by Andrew Mayne
There’s something about the way he seems immune to the forces of nature that makes me feel at ease.
At first he doesn’t see me, then an expression of bewilderment crosses his face. The Kraken is a strange sight. The best description I can think of is that it resembles a stubby stealth bomber about to sink.
His shock only lasts a second before he grabs a hook from the winch on his boat trailer and wades out into the rushing current.
I aim the Kraken at the ramp and gun the motors, afraid that the current will broadside me and send me downstream with dead batteries.
The craft lurches forward, and Run races to meet the nose. He peers in through the porthole and smiles when he sees my face.
The hook snaps shut, and Run hurries back to the winch to start the motor. My sub swings away from the ramp, then gets yanked back as the trailer pulls me in like a tractor beam.
As soon as it’s on the skids, I pop the loading hatch on the top and slide down the winglet, taking a breath of fresh, albeit humid, air.
“Dad and George?” I ask.
“The radio said a coast guard boat caught up with them. They’re being towed into Palm Beach.” Run stares at the Kraken. “What the hell is this?”
“Narco sub. Right now there’s a few hundred million inside here. We need to get it inside. Fast.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Nothing is ever easy with you McPhersons.”
I help him secure the Kraken to the boat trailer. Run hops in and pulls the truck through the open door of the warehouse. I stand to the side, guiding him, because the Kraken is so wide.
Once we’re inside, Run bolts from the truck and presses the button that closes the door to the marina. We both stare out into the storm as it closes, making sure we weren’t observed.
“Kevin sent everyone home,” Run explains, “but the building should survive a category five. In theory.”
Five-story metal racks holding almost a hundred boats line the walls. Most of them are in the twenty- to forty-foot range. A few sixty-footers rest on the floor around us.
An absurdly tall forklift is parked near the office, and a huge overhead crane dangles almost exactly over the Kraken.
Rain is pelting down hard on the metal roof, and the wind howls all around, yet the enormous space feels safe. For the first time in my life, I’m glad to be back on land.
“Mom!” Jackie’s voice echoes across the interior as she comes running toward me from the front office.
Skinny arms embrace me, and I turn to Run with an accusing tone. “Why’d you bring her here?”
“What was I supposed to do? Gunther had to go. I couldn’t leave her with my mother.”
“There are people out to kill me.” I squeeze Jackie’s head into my chest. “They almost did.”
“Tell me what to do,” says Run.
I want to yell, I’ve done all I can! You tell me what to do now. But that’s not how it works. I’m the one with the gun and the badge. It’s my responsibility and my call.
“You did the right thing,” I say. “How are you doing, Fish Face?”
Jackie has a worried look. “Who’s trying to hurt you?”
“Renegade intelligence operatives who have taken over the illegal narcotics trade.”
She stares at me, trying to decide if I’m joking or not. “Why are you wearing a wet suit?”
“I had to use it to get this.” I point to the Kraken.
Jackie turns and for the first time notices something other than me. “Holy shit!”
I exchange glances with Run. We have bigger problems to deal with than our daughter’s language.
“We may need a place to hide,” I tell Jackie, then notice a ladder that leads to the second level of boats. “I want you to be super careful and go up there and see if there’s a cabin we can hide in if we have to.”
This will keep her occupied for a while and could be helpful if things get bad.
Jackie runs to the ladder and scampers up it like a monkey.
Run glides a hand along the Kraken. “What are we doing with this?”
“There are fifty Pelican cases in there with half a billion dollars. Inside one of them are files that Jason Bonaventure hid in case the shit hit the fan. Well, it’s raining shit now, and we need to find those files before the people who are after me figure out we’re here.”
“And the half-billion dollars?” he asks.
“Not important right now. We need the files. They may be the only way we get out of here alive.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
SKIFF
Four hours later the sun is out, though hidden behind storm clouds, and fifty Pelican cases are spread across the floor of the warehouse like split clams. The money, tightly wrapped hundreds in hundred-thousand-dollar bundles, is laid out in rows.
Jackie is watching us in wide-eyed wonder from above. Adults are mysterious enough in so many mundane ways; I can only imagine what she’s thinking right now.
Run taps the inside of another case with the handle of a screwdriver. “Nothing here either.”
We’ve searched all the obvious places and found zero documents. We’re about to split apart the money packs and toss the cash into garbage bags.
“Nothing on the sub?” he asks again.
“This is everything,” I reply.
The inside of the Kraken is pretty spartan. Other than the battery compartment and the motors, there’s no sealed-off compartment that we can find. Winston made sure every square inch was utilized.
“Can I help?” asks Jackie.
“Stay up there, Sunfish,” Run replies. “Go check the Sea Ray at the end. Okay?”
“I hate busywork,” Jackie grumbles as she rises from her roost.
“Me too,” says Run. “Me too.”
“It has to be someplace convenient, right?” I ask.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Better, actually. Was Bonaventure always going to be on the receiving end?”
I pick up a stack of bills and flex them. “What do you mean?”
“Would he stick those files in the money if there was a chance it could get lost in the shuffle? I’d think he’d want them separate.”
“Maybe. He was a launderer and a banker. I don’t know how much planning he had time to do. When they served the warrant on his place, he had to act fast to get the money out and away.”
“Why not just leave it at the dummy house?” asks Run.
“I think he was planning on fleeing the country. When the sabotaged Kraken didn’t meet up with the Morning Sun, Bonaventure had to stick around.”
BANG! BANG! BANG! I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of someone hitting the metal door. Run picks up his shotgun from its resting place, and I draw my pistol from the fold of my wet suit at my waist. I motion for him to stand back as I approach the door.
Run ducks down behind the boat trailer, and I keep to the shadows as I walk to the side door where we heard the banging.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I put my eye to a peephole in the door and see George and my father standing outside in the downpour.
“Took you long enough,” says Dad as he steps inside and greets me with a hug.
George gives me a lopsided grin. His shirt is cut away, revealing a bandage that matches the one on his head. He has a hospital admission bracelet around his wrist.
“Did you just bust out?”
“People die in hospitals,” he replies, then lets out a whistle when he sees the money. “Why didn’t you two just take this and run?”
“I’ve been asking her the same thing,” says Run, greeting them.
“Grandpa!” Jackie shouts from above.
“Hey, Princess,” he calls up to her.
I point to the Pelican cases. “We’ve gone through everything. Tons of money but no sign of Bonaventure’s files. I’m beginning to think he didn’t actually have any.”
“I’d say we ask him, but we can’t. He was found floating down a canal an hour ago
,” George says.
“What? Not because of us? Is it?” My stomach twists at the thought.
“His days were numbered,” says George. “He was not a nice man. I’m guessing K-Group decided the files weren’t under his control and got rid of him.”
“Damn it. And we’re at a dead end here.”
“Were you hoping for a box that said secret files?” asks George. “Think about it.”
“Well, we can’t find them. Maybe they’re somewhere else.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve been on busts and someone says, ‘We’ve looked everywhere,’ only to find a suspect hidden under a pile of laundry or a stash inside a used-diaper bin? It’s here,” George says flatly.
“Is that intuition?” asks Run.
“It’s experience, son. Experience.”
“Okay,” I say. “What does your experience tell you now?”
Dad interrupts, “We need to disassemble the Kraken. Winston could have had a compartment inside there.”
“We checked,” Run replies. “But by all means, have a look.”
“I knew Winston for twenty years. I know his tricks. I think.” Dad picks up a tool belt from the floor and climbs into the sub.
A minute later we can hear the sound of parts falling and clanging on the sub’s deck. Run sticks his head inside and starts pulling the loose components out and laying them on the ground.
George and I inspect the panels, pumps, displays, and other parts as Dad dismantles them and Run delivers them to us.
An hour later the insides of the Kraken are spilled across the floor like the entrails of a mechanical fish.
George and I are unscrewing and inspecting the insides of all the battery packs. Dad is checking the electronics in case the files are stored digitally.
Run crosses his arms and stares at the Kraken. “The problem is, they could literally be anywhere.” He flicks a temperature gauge. “A microchip could fit under a washer, and we wouldn’t know.”
“Bonaventure would want hard copies of the most important stuff,” says George. “Ledgers, cashed checks, that kind of thing.”
“I don’t see where he could fit all that,” I reply.
The wind gets stronger, and the whole building shakes. I call up to Jackie, “What’s the weather report, sweetheart?”
She’s sitting on the stern of a Chris-Craft on the third level. “I don’t know. I can’t get any signal.”
“Probably the storm,” says Run.
George and I look at each other and pull out our phones. Mine shows full signal, but when I try to make a call, it doesn’t even ring.
“You too?” I ask George.
He nods. “Hey, Jacobs,” he says, using Run’s last name. “You got a VHF radio?”
“There’s one in the truck.” Run leans inside and turns it on. A clicking sound fills the air. “What the hell is that?” he asks before turning it off.
“We’re being jammed,” I reply. “They know we’re here.”
George nods to Run. “You take the front. I’ll take the back.”
“We have a landline back there. You can try calling out.”
“What should I do?” I ask.
George points to the pile of parts. “You and your dad find the files. Fast. We have to assume Bonaventure told them where to look.”
Dad starts to tap the hull of the Kraken with a wrench, listening for hollow compartments. I run my hand along it, trying to feel anything abnormal.
We race around the submarine, desperately searching for something, finding nothing.
“See anything?” George shouts to Run, who’s watching the front door.
“No. Wait. There’s an SUV across the street with a funky antenna.”
“That’s them. They probably have a search team on their way. Shoot anyone that comes close.”
I watch their exchange and almost scream when Jackie grabs my elbow.
“What can I do to help?”
“Go back up there and hide,” I reply.
“Ugh.” She kicks at a nut on the floor, and it ricochets off one of the sub’s many oxygen cylinders.
Dad and I glance up.
“That son of a bitch,” Dad whispers.
“What’s going on?” asks Solar, still standing by the door.
Dad and I hurry to the oxygen tank. He hits it with his wrench. When a tank loses pressure, it changes its pitch when it’s rung. The metal makes a “nearly empty” clang that you never want to hear when diving.
“We may have something . . .” My voice is interrupted by the hissing sound of Dad letting the air out of the tank.
It quickly dies, and Dad pulls a tank-valve tool from his key chain and unscrews the top. “Got a light?”
I aim my phone light into the tank, revealing something sealed in plastic inside.
Bingo.
“Someone’s here,” shouts Run.
“Someone?” George yells back. “What the hell does that mean?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
LAGOON
Dad uses a pair of pliers to pull a plastic bag from the cylinder. He hands it to me, then retrieves another. Inside is a sheaf of documents and a thumb drive.
He hands those to me as well, then points to the upper row of boats. “Go there, now.”
I take Jackie by the hand. “Come on.”
“What’s going on with your guy?” George shouts to Run.
“He’s at the property line. I think he’s talking on a radio.”
That sounds ominous. But there’s no time to worry about that. I follow Jackie to what she described as her best hiding spot, a midsize boat with a large cabin and deck.
We climb inside, and I spread the documents across the galley table. Jackie takes a seat behind me on the windowsill and watches.
First I find pages of checks made out to different people for amounts ranging from a thousand dollars to tens of thousands. Different company names are shown as account holders on the checks, most sounding like investment firms but with slight differences. There’s Vanguard Investments, Fidelity Funds, and a few others of that type.
“Who are those people?” Jackie whispers.
“I don’t know . . .” I stop on one check and stare at the payee, Caldwell Thompson. I know that name. He’s a drug-court judge.
Holy crap. I flip back through the pages of checks and recognize at least five other judges’ names. Two of them are federal.
This is big. This isn’t DEA agents taking bribes. Bonaventure owned judges. Federal judges. There’s even a check to a circuit-court justice.
I flip past the checks and find copies of emails. They’re to anonymous accounts, but Bonaventure has annotated them, pointing out who they were sent to. These seem to record transactions with high-level law enforcement officials.
It’s not the number of names that stuns me, it’s how high up they are. Bonaventure must’ve worked on these people for years.
A chill washes through me. This is scary. These are powerful people. Trying to bring one down could draw interference from others.
I start photographing the documents with my phone. “Hey, honey, you want to help Mommy?”
Jackie slides them across the table as I snap the photos. After a few seconds, I decide it’s quicker simply to shoot a 4K video and make a movie of them all.
After I’m done, I call down to George. “Hey!”
He puts a finger to his lips then points outside.
Oops, they’re listening.
“The man’s walking to the door,” yells Run. “What do I do?”
“Don’t let him in, for crying out loud,” Dad answers.
“Switch,” George says as he runs to the front of the warehouse and Run races to the back.
I look back at the documents. They’re practically nuclear. I have to get them out of here. It’d be nice if I could email or text or transfer the video file somewhere safe . . .
“Do you have any signal on your phone?” I ask Jackie.
Sh
e shakes her head. Mine is dead too.
I recall Run mentioning the landline in the warehouse office, and an idea straight out of the eighties hits me.
“I need you to stay here. Okay?”
“All right.”
I shove the documents back in their bags and take them with me down to the warehouse floor. George is watching the front while Run keeps an eye on the back.
George catches me approaching out of the corner of his eye. He waves for me to stay out of the way of the window.
“Find anything?” he says loudly and meaningfully.
I raise the documents. “No. I don’t think it’s here,” I lie in a loud voice.
K-Group or whoever probably has us bugged. In this day and age, that could be as easy as landing a drone with a microphone on the building.
He waves for me to stay back. I point to the office off to his right and mouth the words fax machine.
He nods.
I hurry into the office and set a sheaf of papers into the feeder, then try to think who the hell has a fax machine anymore.
“Our man’s approaching,” George announces.
BANG! BANG! BANG! The man’s fist on the door sounds like gunshots and makes me wince.
George pokes his head in the office and whispers a number to me. I dial it in and get a fax tone. I cringe as the sound fills the air before I can hit the “Mute” button. The machine makes a humming sound and starts to scan the documents.
A voice calls from outside. “Mr. Solar, Ms. McPherson, I was hoping we could talk.”
George remains silent. I don’t even move, hyperconscious of the sound of the fax machine.
“My name is Owen Landsberg. I’m the deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. I’m unarmed and just want to speak with you.”
I hear the sound of George cracking the outer door open. “Care to explain why your people are trying to kill us?”
“First off, they’re not ours. We’ve apprehended several people who have been acting illegally.”
This just got interesting.
“Great. Well, have a good day.” George shuts and locks the door. A moment later, he pokes his head in to check on me.
The documents are only half done. I point this out to him. He rolls his eyes.
