Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “Yes sir, Mister Smith.” I climbed up to the bridge and started the engines. Once both evened out to a quiet burble, I muttered under my breath, “Damned drug smugglers.”

  Deuce and I planned the charade during breakfast, using his generic name, Jason Smith. It was also his boss’s name, but I was pretty sure not his real name. The three of them went up to the bridge while I cast of the lines. Tina and Julie were to play the subservient wife and sister.

  As we motored away from the dock Deuce said, “Would you ladies excuse us? Maybe go powder your noses or whatever you do?”

  “Of course, dear,” Julie said rolling her eyes.

  Once they were below in the salon Deuce said, “Have you given any thought to my proposal from last night, Jesse? I want to land on both feet in West Palm when I move down there. My boss up in New York said that with that Beach character out of the way, there would be room to operate freely.”

  “It’s a generous offer, Mister Smith,” I said. “But, like I told you, I just agreed to work for someone else out of Miami. Wouldn’t look right jumping ship the first week.”

  “What’d he offer you?”

  “Fifty large,” I said, intentionally exaggerating Santiago’s offer. “Once a month, open ended.”

  “I’ll match it,” he said. “Same arrangement, once a month, three thousand pounds out of Freeport. That’s a seventy mile run versus a four hundred mile run, for the same money.”

  “You’ll have to give me some time to think that over,” I said. “Can I call you next week, after I see how the first run with my new boss goes?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It’ll be at least two weeks before I move down there. My sister’s taken quite a shine to you. Maybe she’ll want to leave New York, too.”

  “Why don’t you go below and get ready,” I said. “We’ll be on the reef in fifteen minutes.” Deuce gave me a thumbs up and I pushed the throttles forward, bringing the Revenge up on plane.

  Deuce went below, on the off chance that Isabella Espinoza was watching and listening. Twenty minutes later, we were anchored above the deeper end of Palancar Gardens, our dive flag flying, with two hundred feet of anchor line payed out. We’d agreed over breakfast that after the misinformation session on the bridge, all talk would be about diving and anything else would be written on our slates.

  Once we got in the water, we descended along the anchor line to the sandy bottom at thirty feet and drifted back through the Gardens. Some of the rock spires and cliffs are twenty feet tall here and covered with colorful gorgonian, sea fans, sponges and corals, with a few places you can actually swim through towering arches. There weren’t a lot of tropical fish, but plenty of grouper, parrotfish, and one really large green moray eel. After one swim through, we saw a large, male loggerhead sea turtle swimming along the wall and we drifted along with it, until it dove deeper.

  Tina wasn’t having any trouble keeping her ears clear now and I could tell by her bubbles, she was getting better at managing her air supply.

  We leveled off at fifty feet and drifted along the wall, turning into the current now and then to examine some of the more interesting features. After twenty minutes, Tina swam next to me and showed me her air gauge. She was down to 1000 pounds, so I reached behind me and plucked at the steel ball attached to a rubber hose that’s is wrapped around my tank. The ringing sound it makes can be heard easily for quite a distance.

  Deuce and Julie were swimming ahead of us and turned at the sound. I motioned them it was time to go up. We slowly started up toward the surface. The boat was still down current from us and we angled toward the anchor line, then followed it to the surface.

  Tina squealed and excitedly said, “Did you see that big turtle?”

  “He was something alright,” I said.

  “I could do this every day and never get bored,” she said. “I’ve never seen so much color. How deep were we?”

  “The anchor’s at thirty feet and we passed below the fifty foot mark for a minute or so, near the end.”

  We got back aboard the Revenge, with everyone talking at once. Deuce quickly dried and went into the salon, to check on Tony and Art’s status. Seconds later, he opened the hatch and motioned me inside. The laptop was powered up and showed a view of the terrorist’s camp from the hilltop the men were hiding out on. Sayef was in a smaller screen. Either Tony or Art was operating a parabolic microphone to listen in on the conversation in the camp and the Delta Force operator was translating the conversation in real time.

  “Apparently, the Hezbollah leader is on the phone with Santiago,” Deuce said.

  Over the laptop speaker Sayef said, “It sounds like Santiago is on his way to the camp. Yes, he just asked how far out he is.”

  “Go to satellite imagery and zoom out,” Deuce said. “See if you can pick him up.”

  The image on the screen switched to an overhead shot of the camp, then zoomed way out. Too much, in fact, as half of Florida and the Yucatan were visible.

  “Sorry,” Sayef said. “Miss Koshinski is sleeping. She was up all night monitoring the teams retreat.”

  The picture zoomed in slowly, until only the western third of Cuba was visible. The image tracked north slightly, then zoomed in a little more. The wake of a boat became visible, then the image tightened on it and zoomed in further.

  “It may be him,” Sayef said. “It’s ten clicks out from the bay and closing.”

  The lines of the boat were easily recognizable for me, with its beamy bow, twin outboards and wood deck and trim in the cockpit. “It’s him,” I said. “That’s a twenty-seven foot Winter cuddy cabin. Matches our idea perfectly.”

  “So,” Deuce said as Tina and Julie came into the salon. “Santiago is accompanying the rifle shipment.”

  “He did say he was going to be more hands on, because of the ten pound pot theft,” I said.

  Turning back to the laptop he said, “One of you turn and put eyes on the bay. I want to know for certain if Santiago is arriving on that boat and who, if anyone, is with him.”

  “Wait one,” came Art’s voice. A minute later a third video feed appeared, looking past the makeshift dock and out into the bay.

  “Sayef, can you go split screen?” Deuce asked.

  “I think so, sir,” he said. The second feed went full screen for a second then both feeds filled a half of the screen each. In the distance, a boat could be seen out on the bay. On the other feed activity increased around the arms tent as two men went inside and a third one waited outside. Three other men walked past the tent and went down a trail leading away from the camp.

  “Stay on those three leaving,” Deuce said. The first feed panned to the right and picked up the three men leaving the camp.

  As the boat in the bay drew closer, the camera zoomed in. There were two men in the cockpit, the taller of the two piloting. After a few minutes, I could tell for sure. “That’s Santiago, alright.” The taller man was also broader, maybe 210 pounds and muscled. I remembered Lawrence saying Santiago’s new body guard was close to my size. “I think the other man is his new body guard.”

  The three men from the camp arrived at the dock about the same time as the boat and tied it off. Within minutes they started to unload crates, as Santiago left the dock and walked toward the camp.

  “Try to get sound when Santiago gets there,” Deuce said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a name. Keep the camera on him, too.”

  The sound of footsteps on stone and grass started coming from the speaker, fading in and out. I guessed that whoever was on the mic was trying to stay on Santiago by listening to his footsteps.

  Another man came into the screen, walking toward Santiago. He was wearing camo fatigues and had a gray beard. For an instant I thought it might be Castro himself, but he wasn’t nearly old enough, plus he was wearing a white pagri, a style of turban worn mostly in Pakistan.

  “He’s Pakistani,” Deuce said.

  Over the speaker we heard the man say, “Welcome back, Senor Sa
ntiago. Your accommodations are ready.”

  Even more clearly was Santiago’s response, “My apologies for the delay, Mister Al Fayyad. It is unavoidable, due to the weight. I have found another boat that will handle it and as we agreed earlier, you may keep it.”

  “Keep the Revenge?” I said.

  “Sounds like you’re being double crossed,” Deuce said to me. Then into the mic he said, “Get a freeze frame and try to get a full name through facial recognition.”

  “No need,” said Sayef. “I thought he looked familiar. It’s Syed Qazi Al Fayyad. He’s a Shia cleric from the Punjab province. Suspected mastermind in at least a dozen mass killings all over the world. Mostly through the use of intersecting rifle and RPG attacks on civilian targets.”

  The image of the camp wobbled, then went blank. Over the speaker came a muffled, “Ummph.” Shouting could be heard in the background.

  “Sayef, go to satellite,” Deuce said. It took him a few seconds, but when the overhead image zoomed in, we could see three men with guns surrounding what looked like a bush. Then the bush stood up.

  “Tony and Art, report,” Deuce said.

  “Whoa guys, wait a minute,” Tony said. “This isn’t Jamaica?”

  “Alpha Three,” said Art.

  “Base, kill Tony’s receiver, but leave the transmitter active,” Deuce said. “We’ll get you out, Tony.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” I asked.

  “Looks like Tony’s been discovered,” Deuce said. Then into the mic he said, “Art, we have eyes on you, you’re in the clear. Any way you can get an image on Tony’s pos?”

  “Wait one,” came the whispered reply. Slowly, the image that had been on Santiago and Fayyad moved northward. Finally, it focused on three men escorting Tony, now stripped of his ghillie suit, toward the camp. “Engage?” Art asked eagerly.

  “No,” Deuce said. “Stand down. Tony knows we’ll get him out. We need you to provide intel until then. Sayef, get Chyrel up now!”

  16

  Have Faith

  “I’ll pull the hook,” I said. “We can be there in three and a half hours.”

  “Hold on, Jesse,” Deuce said.

  “What the hell do you mean, hold on?” I said. “They’ve got Al…. I mean Tony.”

  All three of them stared at me. Finally Deuce said, “There’s nothing we can do right now, bro. Let me get a status report from Chyrel. Besides, if we take off now it’ll be mid-afternoon when we get there.”

  Dejected, I sat down. It wasn’t in my nature to be patient. Chyrel came on the screen and said, “Sayef brought me up to speed, Boss. What do you need?”

  Deuce turned back to the screen and said, “I need to know who all is still there and what assets we have there.”

  Chyrel looked puzzled for a second and then said, “Well, everyone’s here, Boss. Bourke and Goodman left early this morning by chopper, but came back with the two boats we had up in Miami.”

  “You mean the Cigarette’s there?” Deuce asked.

  She smiled, as if reading his mind and said, “Yeah. They brought extra gas in the other boat, too. Twelve 20-gallon tanks. All full.”

  Deuce thought for a minute and then said, “That’s a range of about 600 miles in the Cigarette, with the added fuel. But neither it, nor Jesse’s boat, is what you could call stealthy.”

  Rusty’s face leaned into the picture, with a big grin on his face. “Would a ten man Zodiac help?” he asked.

  “Rusty!” I said. “You still have it?”

  “With a brand new 40 horse, muffled Merc,” he said.

  I looked at Deuce and could see a plan starting to form in his mind. “How do we get it here?” he asked me. “Five men, with equipment and twelve fuel tanks is about all that Cigarette can carry.”

  Just then Williams leaned in on the other side of Chyrel, also grinning. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  “Might be, Mister Williams,” Deuce said. “Ever made a water landing in the open ocean?”

  “Does a monkey have a climbing gear?” he said.

  Deuce thought about it for a minute, then switched off the mic on the laptop and turned to me. “How well do you know Williams?” he asked.

  “Well enough,” I said. “He raised two Marines. One’s in Afghanistan right now and Doc vouches for him.”

  Deuce ran his fingers through his hair and said, “If the Cigarette leaves there at 1900 and we leave here at 1600, we could rendezvous twenty miles offshore about 2200. Williams in his Beaver could be there in two hours with the Zodiac.”

  Turning back to the laptop, he switched the mic back on and said, “Mister Williams, what’s your cruising range?”

  “About 500 miles at 150 miles per hour,” he replied.

  “Not enough,” Deuce said. “It’s a 600 mile round trip.”

  “Who says I gotta make a round trip?” Williams said. “I was thinkin’ of doing some bone fishin’ down in Cancun.”

  Deuce smiled and said, “Chyrel, let Doc know he’s on the clock. Tell him, Grayson, Simpson, Bourke and Hinkle to leave there at 1900 in the Cigarette. We’ll send them the rendezvous coordinates when they’re underway. Rusty, get that Zodiac up there. You and Williams bring the Zodiac, with enough scuba tanks to inflate it and rendezvous with us at 2200, I’ll get you the coordinates.”

  Several more faces crowded around Chyrel. Shepherd said, “What about the rest of us?”

  “Stand by there,” Deuce said. “Any more weight aboard Mister Williams plane and he might not make it to Cancun to refuel. Art, you need to make yourself really small, understand? Once we get you and Tony out, the two of you will fly back with Doc.” Nobody needed to be told what the last statements meant. Tony would be tortured for information.

  “So,” Julie said, “What are we supposed to do for the next four hours?”

  “Sounds like Santiago plans to spend the night,” Deuce said. “We have to assume he’s got someone listening in on the bridge and will pass any information to him that’s out of the ordinary. The bug the Cuban woman planted has a battery life of only 36 hours. It’ll be dead about the time we get back to Cuba. Until then he’ll be aware of what we’re doing. Jesse, how are you fixed on weapons? The guys will bring everything they need, but you and I will need a little more than our two side arms.”

  “Got it covered,” I said.

  “Wait,” Tina said to me, “You’re going in too?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Both of you?” Julie asked.

  “Both of us,” Deuce replied. “And no, you two aren’t going.”

  “That’s why you’re having dad come on the plane?” Julie asked.

  “We need him here on the Revenge,” I said. “And you on the Cigarette. Once we shove off in the Zodiac, take both boats at least thirty miles offshore, until we need you to pick us up. Tina’s okay piloting the Revenge, but not if a patrol boat shows up and y’all have to take some evasive action.”

  “What about evasive action in the Cigarette?” Julie said. “I’ve never piloted one of those.”

  “Evasive action in a Cigarette only involves pushing the throttles forward,” Deuce said. “Damn thing has a top speed of almost 100 knots.”

  “I’m not real crazy about you going,” Tina said.

  I looked at her for just a minute, then disappeared into the salon. Lifting the bed sheets, I punched the code into the keypad and pulled the release handle. The bunk slowly raised up. Spinning the combination, I unlocked the large chest inside, removing two boxes, one large and one small. I closed the chest, locked it and pushed the button to lower the bunk back in place. Setting the two boxes on the bunk, I opened the larger one and removed two MTAR-21 assault rifles, manufactured by Israel Weapon Industries and six 30 round magazines. Each rifle was fitted with a suppressor. Opening the smaller box, I took out two boxes of 9x19 Parabellums and started loading the mags.

  Tina came into the stateroom and quietly watched as my hands moved methodically, loading each
magazine. “Your wife was kidnapped and killed by terrorists?” she quietly asked.

  “Yes,” I said, loading the next magazine. “Raped and beaten to death.”

  She quietly turned and left the stateroom. When I had the mags loaded, I picked up the two rifles and the magazines and went back into the salon. I handed one of the rifles and three mags to Deuce. Julie and Tina were sitting on the couch and neither looked very happy. “Saturday night,” I said.

  “Rock and roll,” added Deuce. “Let’s head back to the hotel, turn in the tanks, refuel and check out. Remember, no talking on the bridge.”

  An hour later, we climbed back aboard the Revenge and were underway. Our plan was to rendezvous with the rest of the landing team twenty miles out from Guadiana Bay, then land in La Fe in the Zodiac at 2300. There hadn’t been much talk on the bridge, but not because of the bug. Both women were upset that Deuce and I would be leading the extraction. Julie knew better. I guess I should have cut Tina some slack, but the truth is, I was suddenly feeling more alive than I had in several months. Along with that realization came another. Four months ago, hunting down Alex’s killers had made me feel more alive than anything since I’d left the Corps. We called it ‘the jazz’, that adrenaline rush that came with every new mission.

  We were on autopilot and running at thirty knots. A little faster than optimum cruising speed, but barely noticeable. That is, unless you watched the fuel usage gauge. We were burning about 75 gallons of fuel every hour. With the addition of the two 100 gallon fuel bladders, we’d barely have enough to get home.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I reached down, felt around and found the bug. I pulled it free and simply tossed it overboard. “Okay, let’s have it,” I said.

  Both women saw me toss the bug and they both suddenly started venting about the upcoming mission, Tina more vocal than Julie. Deuce had missed seeing me toss the bug and his eyes went wide, pointing at the spot where it had been, under my seat.