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The dark suited Secret Service agent put his hand in front of Oya’s chest. She glared at his dark sunglasses. He pressed a finger to his earpiece, and stepped aside. “Sorry Ma’am.” Oya refused to acknowledge him or his partner and stepped onto the floating dock leading to her catamaran, Sango. The boat was named for the Yoruban deity of thunder and lightning, Oya pretended the naming wasn’t propitiatory in nature.
Ana, Oya’s manager, sailing mentor, and chief fund-raiser, dangled her feet over the edge of the dock and watched Oya stomp towards her.
Oya asked, “Why am I putting up with this a few days before starting a round the world race?”
“It’s few months before the election,” Ana said. “Because the sponsors want it. You’re a successful, environmentally active, black woman. Her pollsters probably have the exact range of uplift you’ll provide.”
Oya dropped a bag from her shoulder and rubbed a small scar on her jaw. “She’ll get re-elected. The other lot keep wheeling out sexist, racist ass-hats. I still don’t like her though.”
“You don’t have to like her. Just smile and let the cameras roll. And I mean smile, all the way through.” Ana looked at Oya’s bag. “Is that the last? You were meant to have everything aboard before the Secret Service locked the marina down.”
“It is,” Oya said. “I wouldn’t have been so long, but they had to inspect it at the car.” She nodded up the dock. “I thought that pair were going to do it again.” The sound of helicopters made them both look round. Two Sea-King choppers approached from seaward. “Well, here she comes.”
The President was more engaging than Oya expected, appearing enthusiastic, and knowledgeable. She pointed at the curved plexi-screen in front of the wheel.
“That’s a large screen. Will it alert you to any sonar responses?”
“Yes, Madam President,” Oya said. “Also the weather, map, and location of things on the boat.”
“Sorry?”
“Well, I might need to know where an item is. After a few weeks sailing that might not spring to mind. So everything has an RIFD tag attached, and is easy to locate.”
The President nodded, then asked, “Doesn’t the sonar pod create drag you don’t want in a race?”
“There’s actually two of them, but they’re built into the hull and I’m assured they don’t slow me down.”
The President laughed, an easy, genial sound. She said, “Well, I hope you’re successful in finding a few more whales than we think are out there. You know, I watched a blue whale swimming with her calf off Baja when I was, oh, maybe twenty-five or six.”
For the first time Oya was impressed. “Really? I’ve only ever seen archive footage, never live. What was it like?”
“Incredible,” the older woman paused. “You know, for a long time it looked like we’d saved them, made people care.”
“Plenty people still care, Madam President. We just need help from those with power.” Oya heard Ana suck in breath, and the President’s grin froze in place. Media drones whirred as their remote operators sought the perfect angle.
“Yes, well. Even after three terms I haven’t achieved everything I want.”
An aide stepped forward. “Madam President, Marine One is prepping to take you to the Chinese Ambassador’s residence at Martha’s.”
“Thank you.” The President turned to Oya, she still smiled, but the warmth was gone. “Good luck with the race, Ms Leke, and your whale hunting.”
A few hours later Sango hissed through the water of Long Island Sound. Wind slapped guide-ropes against the mast, a huge yellow spinnaker billowed in the breeze.
Ana clipped on her safety line, and sat next to Oya. “Happy with the setup?”
Oya grinned. Her thick, dark, hair was pulled back in a tight bun but still the rush of air made her appear windswept. “Yes. Everything’s good. Though it’ll be different matter going round Tierra del Fuego in a force ten.”
“If you’re not through there before winter storms hit, you’re stuffed.” They both grimaced at the idea. “But you’ve always liked sailing into danger. I just thought I’d taught you to take risks more carefully.”
Oya had expected this. “You know, when she became president whale stocks had been rising for years. Sure, a couple of countries still hunted, but it was small numbers, and every year there was pressure on them to stop. In the past twelve years…” She stopped, clamped her jaw together, and stared ahead.
“You can’t blame her for—“
“I didn’t blame her. I called her out for not preventing it. And she could. Even now, even after the China Package, she’s got enough power to act.”
“Maybe. She’s definitely got the power to make sure you don’t join the race.”
Oya narrowed her eyes as the sun appeared from behind a cloud. “She wouldn’t dare. I’m a US citizen.”
“Naturalized. And after what Boko Harem and Da’Esh have done to Nigeria, it wouldn’t be difficult to have you delayed, or even detained.”
The instinctive response was ‘She wouldn’t dare’, but Oya knew better. Mainstream media didn’t cover it, but detainment camps from Texas up to the Dakota’s showed how threats to national security were dealt with, proven or not.
“It’s okay,” Oya said. “After Saturday I’m out of the way for months, without any inconvenient questions relating to my disappearance.”
“Let’s hope.”
In part two, tomorrow, Oya's race gets underway
text by stuartcturnbull, picture by GB_photo via Pixbay
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six