Fallen King: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 6)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “Did I understand you to say you were attacked? I’m motoring into Sister Creek now.”

  “Head back out!” I said. “Two black men in an eighteen-foot yellow runabout heading east, just passing Sombrero Key light. You can be on them in five minutes. Be careful, they’re armed with handguns and grenades.”

  “Roger that,” he responded. “Any idea where they’re headed?”

  “No idea, but if you had a stolen boat report in the last couple of hours, they’re probably heading back to where they left their car before stealing it.”

  “Yes, we did. A deputy is there now. We’ll take it from here, Gaspar’s Revenge.”

  A moment later, I could just make out the deputy’s boat coming out of Sister Creek dead ahead, coming up on plane, blue lights flashing. I waited until the radar picked him out of the background scatter and picked up the mic again.

  “Deputy Phillips, this is Gaspar’s Revenge.”

  He responded and looking at the two blips on the radar, I said, “On your radar, at a heading of about one hundred and thirty degrees, a mile past East Washerwoman. Do you see him?”

  “Roger, Gaspar’s Revenge. Are you certain that’s the boat that attacked you?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “It’s the only other boat on my screen in the area and I’ve had a fix on it since they attacked us.”

  “We’ve got him, thanks for your help.”

  I hung up the mic and concentrated on the approach, which was coming up at almost fifty knots now. As much as I hated to, I was going to go up the creek a lot faster than is prudent or allowed. It’s a no wake zone, but I was going to be up on plane all the way into Boot Key Harbor.

  I made the turn and lined up the green and red markers. As I neared the wide mouth of the creek, I brought the speed down to thirty knots, preparing for the few blind turns just beyond.

  Making our way up the creek, I cringed at each noise behind us. The sound of boats on either side banging against their docks. No doubt there were at least a few people on their phones calling the sheriff’s office already.

  I slowed to twenty knots as I came to the opening into the harbor and hoped there wouldn’t be anyone heading out from around the blind turn. I spun the wheel and the Revenge responded, turning hard right and heeling over, kicking up spray to the port side.

  Nothing in the channel, I pushed the throttles, keeping the big boat on plane all the way to Dockside’s fuel dock at the east end of the harbor. I could see the red flashing lights of several ambulances as I brought the boat down off plane and approached the dock. Kim climbed down and went to the bow, ready to toss a line to one of the men on the dock.

  Minutes later, we were tied up and moving the divers to the waiting ambulances. The EMTs loaded Mitzi into the first ambulance. She’d lost consciousness. It took off for the short half-mile ride to Fisherman’s Hospital. Or possibly a much longer ride to a hyperbaric chamber in either Key West or Islamorada.

  Stockwell declined transport, saying he was fine except for a little ringing in his ears. “I was furthest away from both explosions. The grenades fell between the girls and the photographer, closer to the girls, not ten feet away from them.”

  Annette was loaded into the second ambulance in a stretcher, awake and answering the questions from the EMT. It spun out, spraying crushed coral as its tires lost traction. They grabbed the asphalt of the road with a screech and the ambulance roared away, siren wailing. Tom and Peter both climbed into the third ambulance on their own and it followed after the other two.

  “Do they have a chamber at the hospital here?” Stockwell asked.

  “No,” I replied. “Nearest ones are the Army’s Underwater Warfare School on Fleming Key and Mariner’s Hospital on Islamorada. Both are about forty miles away.”

  In the distance, we could hear the first ambulance’s siren fading as it headed north, away from Fisherman’s Hospital. A moment later, the sound of the second one faded away to the north, also.

  “They’re taking the women to Islamorada,” Kim said as the sound of an approaching outboard grew louder behind us.

  I turned to see a Monroe County Sheriff’s patrol boat idling up to the dock behind the Revenge. It had the runabout in tow and there were two uniformed deputies on board. The two black men were handcuffed and sitting on the deck in the open cockpit area ahead of the center console.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, the two men O’Hare had run over had been in Deuce’s custody, flying north in a chopper. Now the smaller of the two and another young black man were right here, handcuffed once more.

  I turned to Travis and said, “Follow my lead and be ready to show your badge.”

  I walked toward the patrol boat as the deputies were tying off. What was the thug’s name again? I thought. Gabriel something?

  The punks looked up as the two deputies hoisted them to their feet and the smaller man saw me looking down at him, smiling. The hardness in his face turned to fear.

  “Hello, Gabe. Long time, no see.”

  “He doesn’t speak English,” one of the deputies said, stepping up to the dock with Gabriel, now visibly shaken. The deputy was young, maybe twenty or twenty-one. But I’d served with younger men and they were more than competent.

  “You know him?” the deputy asked.

  Noticing the name tag on the young man’s uniform, I stuck out my hand. “Good job, Deputy Phillips. I’m Captain McDermitt of the Revenge.” I pumped his hand and said, “Gabe here speaks and understands English just fine. We’ll have a word with him, if you don’t mind.”

  “Now hold on, McDermitt,” Phillips said, releasing my hand. “This is police business.”

  Travis stepped forward and held up his identification for the deputy to see. “I’m Associate Deputy Director Travis Stockwell, Deputy. With the Department of Homeland Security, Caribbean Counterterrorism Command. We only require a few minutes with your prisoner.”

  Without waiting for permission, Stockwell took Gabriel by the arm and steered him toward the Revenge. I just shrugged my shoulders at the deputy and turned to follow Stockwell.

  Kim was standing by the transom as we approached. “Kim, why don’t you go get a cheeseburger from inside. Make it three, with a big bag of fries. Introduce yourself to Robin and tell her to put it on my tab.”

  When she left, I stepped down into the cockpit, yanking Gabriel by the collar and jerking him down with me. I shoved him forcefully into the salon. “Welcome aboard, Gabe.”

  Inside, I put him on the couch as Travis came in. “Director Stockwell, this punk was in Commander Livingston’s custody not even a day ago. Any idea how he’s back out so fast?”

  Stockwell played along. “I’ll find out, Captain.” He picked his phone up from the settee table and made a call.

  I leaned toward the Haitian man, putting my left hand on the cushion next to his head. Inches from his face, I whispered in as menacing a tone as I could, “You have less than a minute to answer this one question, Gabe. And your answer better match the one the Director’s getting, or we’re going for a little boat ride. Up to a certain tiny island where a cook fire will already be going, and some good ole Arab boys are just dying to play with you. Who got you out so fast?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Having returned Gabe to the custody of Deputy Phillips, satisfied with the answers he provided, the three of us sat at a covered table behind Dockside, eating greasy cheeseburgers and fries.

  My thoughts were on how all this was affecting my daughter. In the few months she’s been with me, she’s witnessed more than most kids ought to. She’d handled things in an adult manner, but I was worried about how it would affect her in the long term. The teen years should be about fun and friends.

  Phillips came up the walk and broke my thought. “Crabtree is taking the prisoners in,” Phillips said. “Dispatch received over a dozen calls from people on Sister Creek.”

  “Just tell Sheriff Roth to ask the residents to sub
mit any claims directly to him and I’ll pay for any damages.”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Stockwell and I moved our chairs apart, closer to Kim on the other side of the table, and Phillips pulled one from another table and sat down in it. Looking at Stockwell, he asked, “What’s the federal government’s involvement here? Especially someone from the top end?”

  Travis put down his burger and looked at Phillips a second before answering, “I’m just visiting, Deputy. The only involvement DHS has in this is that one of your prisoners was in our custody in Homestead less than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “That’s a pretty quick release,” Phillips offered. Stockwell didn’t respond, so he turned to me. “That’s pretty much what the sheriff said you’d say, Captain McDermitt. How’re you involved with the feds?”

  “The Colonel and I go way back,” I replied, nodding toward Travis. “We served in Somalia at the same time.” Enough truth in that, I thought.

  “Like I said,” Stockwell interjected, “I’m just here to get away from Washington for a couple days of diving. Thinking about retiring here.”

  “And you, ma’am?” he asked Kim, who was sitting back and quietly munching on a French fry.

  “She’s my daughter,” I replied. “And First Mate on Gaspar’s Revenge.”

  Seeming satisfied, Phillips stood up. “Dispatch hasn’t had any calls of serious damage, Captain. Mostly just complaints. Y’all have a nice day.”

  As he walked away, Kim attempted to hide watching him. I leaned back in my chair, blocking his retreat and said to Stockwell, “How was an attorney able to convince a judge to release Gabriel with just one phone call? The guy’s nothing but a pawn in the organization.”

  Travis looked out over the harbor, with its dozens of sail and power boats swinging on uniformly spaced mooring balls, and thought for a moment. “We’re looking into it. Actually, Miss Koshinski is. I got a text from her a few minutes ago. The attorney isn’t a cheap one. He was hired by Zoe Pound and the judge is being investigated for bribery by FDLE.”

  I didn’t need any more than that. “Let’s go.” The only reason Zoe Pound would spring a foot soldier so quickly, was because he had information for the gang. Where I lived.

  I’d just spotted Jimmy and Angie climbing up to the sundeck of her houseboat in a nearby slip. As we walked along the dock to where the Revenge was tied at the end, I stopped and turned to Kim.

  “I want you to stay here with Angie and Jimmy.” Stockwell went on ahead, coming to the same conclusion I had. “That guy knows where we live and he knows where we were today. I want you to stay here for a bit. Once I’m sure everything’s okay at home, I’ll come and get you. Or Angie can give you a ride up to Old Bridge and you can meet Charlie there, when she picks up the kids. Just appease the old man, huh?”

  She smiled and said, “You’re not that old, Dad. Okay, but stay in touch?”

  “I will,” I said. Then I looked up to where Jimmy and Angie were sitting. “Ahoy the boat.”

  Angie turned her head and looked down, smiling. “Hi, Jesse. Hey, Kim.”

  “Mind if I hang out with you guys for a little while?” Kim asked. “Dad has some business to take care of.”

  “Sure, come on up,” Angie replied, as Jimmy moved quickly to hide what I figured was his bag of pot.

  I gave him a stern look. He just waved and said, “Yeah, man, we’re just enjoyin’ some rays. Nothing else.”

  I’ve known Jimmy for quite a few years now. His use of pot notwithstanding, he’s a hardworking man and I never had any trouble when he worked for me. He always arrived for work sober and left the stuff ashore. This was his not-so-subtle way of telling me he wasn’t going to involve my daughter in anything I’d kick his ass about later.

  When I started to turn away, Kim said, “Hey, Dad, I forgot to tell you, I booked a charter for Friday. A new client, but I think you’ll like them.”

  I stopped mid-turn and looked back at her. One charter a week is enough in my mind. But, a Friday charter, I thought. Linda will be here Friday.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Some guys from a nonprofit group up the coast called Homes for Warriors,” she replied with a smile. “Mister Landeros had them chartered out of Key Largo, but the charter boat blew a head gasket and will be down. He emailed to see if we’d take them at no charge.”

  I winked at her and said, “You’re the boss.”

  Trotting over to where Travis stood holding the forward rail with one hand and the stern line in the other, I said, “Shove off when I get the engines started.” Then I jumped aboard, climbed to the bridge and started the big diesels, which settled into a steady rumble.

  I nodded to Travis, and he flipped the line over the dock cleat and tossed the end of it into the cockpit, leaving it tied to the boat’s stern cleat, but free of the dock. He then shoved the boat away from the dock before jumping aboard.

  As I engaged the transmissions in opposite directions and the Revenge started spinning on her own axis, I looked down to see Travis coiling the dock line and stowing it. A moment later, he climbed up to the bridge and took the second seat.

  “You know your way around a boat?” I asked.

  “Helped my dad out when I was a kid. He ran a tug on the Missouri River. How many people are on your island right now?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Charlie probably hasn’t left to pick up the kids yet and Trent and Bender are probably still there.” He took out his cellphone and I explained that there was only one spot on the island that ever got a signal and unless Bender was on the deck at the top of the front steps he wouldn’t be able to reach him.

  “These are the newest sat-phones, all the team has them now. Looks and works just like an iPhone, but if there’s no cell signal, it has a satellite override built in.”

  Leaving the harbor through the west inlet, I brought the Revenge up on plane and turned due north, headed for the twin spans of the new Seven Mile Bridge and the old bridge to Pigeon Key next to it. I listened to the one-sided conversation as Travis explained to Bender that Gabriel had already been released and somehow Zoe Pound knew where we’d be today.

  Stockwell ducked a little as he ended the call and we passed under the old twenty-foot-high span, clearing it by a good five feet. I turned into Knights Key Channel, dodging around the shoal water, then turned out of the channel and set a course northwest into East Bahia Honda Channel.

  Setting the GPS for Horseshoe Bank and engaging the autopilot, I asked Stockwell, “Are you armed?”

  “Just my service pistol,” he replied.

  “Wait here. The boat’s on autopilot. Just dodge anything floating in the water and it’ll come back on course by itself.”

  I went down to my stateroom and punched in the code to release the bunk, raising it up out of the way. I grabbed a Penn Senator reel case and two longer fly rod cases. Lowering the bunk until the lock clicked, I headed back up to the bridge, handing the fly rod cases to Travis before climbing up and taking over at the helm.

  Handing one of the longer cases to Travis, I said, “Open it.”

  He grinned at me and said, “But I didn’t get you anything.”

  Opening the case, his grin broadened. Inside was every old Soldier’s best friend, an M16A1. Travis lifted it out and I took the case and set it on the port bench. Flipping the rifle over to the left side, he noticed the three positions on the selector switch. He looked up and asked, “Full auto?” I nodded and he looked to the other case, which I’d placed on the deck in front of the bench. “Same thing?”

  I shook my head. “Mine’s bigger.” This caused him to laugh, lessening the tension.

  After arriving back at the island and finding everything secure, I sat down with Stockwell and Bender at one of the two heavy outdoor tables next to the bunkhouses. Bender said that Charlie and Carl had gone to town early, to do some shopping before picking up the kids. That explained why Pescador was still here.

  “Do you mind if I stay
a couple days?” Stockwell asked. “I can have one or two from Deuce’s team come down.”

  Normally, I’d reject such an offer without a thought. Being able to move this way or that quickly had worked well for quite a few years now. Having others around had only slowed me down. Looking around the little island, I began to wonder if I’d done the right thing in setting all this up. I’d built it for this very reason. A place where my friends could come to relax and escape reality for a day or two, or a place to prepare and wage war from. It wasn’t easy to find, only a dot on a nautical chart with no name, similar to many others around here.

  Now, I had my family to think of. My daughter was here and my other daughter would be here in a few days with her husband and my grandson. I’d also gotten closer to Carl, Charlie, and the kids since Kim’s arrival and considered them family, as well. Deuce was up on the mainland training a bunch of new door kickers and around here, everything had been quiet for over five months.

  “They won’t come today,” I said as my own sat-phone chirped in my pocket. “You’re welcome as long as you like.” Taking my sat-phone out, I saw that it was Kim and stood up, flipping it open.

  After I answered, she said, “Deputy Phillips is here looking for you.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “One of the models died,” she said.

  I put my hand out and leaned against the big stone fireplace and grill, hanging my head. “Who?”

  “Annette,” Kim replied. “Mitzi’s in the chamber. Tom and Mister Simpson were treated at Fisherman’s and released. They’re going up to Mariner’s in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I said, shaking it off. I’d lost men in battle a few times, but never a civilian diver that I was in charge of. “Everything’s fine here. Can Angie give you a ride to Wooden Bridge? Charlie’s leaving in a few minutes.”

  “Actually, Dad, that’s the other thing. Marty’s shift ends in an hour. He offered to bring me home.”

  “Who’s Marty?”

  “Deputy Phillips.”

  “Oh?”