by Bob Mayer
“And you?” Riley asked Sarah. “As far as Preston is concerned, you’re dead. You can walk away clear and free.”
“I could,” Sarah said. But she didn’t move.
“All right.” Riley said. “I know the spot where the meeting is going to take place. Here’s the plan.”
Chapter Fifteen
Gator cradled his gear in a waterproof case, made sure the 12 foot tow line was attached to it, and then pushed himself off the dive platform on the rear of the Fina as the boat kept moving up the waterway between the mainland and Pinckney Island. He was tossed about in the boat’s wake, before the water settled.
Gator peered through the dark and island and spotted a small glow through the trees in a lagoon. Bad light discipline.
He rolled onto his back and began finning toward the light, his gear being pulled along behind him on the line.
He was in a good mood because action was pending.
* * *
Sarah Briggs and Kate Westland slid over the side of Riley’s zodiac into the dark water off the south end of Daufuskie Island with their gear in waterproof bags. They bobbed in the water, both gave him a thumbs up, then began swimming toward the beach.
* * *
Preston Gregory sat in the back of the Town Car. There was a black Range Rover leading the convoy and one behind his car. Each held four men, part of Pappano’s crew of former agents, soldiers and criminals.
Technically, given the things they’d already done, they were all criminals now, but Preston didn’t see it that way. He’d studied history and power and had come to the conclusion that laws were for the masses; not the elite. Rules were made to be broken.
Pappano sat across from him, a little white ear-piece in place, the crackle of updates from the other two cars and the boat occasionally breaking the silence.
He almost felt like he was back in the Service, part of the Presidential motorcade. And there was a part of him, deep inside, that had a feeling that one day Preston Gregory might be riding in such.
They were heading off Hilton Head on Route 278. But not to the mainland. They passed over the Intracoastal and while the bridge headed over another arm of water to the mainland, they too an exit onto the island that was between the northern part of Hilton Head and the mainland: Pinckney Island.
As they circled underneath the bridge, they passed a small, empty parking area and came to a metal gate. One of the men hopped out of the lead Range Rover and unlocked the gate. The three vehicles passed through, and then halted, while the trail man locked the gate behind them. They were now in the National Wildlife Refuge.
It was still dark out, dawn still a half hour away.
“How far is the boat?” Preston asked, eager for the day to get underway.
“Not far,” Pappano said. “It’s secure in a lagoon. And once we get underway, it won’t take long to get to Daufuskie.”
“The prisoners?”
“Secure.” Pappano hesitated, but then asked: “Sir. What is your ultimate plan for them? They’re going to recognize you, unless you’d like me to have them blindfolded before we arrive? But after that?”
“You’re worried they can identify you and your men,” Preston said as they drove on the dirt track deeper into the Wildlife Refuge.
“Partly. The reality is—“ once more he stopped.
“The reality is,” Preston said, “that we’re better off with them dead. And so they shall be. Today we close out this chapter and open a new one with the board clear.”
* * *
Kono was talking into the radio, speaking in Gullah, which Dillon could only partially translate. Someone replied in the same, and then Kono turned the wheel, heading the Fina west.
“What are you doing?” Dillon asked. “Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht will be coming down the coast.”
“We have to pick someone up first,” Kono said.
The dark mass of the shoreline was directly ahead. It was completely dark, indicating no houses or docks; no sign of civilization at all. Until a small light flashed.
“There is our friend,” Kono said.
Dillon didn’t ask any more questions, knowing he was along for the ride and at the discretion of Kono. He was still trying to sort through this mess, but it always looped back to Preston Gregory and his insane desire for power.
Or perhaps not so insane, given he’d gotten, and kept, the upper hand so far.
Kono slowed the patrol boat down as they came up on the source of the light: an old man with a long white beard, sitting in a row boat, holding a flashlight.
“Help,” Kono simply said as he throttled down and then went to the side where the row boat was. Together, he and Dillon helped the old man on board, then Kono used a small winch to lift up and secure the rowboat on the fantail.
“Dillon, this is Tear.”
The old man stuck out his hand and Dillon shook it, feeling the calluses of decades of hard work.
Without another word, Kono climbed back to the cockpit, with Dillon and Tear following. Kono pointed down at the small, glowing screen. “This here,” he said, tapping a triangular red dot, “will be Mrs. Jenrette.”
And then he opened up the engines, heading in that direction.
* * *
The sniper was waiting on the Little Bird helicopter at Hunter Army Airfield, having been alerted by Westland twenty minutes ago. She was a bit irritated the crew wasn’t here yet, but then again, they were Army and even in Special Ops, an alert before dawn on a weekend took a little tie to respond to.
A truck pulled up and the pilot and co-pilot exited. They nodded at her, having learned not to ask any questions or even say hello.
This was business and while they had little clue why they were flying a woman with a sniper rifle around the Low Country, the two grizzled warrant officers had flown enough mission with Task Force 160, the Nightstalkers, in enough strange places around the world, to accept it was what it was.
The sniper made sure her monkey harness was secure, checked that the sling to her rifle was firmly attached to harness (what was commonly known in Ranger School as a ‘dummy cord’) and then settled down.
“Where to?”
“How long will it take us to get to Bloody Point on Daufuskie?” she asked.
Interestingly, since Savannah was several miles up river from the coast, Daufuskie lay almost due east as the bird, and the helicopter, flies.
“Six minutes.”
“Good enough,” the sniper said. “How long from a cold start?”
“Not much longer if we don’t make it a cold start,” the pilot said. “We can crank the engine every so often and keep it ready. Save fuel by shutting down in between.”
“That’s the plan for now.”
* * *
Hannah looked at the text message from Westland and sat up in bed. She swung her feet over, touching the tile floor, collecting her thoughts. She had a lot more going on than events in the Low Country but she had the capability to compartmentalize and right now, this is what needed to be dealt with. She quickly threw on some clothes and left her small living area and went into her office.
For a moment, but only a moment, it struck her how silent and austere the place was. How the only light came from the overheads. No windows. Not even a plant to throw a little color into things.
Then she dismissed the thought.
She sat at her desk and looked at the two files Doctor Golden had left with her. Sitting side by side. Sarah Briggs and Preston Gregory. One person whose trajectory had already burned out. The other thinking they could reach the highest possible positions of power.
Hannah picked up a file in each hand. As if weighing them against each other.
Chapter Sixteen
As far as she knew, Mrs. Jenrette was heading to a business meeting, not showdown, but she didn’t trust Preston Gregory as far as she could run, and since she could barely walk these days, that wasn’t very far.
“We have company,” she said, peering out of the glass of the wheelh
ouse.
“Kono’s boat,” Thomas said. He’d earned a captain’s license many, many years ago, working on the shrimping boats. And he took Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht out every so often; he liked to say for maintenance, but he was truly at peace on the water and sailing through the waterways of the Low Country. He knew this area almost as well as Kono did. His family had lived here for generations, indeed as long as Mrs. Jenrette’s.
“What do you make of this, Thomas?” Mrs. Jenrette asked.
“I think things are going to become very difficult. We should have brought more men.”
Mrs. Jenrette hadn’t wanted anyone but Thomas with her. “This is between you and me,” she said.
“Not any more,” Thomas said.
Dawn was breaking over the ocean as Kono gently pulled the Fina alongside her yacht. The shoreline was about two miles away, the white sand brightly lit from the sun’s rays, the lush greenery a sharp contrast just behind the beach.
“It’s a glorious morning,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “I am going to miss this most of all.”
Thomas was looking down at the patrol boat.
“Mister Dillon is with him. And our old friend, Tear.”
“I hope Mister Dillon has some answers.”
Thomas leaned over from the wheelhouse and waved them aboard, greeting the old man in Gullah. Dillon followed up the stairs. Kono pulled his boat away a safe distance.
“Welcome,” Thomas said. Then he nodded at the patrol boat a hundred yards off their port side. “Hard man,” he said to Tear.
The old Gullah nodded. “Hard, but has a good heart.” He turned toward Mrs. Jenrette. “We must talk to you about your grandson and what waits at Bloody Point.”
* * *
Preston Gregory sipped a cup of coffee as he considered Harry Brannigan and Doc Cleary. Both were seated on a couch across from him. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs and two guards flanked Preston, weapons at the ready. The boat’s engines were rumbling and they were heading south, crossing underneath the Route 278 bridge which connects Hilton Head Island to the mainland.
“Your father has been looking for you,” Gregory said to Harry. He shifted his gaze to Doc Cleary. “Have you told him about his father?”
“I have.”
“Does it bother you, Harry,” Preston said, “that your father was never in your life?”
“He was never in my life,” Harry said, “because he didn’t know I existed until recently.”
Preston frowned. “But, Doc, you knew about Horace Chase all these years.”
“I didn’t know he was Harry’s father until two years ago,” Doc said. “When Harry came to the island. And I only found about because his grandmother, Lilly, told me. She’d known all along.”
Preston chuckled. “Family intrigue. So Horace’s own mother didn’t connect father to son.”
“She had her reasons,” Doc said. “And I trusted her.”
“And now,” Preston said, “here we are. Heading for a family reunion of sorts.” He acted like a thought had just struck him. “Oh. Perhaps Lilly was right, since your mother is dead, Harry. Shot by an associate of your father. Quite the mess.”
Harry said nothing, absorbing that news without expression.
Preston laughed. “I see your short time as a rat did teach you a few things. Very nice and stoic.”
Doc Cleary peered at him over his rimless glasses. “’The pleasure of those who injure you lies in your pain. Therefore they will suffer if you take away their pleasure by not feeling pain’.”
“Did you make that up, old man?” Preston asked.
Harry spoke. “Tertullian. A Carthaginian author.”
“So the two of you weren’t just staring at the sea gulls while you were sailing around,” Preston said. “Impressive. I imagine you could rattle off a bunch of brilliant sayings. But my take on it? Make up your own shit. Don’t use the words of others. Be original.”
“Why are you wasting our time?” Doc Cleary asked. “Where are we going?”
“Daufuskie Island,” Preston said. “Your father should be there, Harry. You’ll get to say hello and thank him for killing your mother. Should be quite interesting.”
“Screw you,” Harry said. “Doc did tell me about my father while we were at sea. I think you’ve gotten in too deep this time, Preston. I think you have no idea what you’re up against. You act the big shot when you have the system working for you. When you can haze rats, or your father’s political power behind you. What’s coming for you now is—“
Preston cut in. “A man who can’t even be a father.” He stood up. “We’re almost there. And by the way, Harry. Maybe I’m not the person you should be worried about. We’re meeting Mrs. Jenrette there.”
Doc and Harry exchanged a glance.
“Feeling a smidge of pain?” Preston asked. “Fear?”
“We’ll tell her the truth,” Doc said. “That you killed her grandson.”
“She’s had a while believing the story everyone else told,” Preston said. “I don’t think you’re going be able to change her mind.”
* * *
“It’s the truth,” Dillon said.
Mrs. Jenrette was very still. She was seated in the seat next to the captain’s chair She hadn’t said a word since Dillon began relating events since he was last with her in Charleston.
Finally, she spoke. “Thomas?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you believe him?”
Thomas looked to Tear. “What say you?”
Tear was also seated on a bench to one side, hand folded on his beard covering his belly. “I know Merchant Fabrou is dead. His son is dead. Word is heart attack and suicide. Word under the word is dark deeds. This Farrelli. He is dead too. Heart attack. There, the word under the word is murder. All points to Gregory boy. But no one will face him down.”
“They’re afraid of his father,” Mrs. Jenrette said.
“They’re afraid of him,” Dillon corrected. “I think he’s more dangerous than his father.”
“If he killed Greer . . .” Mrs. Jenrette didn’t finish the sentence.
“And Mister Rigney has disappeared,” Thomas added.
“That man has no spine,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “You were right about him, Thomas. You were right about many things. And I’ve been very wrong. My grief has clouded my mind.”
“Pain does that,” Tear said. “You and I. We know that.”
“We met many years ago,” Mrs. Jenrette said to him.
“I remember,” Tear said. “You showed me kindness when I was in pain for a long time. Sunk deep in my own grief. As did you, Thomas.”
Mrs. Jenrette turned to Thomas. “Have you spoken to Tear, to anyone, about my plan?”
“No, ma’am. You know I would never speak outside of us, especially about Sea Breeze.”
Mrs. Jenrette was lost in thought for a few moments. “So Harry Brannigan and Doc Cleary will be on Daufuskie.”
“Most likely,” Dillon said. He then proceeded to tell her the best summation they’d come up with concerning Preston Gregory’s plan for the day.
When he was done, Mrs. Jenrette nodded. “And I assume your friends, Misters Riley and Chase have a plan of their own?”
* * *
Preston’s yacht eased up to an old pier, just west of Bloody Point, that was in a secluded inlet. They were an hour and a half early. By design. A half dozen of Poppano’s men deployed, running a perimeter sweep, weapons at the ready, around the dock and the abandoned golf course that lay just inland.
Once they were certain the area was clear, four of them spread out, establishing a perimeter. That left Preston with four guards, including Poppano, to handle the meeting.
Preston Gregory went up to the bridge of his yacht and sat down in the captain’s chair. Poppano stood behind him, listening to the reports from his security.
“We’re secure, sir,” he reported.
* * *
“Let’s go,” the sniper order
ed and the Little Bird lifted off from Hunter Army airfield.
* * *
Mrs. Jenrette had experienced much in her ninety plus years. She’d witnessed lynchings as a young girl, both in the city and out in the countryside, where crowds cheered and jeered and only a handful of people turned away in disgust. Many fought to take part in it, both before and after, literally cutting ‘souvenirs’ off the corpses. After seeing something like that, she’d learned never to underestimate the cruelty and evil humans were capable of.
She’d also come of age during the lawlessness of prohibition, where many currently wealthy families had earned their first fortune breaking the law. She knew that capitalism dictated a reality much different than the mirage of democracy; and she also knew that the United States had never been a democracy. A republic at best in its early days, it had begun the slide into something very different in just decades; a similar slide which had taken Rome centuries. But the end results would be the same. Now she wasn’t sure where things stood and she feared for the future, because despite her disdain for the Stars and Stripes over Fort Sumter, she believed in her country.
She’d known Senator Gregory for decades and while he wasn’t the most ethical (she wasn’t sure any politician could be), he was nowhere near the depth of depravity and danger of his son now that she finally understood.
“Thomas.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was looking forward, drawing a long arc around the shallow sandbars off of Hilton Head’s beaches.
“I fear this boy is evil. Rigney said Preston would sell his half to me for the right amount. I fear that was a lie.”
“Most likely,” Thomas agreed.
“He has done very bad things,” Tear said.
Dillon had left the boat before they came in sight of Hilton Head and was with Kono, waiting, just over the horizon. Thomas turned the wheel and they headed landward.
