by J K Ellem
The question was viewed as an insult. “It’s her. She looks a little different. Changed her appearance, lost some weight. But it’s definitely her. I’ve been watching her for awhile. I’m sending you the pictures for confirmation.”
Six high-resolution photos were attached and sent. Sixty seconds later, after eyes of pure hatred scrutinized each individual photo, the response came. “Yes, it’s her.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Find the money. Use any means necessary to get her to tell you where it is.”
“And then?”
There was a pause.
“Then take her for a swim. No traces.”
They went inside the cottage. Annie went around making sure all the doors and windows were locked. While Shaw was in the kitchen she then checked the handgun hidden in the drawer of the hall stand. Next she went to her bedroom, pulled up the floorboards. She checked her other handgun and touched her go-bag. It gave her reassurance knowing she had countermeasures in place. It would be so simple just to run, to leave now, just grab her go-bag, her guns and get away. Drive as far and as fast as she could. Find another town, another state. Maybe Canada, or even overseas. She had never been outside of America. She had the money and resources to hide anywhere. But how far could she go? How long could she run for? There would always be that specter hanging over her head that Lorenzo would find her again. She would be condemned to a lifetime of constantly looking over her shoulder. Lorenzo often said that he had family scattered all over the world. That their family network was huge; cousins in the UK, uncles in Asia, family throughout Europe.
Annie slid the floorboards back in place and stood up. She turned and jumped in fright. Shaw was standing behind her, leaning against the bedroom doorway.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
Shaw said nothing for a moment. He’d caught a glimpse of what she’d been doing. “Long enough,” he answered.
“So what would you do then?” Annie asked.
“I wouldn’t have taken the money in the first place.”
“Well, that’s no fucking help!” Annie immediately regretted the outburst. It was too harsh, but her nerves were on edge. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
Shaw stepped into the room. “Give me your gun.”
Annie frowned then accepted the fact that she needed his help. She pried open the floor boards again and pulled out the tactical gun case, placed it on the bed, unlocked it, then stepped back.
Shaw eased the gun out of its foam enclosure, checked it over then pulled back the slide and checked the chamber. It was empty. He cycled the gun, making sure a live round was now in the chamber. He handed the gun back to Annie. “Always keep a round in the chamber. You might not have time to rack the slide. It could mean the difference between life and death.”
Annie nodded and was about to replace the gun in its case when Shaw stopped her. “No, keep it on you at all times. You do have a license to carry this I assume?”
Annie nodded.
“Any others?” Shaw asked.
Annie led him outside the bedroom and down the hallway. She slid open the drawer of the hall stand.
“Who told you to keep this here?” Normally people mistakenly would keep their gun on the nightstand next to their bed or even under their pillow. Most home invasions came through the front door and Annie had placed her gun in the right spot.
“I had an instructor tell me,” she replied, closing the drawer.
“Good.” Shaw looked around. “Any others? What about in your car?”
Annie shook her head.
“Well keep the other one on you at all times, out and about or at home. If you don’t have a holster, then just slide it inside your waist band. Cover it with your shirt. Don’t go outside without it.”
“So, what now?” Annie asked.
“Are you going to run again?”
“No. I’m sick of hiding. I need to face what I’ve done. It was a mistake. I was hurt and the only way I could hurt someone like Lorenzo was financially. Money was the only thing that really mattered to him. Greed is what drives him. But he keeps that fact well hidden. Like a lot of things.”
“Do you have any insurance?” Shaw asked. It was the only option that could save Annie right now. “Do you have any evidence on him, on the family that we could use as a bargaining chip?”
As she looked at Shaw, she felt a wave of relief. “We?” she said. “Does that mean you’re going to help me?”
Shaw couldn’t just leave her. He could though, just walk out the door, make his way somehow to the highway and catch a ride out of town. He would deal with the police later. But that wasn’t his style. It wasn’t in his DNA, even if Annie Haywood or Jennifer Ryan—or whatever her damn name was—had stolen money. It was still a crime regardless of the fact that she had taken it from criminals themselves. There was no justification, even if she used the money to escape Lorenzo. Annie Haywood had made herself into a criminal. “I will do what I can,” Shaw replied.
Annie rushed forward but Shaw held up his hand before she could hug him, holding her off. He was a little angry that he had been placed in this situation. He would have preferred if she hadn’t told him at all. “Just wait Annie,” he said, his hand firmly on her chest. “You must do as I tell you.”
Annie nodded, “Anything.”
Shaw could see the desperation in her eyes, her willingness to obey. That was good. “Like I said, do you have anything we can pin on Lorenzo or his family? Did you take copies or scan or save anything about this money laundering operation?”
Annie backed up. She hadn’t thought to copy any of the financial records she had found in the storage room. It was valuable evidence. Looking back it would have been a wise thing to do. “No,” she replied. “I just didn’t think.”
The task at hand was made a lot more difficult now. “If you had something, copies of bank account records, transfers between the two companies, then maybe, just maybe we could use that to try and negotiate with them.”
“You mean like threaten to go public? Take all the information to the police?” Annie scoffed. “The police won’t protect me. It will only make matters worse. Even in witness protection I’ll still be hiding, worrying about if they’ll find me.” It would be true. Annie would spend the rest of her life still watching every person around her. “What if I give the money back? Will that help?”
“Believe me, the money, or what is left of it, is going back to them.” Shaw said. “But that may only appease them in the short-term. From what you have told me about Lorenzo, he will want some personal retribution.”
By her calculations, Annie told Shaw that she had only spent around $100,000 in the last two years, including what she had paid for her new identity. The money wasn’t important. Her life was. She wasn’t materialistic and certainly wasn’t going to go on a spending spree buying luxury houses and exotic cars. She just wanted to disappear. The money gave her the opportunity.
Shaw thought for a moment. Then he spoke. “Do you have the account details for the company?”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Good, so you can transfer the money back into their account.”
“I can do that right now, from my laptop.”
Shaw had a plan. But a vital piece was missing. “No, not yet. If the money suddenly appears back into their bank account they'll know for sure they have found you. I want to make absolutely certain it's them.”
“What about the woman who was watching me?” Annie asked. “Why all the trouble of carrying a gun on me now like you said?”
“Just as a precaution. You live alone. You’re a woman. And it’s a pretty isolated place down here on the beach.”
“That sounds sexist.”
“I’m being realistic,” Shaw replied. “It isn’t a perfect world we live in. I need to be certain. Until then, it’s business as usual. If you pack up and run you’ll be sending a clear message t
o anyone who may be watching you that you know they found you... If someone is watching you, I want them to think you suspect nothing.”
They went back to the kitchen, sat at the bench and drank coffee.
“Annie you are a good person,” Shaw said. “I can tell. Either that or you’re doing an amazing con-job on me.”
Annie smiled. “I just made a mistake.”
“Hey,” Shaw admitted. “I’ve made some huge mistakes in my life. Believe me.”
“So what happens next?” Annie asked.
“We borrow Ralph Jacobson’s boat tomorrow as planned and take a look at Moors Island. We stick to the plan.”
“Can you stay the night?” Annie said. “I’d feel better.”
Shaw thought for a moment. It was getting late and he had no transport back to the Brenner Estate. They needed an early start as well. Shaw stood up. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
33
A wall of mist rolled in, thick and luminescent. Moonlight shimmered off its surface, wispy tendrils dragging over the cold water beneath. Waves crashed somewhere ahead in the darkness where the surf met the pebbled beach with a foaming sizzle.
It was a narrow inlet away from the crushing surf and deadly undertow that existed on the ocean side of the island. On that side, rocks as hard as iron and as old as time itself had claimed many a seaman over the centuries as had most of the perilous coastline before the advent of oil then electricity that powered the lighthouse.
Some of the locals said that at night, if you listened hard enough, you could hear moans of the dead. Restless seamen tossing in their watery graves.
The outboard motor on the wooden boat was small and deliberately quiet, the journey made easier by the pull of the incoming tide, and the fact that the course had been navigated by him a few times before. It wasn’t his preferred method of travel.
He wasn’t concerned by the unexpected visitors he’d seen today, the man and the woman. The man was new, an unfamiliar face. And while he hadn’t gotten a real good look at the woman’s face two nights ago as he watched her from one of the second floor windows of the house, sneaking through the courtyard, he was certain it was the same woman. No cause for alarm, but he decided for this particular trip to Moors Island, he would use the boat under the cover of darkness. His other means of access to the Island he much preferred to use during the day. As the supposed “caretaker” he had an excuse to be in and around the house during daylight hours. However, at night being up at the house would draw suspicion, and it had.
The mist parted to reveal a jagged outline on the right. The steering was adjusted, the bow shifted and was pointed at a spot between two pinnacles of rock. Moments later the keel of the boat nudged the beach with a gentle crunch. The motor was switched off and pulled up. Feet met the cold foaming wash of sea water and the boat was dragged further up and onto the safety of the beach. It was virtually impossible to see this section of hidden beach from the water. It was surrounded by walls of black rock and the entrance to the tiny inlet was invisible against the background unless you knew what to look for or stumbled upon it by luck, or misfortune.
Relying purely on the moonlight and familiarity, he pulled a small insulated pouch from the boat and made his way up the beach then along a cleft between the rocks. Like the entrance to the inlet and the hidden beach, the true path between the rocks that led to the interior of the island was well hidden in a maze of tight corridors of rock. This small section of the island, discovered by pure accident by him three years ago, could not be accessed any other way.
Seawater sloshed about his feet as he completed a series of turns and bends through the labyrinth of rock, before climbing up a small funnel that brought him up to a rock ledge blocked by a wall of vegetation. It wouldn’t be light for another four hours so he had plenty of time. But this trip would be a short one, brought about by necessity rather than kindness.
There was once a path through the undergrowth, cleared many years ago by army engineers, but now reclaimed by the encroaching foliage and unruly undergrowth. A small flashlight was produced and he pushed into a wall of vegetation and vanished.
He emerged on the other side into a small clearing strewn with large pebbles, gravel and torn scrub. Moonlight pooled in the clearing, ghostly gray everywhere. The opening was a simple oval metal hatch, covered in dirt with a steel turning wheel recessed into the top.
Closing the hatch above, he descended down a steel ladder that was bolted to walls of a narrow vertical shaft. It was incredible that after all these years, sections of the place still had power, however unreliable at times it seemed.
The installation was built during the 1950s, and a cable ran along the seabed from the mainland to the island across the channel. It was the same cable that fed electricity to the lighthouse. Little did people know that this place existed under the island itself. Military archives had the installation recorded as a “research facility.” In fact it was chosen by the US Department of Defense as a forward storage base for men and supplies to defend against a possible threat coming from the Atlantic Ocean and towards New York.
But after the Cold War thawed, budget cuts were made, and resources were directed towards combating the increasing threat of terrorism in the Middle East and the rise of the drug cartels in Latin America. So the installation was finally abandoned, its existence buried in military archives held in some dusty warehouse in Washington.
The shaft descended to the first landing fifty feet below the surface where he stopped. Tunnels and sub tunnels branched off into the darkness. Only one tunnel was illuminated by a series of light bulbs housed in small metal cages that ran the length of the ceiling.
He followed the tunnel until it ended in a solid steel door with another turning wheel. Off to one side was an alcove filled with supplies. There was bottled water. Tins of food. Sealed packs of rations.
He placed the pouch on a metal shelf, opened it, pulled out what he needed then spun the wheel and pulled back the heavy door.
Inside was a row of prison cells, with the intended purpose of holding Russian invaders and their Eastern European allies. But the invasion never came and the cells had lain empty all these years, all except one cell.
The far cell was lit by a bare light bulb that hung from the concrete ceiling. Inside was a metal cot with a thin mattress, a toilet and a shower cubicle.
A shape stirred on the mattress under the blanket as he approached.
The cell door was opened. There was no need to lock it. The person on the bed was too weak to defend themself let alone mount an escape. The blanket was pulled back, an arm was exposed, a syringe was produced and an injection given.
Vitals were checked and, once he was satisfied, he withdrew from the cell, walked back outside, closed the heavy door and spun the wheel, locking the door from the outside.
34
Before Shaw retired for the evening, he walked the perimeter of the cottage checking again that all the windows and doors were secure. He turned on all the external lights when he did this, and didn’t hide the fact of his presence.
The next morning he was up at dawn and checked in on Annie, who was still sound asleep. He showered, got dressed in the same clothes then went into the kitchen, filled and turned on the coffee machine. While the coffee was brewing, he went outside.
The air was cold and fresh, laced with the muddy wetness of sand. First, he walked to the back of the cottage, to where they sat last night. The sand was cold and the sky was a pale orange. He looked around, trying to imagine the direction of the unease he had felt last night. Where would he position himself to spy on the cottage? Despite some obvious choices, Shaw’s attention kept being drawn back to a tall bank of sand that was topped with a drooping tangle of beach fence made of old wood slats and wire. It was two hundred yards away with a row of smaller dunes in front of it.
Shaw casually walked to the base of the sand bank and paused looking up at it, then looking back to where the cottage sat, judging distanc
e and lines of sight. He slowly walked around the entire base, checking the ground as he went. There were no footprints, nor any obvious disturbances in the sand. The surrounding sand was smooth and unblemished, as though the caress of the wind was the only thing that had touched the surface in a hundred years. Too perfect perhaps. It was the same up the slope as well. No grooves, no indentations, no furrows, nothing. He stood at the top for a while looking at the surrounding landscape before trudging back down again and resuming his search.
The outlying areas further away from the cottage yielded nothing either, yet Shaw was certain they were being watched last night.
She was good whoever the woman was.
After twenty minutes of unfruitful exploration, Shaw returned to the cottage and was greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed coffee. He poured himself a cup and sat at the kitchen counter pondering his next move.
A moment later he heard Annie’s bedroom door creak open and she emerged wrapped in a shawl, her eyes bleary. They ate a quick breakfast then drove to the salt marsh.
Ralph Jacobson greeted them with a smile and handed Annie a cooler. Inside were sandwiches of fresh blue crab, bottled water and a couple of cold beers all packed in ice. “Just in case you get hungry out there.”
Annie thanked him. Jacobson showed Shaw a few tricks with the engine that could be temperamental before they pushed off from the small dock and wound their way through the various channels that Jacobson had marked on a map for them.
Progress through the shallows of the salt marsh was slow. Shaw navigated the boat around sand bars and through tight channels choking with bulrush. In some parts there were only a few inches between the keel of the boat and the muddy bottom where crabs scuttled and hid as the boat passed over. The salt marsh had a certain texture to it, the feel and smell of old rotting wallpaper, damp and velvety to the touch.
