I couldn’t have said it better myself.
BOOM-BOOM COCKED THE SHOTGUN.
“Take my ass to Christiansted, man!”
I glanced into the back of the plane. With eyes as kind as a vicious dog’s Crystal watched over Stud Mahoney and his manager, who were buckled into their seats whispering. No doubt concocting a story to explain their disappearance.
“You hear me, brudda?” Boom-Boom was back in the co-pilot’s seat, twisted toward me, a hand on his shotgun. “You need to take me to St. Croix, now.”
“As much as I want to get you and your cargo off my plane, we’re going to Jost Van Dyke first—”
“Look, motherfu—”
“You look!” I glared at him. “We have two very important situations at hand here. One, the asshole movie star who conned the world and who has every law enforcement agency in the Virgin Islands looking for his lying ass, and two, Crystal Thedford, whose husband is still missing, and the rest of Hollywood and Nashville awaiting her return to commence their charity concert.” I took a breath. “Not to mention television networks here to cover the event, who’ll go apeshit when we show up with Dud McPhoney.”
Boom-Boom stared at me.
“Why don’t you stay here on Guana Island and get one of your buddies to come pick you up?” I said.
“’Cause I don’t know who’s left or who I can trust.”
“Then hang on.”
I shoved the twin throttles forward and the Beast leapt ahead like an Olympic sprinter out of the blocks. What sounded like a shriek rang out from the cabin. Crystal rolled her eyes.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with these bales when the police show up at your plane, huh?” Boom-Boom pumped his thumb toward the back of the plane.
“Throw ‘em overboard, I don’t care.” But I did. What if Bramble was waiting on Jost Van Dyke? Or Booth? If they found those bales, I’d be toast. “Better throw them out now, we could all get arrested—”
“Ain’t happening, brudda.” He lifted the gun. “This is all I got left.”
Son-of-a-bitch!
Just as the Beast broke free from the water’s grasp, I spotted two helicopters speeding toward us out of the west.
Uh oh.
“Christiansted!” Boom-Boom pointed the gun at me.
“You shoot me, we crash,” I said.
He turned the gun back toward the others in the cabin. His stubbly bald head glistened with sweat, and his eyes were cold. Nothing about him quivered as he stared at me.
“Grumman Goose, Grumman Goose, do you read me?” a voice sounded in both my and Boom-Boom’s headsets.
His eyebrows arched. “Don’t answer.”
“Grumman Goose, this is Sikorsky N1960, flying straight at you out of Tortola, Grumman. We have a report that you rescued Stud Mahoney and have him on board your vessel, copy?”
What the—how would they know that?
I glanced into the back. Stud’s manager was whispering into her cell phone. The helicopters blew past us on both sides, each with cameramen hanging out of open doors. She smiled and pointed them out to Stud.
She’d alerted the press!
“The hell do they want?” Boom-Boom said.
The choppers spun back around and gained on us. I had the Beast flying at low speed, still unsure of our destination, so they cruised right up on our starboard side, one behind the other, cameras trained our way. I heard laughter in the cabin: freaking Stud Mahoney waving from his window like a victorious warrior returning home.
“Hey, cut that shit out!” I yelled.
The manager gave me a thin-lipped smile.
“You’ll be a hero.” She squinted, then reached backwards and patted the top burlap bale of reefer. She smiled again.
Perfect.
“What the fuck?” Boom-Boom said.
He held his hand up between the window and his face to try and hide from the camera. I wasn’t as lucky. They’d check on the Beast’s N-number and have the name of Last Resort Charter and Salvage before we landed—and if the press knew of the “rescue,” so would the police.
“We’re screwed now, brudda,” I said. “We can’t go to St. Croix, and you can’t toss those bales without it being captured on film!”
“Come in, Grumman Goose,” the voice came again.
“You going to answer them?”
I added power, pulled back on the yoke, and tried to lose them with altitude. Jost Van Dyke was already in view. If I ran for it, my radio silence and the fact that we had the missing movie star on board could lead to an aerial version of the O.J. Simpson Bronco chase. As focused as the Royal Virgin Islands Police and FBI had been on finding Stud, there had to be a mad scramble going on right now—
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Crystal handed me her phone. A text appeared on the screen: “Tell Reilly to bring Mahoney to Jost Van Dyke. I’m waiting. Booth.”
My sigh was lost to the noise of the twin Wasp engines.
“What’s that?” Boom-Boom said.
I held the phone up for him to read.
“Who’s Booth?”
“He’s the head FBI agent for all of South Florida and the Caribbean, that’s who.”
Boom-Boom’s shoulders sagged.
“The hell we gonna do now?”
Damn good question.
The once Dutch island grew in front of us as my mind sought options. Rescued movie star or not, those bales were inexplicable. And that shrew of a manager would damn sure use them against us.
They say necessity is the mother of invention, but in our case, innovation was the brudda of desperation.
I pushed the yoke forward.
“The hell you doing?”
Using Crystal’s phone, I dialed a number.
“Obeying the FBI.” I winked at Boom-Boom. “What choice do we have?”
Confusion dawned on his face for the first time since I’d known him.
AS WE CLOSED IN, we could already see the heavy boat traffic aimed at Jost Van Dyke. It came from all directions: sailboats, power boats, cruisers, ferries, sloops, fishing boats, everyone ready for the all-star concert. I glanced back at Stud Mahoney—his smirk reignited my desire to punch his lights out.
I wouldn’t exactly call what I’d initiated a plan, but I hoped it would buy some time. We passed by Sandy Spit, the small island between Tortola and Jost Van Dyke. It was also the place where Crystal and John hatched their plan for this concert. Would he be missing now if they’d never set foot on that pink-sand oasis?
I added fifteen degrees of flaps and the Beast began to descend. We carved a sweeping turn around Georgy Hole Point and straightened out, aimed into the heart of Little Harbor.
“Missed it by one, brudda,” Boom-Boom said. “Great Harbor’s the next bay over.” He pointed toward the steep wall of green vegetation that made up the western edge of Little Harbor.
“I know.”
He nodded and glanced back out the window. Say what you will, but guys like Boom-Boom knew how to think on the fly.
“Why’re we landing here, Buck?” Crystal shouted. I lifted my headset off my right ear.
“Too much traffic in Great Harbor.”
With our airspeed down to a near stall, the helicopters caught up and flanked us. We set down in the middle of the harbor, which was largely unoccupied. The plane slowed in the aquamarine waters, came off the step, and settled into a nice taxi toward the western corner of the bay.
“Sidney’s Peace and Love?” Boom-Boom said.
I nodded. “Do me a favor and get up in the nose, open the hatch and ready the line. We’ll tie up at their dock.”
“The cops’ll just drive over here from Foxy’s.”
Rather than respond I watched the point, feathered the props, and further reduced power as we glided toward the dock in front of Sidney’s. A large man stepped out onto the dock just as Boom-Boom grumbled and squeezed below the instrument panel to do as I’d asked.
A boat sped around the point, slicing throu
gh the water like a sailfish. The narrow beam, high speed, and three men on board had me holding my breath. The boat slowed and settled into the water fifty yards away.
Ray Floyd waved from the bow.
Thank God.
Back in the cabin, the woman with Stud Mahoney glanced again at Boom-Boom’s bales of grass. There was no back-down on her face.
Yeah, bitch, I get it.
Crystal, on the other hand, was frozen in her seat. With her husband still missing, the concert upon us, and the bogus kidnapping, our landing in this strange location had her paralyzed.
“We’re going to be okay,” I said. “Ray and Lenny are here with Captain Jeremy, and they’ll run us over to Foxy’s. The police are there, and with Stud found, they’ll double their efforts to find John.”
She looked up into my eyes. A sneer twisted her lips as she glanced back toward the actor and his manager.
“Assholes.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Now that this is over,” Mahoney said. “I’ll do what I can to push the cops to find your husband—”
“Spare me,” Crystal said.
“You keep our secret, and you guys can have the reward from the studio,” the manager said. “And we’ll keep your secret.”
“What secret?” Crystal said.
The woman pointed toward the bales, just as the side hatch popped open. Lenny Jackson’s big grin instantly lightened the mood.
“Goddamn, Buck! You rescued Stud Mahoney! Son of a bitch!”
“He’s a hero all right!” Stud said. “All of them are.”
“Man, the cops and press are going crazy on the other side of that hill. Let’s get your asses over there.…” Lenny’s smile faded as his eyes caught the bales. As a native Conch, he was no stranger to square grouper, as marijuana bales are referred to in the Keys.
The sound of the helicopters that hovered above us made Lenny flinch. Stud Mahoney jumped up from the seat, ran his fingers through his hair, and leaned out of the hatch. He looked up and waved toward the cameras, laughed and pumped his fist in the air. His manager followed but took measures to hide her face.
Crystal unbuckled.
I took her shoulders in my hands. “This isn’t over yet, Crystal. Don’t give up, okay? When we get over to Great Harbor the press and police will focus on Stud. I don’t really care what their story is because I still have to find John.”
Her eyes softened. Tears welled up that blurred the soft amber of her irises. My mind shot back to the early morning hours. My heart held as much regret as it did peace at my decision. Right or wrong, I was still here for her now.
“You focus on herding the celebrities,” I said. “I’ll circle the wagons and see if there’s any news about John.”
She took a deep breath, stood, and planted a long kiss on my cheek. My eyes closed for a second, then she was out the hatch.
Could I pull a rabbit out of my hat?
Hell, I didn’t even have a hat.
THE SALT AIR STUCK to my skin as we raced across the water toward Great Bay. The helicopters circled above and I imagined their footage was live on networks all over the country.
Boom-Boom had stayed with the plane, but I insisted on locking it up. We skipped through the bay and dodged boats. Word had spread fast, even for the coconut telegraph. My stomach turned.
Police boats cleared a path and we pulled up to the pier outside Foxy’s, greeted by numerous uniforms both medical and law enforcement. Amongst the faces was Special Agent T. Edward Booth, no doubt pissed that Stud had been rescued outside his jurisdiction. Closer to the front was Zach Ober in his EMT uniform, his gold tooth reflecting the sun.
The far end of the pier was a mob of cameramen and broadcast equipment awaiting the opportunity to swarm the movie star, get the scoop on what happened and how he’d been rescued. I was curious to hear what their story would be, but given the cargo still on my plane, my lips were sealed.
As soon as the rope was thrown down from the dock, they descended on us, with Stud lifted up on several sets of shoulders. As soon as his manager was off the boat I nodded to Jeremy, who yanked the throttles into reverse and backed away.
Booth pushed his way through the throng around Mahoney and waved at me.
“Reilly!”
I pointed toward Foxy’s.
Jeremy navigated through the anchored boats and got us all the way to shore, where he spun the boat around and let the surf carry us in until we settled into the soft sand. Nobody met us, which was fine by me.
“Look at that dude,” Lenny said. “Stud Mahoney! I can’t wait to hear how you saved his ass.”
I knew I’d need to bring him and Ray up to speed, but that could wait. I jumped onto the sand, then helped Crystal off the boat.
“Remember what I said, okay? I’ll find him.”
We locked eyes for a moment before she turned and hurried toward the headquarters for the concert. Ray and Lenny jumped onto the sand and watched her walk away, then I filled them in on the situation with her husband.
“You sure he’s alive?” Lenny said.
“No.”
“You sure we can find him?” Ray said.
“No.”
Before they could ask me another question I didn’t have an answer to, I heard somebody shout my name.
“Yo, Buck Reilly, nice entrance!”
Diego Francis stepped out of a weather-beaten shack adjacent to the beach, behind one of Foxy’s bars. Brass Knuckles stood beside him. I felt a grin on my face, although I wasn’t sure why.
“You found him on Guana Island like I told you, right?”
“Where can we talk?” I said.
Diego jerked his head toward the square building he’d just come out of, away from the crowd that had swooped in on Stud.
“Foxy’s office,” he said.
I spotted Booth’s blue blazer.
“I’ll meet you inside,” I said. “I need to talk to someone first.”
Diego followed my gaze and his eyes bulged. He hustled out of sight. Ray and Lenny followed after him, along with Brass Knuckles.
“Where the hell did you find those two?” White spittle was caked in the corners of Booth’s mouth. “Every asset…in a five hundred mile radius…has been searching.” He took in a deep breath. “And your band of misfits shows up with the prize!”
“What did Stud and his manager say?” I said.
“Some bullshit story about them overpowering two guys, jumping off a boat, swimming to Guana Island, and finding an empty villa to hide out in. Then you found him by chance when you were having engine troubles—”
“Ha! That’s good—”
“So what did happen, hotshot, and why would they lie?” Booth mopped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his blazer.
I bit my tongue.
“Well?”
“All I care about right now is where can we find John Thedford,” I said. “Do you have any news? And I don’t want to hear that everyone’s been focused on finding that weenie.” I jerked a thumb towards Stud, still holding court. “And what’s the deal with the Russian cartel?”
Booth’s hesitation was all I needed—he wasn’t going to tell me a damn thing. Time was of the essence, so I decided to come clean. I core-dumped information from all of my meetings, including Hellfire, Boom-Boom, and Diego Francis, the syndicate moving in—
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Put it to you this way, Booth. It was Diego Francis that pointed me toward Guana Island—”
“Francis had Mahoney?”
“No, but he had better intel than you and all the rest of these cops put together—at least until they came under attack themselves. What can you tell me about that?”
“Those favors aren’t cheap, so you better watch your own ass.” He glanced around. “Some of the Royal Police seem to be less than trustworthy too.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“And I told you to forget about the Russians—”
“W
hile all the locals get kidnapped and murdered?”
A smile tugged at Booth’s lips.
“Cleansing process,” he said.
Stud swept passed us to enter Foxy’s bar area, where we could hear him being appropriately greeted by some of his Hollywood brethren. It was obvious the show hadn’t been cancelled, so would John’s abductors’ make good on their threat?
“Reilly! Don’t drift off when I’m talking to you. Have you learned anything else that could help us find Thedford?”
“So now you’re interested?”
He rolled his eyes. I decided to come all the way clean.
“It was Boom-Boom’s people who told me the Russians grabbed Thedford.”
“Why the hell would they care about a charity concert for adoption?”
“You’re the intelligence czar, you tell me.”
He shook his head. Something seemed to click in his eyes. What?
“We’re way out of our jurisdiction here—”
“We?” I said.
“I meant the FBI, smartass.” His teeth were gritted. “But leave the new crime boss to me, Russian or not. The Royal Police and the BVI government are already pissed—”
“I don’t give a shit—”
Loud and tinny, The Star Spangled Banner’s first line burst from Booth’s blazer. He reached in and grabbed his cell phone. He checked the number, hesitated, and pressed END.
“Shouldn’t you take that?” I said.
“You know what I’m curious about, Reilly? Why was Crystal Thedford with you when Stud Mahoney turned up? Like maybe they had all this planned—”
“Don’t even go there, Booth. You saw her earlier today, you know how upset she was.”
“But how did you find—”
“I told you, Diego Francis clued me in.”
“For all we know her husband’s hiding out at some other resort, and this is all for ratings,” Booth said.
I’d never admit to Booth that I’d wondered the same thing, but if that were true, Crystal deserved an Oscar for Best Actress.
Booth scurried off in search of quiet place to return the call to his handlers. Knowing him, he’d already taken credit for the recovery of Stud Mahoney. I walked in the opposite direction, and just as I was about to enter Foxy’s office, a dark figure jumped out of the dense brush. My heart double-clutched.
3 Crystal Blue Page 19
