A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  She stopped talking when the waitress placed their drinks on the table.

  Ryan smiled at the waitress. She had a hippie name—Autumn, or Rainbow, or Flower. He couldn’t remember.

  “Anyway,” Karen continued, “Jim told Darren the shipment must go out on time, or there would be repercussions. I don’t know if he was talking about himself or Darren. I was frightened, Ryan. I’d never heard Jim speak about gun dealing or weapons. He doesn’t like guns and said so many times. He doesn’t even want the security guards at our resorts to carry them. He says it sends the wrong message to our clientele.

  “I confronted him after he got off the phone. I asked him if he was selling weapons. He said not to worry about it, that it was just business. I didn’t believe him. Not after he was so adamant about not having guns around. If he’s selling guns and he gets caught, they can put him in jail, or take all his assets. I know. I read up on it. Google can be absolutely terrifying if you ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to.”

  She stopped to take a drink and catch her breath. Ryan took a swallow of his beer, giving her time to stew over her thoughts, or collect the ones rattling around in her brain, then asked, “When’s the shipment going out? The big one.”

  “I’m not sure. Jim said something about going to Belize to meet Darren. We have a property on Caye Caulker—it’s a partnership, really. It’s the only place in Belize that I know Jim goes. I go there at least once a month to scuba dive. The owner, Aaron, and I are close friends.”

  Ryan tried to remain relaxed. The dominos were starting to fall. Karen had just connected Jim Kilroy to Aaron Grose in his gunrunning scheme. “Does Aaron help Jim deal guns?”

  “I know Aaron really well. We helped him start a diving resort called Caye Caulker Adventures. He’s a super good guy. I can’t imagine him dealing guns with Jim. Maybe he does. I don’t know.” She sipped her drink again.

  Ryan kept silent and let her fill the void.

  “Aaron was teaching diving at a resort in Cozumel when I met him. He tried to get in my pants. He is such a looker. Kind of like you, all rugged and handsome. You both have the same roguish smile. Well, I took him to meet Jim because I knew he and Jim would get along. Jim wanted him to guide us down in Belize. Aaron said he didn’t know much about Belize, and he had a job. Jim told him to quit, so he did. He was looking for something new and we were a way for him to move on. At that time, we were living on our boat, Northwest Passage. Aaron moved aboard, and we went down to Belize.

  “Jim was scouting for property down there, and well, Aaron fell in love with the place and decided to build a dive resort. Jim wanted to help, of course, and gave Aaron an excellent deal on financing. Aaron has done really well for himself and has been paying Jim back, with interest.”

  Talking and drinking seemed cathartic for her.

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my. I promised Mother I wouldn’t be gone long. Here I am, talking up a storm.”

  Ryan leaned close to her and she jumped when he placed a hand on her arm. “It’s fine, Karen.”

  She pulled away. “Sorry, I need to go.”

  “Will you be all right? Can I call you a taxi?”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine.” She stood. “It’ll take more than two of those weak drinks to do me in.”

  Ryan rose, too. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  They headed toward the elevator.

  “You won’t arrest Jim, will you? He says he has the protection of the U.S. government.”

  “He may enjoy that protection now, but one day the political winds of fortune will change, and he won’t be so lucky.”

  She cast her eyes down and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Oh, dear. I suppose you’re right.”

  Ryan pushed the button to call the elevator. “Karen?”

  She turned to face him.

  “Should we see each other again, please forget we ever had this talk. Forget you even know me.”

  “What an odd thing to say.”

  “Wouldn’t it seem odder if you were to recognize me, and had to explain to your husband how you told a stranger about his business?”

  “I don’t suppose he’d approve.”

  Ryan nodded. “Good night, Karen.”

  “Good night, Ryan Weller.” She giggled conspiratorially and stepped into the elevator.

  Ryan returned to his seat, and the waitress immediately approached. Ryan ordered another beer and watched her work. Her nametag had said Arielle. His thoughts turned to Emily Hunt, a tall, lithe Viking princess with hair the color of ripened wheat and cornflower-blue eyes.

  She was the lead investigator for Ward and Young, a major insurance provider based in Tampa, Florida. Part of his earlier investigation into the theft of sailboats had put Ryan in her office. They’d hit it off, and she’d spent time on his sailboat before he and Mango sailed into harm’s way in the Gulf of Mexico.

  The waitress placed his beer and the check presenter on the coffee table. He laid a DWR company credit card inside the card sleeve. She disappeared with his plastic and returned with more slips of paper and his card. He signed the receipt and sipped his beer until it was gone. Then he left a cash tip and the napkin with her phone number on it under his empty glass.

  Chapter Eight

  Summer sun baked the mountains and valleys around Dubois, Wyoming. Temperatures hovered in the mid-seventies, but to Aaron, the sun on his bare skin felt like tropical heat. Thinner air at higher elevations let the sun burn the skin as quickly as it did at the equator. Aaron sat in the shade of the porch roof that spanned the length of the long, low ranch home, thinking about his current predicament.

  He had some money saved up, and he’d had a good run owning a first-class resort, one he’d built with his own hands, carving a niche into the dive-and-adventure market in Belize. It would be tough to walk away. He could buy a sailboat and get lost in the South Pacific.

  His mother laid a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “Is everything okay, dear?”

  “It’s fine, Mom.” He patted her hand and took the glass of lemonade she offered him.

  “I’m so glad you’re home. I tried for years to get your father to let me come see you in Belize. He said if you weren’t man enough to come home, then there was no need to spend money to see you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have come home and …” Aaron trailed off. As soon as he’d walked in the door, his father was on him, badgering him about not coming home, about running away, about living in a foreign country, and how scuba diving was not a good career choice. Clay deemed Aaron’s time wasted for not helping with the family’s farm.

  “I know why you left. I understand.” She patted his shoulder again.

  He looked in her eyes and saw pain from years of torment. She, too, had endured his father’s wrath and the years of separation. He was about to say more when the telephone rang inside the house.

  “I need to get that.” She turned away and went through the front door. A minute later, she was back. “It’s for you, dear.”

  Aaron rose. “Thanks, Mom, I’ll take it in the study.”

  Sinking into the overstuffed leather chair, he could smell the years of whiskey and cigar smoke oozing from the walls. He’d loved this room as a child, this room where his father would pay bills or tell stories about Aaron’s grandpa and great grandpa, about the wars they fought and the lives they lived. Aaron had wanted to live as big as they had.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hello, this is Aaron.”

  “Aaron, this is Commander Larry Grove. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure, what can I do for you?”

  “I need to know about two guys: Ryan Weller and Floyd Landis. They’re trying to get me to help them break up a gunrunning scheme.” Aaron pictured the man at the end of the phone line. Grove was a member of the Navy SEAL’s elite Naval Special Warfare Development Group, more commonly known as DEVGRU, formerly SEAL Te
am Six. He was a tall, lean man with a broad smile, blond hair, and ice-blue eyes. He had earned the nickname Iceman. Not only did he look like Val Kilmer’s character in Top Gun, but he was also cool under pressure. Aaron had met Larry last year when Larry and several of his SEALs had shown up at his resort for some down time after a training exercise with the Belize Gang Suppression Unit.

  Grove sighed. “I can tell you that I know both of these gentlemen. Landis is a Homeland Security agent, and Weller’s a true warrior. I served with him in the Navy when he was in Explosive Ordnance Disposal. He got out after getting shot in Afghanistan. He works for Dark Water Research in Texas City, Texas, and coordinates jobs for Homeland with Landis as his handler. If these dudes are stepping on your toes, you better be paying attention.”

  “Do you remember meeting Jim Kilroy when you were in Belize?”

  “Yes.” The phone went silent as Grove came to understand the situation. “When did you find out?”

  “Two days ago,” Aaron replied. “Weller and Landis cornered me in Atlanta after I cleared customs and they threatened me with tax evasion.” Aaron went on to detail the whole encounter, then asked Larry for advice.

  “Do what they want, Aaron.”

  Chapter Nine

  Greg Olsen and Mango Hulsey found Ryan Weller in the workshop of Ryan and Mango’s office. The unit was in a small commercial complex close to downtown Texas City. It consisted of a large office which Ryan had claimed when he was first hired, two office cubicles at the front entrance, one of which Mango occupied, and the garage in the back. The garage contained a workshop, gear lockers, a compressor for filling scuba tanks, and a large well-stocked, walk-in gun vault.

  On the workbench in front of Ryan was a carton of Camel Blue cigarettes. To his left he’d stacked eight of the ten packs in a row of four, two high. He had the ninth in front of him and the tenth sat off to the right. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth.

  He did not look up as they approached.

  “So much for quitting,” Mango scoffed.

  Ryan ignored him and continued sliding the plastic wrapper over the top of the ninth pack. When he had it positioned where he wanted it, he used a small line of glue to secure the wrapper back in place.

  “Whatcha doing?” Greg asked.

  “Packing for the trip.”

  Greg shook his head. “You know they sell cigarettes in Belize, right?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan finished sealing the pack and slid off his stool. He went to a locker and pulled a small electronic device from it, then returned to the workbench and sat back down. Greg bumped his footrest into Ryan’s stool and stretched his body to see what Ryan was working on. Mango positioned himself on the other side of his teammate.

  “You guys are blocking the light,” Ryan growled.

  Greg said, “Excuse us for being interested in what you’re doing, employee.”

  Ryan reached for an architect’s lamp. He positioned it over the small device. Next, he used a jeweler’s screwdriver to remove a small panel from the pager-sized component. He replaced the small battery and screwed the cover back down. After tightening the last screw, he rotated the device and turned it on. It took several minutes before the screen read Connected. Ryan used a small slidable keyboard to type a message.

  A minute later, Greg’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He read it and smiled, shaking his head. “No. I won’t do what you suggested.”

  “What did it say?” Mango asked.

  “He told me to screw myself.”

  “Nice, bro.” Mango laughed. “What is that?”

  “The latest in high-tech satellite tracking and communications,” Ryan said as he powered it off. “It can leave a GPS trail, send an S.O.S. to the GEOS International Emergency Response Center, or send a burst message like I just did.”

  He dumped the cigarettes out of the tenth pack and slid the device inside, then cut off a cigarette near the filter and slid it in on top of the device. Pulling it out, he trimmed it a little more. He was able to fit two full cigarettes into the pack, and the rest he cut to fit. Then he glued the pared down smokes into their normal shape as they would be seen in the pack. When the quick-set glue had dried, he slid the butts into the pack and arranged the silver foil over them to make the pack appear unopened. He sealed the outside cellophane wrapper with a reusable gum substance.

  “Very cool,” Mango said. “You’d never know there was a communications device in there.” He picked up the pack and compared its weight to a pack from Ryan’s neat stack. “The weight is off with both of them. What’s in those?”

  Ryan smiled. “Party favors.”

  “Do tell,” Greg said.

  Ryan began packing the loose packs into the carton box. He put the communicator in next to last. He held up the last pack. “This is the only full pack in the carton.”

  “Someone’s going to check those,” Mango said. “They’ll know you screwed with the packs.”

  “I’m not going to worry about it,” Ryan replied, sliding off the stool. He lit the Camel hanging from his lips and turned on the exhaust fan.

  Greg pointed at the bandage on Ryan’s arm. “What happened to your wrist?”

  “Cut myself shaving.”

  Greg was annoyed. “Seriously?”

  “No, some dudes jumped me. One tried to run me over, one tried to shoot me, and the other tried to strangle me with a garotte. I got my arm in the loop and got this little souvenir.” He held up his arm.

  “Why’d they jump you?” Mango asked.

  Ryan took a long drink from a cup. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

  “When did you get back?” Greg asked.

  “About two o’clock this morning. I was too wired to sleep and came here.”

  Mango inquired, “How did it go with your new lady friend?”

  “I’ll let you guys listen to the tape.” Ryan retrieved a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew from the refrigerator and refilled his cup. He grabbed several slices of cold pizza before he shut the door.

  He led them into his office and used his laptop to play the digital recording of his conversation with Karen Kilroy.

  When the recording ended, Greg asked, “Do you know who Darren is?”

  Ryan finished chewing his mouthful of pizza and washed it down with soda. “Landis made some calls. His name is Darren Parsons. He’s worked for Kilroy for several years.”

  “What’s the plan from here?” Mango asked.

  “We know Parsons and Kilroy are making a shipment of some kind,” Ryan said. “According to Karen, it’s the largest Kilroy’s ever done. It sounds like it might be leaving from Belize. I don’t have any straight answers. Aaron Grose is going to give us more information when we get down there. Speaking of which, has anyone made flight reservations?”

  Mango said, “Greg says we’re taking Dark Water to Belize.”

  “I think we’re going to need a base of operations and the use of a boat,” Greg justified. “It’d be better to have something we can all get around on.”

  Ryan wiped his hands on a napkin. “Are you up for this? I don’t want you to get sick again.”

  Mango cut in. “Don’t you have a day job?”

  “I quit.” Greg challenged both men with hard stares.

  “What did Shelly have to say?” Ryan asked.

  Greg crossed his arms. “I hired Kip Chatel to be DWR’s new president.”

  Ryan asked, “The same Kip Chatel we served under?”

  “Yes, after he retired from the Navy, he went to work for Boeing. He was moving up the management ladder there, and I thought he would be a good fit for us. I had Shelly and Cliff show him around, and he said he’d take the job.”

  “All right.” Ryan stared back. “Are you still the boss?”

  “I own the controlling interest in DWR, so yes, I’m still your boss.”

  Mango watched the standoff with a grin on his face.

  “Okay.” Ryan broke the staring contest. “Did
you know the world’s second largest barrier reef is off the coast of Belize?”

  “Have you dove there?” Mango asked Ryan.

  “I was there briefly when I was sailing around the world. I dove the Blue Hole and a few sites around Ambergris Cay.”

  Ryan used a legal pad to make a list of what they would need for the boat trip. When he got to guns, Greg leaned over and looked at his scribbles.

  “I forgot to tell you about some cool new toys I picked up.” Greg pushed his wheelchair toward the gun locker.

  Ryan and Mango followed. Once inside the garage area, Ryan flipped on an exhaust fan and lit a cigarette.

  “Come on, bro,” Mango chided. He’d been on Ryan to quit smoking since the day they’d met.

  Inside the small concrete gun vault, Greg picked up a KRISS Vector carbine and handed it to Ryan. Ryan racked the slide back on the dark earth-and-black weapon to check the chamber for a round. When he saw the chamber and magazine were empty, he brought the stock to his shoulder and looked through the holographic sight. “Nice piece. It’s unique.”

  “Yes, it is,” Greg replied. He took the gun back and wrapped his right hand around the pistol grip. He pointed with his left index finger at a boxy area just forward of the trigger. “This is where they hide their recoil mitigation system. Instead of having the standard recoil spring that drives straight back through the buttstock, like the M4, the spring is housed vertically in front of the trigger, which drives the recoil down, helping to keep muzzle rise in check when shooting on full automatic, or during rapid fire in semi-auto mode.” Greg thumbed the magazine release and the empty mag dropped out. He held it between his thumb and forefinger. “This beauty takes Glock mags. In this case, nine-millimeter. Standard capacity is seventeen, plus one in the chamber.”

  Mango picked up another KRISS. “When do we get to shoot ’em, bro?”

  “Whenever you want. I have three of these and a pistol version in .45.”