Killing Shore

by Timothy Fagan

  "Pepper, you're kind of right. But around here, your dad was the man. Then your brother--sure, he was up in Boston, but we could see his shadow all the way down here. He was all over the Herald."

  "I never wanted to be like them," said Pepper. "I just wanted to do my own thing. Maybe play a little guitar…"

  "You don't fool me, Pepper," said Zula. "First punch to the nose and you came up swinging. That's your DNA." She wanted to either kiss him or choke him, so she changed the topic. "But I've gotta get focused here. Barbara gets a little testy. Buy me breakfast tomorrow and I'll have some info about your list of corporations and their officers that'll make it worth your while."

  "Can you get Barbara to stay on for a few minutes, maybe finish up that research for me now?"

  He has the patience of a three-year-old. "Barbara wants to go see the big show tonight. And I'm already in trouble today. You don't think you've been acting a little out of control? Doing things your way, no matter who gets hurt?"

  "Is it about the NRF shootout?"

  There's no line a Ryan won't cross when he thinks he's on the path of the righteous. Especially Pepper. "All I'm saying is, take a deep breath. You ever try practicing mindfulness?" Or even think a little bit about others?

  Pepper smiled at her. "Not all who wander are lost," he said.

  Asshole. Zula had a t-shirt with that quote on the front. She thought it was part true, part funny. And it didn't hurt the t-shirt was just the right amount of snug up front. She'd worn it last week and Pepper must have remembered. And now the jackass was teasing her about it?

  "Don't patronize me, Pepper! I predict two things. First, you'll eventually do the right thing. And second...you'll still be an idiot."

  "Well, at least I'll finally do the right thing. So good for me." Now smiling a little.

  Ya, good for you Pepper. That's what's important. And she dismissed him with a flip of hair before she'd say or do who knows what else. His jackassery must be contagious.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Special Agent Dan Alfson didn't personally care much for the pomp and bullshit of the major holidays. Occupational hazard. But Alfson was a patriot so the Fourth of July was probably the least annoying holiday. Especially while on a superyacht half a mile offshore with the President of the United States, keeping him safe.

  That morning, Alfson had gotten a call from Pepper Ryan that surprised him. Ryan asked if Alfson had heard of a Cayman entity called Scoter, Inc. and some individuals named as officers—John and Isabel Bumpers. Ryan claimed Wayne Garby had been an officer too but had resigned shortly before his election as POTUS—did Alfson know the specifics of the POTUS's past involvement with Scoter?

  Alfson didn't know what political mud Ryan was digging into. But he was sure it had nothing to do with the Keser investigation and the Secret Service's protection of the POTUS and he said so to Ryan. Surprisingly, that’d shut him up pretty quickly. Which was good, because Alfson's gut still said don't trust Ryan and he definitely didn't have time for his partner's maverick grandstanding. The kind of nonsense that could quickly trash the careers of people in Ryan's splash zone if they weren't careful.

  That afternoon, Alfson had personally joined the technical security team's sweep of the Madeline Too and its crew. So thorough, the crew would be able to skip their next proctological exams. The Navy did a similar sweep around and under the yacht. All was clear.

  The day's end came fast, with lots of buzz. Everyone across America knew about the personally-funded fireworks extravaganza in honor of the First Family and way too many had driven down to see the historic spectacle in person. Law enforcement was reporting that New Albion's shoreline was crowded with hundreds of thousands of spectators, ready to witness history. Except within the Eagle's Nest security perimeter, of course.

  The POTUS and his family were on the Madeline Too's upper deck, being entertained by Smith's daughter Maddie—her father had begged off due to his illness. Little red dress, long tanned legs, blonde hair flowing like the sea breeze was her own personal wind machine. But a hell of a brat—she tended to either ignore the Secret Service agents or treat them like servants. What'd she see in Ryan? She was way out of his class. (As was Ryan's other flirtation, the sassy Zula…) The POTUS also was accompanied by a small group of platinum donors, executive hangers-on and other core West Wing staff. The yacht was surrounded by a loose perimeter of Navy craft.

  As dusk arrived, a Blue Angel squadron flew low along the coast. Smith had paid for them too. Alfson felt his bones shake from their engines' force.

  Then the first salvo of fireworks lit the sky, followed by muffled booms. Smith had reportedly guaranteed his show would last exactly three times as long as Boston's. And was ten times as expensive. Children would talk about those fireworks long into old age.

  But in law enforcement circles, they would talk about the assault on the Eagle's Nest compound that went down right in the middle of the fireworks show.

  Pepper had been driving in his truck back to his trailer around dusk on the Fourth of July. He had just put in a follow-up request to Edwina Youngblood at the FBI about the two entities Pepper had been bumping into: Scoter, Inc. and Turnstone. Any recent activity or unusual registrations, that sort of thing. Pepper had begged for quick results but she'd made no promises, with thin staffing on the holiday.

  As Pepper hung up, something Zula Eisenhower had said to him earlier clicked in his head: Barbara wants to go see the big show tonight. The day Pepper had searched Eagle's Nest, the anonymous voice on the cell phone hidden in the ceramic penguin had used the same term. The big show, maybe referring to Smith's gigantic fireworks show? And that voice had also asked about a list.

  Could the voice have been talking about the security checkpoint authorization list?

  Pepper felt a tingling down his spine. He did a u-turn on Shore Road, headed toward Eagle's Nest at high speed. He tried to call Special Agent Alfson, but his call immediately went through to Alfson's voice mail. Pepper left a hurried message as he drove, saying he had a strong hunch some bad actors might try to attack Eagle's Nest by road during the fireworks show. Pepper didn't say why he thought that, since he hadn't told Alfson about his search of Eagle's Nest or the phone call he'd had with the unknown man. And now was definitely not the time to come clean.

  As Pepper neared the Secret Service's first checkpoint, he saw a dozen or so cars and trucks waiting in line. The vehicle at the head of the line was a bakery truck with oversized pictures of bread and cakes on its large rear door.

  Pepper didn't wait his turn. He pulled over to the shoulder and kept driving, honking his horn every couple of seconds, his hazard flashers on.

  Pepper was only halfway to the front of the row of vehicles when he saw the bakery truck driver's head crane out to look back at Pepper's approaching pickup truck, then the bakery truck suddenly drove off, kicking up a cloud of dust and knocking back the Secret Service agent who had been questioning the driver.

  The bakery truck hit a row of tire spikes that were in place just short of the second checkpoint. Blew all four tires, but the truck continued at high speed. Pepper saw an agent at the third checkpoint empty a submachine gun into the bakery truck's engine and windshield. Completely shredding the truck's front and windshield, as well as the driver.

  Pepper also heard the boom, boom, boom of a rooftop sentry firing a Win Mag rifle, but later it couldn't be verified whether that agent's shots struck the bakery truck because at that moment the vehicle veered into a temporary concrete barricade and exploded in a fireball. The bakery truck was—yep—toast.

  The forensic reconstruction team determined later that the bakery truck's driver—a woman—was wearing an explosive vest with a deadman's switch. The truck's rear had contained an ammonium nitrate fertilizer bomb—a smaller version of the one used in the Oklahoma City bombing. The agent who had been interviewing the woman at the first checkpoint before she panicked said she had appeared to be sedated. Separate legwork using video foo
tage from the first checkpoint confirmed the female driver was a known associate of Brian-Edward Westin and the New River Front.

  But the driver and the bakery truck were not on the checkpoint list for admission to Eagle's Nest. Had Pepper been flat out wrong in his guess about an imminent attack related to the mentions of a 'big show' and a 'list' during the ceramic penguin phone call?

  And how would Pepper explain the coincidentally accurate warning message he'd left for Alfson on his voicemail?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Secret Service, the ATF, the State Police and every local police department within 100 miles were hunting down Brian-Edward Westin. Pepper's offer to stay at Eagle's Nest and help out with the crime scene had been bluntly rejected by Secret Service agents at the scene. They had a lot of work to do but didn't need any local help to get it done right.

  But Pepper knew that after his dear partner Alfson listened to his message predicting a vehicle attack, the Secret Service would want to interview Pepper. And he knew it would be a very awkward interview…

  So, fine—Pepper would leave the mess at Eagle's Nest to the Secret Service. Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain himself… And maybe they'd weathered the storm and the Red Starfish attacks were done?

  So while the Secret Service did the dirty cleanup work, Pepper would go clear his debt to his pal Angel Cavada. Pepper owed him, big time, for his disappearing act three years earlier. And for having been too preoccupied with his investigations since returning to get up onstage at Angel's joint. So Pepper had offered to perform that night at Malecón's holiday blowout. Pepper had promised to see if he could drive the crowd to break Malecón's one-day booze sale record. Angel had been immediately, fully excited. He'd happily paid off his scheduled band, sent them back to Boston.

  The ultra lounge trappings were long gone, restoring Malecón's patio to a simple, seaside oasis. But still with party music and shots, shots, shots. And there was a line outside. Two bouncers, both local kids, trying to keep control at the door. Scarface must have flown home to Miami.

  So Pepper kept his promise to Angel and it felt awesome to be back on stage again. Pepper was gleefully breaking in a guitar that Angel had bought him as a gift. It was an acoustic-electric Fender, a beauty. He'd felt like he was missing an arm since his guitar was destroyed with the Ryan house.

  He started with a string of the most popular island party songs. Then branched out a bit. Hit them with "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)"--the Stevie Wonder version, not Cher's. He was really enjoying the feel and tone of the guitar Angel had given him—it felt like a natural fit in his hands. Pepper kept mixing it up, but always pushing the party vibe. He slid in a few of his original songs and they went over well too. A lot of the crowd had migrated to the dance floor and their energy was building. No sign of Maddie, the First Daughters and their entourage, yet. But he believed Maddie, who'd promised they were coming despite the attack at Eagle's Nest. He didn't want to even guess how agitated the Secret Service would be about Freestyle and Funsize going to a public venue that same night as if the attack had been no biggie. Wild.

  After an hour, Pepper took a break. When he came offstage and headed to check in with Angel by the bar, a blonde woman, probably late forties, cut him off. Pepper instantly recognized her as one of the women who'd been onstage at the ecó event, when DJ ChilEboy spun his final tune! One of the women who'd been whisked away by Special Agent Alfson before Pepper could interview her…

  "Hey, great voice!" she said laughing. "But aren't you a cop or something?"

  "Yes, but music's his true love," said Angel, arriving at their sides. "One of them." He quickly had one arm around them both. The gracious host, with a flirty side. Angel introduced himself as Malecón's owner and Pepper as his oldest friend.

  The woman was eating it up. "I'm Alexis. I'm staying with a friend nearby but I'm soooo bored… How long can you sit by a pool?"

  A woman joined Alexis as they talked. It was the redhead—disappearing witness #2 from the ChilEboy homicide. A little older and a little heavier than Alexis. She had Alexis by the elbow, was leaning in, breaking things up.

  "Come back every night and bring all your friends," said Angel. "I'll make sure Pepper's ready and waiting."

  "Really?" the blonde smiled. And then she grabbed Pepper's forearm. She had strong fingers, probably a tennis player. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

  He shook his head but smiled. Should he?

  "Well, if you want to find out...give me a call some time," she said. And with a little smile she pressed a balled-up cocktail napkin in Pepper's hand.

  "Lexie, you're the worst!" said her friend. "Time to go!"

  As her friend led her away, Alexis glanced back over her shoulder, gave Pepper a wink.

  "You see how I was letting you have her?" asked Angel.

  "Pimping me out now?"

  "Mano, I would if I could. But I know I'd get too many complaints..."

  Pepper uncrumpled the cocktail napkin. She'd written her name and phone number. Must have had it ready when she came up to him?

  And then it hit Pepper who she must be—President Garby's mistress! He'd heard all about an Alexis from the Secret Service guys. They'd been cracking about her secret service codename: Flame. Which she'd been named because she used to be a redhead. And they thought wasn't it funny, now she was suddenly a blonde? And the worst kept secret on Cape Cod. No wonder Alfson had hustled her and her friend away before getting witness statements. Pepper had heard from the agents that she got kid glove treatment from them—for example, at Eagle's Nest checkpoints they didn't take her ID and didn't search her car, despite the obvious security risks that caused. It was mandated by the highest level of the Secret Service… But the agents all said they liked her. She was always polite and friendly, always had a smile for them.

  But fucking Alfson. Holding out on his own dear partner…

  Pepper had been back on stage for a few songs when Maddie Smith and the First Twins arrived, with an entourage. Causing a ripple of head turns. Lots of pointing and the chatter level went up. The crowd split for them as they headed toward the bar, with more Secret Service agents in tow than previously.

  Internet king Justin Case was with the ladies, in white cutoff shorts with ragged fringe. A pale blue tank-top showing just enough chest muscles. A shell necklace he'd probably picked up on Main Street that morning, or in Bora Bora last month. Arrived in flip-flops, but was quickly barefoot.

  For a guy who'd perfected being lazy, he sure was getting around tonight. He was always in motion, but slowly. Shots at the bar with the ladies. Then mini-mobbed by a little flood of cyber fans. Took a little time for pics and vids with them, milking his signature shrug.

  Moments later he was out dancing with Maddie. Pepper realized she was the kind of beautiful that made everyone around her seem younger, better-looking. Like it rubbed off, or they somehow lived up to her. She waved up to Pepper, locking eyes with him mid-song, making him stumble over the lyrics. Then she blew Pepper a big, fat kiss.

  Which Justin saw. He stomped off with Maddie in tow and Pepper could see them arguing. Maddie shrugged, headed for the ladies' room. Moments later, Justin was back on the dance floor with the First Twins, one in each hand. For a slug, he sure had energy. And the sonofabitch could dance.

  But Pepper turned his focus from Justin back to the crowd. He was having a blast performing for an audience again, just him and his guitar, singing his guts out. He went for another full hour before he took a second break. He flipped on some recorded music to try to keep the patio's party energy going. The reality is the buzz would dip some, which was fine—he'd crank it up quickly again when he got back on stage in ten minutes.

  Except Alfson ambushed him the minute he came off stage.

  "Ryan, have you seen the twins?" he asked, his pretty blonde haircut a bit unruly and sweat beading on his forehead.

  Pepper couldn't tell whether he was angry or upset or what. "I just saw them over by the
bar, with Justin Case."

  "Well, they've disappeared. I haven't seen Case either."

  "Your agents have been on them like snow on Santa. I'm sure nothing's wrong."

  But two agents—a man and woman—were shoving their way through the crowd, obviously searching for the girls. Their faces showed panic.

  "Ryan, let's go!" Alfson pulled his phone, tried to make a call despite the music's volume.

  Had someone managed to kidnap the First Daughters?

  He found Angel talking to Maddie. Pepper's blood was pumping and his face was flushed…Angel was going to kill him.

  "Have you seen Justin?" she yelled to Pepper. "And the twins?"

  He shook his head no. "But I've gotta help find them! I gotta go!" yelled Pepper to Maddie and Angel over the loud music.

  Angel was shaking his head like he couldn't hear right. "Go? You joking, Mano? You're the entertainment! What am I gonna do?"

  Angel was right--Pepper was completely screwing him over. Again. But he had no choice. "Buddy, I'm sorry!" Pepper felt like shit, but maybe he'd be right back?

  Why did Pepper always have to do something wrong when he needed to do something right? He left, running outside to catch up to Alfson. They had to find the twins!

  All the Suburbans were still in the lot. The drivers hadn't seen Freestyle or Funsize. But they'd gotten the distress message from their colleagues—their necks were craning, they were sweating too. Every agent's worst nightmare.

  How had someone gotten the twins out and away without being seen?

  "Did any of you see Justin Case leave?" asked Pepper.

  No, no one had. Why—did he believe Case was in on it?