Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

Radar sped down Highway One toward Santa Cruz. No one had spoken since they left the FBI building at 7:00AM that morning. Peyton hated the quiet. They were all tense, all worried about what the day would bring, and whether they were going to have to go back on that spooky-ass farm again.

  “How about a round of 100 Bottles of Beer on the wall?” she suggested, looking over the seat at Bambi and Tank.

  They looked puzzled, but Radar’s expression never changed. Not that Peyton could see his eyes beyond the sunglasses. She realized she wasn’t really sure what color his eyes were.

  “Okay then, what about I Spy? I’ll start. I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter u?”

  Radar clenched his jaw. “Unemployment, which is where you’re going next.”

  She looked out the window. “Fine. No I Spy,” she said, drumming her fingers on the armrest.

  “My brother and I used to play 20 Questions,” offered Bambi tentatively.

  Peyton shifted and looked back at her. “Yeah? Remind me.”

  “I think of something, then you try to guess it. Usually the first question is animal, vegetable, or mineral.”

  “The professor and I play this on road trips. We usually mix in elements from the periodic table,” added Tank.

  “So heavy on the mineral?” offered Peyton.

  “Well, we also limit it to animals discovered in the last twenty years, you know like the Atewa dinospider, the gola malimbe bird, the Indonesian flasher wrasse…”

  “The flasher wrasse. That’s my favorite,” she said. From the corner of her eye, she caught the upward tilt of Radar’s lips. “Okay, Emma, think of something.”

  Bambi tilted back her blond head and thought. “Does it have to be real or can it be imaginary?”

  “Probably real.”

  “Shoot. I just always find myself thinking of the chimera. It’s a fire breathing monster with the head and body of a lion, a goat’s head growing out of its back, and a snake’s tail.” She punctuated the last with her index finger. “And it’s a girl.”

  Peyton realized her mouth was hanging open, but before she could respond, her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket and thumbed it on. “Brooks?”

  “Hello, Agent Brooks, this is Igor.”

  Peyton smiled. How many people could say they had a man named Igor calling them early in the morning? “How’s my blanket?”

  “Still in one piece as you requested, but I did get a sample off the back of it and ran some tests.”

  “Tell me it’s a match to the fibers you found in our mermaid’s fingernails, Igor.”

  “I can do you one better, Agent Brooks. When I went over the body a second time, I found fibers caught around the wee lass’s umbilical cord.”

  Peyton’s fingers tightened on the phone. “And?” Before he could answer, her phone buzzed, indicating she had another call coming through. “Hold that thought a minute, Igor.”

  “All righty.”

  She clicked over to the other line. “Brooks?”

  “Agent Brooks?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Cheryl Watts from the Santa Cruz Public Library. You gave me your card when you were here the other day.”

  “Yes, Cheryl, how can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you’d be able to come in today.”

  “Why? Mrs. Elder made it clear she had nothing to tell us.”

  “Well, Lois has changed her mind. I think there’s someone here you really want to meet, Agent Brooks. Will you come?”

  They’d found Finn. That had to be it. Peyton felt a wave of relief wash over her.

  “We’re on our way. See you in a bit.” Radar made a grumbling sound, but Peyton ignored him and clicked back over to Igor. “Igor? What do you have for me?”

  “The fibers I found under our mermaid’s fingernails match the hemp on the blanket you brought me, but there’s more.”

  “Dazzle me, Igor. I need a win right now.”

  “The fibers caught around the umbilical cord?”

  “Yes?”

  “Mohair.”

  “Sweet, sweet man, I owe you a drink.”

  He laughed. “I’m partial to Prosecco, Agent Brooks, very partial.”

  “Done.” She disconnected and turned to Radar. “We’ve got to go to the library right now.”

  “No, Officer Brannon and Reynolds have cordoned off an area near Horizon in the forest for us to use. Our guys are already there setting up the drone as we speak.”

  “Cheryl Watts has someone at the library she says we want to meet. I’m sure it’s Finn.”

  “They can wait, then.”

  “Radar, the fibers on the blanket match the fibers on the baby. All of the evidence is adding up. The drone is just final confirmation. Let’s go to the library and talk to Finn first.”

  He blew out air in frustration and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  Peyton gave him an arch look. “You just want to play with the remote controlled plane.”

  He shot a glance at her. “It’s a drone, not a plane.”

  “You want to play with remote controlled drone.”

  He gave her a glare. She knew only because his brows drew down below the sunglasses. “Who doesn’t,” he grumbled, then he slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Fine, we’ll go to the damn library first.”

  * * *

  Cheryl met them at the door to the library, unlocking it and waving them inside. She cast a look toward the street, then locked the door again. Peyton frowned at her.

  “The media have been here every day since you came the last time,” Cheryl explained. She motioned to the stairs. “Come on.”

  “What’s going on, Cheryl?” Peyton asked, jogging to catch up to her longer stride. Radar and the rest of the team followed behind them.

  “You’ll see.”

  They found Lois Elder standing outside the door to her office. Her windows had been covered by curtains. Peyton realized she didn’t really like this woman very much as Mrs. Elder gave her a critical look from behind her spectacles.

  “Before you go in, I just want to reiterate that I believe in freedom of religion, Agent Brooks.”

  Peyton gave her an aggravated look. “This isn’t about freedom of religion, Mrs. Elder. It’s about human rights.”

  “You need to know that I do care about Finn. I care about him a great deal. I will do anything to help him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Now, we don’t have a lot of time, Mrs. Elder. The door, please.”

  She reached for the knob and pushed the door open. Peyton stepped into the darkened office, straining to see the slight figure sitting in one of the armchairs before Mrs. Elder’s desk. The rest of the team crowded in behind her, but Peyton held up a hand to stop them.

  She recognized the face looking back at her with the wide, frightened eyes. It was the same face that had watched them from the trees when they left Horizon yesterday. Peyton took a step closer, holding out her hand.

  “Molly? I’m Special Agent Peyton Brooks.”

  The girl shot a terrified look at Mrs. Elder. The older woman came over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, Molly. Agent Brooks wants to help you.”

  Molly ducked her head, but she peered up at Peyton through her lank brown locks. “I want to find Finn, Agent Brooks. Can you help me?”

  Peyton moved to a chair directly across from the girl and took a seat. “I’ll do everything I can. How did you get off Horizon, Molly?”

  “I hitchhiked. Finn brought me here, to the library, a couple of times, so I knew where it was.”

  “When was the last time you saw Finn?”

  Molly closed her eyes briefly, reaching up to curl her hands in Mrs. Elder’s sweater. “The day we threw the baby into the ocean.”

  * * *

  Peyton faced off against Radar in the Young Reader’s Lounge. “You can’t arrest her, Radar. She didn’t understand what she was doing.”

  “That�
�s not for you or me to decide, Sparky. That’s what juries do.”

  “She did nothing wrong. She gave her baby the only burial she knew how.” She pointed back to the office. “That girl has been raped and abused and tortured by that monster, Radar. He’s the one we should be arresting.”

  “And we will, but it doesn’t change what she did.”

  “What was she supposed to do?” asked Bambi, moving to Peyton’s side. “She saw what happened with Finn’s mother when they couldn’t pay for burial. She didn’t want that for her baby.”

  “She’s just a kid, barely twenty-one,” continued Peyton.

  “Old enough to know what she did was wrong.”

  “If she’s suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, Radar,” said Tank, “she may not be capable of seeing her actions as wrong. Most psychologists agree that victims of Stockholm Syndrome are not responsible for themselves.”

  Radar looked back at the office door. “She’ll be safer in custody. Where else is she going to go?”

  “Mrs. Elder agreed to help her. She’ll take her in for now,” said Peyton. “Please, Radar, don’t traumatize her any more than necessary. If Sarge decides to turn this over to the prosecutors, so be it, but right now, leave her here. Let’s go after Thatcher.”

  Radar hesitated.

  “We can go fly your toy plane.”

  “Drone.”

  “We can go fly your drone.”

  “Fine,” he said, whipping around on a heel. “Let’s go fly my drone.”

  The ride out to the drone site took thirty minutes over rough roads, dirt tracks and across one dry creek bed, but the Suburban had little difficulty navigating the terrain. Peyton marveled at the beauty of the Santa Cruz mountains – dense, old growth redwood forests, ferns, and a dappling of sunlight sneaking through the branches to touch the loam of the forest floor.

  When they reached the clearing where the FBI had set up camp, Peyton marveled at the number of people moving about, talking on phones, working off remote computer terminals. It was a command center in the middle of a forest.

  As the Suburban bounced to a stop, Lieutenant Brannon came over to them. “They’ve got it all set up.”

  She pointed to a strange looking plane resting in the open part of the clearing. It looked like a weird space alien with four vertical propellers on top, four thin legs, with a surveillance camera hanging off its belly. Radar and Tank made a beeline for it, stopping beside Sergeant Reynolds, both of them exclaiming in wonder. Sergeant Reynolds gave them each a high five.

  Brannon shook her head. “Boys and their gadgets.”

  Peyton smiled at her.

  “Come on. We can watch the display over here.” She led them to one of the laptops set on a camp table. A man in an FBI jacket nodded at them. Peyton nodded back.

  “We’re just about ready to go,” he said, pointing to another man with a remote control. “If we pick up anything, it’ll show here. It’s being beamed directly into Judge Lewis’ chambers in San Francisco. Sarge is standing by to get the warrant.”

  “Great.”

  They crowded around him and watched as the man with the remote started the drone and brought it to a low hover over the ground. An exclamation of delight rose from the men. Peyton and Bambi exchanged a smile.

  Then the drone rose higher and higher until it cleared the tree cover. A moment later, the agent in charge banked it to the left and it took off, disappearing from sight. Peyton focused her attention on the monitor. A moment later the men were crowded around behind them, looking over her shoulder.

  “I’ve got a visual feed,” said the agent with the remote.

  The agent at the laptop clicked on a program and a window opened, showing the tops of trees. Peyton held her breath as the done passed over them, showing more trees, a break where a stream cut through the hills, a few dilapidated outbuildings, an old truck rusting on bare rims, then suddenly they were gliding over Horizon.

  Peyton held her breath. The center circle became clear, the covered picnic tables, the clotheslines, and Thatcher’s house. They passed over the gardens. The children looked up at the drone. Peyton couldn’t see their features, but she could catch the motion, the shift of colors.

  “What’s over there?” asked Radar, pointing beyond the house.

  The agent holding the remote banked the drone and flew to the right of the screen. A wood pile, a shed, and the Horizon van were stored behind Thatcher’s house, then the forest took over. The agent banked the drone back over the compound, taking in the circle, the clotheslines, the shacks, the garden...nothing.

  “Shit!” swore Radar, slamming his fist on the camp table. “I thought for sure we’d find something.” He pushed through the crowd around the laptop and paced out into the clearing. Peyton watched after him, but she didn’t know what to say. They might have enough for a warrant if they brought Molly in to testify.

  “What’s that?” asked Tank, pointing to a spot on the screen that led into the trees just behind the garden.

  The agent leaned closer, squinting at it. “I’m not sure. Slim, can you bring the drone lower? Skim it just over the garden again.”

  Slim, the agent with the remote, angled himself so he could see the screen, then he brought the drone in low. Peyton could see the children scattering as the little plane banked over the top of them. An older boy was shouting, waving his arms back toward the house. The drone picked up the spot that Tank had noticed and sped along it.

  “It looks like a path of some kind.”

  “Can we follow it beneath the tree cover?” asked Tank.

  “I’m worried we’ll lose contact,” said the agent at the laptop.

  Slim shook his head. “She can do it. She’s the most sophisticated model money can buy.”

  Radar pushed back into the crowd, his gaze fixated on the screen, following the wobbly flight path of the drone beneath the trees. Peyton glanced at Slim, worried they might lose control of it before they found anything, but his concentration was fixed.

  The drone skimmed along, over the top of the trail, going deeper and deeper into the forest. Radar’s hand tightened into a fist on the table, his breath coming faster. Then, just when Peyton was sure this had to be a simple deer track, the drone skimmed over the top of close growing green, bushy plants with distinctive serrated leaves.

  “Yes!” said Radar.

  A cheer went up among the group. Peyton closed her eyes, exhaling in relief. Opening them again, Peyton watched the drone bank over the entire field, beaming the evidence directly to the judge’s chambers in San Francisco.

  * * *

  Radar pulled his team around him. The FBI squad, Lieutenant Brannon, and Sergeant Reynolds were pulling on their riot gear. Peyton adjusted the brim of her FBI cap and fixed the strap on her flak jacket, her hand trembling. Now that the moment was upon them, she felt like she was going to be sick.

  “Look,” said Radar, drawing their attention. “I don’t think we get out of this without shots being fired. I’ve seen how these things go down. It happens fast and it gets out of control faster. Don’t lose your heads. Don’t start shooting until absolutely necessary, but when it starts, shoot to kill.”

  Peyton swallowed hard. She wanted to take down Thatcher, but she didn’t want to be in the crossfire. Shit. There were women and children on that farm, and the men were all boys, babies, unable to understand what the hell they were doing.

  “Radar?”

  “It’s okay, Sparky. It’ll be okay.”

  She tried to stop her rapid breathing, but she couldn’t. She felt the beginnings of panic seep into her. Radar placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Look at me, Sparky.”

  She did, focusing on his dark eyes. A deep, deep brown. A brown almost moving to black.

  “It’ll be okay. We go in, we control the situation, we get the guns. Okay?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “Okay,” he said again, releasing her. Then he motioned to the group. “Move o
ut,” he shouted.

  They walked up the road from where they’d left their SUVs. Peyton’s heart was hammering so hard in her chest, she could feel it pounding in her ears. Sun dappled over their faces, birds called in the trees, but everything else was silent.

  The gate had been vacated.

  Radar motioned and the agents spread out, moving off the road and into the trees. Radar walked to the barricade and unhooked it, dragging it back. Then he pressed the radio on his shoulder. “We’re going in.”

  “Careful,” came Rosa’s voice in Peyton’s earpiece.

  Bambi touched her arm as she moved past her. Peyton could hear the engines on the vehicles start behind them, creeping up the road to block off any exit. She followed her team down the long drive, feeling like it was warping and lengthening as they walked. The trees seemed to be crowding in on them, pressing down on them with their silence and density.

  Just as they reached the opening to Horizon, Radar held out his hand stopping them. Peyton edged up to his side, her fingers flexing on the handle of her gun. Thatcher stood in the middle of the circle, his boys behind him all carrying rifles. Peyton quickly counted eight boys, eight rifles, but Thatcher himself seemed to be unarmed. The women and children huddled behind the boys, crouching on the stairs, but still in the line of fire.

  “Franklin Thatcher!” shouted Radar, holding up the warrant in his left hand. “I have a warrant to search these premises and the surrounding forest for contraband or other illegal activity.”

  Thatcher’s hands were loose by his sides, his expression bland, but Peyton noted the annoying smirk was gone. “You are trespassing on private property, Agent Moreno. We have done nothing wrong to necessitate such an intrusion.”

  “Tell your followers to drop their guns. We don’t want trouble, Thatcher! Tell them to lay down their weapons!”

  “They are exercising their Second Amendment rights, Agent Moreno. Are you denying them their right to bear arms?”

  “We don’t want anyone hurt, Thatcher. Tell them to lay down their weapons.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t do that. I have no way of knowing what that paper is that you’re waving around. You’ll have to come forward and show it to me.”