Custom Crimes (eBook)

Prologue

Bob is a fly fisherman who has never learned to swim. So he is careful to stay high on the bank of the swift-flowing Nooksack River. He knows how strong and fast this river current is. His name is Robert Stone, but everyone calls him Bob. He is about to become a hero, at least in the eyes of the two parents of a five-year-old kid named Robert. Little Robert is going to stop breathing in less than a minute.

The parents are only a few feet away from little Robert. The three of them are about fifty yards upstream from Bob.

The family stands in bright sunshine next to this crystal clear river in the North Cascades National Park. The snow-covered Cascade Mountains are there. The majestic evergreen trees surrounding them validate Washington State being called the Evergreen State. The background sound of the rushing river is calming yet loud enough to cover the sound of any occasional vehicle that might drive by on State Highway 542 behind them. It is a peaceful solitude for as long as little Robert and his parents want to stand in the cold. The warm comfort of their Lexus is parked only a hundred feet away.

If little Robert’s parents were to take a picture of Bob fly fishing on this scenic river, it would be perfect for a Washington State tourist brochure.

Robert’s death is unexpected, but then again, not even grown-ups can wake up in the morning and know they are to die that day.

It is September, and at this elevation, it is cold. The Nooksack River is running very fast. Both Mom and Dad can hear the muffled thunk of basketball-sized rounded stones occasionally being rolled a foot at a time downstream by the current.

Little Robert is standing at the very edge of the river on a bank of small, rounded pebbles: pea gravel.

Robert saw only a football-sized rock roll downstream under the water. But he thinks it is one of those ‘salmon’ fish his dad had told him about. Excited, he quickly leans forward to take a better look.

Dad is talking to Mom, “I have some good news. By February, we’ll be living in Virginia!”

“You got the White House Protection Detail!” Dad and Mom are smiling at each other.

Suddenly, the pea gravel on the river bank slope gives way under Robert, and he falls into the rushing river. The water is less than four feet deep, but Robert is not that tall. The water is ice cold, so Robert involuntarily sucks in his breath as he plunges below and is now choking on water — he tries again to suck in some air but sucks in more water. It is his last breath. Mom and Dad see Robert already under the water and moving downstream fast. The blur of his red jacket is moving faster downriver than any parent can run. They both feel the hammering of their hearts and the awful certainty they have just lost their only child. Mom screams his name in one long and piercing cry that seems to last longer than it does, “Robeert!” The silence afterward is even louder.

Above the loud burbling of the rushing water, Bob hears the mom’s distant scream, sees the kid is no longer standing on the river bank, and sees a flash of red jacket rocketing down the river towards him.

Dad is about to jump in the river. In one second, his adrenal glands dump their entire load of adrenalin into his system. In the same second, his eyes see that his son is already so far away that he cannot catch up. So his legs sprint him alongside the river bank, and his brain calculates whether he can reach a small finger of a sand bar downstream in time to jump in and try to save his son.

Bob throws his fly rod on shore and wades into the river. Almost immediately, the icy river is over his boots, and he takes a sharp breath because of the biting cold. He wants to slog through the now waist-high current to grab the kid. But already, his legs feel numb, and the river current is relentlessly shoving against him. His boots keep slipping on the jumbled, rounded rocks on the bottom of the river bed. Bob sees the red jacket rushing at him. As he reaches out to grab the kid, he stumbles on the slippery stones beneath his boots. His unexpected and sudden total immersion in the ice-cold river shocks him.

The river is in control. But God’s grace and blind luck intervene, and he somehow surfaces just in time to reach out and grab little Robert by his red jacket. Now, both of them are being swept downstream. Seconds later, Bob’s shoulder and back slam into a large boulder. He groans, but since his breath is being knocked out of him, he doesn’t swallow water. His vision closes down to a pinpointed little circle. Mercifully, his circle of vision immediately opens up again, and he finds that although his hands are numb, he still has a grasp on the kid’s coat. They both are now being swept further downstream.

Bob tries to plant his boots into the river bed, but they keep slipping over the round rocks. The kid doesn’t struggle. He is limp. Seconds later, the river widens, the current slows just a little, and Bob digs the soles of his boots into the river bed. He manages to stand up and stagger to the shore with the kid. Bob is numb from the cold, and his hands are shaking badly. He kneels on the projecting finger of a sand bar and lays the kid down. The kid’s Dad can be heard crashing through thick underbrush, trying to get to him.

The kid is not breathing. Bob turns him onto his side and begins thumping his back like he once saw on television. He checks the side of the kid’s neck for a pulse but feels nothing.He thinks to himself: My fingers are numb. Maybe there is a pulse, but I can’t feel it.

The kid’s face is white, and his chest is not moving. So Bob rolls the kid onto his back and pushes his abdomen up and in. He has no clue if he is doing it right; EMT training was many years ago—a dribble of water spurts from the kid’s mouth.

Now, Dad breaks free of the underbrush and runs over just as Bob pinches Robert’s nose shut and blows once into his little mouth. Robert chokes up some water, then sucks in a wheezing partial breath. Robert’s mom ran faster than ever before and now joins Dad. Both parents are on their knees beside Robert. Mom is sobbing in relief as Dad cradles Robert’s head.

Bob stands, wiping what feels like water out of his eyes, but sees his hands have a couple of red smears of blood. His head hurts. He remembers hitting a boulder as he was swept down the river.

Now, Bob is a spectator. Little Robert is much better, starting to stand. His mom slips off her coat and wraps it around him. The kid is shivering but bravely says, “I’m okay!” The way he looks back at the river, a healthy fear will keep him away from rivers for a long time.

Dad realizes his little Robert is going to be okay. He stands up and hugs Robert in his arms. “Let’s warm up in our car.“ Bob hangs back, but Dad catches Bob’s eyes and motions his head upstream for Bob to follow.

As they approach the Lexus, Bob’s teeth are chattering, but he manages to say, “I’m too wet to get in your nice car.”

Dad says firmly, “It’s supposed to be an SUV. The seats better be able to take a little water.”

Once they’re in the Lexus and the heater is on full blast, Dad turns to Bob, “You saved our son’s life when we thought we had lost him forever!” He stops talking. A moment later, he continues, but his voice is now a hoarse whisper, “The current must have been terrible. We could see you couldn’t swim against it.”

“Well, I can’t swim anyway,” Bob says. He pats his waist like he’s lost something.

“Missing something?”

“I thought I lost my off-duty cell phone, but it’s here.”

“If the water ruined it, we’ll get you a new one.”

“The phone isn’t mine. It belongs to US Customs. They’ll understand when I tell them what happened, and they’ll assign another one to me. They loaned me to the Northwest Regional Drug Task Force. We cover four counties.”

Dad looks puzzled. “US Customs? You’re working drugs away from the border?”

Bob thought to himself, Great! This kid’s dad probably thinks Customs is an office of border clerks.

But the dad smiled at him, “I know US Customs arrests a lot of felons,” he said, “even more than my agency: the US Secret Service.” He pulled out a badge case and flashed a gold-starred badge, “I’m Glen Thomas, US Secret Service. I’m with the Financial Crimes Office attached to the Vancouver Embassy.” And he held out his hand.

Bob shakes hands with him and wonders: He’s with the Secret Service, probably the country’s most prestigious law enforcement agency. And he’s friendly like we’re best buds. Then it dawns on him: Well, of course! Duh! I just saved his kid from drowning! “Good to meet you, Mr. Thomas,” he manages to say.

“Call me Glen. Our Robert wasn’t breathing, probably gone forever. And you saved him.” He opened his mouth to talk, but he choked up again.

Mom has been cradling Robert. “You need to meet the boy you just saved,” she says. “Robert Lincoln Thomas, ‘Lincoln’ because he was born on Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.” She pauses and smiles radiantly, making you want to keep getting her approval. She waits expectantly, and her smile never fades, “And you are...?”

Bob realizes she is waiting for an answer. “Sorry, I was thinking about the coincidence. My name is Robert Stone, but everyone calls me Bob. And I was also born on February 12, President Lincoln’s...