600 Lullabies-chap17 <stripped>

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction - Sir Issac Newton.

It’s a vector equation, a type of measurement.

What it can’t measure is human emotion, action, reaction, with love and passion, creating changes in space, time, and energy.

In this case, a professional rescuer with passion and a ghost of love can’t be measured.

Malta - Mellieħa Bay Beach-08:00:

It’s Kids’ week.

A weeklong event for children ages 5 to 10 organized by the 1^st Responders Trust and corporate sponsors.

6 long days for kids integrated into the Water Rescue Services. Daily events include on patrol with the pro's, swim lessons, first aid training, rides in Rescue & Police vehicles, an up-close helicopter training rescue, look'n cool with the Jr. Lifeguards teens, Official Rescue T-shirts, sunglasses, Lifeguard caps, Rescue backpack with sun block, first aid kit and at the end of the week the highly coveted ‘Penguin Lifeguard Badge‘.

That means they survived Kids Lifeguard boot camp.

They’re all awarded the Penguin at the Lifeguard Grill & Chill event with family cheers but they gotta stay the course for the entire week. 

Its also an escape for parents, they deposit their kids from 08:00 to 16:30, returned exhausted, well fed, with memories that last a lifetime and inspire the next generation of rescuers.

A warm breeze drifts Southward along Malta’s most visited beach. A roughly 800m sand strip, awarded Blue Flag status for water quality, environmental management, safety, and services.

The greyish marine layer is dissipating in the morning sun. The Lifeguard tower windows are slid open.

The Lifeguard Captain, DJ, and his best mate, Police Chief Constable Ryan, sit in the tower alone observing Jr. Lifeguards, police cadets and local rescue volunteers welcoming the first arrivals of nervous children and inquiring parents, handing out goodies, coffee and the wide-eyed newbies with oohs and awes some intrepidly, mixed in with a few tears of fear.

This alone time is also being used for another purpose.

The ongoing mystery this summer baffling European investigators.

Chief Ryan has a dossier spread out on the counter with photos of recovered debris from a plane crash last week South of Gozo Island, his e-tablet is running an AI program of a calculated low altitude zig-zag flight path based on intermittent radar contact and reports from other Sea vessels of a fast low flying aircraft entering the Mediterranean from somewhere off North Africa at night.

The custom made G7 private jet was avoiding radar. There were no bodies recovered.

All indications are the aircraft inverted at about Mach 0.65 and disintegrated on impact. It was a local fishing boat trolling for skipjack tuna at dawn that found debris adrift and called it in.

Skipjack some might ask. (?)

As the global climate changes, waters warm, this normally tropical tuna has made its way into the Mediterranean, little is known about their migration paths.

DJ’s team were first on recovery scene. One of the items recovered was a handbag size sealed cooler. Inside, human kidneys. There were probably more harvested body parts on that aircraft Destin for a private medical clinic in Monaco. Every indication is the lucrative illegal human organ trade is alive and well for the right price.

DJ and Ryan already had a nick name for the sleek pearl black aircraft “The Black Ghost of the Gold Coast”.

Owned by a Cyprus leasing company, founders’ shares controlled by BVI trust with an office address in Lausanne. For investigators from Inter Pol and Intel agencies it’s a scramble, they’re on a hunt for a mystery smuggling cartel with rouge State sponsors and a connection to a network of very savvy offshore bankers.

No mystery here for here for the Lifeguard Captain and Chief Constable, they know the Cartel boss.

The two former SAS counterintelligence field officers are closing in on their former counter Intel nemesis, now African warlord, master of human trafficking trade, producing rare earth minerals at record profits, the kind of rare earth materials we all use in our technology driven lifestyles.

They all used to be good friends, until DJ and Ryan found out from another Intelligence agency, he was a traitor working for the other side. They tried to kill him; he tried to kill them. Back then it wasn’t personal, just a profession, the mission. The real secret here is, no one suspects that DJ and Ryan know the Cartel boss from their past.

And they want to keep that way.

The question everyone has this summer; what the fuck is going on and why Malta?

With two mystery bodies suited in commando swim kit washing up on the coast earlier this season, a mystery submarine surfacing for a late-night rendezvous with a ship that technically doesn’t exist, an assassinated Intelligence agent attached to an embassy and a ghost luxury super yacht on an autopilot slow course to Malta, but no crew onboard.

The two former field Intel Operatives know the drill, chill, wait, study it, collect the clues and data. As the cowboys say, gotta chip in the game. Don’t need to be seen, don’t be a hero, for now.

Pause…

They both freeze, they both heard it.

Staring at each other in silence.

Wait...

There it is again.

It’s like a muffled Peacock scream in the breeze, but to the trained ear of a rescuer and policeman, it’s a shriek for help, a woman’s cry of desperation.

DJ grabs the binoculars and scans Northward along the sand strip, the range finder collaborates distance and direction.

100 meters

300m

500m

550m

And… at about 600 a woman on her knees at water’s edge screaming dressed in a head scarf and gown flowing in morning breeze.

At about 50m off the shoreline a young child, bright orange arm floats, bobbing in the water being sucked out in low morning surf.

DJ tosses the binoculars to Ryan and grabs his swim fins, Ryan tosses the rescue buoy, DJ catches it with one hand in mid-air not even looking, not a word uttered between the two pro’s, DJ bolts out the entrance down the ramp barefoot, lite wind vest, fluorescent head sock, rescue buoy and fins in hands and sprints past the gathering of kids and parents.

Ryan phones for back up, binoculars locked on target.

The 1^st 100 meters…

As fit as the middle-aged Lifeguard Captain is he can feel a few past injuries. The sprint evolves into a long stride, breaks a sweat, knees lift, elbows and arms rise with tempo.

Gotta grip the toes on sand to stay balanced, accelerating with both hands full.

125m

Running on water’s edge, where the firm sand has best grip. Drifting into water catch’s the feet, slows the stride.

200m

Deep core breath, sync’d with a long-distance stride.

He coughs up a bit of phlegm and spits it out.

Gym fit, cut as they say, he’s a power sprinter- 200m swim in under 3minutes with a rescue buoy and no fins and can outrun most of his younger Lifeguards in a 300.  But a 600m sprint, it’s all about setting the pace- surviving- he knows he’s gonna test the limit here.

250m

The sting on feet, seashells, stones, bits of sharp plastic, always a few cuts on barefoot sprints.

Burp, a taste of breakfast.

300m

Halfway there, DJ sheds his wind vest, he can hear police sirens in background.

350m

The aches and pains of the past are gone, the adrenaline numb affect has kicked in. Eyes locked on target, the child is bobbing in the waves face down, not a good sign.

400m

The woman is wearing a Hijab, Dupatta style Burqa of fine linen catching the breeze.

The chances are, risk assessment wise, in the water rescue world, she either can't swim, certainly not with her traditional dress, never had the opportunity to learn how to swim or just paralyzed in fear.

No disrespect there, as a rule, it’s just not in the culture.

Only once DJ and his Lifeguards saw a woman of conservative Islam faith swim on a rescue, she was wearing a Burkini, a body-hugging Islamic code swim dress with a sport hair cover. She was a Dam good swimmer by any professional standards from Dubai.

In modern times, that's changing. DJ's team works with a Muslim a charity to get woman and their children swimming lessons and integrate it culturally.

450m

There’s a rhythm in this sprint. Like in CPR, every rescuer has one. For DJ it’s kind of a song with a 1-2-3 tempo. It came to him when he lost his only child in hospital from a strange staph infection contracted at the paediatric clinic. Clutched in his arms, swaying, rocking to a rhythm of double tap kisses and last tiny breaths.

A kind of soft melodic chant.

Some would say a musical prayer.

Call it a rescue Lullaby.

A doctor approached him from behind, injected him with a sedative because he wouldn’t let go and wouldn’t stop singing.

DJ never gives up when trying find and rescue kids.

His best mate Ryan will tell you over a drink; he doesn’t let go, still trying to rescue a ghost of love. Almost killed him once, DJ had to be resuscitated, the rescued child survived.

500m

If you’re think’n the rescuer is gonna be exhausted by the time he jumps in the water and swims.

You’re right. Theres only two things that will save him and the child, passion, ‘and’ experience.

550m

Comana I wanna another breath to be, spare me lord one more time to rescue what I see, love from above and passion blessed I be, don’t let this little one slip bye me…

575m

Sun classes tossed in sand, head sock away, the next manoeuvre is the mark of a Pro…

600m

Never run in the water paralleling the shoreline, the water drag slows. DJ arch’s out from water’s edge in a hook pattern, curves towards the water straight in, line of sight, as the water reaches his knees, he starts a gazelle technique of skip leaps with knees raised, dives, rolls, fins on, rescue buoy shoulder strap, all in one gliding motion.

Freestyle-crawl stroke, raised head, eyes locked on.

No short splashing strokes here, long arm reaches, high elbow catch technique, reach & roll, the back muscles stretch the ribs, lungs open more, about 20-30% more air.

Exhaustion is pain, in water it’s a bit different, in between wave breaks he inhales Sea spray.

And… the catch, pulling the child in close on chest, lifts his head, several quick short- mouth to mouth- breaths with one hand chest pumps, again, 3^rd time the little guy opens his eyes and convulses in a violent cough.

DJ glances around, sizes up the wave line up and body surfs the little one in shore screaming and kicking with one arm straddling his legs pressed to the rescue buoy, holding his head above water.

Two police officers sprint in as DJ glides in the shallows, grabbing the child as he tries to stand.

He staggers, falls to his knees, wheezing, coughing up a bit of water, vomits and crawls to water’s edge and rolls on his back.

Tears in his eyes…

6 days Later:

DJ is over an hour late for the Grill & Chill kids week closing event.

After a heated meeting with the finance minister to release some of that excess Covid money to fill a gap in the budget, promised from last year.

As he parks at the beach Lifeguard station, he stares and mumbles to himself, ‘this is not the plan’.

Two catering vans from Malta’s best 5-star hotel. A live band with a light show, characters from the latest hit Disney movie dancing with kids.

Two black German luxury sedans with tinted windows parked and a tuned-up security team, Chief Ryan is on the beach with a woman dressed in fine linen, loose pant suit and Hajib, bare foot at water’s edge.

Saudi Flag on those Limo’s.

He strolls through the sand, fist bumps and high fives kids and parents. Ryan looks over “Ahh there he is”! with a shit-eat’n grin on his face.

The woman reaches for a handshake with a big friendly smile and hands DJ her card.

She’s the Saudi Ambassador, European Union Representative.

“Mr. DJ, a pleasure to meet you I’ve heard many good things, the party is a gift from an old friend and ahh… the Kingdom is making a donation to your Lifeguard budget”.

Pause… DJ smiles “Wow! Allot has changed in the Kingdom recently”.

She smiles, nods, and barks out an order in Arabic with a finger snap, one of the security team hustles over, hands her an envelope, she hands it to DJ. It has Royal seal on it.

He opens it…

Its from a dear friend he hasn’t heard from in years, Saudi Intel, he was the one that warned DJ and Ryan of their nemesis of the past, a traitor, way back when in Mogadishu, the now Cartel boss.

That old friend is the new Chief of Saudi Intelligence.

The letter begins with a polite greeting, a few words of ‘long time - no see and we need to catch up’.

But the message here is, “thank you for rescuing my nephew”. It goes on…  a series of numbers and math symbols used in physics. “Your welcome Cowboy, now you have a chip in the big game”.

P.S. “I’m sending the family over for swimming lessons” with a winking smiley emoji.

DJ looks at the Ambassador bewildered; she pulls out an e-tablet from a satchel.

DJ types in the key code, an encrypted browser activates to a place in the dark web revealing crypto currency wallets worth staggering numbers. DJ and Ryan stare in shock.

The Ambassador nods “There are no rival Cartel wars, no foreign intelligence assassinations, they are fighting amongst themselves. Those Crypto wallets are on severs here in Malta, the Cartel doesn’t have their own key codes and don’t know the servers exact locations, the Crypto key master had an unfortunate accident in Jeddah” she grins…

DJ feels something else in the envelope, tips it to one side, a Polaroid picture slides out.

It’s a wedding photo of DJ and Portia sitting on the beach laughing with Ryan and his wife.

Same day she told him she was pregnant…

Tear…(s)

Can`t measure that...