Louder Than Words

by Brett Baker

  “You’re late,” the man said. “The success and safety of this operation depend on you being on time. We can’t afford for all three of you to be late for the same distribution.” As he spoke, I recognized his voice, and the longer he stood next to the men the more I recognized his mannerisms and body language. Dirk Oswalt. I couldn’t see his face, and the forest distorted his voice enough to cause some lingering doubt in my mind, but he definitely looked familiar. And considering everything that had happened in recent days, his presence at such an operation a couple of days after my assumed death seemed an unlikely coincidence.

  He stared at the three men without saying another word, and then went back into the warehouse. The men loading the vans finished two minutes later, and then Oswalt yelled, “Get out of here!” and all three drivers raced to their vans, and drove off.

  The pilot followed suit, right on their heels, turning the plane with ease, disappearing into the angled road back to 342, and then coming back down toward us, engines whirring, tires riding the pavement so soon after the vans disappeared that I wondered if they’d even made it to highway 19 yet.

  The same thing happened two more times. Vans arrived, parked to the side, a plane arrived, unloaded, and then they all disappeared. The same six men unloaded each plane, the drivers remaining in the van, trying not to waste a moment.

  After the last group of vans and the Cessna left, the men drove the forklift back outside, closed the doors of the warehouse, and turned off the portable light. They all got in the passenger van, the man who looked like Dirk Oswalt taking the front passenger seat.

  As I watched them drive off, I was already thinking about my next move. I knew that I hadn’t seen the last of Dirk Oswalt, and I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he saw me rise from the ashes.

  But even though I had a good idea of what Oswalt was up to, I still had no idea how it fit in with the question of Martin Coulson, and if I intended to take down Oswalt, I was running out of time to find out.

  Chapter 36

  I stayed in my clearing for the next thirty minutes. Although it seemed as though the action had ended for the night, I didn’t want to be caught off-guard by a returning van of hooligans if one of them had left something behind.

  After deeming it safe to venture out of the woods, I packed all of my belongings in one of the reusable grocery bags. I scarfed down two more energy bars, and the last banana I had. I expected a long trip ahead of me, so I needed every bit of energy that I could get.

  I followed the access road back to 342 and looked toward highway 19. No signs of anyone or anything, especially landing planes. Although I wasn’t familiar with every square mile of Dixie County, I’d seen enough of it to know that most of the land south of highway 19 remained undeveloped. The thick woods next to the warehouse provided great protection as the men unloaded the planes, and I counted on the same landscape providing cover as I began my long walk.

  The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, so in addition to the wilderness of Dixie County providing cover, it also provided the quickest way to get back to Cross City. I knew the distance from the access road back to highway 19 was just over twelve miles, and 342 was eight miles east of cross city, so some quick geometry told me that I’d have to walk just over fourteen miles to get to Cross City if I cut across the wilderness. Better than the twenty miles it would take if I walked back to highway 19 and then west to town, not to mention the added risk of a passerby seeing me walking along the road.

  So I started walking.

  I began covering the same land I’d walked through after Steve dropped me off, but quickly realized I had to change the angle of my route if I didn’t want to end up back on highway 19 still seven miles away from town. The slight change led to a change in terrain after just about half an hour. The protection of the thick forest disappeared, and I found myself in wide-open lowlands where dirt oozed water beneath each step I took. Being stuck in the middle of such an open area made me nervous at first, but the lack of moonlight, and the distance from any populated area made it quite unlikely that anyone could see me. Even though my foot sunk a centimeter deep with each step, I still made better time walking across the lowlands than I had through the forest. If I’d been walking during the day I would have reconsidered my path to take advantage of the trees, but the route was perfect for walking in the middle of the night.

  It took just over three hours to cover the distance back to Cross City. I met up with highway 19 about a mile east of town, right where it juts to the north after following a straight east-west path for miles. I remained a hundred yards from the edge of the road as I walked into town. Few cars passed at such a late hour, and it seemed safe to assume that the drivers of those that did pass weren’t looking off into the distance, so didn’t see me.

  I crossed highway 19 when I found the road I’d been looking for. After crossing I knelt in the ditch next to the road for a few minutes just to be sure that I didn’t catch anyone’s eye. When all seemed clear I continued north along the road.

  Twenty minutes later I followed the curve in the road, and reached the driveway of the Oswalt house. With sunrise just a couple of hours later, it seemed prime time for Cooper to return home, so I walked up the driveway while looking in front of me to make sure no one inside saw me approaching, and behind me to make sure Cooper didn’t surprise me. But when I made it up to the house I saw Cooper’s car parked in its usual spot.

  I walked to the garage and the pedestrian door opened right away. Inside I saw Dirk’s Mercedes, although given the events of the evening I couldn’t be sure that the presence of his car meant that he’d be there. Someone may have picked him up and given him a ride, so it’s possible that he wasn’t home, but I intended to find out.

  I walked around to the back of the house, looking at each window as I passed. I hoped to find an unlocked door, or at least a door that looked reasonably easy to overcome, and then I’d cross my fingers that I’d set off no alarm. But when I walked up the three steps to the back deck, right next to the back door, I noticed a window that led to the kitchen, wide open. A screen was much easier to overcome than a door, so I popped the screen out, threw over the deck railing onto the grass, and then lifted myself through the window and into the kitchen.

  I hadn’t noticed a dog during any of my visits to the Oswalt house, but I still held my breath that they didn’t have some yappy dog ready to blow my cover. I remained still for thirty seconds, waiting to be greeted, but when no one showed up I began to worry about a silent motion detector instead. It seemed unlikely that a house as big as Oswalt’s wouldn’t have a security system, especially given the nature of his illegal activities.

  But somehow I made it inside the house without attracting any attention. I’d never been beyond the first floor, so I didn’t know where to look for Dirk, or where I might run into Cooper, but my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and I could walk without making a noise, so I climbed the steps to go upstairs.

  The location of the master bedroom was obvious as soon as I got upstairs. At the opposite end of the hallway a single step led to French doors. Curtains covered the glass on the opposite side, so I couldn’t see in. Three other bedrooms separated me from the French doors, so as I passed each one I peeked my head inside expecting to see Cooper, probably sound asleep, possibly with some unsuspecting young woman lying next to him. But after checking all three rooms I saw no sign of Cooper. I preferred to meet Dirk without Cooper present, but either way I knew that I had to talk to him right then.

  I worried that the French doors might be locked, but they opened with the slightest pressure. With no squeaky hinge, or alarm, I opened the door and let myself in within seconds.

  As soon as I walked in the room I heard Dirk. Sound asleep in a large bed opposite the doors, he snored not much louder than a sinusy dog. Flat on his back, it almost appeared as if he’d been expecting me. I wanted him to hear my voice and recognize me as soon as he could. I didn’
t want to give him an instant to process what was going on before I explained the situation, and let him know that despite what he thought, that I had the upper hand.

  I went to the bathroom, found a bath towel in the closet, and soaked it in cold water in the bathroom sink. As I walked back into the bedroom I turned on the lights, which, as I’d hoped, didn’t wake him. I stood next to his bed, leaned over him so my face was three or four inches from his ear, and yelled, “Dirk! Wakeup!” as I slammed the cold, wet, heavy towel into his face.

  The shock of the sound, light, cold, and wetness had the desired effect, and he shot up in bed, rolling away from me by instinct rather than an intentional response to anything. He fell onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed, but quickly got to his feet. He looked at me, rubbed his eyes, and then looked at me.

  “But you’re…. How are you? What are you doing here?” He backed away from me, his hands held in front of him as if doing a pushup against the air.

  “Don’t move!” I said. “I’m sure you remember what I did to your friends at the campsite. And you chose to run instead of staying to fight, which I suspect means that you know that you can’t handle me. So unless you want to experience what you missed out on the other night, you better not make a move.”

  “What campsite? You can’t just break into someone’s house,” he said, letting his arms fall to his side.

  “I just did,” I said. “You left the window open in the kitchen. If you want strangers to keep out, you should do a better job of keeping them out. Back on the bed.” He looked at me, but didn’t move. “Get back on the bed, and scoot yourself to the middle of the bed. Sit with your back against the headboard, and your hands folded in your lap. Do not move.”

  He looked at me, and then looked at the door as if deciding whether he should try to run out of the room.

  “You won’t make it out before I reach you,” I said. “And if you even try, it’ll be the end of the road for you. Do as I say and you’ll be just fine. Or you can ask your buddy Pietro Ospina what he thinks. Oh, wait. No, you can’t. He’s dead.”

  “I don’t know who that is,” he said.

  “Don’t try that with me. I know you were at the campsite the other night. I saw you. We locked eyes. You know who I am. You know what I did. You know who Pietro Ospina is. And you know you were there. Because if you weren’t there, and you didn’t know what I did, then you’d run. I have nothing keeping you here.” I put hands up in the air and spun around once. “No gun. No weapon. Just me. And I’m half your weight. You should be able to pummel me if you can’t get away from me. But you saw what I did the other night, so you’re not even going to try. Smart man. Now get on the bed.”

  Oswalt sighed and then crawled onto the bed. He kept his eye on me the whole time as if I might do something unexpected despite telling him exactly what to do, and explaining to him why he should do it. I had no reason to do anything unexpected because we both knew he had no choice but to do what I wanted him to do.

  “Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

  “That’s not the plan. You’ve tried to have me killed, but that doesn’t mean I’ll kill you. Now—just so we’re clear—if you try to kill me at this moment, I will kill you and not think twice about it. But I’m not planning to kill you.” He nodded. “Since I’m not going to kill you I suppose you think you can wait until I leave and then have someone kill me. But that’s not going to happen, Dirk.”

  I walked to the other side of the room, grabbed a chair that sat in the corner, and pulled it next to the bed.

  “Do you know why that’s not going to happen?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Dirk, this is the part where you say, ‘Why isn’t that going to happen?’ These conversations aren’t as fun if you don’t get your lines right.” The look on his face transitioned to a scowl, but he said nothing. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. It’s not going to happen because I’ve just spent the past two days in the woods off of county road 342.”

  I stopped talking, looked at Oswalt, and smiled. His mouth dropped open a millimeter before he caught it, but other than that his expression didn’t change.

  “Not much happened until tonight, but then things got crazy. And when I say crazy, I’m talking airplane-landing-on-a-county-road crazy. That is crazy, isn’t it, Dirk?” His expression didn’t change. “In fact, things got so crazy that I started taking pictures. I got some great pictures. Airplanes taxiing through the forest, vans being loaded with boxes, license plates, tail numbers, pictures of Dixie County workers and Dixie County equipment. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “You’re making that up,” he said. “That stuff didn’t happen.”

  “Nice try, Dirk, but you and I both know that I’m not making it up. And we both know it, because we were both there. I’ve got a great shot of you talking to the other nine men at the warehouse. You can see your face clear as day. I was happy to see you. I wasn’t expecting to see someone I knew clear out in the middle of nowhere like that. Yet there you were!”

  Oswalt slid across the bed and put his feet on the floor, as if ready to stand and leave. “Remember what I said, Dirk. You’re not going anywhere. And keep in mind, if anything happens to me, then someone in Cross City has strict instructions to mail a package with all of the photos and my description of the events to the New York Times. That’s the sort of story those big city newspapers love. Their reporters are relentless. They won’t care if you’re a Dixie County commissioner or not. They’ll tell the story. And it’ll be bad news for you, Dirk. So unless you can guess who has that information right now, it’s in your best interest to make certain nothing happens to me, and that you tell me everything I want to know.”

  Oswalt looked at me, but said nothing. After a moment he slid back across the bed and leaned against the headboard as before. He crossed his feet at the ankles, tilted his head back, and looked toward the ceiling, as if contemplating how he’d put himself in such a situation.

  Chapter 37

  “I don’t like to waste time, Dirk. So if you’re not going to talk to me, let me know. I’ll give all of my information to the police and let them deal with you. I’ll find another way to get what I need.”

  “Why should I tell you anything?” he asked.

  “Dirk, did you not hear what I just said? I have identifying pictures of everything that happened at that warehouse tonight. Unless you want to go to prison for a very long time, you need to tell me what I want to know.”

  “You’re just going to use the information I give you to send me to try to send me to prison, so what difference does it make? I might as well make you work for it.”

  “I’m not sending you to prison. I don’t have the power to send you to prison. That’s someone else’s job. I can send you to the grave, but I can’t send you to prison.”

  “You’re not the police?” he asked.

  “I’m not the police.”

  “FBI?” I shook my head. “Then who are you with?”

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you tell me what I want to know.”

  “I’m not telling you anything if it could get me sent to prison.”

  “You’re a very poor listener, Dirk. I don’t have the power to send you to prison. I don’t work for anyone who has the power to send you to prison. If you go to prison because of me it’s because you didn’t do what I told you to do and you left me no choice but to send my information to the people who can send you to prison. It’s not that hard to understand.”

  “You’re rogue,” he said, as if struck by a sudden realization. “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with everything and go from there.”

  “Where do I begin?”

  “Begin at the beginning.”

  “A few years back a fisherman that I know in Cedar Key came to me with a business proposition. He’d been among the crew of guys who used their boats to transport marijuana up the Suwannee River.”

  “A crew of guys?
What does that mean?”

  “Fishermen. Guys have been fishing these waters for decades, and when times became tough a few of them took on some extra cargo. They’d load up with bricks of marijuana out at sea, and then transport it up the river, where trucks would take it further inland for distribution. The kingpins got access to a distribution channel using transportation that no one would have expected, and the fishermen got a nice little supplement to their earnings.”

  “And he told you this?”

  “Everyone knows it,” Dirk said. “Can’t do anything in places like this without everyone finding out. It’s been going on for years, so eventually everyone hears about it, and everyone knows someone who’s involved. Sort of the worst kept secret.”

  “Everyone knows and no one admits it. That’s what I’d expect around here.”

  Dirk shrugged as if it made total sense. “Anyway, my fisherman buddy says that the kingpins are happy about the access they’ve gained, but they want to up the ante and start sending more stuff. Not just marijuana, but harder stuff. It’s a good idea, but both sides have their reservations. The suppliers don’t want to risk putting that stuff on a boat, and then have some fisherman panic and throw it overboard if they catch some heat. No big deal to lose a shipment of marijuana, but a shipment of cocaine is considerably more expensive. And the fishermen didn’t want to take the chance of getting caught with cocaine. They assumed they wouldn’t get much more than a slap on the wrist for the marijuana, especially if they could deny that they knew what they were transporting, but if they got caught with cocaine, they figured they’d go away for a long time. So my fisherman buddy suggests maybe we can figure out a way to use the airport.”

  “Your fisherman buddy came up with that idea?” I asked, my voice thick with skepticism.