Desperate Ground

by L J Morris

  Johnson nodded and pointed to the chair in front of his desk while he carried on with his phone call. ‘Yes ... I agree ... I think it would be in all our interests if we—’

  Tyler couldn’t wait any longer. ‘SIR, please.’

  Johnson looked at the young man. This wasn’t like him. He was normally quiet and didn’t like to interrupt. ‘I have to go, something’s come up.’ He put the phone on its cradle. ‘What is it, Robert?’

  Tyler placed several sheets of paper on the desk. ‘It’s the motel shootout, sir.’

  ‘What have you found?’

  ‘You remember we decided to ask the local sheriff to swing by the Quinn ranch to ask if she had seen Sinclair?’

  ‘Yes, I remember. I also said don’t spend too long on this.’

  ‘Well, I wanted to chase them up so I phoned again this morning. They sent a deputy over there yesterday.’

  ‘What did he find out?’

  ‘That’s the thing, sir, they haven’t heard from him in over twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Have they asked Quinn if she’s seen him?’

  ‘They tried to but there’s no one at the ranch.’

  Johnson got the feeling that Tyler might be on to something. There were too many coincidences and unexplained events. The last thing he wanted was his bosses asking him why he hadn’t followed it up. ‘I want you to get all of the data you’ve found into a file so we can track this.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But that’s not all.’

  Johnson sat forwards in his seat. ‘You’ve got more?’

  Tyler passed over another sheet of paper. There was a photo in the top left-hand corner and the name Liam Quinn. ‘That’s Josephine Quinn’s husband. He was reported missing at sea, with his children, over a month ago.’

  ‘Why is the bureau looking at this?’

  ‘Quinn is the CEO of a defence company. Let’s just say they have some pretty high-profile friends in Washington.’

  ‘Do we have any leads as to what happened to them?’

  Tyler produced a fresh sheet from the printer. ‘We don’t know what happened but this has just come in. A body has been found, washed up on the beach in Galveston, looks like it’s him.’

  Johnson read the report. This was shaping up to be the kind of job that warranted an investigation into why things hadn’t been spotted earlier, the kind of investigation that ended with a scapegoat having to resign. He wasn’t going to be that scapegoat. ‘Get in touch with Halloran, he’s down there. Tell him to get to the beach and see what he can find out.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Tyler stood up and left the office, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 16

  The yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the onshore breeze as Kurt Halloran ducked under it and worked his way towards the corpse that lay on the sand. A young police officer stepped in front of him. ‘Hold it, buddy, back behind the tape. We don’t need any sickos trying to check out the body.’

  Halloran held out his own badge and ID, flashing it at the young officer. ‘It’s okay, son, I need to speak to your sergeant.’

  The officer checked Halloran’s credentials and shouted over to an older man who was standing next to the body, ‘Sarge. The feds are here.’

  Sergeant Ramirez was talking to the forensic team who had arrived to begin their examination of the scene. He resented the FBI butting in like this. He had enough experience to deal with a washed-up body. He took his time talking to the CSIs then left the corpse and joined the two men. Halloran flashed his badge again and introduced himself. ‘Special Agent Halloran, FBI.’

  The sergeant checked Halloran’s ID and handed it back. ‘You guys move pretty fast, we only called this in an hour ago.’

  Halloran put his wallet back in his pocket. ‘I was in the area.’

  Ramirez looked him up and down. ‘Yeah, you don’t look like you came from the office.’

  Halloran was supposed to be on vacation; knee-length shorts and a Hawaiian shirt weren’t his usual work attire. He was coming to the end of a week’s fishing with some of his buddies when he’d got the call from the office. ‘Top priority’ they’d said. ‘Get over there now.’

  Washed up bodies didn’t usually fall under the FBI’s jurisdiction, or create this much urgency, but the office was insistent. ‘The details aren’t important right now. We’ll fill you in later. Just check that it’s Quinn and see what else you can find out.’

  He took Ramirez to one side, out of earshot of anyone else. ‘So, what have we got, Sarge?’

  Ramirez held out a plastic evidence bag, inside it was a wallet. Halloran opened the bag and took it out. The wallet was coated in sand and still dripped sea water.

  The sergeant opened his notebook and gave Halloran an outline of what he knew. ‘Says in the wallet that he’s Liam Quinn, washed up this morning, found by a woman walking her dog. When we ran his details through the NCIC we got a month-old missing person report and a request to contact the bureau with any information.’

  Halloran checked through the wallet. Cards, driving licence, money – nothing out of the ordinary. ‘Did he have anything else on him?’

  Ramirez shook his head. ‘Nothing else. No life jacket and no sign of wreckage from the boat. If the weather was bad enough to sink them, surely he would’ve had a life jacket on?’

  ‘You think he might have fallen overboard and drowned because he wasn’t wearing one?’

  ‘It’s possible, but where’s the boat? We’ve had no reports of a drifting vessel of any kind, or even wreckage.’

  ‘Does this kind of thing happen a lot along this coast?’

  He gestured towards the water with his arm. ‘Often enough, this isn’t a lake. Tourists come down from the city and take to sea in their weekend boats. Most of them have no knowledge of tides, currents or the weather. They get caught out and are lost. We do normally find some evidence other than bodies though.’

  ‘Maybe, now that he’s washed up, the rest will follow.’

  Ramirez nodded. ‘Maybe, but the CSIs have found something.’

  Halloran’s senses prickled. He didn’t like things out of the ordinary. There was rarely an innocent explanation. ‘Found what?’

  ‘It says on the NCIC that he was reported missing just over a month ago.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what my office told me.’

  ‘Well, the CSIs reckon he’s been in the water for no more than two weeks.’

  ‘So he could’ve been killed somewhere else then dumped at sea?’

  ‘It’s a definite possibility, but until they do an autopsy they won’t know for sure.’

  ‘Okay, Sarge, keep me in the loop and let me have the autopsy results.’ Halloran put the wallet back inside the evidence bag and handed it over. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his shorts and pressed the speed dial. ‘It’s him alright, Boss ... no ... no sign of anything else ... will do, Boss.’

  He ended the call and took a last look at the body. If this was a simple boating accident, why hadn’t any wreckage been found, where were the other passengers, and how had the body only been in the water for two weeks when he’d been missing for a month? This whole thing stunk.

  As he walked to his car he stared out at the Gulf of Mexico at a small cargo ship coming into view, heading out to sea. Whatever had happened out there was no accident, and it had led to the death of Liam Quinn. This was a busy seaway; somebody must have seen something. The office hadn’t filled him in on the backstory yet, but he had a feeling that it was about to ruin his vacation.

  * * *

  McGill didn’t like being at sea, he never had; even as a Royal Marine where it was part of his job. The constant rocking motion was like being in a hammock that he couldn’t get out of, and it made him feel like shit.

  After Bazarov and Sinclair had left the ranch, the deputy’s car was moved inside the barn, and the Russians had loaded all of their equipment into two container trucks that had backed up the driveway. Food, bedding, tools and machinery – everythi
ng they needed to set up and operate from Leatherback Cay – were loaded into the containers. Their weapons were concealed behind a false bulkhead that would defeat all but the most determined search. McGill was bundled into one of the vans and handcuffed to a seat for the journey to the ship.

  When they stopped, they were on one of the wharfs of the Barbour’s Cut Container Terminal in the Port of Houston. Tied up on the berth next to them was a small, five-thousand-ton cargo ship that belonged to QRL Global. The MV San Antonio was big enough to take the two containers on her deck and the two vans in the hold, but not much else. Once the ship had been loaded, it slipped its moorings, and set sail along the Houston Ship Channel. Three and a half hours from there to the Gulf of Mexico, and another three days to the island.

  Once the ship was underway, Bazarov’s men disappeared inside, probably to comfortable beds and Vodka nightcaps. McGill was left handcuffed to the seat in the back of the van. At least they’d left him some water and a bucket to piss in. He’d slept in worse places.

  He checked the weapon that was taped to his leg, it was still securely in place and hidden. There was no reason for them to search him, no reason for them to suspect he was armed. The Glock would only come out when he had a chance of escape and, ideally, once he knew what had happened to Ali. She could look after herself but he didn’t want to jeopardise her position. If it was possible, she would take out Bazarov, but if she didn’t get that chance, Bazarov would bring her here to force Quinn to follow through with the job. That’s when McGill could work on getting them out. On the other hand, if he found out she was dead, it would be down to him to kill Bazarov. Of course, he’d make him suffer first.

  He picked up one of the bottles and took a drink. He’d always found the best way to cope with the nausea he experienced at sea was to sleep through it. Shuffling around, he stretched out, as well as he could with one hand cuffed to the seat, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 17

  A Sheriff’s cruiser pulled up to the front gate of Quinn’s ranch. Sergeant Pete Novak got out, walked up to the gate, and peered through the railings. There were no signs of life. No movement, no lights and, more importantly, no sign of Mike Powell.

  Since the deputy had been reported missing the previous day, the whole department had been searching for him. His last job was to come to the ranch but there was no evidence that he’d actually made it here. Thousands of miles had been covered by deputies in cars, the Marine Division were checking waterways, and helicopters searched the more inaccessible areas. Other sheriff’s offices, city police departments and state troopers extended the search area outside the county but, up to now, nothing had been found.

  Novak knew deputies didn’t just vanish. If they went missing there was usually evidence, and they turned up pretty quick – even if they were dead. If Powell had been in an accident or his car had broken down, they would have found him. The fact that there was no sign of him at all made Novak uneasy; he was certain something had happened to Powell, something bad.

  He got into his car and got on the radio. ‘Dispatch, Tango One Six Eight, over.’

  ‘One Six Eight, go ahead.’

  ‘I’m out at the Quinn ranch, no sign of Powell or anyone else. I need to get permission to go inside and have a look. Can we contact Quinn or get a warrant? Over.’

  ‘Hang tight, Six Eight, checking.’

  Novak grabbed his binoculars and went back to the gate. He scanned the house, the bungalow and the barn, looking for something to give him a reason to enter the property. The door to the barn was slightly open and he was sure he could see something in there, maybe a vehicle. He walked away from the gate and along the fence, trying to get a better angle, but he couldn’t make it out. He heard another vehicle approaching and turned to see a black SUV pulling up behind his cruiser.

  Kurt Halloran got out of the SUV and walked towards Novak. ‘Afternoon, Sarge, Special Agent Kurt Halloran, FBI.’ He flashed his ID and held out his hand.

  Novak took his offered hand. ‘Pete Novak, what can I do for you, Kurt? What are the Bureau doin’ here?’

  ‘I’m looking for Mrs Josephine Quinn. Has something happened I should know about?’

  ‘One of our deputies has disappeared. He was on his way here to interview Quinn.’

  Halloran had been filled in about the motel shooting and the missing deputy but didn’t want to give too much away. It made him even more suspicious of the body on the beach and how it had got there. On its own it warranted a closer look, but coupled with a shootout in Houston involving Quinn’s friend, and a missing deputy, this had all the hallmarks of major crime.

  ‘He was sent over here at our request.’

  Novak nodded. ‘That’s right. S’posed to be routine but no one has seen him since. What’s goin’ on, Kurt?’

  ‘Quinn’s husband was found washed up on the beach in Galveston. He’s been missing for over a month but there’s something not quite right about it.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘No. Me neither. You find anything here?’

  ‘There’s something in the barn but I can’t make it out. Could be a vehicle.’

  ‘You thinking probable cause, Sarge?’

  ‘Yeah, in fact, I’m pretty sure that’s one of our cruisers in there.’

  ‘I’m with you there.’

  Novak picked up his radio mic. ‘Dispatch, Tango One Six Eight, over.’

  ‘Go ahead Six Eight.’

  ‘Reason to believe that Deputy Powell’s cruiser is in the Quinn ranch. I’m gonna need backup and someone to open the gates, over.’

  ‘Roger Six Eight, we now have a warrant, backup en route.’

  ‘Roger, Dispatch, One Six Eight out.’ He threw the mic onto the seat.

  Halloran picked up Novak’s binoculars and checked the house. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Yeah, people high up gettin’ twitchy. Quinn is connected to a lot of powerful people around here. I reckon they’ve been covering for her up to now, but with Powell going missing, well, let’s just say they like protectin’ their own asses more than Quinn’s.’

  It took an hour for the SWAT team to arrive at the ranch. Their black armoured response vehicles now blocked the entrance. Officers clad in green combats and tactical vests readied their weapons as another worked on the gates. Novak and Halloran stood back; control of the situation was now out of their hands.

  Halloran lit a cigarette and sat on the bonnet of Novak’s car. ‘I’ve got a feelin’ that it’s all about to hit the fan.’ He offered a smoke to Novak.

  Novak shook his head. ‘No thanks. What do you think this is all about, Kurt?’

  Halloran blew out a stream of smoke. ‘Whatever it is, Pete, it’s above our pay grade.’ Halloran’s phone rang. ‘That’s my boss. He’ll want me to give him an update.’ He walked away from Novak and answered the call. ‘Yes, Boss ... they’re about to make an entrance now ... I’ll let you know what we find.’ He ended the call and re-joined Novak.

  SAIC Johnson replaced his telephone handset and looked across his desk at Tyler. ‘Halloran’s over there now, they’re about to go in. How big do you think this is?’

  The young analyst looked at the papers he had spread over the desk. ‘I don’t know, Boss, but it looks like a lot of things are connected. Quinn’s husband, Sinclair, the missing deputy. If they are all involved, it’s got to be big. Quinn has some major defence contracts. Maybe someone is trying to get to her.’

  ‘I want you to go over everything. I don’t like the look of this. I want to know what is going on and who is in on it. And find Quinn.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it.’

  * * *

  Halloran and Novak watched as the gates swung open. The FBI agent dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out with his boot. ‘Here we go.’

  The two armoured vehicles drove up the drive with the officers from the SWAT team taking cover behind. There was no obvious threat but also no reason to take risk
s.

  The first vehicle stopped at the house. The eight officers split into two teams of four and went through the archway into the courtyard. One team worked their way left and the other right, covering each other as they approached the main entrance.

  One of the team members moved up to the door and placed a shaped explosive charge on the lock.

  ‘Delta One and Two in position, over.’

  ‘Roger, Delta One and Two, stand by.’

  The second vehicle stopped at the barn. One of its teams of four took up position at the entrance to the bungalow, the other at the main door of the barn.

  ‘Delta Three in position, over.’

  ‘Roger, Delta Three, stand by.’

  ‘Delta Four in position, there’s definitely a police cruiser in the barn. Over.’

  ‘Roger, Delta Four, standby.’

  The radio operator looked at his lieutenant. ‘All teams in position, sir.’

  The lieutenant listened to his radio handset and gave a nod.

  The radio operator turned back to his microphone. ‘All Deltas, confirm status, over.’

  ‘Delta One, check.’

  ‘Delta Two, check.’

  ‘Delta Three, check.’

  ‘Delta Four, check.’

  ‘All Deltas, stand by.’

  The members of the four teams readied themselves, deep breaths, nodding to each other.

  ‘Stand by.’

  The adrenaline pumped through their systems, and their muscles flexed in anticipation. The thumb of Delta One’s point man hovered over the detonator, ready to blow the lock.

  ‘Stand by.’

  Halloran and Novak stood at the gates, watching through binoculars as the operator gave the order.

  ‘Go, go, go.’

  There was a dull thud as the shaped charge blew the lock. All four teams breached at the same moment. Teams one and two burst into the house, clearing the open-plan space. They moved along the hallways and up the stairs, clearing every room as they went.