Nick turned around, apparently recognizing the voice. Travis stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Travis Stockwell, Mister Maggio.”
Nick looked confused for a second, then shook Travis’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Charlie noticed us, put down her basket and rushed up the steps. “So nice to see you again, Eve.” They hugged and Charlie took the baby from Nick, rubbing her face on his belly and getting a laugh in return. “Come on down to the house, Eve. I don’t get many women visitors. We’ll leave the men to talk about fishing.”
Eve took one of the bags from Nick, It was bright yellow and covered with blue and red balloons.
“Come on inside, Nick,” Travis said, leading the way back to the door. Once inside, Germ closed the door. “Have a seat, son,” Travis said, pointing to the little-used table and chairs in the corner of the galley.
Germ waited by the door as the three of us sat down. “This is the first time we’ve had a chance to talk in a while.” Travis said. Nick looked nervously from him to me. “I’ll get right to the point. You and your dad owe me and from time to time, I’ve contacted him with a question, or maybe something he could help me with. By default this quid pro quo extends to you.”
Nick thought over what he said and slowly nodded. “You mean like some kind of informant?”
“Let’s call it legal advisor,” Travis said, with a disarming, fatherly grin. The man could charm the panties off a nun. “I’ll get right to the point. Have you ever heard of a cocaine distributor from Pittsburgh by the name of Gerald Tremont Bradley?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Nick said. “Goes by his initials, GT, former pro football player. Now he’s a big-time cocaine distributor up there. I know his attorney personally. We went to law school together.”
“We’re more interested in his accountant,” I said.
“His accountant? I don’t know anything at all about who his accountant is,” Nick said, turning to me.
I looked in his eyes and believed him. “His name is Chase Conner and he once worked for the state.”
“Chase Conner?” he asked, thinking. “What capacity did he work for the state in?”
“Department of Revenue,” I replied.
“No, I don’t recall ever hearing the name.”
I sat down next to him. “I’ll be straight with you, Nick. I’d like to believe you and I’m leaning toward that. Chase Conner bugged my boat about a year ago, learned about an old Spanish treasure a friend found a clue to, and then gave that information to some pretty bad people. Because of Conner’s actions, a lot of people were killed. Some probably had it coming, but there were a few innocent people killed, and a good friend took a bullet meant for me.”
Nick’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Valentin Madic.”
“Yes, Valentin Madic.”
The level of discomfort was obvious on Nick’s face. “I wish I did know something about him. I truly do. I’d love to be able to help you in some way, if for no other reason than to make amends. Madic was one of our clients and Father and I were the ones responsible for sending some of those people after you.”
It pleased me that he admitted this. Travis’s brow furrowed. “That’s unfortunate, but we’ll catch up to him sooner or later.” Then to me, he said, “One of the men who got away last night is dead.”
“Killed by baby sharks,” I said with a grin. “Learned about it on the coconut telegraph an hour ago.”
“I need to subscribe to this thing,” Travis said. “Seems like it’s faster than the Internet and more reliable.”
“Last night?” Nick asked, putting two and two together. “That was you guys in Key West?”
“Does this coconut telegraph extend all the way to Miami?” Travis asked. “Yes, that was a joint forces DEA and DHS raid on a suspected distributor attempting to expand in south Florida.” Coming from Travis, it sounded not only true, but plausible.
“DEA, sure. But DHS? I though you guys were strictly national security stuff, with no policing powers inside the borders.”
Travis nodded. “Strictly speaking, yes. However, the Caribbean Counterterrorism Command is a badged police force within the DHS. The DEA’s agent down there needed backup in a hurry and part of my team was here for a little break and readily available.” Travis nodded toward Germ by the door. “Agent Simpson there, along with Agent Grayson, myself and Jesse, went down to lend a hand.”
“And Bradley’s still on the loose down here in the Keys?”
“You’re quick,” I replied. “Bradley was in the company of a low-level gunman from up your way. Austin Brown.”
Nick’s demeanor changed and he became more serious. “Him I know. From back before we first met. I wouldn’t discount him as low-level.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Travis said. “I have it on good authority that they’ve more than likely parted company. We’re only interested in Bradley, primarily to get to his accountant. DEA can have Bradley and the sheriff can have Brown.”
Nick considered it. “Like I said, I knew Brown from a couple of years ago.”
“Back before you met Jesse here.”
“Um, yeah. I knew him in sort of a professional capacity.”
Travis grinned again. “What you’re so deftly trying to tiptoe around is that Brown moved guns for you and your father. Guns purchased illegally on the black market and brought in through Miami.”
Nick tensed.
“Relax, Nick. What’s done is done and you’re not involved in that anymore.”
It was a statement of fact. I had no doubt that all of Nick and his father’s business dealings and movements had been closely scrutinized for nearly a year.
“Yeah,” Nick said with a sigh. “He moved guns for us.”
Travis grinned again. “Still have his number?”
“What do you mean he won’t help?” GT shouted, drawing the attention of a small group of tourists launching a boat.
Austin turned slowly toward the Pittsburgh dealer, slipping easily into his usual cracker demeanor. “Mister Bradley, you might want to try not making a scene here. In case you ain’t noticed, we’re the only brothers around here.”
Austin sat down on a bench outside Cudjoe Gardens Marina and contemplated his plight. GT finally calmed down enough and sat down next to him.
“You led me and my friends into a trap, Mister Bradley. Erik said all we’d have to do was show up with superior numbers and you’d get your stuff back. We did and now they’re dead. My friend on that payphone just now told me about the guy you were trying to muscle in on. We’re lucky to be alive. And we’ll be damned lucky to stay this way.”
Having spent most of the night and morning adrift with GT, Austin was beginning to tire of him. Maybe Billy’s right, he thought. Maybe it’d be best to just cut my losses and ditch this clown.
Knowing that the police would have road blocks set up, Austin had insisted they steal a boat. However, they’d run out of gas after only twenty minutes of fast running, then drifted until the current carried them into Cudjoe Bay just a few minutes ago.
Looking around at the people nearby, GT realized the cowboy was right and lowered his voice. “Listen, Austin, it’s no longer a matter of getting my property back. Now it’s about revenge. Erik and I went way back. I’m talking playground friends here.”
“I don’t know,” Austin replied. “From what my friend just told me, that guy’s one of the most dangerous men in all of South Florida.”
“I can make it worth your while,” GT said. “You know a safe place? Somewhere I can bring my guys down from Pittsburgh? Get us some guns? You do this and there’s twenty large in it for you.”
Slowly lifting his head, Austin turned and looked GT in the eye. “Guns? Yeah, I can do that. If we can get up to Miami, we’ll be safe at my place. But I don’t know about coming back down here. This guy’s got serious money and can hire the best.”
“I know, I know. This is his territory. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who he
was upfront. Somehow they knew we’d be coming for them.” Scratching the hundreds of mosquito bites he’d suffered through the night, GT reconsidered. “I’ll make it twenty grand and pay for the guns separate, plus any other expenses you incur.”
Austin watched the tourists for a minute. “Ya sure ya wanna do this?”
“Just get me someplace safe. I’ll have money wired to your account and my soldiers will be on the next plane out of Pittsburgh. You won’t even have to come along after that.”
“Lemme make another call,” Austin said, already dreading it. “We’ll need to find a place to lay low for a few hours until my wife can get down here and pick us up.”
“You sure you can get us guns?” GT asked. “I can make one call and have my guys on a plane in two hours, but they can’t even bring a nail file.”
With the guns he planned to sell Bradley, Austin knew he’d clear twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars. All pure profit. “Yeah. I own a gun shop.”
“I’m not talking about hunting rifles or revolvers here.”
“Neither am I,” Austin said, starting to rise.
“Let me call first,” GT said, passing him and picking up the receiver on the payphone.
While GT talked on the phone, Austin watched as a man came walking up the road from the nearly vacant neighborhood where they’d beached the boat.
GT’s call lasted only a minute before he came back over to where Austin waited. “Money’s coming with my guys. My accountant doesn’t like paper trails and refuses to wire it. Sometimes, I don’t know why I keep his ass around.”
“For exactly that reason if you’re smart,” Austin said. “He’s looking out for your best interests, but until the money’s in my hand, we don’t have a deal. I’ll get us a ride.”
Picking up the receiver, Austin dropped a quarter in and dialed. A moment later, his wife answered and he gave her the short version of the previous night’s events, telling her that Chet, Ace, Billy Ray and Claude were all dead.
“You just stop right there and listen,” his wife said. “That lawyer called, the one you and Billy Ray, God rest his soul, did some gun deals with. He has something cooking that can mean big bucks.”
Turning around to keep GT from hearing, even though he was ten feet away, Austin watched the man who’d just walked up, now heading back the way he came. Another guy who’d been working on a boat out back was with him.
After a moment, Austin said, “Okay. That can work. I’ll call him when you get here. Bring my backup cell phone. But I gotta go, things are developin’ fast. You get here quick as you can and drive slow on US-1 before the turn to Cudjoe Gardens Marina. We’ll be hiding in the mangroves and flag ya down, ‘member where that’s at?”
He waited a moment and then hung up without another word and walked casually to where GT stood. “We gotta go now!” he whispered urgently. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the two men walking briskly back toward the marina.
Austin’s strides were long, his cowboy boots clicking on the asphalt as he ambled hastily toward the main road, GT following close behind him. “What’s the hurry?”
“That guy back there found the boat. We gotta get up to the highway and find a place to hide out for a coupla hours. Think you and your boys can use a helicopter?”
“Your wife’s picking us up in a chopper?”
Austin kept looking back over his shoulder, but nobody was coming out of the marina. “No, she’s coming in my Power Wagon, but I’m working on a gun deal with a guy out of Miami that has a whirlybird. If you got cash, I might be able to arrange a borrow.”
Walking with Nick around the perimeter of my island, I showed him the aquaculture system behind my house. Taking a narrow path through the trees, I pointed out the reverse-osmosis unit and heavy-duty diesel-powered generator, both mounted at chest level on stilts halfway between my house and the bunkhouses.
“Over there’s the battery shack,” I said, pointing along the shoreline. “Carl has thirty deep-cycle marine batteries there that power an inverter for the things that need one-ten voltage. But most things are twelve volt or run on propane or alcohol.”
“How long can you last here if a zombie apocalypse happens?”
Laughing, I said, “If you mean the government, that’s already happened. But if things get bad, we can last more than a month. Much longer if we ration energy usage. A friend delivers diesel, alcohol, and propane once a month. With enough fuel, we can survive here indefinitely.”
Nick stopped and glanced back up to the house. “Is that why you had us come out, Jesse? To see if I’d play ball?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Nick,” I said flatly. “That was impromptu. You’re here because like it or not, we’re family. Regardless of what your mother-in-law might have told you, I’m not a complete monster. Unless you piss me off. Rule six.”
“Rule six?”
I grinned as I started back through the trees toward the bunkhouse. “You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out.”
Trotting to catch up, Nick looked through the trees at the interior of the island. “What besides those water pumps requires high voltage?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
Minutes later, we entered Chyrel’s comm-center. Scott was sitting at the desk in a video conference with two men I didn’t recognize. At least, I didn’t recognize their faces. Their demeanor, glimpsed for only a second before Scott closed the laptop, I did recognize. A couple of new young snake eaters.
After I’d introduced the two men and explained to Scott how Stockwell was using information from Nick and the phone call that he’d made to devise a plan, Scott opened the laptop again and the two men reappeared on the screen. One was obviously inside a car and the other appeared to be in a dense wooded area.
“These men are members of Bravo Team out of Largo,” Scott explained, zooming his camera out so that all three of us appeared in the tiny screen in the corner. “They’re conducting surveillance on the gun shop in Naranja and the fortuneteller’s place in Key West.” Turning to the screen, he said, “Gentlemen, this is Jesse McDermitt and Nick Maggio. Please introduce yourselves.”
The man on the left half of the screen spoke first. “Afternoon, Gunny. I’m Bill Guthrie, I was Jared’s spotter in Iraq.”
“He mentioned you a time or two.”
“Mostly sea stories, I bet,” the young man said, grinning. “Right now I’m getting eaten alive in the woods across from the gunsmith’s store.” He was mid-twenties, with unkempt collar-length dark blond hair and dark blue eyes. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead and he wore a goatee, with a two-day stubble covering the rest of his face. I liked him instantly.
“Anything goin’ on there?”
“The wife left in a hurry just a few minutes ago in a beat-up vintage Dodge Power Wagon. Franklin picked her up a block later, headed south on Highway One.”
“When all else fails, call the wife,” the second man said. He looked less military than Bill. I guessed he was probably a cop. He had long dark brown hair, parted down the middle and hanging past his shoulders. Also in his mid-twenties, his skin was tanned dark by the sun. At first glance, you’d think surfer, but his eyes were old and had obviously seen a few things. “I’m George Hamilton,” he said. “No relation to the guy in Hollywood. Formerly with San Diego PD, narcotics. Guess I was chosen to watch the fortuneteller because I kind of blend in down here.”
The background out the back window of the car didn’t look familiar. “She’s not at her shop?”
“No, sir, she’s at her home on Porter Lane, just a couple blocks away. It’s a cul-de-sac. The Jamaican taxi driver just left. They sat on the porch talking for about twenty minutes.”
“He’s from Andros, not Jamaica. Any other approaches to the neighborhood?”
“I scouted it on foot before bringing the car in. There’s a pedestrian path that leads to Thomas Street, by the post office. A shortcut for folks who live here, I’m guessing. Well used, but too
sandy and narrow for anything other than walking.”
The camera jiggled and turned away from Hamilton. He zoomed it in and showed a narrow path between banyan trees and a stand of bamboo.
“The director’s idea,” Scott said. “Miss McKenna is taking a day off. She didn’t much like that.”
“No doubt,” I said. “Where’s Franklin?”
“He doesn’t like messing with video,” Scott replied, tapping a few keys. A map of South Florida appeared, showing a red dot in the center and a small dash-cam video in the corner. After a moment, the map moved, but the dot remained centered. “He’s southbound on the turnpike extension, traveling about seventy miles an hour, nearing US-1. Where’s the suspect, Jim?”
A voice came over the speaker. “About half a mile ahead, left lane. The big jacked-up four-by-four.” Scott moved the mouse and clicked on the dash cam. The video feed and map changed places, showing a larger video. Jim Franklin had already been a legend with the CIA and a surveillance instructor at Langley when he was recruited to teach Deuce’s team the finer points of watching someone without being seen. Far ahead of him, I could see the big off-road machine.
“Hope your tank’s full, Jim,” I said. “She’s probably on her way to pick up her husband.”
“That you, Jesse? Yeah, both tanks are full.”
“Yeah, it’s me. Keep us posted on where she’s going, but I’m betting she won’t stop for another hundred miles.”
“I’ll need help, then. Tailing someone that far is asking to be spotted. Particularly when we get to the two-lane.”
“Already on it, Jim,” Scott said. “Sherri’s at a pull-off near Lake Surprise. Coordinate with her on when and where to swap out. But it’s just gonna be the two of you.”
Sherri Fallon was one of the few women on Deuce’s team. Formerly an armorer for Miami-Dade Police, she was also an accomplished stage actress. Her job with the team, besides her proficiency at maintaining weapons, was to teach acting to the members of the team, particularly improv. Being able to think fast in a changing scenario and convey ideas to one another in a subtle way has proved helpful on more than one occasion.
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