***** %% *****
The ship’s wooden hull creaked under the strain as the impressive, billowing sails caught the wind and Zackery could feel the power in his bare feet, propulsion and drive. Standing on deck, he was not dressed for the weather, but, having been blindfolded for seven days, he excused himself this oversight; forgave himself, for not knowing where he was being taken, even. Being kept in the dark, a willed ignorance, seemed natural at this stage of his life, youthful, but somewhat aimless. But, this trip was all part of a larger ‘Plan’. Reluctantly he had agreed to it, reluctantly at first, but then relieved. Trust played a major role, despite the past betrayals. He thought of it as an investment of sorts.
Zackery had had a pang of regret upon pulling out of San Francisco Bay (had he really only been on the vessel for just a week, there was no way to be sure). He knew at the time, he would be seeing the city skyline recede in the distance for the last time. As they pulled away from the under the Golden Gate, his chest had an unfamiliar sinking sensation, remorse, as he put on the blindfold, as agreed. He remained faithful to this part of the bargain, although, it struck him as strange. During the voyage, he could only imagine the glittering waves, and what the individual members of the crew must have looked like (he would grow to know them by the sound of their voices). He would dream of the colors of shimmering jade, the sun’s revealing, the moods of the Pacific, the pearly depth. It was still mid June. He could feel the elements.
Zackery trusted the captain, a reliable old friend, a former business partner, the progenitor of not only the trip, but ‘The Plan,’ ‘The Big Picture,’ as it was sometimes called when it was discussed. This was during the days in Napa, California, the heady Twenty-Twenties. But the fog of one’s imperfect memory envelopes all, eventually.
Zackery knew in his heart he was quickly reaching the unknown destination, despite the secrecy amongst the crew, there were always little clues. He had always been instinctual, if anything even more so now. Zackery knew, felt it in his bones, standing on the roiling, wooden planks. He could almost see the island in his mind’s eye. Although, it had never been described to him, not by Stephano, nor by anyone else. Secrecy was part of the agreement, a price to be paid for ‘getting out of trouble’, legal and otherwise.
The last time Zackery actually saw the captain, Stephano, his longtime friend and business partner, was just after boarding the ship. Everything had been arranged for prior to that, of course. And now all that remained to be done was to wait. Wait for his new life along the sands of paradise.
*****
Some may refer to Stephano’s business dealings as scheming. They were a combination of creative accounting, exploitation of tax loopholes, stunning technological advancement(s) that ended up being little more than well executed parlor tricks upon discovery, all fueled by other investor’s greed. “That was just the juice that kept it going.”
Stephano had first propositioned Zackery, vis-à-vis business, while he was recovering from a car accident which had left him with a strange sort of amnesia, difficult to describe to others, and financial challenges, which had been accumulating even before the hospital expenses. Creditors were closing in on his humble vineyard in Napa.
Zackery had asked old friends and associates for help, even for loans. He did not like to ask for money. Word got out, of his desperation. The phone stopped ringing at that point. Leads dried up, An entrepreneur’s nightmare.
Then, confusing circumstances, getting lost in the Financial District, and a misunderstanding regarding a possible investment lead brought him to Stephano’s corner office, which had a stunning view of the Bay Bridge, and doting secretary out front. It was there and then that the ‘Plan’ unfolded. As it was described, it was going to make some quick money for all investors concerned. Zachery would not need capital, but his services, as it turned out, in exchange for a sizable share of the “action”. Stephano had been impressed with Zachery’s reputation as a shrewd accountant, executive, who knew the ins-and-outs of importation laws and fine art.
Zackery was frankly stunned by the list of names and amounts amassed in the partnership. As always, he knew he was seeming eager to the point of desperation, always a failing. The Investor List was confidential, always would be. Stephano joked that with Zackery’s memory issues, the names were probably all forgotten at the end of the meeting, anyway. Zackery came on board with the ‘Plan’ a week later.
THE END OF PART 1
Micro-Dream Country, by James Legare June, 08-2025
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