Seeds of Evidence (9781426770838)

by White, Linda J.

  The police chief, Dan Gunner, suggested they gather in the parking lot of a miniature golf course three blocks from the marina. When Chris pulled up, Gunner was already there, with thirteen of his people dressed in SWAT gear. Kit pulled on her ballistic vest for the third time that night. She exited the car and approached Gunner. Tall, around 6-foot, and blond, he looked very Germanic, with a square face and strong jaw.

  “Thank you, chief, for responding,” Kit said, and she introduced Chris and the other two agents, who had been following them in their own vehicle.

  “We want as low a profile as possible,” Gunner responded. “This is the tourist season and the last thing we need is a major incident.”

  Kit nodded. “I understand.” Then she sketched out the basics of the case and fought to keep her throat from closing up as she told him about David. Just as she finished, a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up and a tanned, sandy-haired man got out with a rolled-up sheet of paper in his hand.

  Chief Gunner nodded toward him. “Here’s the marina owner, Sonny Foster.”

  “You called him?”

  “He’s a friend of mine.” Gunner introduced Foster to the others. “You’ve got a map?”

  Foster nodded. “Which boat are you interested in?”

  Kit told him. “The owner’s name is Cienfuegos. I thought the boat name was Night Magic but the boat that has the engine running is Pleasant Dreams.”

  “He renamed it,” Foster explained. “Not three weeks ago. Had the work done in our boatyard.”

  Kit’s eyes widened. She looked at Chris, whose face looked intent.

  “Tell us about Cienfuegos,” Chris said.

  Foster shrugged. “We got over three hundred boats here. I don’t really know much about him. He just moved his boat here in the last couple of months. Must like to go night fishing, ’cause I’ve seen him coming and going at odd times. Other than that …”

  “Did you ever see him with a lot of people on board?”

  “Once. I thought the man must have a big family.”

  “Show us on the map the boat’s location.”

  Foster spread the rolled up map out on the hood of a car. He pointed out the long pier, and the multiple docks that came off of it like fingers, the fuel dock, the marina restaurant, bathroom facilities, office, pump-out-station, and the access to the ocean. “The boat that’s running is right here,” Foster said, pointing to the very end of the C Dock.

  “What kind of cover is there?” Kit asked.

  “Well, you’ve got these other boats, and some lockers sitting on the dock itself. There’s not much mass to them, though.”

  “Fiberglass boats and dock lockers won’t stop bullets,” Chris said.

  Foster stroked his chin. “Here’s a thought. The dockmaster’s office is here, at the end of the E Dock.” He pointed to a place on the map. “It’s small, but it might help you a little.”

  Kit frowned. “How small?”

  “About big enough for two people.”

  “Should we approach him by boat instead?” Kit asked, looking at Chris. “What do you think?”

  “You got Coast Guard here?” he asked the chief.

  “Sure.”

  “No, wait.” Kit swallowed hard. Her gut was tight. “No Coast Guard.”Who knows what connections Rick Sellers had, or to whom he’d been talking? “How about the marine police?”

  “I have my own unit,” the chief said.

  “Can we use them?”

  “Sure. I’ll have them within range in 15 minutes.”

  “So let’s set it up both ways, Chris,” Kit said. “You and I will be in the dockmaster’s office, and we’ll have the marine police unit in the channel.”

  Chris nodded. “I’d like to go take a look at this marina.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Kit looked at Gunner. “Could you please get your unit ready but ask them to stand by, well outside the marina, until we’re ready?”

  Gunner agreed.

  “What about my live-aboards?” Foster asked. “Are they in danger?”

  “How many are there? And where are they?”

  “Right now, I got maybe half a dozen. Let’s see, I know I got one here, here, here, and here.” He pointed to slips on the map.

  Chris asked, “Is there any way to contact them?”

  “We have their cell phone numbers. But they’re at the office.”

  Kit shook her head. “There’s no time for that. No time. We’re just going to have to trust they’ll be smart enough to keep their heads down.”

  The two agents drove to within a block of the marina, and covered the rest of the distance on foot. Staying behind the buildings on shore—the bathroom facilities, marina office, and restaurant—they crept onto the E Dock, staying low, using the docked boats for cover. The marina seemed full, a good thing. Silently, they watched for signs of life on Pleasant Dreams. The rumble of the boat’s engine was the only sound. Then Chris touched her arm and pointed as a man appeared on the C Dock, carrying something which he placed on board. The other man emerged from the salon area and took the duffle bag, stowing it below. “They’ll have really good vision from up there,” Chris whispered, pointing to the sedan bridge.

  Kit nodded. She’d been on a boat like that once, and knew you could pilot it from up there. The extra eight feet or so in height gave anyone on the bridge a strategic advantage.

  “Look,” Kit whispered. “What if we stage the police boats there,” she pointed toward the access channel to the ocean, “and we stay here and call them out?”

  Chris nodded. “And bring the others up there, behind the office.” He glanced at Kit. “I’m still concerned about the people on these boats. We may need to evacuate them.”

  “We don’t have time!” Kit nudged him. “Look!”

  A man emerged from Pleasant Dreams, moved swiftly down the dock to the main pier, and crossed to the parking lot. He took two duffle bags from the Suburban parked there, shut the door, and made his way back to the boat.

  “That’s Lopez,” Kit whispered. “He’s shorter and older. And he limps.”

  “It looks like they’re packing a lot in that boat, like they’re planning a long trip.”

  “Let’s go back. We can take a look at that Suburban on the way out.”

  “All right!”

  Crouching, the two agents ran back down the E Dock, dashed behind the bathrooms, and circled around to the far side where the Suburban was parked. Chris stayed, watching, as Kit ran up to the SUV and shined her flashlight into the interior. It was empty, but the blood in the back seat made her stomach turn. Catching movement again on the C Dock, she slipped back toward Chris.

  Then the two agents saw Lopez moving back toward the parking lot. He got in the Suburban and started the engine. Then he drove back through the parking lot, and stopped.

  “He’s at the boat ramp!” Kit whispered, and then she and Chris watched in amazement as Lopez stepped out of the Suburban, which was still in gear, and let the car drive itself down the ramp and into the water.

  He was a little boy, scared to death, hiding behind his bed while his stepfather raged. He could taste blood from a blow to his face, and feel the ache of his bruised arms and back. But he was used to pain—it was the screaming of his mother that most frightened him. The cruel anger in his stepfather’s voice, the terror in hers, gripped him. His world felt out of control and he wanted to fight … fight.

  David tried to move, felt the constriction of his bound hands, and fought to get free, but he felt drugged.

  My son, get up!

  He forced his eyes open. What? Where was he?

  The room was pitch dark, except for a small strip of light creeping under the door.

  My son, get up!

  Who was that? Did he hear something?

  He fought his way back to full consciousness. Then he heard another voice and his heart began racing. Kit! Kit’s voice! Through a bullhorn …

  “Carlos Cienfuegos, come out. This is the FBI
…”

  Kit! She was outside! David forced himself into a sitting position. Where was he? Where? Oh, yes, on a boat. He heard Kit’s voice again. Emotion surged through him. His head began to clear. Kit! Kit!

  Cienfuegos. Lopez. He had to get away. To keep them from getting to her. Or using him as a shield. He moved and felt the searing pain in his leg. He couldn’t stand, not on that leg. He needed his hands to move but his hands were bound behind him.

  So David began groping in the dark for something, anything, anything sharp. His hands touched the cabinet under the berth and he pulled open the door. But everything he felt in there was soft, like towels or something. He could hear Cienfuegos or Lopez shouting. He moved again, and that’s when his hands felt the edge of the cabinet door itself. It was sharp. But sharp enough?

  David began sawing the tape binding his hands against the edge. “God, help me!” he whispered. “Please help me!” Sweat began rolling down his temples and pouring out of his hair. He sawed and sawed, changing angles and working, working until suddenly he felt a flood of relief as the tape gave and his hands were free. Free!

  “Carlos, we want to talk. We know you have David Castillo with you and we want to negotiate. You’re outnumbered, Carlos, talk to us.” Kit crouched behind the dockmaster’s office on the E Dock, bullhorn in hand, with Chris right behind her. All of her attention was focused forward, on Carlos Cienfuegos. He stood on the sedan bridge of his boat, at the controls, and Lopez was on the starboard deck.

  “Carlos has a rifle,” Chris whispered, pointing. “They probably both do.”

  “Put down your gun, Carlos. Let’s talk.”

  The answer came back from the boat. “You let us leave. Then we give you Castillo.”

  “No good, Carlos. You give us Castillo first, then we’ll let you leave.”

  “And the Coast Guard will be waiting, no? You think I am stupid?”

  “No, Carlos, not stupid. But you are surrounded.” Kit thought quickly. “We’ve been talking to Consuela, Carlos. We know what you’re up to. We know about Lopez and the meth. We’re onto you, Carlos, and there’s no way you’re going to get out of this clean on your own. But you give us Castillo and we’ll talk. We’ll cut a deal, Carlos. Make things easier on you.”

  Lopez shouted back, cursing in Spanish.

  “C’mon, Carlos,” Kit said. “You’re a reasonable man.”

  “What do you say we get a phone to him?” Chris said. “Cut Lopez out of the decision-making?”

  “David thinks Lopez is a psychopath.”

  “So let’s cut him out of the conversation.”

  Kit nodded. She put the bullhorn up to her mouth. “Let’s talk by phone Carlos. What do you say? Let us bring you a cell phone.”

  But Carlos’ response was to have Lopez move on deck. “He’s disconnecting shore power,” Chris said. The boat went dark. “The next step is casting off.”

  Through a port, David saw Lopez on the deck disconnecting shore power. He saw the lights go out, and felt the boat move. Were they casting off? Adrenaline coursed through him. He had to get off! No way was he going out to sea with these guys. Reaching out in the dark, he groped for the door handle, found it, and opened the door a crack.

  Only a few battery powered interior lights were on. The salon was dim. To the right was the head. To the left he saw the galley and then the salon. The sliding door which led to the aft deck stood open. All he had to do was get through the salon, out to the aft deck, and over the rail without the men seeing him. The darkness gave him cover; now if only he could move.

  The salon was empty. David could hear someone up on the bridge. Cienfuegos, probably.

  That left Lopez, the more dangerous man, still on deck somewhere.

  David closed the door again. He had to think. How could he get himself off of this boat? And how could he distract the men, and keep them away from Kit?

  Chris would be with her. Chris and a bunch of others. She wasn’t impulsive. She wouldn’t have come to the marina alone. Still, David wanted to minimize her risk, if he could.

  He reached up as high as he could, found a shelf of some sort, and grabbed it to pull himself up. But the shelf broke and he fell back to the floor, pain flashing through him.

  “Light up the police boats!” Kit said into her radio. “He may be preparing to cast off.”

  The chief got his men on the radio and three boats turned on all their flashing lights and moved to the middle of the channel, blocking Carlos’s exit route.

  “Keep him there. But we don’t want to escalate. Hold steady.”

  “Will do,” Gunner replied.

  Kit squeezed the trigger on the bullhorn again. “You’re going nowhere, Carlos! Talk to me …”

  David fought the pain, trying to gather himself again for another try. He heard a noise in the salon, and it jolted him and he sat listening, his heart pounding, while someone walked past the berth where he was. Don’t stop, don’t stop, he said silently.

  The footsteps receded and soon David could open the door a crack again. When he did, he heard Kit’s voice on the bullhorn, calling out to Cienfuegos.

  He had to get off of the boat. He had to keep the men away from Kit. There was no way he could fight them. But he could draw them off.

  David reached up, this time gripping the door frame, and pulled himself to his feet. His head spun with the effort and he rested his head against the doorframe until the spinning stopped. Then he opened the door and listened. Cienfuegos was on the bridge, yelling. Lopez was speaking, too, but in a lower voice, as if his words were directed at Cienfuegos. David could tell Lopez was on the foredeck.

  He opened the door and stepped out of the cabin. The pressure on his leg was painful but he had no crutches and a crawl was too slow. As quietly as he could, he moved through the salon, bracing his hands on the walls, half-lifting himself along. He saw a gun and picked it up. It was a flare gun. He took it anyway, shoving it inside his shirt. Then, impulsively, as he passed the galley, David switched on the propane stove. He knew the heavier-than-air gas would seep into the salon and drop into the bilge. Maybe a spark from the bilge pump would set it off. Lots of boats had gone up in smoke that way. Ten more feet. Kit and Cienfuegos were still shouting at each other. The sliding door stood open. David checked. Lopez was nowhere in sight, and Cienfuegos would be looking forward, at Kit. He hobbled through the door, crossed the aft deck, picked up a flotation cushion, and let himself down onto the swim platform, just a few inches from the water. Pulling the flare gun out of his shirt to keep it dry, he held the gun above his head, and rolled slowly into the water, minimizing the splash.

  The cold, dark water felt so good on his leg, so good he almost gasped. Thank you, thank you! he prayed silently. He released his grip on the swim platform, slipped further into the water, pushed off against the hull of the boat, and he was clear.

  “Chris, what are you saying?” Kit asked, her eyes wide.

  “I’m saying I’ll trade places with David. Let them take me.”

  “No! They’d kill you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Chris’s eyes were shining in the light of the marina. “Honestly, Kit. David’s not going to survive a long trip with them. I’d at least have a chance. You can get the Coast Guard to deploy, or maybe I can talk them into just letting me off somewhere.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I can do this, Kit. I want to do it.”

  “Chris …”

  “It’s his only chance, Kit. David’s only chance.”

  Would Cienfuegos trade David for Chris? That would be totally against bureau policy. Still, the fact that Chris suggested it struck her as kind, noble even.

  “Give me the bullhorn.” Chris took it out of her hand. “We’ve got to do this before Steve gets here.” He lifted the bullhorn and spoke into it. “Carlos, we have a deal for you. This is Special Agent Cruz. I will go with you in place of Castillo.”

  “Why? Why would you?” came the shout back in the dark.
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  “Castillo is hurt. He needs medical attention. Come on, Carlos. You don’t want a murder rap, too.”

  Silence. Cienfuegos must have been thinking. “How we do this?” he asked, finally.

  “You put David out on the dock. Then I will come aboard.”

  “No guns.”

  “No weapons of any kind, Carlos. I’ll be clean. You can put me off in Miami.”

  Kit could hear sharp words, as if Cienfuegos and Lopez were arguing.

  Then Cienfuegos called out. “You come down the dock. Then we talk more. No tricks, or there is a bullet in your head, comprende?”

  “Got it.”

  Kit looked at Chris, who stripped off his weapons as they spoke. “I don’t want you to go up there a second too soon. Wait until they have David on the dock, OK? I don’t want both of you taken. And keep your vest on.”

  “Right.” Chris put his gun and holster on the dock. He pulled the knife out of his boot, and the back-up weapon out of the small of his back.

  “We’ll be tracking you. I’ll have a Coast Guard chopper waiting offshore. Don’t worry, Chris, we’re not going to …”

  “What’s going on?” Steve Gould appeared out of the darkness.

  Chris and Kit looked at each other.

  “Sir, we …” Kit began.

  Chris interrupted her. “We’re trading hostages. Me for David.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Kit’s heart sank.

  “He’ll die, sir, without medical care, and I’ll …”

  “You’re a trained FBI agent and I am not going to lose one of my people …”

  Suddenly someone whistled. And whistled again. Kit looked at Chris. “What’s that?”

  Loud cursing in Spanish erupted from the boat. Cienfuegos shouted and pointed off the stern on the starboard side. She saw him pick up a rifle. Chris began grabbing his weapons again. Simultaneously, she shouldered her own rifle.

  “Make sure you have justification for deadly force,” Steve warned.