Knock, and then enter the Goat Locker. Retired Master Chief Firecontrolman Bob Kensey pondered what to do next. The cold, wet, windy, Seattle winter slogged toward spring with little notice. His pet project, the radio room addition to his favorite hangout, the Safe Haven Bar and Grill, was nearly complete. The first fishing trip in his new boat was successful and the freezer was filled with fresh Willamette Springer salmon. Master Chief Kensey longed for some excitement. He missed his own command, The Boeing built, PHM class hydrofoil, Goat Locker, and the crew he assembled to complete a difficult mission dropped on him by a high-ranking DEA agent, Jim Billings. Bob silently grumbled to himself and poured a generous dram of Chimeaud brandy. "All I have to look forward to is a night at the ballet and maybe another fishing trip with my good friend Black Cloud. I hope Bill Masters and Boats commission their schooner soon I am ready for a vacation in Baja, California and several weeks in the sun." Bob sipped the fine brandy, concentrated on an excuse acceptable to his lady friend, Lois in order to ditch the ballet. He subconsciously fished the one-number satellite phone given to him by Jim Billings, who he and his crew dubbed Gman, from the kitchen junk drawer, selected station one and punched send . . .