Killing Chase

by Ben Muse

  “Thanks. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “You must be hot.”

  “Yeah, the water feels good.”

  “Right,” I said and turned the tables on her. With her guard down, I rushed her, picked her up, and ran into the water with her over my shoulder. She screamed, “Put me down”, and I gave in to her wishes and dumped her head first in waist-deep water.

  “Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Brighton.” I said as she resurfaced and knelt with just her head above the water.

  “Okay, I deserved that,” she said, holding out her hand for me to help her up, her hair soaked and sticking to her forehead.

  “Not a chance; I’m done with your little tricks.”

  “Whatever happened to chivalrous Southern gentlemen?”

  “We’re a dying breed,” I said, as I trudged back up to the cabana. Jenna followed and we both grabbed a lounge chair and silently peeled oranges by hand and ate them segment by segment.

  “How did you spend your time in prison?” she said, breaking the silence between us.

  “Gained and lost a lot of weight and read just about anything I could get my hands on. I thought you would’ve read my file.”

  “I did; I just wanted to hear it from you. You don’t act like most inmates I’ve run into.”

  I smiled at her. “Well, it helps that I’m not an inmate anymore.”

  “Right.” She smiled back. “It’s just . . . you seem like you came out a better person.”

  “Before that night on the beach, I’d never been in trouble my entire life, and you may not agree, but I should’ve never been sent to prison to begin with. He started the fight; I just ended it.”

  She nodded, noncommittal in her answer, which I considered a moral victory. “Aside from a dysfunctional parental unit, my life was going great. Full scholarship to play football at Clemson, decent grades. I did stupid things, sure, but I was a good kid.”

  “Can I be honest with you, Chase?”

  “I don’t know; can you?”

  She ignored the remark. “I didn’t think I would like you as a person after reading your file. I thought you’d be an arrogant prick with a chip on your shoulder, mad at the world. And all my preconceived notions were wrong. I’m sorry I prejudged you.”

  I didn’t expect her to say this. “Thanks, that means a lot to me. Now, could you please put your clothes back on, before I start thinking impure thoughts?”

  “We should probably get back to work anyways. Thanks for bringing me out here. Pick up some Chinese on the way back to the apartment?”

  “Yeah, sure. By the way, I think I should stay at Bailey’s tonight. Get a good night’s sleep for my first day tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, though her tone betrayed her.

  On Jenna’s recommendation, we stopped at the Lucky Panda for takeout and were soon headed back north on the Wilmington Highway with the top down on the Mustang. Jenna’s cell rang, and she put it to her ear as she put her right pointer finger in her other ear to drown out the wind. She listened, and I could see alarm on her face. She ended the call with a tense, “Got it”.

  “Ash is behind us. There’s an old Ford pickup, two cars back, that’s been following us since we pulled out of your driveway. It’s got a temporary tag so we can’t run the number. Two people inside.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I heard Detective Reigart in my head reminding me that people weren’t fond of my release.

  She reached down to the floorboard and opened her dark-blue backpack. Her hands dug inside and she came out with a handgun.

  “Maintain your speed and keep your eyes straight ahead. Can you put the top back up?”

  “Not unless the car is stopped.”

  “Well, we aren’t stopping. Just stay calm.”

  The wind made it tough to communicate so we had to yell to hear each other. Jenna turned to me with her back to the passenger door, caressed my face with her left hand, and smiled at me.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just trying to sneak a peek without making it obvious,” she yelled.

  “And here I thought you were coming on to me.” Her hair was whipping all around and she had the gun in her right hand, below the seat and out of sight. It wasn’t lost on me that I would be between Jenna’s gun and whoever she fired at, and vice versa.

  “Here they come!” she said. “When I tell you to, hit the brakes; hopefully that’ll throw them off, and they’ll get ahead of us. Ash will be right behind them.” I stole a glance in my side mirror and saw a brown and tan Ford barreling toward us in the left-hand lane. The passenger-side window was down, and I could make out two figures inside, but I couldn’t see their faces.

  “Gun! Hit ’em,” Jenna shouted, as she raised her weapon. I stomped on the brakes at the same time a thunderous boom of warm air washed over me. The windshield disintegrated, and bits of banded glass rained down in my lap as Jenna fired at the truck. I may or may not have wet my pants as I slowed the car to about thirty miles an hour. My hands were shaking.

  “Chase, you okay?” she said, as I watched the truck speed off.

  “I think so; although the shiny happy feeling of being free is gone. What the fuck just happened, Jenna?”

  “Not sure. I got off five shots, and I’m pretty sure I hit the shooter. Let’s get to the apartment, and we’ll figure out what’s next.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

  “No. I’ll call Schmidt, and he’ll handle everything through backchannels. We need to get you to safety first.” Her phone rang, and she listened as drivers with quizzical looks drove past.

  Back in the apartment, Jenna filled Ash in on what happened and then retired to her room to call Schmidt. She came out ten minutes later with a bottle of Jack and poured me a shot.

  “For your nerves,” she said as she sat the glass next to my plate of uneaten lo mein and vegetables.

  “What makes you think I need that?”

  “Your hands are still shaking,” said Jessica.

  Okay, that was true.

  “You two joining me?” I asked.

  Jessica shook her head no.

  Jenna said, “That wouldn’t be a good idea: me having alcohol in my system just after dumping rounds into a pickup. No, I’ll stick with a Diet Coke.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked. Jenna stole a quick glimpse at Jessica.

  “Schmidt is calling the county police since this happened outside the Foggy Harbor city limits. They’ll be discreet, keep an eye out for the truck, and check all local hospitals for anyone coming in with gunshot wounds. You need to stay here, or I need to stay with you at your place. Schmidt’s orders.”

  ***

  What Jenna didn’t tell Chase was that they weren’t entirely sure it was someone local. The alternative possibility would make their jobs infinitely more difficult and put them under the gun, so to speak.

  ***

  “They knew we were coming,” the panicked man whispered into his disposable cell phone. “Clint’s dead, and I gotta truck fulla blood. You said this would be a piece of cake.”

  “Calm down. What have you done with the body?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s taken care of.”

  “Did Clint get off a shot?”

  “Yes, the message was sent. The girl in the car just started blasting away.”

  “Where are you?” We need to find you in order to put a bullet in your worthless head.

  “I’m disappearing. That’s all you need to know.” The call ended.

  The person on the line mentally replayed the conversation. The girl in the car just started blasting away.

  The first thought that came to mind was that Chase Hampton was definitely working for the Feds. That was suspected, based on the events of Monday night. This just confirmed it. What was he doing for them? The girl’s apartment was under surveillance, and one way or another they would find out. No need to panic. The goal wasn’t to kill Chase Hampton, at l
east not yet. Things were still on schedule.

  Chapter 27

  Thursday, March 22, 2012

  My first day of employment at Aquatic was winding down. Three and a half hours of orientation in the morning gave way to an afternoon tour of the shipyards. My father and I took a six-seat golf cart from the office complex for the quick trip down to the docks. From the access-controlled gate, I could see one massive building that stretched for two hundred yards. High on the centermost part of the building, Aquatic Expeditions was spelled out in large, blue block lettering, with a large metallic anchor centered in between. To the left was the Refit Department. It had three indoor dry/wet docks used solely for repair and retrofitting older yachts, whether that entailed adding new features, repairing structural or mechanical issues, or sometimes gutting a boat and replacing all the innards.

  The center section is the warehouse and production offices. New Production takes up the right side and also has three indoor wet/dry docks.

  It was an impressive setup. Each individual dock had its own watertight door. This allowed seawater to flood the dock when the door was opened, and massive pumps could empty each dock in approximately thirty minutes once the door was closed. I had to admit, seeing six mega yachts in different stages of repair and construction was an incredible experience, and the enormous responsibility of running an operation this size began to sink in.

  “Just got an email. They’ve finished replacing your windshield at Bailey’s house. You need to file a police report with the cops,” my father said gravely.

  “Bailey said the same thing, in much stronger terms, but let’s just let it go. No need poking the fire. This will die down soon. I should have suspected something like this might happen. It was probably Danny Sullivan. He dumped a pitcher of beer on my head Monday night after Bailey left.”

  “And he’s still breathing?” Dad said.

  “I’m not going back to jail for assaulting Danny Sullivan. Give me a little credit. He left after he did it. Probably didn’t want to push his luck.”

  “Chase, I can get someone to watch your back. You’d never know they were there.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need protection.” If you only knew, Dad.

  “All right son, it’s your call. Thoughts on your first day?”

  “I have a lot to learn.”

  “I’m still learning as well. So we’ll continue tomorrow, bright and early. I’m leaving; my neck is stiffening up, and I need a muscle relaxer.”

  “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “I’m staying on the boat for now. It’s just a golf cart ride away. That reminds me. A week from tomorrow, March thirtieth, you, Bailey, and I are taking another trip on the boat with Sergei.”

  “What? Isn’t he still recovering from broken ribs and a dead wife?”

  “He says he’ll be fine. We’ll make money on this trip. He’s paying us two hundred fifty thousand above normal operating expenses for a three-day trip to New York City. We’re training his crew on the special feature I recently had installed on the Anchor Management. He’s getting it on his new yacht.”

  “Special feature?”

  “I planned on showing it to you on our trip to Nassau, but due to the circumstances, I never got around to it. I’ll demo it for you on Tuesday, but I’m not telling you what it is. I want it to be a surprise. Very few people know about it. Sergei and another customer are the only ones outside of the firm who know.”

  “Why the need for secrecy?”

  “Because we want to get it right and be the best at doing it before we tell everyone about it.

  “Okay, I look forward to seeing it. Say dad, is it okay if I go down to production after hours and see what goes on down there? Get my hands a little dirty.”

  “Sure, your ID card allows you full access. I’ll call Mack and let him know you would like to help out. Don’t wear yourself out though. We’ve got a busy Friday ahead.”

  He left, and ten minutes later, I began my spy career by planting my first listening device on the backside of his credenza. I felt lower than a legless centipede but que sera. I would plant one in Bailey’s office tomorrow after work, and two in her house before I left to see Anna on Friday night. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ***

  Aquatic ran two production shifts, and they both overlapped between five thirty and six in the afternoon in order for the day shift to brief the night shift on what had been done. These briefings ensured continuity in the production process and occurred in numerous small huddles throughout the large building. My attention was focused on the Refit Department. Mack Gavins, the night-shift manager, left me upstairs in his office while he briefed a crew on an ongoing engine room problem in a one-hundred-fifty-foot yacht in Dock 3. I watched him from his second floor office through a large picture window that looked out over the three docks. When I determined he was fully engrossed with his team, I removed another tiny black transmitter and deftly attached it to the underside of his desk, up in the corner where the side and top came together.

  Mack came back five minutes later, and we took a ginormous freight elevator down to the lowest level of the building. He affectionately called this the seabed. The elevator door opened into a wide, well-lit hallway that ran the entire length of the three refit docks. We walked out of the elevator and down the hall for a good seventy-five yards before stopping at a roll-up door labeled Dock Two.

  “This is how we access the floor of the basin when the basin is dry. We can bring in any heavy equipment we may need. That’s why the elevator and hallway are so big.”

  He pushed a button and up came the door, only to be replaced by another door, this one part of the wall. He entered a code on the wall to the left of the door, 7721, and the watertight door hissed from the pressure release and opened inward on two large hinges. A two-hundred-foot Meridian sat on curved metal scaffolding while two crews of two welded aft sections of the black hull. I watched Mack enter the same code on a numeric panel next to the door on the inside of the basin.

  “When this fills with water this hard plastic cover here comes down over the keypad, locks in place and keeps out the water. You do not want to be down here when the big doors open. In three minutes, it’s slap full of seawater.”

  “What happens if this door is open when the exterior door is open?” I asked Mack.

  “Water . . . and lots of it. We damn near flooded this hallway a couple of years ago when that very scenario occurred. We’ve since had the doors reprogrammed to ensure that will not happen again.”

  We walked to the portable stairs that would take us up to the main deck of the ship. I noticed something odd about the hull of the Meridian. Through a gap in the scaffolding, I saw what looked like a large funnel attached to the hull.

  “Mack, what’s that?” I said, pointing through the gap to the funnel-like object.

  “I’m sorry Chase, that’s hush-hush. I can’t even tell you.”

  “My dad told me you guys were working on something amazing,” I said, hoping Mack would open up.

  “It’s a game changer, that’s for sure. We’re pretty proud of it. As far as we know, no other yacht besides Anchor is outfitted with one . . . except this Meridian,” he said, without elaborating further.

  “He’s demoing it for me sometime next week,” I said in a last grasp attempt to get something, anything, out of him.

  “Well, let me know what you think after you see it.” Mack wasn’t divulging anything, and I pictured him tied up and beaten, all the while saying, “I gave my word to Hank Hampton. I’ll never tell you what you want to know,” as blood ran down his nose and his head hung weary from the torture.

  We climbed, and I was still thinking these unpleasant thoughts as he introduced me to a crew of three men who were replacing teak flooring on an outdoor section of deck. Mack didn’t tell them who I was, just that I would be working with them for a couple of hours and for them to show me how to lay the new flooring. Mack departed,
and Garth, Mike, and Dieter gave me a quick tutorial on deck laying. I picked up the tongue-and-groove installation process quickly.

  “So, you guys should be able to finish this section of decking tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it goes pretty quick,” said Garth. “Went a lot quicker when Kenny was working with us. That boy was a whiz when it came to layin’ this stuff.”

  “Did they pull him off to work on something else?”

  The three men each looked at the other conspiratorially before Garth spoke up.

  “Kenny was killed about a month ago. Someone broke in his home and tore it up. Put two bullets in his head. Kid was just twenty-four.”

  “God, that’s horrible. What do the police think?”

  “They think the intruder was looking for drugs. Police found some bags of pills hidden under his mattress.”

  “So he was dealing?”

  “No way. Kid was as straitlaced as they come. He was a hard worker and always on time,” said Garth.

  Garth walked me back to the watertight door at seven fifteen, and I watched him enter the same code Mack had entered. I thanked him for his help and walked down the empty stairway hall as this new information sank in and unnerved me.

  Chapter 28

  I called Jenna from the golf cart as I was heading back to the office, and as luck would have it, she was already waiting for me in the parking lot. She looked so youthful with her hair in a ponytail that I almost forgot she was an FBI agent. I surprised her and kissed her on the cheek when I got in her car, and to her credit, she didn’t recoil in horror.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Actors on a stage, Jenna. Never know who’s watching,” I said, reminding her of what she’d said to me when we were running at the park.

  “So you’ll be happy to know that both transmitters are active,” she said, eyes on the road as she maneuvered the car out of the parking lot.