Peninsula.

He sat motionless, allowing his mind to re-orient to his position and his psionic field to adjust to the new surroundings. The tremendous expense of psionic energy had drained him. Another teleport, even over a short distance, would be impossible for several hours. Only the simplest of his abilities, telepathy and precognition, remained. He doubted if he could even pick up a pencil with his telekinesis now. He leaned forward against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths and let the dizziness subside.

The weather, cool and rainy even in this part of the state, helped him adjust. If the sun had been shining, the sudden and startling transition from dim to bright light would have further confused and overwhelmed his senses and slowed his recovery.

Several minutes passed before he calmed down. Mark took several minutes to recover and headed south toward Seward. The precipitation made the highways slick and dangerous, and the Jeep skidded once, forcing Mark to proceed with caution. He drove into the city of Seward. The rain fell heavier here, and low clouds graced the mountains around the town like icing on a cake. He turned left onto Port Avenue and pulled into the parking lot at the Hertz Rental Car facility, where passengers could park their vehicles during the cruise. From the outside of the rental car office, he looked to the south to where the Mist of the Ocean sitting peacefully at the dock in the distance. Something clicked in his mind as he gazed at the ship.

SOS!

This is it. A sudden chill enveloped him. My dream was right. Whatever it is, it will happen here, on this cruise.

Chapter Three

Sunday Afternoon

Inside the rental car office, Mark arranged parking for the week, realizing he would have to teleport back from Vancouver to Seward to pick up his Jeep. Then he would have to 'jump' back to Juneau. He sighed in resignation at the prospect of expending so much psionic energy, teleporting over such distances, but it was necessary. Without a doubt, this was the ship and terminal of his dream, and it was up to him to figure out what the mystery was.

He took the rental car company's courtesy shuttle to the cruise terminal, where it dropped him off at the entrance to the building. He left his baggage with the stevedores, keeping a duffel bag with him and walked into the terminal.

Long lines of passengers wound their way through aisles defined by retractable tape and queuing poles to the check-in counters. A row of booths lined the west wall to his right. On the opposite wall ahead of him were the security control lines with airport style metal detectors that led to the gangways and onto the ship. Huge signs above the entrances were emblazoned with This Way to Cruise Ships! with arrows pointing to the doorways.

Mark got in line and scanned the faces