by Stuart Woods
“Have you given up on just killing her outright?” Veronica asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Gino replied. “Dirty Joe is still on the hunt in Key West.”
“That didn’t go so well last time—we had to run for it.”
“I’ve instructed him to wait until he has a shot in some out-of-the-way spot, where the police can’t be all over him in a minute.”
“You’re going to let her do her demonstration to the Steele board?”
“Of course. I want her to have the illusion of progress, until I can hit her again. Or until Dirty Joe can.”
“Who is Dirty Joe? You haven’t told me anything about him.”
“Joe Cross. We did some time together in a California reform school when we were just kids, and we kept in touch. We called him Dirty Joe even then, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do for money. When I was at Stanford he dealt marijuana on campus. When I was in Silicon Valley, he upped his game to cocaine, which was the propellant of choice there in those days. On the side, he’d do hits, and he always got away with it. He sort of retired to the Keys, living up in Islamorada, but he’s always receptive to the opportunity for fast cash.”
“And you think he can handle this?”
“He hasn’t done a day of time since reform school, and that record was expunged when he was twenty-one, so he’s on nobody’s list of suspects, which is usually the problem when you want somebody hit. The police look at the record first.”
“But he hit the wrong person in Key West. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“It was a windy day, and that was as close as he could get. If we’re patient, Dirty Joe will come through, and Meg’s inferiors will be a lot easier to deal with.”
* * *
—
DIRTY JOE CROSS and his girlfriend, Jane Jillian, known to her friends as Jungle Jane, sat back a mile or so in their offshore boat, a thirty-six-footer with three large outboards clamped to the stern, and Joe watched through his binoculars as the blue Hinckley rounded Fort Jefferson and picked up a mooring in the little harbor. “They’re down for the night,” Joe said, “and the light’s going. We’re not going to get a shot at them before tomorrow morning. We got anything to eat aboard?”
“No problem,” Jane replied. “If you want fresh fish, I’ll catch you something for supper.”
“Good idea,” he said. “Snapper, maybe?”
“Whatever the sea yields,” she replied. “If you want to get picky, find yourself a fish restaurant. The nearest one is about seventy miles away.”
“I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me,” Joe said.
* * *
—
THE HARBOR was empty of other boats, and Stone was glad of it. “Dino, Viv, and I were out here last Christmas,” he said to Meg.
“Tell me about the fort,” Meg asked.
“It was built sometime before the Civil War, and during the war it was used as a prison for Union deserters. The only reason a lot of people ever heard of it was when there was a yellow fever epidemic on the island, and Dr. Samuel Mudd was imprisoned here for the crime of aiding and abetting John Wilkes Booth after he assassinated Abraham Lincoln. Booth had broken his leg when he jumped from Lincoln’s box to the stage at Ford’s Theatre, and he fled into Maryland, where he stopped at Dr. Mudd’s house for help along the road south. Mudd knew Booth but treated him anyway and didn’t report him until the following day. As a result, he was convicted along with the other conspirators and sentenced to life in prison.
“He was sent to Fort Jefferson, and while he was here yellow fever broke out, and Mudd heroically saved many lives, for which he was eventually pardoned by the President.”
“I hope there’s no yellow fever now,” Meg said.
“Nope, it’s now a national park.”
They had a drink, and Dino and Viv grilled steaks for dinner.
* * *
—
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, after a good breakfast and a Bloody Mary, Stone broke out the rubber dinghy from its locker and inflated it, then launched it over the stern and fastened the outboard to it.
Viv pleaded freckles, and Dino stayed with her, while Stone and Meg took the dinghy to Loggerhead Key, a mile or so away.
“It looks deserted,” Meg said. “Can I go without a suit here?”
“I’m counting on it,” Stone said. “Tan lines aren’t allowed on Loggerhead.” He pulled the dinghy up onto the beach; they left their swimsuits aboard and swam for a while, then got out and let the wind dry them as they walked up the beach.
* * *
—
DIRTY JOE CROSS and Jungle Jane Jillian approached Fort Jefferson slowly, then saw a couple leave the moored yacht in a rubber dinghy. He took a look through his glasses. “Bingo,” he said. “And they seem to be heading for Loggerhead.”
With Jane at the helm they motored slowly along on a route parallel to the beach, and Joe went below and came back with an AR-15–style assault rifle and shoved a banana clip into it, watching as the couple swam, then walked up the beach.
“Man, she looks good naked,” Joe said.
“Watch out or I’ll kick your ass,” Jane replied.
He knew she would, too. “Okay, okay, just drift for a while. I can’t hit anything if we’re under way.”
Jane did as instructed. “How close in do you want to be?”
“A hundred yards or so, and go at idle speed.”
She slowly closed the gap between them and the beach.
“They haven’t even seen us,” Joe said. “This is going to be a piece of cake.”
“Who’s the guy?” Jane asked.
“Who gives a shit?” Joe came back. “If he gets in the way, he’s dead meat. This is a good distance. Take the engines out of gear, but be ready to leave fast, toward Key West.”
Jane put the engines into neutral, and they idled, adrift.
Joe tried standing, but couldn’t get steady enough. He knelt and braced the rifle against the gunwale of the boat; he checked the wind and distance, adjusted the scope, and checked the view. Looking good.
* * *
—
STONE AND MEG walked along on the wet sand at the water’s edge, then she stopped and pulled him around toward her. He took her in his arms and pressed her against his body, then kissed her.
* * *
—
JOE SIGHTED through the scope and took a good look. A head shot wasn’t going to do it; even a little movement of the boat made that an unlikely hit. The woman’s back was to him, and he placed the crosshairs between her shoulder blades, took a deep breath, let it out, then began to squeeze the trigger. As he fired he felt a breeze on the back of his neck and swore.
Stone felt a breeze, too, at the moment he heard the crack of the rifle. He swept Meg’s legs from under her, and they both hit the sand.
11
Stone looked around for shelter; no trees, not even shrubs for fifty yards, and he didn’t want to get any farther from the dinghy. He looked out at the boat off the beach: it had begun to turn slowly away from them. A man stood up, holding a rifle, and Stone could hear him swearing.
* * *
—
“TURN THE GODDAMNED thing back on course!” the man yelled at a woman who was at the helm. She put the engines into gear and started to turn back toward them.
* * *
—
“QUICK!” Stone said to Meg. He helped her to her feet, grabbed her hand, and they ran away from the beach, toward some dunes, diving behind the nearest one as the rifle could be heard again and flying sand scattered around them. “Keep your belly on the ground,” Stone said to Meg, “and crawl back toward the dinghy. The dune gets higher as we go.” Then he heard automatic fire and hugged the sand beneath him. The guy with the rifle was swearing again, yelling instructions at the woman. Stone loo
ked up, and the boat was again stern to their position. “Okay, let’s go,” he said to Meg, and they began crawling as fast as they could. Shots rang out again, but hit the top of the dune behind them. The shooter had lost their position. “Lie very still, now,” he said.
* * *
—
“WHERE ARE THEY?” Jane asked.
“How the fuck do I know?” Dirty Joe yelled back. “They’re behind that fucking dune. And I need another magazine.” He went below to get one.
* * *
—
THEN STONE heard a clattering sound from some distance away. He risked sticking his head up long enough to find its source. Dino was weighing the anchor they had put out to reinforce their mooring. Stone thanked Hinckley that raising the anchor involved only the pressing of a switch, not physical labor. He ducked back down. “Dino’s on the way,” he said to Meg.
“Does he know how to operate that JetStick thing you’ve been using?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Stone replied. “He’ll get the hang of it.” The automatic fire started again, and the shooter was panning toward them, rounds ripping off the peak of the dune as they hit. “Stay down,” Stone said, as if that were necessary. He heard the engines on the Hinckley start up, but he was afraid to check on Dino’s progress.
* * *
—
“THEIR BOAT is moving!” Jane shouted, and Dirty Joe stopped firing and looked at it as it accelerated. He turned his rifle back toward the beach and got off another burst, then dropped the magazine and shoved in another. “This is my last one,” he said to Jane.
Then there was a single shot from the direction of the blue yacht, and an almost simultaneous whack as the bullet struck the radome on top of his cabin. “Oh, shit, those people are armed. Let’s get the hell out of here! Head for Key West!”
Jane did as ordered and shoved the throttles forward. The boat leaped ahead. “Why Key West? We don’t want to go there.”
“When we’re out of their sight we’ll turn for Islamorada,” Joe replied.
* * *
—
STONE RAISED his head now and saw the boat roar away, its three outboards howling. He looked back at the Hinckley and saw Dino’s head protruding from an open hatch in the cabin roof; he was standing on the skipper’s seat, firing a handgun at the retreating speedboat.
* * *
—
STONE STOOD up now. “The shooter is out of here,” he said to Meg. “Let’s get to our dinghy.” They ran down the dune and back up the beach, to where they had dragged the dinghy ashore. They launched it, climbed in, and Stone started the outboard. A moment later Dino had stopped the Hinckley, and they were pulling up to the stern boarding platform of the yacht, where Viv stood waiting to take their painter.
“Are you two hurt?” Viv asked.
“No, we’re fine,” Stone said, “just a little sandy.” He tied up the dinghy, then got out the stern shower and adjusted the water temperature. He hosed Meg down as she stood on the boarding platform, then did the same for himself.
“How nice to have hot water,” Meg said. “I’ll get us robes.” She went forward toward their cabin.
Stone went to the pilot’s seat and turned the yacht back toward their anchorage.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” Dino said, clearing his weapon and laying it on the dashboard. “If we hadn’t had that anchor out, we might have had a real chance of arriving in time to hit them. As it was, I think I got their radome. I didn’t see the boat’s name, did you?”
“No, there were three outboard engines blocking the view of the stern,” Stone said.
“We had no chance of catching up to them,” Dino said. “That thing probably does fifty knots with all that power. They’re headed toward Key West, though. You want to go back?”
“What’s the point?” Stone asked. “By the time we get there, they’ll be tucked into a berth somewhere, and there are thousands of them. Did you recognize what kind of boat it was?”
Dino shook his head. “Nothing I’ve seen before.”
“I never even got to my weapon,” Viv said. “It was all too fast.” Viv, like Dino, went everywhere armed; it was the ex-cop in her.
Meg brought Stone a robe, and he got into it, then they motored slowly back and picked up their mooring again. This time, he didn’t lower the anchor.
Dino got out his phone. “I’ll call this in, and maybe we can have them met in Key West.” He stared at his phone. “Zero reception out here.” He grabbed the VHF microphone, pressed the on button, and dialed in Channel 15. “Coast Guard, Coast Guard,” he said. “Stone, what’s the name of our yacht?”
“It doesn’t seem to have one,” Stone replied. “I guess the previous owner didn’t get around to it.”
“Coast Guard, this is Hinckley yacht, calling from Fort Jefferson. Do you read?”
“This is the Coast Guard,” a voice came back weakly. “What is your condition and your request?”
“We’re safely afloat,” Dino replied, “but two people on another boat fired an assault rifle at two of our party on Loggerhead Beach.”
“Anyone injured?”
“No, and the shooters departed in the direction of Key West, going very fast.”
“Describe their craft.”
“Maybe thirty-five feet, powered by three large outboards, very fast. We returned fire with a handgun, and I think we hit their radome.”
“I’ll alert our Key West station and the police,” the man said. “Give me your name, address, and phone number.”
Dino gave him his office information and his cell number.
“Do you require any assistance?”
“Negative,” Dino replied.
“Leave your radio on Channel 15, in case we need to contact you,” the man said.
“Will do. Oh, and you might contact Detective Harry Kaufelt at the Key West PD. He would be interested to hear about this.”
“Roger, and out.”
Dino turned to Viv. “Who do I have to fuck around here to get a drink?”
“I am that person,” Viv replied, handing him a scotch. “How long do I have to wait to get paid?”
“Not long,” Dino said, kissing her.
They were given a couple of snappers from a passing sports fisherman, and Stone got the grill fired up again.
12
When they were back in their berth at the Key West Yacht Club, Stone phoned his friend and Viv’s boss, Michael Freeman, at Strategic Services, the world’s second-largest security company.
“How are things in Key West?” Mike asked.
“Not the most fun I ever had,” Stone replied, then told him what had happened.
“How can I help?”
“Meg Harmon—you know about her?”
“I do.”
“She has a demonstration of her new self-driving car at the Casa Marina Hotel here, for the benefit of the Steele Group board. She’s going to need some personal protection, given what happened.”
“Is Viv there?”
“Right here.”
“Put her on, and we’ll work it out.”
Viv sat down with the phone and had a brief conversation with Mike, then ended the call and handed the phone back to Stone. “We’ll have a team of six at the Casa Marina by nine tomorrow morning,” she said, “loaded for bear.”
“That’s a relief to know.”
“I didn’t think we would need security at your house.”
“Quite right. I don’t think this Bellini guy knows about the house.”
Jack Spottswood ambled over from his boat and was given a drink. Stone didn’t tell him about the shooter.
“Your funds arrived and were distributed to Betty,” Jack said. “She’s a much-relieved woman, and she thanks you.”
“My pleasure. It�
��s a wonderful boat, but then I already knew that, because it’s my second one. You should come visit when I’m in England, Jack—you’d like it.”
“You’re in London?”
“No, on the South Coast, near Beaulieu and the Solent.”
“Pretty country.”
They were hailed from ashore, and Harry Kaufelt and his partner, Moe, came aboard. Jack listened intently while Stone related the events at Fort Jefferson.
“You didn’t mention that,” Jack said.
“I didn’t want you to be concerned.”
“The Coast Guard were ready for the return of the shooter,” Harry said, “but the boat never showed up.”
“They probably went somewhere up the Keys,” Jack said. “There’s a hundred and fifty miles of shoreline up there to hide them.”
“Exactly right,” Harry said. “If we had a better description of the boat, we might have a better chance of finding it. The three outboards are the only distinguishing feature we have, and there are lots of those on the water.”
“Don’t forget the damaged radome,” Dino said. “I put a bullet in that.”
Harry got on his phone and issued instructions to spread the word to electronics dealers in the Keys. He hung up. “How much longer are you staying?” he asked Stone.
“Anxious to get rid of us, Harry?” Stone asked.
“Not in the least. I just want to know how much longer I need to worry about you.”
“I expect we’ll wing our way north the day after tomorrow,” Stone replied. “Ms. Harmon has some business to conduct tomorrow afternoon, then we’ll be free to go. And don’t worry, I’ve arranged security at the Casa Marina for her meeting.”
“Is this the thing with the driverless car?”
“That’s right.”
“We were warned that one would be in the neighborhood and not to arrest the driver, since there won’t be one.”
