Charley Manner series Box Set

by Michael Marnier

  I held her close and whispered, “Are you okay? I’m afraid Hilly was hit.”

  She tried to get up and stumbled on the wet floor. I helped her stand and led her to Hilly. She cradled his head in her arms, searching for the source of blood. The sirens announced the arrival of the local ambulance. Hilly’s eyes were closed but I could feel a pulse. The EMTs checked his breathing and placed a compression bandage on the side of his head. It looked like a grazing bullet wound, very close to the stitches that sealed the Cuban rifle butt gash. Hilly’s got a hard head. He’ll pull through . . . I hope . . . for my sister’s sake.

  I expected Katie to freak out, but she just stared, tears streaming down, mumbling softly into Hilly’s ear. I’d seen that look before, when our dad was killed, and his body was returned in a military transport. He was supposed to finish up his last assignment and retire to spend more time with us while we were still young. I was nine, Katie was thirteen. Little did we know that Mom would die in a car crash a year later. Not much family left now—just Katie and me. Hilly was a welcome addition and I hoped it stayed that way.

  Another family reunion gone wildly off course. I said to Katie, “We’ll do the sting tomorrow and make Campinera pay.”

  She climbed into the ambulance still holding Hilly’s hand, looked back and said, “Be careful, little brother.”

  Hawk and I walked back to the dock. More trouble. Too Fast was listing to starboard. She caught a stray bullet. One more reason to nail Campinera to the wall.

  DRUG LORD STING

  FIVE MINUTES BEFORE noon, Vicky and Carlos entered the elevator to Jorge’s penthouse suite. Carlos carried the satchel of diamonds. Hawk and I were already on the roof of the building, on the west side, above Jorge’s windows that overlook Biscayne Bay. Vicky will try to record more evidence during her ‘lunch’ with Jorge. She was wired again, a detail not shared with Carlos, for obvious reasons. Hawk and I will remain on standby unless things got rough.

  When we arrived on the roof, we found a shed with a small, two-man helicopter parked inside. No guards. Nobody at all. We hid in the shadow cast by the shed’s overhanging roof.

  I could hear every word Vicky said as well as anyone else speaking within fifteen feet of the button bug on her blouse. She could hear my signals and voice through an embedded ear plug. The elevator door chime sounded. I clicked my mike three times to signal Vicky that we were in place. She acknowledged by saying, “Behave like a gentleman, Carlos.”

  A familiar voice said, “Of course, Carlos is always a gentleman, Victoria.” Jorge was waiting at the elevator, no doubt with his two muscle-bound guards on either side.

  “I’m pleased that you have decided to return to visit me, Vicky.” There was a twenty second silence, except for the sound of Vicky gasping, followed by her muffled shout.

  Jorge sneered, “Your name is Vicky, isn’t it? But your last name is not Barnes. No need to answer. I have many spies, including some of your own DEA colleagues and, of course, Señor Bachero. He just called and confirmed my suspicion about you. A shame, really. And I thought your interest in joining me for lunch was sincere. Let her speak, Ricky.”

  I heard Vicky clear her throat. In a calm voice, she said, “You must be misinformed, Jorge. I’m thrilled to come back to see you.” She was stalling. Still trying to get him to talk into the bug. What a gutsy broad.

  “If you prefer to keep up the pretense, Ms. Borne, I will play along. You are too beautiful to treat badly, right Carlos?”

  “Of course, Boss. I told you she was a Fed.”

  Damn. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Carlos.

  I said to Hawk, “Sounds like Vicky is not in immediate danger. Let’s hold back. See if she can get Jorge to open his mouth before we bust her out of there.”

  Vicky confirmed my assessment of the situation when she said, “Jorge, you misjudge me. I am tired of my job and would love to join you. Let’s have lunch—alone—and see where it leads us.”

  I swear I could hear the drool dripping from Jorge’s mouth as he said, “I do get lonely. Let us go onto the balcony. As you suggest … alone.”

  I looked at Hawk and said, “They’re going to the balcony.” We moved our position to the edge of the roof directly above them.

  As soon as we refastened our rappel ropes, I heard Vicky scream, “You better not let go of me, Jorge. I swear I’ll cut your balls off.”

  A quick peek over the roof edge was all I needed to see Vicky hanging upside down by her ankles. The wiry old bastard held her over the railing and laughed as he called his minions. “Carlos, Ricky, Ramon, come here. This vixen is wearing a bug. Time for her to fly or die.”

  Hawk didn’t need my signal. We leaped over the edge, rappelling twenty feet to the balcony railing. Boots versus chins—boots win every time. Our rappels were timed perfectly to intercept the baby Huey twins, Ricky and Ramon, as they rushed onto the balcony. Carlos grabbed the satchel of diamonds and headed for the door. Jorge let go of Vicky’s ankles and trailed after him. Vicky grabbed the railing just in time to keep from falling fifty floors. She dangled with only a single handhold. Hawk and I were still dealing with the twins.

  The rising whine of helicopter blades coming from the roof told me where Jorge and Carlos had gone. I looked up to see the chopper heading south.

  Vicky shouted, “Will someone please help me?”

  I finished off Ricky with a kick to his throat and reached over the railing for Vicky, swinging her up. “Here you go, Vick. Our master sting operation got stung.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Now what?” Vicky frowned.

  Hawk finally subdued Ramon and zip-tied him to Ricky while they were still unconscious. His cell phone buzzed. “Hawk here. Affirmative. Yep, thanks.”

  “What’s up, Hawk?”

  “That was my Commander at Vaca Key. He just heard from the Mowhawk patrolling the straits. They spotted a small helicopter flying at five hundred feet, headed due south.”

  Vicky said, “I’m going to nail that little bastard. And add attempted murder to the list of charges.”

  “I suppose you’ll want our help, Vick. There’s no way you’ll get official support to infiltrate Cuba, if that’s where they went. Forget about extradition.”

  “You got that right, Charley. I’m counting on you guys. This has become personal. Bagging Jorge and that double-crossing gentleman is going to be sweet.”

  “Don’t forget the dishwasher scumbag.”

  Vicky fumed. “Yeah, snagging Bachero will be a bonus. But Campinera is who I really want.”

  DEAD MAN TWO

  THE COAST GUARD CUTTER docked at Vaca Key. Hawk, Vicky and I waited near the gangplank. We had gotten another call from the Station Commander this morning. Deputy Sheriff Walker had also been alerted. The body was found halfway across the Straits with a jagged stab wound in the chest and dozens of cuts on the neck and hands.

  Two CG Seamen off-loaded the body bag to the ambulance gurney waiting dockside. Walker unzipped it for us to identify the body. The nose had been eaten off by some hungry fish. The silk shirt was the same design and color that Carlos Bandinera wore yesterday. There were several fingers missing, but the right index was still there to get a print. Looks like Jorge did not appreciate Carlos’ part in the sting.

  Vicky spoke to Vince, “I need to get the body to Miami right away. The CSI unit that handled Juan Madera will look for matching knife marks.”

  I asked her, “Do you know where Jorge is hiding? I doubt he’ll risk returning to Miami.”

  Vicky said, “I’m working on it. Best guess? He’s still in Cuba.”

  COVERT CAPER

  MY CELL PHONE buzzed. The caller I.D. showed Vicky Borne. Hope she’s got good news. “Hey, Vick. You’re up late.”

  “It’s only ten o’clock, Charley. I just got a call from my NRO contact. The latest satellite scan has located Campinera.”

  “Let me guess. Cooba?”

  “Good thing you aren’t trying to make a living as a comedi
an.”

  “I’m still working on my delivery. So, am I right?”

  “He’s in La Isabella.”

  “Maybe I should get a place down there. I’m sure this call means you want Hawk and me to make another trip. Unofficially, of course.”

  “You’re a sweetheart for offering, Charley. I’ll owe you.”

  “No problemo, Señorita. I owe Campinera some payback for what he did to Katie. Hilly’s still in ICU at Marathon hospital. Katie was supposed to call me, but I haven’t heard from her since this morning.”

  “Give her my best when she does.”

  “Will do. Now what’s your plan? Do we just cruise into the harbor and ask the Castro brothers to give up Jorge?”

  “You realize I can’t offer official support if you’re caught, and it will be difficult to get you guys out.”

  “SEALs love danger. But seriously, since its Cuba we’re talking about, we’ll make it a simple snatch and grab. No lethal force unless we need it. Defensive weapons only, including some flash-bang grenades.”

  “And where did you get them, Mr. Macho SEAL?”

  “Vince raided the sheriff’s armory. The SWAT Team will never miss them. Hawk suggested we plan ahead. And now you’re calling.”

  “Miami CSI matched the knife cuts and matched the corpse fingerprint to the print in Bandinera’s file. The Coroner’s report highlighted several defensive wounds on his palms. They also found bits of skin under the index fingernail.”

  “Jorge has a psycho’s appetite for blood, enjoys cutting people up. Carlos must have put up a fight.”

  “They will try to match DNA with a sample taken from Campinera’s penthouse. I’m sure Jorge’s list of crimes will soon include Carlos’ murder. The man has no heart.” Vicky paused for a moment. “Charley, I want him dead or alive.”

  “I understand, Vick. After the hit at The Hole, Katie wants him fried in a chair. And I don’t mean my fishing chair.”

  “I’ll drive down to Marathon tonight. Wake up Hawk and get your stuff together. We need to move quickly. See you in two hours.”

  ~~~

  HAWK WAS HAVING a late meal at the Blue Parrot when I called him. I was still hungry myself, so I walked from D-dock to join him.

  “Hey, bro. We’ve got some work to do. Hope you haven’t had too much to drink.”

  “You know me, Charley. I’m still on call for Search and Rescue. The Guard frowns on flying under the influence.”

  “That’s good to hear, cause we’re gonna be swimming in about six hours.”

  I ordered a Mahi sandwich and an iced tea. It didn’t take long to decide on a plan. Hawk and I will infiltrate SEAL style, just like the last visit. Exfiltration after snatching Jorge will not be by boat this time. With Jorge in tow, we needed to avoid prowling Cuban gunboats.

  We will use a submersible sea sled to transport him beyond Cuban territorial waters. We bought the sled from Navy surplus last year for a search and salvage project on the Pourtalés Terrace. The sled covered a lot of area and provided the lift we needed. It fit in the dinghy bed on the forward deck of Hawk’s boat.

  “Vicky should be here from Miami in two hours. She can tend the helm and wait for us to snatch Jorge. I hope he can swim, or at least handle a rebreather unit.”

  Hawk nodded. “Yeah. No SCUBA. No bubbles.”

  ~~~

  AT O-FOUR-HUNDRED we released the submersible from the dinghy hoist cable and slipped over the side. Vicky will put out some fishing rods and troll in a wide circle until we return.

  We chose a drop off point in international waters, twelve nautical miles north of La Isabella. The sea sled had a max speed of fifteen knots and a range of thirty nautical miles. The calm seas should make the round trip a cake walk.

  Our route took us over a deep water section of the Nicholas Straits. Two thousand feet below our cruising depth lay the steep sloped bottom. The Deep Strait continued from there, more than a mile down to the west of our position. My fish friend, Jawselle, had risen from those depths to dine on my old boat.

  The inbound ride was smooth and easy. One hour after our start we tied the sled to an underwater piling in the inner harbor.

  The warehouse where Carlos held Katie two days ago was empty. Only a few buildings lay beyond the docks. A handful of run-down shacks leaning on one another along the main street. At the end, right where Vicky’s G2 said it would be, a large two-level home stood out. It was well maintained from what we could see in the dim morning light. Campinera’s safe house. We moved from shadow to shadow between the shacks, approaching from the east.

  Two sentries leaned against the arched façade of the house. Dozing more than guarding the entrance. Hawk took one in a choke hold. I used the hilt of my SOG knife to knock out the other. This was too easy. I said to Hawk, “Something’s not right.”

  Before I could say another word, the entire house lit up. A siren sounded and a dozen soldiers charged out of a building a hundred yards away.

  “Too late to turn back, Hawk. Quick. Inside.” Hawk took point as we climbed the stairway just inside the front door. We were armed with tasers but met no resistance until a bodyguard popped into the upstairs hallway. He wielded a machete, charging as he raised it over his head. Big mistake. Hawk side-stepped and jabbed his ribs with a karate punch. The guy doubled over, exposing his neck for a second blow that sent him to the floor. He didn’t get up.

  Hawk zip-tied the guard. I took over point and headed for the door most likely leading to the master bedroom. Locked. One kick and a rolling entry brought me face-to-face with a second guard. He must have weighed three-hundred pounds. Armed with a machete like his buddy, he had the arms of a mountain gorilla. I know when I’m physically outmatched, so I shot both tasers at once. Hit in the chest and abdomen, all three-hundred pounds collapsed at my feet. He vibrated like an electric razor skittering across the floor.

  I looked around the room. No one else standing. Just a quivering bump in the middle of the king-sized bed. I yanked off the covers. “ Hola, Jorge. Vicky sends her regards and an invitation to return to Miami. Of course, your room will have bars on the windows and doors.”

  Puffing out his puny chest he said, “I should have cut her up when I had the chance. As for you, there are soldiers surrounding this building. You and your friend will never escape alive.”

  Hawk came in behind me and said, “Gag this jackass, CJ. I found a laundry chute with a man-sized shaft. I’ll bet it opens in the basement.”

  These old hacienda-style buildings have archaic plumbing, with sewers that empty into the harbor. Access would be in the sub level of the building.

  “Let’s go, Jorge. Time for a swim. Put this on.” I tossed him a neoprene chicken vest with integral rebreather pack. He’ll need the vest to hold off hypothermia since we’ll be in open ocean water for a couple hours.

  Jorge fumbled with the vest, seemed distracted. He looked at the floor near his nightstand. I spotted the satchel.

  “What’s this, Jorge? Could the diamonds still be in that bag?” He didn’t answer. I cuffed him, scooped up the bag and shoved him into the hall.

  Hawk took the chute first, followed by Jorge. As I entered the chute I looked back and saw the soldiers from the street burst into the hallway. I tossed a flash bang grenade and dove into the chute.

  When I reached the lower level, Hawk was already prodding Jorge toward the sewer. There was a man-sized grate in the floor. “We need to dive now, Hawk. The soldiers are on the upper level.”

  I grabbed the grate, but it was stuck. No time to call maintenance. Shit.

  Jorge grinned. Until Hawk smacked him on the forehead.

  Need to think quick. I scanned the room and said to Hawk, “He doesn’t deserve it but pull this slime into the corner behind that pile of cement bags and cover your eyes and ears.”

  I took another flash bang from my vest and jammed it in an opening on the edge of the grate, pulled the pin and ducked for cover.

  The grate jumped free. Ti
me to roll.

  Hawk replaced the gag with the rebreather mouthpiece and pushed the drug lord into the hole. Jorge let out a muffled cry. I hope he can swim in shit.

  The sewers in this old port were built three hundred years ago. They were used as escape routes by wealthy homeowners to avoid capture by pirates. The water and sludge flowed down the center. It was only knee deep, but I’d rather rebreathe my own air than inhale the stench in the sewer. Bad memories. Jorge’s diving lesson will come later when we reach the harbor.

  The sewer sloped below the water line at the inner harbor. Even with Jorge’s reluctant dog paddling, it took only five minutes to reach the sled. Hawk tied Jorge to the center slot on the sled and we beat fins for deeper water. As the sled props picked up speed, we entered the Nicholas Channel.

  Jorge seemed distressed. His breathing was erratic. I checked his mouthpiece and air supply. Tied to the center of the sea sled, he couldn’t be tired. What’s the big deal? I grabbed his head by the goggles, turning it so he could see my face. His eyes widened and he turned white. Started yelling into his mouthpiece, bubbles bursting from the sides. He was looking over my shoulder. I turned in time to see Jawselle’s pearly whites flash past. A big grin that brought back fond memories. I wish I’d stashed a bottle of Gran Patron on the sled.

  The shark didn’t linger. One bump against the carbon fiber sled and she was gone. I guess she wasn’t hungry. Jorge was still freaking out, so I whacked him on the side of his head and drew my hand across my throat. He took the hint and settled down. We still had another hour’s swim to the rendezvous point.

  ~~~

  VICKY WORKED the dinghy winch like a longshoreman. She swung the sled on board with Jorge still shackled in and set it down in the dinghy bed. She hopped over the rear stabilizer and yanked off Jorge’s mask. “Did you enjoy the swim?” He looked like he was going to puke. She said, “At least you’re alive. More than we can say about Carlos.”