"Your cousin?"
"Yeah, my cousin Emiliano. He's got a little farm just outside of Zacotacas, about thirty miles from here. He's got some cows and pigs and goats, raises chickens too. He's got this big truck, a Ford. We buy it from him. You can trust him to keep quiet. We use the truck to get us all out of here."
Daniels didn't think it was a great idea but couldn't think of anything better.
They walked all day in the dusty clay semi-desert rugged terrain. Every so often they would disturb a scorpion or a snake. Late in the afternoon a couple of helicopters made lazy circles in the distance, above where the Durand's compound would be.
They continued walking and toward the end of the day the countryside began to change. There was water nearby. They crossed a few fields and small stands of lush green trees.
Emiliano's farm turned out to be a dilapidated collection of wood buildings overrun with livestock, chickens and squalling kids. The place smelled of manure and dirty laundry. Daniels counted at least nine kids, could have been more. Emiliano's wife was a large reddish woman who spent some time cooing over Daniel's head wound in between bouts of screaming at the children. She bandaged Daniels while Carlos and his cousin argued and shouted in rapid fire Spanish. She made them two heaping dishes of fried beans with pieces of grilled chicken. After nine hours without food, Daniels thought it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.
After a particularly strident bout of arguing between Carlos and Emiliano, Carlos came over and sat next to Daniels on the bench where he'd been dozing.
"Okay, it's settled," said Carlos.
Daniels paid five hundred right away and guaranteed to send another two thousand soon as they arrived in the US. Carlos shaved his mustache and Emiliano's wife cut his hair almost bald. The difference in appearance was startling.
The truck turned out to be an ancient wheezing Ford flatbed with two by fours nailed as retainers eight feet on each side. They packed the bed with bales of hay leaving a space in the middle with enough room for three adults.
It was past midnight when they drove the truck behind the Cantina. Carlos woke his mother and sister and after much cajoling, pleading and explanation convinced them they must leave immediately.
It took five days to drive across Mexico from Zacotacas and the Guadalajara region to Tampico. They abandoned the truck outside of town and mailed the keys with a note to Emiliano. Perhaps he would come back for it. Daniels doubted the old war-horse could make another trip back. But then again, this was Mexico and people were used to coaxing years more of life from their machines.
Carlos rented a twenty-foot fishing boat in Tampico. At two AM that night, Daniels and Carlos loaded Rosa and his mother in the boat. They motored out to where Albatross was moored. A chain and lock had been placed around the pontoon with a Customs sign in Spanish. Daniels cut it off with the portable acetylene torch stored on Albatross. Flying around the Yucatan Peninsula and through the Gulf of Mexico, Richard Daniels and his passengers landed just outside of Everglades City eight hours later.
Chapter 18
Ten years later
On the outskirts of Everglades City, Florida.
It wasn't just that Daniels didn't like the fat man, although he didn't, and it wasn't that he didn't like the other guy, his partner—or maybe it was his boss, hard to tell. The second guy was tall and thin with the lean tight-wired body of someone accustomed to winning back alley brawls. He looked like he'd be at ease with a blade in his hand. A narrow mustache punctuated a tight mouth with almost no lips, bulging eyelids, flared nostrils and tawny skin like an island mulatto. There was a sense of danger about these two guys, a vague feeling of threat that wrapped around them like patchy ground fog.
Daniels was supposed to be meeting Bobby-Ray at the Blue Heron. Down a dirt road and alongside a vegetation-choked canal, the Blue Heron was strictly a place for local denizens of the Everglades. The occasional tourists that wandered in, mostly accidentally, found their way out pretty quickly.
The two men had approached Daniels soon as he got out of the open Jeep on the oyster shell covered parking lot of the Blue Heron.
"Hey, you Daniels, right?" said the thin one.
Daniels just looked at them for a moment. His current line of work was the only thing that could bring in the large amounts of money needed to fund the various charitable projects he'd started since escaping from Mexico a decade ago. Trouble is, smuggling well heeled immigrants into the US and smuggling out sophisticated weapons is not exactly legal. When you're in that line of work and strangers come up to you in a deserted parking lot, knowing your name and all, it sets off all kinds of alarms. At least it should if you want to live long enough to collect social security.
"Could be," replied Daniels, "who wants to know?"
"We work for a government agency that wants to hire you."
"Sorry, I'm not much for civil service," said Daniels as he brushed past.
The fat man took a step to the side, blocking his way.
"Maybe you should listen first," said the other man.
Daniels had already appraised the man. There was strength beneath the layer of fat-turned muscles, but like many big men, he relied on his size and strength. Major error my friend, thought Daniels as he judged what a stiff three-finger strike at the base of the exposed throat, right where the gold anchor jewelry rested, would do to him. Daniels paid more attention to the thin man. He was in charge, if anything came, it would be from that one.
Daniels turned slightly away from the fat man so he was facing both men again.
"Yeah, I can listen," replied Daniels, "got any ID on you?"
The thin man laughed, a snickering cackle. "Sure, I got ID," he said as he reached inside his back pocket, "I got lots of ID, a hundred of these to begin with, you interested?"
Daniels found himself looking at the face of a thousand dollar bill as the alarms went off in his head like a jewelry store with a smashed front window.
"Not sure I could do anything to earn that," said Daniels, "call my secretary and make an appointment, we'll talk about it then."
The fat man took a step back and his right hand came up with a sleek black automatic. The thin guy also stepped back and the blade of a gravity knife protruded from his fist held at his side. Very nice, very professional thought Daniels. They stay out of reach with the just the right geometry for two against one close combat. If he got one there wouldn't be enough time to defend against the second one.
"Why don't we go for a ride somewhere we can discuss this like gentlemen," said the thin man. His face stretched into a joyless, tight smile.
Daniels shrugged and walked toward the black Lexus where the man had pointed. As he walked he could sense the fat man following, just out of reach. The other one opened the rear door of the Lexus as Daniels approached. There were no windows on the wall of the Blue Heron facing the parking lot. No one could have seen from the bar and the parking lot was deserted.
Daniels was just as surprised as the two men at the clanking noise that invaded the quiet late afternoon, the unmistakable sound of a pump shotgun, clattering metal chambering a round of twelve-gauge double O buckshot.
"Don't move fat boy," said Bobby-Ray as he popped up from the shade of a rusted Chevy pickup, just behind and to the left of the fat man. Bobby-Ray was all business, a lean mean machine. The fat man kept his hand with the gun very still as he turned his head toward Bobby-Ray. Looking down the business end of a large bore sawed-off shotgun with a chambered round can rattle anyone's teeth. The fat man was no exception. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on his head and there was a little shake to his voice as he spoke.
"Take it easy partner, we ain't meaning to..."
The barrel of Bobby-Ray's shotgun whistled down in a vicious arc, hitting the fat man's gun hand with a flat sound punctuated by a sharp cry of pain. The gun flew out of the man's hand and he fell to his knees holding his injured hand.
"Ow, shit, the hell you do that for?"
&n
bsp; The thin man moved toward Daniels, the knife at his side. Daniels crouched and whirled, his right leg shooting out in a sweeping arc that kicked both of the man's legs from the ground. The man landed heavily on his back with a sound of crunched oyster shells and a woosh of escaping air. Daniels noted the guy had never let go of the knife. Must have learned that in a scrape or two.
The two men got up, slow and careful under the shotgun. Daniels put them against the Lexus, police style. He frisked them expertly and came up with a .38 police special from the thin man's jacket. He flung it into the canal, startling a resting seagull that flew off with an indignant screech. Bobby-Ray picked up the fat man's pistol and tucked it in his waistband beneath the ragged tank top.
A World War Two vintage jeep hand painted dark brown, pulled into the parking lot. An old white haired man got out and paused by the Lexus.
"Howdy Richard, Bobby-Ray," said the old guy, looking at the two men against the Lexus held by Bobby-Ray's shotgun. "Don't look like you boys need any help right about now. Y'all want me to call the Sheriff?"
"No thanks Billy," said Daniels, "these gentlemen were just fixing to leave after they answer a couple of questions."
"All right then, I'm just gonna get me a cold one," said the old man as he walked toward the steps at the entrance to the Blue Heron. That was one thing about the locals of the Everglades. If Daniels said it was okay, then it was okay and that was the end of it.
Daniels had the men lean with their backs against the Lexus and their hands out in front. The fat man's right hand was quickly turning shades of blue and purple and swelling up nicely.
"Damn, I think you broke my hand."
"I hope so," replied bobby-Ray.
"Now," said Daniels, "you want to tell me exactly what it is you want?"
"Just like I said before," said the thin man, "we work for the Government. We're supposed to take you to see the guy who runs this agency. He wants to hire you to track somebody down."
"Just like that," said Daniels. "He wants to hire me so he sends you two goons with no ID's to kidnap me. Strange hiring practices this agency. Whatever happened to civil service job applications and requisitions."
"This ain't exactly a regular agency like the Post Office or something," said the thin man, "this agency deals direct with national security issues. We don't carry ID's and we don't work like regular government employees."
"Yeah, I can see that," said Daniels. "Go tell your boss I don't work for the government, not ever again. And tell whomever you really work for, next time he may wind up losing a couple of employees. Now get the hell out of here."
The two men got into the Lexus and drove out of the parking lot under the single black eye of Bobby-Ray's shotgun.
"Godamn Richard," said Bobby-Ray, "you just gonna let them go, don't you want to find out what they really want and who they work for?"
"I already know who they work for. It's either a government agency like they said, or some half assed gangster type. Either way, we ain't working for them."
"Still, we should try to find out more."
"What would you suggest," said Daniels, "we take them in the swamp and torture them or maybe we call in good old Deputy Schmus?"
Bobby-Ray almost choked as he laughed.
"Sheeit," he said, "Schmus couldn't find his own dick if he had a string tied to it."
They both sat on the big cypress log that marked the perimeter of the parking lot, their backs leaning against the old truck. Bobby-Ray took a joint out of his pocket, lighted it with an old stainless steel Zippo, sucked in a puff, held it for thirty seconds or so and exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke.
"Do you need to do that?" said Daniels.
"Nope. Don't need to, but I like it."
"So what'd you want to talk to me about?" said Daniels.
Bobby-Ray paused, flicked some ash from the J and raised his head to look at two turkey buzzards circling high overhead. He turned and looked at Daniels as he spoke.
"Ran into some strange shit the other night, don't quite know what to make of it."
He told Daniels of being awakened in the middle of the night, the shot and chasing White Hawk and finding the body. He also told him about the feeling he had, the sensation of something out there, something that didn't belong, that watched and waited.
"How screwed up were you that night, Bobby-Ray?"
"Had a hangover but otherwise sober as a judge. Would have passed any DUI test, at least that time in the morning," he replied frowning and turning to Daniels again.
"Say, you think White Hawk did that killing?"
"Nah," said Daniels, "he's a gopher, nothing more. Sounds like some kind of hit, maybe Mob related. Probably just wanted to get rid of the body without getting their wingtips muddied. Course if he gets caught the law is going to look at it different, Make him an accessory."
"Yeah, well there's something else," said Bobby-Ray, "I got this off what was left of the body. I was gonna try and find the guy's family and mail it anonymously." He paused and his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in midair. His mouth moved a little as if he was looking for just the right words.
"I don't know man, it just kind of got to me, you know... the way the guy died, all by himself, thrown in the deep end of the swamp like road kill."
Bobby-Ray shook his head and shrugged.
"Here, see what you make of it," he said.
He handed the amulet over. Daniels checked it, turning it and shaking it. He returned it to Bobby-Ray who put it back in his pocket.
Daniels spent another half hour or so talking to Bobby-Ray then got in his Camry and drove the three miles to Billy's Marina on the canal at the outside of Everglades City. At the same time, Bobby-Ray walked over to the big silver and red Harley behind the bar and placed the short pistol grip sawed off twelve gauge in its concealed carrier inside the leather saddlebag. He kick-started the bike, there's something satisfying about kick-starting a big motorcycle. Faggy electric starters just didn't cut it for Bobby-Ray. He turned the bike around and headed toward the center of town.
Chapter 19
Bobby-Ray pulled into the lot of the Everglades City Hospital and parked the bike. The place wasn't quite a full hospital, more like a big clinic, tending occasional tourist accidents, snakebites and minor surgery. Any big stuff was handled at the hospital in Naples. Mostly the place was the primary medical center for the locals and employed two full time doctors.
He walked through the hallway, stuck his head in the waiting room and waived at the blonde receptionist in the nurse's uniform. She was southern-belle pretty with a smattering of freckles above wide blue eyes. Her smile lit up the room when she saw Bobby-Ray. She said a few words to the other nurse who took over the desk, then went into the hallway and gave Bobby-Ray a quick hug.
She'd known Bobby-Ray her whole life, had grown up around men like him. Good-natured southern rednecks, hard drinking, carousing woman chasers, she knew full well he was a major heartbreak waiting to happen. Still, when that big smile exploded across his face, all white teeth and dimples, she couldn't help but quiver a little.
"Bobby-Ray, it's so good to see you," she said. It was always Bobby-Ray, never Bob, Rob or Bobby.
"It's good to see you too, sugar," he said.
"So what brings you to this part of town?"
"Your hair, your eyes, your nose and everything below that," said Bobby-Ray.
"Sure. It's been what, five months, and you're thinking of me all of a sudden."
"You betcha, sugar," he replied, "but I do need a itty-bitty favor."
"What a surprise," she said, eyes dancing, mouth grinning, "wouldn't have guessed it for the world."
He pulled the amulet he'd removed from the dead man in the swamp, from his pocket and handed it to her.
"I need this X-rayed, can you squeak that in for me?" he asked.
She looked over the amulet and turned to Bobby-Ray.
"What's the matter? Some jealous sweet thang gave you that and you're afrai
d it'll blow up when you put it on, take your fool head right off?"
"Now don't be ornery, sugar. It ain't nothing like that," he replied. "I just got me a little mystery to solve and that big medallion could answer some questions."
"Sure, I'll do it," she said, "but nothing's free in life Bobby-Ray. I'll have it done by the time I get off in about an hour. I get awful hungry right about then. Dinner's on you."
"Deal."
* * *
Richard Daniels got to the marina and parked the Camry with the keys in it. Billy would take care of it. It was there, on the outside wharf, that Albatross, the Beech Craft twin engine Seabee 1411 was docked. He'd kept the big seaplane after the operation in Mexico. He untied the mooring lines and pushed it away from the dock. As it slowly drifted down the canal with the current, Daniels did a quick pre-flight check, started the engines and taxied down the canal while they warmed up. Five minutes later he turned the plane around and accelerated down the canal taking off into the dark sky.
He followed the instruments fixed on the radio direction finder from his base somewhere in the China ink dark of the Everglades below him. When the instruments told him he had reached the right spot, he toggled the switch that sent the radio control command to the blackness below.
As he banked, he saw two rows of lights suddenly come on, ten lights on each row, separated by twenty-five yards, a total landing strip of two hundred and fifty yards, just right for water landings and take offs. He waited for the flashing red strobe light to stop, indicating the blocking artificial islands had rolled out of the way on their underwater tracks. He turned on the belly lights and landed the seaplane, taxiing until he reached the jutting dock under the massive overhanging woven vegetation. Carlos was waiting and when Daniels jumped off the plane, he clicked the remote that would rotate the artificial islands back to a blocking position. Even from the air on a clear day, it would appear to be three somewhat rectangular ponds separated by three islands among a world of mud and mangrove and sawdust islands. Only a close ground examination could reveal the tracks on which the islands moved to form a clear water landing strip.
The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Page 9
