by Pat McKee
I could only state the obvious, and beyond that, I was floundering.
“I’m hoping I can avoid that. So you—”
Grey, unwilling to take chances on being misunderstood, was now near to barking orders.
“Paul, you need to get back to Georgia. Placido, you need to line up the voice recordings you told me about as soon as possible—at least before Paul gets arrested, so he can avoid indictment. And I’m pretty sure you can’t do that from a jail cell without Ariel.”
Placido, not used to being told what to do, did his best to maintain his civility, but frustration told in his voice.
“I think it’s a good idea all of us stay out of jail. And I can certainly help Paul better out of jail than in. That much is clear, but do you have anything more specific in mind?”
Grey was several steps ahead and responded directly to Placido.
“I have friends in the prosecutor’s offices back in Georgia. I need to be with Paul to help him. And I can’t be there if I’m held here, so I need to leave with Paul.”
Then Grey turned to me.
“Paul, since we’ll be traveling together, you need to go back to being Paul McDaniel, even though it puts you at significant risk if we are apprehended. But if they catch us with the same IDs, we’ll both get thrown in jail.”
I reached in my backpack and tossed Grey’s wallet on the table.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed being you, I’ll be happy to be me again. I kept my own wallet in a compartment in my backpack.”
Placido laid down his cell and looked to Grey, bad news written on his face.
“Ariel has just confirmed that the Bimini police received notification from the FBI that Paul is wanted for questioning in connection with the Frederica Island deaths. The notice arrived yesterday by post, so there was nothing she could do to intercept it. As soon as the island police identify Paul, he’ll be detained. I have asked Ariel to alert me if she detects any further attention in our direction.”
Grey remained insistent.
“That’s going to happen soon. Someone is bound to have noticed the fireworks on the island. We need to come up with a plan to deal with that and quick. We’re about covered up in lawyers here. Do you two have any ideas?”
I had no criminal experience at all. I turned to Cabrini. He had been on defense teams in some highly public white-collar criminal prosecutions, and I nodded in his direction. I was willing to suspend my remaining suspicions for some assistance staying out of jail. I prodded.
“Cabrini, you know criminal law . . .”
Previously silent, Cabrini took that introduction as an opportunity to pontificate a bit. No one but Grey had any basis to challenge him, and for the moment, he was willing to listen to what Cabrini had to say.
“Our best approach is for the four of you, other than Placido and myself, to get off the island soon, before Placido makes his report. Neither of us can be implicated in the deaths on the island, and I can be of help to Placido in dealing with the police. It also makes more sense for you to be flying back to Key Biscayne with four passengers in a four passenger floatplane rather than six. Melissa can stay at my house until Placido and I return, but that may be a while. The three of you are welcome to take one of my cars back up to Frederica Island.”
“So you think—” Grey attempted to interrupt, but Cabrini anticipated his question.
“It’ll be a whole lot more difficult for the island authorities to get you back here once you’ve left than it’ll be for them to keep you here. We can tell the authorities you will be happy to give statements back in the States with your legal counsel present, but you won’t be coming to the island unless compelled. It would be a lot of trouble for them to get you back here, and they won’t see it as worth their while if Placido can convince them the deaths were self-inflicted or self-defense.”
Grey sounded skeptical.
“How likely is that, after all—”
Cabrini plowed forward.
“Given Placido’s prominence and the evidence at the scene, we should be able to make that case, particularly with the shell of my rocketed Donzi at the dock, hull seared to the waterline, and the house burned down around a misfired RPG. Brown’s remains, with half his head blown off, may prove a bit more difficult to explain, but it still fits with the self-defense claim.”
Cabrini had been inclined toward Placido, but now he addressed Grey directly.
“I agree with you that it’s best for Paul to go back to Frederica Island with the voice recordings and turn himself in. With your help he can negotiate the place, time, and proper official, and if he produces the recordings in advance it’ll minimize the likelihood he’ll be prosecuted.”
Grey warmed to the plan.
“When Paul explains that Melissa was in imminent danger, which will be corroborated by Placido, there shouldn’t be serious repercussions for Paul’s disappearance, though I think he’ll owe Frederica Island some money for the shattered gate and an apology to the guard for having scared the hell out of him.
“Placido, any luck on the voice recordings?”
“I’ve been in touch with Ariel on the off-chance that the government continued its surveillance of the island after the G-8 and kept the records online, but that was unsuccessful. I have contacted the lab, and I have someone searching for them.”
I’d been saved by Ariel so many times, I wondered aloud why she couldn’t help now.
“What about Ariel, can’t she find them at the lab?”
“During the G-8 we kept the recordings separate from any computer system to prevent a malicious government from hacking them, and we just kept up the practice. Ariel can’t get to something that’s not retained on a computer. So someone has to locate the recordings and listen to them to determine whether we captured Fowler’s last words. It’s just a matter of time before we find them.”
“Paul, I think that covers the criminal side of things, but you’re on your own with the firm.”
Grey’s comment reminded me that Melissa was out of danger, and even if I avoided prosecution, I had at least one more hurdle to jump before my life returned to normal. While it seemed unconnected to anything else we were talking about, Grey’s observation was as much for Placido as for me. Had it not been for my willingness to risk everything for Melissa, she wouldn’t be alive today, and I wouldn’t be facing the loss of my livelihood, the loss of the partnership that I’d worked so hard to attain.
“Paul, as for the firm, after all you have done for our family, I will let the Strange & Fowler Management Committee know that Milano Corporation’s business follows you. If they wish to keep Milano corporate business, they will keep their word and not only keep you, but honor your promotion. And make sure you get your fair share of the firm’s profits as a result.”
“Placido, I am truly grateful.”
“No, Paul, it is you who have earned my gratitude.”
Melissa had been silent at Cabrini’s side during most of the time we were seated at the table, something I attributed to the shock of her uncle trying to kill us and his dying a violent death in the process finally settling into her consciousness. Enzo Milano, heir apparent to the Milano dynasty only days ago, was now the odd man out, having suffered his fall by being inexorably tied to the fortunes of his father, Anthony. With Placido’s public acknowledgment of Cabrini’s paternity, he and Melissa were now the sole heirs of Placido, who—as a result of Anthony’s demise and the Shareholder’s Agreement I wrote that got us into all this trouble in the first place—was now the controlling shareholder of Milano Corporation. Given Placido’s generosity, it was unlikely Cabrini would ever need to practice law again, and Melissa, always beautiful and smart, would soon be very rich again.
Affections, alliances, and loyalties at the table swirled and shifted. Cabrini, Melissa, and Placido seated on one side of the table, Grey, Rebecca, and I
on the other, reflected the realignment. On the Milano island it had been Melissa and me, Placido and Cabrini, Grey and Rebecca; it was now the Milanos and everyone else. Placido had his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and though he’d expressed sincere concern for my plight and genuine appreciation for my efforts, Placido had seemed relieved by Cabrini’s observation that the result of the festivities on South Cat Cay could not be laid at their feet. Grey and Rebecca would be answerable for those deaths, and they were closing ranks as well. Grey wasn’t willing to risk jail with me as his double, wanting to get Rebecca and himself far away from South Cat Cay as soon as possible.
As for Cabrini, my doubts had become more serious. Cabrini said that he had confronted Anthony about his uncle’s role in the effort to divest his father, but the two of them had seemed harmonious at the Abbey bar, appearing to still be working together even after the disastrous defeat engineered in full by Anthony. And it was hard to believe that Melissa knew nothing of the scheme, her knowledge belied by the chummy photo with Cabrini on the Tempest at a time when he was in an ostensible death struggle with Milano Corporation.
Now that William Fowler, Judge Richards, and Anthony Milano were dead, only Placido, Melissa, Cabrini, and I knew the whole truth about the case. Neither the Milanos nor I had any incentive to change the public perception of a complete victory in favor of Milano Corporation, so they should have no reason to want me dead. That is, unless Cabrini hadn’t confronted Anthony about the case and he wanted me dead to hide their complicity; unless he wanted Placido and Anthony dead so he and Melissa would be the majority owners of the corporation; unless Cabrini’s plans had been foiled by the unlikely appearance of Grey and Rebecca at the instigation of Ariel.
And then there was the insoluble cipher, Melissa. In my questioning of Ariel, she had been only able—or willing—to confirm what I already knew: Melissa and Cabrini were brother and sister, always close, and becoming closer now that Placido had brought Cabrini back into the fold. It was impossible for me to know whether Cabrini’s closeness to Melissa was a natural result of their parentage or if Cabrini sought to exploit Melissa’s affection and Placido’s weakness. Throughout the horror we’d been through, their closeness grew even more. And Cabrini continued to be, at least to me, the adversary he’d always been.
Placido snapped me out of my introspection.
“Ariel tells me the local police have been dispatched to our marina.”
“Placido, you and Cabrini go to the front of the bar and see if you can intercept them. Melissa, Paul, Rebecca, you come with me and we’ll find a way out the back to the plane.”
Placido and Cabrini headed to the front, moving deliberately toward the entrance. Grey turned and searched for a rear exit.
No exit appeared. We crowded behind a blind used by servers to hide the kitchen entrance, looking for a way out. I heard the challenge to Placido as he headed to the front of the bar.
“Mr. Milano.”
Through the blind, at first glance, the officer looked like a waiter, but he produced a badge.
“I would like to discuss with you a very unfortunate accident that has occurred on your family island. There have been two explosions and a fire that destroyed much of your house. A fisherman alerted us that right before the blaze several people left the island in a floatplane, and six of you were reported as having alighted from that plane tethered to the dock.” The officer gestured out the window to our plane just visible at the end of the marina. “I regret that I must take you and your friends into custody.”
“My friends are no longer here. They left some time ago. Mr. Cabrini and I will be happy to answer your questions.”
So far, Placido was handling the locals. We searched for a way out.
“Gree.” Katie appeared from the kitchen, an angel in island garb. I gave a small wave and held a finger to my lips. My timely signal made sure her natural enthusiasm did not blow our cover. She glanced from behind the blind to the officer questioning Placido. “Gree, you in trouble?”
“We need to get out of here. Is there a rear exit?”
Katie motioned us to follow.
We ducked through the kitchen, the heat blasting in our faces as soon as we pushed back the swinging doors. Katie dashed past steam tables; past prep stations; by the walk-in refrigerator; through stacks of boxes, cans, and bags; and then out a door to the dock, into the daylight, where the floatplane was tied up at the end of the dock.
Katie held the door open as everyone else scrambled out before me.
“Gree.” Her brown eyes danced and full lips parted in a smile revealing perfect teeth, and I kissed her in a bolt of affection and gratitude, and for a brief moment both of us warmed to each other, then, realizing the desperation of the moment, reluctantly pulled away.
“Get inside and forget us.”
Grey ran down the dock toward the plane, Rebecca close behind, with no apparent regard for Melissa and me. Melissa was moving in slow motion, disorientation and shock still dragging against her. I grabbed her and pulled her toward the plane. Grey and Rebecca were on the pontoons, then in the door.
Behind me, out the back door of the bar we’d exited moments ago, appeared two uniformed police officers. Katie, in mock confusion and clumsiness, attempted to close the door and got in their way as they pushed by her, delaying them precious seconds. The officers blew their whistles in alarm, but there was no one else on the dock to assist them.
Melissa now reacted to the desperation of the situation, running toward the plane. Smoke blew out the exhaust, the prop flipping then stalling. Melissa and I were ten yards from the plane, and the police in chase were fifty yards behind us.
Grey had the engine turned over, the prop now blowing spray behind, the pontoons still roped to the dock. Rebecca stood on one pontoon, rope in hand, ready to cast off.
I pushed, dragged, shoved Melissa toward the plane, onto the pontoon, into the open door, and I jumped behind her. Rebecca cast off, dove in the door, and Grey throttled up. The two police officers reached the end of the dock as we began to pick up momentum. One took a chance, dove into the bay, and grabbed a pontoon.
Grey saw the hanger-on dragging in the water, with no chance to climb on the pontoon as we picked up speed. Grey coaxed more rpms from the engine, not pulling up on the yoke, counting on the water resistance to pull the officer off before we gained altitude. Grey broke free of the man. He pulled up and out over the marina, clearing the sailboats, banking hard. I looked back, one officer was still on the dock, throwing a life preserver to his comrade, who was swimming back. It was fortunate for us all that he was not still hanging on to the pontoon.
Melissa and I were in the back seat, Rebecca and Grey forward. Grey set a course into the sun, toward Cabrini’s house on Key Biscayne. I again stroked Melissa’s bruised cheek, and she again managed a smile. Conversation was impossible, the noise of the engine and the sound of wind against the fuselage, deafening.
Below us stretched the bright blue-green Atlantic, sparkling, broader as we gained altitude, seeming to engulf the horizon as we flew toward it. Even as the engine roared in my ears, this was my first tranquil moment in days.
Twenty-One
I flipped open my laptop and popped in my ear buds. Ariel had watched over me since I left Frederica Island. I needed to know if she had anything else to tell me. As soon as my computer powered up her face appeared.
“Paul, the Bimini police have alerted the authorities in the States that you were seen taking off from Louis Town and heading to the mainland. They have your plane on radar and are tracking your flight. Miami Police will arrest you as soon as you land. You must tell Agent Grey to follow my instructions and alter your course.”
I tapped Grey on the shoulder and yelled to him over the engine noise. He nodded.
“You need to drop your altitude to 500 feet, then break due north. I will make your radar signature dis
appear. This is the Bermuda Triangle after all. That will have the Coast Guard searching for the wreckage of your plane for a few days to give you and Grey time to make your next move. I will make sure Placido and Cabrini know you all are OK.
“After you have disappeared, I will give you coordinates to the Slow River Fish Camp where Rebecca and Grey have a boat, a cabin, and a truck. You have just enough fuel and daylight left to make it. You and Grey should wait there until I get word from Placido concerning the recordings, and if everything works out, you can turn yourself in to the authorities in Brunswick. Melissa is not on anyone’s watch list. She can take a commercial flight back to Miami and wait on Key Biscayne to meet her father and brother.
“Placido and Cabrini have completed their statements to the Bimini police, and they have been released, pending the prosecutor’s review of the file. So far they have been able to keep Grey and Rebecca out of the discussion. I do not anticipate they will be held further.”
I related all this to Grey. He followed Ariel’s instructions too literally for my taste, the descent to 500 feet was accomplished with too much alacrity, leaving my stomach at a much higher altitude while I held tight to the seat in front of me. Melissa blanched. Rebecca shrieked. Grey reset his instruments and banked to the right on a course north, parallel to the Florida coast.
The Slow River Fish Camp was a good four hours away, time enough for us to get lost in our thoughts, to process some of the events we’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours. I sat close to Melissa, our bodies touching in the cramped quarters of the plane. She reached for my hand, squeezed it, and lay her head on my shoulder. Within minutes she was asleep.
I was becoming comfortable with Melissa, our physical closeness in the plane natural and unforced, reassuring. It was hard to imagine there were any thoughts we had not expressed, any weaknesses we had not exposed, any selflessness that had not surfaced in our night together facing execution in the morning. Melissa’s devotion to Placido was understandable, but her affection for Cabrini was far less. I turned that puzzle over in my mind as I drifted into my first untroubled sleep in days.
