Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series)

by Wayne Stinnett

  He looked at me and said, “Fire away.”

  “If you could change anything, what is it you’d like to do more than anything else in this world?”

  “To serve my country,” he replied without thought. “But, since you know my dad you probably know that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” I said with a grin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know a few people. A few people in places of power.”

  He leaned across the table and said, “Marine or no, you jerk my chain and I’ll kick your ass.”

  I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m not jerking your chain. The paperwork has already been processed. Tank initiated it. It’s sitting on the SecNav’s desk, as we speak. Wanna go to DC?”

  He sat back in his chair and I could see he was thinking about it. “There’s just one catch,” I said. “The SecNav will sign the paperwork changing your discharge to honorable, restoring your rank and removing all mention of the incident outside Ashraf, but only if you don’t pursue back pay. Once it’s changed, you have all the rights that go with it.” Then I leaned forward and added, “Including reenlistment.”

  He looked up sharply at that. “And all I have to do is agree to that, come up with the money to go to DC and sit down with the freaking Secretary of the Navy? I just spent every nickel I had to bury Pop.”

  “All expenses are covered to get you up there and then on to Camp Lejeune. Do you know Colonel Tom Broderick?”

  “I’ve heard of him. Never met him, though.”

  “He’s an old friend of mine and Tank’s. Currently the CO of 2nd Marines. His Regimental Sergeant Major, Mike Latimore, is another old friend of mine and Tank’s. If you agree to the SecNav’s conditions, you can reenlist right then and there. As a favor to me and Tank, Tom will request you be assigned to Wounded Warrior Barracks at Camp Lejeune to undergo a psych evaluation and maybe work with some of the other guys who’ve been injured. Tank works there and has made it his mission to create a Wounded Warrior Regiment, so injured guys that want to stay on active duty can. Within a month, he’ll have you reassigned to 2nd Force Recon Company at your old rank if that’s what you want.”

  “How’s this possible?” Jared asked. “And why’re you doing it?”

  “It’s a long story, Jared. But, the short of it is, the guy who railroaded you was a thorn in the side of his higher ups and it’s come to light that he used undue influence in having you discharged. As to why? That’s easy, Marine.” I lifted my beer bottle and said, “Semper Fi.”

  He raised his and clinked the bottles together. “Always faithful.”

  “To God, country, and Corps. But, mostly to each other.”

  We talked a while longer and had another shot. Then Jared asked, “What did you mean by all expenses are covered?”

  “I created a trust fund several months ago, to help out injured Vets. I think this qualifies. You can pay me back by picking up Sergeant in the next two years and being the leader that Tank seems to think you are.”

  He extended his hand across the table and said, “Deal.”

  We agreed that the sooner the better and planned to go to DC the following weekend, so he could give a week’s notice at his work. Then we ordered another beer and I called Lawrence to pick us up. He was just pulling to the curb when we walked out. Once we got into the cab I told Jared, “Call your dad, okay? Let him know what’s going on. I’ll arrange the flight for next Saturday.” I gave him my satphone number and told him to call me anytime.

  After dropping Jared at his house, Lawrence took me back to the marina. When I unlocked the salon I saw a light on my phone flashing. It was where I’d left it on the settee. I checked it and saw that I had a text message from Deuce, telling me to call him as soon as I could. I called him and he picked up on the first ring.

  “The Coast Guard chopper recovered a body,” he said.

  “Did you get any details?”

  “White male, about 30, just under six feet tall and about 180 pounds. Dark hair and eyes. Sounds like it fits the guy at the Anchor.”

  “And about ten million others. I’ll trust what Julie said, though. She’s always had an eye for faces.”

  “Jesse, they got fingerprints and IAFIS got a hit almost immediately.”

  “I thought those super computers took hours,” I said. “Who was he?”

  “Ex-CIA, left the Clandestine Service three years ago. Name’s Richard Stolski.”

  “CIA? I don’t get it. Why would a CIA spook, ex or not, want to kill the President?”

  “Feeb’s are working on that,” he said, meaning the FBI. “Apparently it was a rental boat. They found his car at Garrison Bight Marina, where he rented a 23 foot Sea Fox. Paid cash for four days. That was on Friday.”

  “Damn,” I said. “When we left the Anchor early Saturday morning, remember the boat that was docked close to the bow? I’m pretty sure it was a Sea Fox.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Maybe the President wasn’t the target,” I said.

  There was silence on the other end for a moment. Finally Deuce said, “Ex-CIA? Shadowing you, me, or both of us? I don’t like where that takes us.”

  “What else did the Coastie investigators tell you?”

  “Actually, they didn’t tell me anything. Julie got all the information. The car was a rental, too. Rented in Miami using a cloned credit card. They said it looked like more than one person had been in the car. Half full drinks of different kinds in two cup holders.”

  I gave that a few seconds thought and said, “He had a partner. And he’s still out there. We need to find this guy, Deuce. Most riki tik.”

  “There’s absolutely nothing to go on. The car and everything in it was either wiped down, or they wore gloves the whole time they were in it.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “That’s it for now. The Feeb’s are collecting background data on the guy. Colonel Stockwell says they agreed to share whatever they come up with, but with the guy being ex-CIA, that agreement has probably already sailed.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “you’re probably right. I’m guessing you already have Chyrel working on it?”

  “Good guess. Actually, we’re here at the Anchor waiting for her. When she gets here, we’re taking her and all her equipment up to the island. She’s going to set up shop in one of the bunkhouses. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” I said. “Good idea, in fact. Is there anything she needs?”

  “I doubt it. She’s coming down in the van and bringing a ton of equipment.”

  I thought for a moment and came to a decision. “I was going to stay here tonight, but the Revenge is just too big a target. I’ll be up there in a couple of hours.”

  I ended the call and headed up to the bridge. I started both engines and waited until they quieted to an even, low burble. Then I climbed down to the dock to cast off the lines. A few minutes later, I was idling out of the marina and into the channel. This whole thing had me kind of rattled. Why was an ex-spook after us? Or was he really after the President? How could he have known the President was going to be aboard? Right now, we had more questions than answers.

  That’s where Chyrel Koshinski would come in. As a former CIA computer analyst, she had no equal. As a hacker she didn’t even have any close competition. She was able to not only hack into secure computer systems that had security protocols, she could do it without being detected. If anyone could dig up anything on Stolski, she could.

  I turned on the radar, sonar and both the VHF and UHF radios. Then, being certain there were no other boats ahead, I pushed the throttles forward. The big boat responded as always, settling low in the stern and the bow lifting slightly. A few seconds later, she was up on plane and I turned west, toward the setting sun. There were storm clouds out there and the sun was just disappearing behind them. It looked like we would probably get a little rain tonight.

  Before I made the turn at Whi
tehead Spit, at the western tip of Key West, I scanned the channel, checked behind me and double checked the radar. There were no ships in the channel, but there was a boat heading west about two miles behind me. Not one to take chances, I pushed both throttles to the stops and increased speed to 45 knots as I shot across the shipping channel and turned north toward Northwest Channel. I kept the throttles wide open all the way north to Middle Ground, then on northwest until I was off Calda Banks. I turned due north there, out of the channel, between the Banks and the Northwest Channel jetty, knowing that there was at least seven to twelve feet of water, all the way to the open Gulf.

  Once past the five fathom line, I turned northeast toward home, but kept the engines at full throttle. Half an hour later, the Harbor Key Bank light was in view and I made straight for it. There were no boats behind me, so I brought the speed back down to 25 knots. It was nearly low tide, so I couldn’t take the shorter route through the narrow gap between Upper Harbor Key and the Content Keys. I kept going to the entrance to Harbor Channel, where I brought the Revenge down off plane and idled the short distance home in the gathering darkness.

  When I clicked the key fob to open the door, I was pleasantly surprised to see a low wattage light come on inside. I’d been planning to add one, wired to the release mechanism. As usual, Carl had been a step ahead of me. Once the boat was backed up under the house and the door closed, I shut down the engines and was greeted by Pescador on the narrow dock. “Hey, buddy,” I said as he sat down on the dock, wagging his huge tail. “Did you miss me?” He barked once, which I took as a yes. I always imagined he could understand everything I said.

  The Cazador was docked on the far side, so I knew Deuce, Julie, and Chyrel would be here. The Grady White was gone, though. I assumed Trent or his wife were out fishing. Deuce and Julie met us at the top of the steps up to the deck.

  “We just got here 15 minutes ago,” Deuce said. “Weren’t expecting you for another half hour.”

  “Guess I’m getting paranoid in my old age. A boat was tailing me south of Key West about a mile behind me, so I hammered the throttles all the way to Sawyer Keys. Where’s Chyrel and the Trents?”

  “Setting up her equipment in the east bunkhouse. Carl’s going to partition off part of it later, so she doesn’t have to sleep on your boat again. Dawson and Tony are helping him plant right now and his wife and kids are staying in town tonight.”

  “Plant?”

  “Yeah, the system is ready and he picked up some tomato plants to start things off. He has a thousand baby crawfish on order and they should arrive tomorrow. That’s why Charlie and the kids are down in Marathon. They’re planting 10 tomato plants now.”

  “Let’s go check it out,” I said. As we started walking toward the rear steps I asked Julie, “Anything new from your contact at the Coast Guard?”

  “No, nothing at all. Seems they’ve suddenly become tight lipped. How’d things go in Key West, with David’s son?”

  “Really well. He’s a sharp kid. He agreed to go to DC, but has to give notice at his job first.”

  Reaching the bottom of the steps, I saw Tony, Dawson, and Trent working on the aquaculture system. It was easy to see that Tony had taken charge. He grinned as I walked up and said, “Hey, Jesse. How’s it hanging?”

  “Good, Tony. You must have a green thumb all the way up to your elbow.”

  “Grew up on a farm in North Carolina, man. Couldn’t wait to get away from there. That’s why I joined the Navy. Can’t get much further from a farm than out on the ocean. Now, it’s all I can do to keep from thinking about growing stuff. How weird is that?”

  “What about you Jeremy?” I asked.

  “City boy,” he said. Then he grinned and added, “But I always liked playing in dirt.”

  “We got everything running, Jesse,” Trent said. “Tony’s come up with some great ideas. We went ahead and bought some dissolvable nitrate and added it to the water, to jump start the tomatoes. All the pumps and filters are working perfect. Gonna put some baby crawfish in here tomorrow.”

  “How long does it take them to mature?” Tony asked.

  “About four months in the wild,” Trent said. “Found that out at the library. We might be able to shorten that to two or three months, here on the island. I’ll know more when Chyrel gets me hooked up to the interweb and I can do some more research.”

  “So, we could have a Cajun boil by the end of summer?” I asked.

  “In theory, yeah. We have a little more work to do before we can start breeding them. They burrow when the females lay eggs. I’ll have to get some Louisiana clay for the bottom of the brooding area. I figure after the first hatching, we can harvest about half of them and leave a few hundred for brood stock.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Speaking of Chyrel, I need to see her. You guys should knock off for the night.”

  “Just want to get these plants in,” Tony said. “Chyrel’s in the east bunkhouse.”

  I left them and walked across the clearing toward the two bunkhouses. Pescador trotted ahead and disappeared between the bunkhouses, headed for the pier. Things were finally coming together here on my little island. I reached the bunkhouse and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Chyrel said. I opened the door and was amazed at all the electronic equipment she’d brought. She was dressed in baggy shorts and a tank top, with an unbuttoned work shirt over it and her glasses pushed up on her forehead. She was behind a makeshift table, loaded with computers, monitors, and probably ten miles of wire and cable.

  “Hey Jesse, how’ve you been?”

  “Good, thanks. Wow, how did you get all this stuff here?”

  “It looks like a lot, but it’s not. I had it all boxed up and Deuce brought it out on the boat. I should have everything ready to go in an hour. Thanks for letting me come out here to work. I really like it out here.”

  “Anything that helps to find the other guy and who’s behind them. Hey, I want to give you something,” I said as I reached into my pocket. I handed her a cashier’s check made out to her, for $25,000. “This is for your help in finding the wreck.”

  She looked at it and said, “I can’t take this. What I did was nothing.” She started to hand it back, but I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  “It’s yours. Deuce told me you did all the research on your own time. You deserve it.”

  She looked at it again then looked back at me and smiled, “Well, I would like to buy a little boat. Something like that little blue one of yours.”

  “A flats skiff? I didn’t even know you fished.”

  “Whatever it’s called,” she said. “It just looks cool and goes really fast.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Then you should go see a guy on Big Pine, by the name of Skeeter. Trent can take you. Tell him I sent you and he’ll fix you up right.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said as she put the check in her pocket. “Now, get out of here so I can work.”

  I left her to her work and joined Deuce, Julie, and Tony at the table outside. I could hear Trent behind the bunkhouse, hammering. The partition would be nothing more than a twenty foot by seven foot wall. He must be building it outside, so as not to disturb Chyrel.

  Julie had a laptop, a notepad, and several file folders she was reading by the light of a kerosene lantern hung on a rod above the table. Now and then she made a note on the pad. Night had fallen and there was little sound, except the gentle lapping of the small waves against the mangrove roots to the east. Tony and Deuce were sitting backwards at the other table, leaning against the table top and staring up into the star filled sky.

  “Working on your class, Jules?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I have it about ready to present to the Colonel. I’m trying to make it so it’s not only useful information and practical implementation, but fun also.”

  “Good idea. Having a good time while training, always seemed to make the training stick for me.”

  I sat down next to Deuce and Tony and followed thei
r gaze toward the heavens. “You know,” Tony pondered, “out on the water like this, seeing so much more of what’s out there, really makes a person feel pretty insignificant.”

  “That it does,” Deuce responded.

  “You think Chyrel will be able to dig something up?” I asked.

  Deuce chuckled. “All her equipment has battery backups. When she fires everything up, it’ll put a drain on the islands main battery system almost immediately as it all goes into recharge mode and the generator will kick on. I predict that fifteen minutes after that, she’ll come out here with some news.”

  Just then, as if on cue, we could just make out the sound of the generator starting through the trees. I glanced back to the bunkhouse and saw the unmistakable blue glow of computer monitors. I noted the time on my watch to check Deuce’s prediction.

  Chapter 10: Second Attempt

  Deuce was close. Chyrel came out with two folders after only ten minutes. “You guys aren’t going to believe this.” She handed Deuce and me a folder. “I made two copies.”

  We all walked over to the other table where the light was better and sat down. I opened the folder and looked at the first sheet, with Tony looking over my shoulder. It was background on Stolski. He’d been an agent with the CIA for nearly ten years, moving from one country to another every year or two. When he left the Clandestine Service, he apparently did some work as a mercenary, even a few contracts for the Agency, itself.

  The second page was a list of known accomplices and other agents he was close to that had also left the Agency. Each one had a picture and a short bio. The one at the top stood out, as he had left the Agency at the same time as Stolski. Kyle Parker had also worked with Stolski in four different countries over a span of three years with the Agency.

  “Parker,” Deuce said.

  “He’d be my guess, too,” I countered.

  I flipped to the next page. Apparently, Chyrel had become adept at reading Deuce’s mind. It was Parker’s full bio. I glanced up at her and she grinned. Parker had also been hired as a freelance operator by the Agency a number of times. He had a strong background in explosives, too. Something else struck me then. I flipped back to Stolski’s bio and put them side by side. Both men had been hired by the Agency for freelance work a number of times each the year following their leaving the Agency, but neither in the last two years.