"The Something's Rotten in Block Island Affair"~ Chapter 3 for PicFic Tuesday 3/1/16

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

The prompt:

After getting what he needed at the General Store Illya announced the Coast Guard station was but 2.9 miles away.

“We take Water Street onto Chapel, continue onto Dodge Street taking it to Ocean Avenue. Turn right onto Beach Street then left again onto Ocean Avenue, a left onto West Side Street and lastly a slight right onto Champlin Road.”

“Don’t tell me, you read a brochure?” Napoleon chuckled.

“Yes it was from a small travel agency located in the General Store called Margie’s Travel. Her name was Henrietta and she seemed quite interested in telling me about the sights to be seen on the island. She was helpful with some directions as well. The people here are quite affable.”

“Illya why don’t you just lead the way and we’ll follow?” Napoleon suggested with a wry smile. In actual fact he knew how to get to the station but decided just to let the Russian have his moment on this one.

Illya did exactly that, taking the lead with his beige moped, signalling with his arm when they others were to turn here or there.

“Left again on Ocean Avenue,” Illya called out.

He pointed, indicating where to turn.

Despite the fact the mopeds had little power, more like the motor of a hair dryer, they could move fast enough, but not enough to suit the Aussie.

“I swear there’s dogs walking faster than us,” Kitt shouted.*

Still, he and Slate had a little fun with their bikes. More commonly used in Europe than the States, they were accustomed to them and the two raced each other...if you could call that. *

“Ciao!” * Slate waved, laughing as he puttered past the others; ignoring the fact that Illya had just given him a dirty look.

Mark called out, ”Mate you need to relax sometimes!”

The Russian pulled ahead on his moped, ignoring the kidding around; he signalled the final turn onto Champlin  where they came to a slow stop, having arrived at their destination.

The Coast Guard station was a red-roofed two story white wooden house with a lookout tower, located at a waterfront site at New Harbor. Apparently it had been built around 1940 inside the entrance to Great Salt Pond.

Located at a waterfront site that had not even existed  half-century earlier; the building was the culmination, beginning in the 1870s, of the Federal government’s efforts to provide direct assistance to mariners in peril.

Napoleon was the first to enter, having gently knocked on the door. Sitting behind a desk was a ginger haired, freckle faced Ensign, who looked up at the dark haired agent.

“Hi there, my name is Napoleon Solo and I’m with the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.” When he sensed no comprehension, he opted for the standard designation, while holding out his ID card.“That’s  the U.N.C.L.E.”

“Oh, yes sir. UNCLE sir, I have heard about it. It was mentioned in our training. What might I do to help you Mister…”

“Solo, Napoleon Solo, and these are my associates Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Slate and Mr. Kittridge.”

“Ensign Frank Pulver, sir,” he introduced himself.

“Pulver?” Napoleon recalled a recent movie release by that name; a sequel to the Henry Fonda film ‘Mister Roberts.’

“I know what you’re thinking sir and I’m not inept like the Frank Pulver in those movies.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all. Now I wonder if it would be at all possible to speak to your commanding officer, and please don’t tell me his name is…?”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry to say it’s Morton, but I assure you he’s no Captain Bligh, like in the movies.”

Napoleon shrugged as he smiled. “That’s good to know, now is the Captain available?”

“I’ll check sir. What may I ask the reason for your visit?”

Pulver took mental note these men were not wearing suits and were casually dressed in jeans, and polo shirts while wearing sunglasses and deck shoes, all looking the part of recreational boaters. Except for the man named Solo, he was dressed completely in white and a navy blue sweater, the sleeves of which were tied around his neck. He looked like the typical playboy types who invaded the island every summer.

“We’re here to discuss the fish kill.”

Pulver disappeared for a few minutes through an office door directly behind him. Giving Napoleon and the others a few minutes to take in the photographs on the walls, many of them from the turn of the century of masted ships.

The area around Block Island had been the site of numerous shipwrecks, including the Steamer Larchmont in 1907. Illya pointed out an etching of the the 1738 wreck of the Princess Augusta.

“Yes, “Napoleon said.”It was also known as the Palatine ship and later immortalized by John Greenleaf Whittier in his 1867 poem, ‘The Wreck of the Palatine’, among whose verses the words, ‘Circled by waters that never freeze, Beaten by billow and swept by breeze, Lieth the island of Manisees, have become well-known. The Narragansett Indians were the first inhabitants of Block Island; their name for the island was ‘Manisses’ which translates to ‘Island of the Little God.’

“And he called me a walking encyclopedia,” Illya mumbled to the Brit, who snickered, but cleared his throat to hide it.

“Will you look here,”Mark segued without missing a beat,”two submarines sank off of the island, the USS S-51 in 1925, and the German U-boat U-853 in 1945. And a 19th-century shipwreck lies just south of the southeast lighthouse, its mast is submerged only four feet below the water's surface. Bet you wouldn’t mind doing a bit of your diving to explore mate, “ he said to the Russian. Slate knew Kuryakin had a penchant for diving around old wrecks. **

“Unfortunately that area remains closed off to passing boats,” a man spoke from behind them. “Captain John Morton gentleman, I’m Chief of this station. Now what can I do to be of assistance to four UNCLE agents?”

Napoleon held up his ID card, offering his other hand to the Captain, who shook it vigorously.”

“We’re interested in any findings you have regarding this  rather extreme fish kill the island is experiencing.”

“Now there’s a good question. It started about a month ago and has become progressively worse. An act of nature one could only assume, though I’ve never seen one of this intensity and lasting this long. It’s pretty much brought the island to a standstill, economy wise. The tourists have all gone. The events scheduled for next week, the regatta and such are on the brink of cancellation. It’ll be a major blow to say the least.”

“Captain, have you noticed any odd goings on here since these fish kills started?” Illya asked.

“Odd, as in what sir?”

“Captain this is my partner Mr. Kuryakin and that is Mr. Slate, and lastly Mr. Kittridge, pardon my remiss at introducing them to you,” Napoleon said.

“G’day mate,” Kitt doffed an imaginary cap.

“People coming and going in perhaps a clandestine manner, people who are unfamiliar to you,” Illya clarified himself.

“Well given we’re a tourist destination we do see a lot of new faces I’m afraid. As to clandestine well, the only folks I can think of are the ones who’ve taken up residence in the old weather observatory. They’ve been creeping around along the beaches and we had to chase them off several times from Settler’s Rock as the beach there isn’t ideal for swimming on the ocean side, especially at the point, due to strong rip currents. On the other side, is Sachem Pond, fresh water and good for swimming but they seem not to be interested. I think they’re doing some treasure hunting, for all the good it will do. They’ve been carrying shovels, buckets and what looks like a metal detector with them,” Morton laughed. “Maybe they’re hunting for Captain Kidd’s hidden treasure.”

That was the second time this was mentioned today, now piquing Kuryakin’s curiosity. “I have heard this before,” Illya asked.”Are the stories true?”

“Oh I don’t hold much store in them. There’s stories of Captain Kidd’s buried treasure up the coast from New Jersey, Long Island and around these parts. We’ve had the occasional hunter but not often. Treasure hunting isn’t my concern gentlemen, we’re a Search and Rescue Detachment. We perform water rescues and searches when a boat has gone down. We call for an aerial evacuation when there’s a medical emergency out on the water.  Anything else...the ever-waiting commercial towboats berth in New Harbor during summer months to head out when boaters get stuck on there.” He pointed towards the ocean.

“And you have no concern about the fish kill?” Illya did a quick about face with his question.

“As I said sir, it’s an act of nature, and something over which we have no control. Now if there’s anything else?”

“No but thank you Captain Morton for your time,” Napoleon said.

“By the way, you gentlemen here for the Regatta week?”

“We were,”Napoleon answered.

“Yes shame about that but with the conditions here driving everyone away, we’ll probably have to cancel. Which believe it or not is a bit of a relief for us here at the station. Less boaters, less accidents...even though the competitors are experienced seamen for the most part; mishaps happen. Honestly it’s a nice break for once for the island to be quiet, at least from our point of view.”

“Now if you do go out on the water here’s some words to send you on your way...

There is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."

“Ah yes, from Wind in the Willows, if I am not mistaken,” Illya nodded.

“You are not sir,”Captain Morton saluted them.

The four agents headed back to their mopeds.

“That fellow needs to get out more,”Mark said.

“Napoleon,” Illya asked. “I would like to take some samples here if you do not mind?”

“Fine with me. After you’re done with your stinky task I think we should head back to the Pursang.”

“Making some additional stops along the shore for further samples?” Illya added.

“Fine, but let’s clean up and get to the yacht club in time for dinner. Need I even ask if that sounds all right with you tovarisch?”

Illya rolled his eyes…

*   a suggestion by ssclassof56 - from an Eddie Izzard skit: “European Vacation”

** ref. “By the sea, by the beautiful sea”

Chapter 4

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

It gets more and more intriguing. I'm really looking forward to seeing how the chipped beef prompt is going to be used:-)

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! That's the aim to build the intrigue. Still not sure about how to work the new prompt into this story, which is a problem of my own making of course.

Hope you can come up with a SOS story! Will be interesting how it figures into your WIP given the topic of IIK's 'humiliation' yesterday.