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

by Wayne Stinnett

“Well,” she said, dragging the word out, “if it’s okay with you, he’ll wait until I can get a shower and change clothes. He wants to take me to dinner.”

  Not something I was ready for. I hadn’t been an active participant in raising her and had no idea how the father of a teenage daughter was expected to handle dating.

  “Tell Marty to stop by and see Rusty before he picks you up at Dockside. He’ll have something for the deputy to read. After that, if he wants to take you out for dinner, we’ll talk about it when you get here.”

  “Dad, I’ll be eighteen in five months and I’m leaving for college soon after that.”

  “I know,” I said “I’d just like to meet any young man that wants to take you out. I know it’s old fashioned, but it’s how I was brought up.”

  “You already met him.”

  “As Deputy Phillips,” I said. “Not as a young man coming to take my daughter out on a date.”

  “Alright,” she said. “We’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  I went back over to the table and sat down. “One of the models died. That changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does,” Bender said. “Use of a weapon of mass destruction in commission of a homicide. That makes it a federal case now.”

  I turned to Travis, “That deputy will be bringing my daughter home in a little while. How soon can a few of your guys get here?”

  “Who do you want?” Travis asked, taking out his cellphone and starting an email to Deuce. “They can be here in less than an hour. I’d suggest moving your daughter someplace safe, but I know you’ll override that and keep her close to you.”

  I had no idea why Horvac wanted to find me nor if there was any connection at all to Beech. But I don’t believe in coincidences. And I don’t like waiting. Whatever was going to happen, it would be soon and I wanted to be ready and I wanted Kim safe. The safest place would be with me and the men Travis would send.

  “Andrew, Tony, Art, and Donnie,” I finally replied.

  “Hinkle?” Bender asked. “Aussie’s a loner. Why him?”

  “For just that reason,” I replied. “He’s at his best alone.”

  Travis finished his email and sent it. A moment later when his phone pinged, he looked at the message and said, “They’ll be here within the hour. Chyrel’s coming, too. She’ll handle communication. What’s your schedule for the rest of the week?”

  “You don’t know?” I asked.

  He grinned and arched an eyebrow. “Not everything.”

  “I have a charter on Friday, then my other daughter and her family are coming here on Saturday.”

  “You might want to think about cancelling both,” Travis said. “At least until we get a handle on what we’re up against. I’m also going to contact the Secretary. Since this involves us, I’m going to suggest DHS take the lead. When he gives the green light, both teams will be ready to move into action.”

  I thought about that a moment. With two antiterrorism teams to draw on, this could all be over very quickly. The group in my Friday charter were from a nonprofit organization that helps injured servicemen and women by remodeling homes and providing activities to acclimate them to civilian life. I’d hate to disappoint them, and few other charter boats could afford to do a charter for free.

  “No, I’m not gonna cancel either one. The charter is through a service-related-injury nonprofit. Those guys have had enough disappointment. And this weekend will be the first time I’ve seen Eve in a long time and the first time I meet my grandson.”

  “The daughter that’s married to the lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Haven’t been in contact with him since that night a few months back.”

  The truth is, I was looking forward to both the charter and the little family reunion and was hoping both went well.

  “Let’s do this, then,” Stockwell said. “If we don’t have a good resolution to this Zoe Pound thing by Friday, you hire a couple more crewmen besides me. If need be, some friends might be spending the weekend at your fish camp when your family arrives.”

  “Just how do you figure the Secretary can justify taking the lead?” I asked Travis. “The team is supposed to be deployed against terrorism.”

  “There was a bit of a change in the CCC’s mission statement a few months ago. It hasn’t been overly publicized, but the CCC has been redesignated as a police force. Still to be called upon against known terrorist targets, but able to work freely on American soil. It happened a few weeks after the takedown in Key West.”

  Stockwell was referring to the arrest of Dimitri Darchevsky last year, when about a dozen of the team’s spec ops people moved to take the Russian down after an assassination attempt on the President.

  I sat back down at the table next to Travis. “Just how does a Miami gang being directed by a Croatian psychopath equal terrorism?”

  “They’ve been using grenades, a weapon of mass destruction, right?” I nodded and he continued. “They’ve been dropping these grenades on fragile coral reefs, knowing you wouldn’t stand for it and would come out of what they perceived as you hiding.”

  “I still don’t get the connection to terrorism,” I said.

  “There are a number of types of terrorism. Those reefs are old and fragile, right?” I nodded again. “And pretty important to the environment, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Environmental terrorists?”

  “For lack of a better word, yes. Or ecoterrorists. Thousands of people come down here every year. This area depends on that environmental balance with tourism. I’m sure the Secretary will agree.”

  “Do what you have to, Travis,” I said, standing up. “Bender and I will get the quarters ready.”

  Setting up the bunkhouse wasn’t a difficult task. All the linens, blankets, and pillows were stored in a single closet in each bunkhouse. Kim would have a roommate for a while, but she and Chyrel got along well. Bender took care of the eastern bunkhouse for the men and while getting a bunk set up for Chyrel in the other bunkhouse, I thought about what Stockwell had said.

  Reefs are very old. Most corals only add an inch or so a year to the hard calcium skeleton they live out their lives attached to. Individual polyps live only a couple of years and it takes thousands of them to create a formation that covers a single square foot of area.

  They live mostly in warm shallow water, where their tiny tentacles gather microscopic food particles as they drift past the colony in the currents. The reefs are part of the reason the water in the Keys is so clear. The destruction of a small area of a reef, whether it’s by a grenade, a boat running aground, or just uneducated divers kicking the polyps with their fins or dragging equipment across them, takes many years to recover. Some never do, leaving behind the ghostly white skeleton most people think of when coral is mentioned.

  I try to do everything I can to ensure the safety of not only my divers, but the environment they visit. I never allow heavy gloves and as long as the water temperature is above eighty degrees, I discourage the use of wet suits. Exposed bare skin usually keeps divers from touching anything.

  After getting the bunkhouse set up, we didn’t have long to wait. Soon, the heavy beating of a helicopter flying low could be heard from the northeast.

  Moments later, Charity gently settled the black Huey in the center of the clearing and as the whine of the engine subsided, the doors slid open.

  Tony was out first, reaching back and grabbing his duffle and gear bags. Donnie Hinkle jumped out beside him, gear bags in hand, and the two men started walking toward us, Pescador trotting up to Tony for an ear scratch.

  Hinkle is a former SEAL sniper, a lanky, dark-haired Australian with an odd sense of humor. He’s not really a loner, as Bender said. Shooters just have a different mindset and are usually the quiet type.

  Art Newman and Andy Bourke came around the front of the chopper as Charity climbed out of the pilot’s seat. I first met Art and Tony the day I met Deuce a year and a half ago. They’d accompanied Deuce
to find the place his dad wanted his ashes scattered. They were both with Deuce’s SEAL team at the time and about to transfer to DHS.

  Art and Tony were both in their early thirties and Art was always ready with a quick joke. Like Deuce, he’d grown his hair since I last saw him and now wore it slicked back and tied in a ponytail. His short, powerful frame belied his catlike reflexes.

  Andrew Bourke is the old man of the bunch. A former Senior Chief Petty Officer in the Coast Guard’s Maritime Enforcement, he drills the younger men and women in the team on small boat boarding tactics. The same age as me, he’s a bit shorter but the same weight, with broad shoulders, barrel chest, sandy blond hair and a bushy mustache. He has an easy way about him and can always be relied on in tough situations. Quiet most of the time, but when he speaks in his deep, rich baritone voice he gets people’s attention without having to raise it.

  I shook each man’s hand in turn. I hadn’t seen Art in quite a while and he was amazed at the progress on the little island. Tony was quick to point out the aquaculture system and explained how it worked. Tony had spent a lot of time working on it with Carl. Noticing the many fruit trees growing around the edge of the perimeter, Art said, “You can damned near stay off the grid here.”

  “That’s the idea,” I replied. “Y’all store your gear in the east bunkhouse. Hey, I thought Chyrel was coming with you.”

  “She had to pack some electronic equipment,” Charity said. “She’s driving down and bringing her little boat. Should be here before dark.”

  “Alright,” Stockwell said, “stow your gear and we’ll go over everything in a few minutes.”

  Once the team had their gear put away, we gathered around the tables and Travis brought everyone up to speed on what was going on and who we were up against. When he was done, he read an email to the group from the Homeland Security Secretary, directing him to take charge of the investigation and bring those responsible for destroying the reefs into custody.

  “Is there anything you’d like to add, Jesse?” Travis asked, when he’d finished the short briefing.

  “My youngest daughter is living here with me now,” I began, glancing at my watch. “Should be back in less than an hour. She knows a good bit about what’s going on and I’ll fill her in on the rest. I hope this thing can be resolved quickly, because my other daughter and her family are due here on Saturday.”

  “If we’re still here Saturday, mate,” Hinkle began in his lyrical Australian accent, “yer family won’t even notice.”

  “What’s your assessment, Mister Bender,” Travis asked.

  Bender stood up at the far end of the table. “Jesse was wrong about two things earlier,” he began. “If Tena Horvac has firm control of the gang’s leadership, she won’t wait until tomorrow. This is a woman who thrives on dangerous situations, and the prospect of losing a dozen or more of the gang’s lower ranks won’t dissuade her one little bit. They’ll move tonight. Also, from everything I’ve read and learned, she isn’t a psychopath, but a sociopath with Messalina complex tendencies, probably stemming from both physical and sexual abuse as an adolescent.”

  “Messa what?” I asked.

  “It’s a psychological disorder more commonly called nymphomania,” Bender replied.

  Bourke suppressed a laugh, but Charity was unable. “Yeah,” she said, between snorts, “that describes Ettaleigh, alright.”

  I stood up quickly. The laughter and grins disappeared. “What exactly do you base this opinion on?” I asked Bender.

  “Sit down, Jesse,” Travis said. “He meant nothing personal. The rest of you, act professional here. Jesse, Paul has a degree in forensic psychology.”

  I slowly sat back down. “Forensic psychology?”

  “It’s the application of psychological techniques and principles to situations involving violations of the law that are criminal in nature and understanding the criminal mind,” Bender replied.

  Bourke leaned over to me and said, “Think like a criminal.”

  Late one night a few months ago, Bourke and I sat on the bridge of the Revenge, trying to fathom the reasoning behind why someone was trying to kill us. We agreed that we were just unable to think like a criminal. Bourke looked back to Bender and asked, “So you think they’ll attack here tonight?”

  “If Deuce and the rest of the team don’t find them in Miami, yes, they will. And not according to any logical time table. Don’t try to determine cloud cover, moon phase, tide, or anything else. They’ll move as soon as they know their two men failed earlier today.”

  The sound of two outboards approaching brought everyone to their feet, reaching for handguns. I recognized the sound of Charlie’s boat slowly approaching from the south, dodging the shallow sandbars and reef heads. The other one sounded like twin outboards, coming into Harbor Channel at the east end.

  “Two boats,” I said. “The one coming from the south is Carl and Charlie, with their two kids. They’re about ten minutes out. The other might be a Monroe Sheriff’s patrol boat coming up Harbor Channel. Closer, less than five minutes. Donnie, grab your scope. You can see the channel from the waterline, just beyond the fire pit.”

  Hinkle was gone in a flash and in seconds came out of the bunkhouse with his rifle uncased and slung over his shoulder. In seconds he disappeared into the mangroves on the northeast side of the clearing.

  A tense moment later he returned, waving us off from the tree line. “Sheriff’s boat with two people aboard,” he shouted as he walked up to the group.

  “That’ll be my daughter and Deputy Phillips,” I said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The group became scarce, unpacking in the bunkhouse and walking out to the north pier. I took Kim, Carl, and Charlie aside at the dock and explained what I could to them. Carl had already seen the chopper come in, as they were within sight of the island long before the deputy’s boat got close enough to see it.

  “How many men do you have here?” was all he asked, as their two kids carried boxes of groceries up to the house.

  “Besides Bender, five more, and I think Charity is planning to stay over.”

  Carl looked at his wife and a silent message seemed to pass between them. “We’ll stay,” Charlie said. “Probably safer here than anywhere else. I’ll get started on dinner.”

  Charlie was a soft-spoken and practical woman. When something needed to be done, she just did it. Lately, I’d come to rely on her counsel about my teen daughter. Charlie is quite a bit younger than Carl, and little Patty and Carl Junior were her only children. Jimmy’s girlfriend, Angie, is Carl’s daughter from a previous marriage and though there were only ten years between them, Charlie helped her through a difficult stage of life.

  Regardless of what Bender said, I still felt confident that Deuce would take them down in Miami. Failing that, if they came at all, it would be tomorrow. Very late tonight at the earliest and that was only if the landlubbers could find their way. So I was ready for Kim’s question when it came.

  “Will it be okay if I go out with Marty? We won’t be late.”

  “Why don’t you go get cleaned up while Marty and I have a talk,” I said, glancing over at the young man in the patrol boat.

  She went up to the main house for a shower and the Trents headed for their house to start supper, leaving me alone on the pier with the deputy, who was still sitting uncomfortably in his boat.

  I walked toward him, Pescador at my heels, and said, “Deputy?”

  He stood up in the boat and stammered at first, trying to find the right words. Finally he managed to say, “I went to see Mister Thurman, like you said. He didn’t know what I was there for and neither did I, really. We talked about what happened this morning trying to figure out why you thought I should see him and I mentioned I had asked Kim out.”

  “And?”

  “He showed me a letter that was framed,” he replied. “‘The Rules for Dating a Marine’s Daughter,’ he called them.”

  “You do understand that badge on your
chest is the only reason we’re even talking?” I said. “And that badge won’t matter to me when it comes to Kim’s well-being. I hope you paid particular attention to rule number six.”

  He grinned and said, “Absolutely, sir. All of them. Your daughter is safe with me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty in a month, sir,” he replied. “My dad’s a good friend of the sheriff and I went through the academy after graduating high school. I’ve only been with the department for a little over a year.”

  “Ben Phillips?”

  “Yes, sir. Dad pulled a few strings to get me hired on.”

  Ben is a well-known fishing guide who lives and works out of Ramrod Key. I’d met him a few times and thought him to be a good man.

  “Walk with me, Deputy,” I said and started up the steps to the deck, Pescador bounding ahead. He climbed quickly from the big center console, adjusting his uniform and catching up to me. As we reached the back steps and started down to the clearing, he noticed the helicopter.

  “Holy crap! You have your own chopper?”

  “It’s not mine,” I replied as Bender and Stockwell stood up from the table and started toward us.

  As we approached, Stockwell stuck out his hand. “How are you, Deputy Phillips?”

  The young man quickly made the connection between the unmarked black chopper and the fed he’d met earlier in the day, but was obviously struggling to remember the name.

  “Travis Stockwell,” Travis said, shaking the deputy’s hand. “And this is Paul Bender, one of my men.”

  The deputy shook hands with Bender as the others seemed to appear from nowhere, drifting out of the tree line and the bunkhouse and walking casually toward us.

  Phillips eyes moved over the approaching group of four men and a woman, also noting the bunkhouses. “This is a DHS compound of some kind?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Being a law enforcement officer, I don’t have to tell you about operational security. These people are here due to a potential threat in the Keys from a Miami gang. You’ve heard about the people using explosives on the reefs?”