Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

Elizabeth stared. This did sound like poking. “Have you seen it since I tossed it? Tell the truth.”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s my mother. I told her that you got rid of it. She was sure that you’d have second thoughts about that. She said you might want it to be over, and it might be, but that you’d want to be on the safe side.”

  Intuition, thought Elizabeth. Strictly Aisha’s. Not her mother’s. But she said, “Yes, I did change my mind.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Elizabeth asked, “What else has she told you?”

  Another hesitation. “She thinks you’ll get bored. She thinks you’re not the type to live quietly.”

  “Well, she’s wrong.”

  “And she told me that Martin…” Aisha stopped. “Never mind.”

  “She told you that Martin’s still alive?”

  “Um…no. Well, not exactly. In one dream she was telling me what heaven is like. She says it’s pretty much the way it’s described in the Koran, but only for Muslims and only at first. It changes once the Muslims get used to the idea that they’re not in Kuwait anymore.”

  “Kuwait?”

  “Mom was making a joke. Like in the Wizard of Oz. Like when Dorothy said, ‘We’re not in Kansas anymore.’”

  “Nice to hear that she’s kept her sense of humor,” said Elizabeth. “Nice to know you can still have some fun there.”

  Aisha started to speak. She seemed to think better of it. Elizabeth said, “Don’t stop now. You’re on a roll.”

  Aisha lifted her chin. “You won’t make fun of this, will you?”

  “And now I can’t wait. Spit it out.”

  “She says Martin’s not there. I had asked her to look. She says she’d have found him if he’s there.”

  Elizabeth had to smile. “We’re talking Martin? In heaven?”

  “Uh-huh. And see? You’re already making fun.”

  “No, I’m not, sweetie. It’s just hard to envision Martin Kessler with wings. But maybe there’s some sort of halfway house system. Maybe Martin is stuck there for a while.”

  Aisha shook her head. “Martyrs go straight to heaven.”

  “Even the lunatics?”

  “Martin wasn’t a lunatic.”

  Elizabeth softened. “I…didn’t mean him.” Well, she did, but it was not the thing to say. “I meant religious fanatics. Suicide bombers.”

  “They’re not martyrs. And they’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”

  “I take it that your mother hasn’t seen them around.”

  Aisha chewed her lip. “I’m being serious, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sorry. I just wondered…’

  “I did ask her about that. Heaven’s only for those who had love in their hearts. Martin had love in his heart.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Then he’d be there, Elizabeth. But my mother hasn’t found him. I’ll believe that he’s dead when she finds him.”

  And that, thought Elizabeth, turned out to be that. It’s a fairy tale, of course, but try telling that to Aisha. These talks with her mother are dreams, nothing more. But they’re good dreams. They’re nice dreams. No harm in them, probably. There’s a very thin line between faith and delusion, but Aisha isn’t likely to cross it.

  Elizabeth’s car rounded Sea Pines Circle. She turned off on the exit that led to Jump & Phil’s. It was at the end of a group of low buildings that housed other restaurants and shops. The front door and front windows were covered with plywood. Employees were still sweeping up glass from the driveway. Boarded up or not, it was open for business. There were several outdoor tables in a patio area and all of those tables were occupied. An outdoor bar had been set up as well.

  No surprise, she supposed. It was a neighborhood tavern. Its regulars had probably been stopping by all day to hear details of the shoot-out from the owners and staff. But speaking of staff, one of them had been kidnapped. One would think that these locals would be worried about her, but most of them seemed in high spirits.

  And there was Aisha. She was standing with her bike. She was talking to one of the young waitresses. She wore shorts and a tank top, also very un-islamic. Tilted back on her head was a western style hat with a pair of large feathers curling out of the band. It was the hat she’d been wearing when Elizabeth first saw her.

  Back then, her name was Cherokee Blye. Aisha needed an alias; Nadia came up with that one. The idea was to pass her off as an Indian. The Cherokee tribe was indigenous to this area so it didn’t seem that much of a stretch to make her an Indian princess. Language was no problem. She spoke English with barely a trace of an accent. If, on occasion, she were to lapse into Arabic, anyone who overheard her would probably assume that Aisha was speaking in Cherokee. And, in fact, she did learn a little Cherokee.

  New name or not, the bounty hunters found Aisha. But they’re dead and so are the people who sent them. The need for the alias had passed. And that, thought Elizabeth, was too bad in a way. Aisha did look like an Indian princess. And while Aisha Bandari was a perfectly good name, it wasn’t quite as snappy as Cherokee Blye. But at least she still had the hat.

  Aisha had spotted her. She acknowledged her presence with a smile and wave. The smile did not immediately extend to her eyes. Her eyes had an, “Oops, am I in trouble?” sort of glaze. But they brightened quickly. Nadia would be trouble. This was only Elizabeth. And Elizabeth could be wrapped around her finger.

  Oh, really?

  Well, I wouldn’t press your luck if I were you, thought Elizabeth.

  Aisha pushed off and coasted over on her bike. She asked Elizabeth, “Have

  you heard what’s been happening?”

  “The hospital, you mean? And the plane? Yes, I’ve heard.”

  “And Leslie’s okay. She called. She got away.”

  “I…assume you mean the woman who was kidnapped,” said Elizabeth.

  “Leslie Stewart. The bartender. She just called her boss, Jump. She told him she’s fine, just a little beat up, but she didn’t want to say where she is yet.”

  Elizabeth asked her, “How would you know this?”

  “Jump made the announcement a few minutes ago. She’s mostly why all these people are here. They started coming right after she was kidnapped.”

  That announcement would account for the crowd’s relaxed mood. “Why wouldn’t she say where she is?”

  “A female thing, maybe? She wants to clean herself up?”

  “It sounds more like she wants to avoid the police. But why would she if she says she got away?”

  “The FBI agents asked Jump the same thing. He could only repeat what she told him.”

  “The FBI was here?”

  “They’re all over the island. They were after the two who did that shooting last night, but now they’re looking for a whole bunch of people. They were showing some photographs around.”

  “Did you see them? The photographs?”

  Aisha nodded. “We all did. Several men and two women. No one here recognized any of them.”

  “None were of the couple that was in here last night?”

  “No, but his name isn’t Wismer, by the way. The paper got it wrong. His name is Adam Whistler. And the woman who was with him is named is Geller, not Kelly. Jump knows them. They’ve been in here several times.”

  Elizabeth wondered; did the paper get their names wrong? Or did this couple deliberately misspell them, mispronounce them when they gave their names to the police? That wouldn’t have fooled the police for very long, but the media would be slower to catch on. She wondered because that’s what she would have done. It might have given her an edge, time to vanish. And she wondered because this new name was familiar. She knew it from Europe, from her stay at Chamonix. But that Whistler, Harry Whistler, a formidable man, would be in his early sixties at least. She shook off the thought. Coincidence. Nothing more. There must be thousands of Whistlers in the world.

  “These photographs,” said Elizabeth, “do you remember any names?”

&nb
sp; “They wouldn’t give us their names. They wouldn’t tell us much of anything.

  But one of the women looked a little like you. Not a lot, and not as pretty. Just something about her.”

  “A redhead?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Very small?”

  Aisha nodded. “She looked pretty tiny in the photo. Oh, wow. Elizabeth, don’t

  tell me you know her.”

  I just might, thought Elizabeth, but she chose not to say so. She told Aisha, “The police were broadcasting that description in connection with that Forest Beach explosion. Are any of those FBI agents still here?”

  “They got a call and they left, but one said he’d be back. Is it okay if I stay here for a while? It’s not as if this happens every day.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Nadia’s worried about you. Throw your bike in my trunk. I’ll take you back.”

  “She’s not going to worry if she knows I’m with you. Can I buy you a coke? I’ve got money.”

  “I’d…rather not see any FBI agents.”

  Aisha made a small grimace. “I forgot about that. You’re afraid they might recognize you?”

  “Not likely,” said Elizabeth, “but there’s no need to risk it. I’ll buy you a coke back at my place.”

  As Elizabeth drove back to her house on Marsh Drive, she called Nadia to say that she had Aisha with her. It was nearing six o’clock, it would be dinner time soon. Perhaps Aisha could stay and have some leftover lamb? Perhaps she could even sleep over?

  Nadia answered, “I should really say no. That’s twice now that she’s taken off on her own in the midst of all this mayhem that’s been happening.”

  “She won’t be on her own. And we’ll be staying close to home.”

  “Very well,” said Nadia. “I’ll chew her out tomorrow. Anyway, it seems to have quieted down. They’re broadcasting a 10-21 on the scanner.”

  “What’s a 10-21?”

  “It means ‘Return To Base.’ They’re calling in all cars except for a couple that are still at the house that blew up. Oh, and some that are still at the hospital.”

  “Does that mean they’ve rounded up everyone involved?”

  “Well,” said Nadia, “That’s what’s odd about this. Some of the policemen asked the same thing. The dispatcher wouldn’t answer them. All she’d do was repeat the 10-21. When two or three of the policemen complained, she gave all the cars a 10-3 code. 10-3 means ‘Stop Transmitting.’ In other words, ‘Shut up.’”

  “What exactly were they complaining about?”

  “The FBI taking over. Telling them to break off. They said the FBI only has jurisdiction where those two federal fugitives are concerned. They said they think there’s a lot more than that going on. The dispatcher said, ‘You’ve been given an order. You are not to make any arrests.’”

  Elizabeth shrugged. She said she wasn’t surprised. The FBI has a history of grabbing the limelight, especially in cases that are likely to make headlines. But Nadia had a feeling that there was more to it. She said, “The feds can’t just say, ‘We’re here now. Get lost.’ They certainly can’t say, ‘Don’t make any arrests’ when this much local damage has been done.”

  “Sure they can,” said Elizabeth. “They did that two years ago. They put a tight lid on what happened down here. It’s as if it never happened at all.”

  “That was different,” said Nadia.

  “It always is,” said Elizabeth.

  “That time it took someone pretty high up.”

  “It always does,” said Elizabeth. “Look, we’re almost at my house. This is none of our business. Agreed?”

  “I suppose,” Nadia answered. “But aren’t you curious?”

  “A little. Not enough to stick my nose in.”

  “Well, make sure that Aisha gets to bed early. She’s playing in a tournament tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  “And make sure she eats light. No dessert. And no wine.”

  “Nadia…she had a few sips on her birthday. It probably tasted like brake fluid to her. I don’t think she’ll turn into a lush.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t have had any. We’re still Muslims, remember.”

  “I’ll try not to corrupt her, I promise.”

  NINE

  Yes, she was curious. Yes, she’d try to get over it. But that didn’t seem to be working. She and Aisha fixed dinner. After that they played Backgammon. Her mind wasn’t on it. She lost three straight games.

  Her mind was on the names, Whistler and Bannerman and especially on the redhead who’d driven that fuel truck. If Harry Whistler was involved, so, most likely, was Bannerman. Harry wouldn’t have come here from Europe without letting Bannerman know. And if Bannerman was in this, that redhead was Carla. She knew Carla to be one of Bannerman’s deadliest. Cold as ice, no nerves, many thought her insane. The only part that did not seem to fit was the automatic weapon that she was seen carrying while walking out of that burning house. Carla Benedict was known to work with a knife. Or a set of keys. Or the rat tail of a comb. And sometimes with only a thumb.

  Her mind was also on something that Nadia had said. She’d remarked that these people seemed somehow untouchable no matter how much damage they’d done. Bannerman might not have that kind of clout by himself, but no matter, he’d know the people who do and that’s the best kind of clout. She understood that someone very high up must have ordered the police to stand down. And the FBI as well? Someone high up indeed. That might explain why the role of that man in the bar was minimized in the newspaper accounts. And if that man, Adam Whistler, is untouchable as well, he must be related to Harry. His son? She couldn’t recall Harry ever mentioning a son, but much of that period was a blur.

  As for the people in those FBI photos, the way to bet was that they’ve scattered by now. Professionals don’t linger. They hit and they vanish. They were probably no longer on the island. Except Adam Whistler and the woman who was with him. They’d come on a yacht and yachts don’t move quickly. They might have left it, of course, but perhaps they did not. Perhaps they’re still down at the marina. If they are, perhaps some of the others stayed with him. She was tempted to go and see for herself, to get a first-hand look at who’s here. But she wouldn’t because she was going to be sensible. She was going to leave well enough alone.

  She glanced up at her wall clock. She said to Aisha, “It’s your bedtime.”

  Aisha looked up as well. She said, “It’s only nine o’clock.”

  “You’ve had a busy day. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

  Aisha said, “I’m wide awake. One more game.”

  “Um…actually,” said Elizabeth, “I need to run out. I won’t be long, but I want you in bed first.”

  Aisha looked at her oddly. “Why don’t I come with you?”

  “It’s a private matter. I just need to see someone.”

  Aisha lowered her eyes. “I think I should come with you.”

  “Did you hear me say it’s private?”

  She answered, “Yes, I did. May I say something now?” She didn’t wait for Elizabeth to answer. She said, “You’ve been quiet ever since before dinner. I think I know what’s been on your mind and I think I know where you’re going. Elizabeth, I think you know who they are. I think you’re going down to that boat.”

  There’s such a thing, thought Elizabeth, as being too damned perceptive. But okay. “I…might take a quick look.”

  “Will you be taking your blue duffel?”

  “There’s no need for that. I’m just going to look. Nothing more.”

  “There are lots of boats down there. Do you know which one they’re on?”

  She said, “If it’s still there, I’ll find it.”

  “You’ll find it quicker if you take me with you. I know how big, what color, and the name on the transom. I heard Jumpy telling those FBI agents.”

  “So tell me.”

  “I’ll point. I’ll go with you and I’ll point.”

  El
izabeth raised her finger. She said, “I’ll do the pointing. And right now I’m pointing at your bedroom.”

  Aisha did come with her. Elizabeth had yielded. Aisha had reminded her that she’d seen the photos that those FBI agents were passing around. The ones with no names, only faces. That was why she might need Aisha’s eyes.

  That argument, however, was not what persuaded her. She felt sure that she’d recognize at least one of those faces whether she’d seen the photos or not. What did persuade her, although against her better judgement, was the thought that the two of them were less likely to be noticed than if she had gone by herself. A mother and her daughter, out for a stroll. Well, not that perhaps. She’d never pass as Aisha’s mother. Not that anyone would look at them that closely.

  On reaching the complex at Palmetto Bay, she saw that quite a few people were coming and going. Aside from the marina, there were three busy restaurants and a number of shops in the area. She would not have stood out after all.

  Elizabeth cruised the lanes of the parking lot looking for any of the cars that had been mentioned, especially the light brown Ford Taurus. She found a brown Taurus, but she saw two more just like it. A waste of time, she realized. They were probably all rentals. They were exactly the sort that a professional would choose, one that looked like a few hundred others. She found a parking slot near the narrow roadway that led to the launching hoist and the slips. She killed the engine and switched off the lights. “We’ll take a walk down there. Try to act like a tourist. Don’t act as if you’re looking for someone.”

  They took their time. They stopped twice at shop windows. A few real tourists, a few boaters, passed going or coming. When they had gone beyond the lights from the storefronts, Elizabeth began to point out several stars, as if that was why they’d walked down there.

  They reached the twin ramps that led to the slips that were on either side of the launch ramp. In the moonlight, they could see the entire marina. There were a hundred or more boats of all types and sizes, but only a few showed any sign of activity. There were owners in their cabins, watching TV. Others sat on their decks sipping cocktails.

  Two older men were standing near the top of the ramp, both wearing floppy hats, baggy jackets and shorts. The larger of the two men was fishing for crabs, lowering a four-sided trap. He was chatting with the other man who stood further down. The other one was busy filleting a fish at a table built into the railing for that purpose. He was chuckling at something that the bigger one had said. All seemed perfectly normal. People fished there all the time.