"Kyle, you there?"

"Yeah, whata ya got?"

"We think we might have found Mike's glasses. Look, any of your guys see a white box truck anywhere near the piers early this morning, after 5?"

"I don't know. Let me make the rounds and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Why?"

"I'll explain later. Just get back to me as soon as you can." Newman set the walkie-talkie on the seat beside him and turned to the filthy, badly over-dressed man on the seat beside him. He nodded at the flattened glasses in Sergeant Haseejian's hand. "Good catch, Norm."

The Armenian detective nodded solemnly. "Well, now we know they moved him but it still doesn't tell us whether he's still alive or not."

"Yeah, well, it's more than we had before."

"So, what do we do next? And, ah," he held the glasses up slightly, "do we let Steve know about this?"

Newman thought for a few seconds then shook his head slightly. "Let's see what Kyle tells us first. I have a couple of ideas but I need to know if that truck showed up on the pier this morning."

# # # # #

Williams, Newman and Haseejian leaned over the large map of the San Francisco Bay Area that the CG commander had spread out on Steve's desk in the Homicide bullpen.

"Okay, so, if I had to pick one, I would say Sausilito." Williams pointed at the marina on the western side of Richardson Bay. "It'd be easy to get a truck down to the wharf there, and it's not a commercial fishing pier so I doubt there'd be much activity that early in the morning."

"What about joining the fleet when they go out?" Newman asked, continuing to stare at the map.

"Well, it's possible for them to sail down near Vista Point and then just slide around and slip out under the Bridge when the fleet heads out, blending in. Nobody's been paying much attention to the north side, have they? All the attention has been on our wharves."

Newman continued to study the map, nodding slowly. "I have a good feeling about this. I think this could be it." He looked up at Williams. "Thanks, Commander. I think we all have our work cut out for us today."

"Agreed. I'm gonna leave this with you," he smiled grimly, pointing at the map, "and I'm going to get back to the station and get everything set up for tonight." He turned to Haseejian and held out his right hand. "Sergeant, you can tell your men we're going to get your lieutenant back, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Haseejian said with a hopeful smile, shaking the CG officer's hand.

As Williams left the office, Newman looked up at the sergeant. "Norm, we're gonna need to send a couple a guys over to Sausalito asap, ask around, you know… very low profile."

"I know just the guys," Haseejian offered with a wry smile, "I'll get them right on it."

# # # # #

Kyle Jenkins glanced at his watch; it was getting close to noon. The men who had been keeping Coopers under surveillance had been pulled and were now covering the wharf, even though recent developments had shifted focus to the north side of the Bridge.

The passenger door opened and Gary Newman slid into the car. He smiled grimly. "Well, we're finally getting somewhere. Someone out walking his dog along the marina in Sausalito remembers seeing a white truck down near the docks early this morning but that's all. They couldn't remember exactly where and they didn't see what was going on but they did say there was a truck there."

"But we're not sure if it's even the same truck, right?"

"True," Newman agreed, "but my gut is telling me it is." He stared at his friend and colleague. "What about you?"

Jenkins nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I think you're right… I think this is it."

"Good," Newman smiled, relaxing slightly in the seat. "Listen, I'm gonna have Norm go get Steve. He needs to know about this… and I know he'll want to be in on the operation again tonight, no matter how bad he's feeling."

"Yeah, you're right about that too."

# # # # #

There were no available parking spaces on the short dead-end block of Union so Haseejian double-parked the green Galaxie in front of the grey-blue clapboard apartment building. He glanced at the impressive view of the Bay Bridge as he climbed the short staircases the led to the front door of 287. Foregoing the doorbell, he opted for loud knocking.

He had just pounded for the second time when the door was pulled open and the pain-filled, frowning, bearded face of his young colleague appeared. "Norm, what are you doing here?" Steve asked, his voice croaking slightly. He pulled the door open a little wider as he cleared his throat, then froze. "Wait – Mike…?"

"No no no," Haseejian said quickly, raising a hand to stop the wild speculation, "it's not that. But there has been a development." He stepped across the threshold, pushing the half-open door so he could get past it into the living room.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked quickly, automatically closing the door.

Haseejian turned to face him, trying to keep his expression neutral. He reached into his inside jacket pocket, watching Steve follow the move with a confused frown. When he took out the flattened glasses, he saw the younger man's eyes widen in shock. "We found these in the alley behind Coopers this morning."

Steve swallowed heavily, his eyes snapping from the glasses to the sergeant's face.

"Look," Haseejian continued, "let's get you dressed so we can get out of here and I'll fill you in while you do, okay?"

Nodding, Steve started up the stairs to his bedroom, Haseejian on his heels.

# # # # #

"So we sent a couple a guys over to Sausalito, pretending to be tourists, and checked out the marinas over there. They counted twenty-one boats that could be fishing trawlers, in various states of… shall I say, usability. Three of them are in dry dock and undergoing major repairs, six have been transformed into houseboat-type craft – don't ask me why - and another three are so poorly equipped that they would stand out like sore thumbs in the real fleet – but that leaves nine that are our potential target boats."

Williams was standing in the middle of the Fort Point command centre, facing the group of SFPD and Coast Guard personnel that would be manning the search and, hopefully, recovery operation that night. It was a full room.

"We have spotters along the western shore of Richardson Bay and they are going to let us know when and if any of the fishing boats moored in Sausalito head out to join the fleet. But that probably won't happen for another couple of hours, so I just want all of you to be ready and on standby, 'cause when all this starts tonight, I have a feeling it's gonna go really fast and we have to be prepared for anything. Whoever these guys are, chances are they've been doing this for quite awhile and they have perfected, or they think they have, their method of operation.

"But we're on to them now, even though we still have no idea who they are, and I think we're smarter and have a lot more resources than they do – and we're gonna put a end to this once and for all." His confident smile swept the group, stopping on Steve Keller. He winked and his positive encouragement could be felt across the room.

"Oh, ah, and in case we need them, the Alameda Naval Base has offered two of their Sikorsky helicopters, and each of them carry three .50 caliber machine guns. I'm hoping we don't need them, but you never know and it's great to have them in our back pocket in case we do, let me tell you.

"Gentlemen, we have about two hours till the fleet begins to head out for the night. You all know what you have to do."

The group began to dissemble. Steve, who was sitting on a desk in a corner with Bobby Cox, looked at Haseejian standing beside him with a mirthless snort and a shake of his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What?" the Homicide sergeant asked quietly.

Steve opened his eyes, a melancholic look playing across his features. "Richardson Bay. Mike's, ah…. his doppelganger? The name I picked for him was Archibald Richardson."

Haseejian laughed, smiling affectionately. "Watergate, right?"

Steve nodded, smiling slightly. "Helluva coincidence, hunh?"

"You mean because the Bay has the same name?" Haseejian asked and Steve nodded again. "You may think it's a coincidence, I think it's an omen. And a good one." He winked as he pushed himself away from the desk and crossed the room. Steve looked at Bobby Cox and smiled hopefully, reaching up instinctively to touch the upper left side of his leather jacket. It was almost a superstitious gesture; he was carrying the smashed glasses in the inside pocket.

# # # # #

Steve and Cox were standing beside Williams in the cabin of the hovercraft, which was bobbing softly in the choppy water. It was another frigid night and Steve was glad he wore his leather jacket again, chilly even inside the small enclosure.

Four of the nine trawlers moored in Sausalito had made the trip around Vista Point and under the Golden Gate Bridge to join the San Francisco fishing fleet leaving the Bay for the cold deep waters of the Pacific Ocean. But at first long glance, there wasn't anything about any one of them that aroused suspicion.

But, like the two huge Coast Guard lifeboats and the other ACV, they were now skirting the periphery of the fishing fleet, lights out, waiting. So far nothing untoward had happened, but the bright green radar screens were keeping track of every boat and experienced eyes were watching every move.

Steve glanced at the man beside him. "How are you doing?" he asked, knowing the difficulty Cox had experienced the night before.

The dark-haired and bearded veteran cop looked at him from under a furrowed brow and leaned a little closer. "I took a Dramamine. So far, so good. How about you?" he whispered, glancing at the back of Williams head, not wanting to be overheard.

"Tylenol. And I've got the bottle in my pocket, just in case."

Cox nodded in understanding and they both shared a tiny wry smile.

The lieutenant manning the radar screen looked up. "Commander, looks like we have one breaking away, sir."

Williams took a step closer so he was looking over the younger man's shoulder. The detectives moved closer as well, though they still couldn't see the screen.

No one spoke as the Commander and Petty Officer stared at the path the green beam of the rotating radio line was making on the radar screen. Suddenly they both flinched slightly but sharply. Williams glanced over his shoulder. "We have a second one."

Steve and Cox exchanged frowns as Williams took a step back from the radar. Suddenly the air in the small cabin was filled with orders; the propellers began to spin and the flexible skirt of the hovercraft inflated.

"Grab onto something or sit," Williams called towards the two detectives, "it's gonna get bumpy." Within seconds the ACV starting pounding over the waves again, as Williams huddled with his radar operator.

They had been covering the distance between themselves and the fishing fleet at top speed for several minutes when Williams picked up the ship-to-ship radio and began shouting into the receiver.

The detectives couldn't hear what was being said, but they could tell from Williams demeanor that it was urgent and consequential. Eventually slamming the receiver back on the cradle, Williams crossed towards them and knelt, shouting to be heard over the roar of the propellers.

"There are three boats that are now breaking away from the pack – two west of the Farallons and one up near Point Reyes! And we have radar shadows of four large vessels just beyond the line!"

"Which one are we going after?" Steve yelled back, trying to ignore the pain in his chest from the incessant pounding.

"One of them is moving a lot faster than any fishing boat we've ever seen. I'm suspecting souped up engines. That'll be our target! One of the lifeboats is closer, but it's gonna be a flat-out race to see who gets where first – if either of us gets to the trawler, or the trawler makes it across the line." He paused briefly, his mouth a grim line. "I've requested one of the Sikorskys to give us a hand." With a sharp, confirming nod he got to his feet and went back to stand over the radar operator again.

Steve turned to Cox worriedly. "If the boat gets over the line into international waters, does that mean we can't stop it?"

Cox shook his head. "I've been reading up on it. As long as we suspect they're committing a crime, we can stop 'em no matter where they are. But if the trawler makes it to the big ship, and it's flying another flag, we can't touch 'em."

Steve sat back against the wall, his arms wrapped around his aching ribs, and closed his eyes. They had to make it, and they had to make it fast.