On the other side of the wave, Sam watched as Tom stood up, lurching forward as he raced down the face of the twenty-five-foot wave. On the same crest, the two girls were up on their boards, confidently riding the waves like pro surfers — which they probably were. Tom leaned forward, trying to carve his way into the barreling wave.
It looked good, but he didn’t quite have the momentum to keep it and a couple seconds later the front of his board dug into the sea and he fell head over heels, disappearing beneath the surf.
Sam laughed.
A moment later, he watched as the two girls tried the same maneuver. One ended up the same way as Tom, while the other managed to make it stick, as she squatted down hard on her board and dipped her head.
Sam lost sight of her as the barrel broke.
He assumed she, too, had failed in her attempt.
But a couple seconds later, he spotted her head break free from the northern end of the barrel, as she carved through the surf, veering to the crest on her right, before flipping her board 180 degrees and returning back on the same wave in the heading south, riding it all the way to the shore.
Sam clapped, not that anyone could hear him. It was an impressive maneuver, and he guessed he was probably right about her being a pro surfer.
Far behind the breakers, Sam was content just to sit for a while and enjoy the peace and quiet. He was in no hurry. There was nothing about the ocean he didn’t love, so he just soaked it all in for a while.
When Tom returned, he came up from a duck-dive under a wave, emerging between Sam and the two surfer girls. Sam watched him strike up a conversation with the nearest one, a brunette, athletic girl in a short-sleeved wetsuit. Just out of earshot he watched as she returned Tom’s chatter, smiling with brilliant white teeth and giggling.
With that, Sam took off on his own wave and was suddenly soaring down the face of a beautiful azure wall of hissing, diamond-speckled water. He was exhilarated as his feet took up the weight of his body on his board beneath him. He flew out the front of the face of the wave as it opened up, tiny bumps on the flat water at the bottom of his run slapping underneath his board and testing his feet’s ability to hold on.
He bent his legs and sprung himself with vigor back up the face of the wave, cutting in to attack the rise of the water and feeling it surge powerfully beneath him. Turning back once more, he settled into a groove just in front of the breaking white water and set his eyes on the point where the water meets the sand as far off in the distance as he could see. He adjusted his balance, hunkered down and placed his right hand tenderly on the wall of water curling upward beside him. He gripped the left rail of his board with his other hand and relaxed.
The wave enveloped him.
The sound of curling, sucking water eddied around him on all sides as he carved between the thick walls of the wave. For a few moments that hallowed place of bliss and connection between those most accomplished of surfers and the ocean was his, all his senses entirely ensconced, then, as quickly as it came — it was gone, and he was shot out the front into the air.
He was struck by the noise and dazzling light of the day. He was thrilled and refreshed. The wave crashed behind him, and he pushed hard with his back foot, turning up and over the soft shoulder of the wave as it ebbed in the deeper edge of the breakwater. He landed softly down on his stomach, lowering himself to the board once again, smiling to himself. He shook the water from his hair and started the long paddle back out to his friend.
Making the deeper water once more, Sam found Tom deep in conversation with the two girls, charismatically gesticulating and relaying some story of adventure. They all turned and smiled as he arrived.
“See that!” he said to Tom, still scintillated by the last wave.
“See what?” Tom asked.
“Oh, nothing. Great waves today hey?” Sam said to all three.
“Sam, this is Kathy and MC.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” Sam said with a half-wave of his hand and a smile.
“What are you guys doing for lunch?” The girl farthest from Sam asked. She was Polynesian, with the slim and athletic build of someone who’d been surfing since she could first stand.
The four got chatting, light conversation about the North Shore’s various beaches. Testing one another’s level of local knowledge as was the custom amongst surfers. It occurred to Sam that both these girls were incredibly beautiful and friendly. As they surfed a last wave back in, he assumed Tom was thinking the same thing as him — imagining a future of surfing, lying about and relaxing on the beach. A life free from the stress, hunger, and hardship of adventure and intrigue. He really did need a vacation.
It would be a pleasant way to spend a few days.
Of course, Tom was still dating Genevieve, and both of them needed to urgently meet up with Tom’s father to discuss the unique theft of the twin spheres.
He shrugged.
The four surfers tossed their boards in their cars, then met up at a burger stand on the edge of the parking lot. They ordered burgers and sodas and took stools at a high table. They sat chatting like teenagers. Both Sam and Tom were enjoying themselves immensely.
“So what do you guys do anyway?” Kathy asked, taking up her burger with both hands.
“Well, I’d love to tell you, but it’s highly classified,” Tom answered, grinning.
Sam kept quiet, concentrating on the juicy burger being placed in front of him by the server.
“Ha-ha,” she answered. She smiled, yet sarcasm dripped from her words. Tom instantly liked her. “No really, what is it? Real estate, insurance, oh wait I know — you’re big pharma reps on one of those, what do you call it — ‘conferences’,” she said, making the inverted commas signals with her fingers.
“I’m just kidding around,” Tom said, “Really we’re just two boring ocean scientists on the first vacation in a very, very long…” Tom trailed off, and Sam caught his eye. Both men stiffened in their seats, instinctively turning to their left — toward the mountain behind them.
At that moment, five Sikorsky VH-3D Sea King helicopters burst overhead, thundering along in a classic five-point star formation. The helicopters were flying low, 500-feet and their noise was overpowering.
Sam knew these aircraft well, and without delay attacked his burger and fries.
They were white-tops — meaning they carried the signature paint job of the nation’s most technologically advanced, highly powered luxury helicopters. They belonged to the fleet of twenty-three aircraft known as Marine One — the helicopters used for the president and other high-ranking government officials. They always flew in a group of five or more. One high-value bird, and four decoys. Not only were they like a mobile board-room, appointed with state-of-the-art technology and luxurious fitments, they were armed with an array of high-tech assault and defense weapons.
Tom, catching the hint, immediately started savaging the food in front of him too.
All activity on the beach ceased in awe at the display in the sky overhead — the crowd at Rockpile was instantly immovably transfixed by the spectacle. The huge helicopters turned and took up a line over the surf break. Facing the beach, they hovered shoulder to shoulder. Two of the hulking birds broke ranks and came forward, touching down on hastily cleared out sand which whipped up in all directions.
The landing helicopters came to rest side-by-side, 150 feet apart. The rotors slowed in almost perfect unison, and from the two opposing internal doors, seemingly identical Marines in full dress uniform stepped down — taking up positions at attention near the stairs. The other three helicopters, still roaring overhead turned in three different directions and took up a high circling formation, a constant show of power and intimidation. Sam and Tom wolfed down their food and slurped their sodas empty, then started tidying themselves up.