by S A Monk
Kurt raised both his hands. “Whoa! I don’t think I want to hear this, bud. If you didn’t get the proper clearances, it could compromise a prosecution later.”
“Fine. You didn’t hear anything, because I didn’t say it, did I, Hanna?”
She looked at him and shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “How you two private citizens get this information you’re sharing with me is your business. Understood?”
“Perfectly.” Nick grinned crookedly. “But I can count on you to do a little surveillance with me if I need it, can’t I?”
“As long as it doesn’t entail illegal entry. I’m not in Force Recon anymore. Now, I gotta follow the rules, so we don’t blow prosecutions.”
“Okay. Think of me as an informant then,” Nick advised him. “Don’t worry about how I get the information.”
“So where is this heroin coming from?” Hanna asked quietly from her chair. “And what is the Chinese Triad?”
Kurt answered her. “The Chinese Triad is a large, powerful, crime organization, a syndicate that operates out of the Golden Triangle— the Asian countries Nick mentioned. They’re organized into gangs, and they control most of the world’s heroin traffic. In this country, they are really strong along the East and West coast. They operate out of Chinatowns in large cities like Seattle, San Francisco, and Vancouver, Canada. They hide well in these locations. People who live in these primarily Asian communities are reluctant to inform on them because they mistrust outside authorities and because the Triad is so violent. They think nothing of killing whole families if anyone crosses them or interferes with their operations.”
When Nick saw Hanna blanch again, he sent Kurt a warning look to go easy on that line of information.
“The Triad usually likes to smuggle drugs and whatever else into the country via large freighters,” Kurt continued. “They hide their illegal cargo in the holds of the ships, which drop anchor about twelve miles out, where they’re still in international waters and aren’t subject to a country’s laws. At that point, other boats, usually speed boats, with all the electronic gear Nick mentioned, unload and carry the drugs or illegal goods ashore. There are a lot of isolated beaches in the Northwest, especially off the Olympic Peninsula, and that’s how they have made their drops in the past. They abandoned that method of operation when the DEA and Coast Guard started patrolling those isolated spots more, but the Strait of Juan de Fuca is a perfect body of water to come operate out of. It’s a shipping lane. And the border between Canada and the United States is on the water, so it can get confusing who has jurisdiction. We have joint task forces. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don’t.”
“Then where do the drugs go once they come ashore?” Hanna asked.
“Initially and usually to a safe house, which is what we call a centralized storage location for incoming drugs. It’s always guarded. From there, the drugs get distributed and sold to other distributors and dealers.”
“What an efficient operation,” Hanna exclaimed. “Run just like a business.”
“A multi-billion dollar business,” Kurt agreed.
Hanna turned to Nick. “Could Yancy’s heavily guarded estate be a safe house?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“What’s this?” Kurt asked.
Nick filled him in on what they had found on Shelter Island the day before. Then he asked, “So what did Dylan’s laptop reveal? Were you able to retrieve his lost file? Any fingerprints?”
Kurt took out a file from his desk drawer and handed Nick a copy. “Some of it. There were traces of his files left behind; kind of a ghost record, a magnetic shadow, so to speak. The backup drives were somewhat helpful, but sketchy. They were not as up to date as what was erased from the hard drive. But we were able to figure out the essence of what Dylan was working on. That’s a copy of it,” the FBI agent indicated, nodding to the file Nick held. “Read it and see what you think. It looks like he was definitely looking into drug cases in the county. It also looks like he wasn’t getting any help from his boss, and that he was doing it on his own, by compiling data from all the drug related arrests made by his fellow deputies. I’d say it was an independent investigation.”
“Yeah, a couple of the sheriff deputies I talked to last week told me follow-up on cases, particularly drug ones, is pretty sloppy at the department. They don’t cross-reference each other. The sheriff doesn’t coordinate investigations or take them too seriously, according to his deputies. They aren’t happy with him. He was just elected two years ago, and they can’t wait to get rid of him. There was talk of Dylan running for sheriff in the next election.”
“He was thinking about it,” Hanna confirmed.
“Well, Sheriff Jeff Thomas is an interesting fellow. He’s from southern California. He was sheriff in a small desert town. For a little community, it had quite a drug problem. The residents weren’t happy about the number of dealers selling drugs to the high school kids there. So when the next election came along, they voted him out of office. Then he got elected a year later in a small town in Idaho. Same scenario. It just took longer for the residents to wise up and vote him out of office. He dropped out of sight for a while. Then he moved to Port George and ran for sheriff. With more time, we could dig deeper.”
“Sounds like you ought to do that,” Nick commented. “And how about my ex-high school nemesis, Port George’s Chief of Police, Phillip Douglas?”
“Other than an interestingly large bank account for a small town police chief, nothing.” Kurt looked down at the papers in his file. “Oh, and we didn’t find any fingerprints on the laptop, except yours. It was real clean.”
“Wiped clean I’ll bet.”
“Probably.”
“Well, besides, testing that tube for any trace residue, I’d like you to run a background check on Yancy Masters. He owns Yancy’s Bar and Grill in Port George and that very well guarded, expensive home on Shelter Island.”
“While you’re here, let me run a quick preliminary check” Kurt offered. “He might come up in the computer if he’s had any priors. Let’s see.”
Nick and Hanna watched silently as Kurt typed in some information and searched his data base. It didn’t take long for the agent to come up with something.
“It looks like Mr. Yancy Masters has been arrested several times for possession of illegal substances and driving under the influence. He spent three years in jail for dealing some small stuff years ago, then went back to jail a few years later for assault and battery, got out, stayed clean for a while, then got in trouble again for illegal possession of drugs and firearms. Basically, he’s had quite a few run-ins with the police, but he’s got nothing on his record in the last ten years. Interesting. And you say he came into a lot of money a few years back?”
Hanna answered him. “He’s lived in Port George for eight years or so. Five years ago, he supposedly won a large amount of money at one of the Indian casinos. Not long afterward, he bought the restaurant and bar he now operates. Grandma says he just bought the old Thompson estate on Shelter Island a little over a year ago.”
“Well, he’s another one I’ll do more checking on. In fact, I’ll keep investigating all three of them— Masters, Douglas, and Thomas. If there is some drug running going on here, they could all be involved some way. If the Triad is involved, you’ve got big trouble and so does the DEA. And they usually try to get the cooperation of local law enforcement through bribery or threats.”
“See what you can get out of the DEA about Triad operations up here in the Northwest,” Nick advised. “Do you have any buddies in the Seattle office who could look into this and keep it quiet? I don’t want to set off any alarm bells while Lance is still missing. We have a better chance of finding out what’s going on and what happened to him and Dylan if we let these guys operate as normal for a while. If we alert them, they might go underground.
“There’s a couple of ex-Special Forces guys in the Seattle DEA offi
ce,” Kurt informed him. “I’ve worked with them before. They’ll keep all this under wraps and help us out. They probably know you anyway, Colonel.” Kurt grinned. “By the way, congratulations on the promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Got your new orders yet?” Nick shook his head no. “Ah hell,” the FBI agent continued. “It’s about time they give you some soft office job stateside. Haven’t you about had enough of being overseas in the field?”
“Actually, I have,” Nick replied, glancing at Hanna. “I’ve been thinking a lot about doing nothing more strenuous than diving instruction and mission planning. Might be time to settle down and stay in one place for a while.”
Kurt looked at Hanna speculatively, and then back at his ex-Recon buddy. “Sounds like a good future for a warrior who’s done more than his share of national defense. You’ve been a bachelor too long, too, Nick. I’ll tell you, being married is a hell of a lot better than being single.”
“How is your wife? I have yet to meet her and you’ve been married— what? Two, three years?”
“Three years this September,” Kurt said proudly. “She’s fine— gorgeous, great!” He laughed and looked across at Hanna. “She’s a nurse at Harbor View.”
“Really?”
Kurt told her all about his wife, Trisha, over lunch down the street, at a small café frequented by the downtown business crowd. Then Hanna told him about her work and training at Harbor View while they sat at the table on the sidewalk, beneath a gloriously sunny Seattle sky. As they watched shoppers and tourists pass by, they agreed to get together at Kurt’s condo, off Pike Place Market, maybe over the weekend, to meet Trisha.
After parting from Kurt at the FBI office, Nick and Hanna walked back to the garage where his motorcycle was parked.
“Do you still think we’ll find Lance alive?” Hanna asked.
“Yeah, I do. I can’t explain it. I just don’t feel like he’s dead.” They had reached his bike. Hanna put her helmet on. Nick grabbed his. “I’ve always had pretty good instincts,” he said as he snapped her chin strap on. “Guess they’re what have kept me alive so long— that and your prayers.” He smiled tenderly down at her. “They’re telling me Lance and Dylan got caught up inadvertently in something that caused your brother’s death and mine’s disappearance. I think we’re going to find Lance, if we keep digging into this as quickly as possible. That’s why I bugged Yancy’s office, to speed up this investigation.” He helped Hanna climb up onto the long low slung seat of his Harley. “And that’s why I’m going out to Yancy’s house tonight to plant a few more bugs. He’ll be at the bar, and I did enough reconnaissance yesterday to get into the house and past the guards.”
Hanna looked at him anxiously. “You’re going to break in and plant the bugs all by yourself?”
“I can’t ask Kurt to go. It would compromise the prosecution if we get these guys.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
“No, you most definitely won’t go. You’re not trained for this. I am. I would never put you at risk like that.”
His adamancy prevented Hanna from further argument, but she was not happy about his decision to go on such a dangerous mission alone. Never mind the fact that probably did this kind of thing all the time away from her. Now that she knew exactly what he was going to do, she fretted all the way home.
CHAPTER 13
COCOONED IN ONE of Colleen’s beautifully crocheted afghans, Hanna curled up on Jessie’s thickly cushioned sofa and stared at the grandfather clock against the far wall. The slender brass hands read one thirty in the morning. As she watched them move toward two, she shivered.
Nick had gone to Shelter Island to plant his bugs and wire taps over three hours ago. Yancy’s bar would be closing soon, and the bartender would be returning to his estate. So what was taking Nick so long? How much time could it take to get the job done and get off the island? Was it that difficult to bug someone’s home? It had only taken him fifteen minutes to bug Yancy’s office the other night. Something had to be wrong for it to be taking this long!
Hanna hadn’t been able to wait at her grandmother’s house. Visions of Nick getting caught had troubled her since he’d left. She felt wired with tension. Jessie had waited with her until an hour ago when she’d finally gone upstairs to bed. Kurt Palmer’s vivid description of the violent Triad gangs haunted her. She kept seeing Nick lying in a pool of blood, dead or grievously injured.
“Stop that, Doctor!” Dressed in her nightgown and robe, Jessie came back down the stairs, into her living room, where only a single lamp was lit. “You’re worrying yourself sick, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help it,” Hanna admitted, swinging her legs out from beneath her. “I keep having these horrible visions of Nick getting caught. Where is he? He’s been gone a long time!”
Jessie sat beside her young friend on the sofa and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Nick has probably done things like this hundreds of times, honey. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Well— yes, but I’m trying not to let my imagination get too carried away.” Jessie caught one of Hanna’s hands. “Your fingers are like ice, sweetie.”
“I can’t seem to get warm.”
“How about something to drink? Tea, hot milk, a glass of wine?”
“Do you have any more of that Sangria I like?”
“Sure do.”
Hanna stood up and stretched as Jessie left for the kitchen. Moving helped. She didn’t want to be a basket case by the time Nick came home. Jessie was right. Nick did this stuff for a living. She just had to have more confidence in him. Still, would she know if something bad happened to him?
Jessie came back into the room with a bottle of dark red Sangria and two crystal stem glasses. She poured Hanna a drink and handed it to her, then poured herself a glass and sat down.
Hanna paced for a bit, taking an occasional sip of the wine. She was wearing a faded pair of navy blue sweat pants and a cropped white cotton t-shirt.
“Come sit and talk to me,” Jessie said.
Hanna resumed her position beside her friend. Balancing her glass of wine, she pulled the afghan her grandmother had made Jessie for her birthday over her shoulders again. It was soft and comforting. As she snuggled into it and drank a little more wine, she began to relax a little.
“Feel better?”
Hanna nodded and returned the smile. “Thanks, Jessie.”
Nick’s mother studied her quietly, then observed, “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Oh Jessie, when have I not been? I’ll be as old as grandma and still be hopelessly in love with him.”
“Maybe not hopelessly. I’m pretty sure that oldest son of mine is finally starting to think of you as more than a friend. When Lance comes home, I don’t imagine he’ll be too pleased to see what his disappearance has brought about.” She responded to Hanna’s quizzically raised eyebrow with a short laugh. “Honey, Lance has been in love with you since high school. He knows how you feel about Nick, but he’s always hoped you’d get tired of waiting for him one of these days. There’s nothing you can do about it. Lance will just have to deal with it. You and Nick have always been fated for one another.”
Hanna looked down at the dark red liquid in her goblet, and thought about what Jessie said. She knew how she felt about Nick Kelly. She adored him— was crazy about him. If Lance felt the same way about her, she felt awful for him. She could never love anyone but Nick.
“Lance says he’s married to the Corps— for life,” Hanna finally said after a long pause.
Jessie laughed. “The Corps can’t keep him warm at night, or sit up waiting for him to come home from a mission, or be there when he needs to talk.”
“Apparently, he’s never needed those things.”
Nick’s mother sipped her wine and frowned. “I think I’m to blame for that.”
“You?”
“Nick saw how much I hurt when his father
died in combat. Nick senior and I were deeply in love. And we were very close. I nearly died when he did. If it hadn’t been for the boys, then Sean Price.... Nick was eight when his dad died, and he was a very astute eight. He was devoted to his father. He idolized him. And he hurt as much as I did when we lost him. Our mutual grief created a deep bond between us. Even though he was so young, he used to comfort me as much as I comforted him.” Jessie stared at Hanna, and smiled sadly. “I think he decided when he went into the Corps and became a Recon Marine that he would never burden any woman with the grief I suffered. It’s been hard for me to watch him lead such a dangerous, solitary life.”
“It hasn’t been easy worrying about him all these years,” Hanna agreed. “It’s one of the reasons I work so many hours— to take my mind off it.”
Jessie put her wine glass down on an end table and turned to embrace Hanna in a reassuring hug. “Oh, sweetheart! You’re his guardian angel. If only he knew how much you love him!”
Hanna’s eyes widened with fear. “You haven’t told him....”
“I’d never say a word. That’s for you alone to tell him— when you’re ready.”
It was nearly three a.m. when Nick finally walked through the front door. The presence of both his mother and Hanna sitting on the couch, drinking wine, brought him up short.
“Ladies,” he said, eyeing the nearly empty wine bottle. “What are you up to at this hour?”
Filled with blessed relief, Hanna’s eyes dropped to her glass, but his mother chuckled. “We couldn’t sleep, and just got to talking. I guess we didn’t notice how late it was getting.”
“Right, Mom,” he commented dryly. “And Doctor? I didn’t know you were sleeping over.”
“I’m not. I was just keeping your mother company.”
“Ladies, excuse the insult, but you’re lousy liars.”
Jessie threw up her arms. “All right! We were waiting for you, son. Just to make sure you returned safe and sound.”
