by Ed Teja
“I know damn well you would ignore a request from me.”
Bill waved up at Tim. “The bellhop wants the man back, Timmy boy.”
Tim nodded and held up the crane controls.
“Go ahead,” I said.
With a clank and whine, the crane moved. Tim swung the bound prisoner out over the water, just past the admiral's dingy.
“What the fuck?” Hank said as Tim released the hook, dropping the man into the water.
“That'll cool him off,” Tim said.
“I suggest you pull him out,” Bill shouted down to the coxswain. “The man might have a bit of trouble swimming all trussed up like that.”
I tapped Hank on the chest to get him to look at me. “To your point, while I can't think of anything I'd want to talk to you about, if you'd come here, I would have listened to what you had to say.”
“Would you?”
I wondered. “Even if I would have ignored you, that doesn't give you the right to send armed men to drag me into your holy presence. It's fortunate that your boys aren't very good.”
I heard the whine of the crane as Tim set about his task.
“It's about Polly,” he said.
My stomach tightened. Hearing her name froze me in place—just as he'd intended. The contemptuous smile on his face made my stomach churn. He'd calculated that carefully. He savored the opportunity to weaponize her name that way. Having said it, he waited, biding his time, wanting me to respond.
“Get the fuck off my boat right now, Hank. Leave or I'll throw you in the drink myself. Bill will give you a towel to dry your toy soldier off with. We don't want his paint to run, but you get the fuck off my boat.”
He put up a hand. “Martin, we have to talk alone. Polly is in danger.”
I drew myself up; my hands tightened into fists that wanted nothing more than to strike the man. I'd regret it later; there could be consequences, but right then, none of that mattered. “Hank, I have no interest in talking to you about anything at all, much less your wife.”
“And your ex-wife.” His face turned red and there was a strange look in his eyes, but he didn't move. “This is about her life. And it isn't about her being my wife or your ex-wife. It's about Polly as a US senator.”
“That's the very same lass, Hank.”
“I think you still care for her.”
“How would you know? Why do you care? Forgive me if I have trouble believing that you sent troops, then came yourself, to chat about my feelings for Polly. After years of threatening me if I even try to talk to her?”
“This is different,” he said.
“I'm sure it is.”
“Always a wiseass, Martin.”
“I'll admit that I haven't changed my ways, Hank but it seems you haven't either.” His posture was rigid, even for him. “That makes this even more curious.”
“What do you mean?”
“You've never wanted me in your sight. That made sense. Now you are trying to force me to be up close and personal. Worse, you want to chat about Polly.”
“Because—” he looked down and saw that his man, his team leader, was sitting in his boat. “She's in serious danger, Martin. There is a viable threat to her life.”
“You mean a credible threat, right? Isn't that what you types say?”
He bit his lip. “This one is beyond credible. It's not only a sure thing, but the party in question has an unquestioned ability to carry it out.”
I believed he believed that, but I couldn't trust his judgment. “Who did she piss off this time?”
“Some heavyweight people don't like her current legislative agenda.”
I took in a breath. This part smacked of serious bullshit. “If that's the case, then your knee-jerk response would be to alert her security people and possibly the FBI, not contact me. They get paid tons of money to protect her from shit like this.”
“No, not like shit from this. This originates from an extremely dangerous foreign actor who is not on US soil.”
“A foreign government wants Polly dead? She is a big deal, but not that fucking important. Or has she sharpened her fangs?”
“Not a government. Organized crime, operating offshore.” He gave me a look that seemed oddly helpless. “They intend to kill her, and I need your help to stop it.”
I knew that admission had to hurt him. “And what the fuck do you expect me to do? I'm a fucking freighter captain. I'm the guy Polly decided gave up on himself, so she wrote me off. And while a terrorist threat is right up your alley, I've got no resources. Hank, you've got people trained for exactly this kind of thing, and access to ships, and resources—like illegal automatic weapons.”
“Cheap shot, Junior,” Bill said. “But nicely on target.”
Hank wiped his face. “The problem is that I can't use any of them.” He looked around. “Look, one reason I didn't openly come to you in the first place is that I'm sure there is a security leak. And that makes it more complicated to deal with through channels.”
“And so you came disguised as a rear admiral? Well, things are in the open now.”
“That won't matter. The point is that I know who the threat to Polly is, and it's clear what needs to be done.”
“Then go do it.”
“This operation needs to be off the books. It involves some sensitive issues. Politics. Bureaucracy.”
“Don't they always involve those things? It's the nature of the beast. The reason I left.”
“Look—” He glanced toward shore. I expect that being on my turf bothered him a lot. “Come ashore with me and we can talk this through. I'll explain everything, but I need to get Chandler ashore.”
My brain swirled. He oozed sincerity, but then good con men do. I barely knew Hank, and I needed to digest the news before I agreed to do something stupid. On the other hand, I couldn't let my dislike for this corporate stooge keep me from doing something important. I'd have to hear him out. Bill knew that, too.
“The Barracuda,” Bill muttered.
I nodded. “Good thinking. I'm not going anywhere with you. For all I know, your crew is lurking ashore, all prepped for another ambush.” The look on his face made me think my guess was right.
“Then—”
“If you want to talk with me, here is how it will go: Right now, you will go ashore and tell your boy scouts to stand down. Get them all off the island. I'll have friends watching and they better not even give us a glimpse of their ugly faces. Are we clear?”
He nodded. “Fine.”
“Do you know The Barracuda?”
He nodded. “That restaurant? Yes, I saw it.”
“We will meet you there at noon.”
“And, in case the earlier statement wasn't clear or dumbed down enough, he means you will be alone this time, Admiral,” Bill said. “No valet, janitor, factotum, or handyman; just you.”
“When we get there, you are going to buy Bill and I a nice meal and a large bottle of rum. Then, when I give you the go ahead, then you'll tell us everything.”
He glanced at Bill and didn't much like what he saw. “It's better if we keep this between the two of us.”
“Then go to hell,” I said.
That surprised him. “Martin, we need to talk about sensitive information. It's classified. That restaurant is a public place, and I don't know your friend.”
“First you try to kidnap me, and now you think just because you invoked Polly's name, I will jump through whatever hoops you want to hold up. It doesn't work that way. If you expect to talk me into doing something for you, something that I suspect is stinking illegal, I want Bill to hear it too—directly from your lips.” I poked the admiral right in his medals. “I don't trust you, Hank. I have a sickening hunch that there is much more to this than you intend to tell me, and that you are going to con me. However, if you do convince me that Polly needs help and that I am the only option, the only one who can provide it, I might help. But if it i
s your mess, I won't lift a finger.”
“There are matters that are—”
“Need to know, right? That sucks for you. Your recent actions make it clear that I'll need to discuss whatever is going on with Bill, in detail, before I make a decision, anyway. So your rules, preferences, or concerns don't matter—Bill will be involved.”
He sighed. “Okay. But if I am going to tell you everything, I get to impose one rule.”
“What's that?”
“That you won't call Polly. Promise me you won't tell her what's going on.”
“Why? Isn't she in danger?”
“Look, I understand your first instinct would be to call her, see what she has to say about it all. Ordinarily that would make sense. Polly is smart and no coward, and if I'm telling the truth, you'd expect her to confirm what I tell you.” He paused. “Unfortunately, in this instance, for reasons I'll explain, I don't want her to even know about the threat.”
“Her life is in danger and you haven't told her?”
“No.”
“Isn't that pushing your incredible need-to-know idea a little far?”
“Not to mention common sense,” Bill said.
“I have my reasons for not telling her what is going on until after we've defused the threat.”
“Political, bureaucratic reasons, I'm sure.”
I noticed that although he claimed he needed me to do this job, he was including himself in the credits already. If I went along with his scheme and we were successful, it was a sure bet that he'd try to keep Polly from ever finding out that I had anything to do with saving her life. Of course, if it went south, it would be my fault—that shiftless Martin Billings had screwed up again. Not that it mattered. Nothing would change things between Polly and me. I could never atone for my failures, even if I wanted to give it a go.
“We will meet you at The Barracuda at noon,” I said.
“Can I have my men's weapons back?” he asked.
“What weapons?” I asked.
Hank stared at me. “The ones they came here with. The ones you took from them.”
“Oh, you mean those nonmilitary issue, probably untraceable, and illegally altered automatic weapons? Sure.” I pointed at the water. “Just send a few divers.”
“You deep-sixed them?”
I laughed. “For all I knew, instead of showing up, you'd send in an anti-terrorism squad to arrest us for possession of them.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don't know—maybe the same reason you would send an assault team to my boat and then claim all you wanted to do was talk.”
“About those weapons—” Bill said, rubbing his chin. “Junior means well, but I wouldn't send a diver out here if I were you.”
“Martin said—”
“Yeah, but you hurt my feelings too, and I am part owner of this boat. In my current frame of mind, if I saw a diver down there, sneaking around, I'd probably think he was sabotaging the boat. I'm afraid I'd have to kill him.”
“Or her,” I said.
“Or her,” Bill agreed.
“Asshole,” Hank said.
Bill shrugged. “It's my way of letting you know how much we appreciate the way you squander our tax dollars on illegal weapons and personal causes.”
“You don't pay any taxes,” Hank said. Bill gave him a self-satisfied smile. “I've got a dossier on you.”
Bill grinned. “Don't think you are special. Everyone has a file on me. I'm rather used to being told that. I hope it is bound in an elegant binder. Be aware that much of it is lies.”
“It's documented.”
“I meant the nice parts,” he said. “And I didn't say the tax dollars I paid; as a citizen, any money you collect is partly mine. And, in this case, I speak for my fellow citizens who are unfortunate enough to have taxable income.”
As Hank went down the ladder, I saw the team leader looking up at us. His expression of hatred told me he was memorizing our faces.
“Hank, can I get a copy of the dossier?” Bill asked. “I'd like to see the newer things.” He got no answer. “Neither of those lads is keen on us,” Bill pointed out when the admiral was out of earshot.
“No shit?”
“Something weird must be afoot for Hank to ask you to help him with anything. And if he needs you to protect Polly, I can't even begin to guess what it could be, other than serious shit.”
Coming from Bill's mouth, her name sounded sweet. But he had Hank pegged right.
5
I don't normally like to keep people waiting. It's rude and disrespectful, so I usually get to meetings early—much to Bill's amusement. But I wanted to give Hank time to stew. I had him on the back foot and I wanted him chewing over the possibility I'd stand him up.
Stalling also gave Tim a little time to run a mission for us. I sent him to circle around the place, keeping his eyes open for any of Hank's boys who might be skulking about.
“What's he supposed to do if he runs into goons?” Bill asked. Tim wanted to know the same thing.
“Call me,” I said. Then I turned to Bill. “If Tim sees troops in the wings, we walk.”
“Bravely run away?”
“More like accept the fact that Hank can't be trusted, and you don't deal with people like that.”
And so we arrived at the restaurant fashionably late for our lunch date. Gazele saw us coming in and stomped over to me, a fierce scowl contorting her otherwise lovely face.
“Is there a problem?”
“That man over there,” she said, indicating a table with a nod of her head.
Looking wasn't necessary, but for political reasons I glanced over. Hank sat there, alone. “The man said he be waiting for you.”
“He is,” I said. “Is that bad? He's paying for our lunch.”
“He up to no damn good.”
“We had that part worked out. Did he say something to you?”
She shook her head. “No. It's the kind of bad a body can feel.”
That was the succinct way she put it, the way she said things when she knew her position was unarguable, unassailable.
“I'll agree that he is a low-life shit,” I said, “but we need to chat with him. He was behind the game last night, and I want to find out why. I need to find out what he's up to.”
She pressed her fists into her hips. “He's up to no good, like I said.”
Bill beamed. “As usual, dear Gazele, you demonstrate incredibly good taste and a perceptive assessment of human nature.” When I glanced at him, he grinned. “Sorry if I agree with lady, Junior. This guy is bad news.”
Gazele nodded. “I'm telling you that I didn't like that man from the moment he walked in here.” She put a small hand on my chest. “You listen to me, Marty. If you smart, you aren't gonna be messing in his business.”
I gave her a guilty shrug. “Unfortunately, from the little I know, it isn't so much his business that is troubling me,” I said. “There are other people involved.”
“That means you ain't gonna listen to me. You ain't gonna pay attention to the person who would like you to stay safe for ten minutes at a time.”
“No, it just means that I can't promise anything except that I'll try to keep some distance.”
She started to say something else, but Bill took her arm. “Listen G, Junior has to hear the man out. Later on, I'll explain why such a stupid thing is actually necessary,” Bill assured her. “But it's got to do with history and his do-gooder nature.”
Her intense look softened. “Okay, Bill, but I best hear reasons that do explain that clear.”
I gave Gazele a kiss, enjoying Hank glaring at us from across the room impatiently. Bill casually wandered over to say good morning to Sally. He'd been in her bed not that long ago, but he liked being polite. As Bill gave her a friendly squeeze, Gazele pursed her lips as if something tasted bad. That wasn't a comment on Sally and Bill or even my kiss—she wasn't paying them any att
ention at all. No, she had her attention focused laser-like on the admiral, who had gone back to sipping coffee and trying to pretend he hadn't seen us come in.
I was glad to see that he had worn civilian clothes. Not that his slacks and dress shirt made him fit in with the rest of the clientele, but dressed that way, at least he didn't stick out like a rookie FBI agent at a hacker convention.
I stalled a moment, scanning the area around the restaurant before going over to join him. I trusted Tim, and he hadn't called, but people do miss cues, or something can prevent them from reporting in the way they'd planned. I saw nothing.
Keep alert, I told myself.
If Hank had people watching us, they were either good, far better than the crew he'd sent to board us, or they were a long distance away, watching through high-powered optics. That thought didn't bother me. If Hank wanted us taken out by a sniper, he wouldn't do it while he was sitting across from us. If he wanted us dead, the night shift would have arrived with explosives.
“Hello again, Admiral,” Bill said, sitting across from him. I sat at Hank's right side as Bill waved at Sally. “Bring us three specials and a bottle,” he said, then looked at the admiral.
“Specials?” Hank asked.
Bill shrugged. “Keeping things simple so we can focus on conversation. I have no idea what the special is today, but it will be good. If you want to earn back some points, I highly recommend you rave about it when we finish.”
“Fine,” Hank said as Gazele came over with the bottle of rum. She filled glasses for Bill and me and then paused.
I nodded. “Give the man a rum.”
She poured it, scowling at Hank with a frown that probably curdled it, if rum can be curdled.
Hank was in a foul mood, too.
“Where is the sunshine and light of this morning? I asked.
“I just learned that you put one of my men in the hospital with a concussion.”
Gazele held out Hank's glass, but when he tried to take it, she gripped it tight. That got his attention. “You talking about a man what got hit on the head last night?”
“Yes.”
“He deserved it,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
