Wyatt's Revenge: A Matt Royal Mystery

by H. Terrell Griffin

  Jessica blanched. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “We don’t know that,” I said. “It might make sense to the people trying to kill us. We’ve gotten somebody’s attention, and I don’t think they’re going to leave us alone now.”

  “But the embassy is expecting me back on Monday.”

  “It’s Friday,” I said. “Let’s give it another day or two. Jock can square things with your bosses.”

  She was reluctant, but agreeable. “Okay. But this is getting tiresome.”

  My cell phone rang once. Another text message. I flipped the phone open and looked at the tiny screen. I was staring at a picture of Logan Hamilton tied to a chair. A man wearing a ski mask was pointing a gun at his head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I showed the picture to Jock and Jessica. No one spoke for a moment, shocked at what they saw. Jessica looked at me. “Do you know that person?”

  “My best friend on Longboat Key. Logan Hamilton. What the hell is this all about?”

  My phone beeped again. Another text message.

  Mr. Royal, you and Dr. Connor will meet me at the marina on the Tampa end of the Gandy Bridge at 11:00 p.m. on Monday. Drive to the point and wait for me. If you fail to show, Hamilton dies.

  I looked at Jock. “They didn’t ask for you.”

  “They don’t have any idea who I am. They probably think I’m just some hired hand. You and Jessica are the ones they want for some reason.”

  “I know that area,” I said. “They could come in by boat and take us, or kill us, and be gone before anybody knew there was a problem. If there’s a police presence, they just don’t bring the boat in.”

  “We can’t do anything about Logan from here,” said Jock. “Let me make a couple of calls.”

  “Okay. I’m going to call Bill Lester. This could be a hoax of some sort. A digitally altered picture.”

  Jock left the room, and I placed a call to Lester’s cell phone. I knew he slept with it by his bed. It was 2:00 a.m. in Florida.

  A sleepy voice answered. “This better be good.”

  “Bill, I’m going to forward you a picture and a text message I just received. Look at it and call me back.”

  “Are you sober, Matt?”

  “Never more so. Take a look at the picture.” I hung up, and forwarded the picture and the message to Bill’s phone.

  Two minutes later, my cell rang. “What the hell is going on?” asked Bill.

  “I don’t know. Can you find out if Logan is missing?”

  “I just called his condo. No answer. I’ve got a unit on the way over there now.”

  “Let me know what you find out.” I closed the phone and told Jessica what the chief had said.

  “Good morning.” The voice was female and heavily accented. I looked up to see the Blattners coming into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Herr Blattner, Frau Blattner,” I said. “I’ll find our hostess and see if she can get some breakfast for you.”

  “I’ll get her,” said Jessica, and left the room.

  “Herr Blattner,” I said. “Have you ever heard the name Mohammed Allawi?”

  “No, not that I remember. Who is he?”

  “A Saudi banker who lives part-time in Frankfurt. He owns the house where the men chasing us went to ground last night.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the man. I can’t imagine why he would try to kill me.”

  Jessica came back into the kitchen, followed by the hostess. She spoke to the Blattners in German, and went to the stove to fix them breakfast.

  Jock came back into the room and motioned us to follow him. We went into the living room just as my cell rang. Lester. “Matt, Logan’s not at home. His bed hasn’t been slept in, and there’s no sign of struggle. His front door was unlocked, but it always is.”

  “Try Marie Phillips. Logan could be there.”

  “Okay. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Nothing,” I said to Jock and Jessica.

  Jock nodded. “I had my people take a look at your phone records.”

  Jessica interrupted. “That was quick. You can do that?”

  “Yes,” said Jock, “we can. Both the picture and the message were sent from a computer in the Selby Library in Sarasota.”

  “At two in the morning?” I asked.

  “Yes. They’re certain that’s where it came from. Somebody must have broken into the library to use the computer. That would make the message pretty much untraceable.”

  I shrugged. “They gave us until Monday to get there. Why?”

  “Maybe they hope to get you while you’re still in Europe. Or they might be worried that you can’t get a flight soon enough to get there before Monday.”

  Jessica put her hand on my arm. “Matt, I know this is about your friend, but I don’t see how I can just take off for Florida. I’ve got a job.”

  “I don’t think you’ve really got a choice. Jock can square things with the embassy, and you’ll be a lot safer with me than you would be in Paris.”

  She turned to Jock. “What do you think?”

  “Matt’s right. If we go today, we’ll have time to set something up. Maybe get ahead of the bad guys, find Logan, and figure out what this mess is all about.”

  “I’ll see about some airline reservations,” I said. “It’s probably too late to get on a plane today.”

  Jock grinned. “All handled. You two are scheduled on a Delta flight out of Frankfurt Monday morning. It’ll get you into Tampa at about five in the afternoon.”

  “I thought we were going before that,” I said.

  “We are. There’ll be a government Gulfstream at Rhein-Main Air Force Base this afternoon. It’s already booked out of here, and the customs people have vetted the flight manifest. The three of us aren’t listed anywhere, but we’ll be on that flight. With the time change, we’ll land in Sarasota just after dark today. Anybody checking on you will expect you to be on Delta on Monday.”

  “Jock, you continually amaze me,” I said.

  “Yeah, well I amaze myself sometimes.”

  My cell rang. Bill Lester. “Matt, we found Marie. She’s okay, but she was tied up, lying on the sofa in her living room. She said she opened the door for a visitor at about nine this evening, last evening I guess now, and three men came in with guns. They tied her up and took Logan with them.”

  “So it’s not a hoax.”

  “No. I’ve got the sheriff’s crime-scene investigators on their way over there now. Maybe they’ll turn up something.”

  “Can you call them off?”

  “Why?”

  “We need to keep this very close, Bill. Logan’s life depends on it.”

  “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s serious. There are some bad guys chasing us around Germany, and now Logan’s a hostage. I’ll be home by Monday to meet them, like the message said.”

  “I know that marina. There’s a long channel running up to where you’re supposed to meet. It’s the only way in and out. If they come in by boat, we can slip in after them and block their way out. There’s only one way in by road too. I think they’ve built themselves a trap.”

  “These guys aren’t idiots. I don’t think they’d set themselves up that way. You can bet they know about the entrance and exit problems. They’ve got something else in mind.”

  “I’ll get in touch with the Tampa police and see if they have any suggestions. They’ll know that area better than we do.”

  “Bill, don’t do anything until we talk again. Let’s keep this close for now. If cops show up, they’ll kill Logan. Jock Algren is with me, so we’re not completely helpless on this end of things.”

  “Ah, good old Jock. Well, if he’s in the mix, I feel a little better. Give him my regards, and y’all keep me in the loop.”

  “We’ll do that.”

  “I’ll keep this within my department for now. My guys won’t blab, but I can’t ke
ep a lid on it forever.”

  “I understand. Thanks, Bill.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The horizon was ablaze with the lights of Tampa. As the plane banked over Egmont Key to line up on the runway at Sarasota-Bradenton, I could pick out Anna Maria Island and Longboat Key by the lights that separated the dark waters of the Gulf of Mexico from those of Sarasota Bay. We had flown nonstop from Frankfurt in the big executive jet. Jock explained that we had been designated as a military flight for the controllers, and the airport had been alerted that we would not require customs.

  The wheels of the landing gear sang briefly as we touched down. We taxied to the ramp of a private, fixed-base operator and into a hangar. The pilots shut down the engines, and opened the door, letting the small stairway touch the floor. Jock, Jessica, and I were the only passengers.

  A black Suburban sat on the tarmac just outside the hangar doors. The air was alive with the roar of a commercial jet on its takeoff roll. The smell of burned aviation fuel rode the warm breeze, the temperature in the mid-seventies even after dark. We were back in Florida, and I was glad to see the last of the snow.

  Jock led the way to the vehicle, and we climbed in. The keys were in the ignition. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I’ve arranged to put us up with a retired agent who lives in Lakewood Ranch. He has a big house, and since his wife died, he’s lived there alone. He’ll be glad for the company, and it’ll keep us hidden. We’ve got to figure out how to get Logan out safely.”

  We drove out of the terminal area to University Parkway and then east until we came to the sprawling upscale neighborhood just east of I-75. Jock negotiated the streets, using the GPS navigation system built into the dash of the government SUV. We pulled into the driveway of a large house. The garage door glided open. Jock pulled in and parked. The door slid closed.

  A man came out of the door that led into the house. He was medium height, blue eyes, gray hair. He was wearing cargo shorts and a golf shirt with the logo of the River Wilderness County Club embroidered on the left breast. “You’re Jock Algren?”

  “Yes. Orville sends his regards.”

  “How is Orville?”

  “Fat. And ornery as ever.”

  “I’m Tom Hickey,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

  Jock shook it, and introduced Jessica and me. “These are the ones in danger. I don’t think I’m on the bad guys’ radar, yet.”

  Hickey led us into the house, through the kitchen and into the living room. A sixty-inch flat-screen TV with surround-sound speakers mounted in the ceiling dominated the space. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ve got beer in the fridge and I’ve ordered pizza. Should be here soon.” He left us alone.

  “Who’s Orville?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” said Jock. “It’s just a recognition code we were given.”

  “You cloak-and-dagger boys think of everything.”

  “We try.”

  “I need to call Marie. I’d like to hear exactly what happened last night.”

  “Don’t let on that you’re here,” Jock said.

  I dialed her number on my cell phone. “Marie, I heard about Logan. Can you tell me what happened last night?”

  “We were eating dinner on the balcony about nine o’clock when somebody knocked on the door. I opened it and three men in ski masks carrying guns burst in. They pushed me out onto the balcony and told Logan they would kill us both if he resisted.”

  “Did you notice any accent in their English?”

  “Only one of them spoke to us. He seemed to be in charge. His English was accented, but not much. When they talked to each other they spoke in a foreign language.”

  “Did you recognize the language?”

  “I think it was Arabic, but it could have been any Middle Eastern language. Even Hebrew. I don’t think it was European, and from what I could see of them, I don’t think they were Asian.”

  “Was anything said that would give you a hint as to what they were doing, or what their plans were?”

  “No. The only thing said in English was what I just told you.”

  “Were they wearing gloves?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the police aren’t going to find any fingerprints.”

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Matt. Just worried sick about Logan.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  I hung up and dialed Bill Lester. “How’re things stacking up, Bill?”

  “You’re up late.” It was after midnight in Germany.

  “I’m worried about Logan. What have you found out?”

  “We don’t have much, Matt.”

  “Did you find anything at Marie’s?”

  “Nothing. As clean a crime scene as we’ve ever found. We did get a lead on their car, though. Turned out to be a dead end.”

  “What happened?”

  “They came through the security gate in a Lexus. Opened the gate from the car. They apparently stole one of the remote control devices that the residents use to open the gate. They waved at the guard as they went through, but he didn’t get a look at their faces. When they were leaving, the guard recognized Logan in the back seat. He checked the license plate, and it didn’t belong to anybody who lived there. He put it in a report for the day guard in case they came back.”

  “Who owns the car?”

  “A guy in Venice. It was reported stolen yesterday morning. We found it in the parking lot of the Super Wal-Mart on Cortez Road.”

  “Any evidence in the car?”

  “No, but a security camera at the store showed them dropping the car off. A van picked them up and they left. The tape clearly shows Logan with his hands tied behind him. The van had a Missouri plate on it, but it turns out that the plate had been stolen off a pickup truck in Sarasota late yesterday.”

  “What kind of van?”

  “A Ford panel van. There’re a million of them on the road.”

  “Dead end.”

  “Afraid so. When are you coming back?”

  “We’ve made reservations on a flight on Monday. It’ll get into Tampa late in the afternoon.”

  “Who’s this other guy you’re with, Dr. Connor?”

  “She’s not a guy. She’s a very attractive young lady. She’s a historian who works for the American Embassy in Paris. She’s been helping me with some research. I guess whoever wants me dead figures she knows what I know.”

  “Matt, you know if you make that meeting, they’ll kill you.”

  “I know. And if I don’t, they’ll kill Logan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  We all knew that Logan was dead whether I showed up or not. They wouldn’t kill me and leave Logan alive. We had to find a way to get Logan before the time for the meeting. If he was still alive.

  My phone rang. Marie.

  “Matt, I just remembered something. When the man who seemed to be in charge was talking to the others in whatever language he was speaking, I heard him say something that sounded like ‘Gilley Creek.’”

  “That’s odd. Any idea what he meant?”

  “There’s a Gilley Creek out in East Manatee County. Could that be it?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. It’s probably nothing, but if you remember anything else, let me know.”

  The pizza arrived. Hickey brought it into the kitchen and we sat around the table eating and drinking cold beer. It was nearing nine o’clock, almost three a.m. in Frankfurt. It’d been a long day. Jessica looked as if she was about to fall asleep.

  “Why don’t you go on to bed, Jess?” I asked. “We’re not going to accomplish anything else tonight.”

  “I’m ready,” she said, getting up from the table. Hickey showed her to her room, and returned to finish his beer.

  “Tom,” I said, “did you ever hear of a Gilley Creek in this area?”

  “Sure. It’s not far from here. It runs into Lake Manatee.�
��

  “What’s there?”

  “Nothing. It’s part of a nature reserve. There’re still some working citrus groves out there, but that’s about it.”

  “Does anybody live in the area?”

  “I don’t think so. There’re a couple of abandoned houses fronting the creek near one of the groves, but that’s all.”

  “You ever been out there?”

  “Sure. My buddy Tim Wiley owns the groves. I go out there with him sometime just to get out of the house.”

  “Do you know where the abandoned houses are?”

  “I know the general area. You think those houses might be where they’re hiding your friend?”

  “I don’t know, but Marie Phillips heard one of the kidnappers say something about Gilley Creek. He wasn’t speaking English, but she heard him say those words.”

  Jock drained his beer. “Can you take us out there, Tom?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think we’ll find much. And we sure can’t do it in the dark.”

  “Can you find the abandoned houses?”

  “I think so. We’ll have to take some old farm roads back into the area, but I know them well enough to get us there and back.”

  “Jock,” I said, “we can’t be driving through there in that Suburban. Anybody with half a brain will figure out that it’s a government vehicle.”

  Tom said, “I can borrow my friend’s old Jeep Wagoneer. That thing is more than twenty years old, and he just uses it in the groves. Even if somebody saw us out there, they’re probably used to seeing that thing driving around.”

  “We can’t let anybody else know what we’re doing,” I said.

  “I know where Tim keeps his keys. It won’t be a problem. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and he’s never out there on the weekends. He’ll be on a golf course somewhere.”

  I lay awake for a long time, listening for the sound of Jess opening my door. It never came. I drifted off into a fitful sleep and dreamed of other women who were long absent from my life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  At daybreak on Saturday morning, Tom Hickey, Jock, and I left Lakewood Ranch in Tom’s two-year old Buick sedan. Jessica was sound asleep in her bed. I put coffee and water in the maker and left a note, telling her we’d be back in a few hours. She probably wouldn’t like that, but we thought three men in a grove on a Saturday morning wouldn’t raise any suspicions. Somebody might take notice of a pretty woman.