It wasn’t until Parsons read further in the man’s bio that he finally saw the connection to the Army. Minnich owned a high-tech company that had received a DoD contract to develop a new type of sniper’s ghillie suit, using dozens of fiber-optic cameras that would render a stationary wearer virtually undetectable.
“A Predator suit?” Parsons mumbled to himself, thinking of the Schwarzenegger movie. In it, an alien wore a suit that projected images from one side onto the other, making him almost invisible.
Just then, Parsons’s intercom buzzed. He pushed the button and said, “What is it, Mike?”
“A Colonel Brash on line two, Mister Parsons.”
Without acknowledging, Parsons picked up the phone on his desk and pushed the flashing button for the call on hold. “SAC Parsons.”
“This is Colonel Walter Brash at the Pentagon, Mister Parsons.”
Knowing that Army couriers used electronic scanners to transmit delivery information, and quickly putting two and two together, Parsons knew why the colonel was calling.
“I’ve only just started to read the bio on the missing couple, Colonel.”
“I’m sending two MPs from Lakeland. They’ll meet you in the morning at the offices of CephaloTech in Miami. You’re instructed to handle this case personally.”
“Contact?”
“The company’s chief operating officer is a woman by the name of Delores Juarez. Are you familiar with Air Force General Clyde Bottoms?”
“Assistant Secretary for Army Acquisitions?”
“Correct,” the colonel replied. “CephaloTech has been working on a project for the last six years, a pet project of General Bottoms. It was he that specifically requested you handle this. The CephaloTech project has gone through initial testing with the 197th at Benning and MARSOC at Lejeune. It’s supposed to be exhibited at a joint services demonstration in less than a month.”
“Is the COO a suspect in the disappearance?”
“That’s for you to find out, Agent Parsons.”
“I’m leaving in five minutes,” Parsons said as his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. “To whom do I report, sir?”
“Report directly to me. My adjutant just sent my contact information to your encrypted sat phone. Use only that to send information. This investigation is top secret. The MPs meeting you are for manpower only.”
“Roger that, Colonel. Anything else?”
“I’m being fed information slowly, Agent Parsons. What I get and when I get it, I’ll forward to your email.”
The line went dead, and Parsons buzzed Cooper in the outer office. “Get in here, Mike.”
When Cooper came in, Parsons tossed him a set of keys and put the Minnich file in his briefcase, snapping it shut.
“Lock up and go home, Mike. I’ll be out of the office for at least the weekend, and the other agents are in the field. Forward the phones to your cell when you leave. If anything comes up on that fraud case, you handle it.”
“Me, Mister Parsons?”
“Who the hell else? We’re short-staffed, and the Pentagon has ordered me to handle this case personally. You know everything going on here and you’re more than capable enough.”
“Thanks, sir. But wouldn’t that be a bit unorthodox? I’m not an investigator. I’m a paper pusher.”
“That might be your MOS, Mike, but you’d have made a good investigator. Don’t worry, the investigation is all but wrapped up. Just waiting for all the pieces to fall into place.”
“I’ll do what needs to be done, Mister Parsons. Where are you going?”
“This missing person’s case involves a company out of Miami with a DoD contract. The Pentagon wants me to handle it, so that’ll be my first stop. I’ll call you on Monday, if I’m not back here already.”
Lifting the briefcase, Parsons opened the storage closet where they kept printer paper and staples, picked up the go bag he always kept there, and headed out to the parking lot. Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of his townhouse.
Never married, Parsons’s home was much larger than he needed. In the past, he’d lived on post, or rented a small one-bedroom apartment near wherever he’d been assigned. He’d heard about this townhouse coming on the market shortly after deciding to retire in Melbourne and had approached the owner. The guy was ecstatic that he wouldn’t have to pay a realtor commission and agreed to the offer Parsons had made him. They’d closed the next week and Parsons had paid cash for the three-bedroom townhouse.
Quickly packing a few other essentials, he went to his closet, took a garment bag containing a cleaned and pressed suit and laid it out on his bed. His go bag contained coveralls, a CID windbreaker, body armor, a backup Colt revolver in an ankle holster, and dozens of investigative tools and materials.
Ten minutes later, Parsons was taking the ramp from Wickham Road to Interstate 95. Merging with the usual slow-moving traffic headed south, he moved to the left lane and brought the big blue Ford sedan up to eighty miles per hour, then set the cruise control. Checking his watch as he passed the one eighty-nine mile marker, he estimated he’d be in Miami by midafternoon. Early enough to catch the head of the company’s operations before she went home for the day. A part of him hoped she’d be eligible for overtime, since his interviews were usually lengthy.
Arriving back at the island, I clicked the key fob, and the doors on the east side of the dock area started to swing open as we tied Knot L-8 off to the pier. Kim wanted to take her skiff out while she was home, and I’d have to juggle some boats around. So I sent her and Linda ahead while I stood staring through the open doors at the boats.
The west side of the dock area held the two larger boats, the forty-five-foot Revenge and the forty-two-foot Cigarette. No room there to swing a cat.
The east side was crowded with five boats, but there might be a way to creatively get everything under cover and not have to use the hoist. The idea of leaving any boat tied to the pier for more than a few hours just didn’t cut it in my mind.
Kim’s skiff was back in the corner, in the hoist above mine. With nearly fifty feet between the rear catwalk and the door, I knew it’d be tight, but one of the eighteen-foot Maverick skiffs could be docked in front of the thirty-foot Cazador. If they were docked bow to bow, there would be just enough room to close the door without crushing the outboard.
The skiff rode much lower and was less beamy than the big Winter inboard. We rarely used Cazador anymore, unless we had to move a lot of stuff. For that, it was perfect. I’d been docking Knot L-8 in front of my skiff since I’d found I liked using her a lot more. The twenty-foot Grady-White was docked with her stern to the rear catwalk, between my skiff and Cazador.
All this meant not having direct egress for my skiff or Cazador, but they were rarely used, so that’s how things would be. At least when Kim was here. She’d really fallen in love with the little Maverick Mirage, just as my late wife had. Sometimes, Kim would spend hours out on the flats to the west, just poling around and exploring.
It didn’t take long to move my skiff out of the way and lower hers, then swing it around in front of Cazador. As I was backing my skiff into the corner, Kim came out on the dock and stood watching, Pescador sitting beside her.
“Start her up and back her in right there in front of me,” I called out to her.
“Me? You want me to back your boat in?”
“You or Pescador,” I replied with a grin. “She maneuvers just like the Revenge. Just a lot more responsive.”
Kim climbed into the wooden boat and started the engines before casting off and shoving the bow away from the pier. Pescador jumped into the forward cockpit at the last minute.
Allowing the boat time to slowly drift out into the small turning basin, she engaged the two engines in opposite directions and Knot L-8 continued spinning.
A moment later, she had her backed in and Pescador jumped out and sat beside me for an ear scratch.
“I can feel the power of those engines through the wood,” K
im remarked, making small talk as she climbed out.
There hadn’t been any more discussion about her change in majors since she’d blurted it out on the way home. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Criminal justice could lead to law school. My daughter, the lawyer, I thought. But I felt pretty certain that wasn’t going to be the case.
“Yep,” I simply replied as I knelt to tie off the bowline. I knew she wanted to talk and just let her get her thoughts sorted.
After tying off the stern, Kim stood up and looked at me a moment before speaking. “Linda suggested I come give you a hand. Guess that was some big news I just dumped on you, huh?”
I just shrugged, letting her come to what she wanted to say in her own time. “I want to do what you, Linda, and Marty do. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“What I do is run a charter business.”
“You know what I mean, Dad.”
I looked up at her as I finished tying off the bowline. “What Linda and Marty do, I might go along with,” I said. “But not what I do.”
“You make people around you feel safe. All three of you. Deuce and Julie, too. I don’t mean all the secret stuff y’all do. More like what Marty does, if that makes sense.”
“You want to be a cop.” I said it as a statement, forcing her to confirm or deny it.
She looked down at the catwalk for a moment and kicked at a small bit of sand there. Finally, she looked up at me and put her hands on her hips. “Fish and Wildlife.”
“Marine Patrol?”
“They’re not called that anymore, Dad.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “You just have such a good head for business, that’s all.”
“I don’t see myself as cubicle material. Busting my butt for someone else, waiting for someone to retire or die, before I could move up the corporate ladder.”
“Not all business is done in cubicles and offices,” I said.
“But business people don’t help others. Not the way Linda does. They don’t draw a line and stand on it, keeping those that would do harm away from people just trying to live their lives.”
“Linda? I thought this was about you and Marty.”
“Maybe some,” Kim said. “But all those weekends last spring, when Linda came down and y’all talked about her work? She’s really an amazing woman.”
I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You won’t get any argument from me on that.”
“Take that phone call she made on the way up here,” Kim said, heading to the door. “Sure, that forensics lady will probably be a big help in Marty’s investigation, but that’s not why Linda did it. She’s like you. Both of you have a deep-rooted need to see that justice is served. You just go about it in different ways. I think I have that need, too. That’s all.”
I clicked the lock button on the key fob, the twelve-volt motor actuating to pull the doors closed, and followed my daughter up the steps to the deck. Pescador bounded ahead of us, going straight to Linda, sitting at the table with Charlie.
I see an awful lot of myself in my youngest daughter. She loves the outdoors, especially the water, and she’d taken to the island and boating lifestyle like a duck to water. As for her morals and motivation, I really feel she follows the same compass that I do.
“What about your scholarships?” I asked as we both sat down with Linda and Charlie. “Are they transferable to this new major?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” Kim replied, taking two bottles of water from a cooler by the table and handing me one. “That’s something I need to talk to you about. Hi, Charlie.”
“Nice to see you again,” Charlie said. “Linda was just telling me about your changing majors. Congratulations.”
“It’s not final yet,” I said.
Kim stared straight into my eyes and said, “Yeah, Dad. It is.”
Looking back at her, I saw one of my own not-so-virtuous qualities looking back. When Kim set her mind to something, she could be more stubborn than an old Missouri mule.
I accepted the defeat the only way I could. Capitulate and negotiate a better outcome. “Okay, I’ll pay for the tuition and books. On one condition.”
Linda smiled and gave me a look of commiseration. She had a son who was a senior at UF.
“What’s the condition?” Kim asked.
“A three point eight grade point average. Drop below that and I’ll turn off the faucet.”
Kim glanced quickly at Linda, who very inconspicuously winked back. “Deal,” Kim said as she turned back to face me and extended her hand. I bypassed the handshake and gave her a hug instead.
Just then, I heard Linda’s cellphone ring. She prefers that annoying, high-pitched old-style telephone ringer for a ringtone. She slid the phone out of the pocket of her jeans and answered it. A moment later she smiled and said, “Yeah, he’s right here.” Extending the phone to me, she said, “For you. It’s Deuce.”
Deuce Livingston is one of my closest friends. His dad, Russ, had been my platoon sergeant way back in the eighties, when Rusty and I were stationed together in Okinawa, Japan. Deuce also happens to be married to Rusty’s daughter, Julie.
Holding the phone to my ear, I spoke with feigned disdain. “What do you want, Squid?”
Deuce had the same hearty laugh and quick wit Russ had had. Unfortunately, he lacked his dad’s strength of character and had ended up a Navy SEAL officer. The interservice rivalry game we played was all in fun. Fact is, Deuce is about the most capable and trustworthy man I’ve ever known.
“I was just telling Julie that we hadn’t had fried grunts in a while and naturally I thought of you, you old worn-out Grunt.”
“Har har. How’re things in the Puzzle Palace?”
Deuce works at the Pentagon. A couple of years ago, he’d been assigned to head up a counterterrorism team, working out of Homestead. He was now the acting deputy director of Homeland Security’s Caribbean Counterterrorism Command, with two teams under his control. He and Julie have been living in DC for several months now.
“We’re coming home,” he said by way of reply.
“Really? That’s great news. I bet Julie’s excited about the visit.”
“Yes, I am,” I heard Julie herself reply. “You’re on speaker, Uncle Jesse. But it’s not a visit. We’re coming home. Packing tomorrow and leaving Sunday morning.”
“Outstanding news, Jules. Why the sudden change? They finally find a suit to fill your position, Deuce?”
“The secretary talked Colonel Stockwell out of retirement, He just told me this morning, and I met with the colonel this afternoon. Turning everything back over to him tomorrow.”
Colonel Travis Stockwell had actually always been the ADD. He’d stepped down a few months back, retiring after forty years of service. At least, that’s the story the DC papers were given. He’d recommended me to take over the position, but that had been a complete nonstarter on so many levels. So, Deuce and Julie were ordered to Washington, he as acting deputy director.
The fact was, Travis worked as my part-time first mate, which gave him lots of free time. During that free time, he was flying all over the Caribbean, directing a young woman that he and the Homeland secretary had turned into an assassin. After I’d figured it out, Travis had disappeared.
Standing, I held up a finger to the others and walked to the top of the stairs at the far end of the deck. “Why do I get the impression that this isn’t a social call?”
I heard a click and his voice became clearer. “Probably because you have very good intuitive powers,” he replied. “You know the colonel’s been living like a retiree, having a good time all over the Caribbean. He picked up word about a contingent of Russian black marketers, camped in the Cay Sal Bank.”
“Big area, Deuce.”
“That’s why I want you to take us there.”
Turning around, I looked back at the three women sitting at the table. They were talking animatedly, probably about Kim’s plan to change majors.
“No chance,” I said.
/>
“You won’t even hear me out?”
A part of me wanted to. The Cay Sal Bank is part of the Bahamas, but the closest land mass of any size is Cuba, just thirty miles to the south of the huge triangular-shaped bank. It was ringed with tiny cays, some completely submerged at high tide. Nobody lived on any of them, unless you count boat bums who anchor there for weeks or months at a time. One of the larger cays would be real convenient for black marketers to operate out of with impunity. The Cuban government encouraged black marketing of just about any kind.
“Be glad to take you out fishing or diving,” I finally said. “But that’s about it, man. Sorry.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then I heard Julie’s voice in the background, but couldn’t make out what she said.
“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “I get it, and to be honest, I don’t blame you. You have it good now and you deserve it.”
“You’re right, I do. I’m forty-six and only now settling down. I’ve reconnected with my kids, have a good woman I get to chase around the bunk from time to time, good friends, and a nice quiet life. I’ve been fighting bad guys for almost three decades, brother. I’m tired.”
“Let’s get together for a beer, then,” Deuce said. “We’re flying into Homestead, arriving just after noon on Sunday. Rusty doesn’t know yet, Julie wants to surprise him.”
“We’ll be there,” I said, grinning. “Want me to open up your Whitby so it can air out a little?”
“If you can do it on the sly, yeah. It’s been closed up for too long. Hope the engine isn’t seized up.”
“Will do,” I said, walking back to the others. “We’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”
He said goodbye, I ended the call and handed the phone back to Linda. “They’re coming home?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yep. For good. Leaving Sunday morning. We’re meeting them at the Anchor in the afternoon, but don’t say anything to Rusty.”
Fallen Tide: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 8) Page 4
