by I A Thompson
“You’ll soon get a lot closer.” Zach checked his watch. “Almost noon. We better get going.” He flagged down their waitress and after they got refills for their drinks and paid for their meal, they made their way back to their car that was parked in front of the county courthouse.
Regina settled into the passenger seat, perfectly content with being able to watch everything around her without having to focus on traffic. It had been fifteen years since she last made it out to Milton.
The landscape around the river was peaceful; small town U.S.A. to perfection. American flags waving, two pontoon boats anchored at the boardwalk. The blue swivel railroad bridge was open to allow ships to pass. Regina turned her head to look back at the waterfront park; memories of a long-ago fun-filled Sunday family reunion rushing back to her. She smiled and sighed.
“What is it?” Zach asked.
“Nothing, just memories from the good old days,” she replied.
He focused back on the road, while she watched the greenery, small houses and Marquis Bayou disappear behind her. The road was different than she remembered, and the town seemed to have a forlorn atmosphere around that part, even Evvie’s Seafood Restaurant had gone out of business. They took a right turn on Ward Basin Road and after they passed East Milton Elementary School, the scenery changed again. Lots of houses that all grew in size, the closer to the river they got. She turned to Zach when he pulled the car over to a stop.
“Why are we stopping?”
He pointed at a small private road at the end of the street they were on. “Because that’s our destination, right there, and because it would look a tad weird if we just pulled up and set up our lawn chairs to watch the show. Let’s check in with the team and find out where we won’t be in the way.”
They put on the earpieces and microphones they had received from the HIDTA team; since Regina had no clue how to use police communications equipment, she just listened as Zach got instructions from Brad Manning to proceed to the house to the left of their destination. Between the two properties was a public access path that led to a wooden pier by the river. It provided an unobstructed view of the Wilson’s dock and boathouse. They got out of the car and started walking.
“Take my hand,” Zach said as he held out his hand. “Let’s make this look like we’re just enjoying a romantic afternoon walk.”
Regina grabbed his hand and moved closer to him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
“Yes, I think so. This neighborhood is off the beaten path. Anyone who doesn’t live here doesn’t have a reason to visit. However, our rental car conveniently has Illinois plates; if someone stops us and asks us what we’re doing here, we’ll claim that we’re about to get married and are looking to buy a house down here. Since I’m a freelance journalist I can work from anywhere, right?”
“Good thinking, Jones. You’re smarter than you look.” Regina smiled at him with fake adoration.
Zach returned the smile with equally phony affection. “Stick with me, Livingston, and you just might learn a thing or two.”
The gravel path that took them to the pier was short, three hundred feet give or take and ended where the marsh began. The pier stretched from the reeds growing in the muddy water all the way to the open water a hundred and fifty feet away. Regina and Zach walked to its end and set up their chairs facing the direction of the Wilson’s dock and boathouse.
“I’d love to jump into the water and cool off,” Zach said while they waited.
“Yeah, I’d recommend you don’t do that. Unless of course, you want to end up as a snack for the resident alligators.”
“There are alligators here?” Zach shuddered.
“Are you serious? We’re in Florida. There are alligators everywhere. Not too long ago, they found some young gators in the creek at the University of West Florida, just off 9 Mile Road.”
Regina tried to spot the HIDTA team members lying in wait for the ‘Mellie’ but to no avail. “Can you see anyone from the team?”
“No, and I’m not trying to either. If they’re good at their job, we won’t see them anyway. And if we look around like we’re looking for something, we’ll tip off whoever’s on the lookout over there in that house.” Zach ever so slightly pointed with his chin towards the Wilson residence, a sprawling cedar clad home on stilts with a large deck overlooking the river. “Relax, CBP’s riverine boat will tell us when the ‘Mellie’ is at the mouth of the river. We won’t have to wait long after that.”
It turned out they had to wait longer than they thought. Just after 1p.m., the alert from the riverine boat finally came through that the ‘Mellie’ had entered Blackwater Bay. It took another thirty minutes until they finally got their first glance at her midnight blue hull and bright white bridge. She was a beautiful sight as she slowly made her way past Zach and Regina and came to an almost complete stop.
Jack Wilson performed a perfect three-point-turn and slowly backed his boat into the boathouse, cut off the engine, and a minute later appeared on the dock where he carefully secured the ‘Mellie’ to her moorings. The sound of heavy footsteps caused his head to snap upright in attention; he was surrounded by a half dozen DEA and CBP agents in bulletproof vests, guns drawn.
Regina and Zach watched Wilson put his hands behind his head before Shelby Turner stepped out of the shadows and put handcuffs on him. They couldn’t hear what she said but it was safe to assume she read him his rights. The place began to swarm with law enforcement agents. Much to Regina’s and Zach’s surprise, all stayed quiet at the Wilson residence; there had been no lookout and the house was empty. Jack Wilson was alone
“Looks like we can make our way over there now,” Zach said. “I can’t wait to find out why this guy was by himself, hauling that large load of drugs; it’s so unusual.”
Regina got up and folded her chair. “Seems clever to me, very low key, unsuspicious, normal. Who would ever suspect anything fishy; no pun intended?”
“Yeah, but logistically impossible. There is no way this guy is running a drug trafficking operation out of this property, there aren’t enough ways in and out. No, the heavy lifting is done by someone else, we just have to find out who that is.”
19
Much to their displeasure, Regina and Zach found themselves on the outside looking in when they made it back to Heron’s Landing. The Wilson’s property was cordoned off with police tape and two deputies were keeping the nosy neighbors at bay.
“This undercover game is really starting to get to me,” Zach muttered. “We’re finally getting somewhere and now we’re sidelined. I’m going to call Hernandez, tell him what’s going on here and ask if we can drop the covers.” He reached for his phone.
Regina grabbed his arm. “You may want to send him a note via Ghost Coms first. After all, we can’t be sure that his phone is not tapped.”
“Geez, you are one paranoid broad, Livingston. Okay, I’ll send a text, but I tell you, we’re just wasting precious time.”
“And you are surprisingly naïve,” she snapped back. “Do you seriously think he would have made us jump through all these hoops if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
“You and your cloak and dagger attitude.” He hit the send button. “You’ll see; he’ll want to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.”
While they waited for Hernandez’ response, they joined the growing crowd trying to get information out of the deputies on guard.
An elderly lady with short silver hair, holding the leash of a grey and white Maltese pup, demanded with an air of authority, “Deputy, you tell me right now what is going on at the Wilson’s house. What is all of this about?”
The deputy she addressed looked stoically at the air eight inches above her head, not saying a word, while she kept her barrage of questions going. He knew the drill but being yelled at by someone who could be his grandmother had never ranked high on his list of favorite things about the job.
Relief came in the form of Brad Manning who walked up
the driveway towards the police line, looked directly at the elderly lady with a no-nonsense expression and said, “Ma’am, I must ask you to stop interrogating our deputies. This is an active crime scene and they are not at liberty to discuss an open case.”
The lady opened her mouth, before snapping it shut again, taking a deep breath to regain her composure before she replied tightly, “My apologies, I meant no disrespect. It’s just, we’re all very close here at Heron’s Landing and we don’t usually see cops around here, much less this kind of commotion. And I thought the Wilson’s were on vacation, so seeing you all here is very disturbing.”
“I’m sure the Wilson’s appreciate your concern and consideration,” Brad answered before turning towards the crowd. “Please return to your residences. There is nothing to see here and I assure you that there are no safety concerns for the neighborhood.” His eyes stopped scanning the crowd when he reached Regina and Zach, who immediately sensed his instructions included them.
But Zach wasn’t ready to give up so quickly. He checked his phone but there wasn’t an answer from Hernandez yet. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his press pass and approached the yellow tape boundary. “Detective Manning, Zach Jones, Time Magazine, do you have a statement for the press?”
Brad’s eyes spit fire in Zach’s direction but his voice didn’t change its pitch when he replied, “No, Mr. Jones. It’s too early in the investigation for a press release. If you give me your card, I’ll make sure to add you to the distribution list for our future public communication in this matter.”
Zach handed him a business card, turned around and stomped off in the direction of the rental car. Regina silently mouthed “sorry” in Brad’s direction and followed Zach. Once they were inside the car, doors and windows closed, she turned to Zach. “What the hell did you do that for? Brad clearly signaled us to take a hike, along with the other spectators. Are you forgetting that’s all we are at the moment?”
“And you’re okay with that? Being on the sidelines. Oh, yes, that’s right, you’re always on the sidelines, watching from a distance. You and your spy organization. You have no clue how important it is to pay attention to the most minute details at a crime scene. And frankly, I don’t trust these back-woods cops here to do the job right.”
“You are one arrogant bastard, Zach Jones. These guys go through the same training as cops in LA. All the federal agents know exactly what they’re doing, and as far as I’m concerned, you might be right that I don’t know much about crime scene investigation, but I damn sure know about analysis. So, now that there is a suspect in custody, I’d suggest we go back to the hotel and start doing some good old-fashioned snooping in the digital world.”
“I guess it’s the best we can do until Hernandez gives us clearance to come out of the shadows,” Zach caved, mostly because he didn’t have another choice.
Just as they pulled into the parking lot of their hotel, Zach finally got the response he was waiting for. Unfortunately, the content was not at all to his liking. It simply said: “Remain under cover, continue observation.”
“This assignment sucks sour lemons,” Zach raged as he slammed the car door with enough force to provide a bold exclamation point behind his statement.
Regina rolled her eyes. It was time to give him a good dose of CIA tradecraft. She ignored his griping and bickering behind her and went ahead to their suite, walking straight into her room and changing into her jumpsuit, before grabbing a Coke from the fridge and sitting down at her computer.
The sound of Zach rummaging around his room provided an irritating background noise as she began navigating through a series of CP’s portals. A search command brought back nothing and continued to do so until it was rephrased; this time giving her a result. A few more quick instructions, followed by a series of double clicks and in front of her appeared an interrogation room at the Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s Office, where Jack Wilson had been taken. The picture wasn’t exactly high definition, but Jack Wilson was clearly recognizable, sitting in a chair to the left of a small table, where Shelby Turner sat in front of him, note pad in hand. To his right was Brad Manning, leaning forward in his chair, and pacing back and forth in the room, was Nick Wiley.
A few more commands and now Regina could hear what was going on inside the room she had just gotten access to. “Zach, get your popcorn ready, the show is about to start!” she shouted in the direction of the closed door.
It was quiet for a few seconds, then the door opened, and Zach peaked out. “What show?” Regina pointed at the screen. Zach squinted, then his expression changed to the same incredulous look a child has on Christmas morning when the floor around the Christmas tree is full of presents. “How?” he asked. “How did you do that?”
Regina grinned. “It’s what we do. Just because we’re on the sidelines doesn’t mean we can’t have a front row seat. Now shut up, listen and take notes.” She couldn’t help herself. It felt good to put him in his place.
Shelby led the interrogation, first explaining to Jack the seriousness of the situation that he was in. “Two years ago, a guy in Maryland got sentenced to 25 years in jail for trafficking one ton of cocaine,” she said. “You, Mr. Wilson, got caught with two tons. You do the math.” She let the words sink in. “With that said, you and I both know that you weren’t in this business by yourself. Which means you have two choices. You can either help us out, improve your own situation and send the masterminds behind the operation to prison. Or, you can take the fall and your partners will find another transport and will continue living as if nothing had ever happened.”
Regina and Zach watched for a little over an hour as Shelby, Nick and Brad took turns asking questions, paraphrasing Jack’s words and slowly nudging him in the direction of giving up his partners.
Suddenly, he raised his head and said, “I want witness protection for me and my family. New identities, new life, the whole nine yards. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
20
Shelby crossed her slender legs and folded her fingers across her knees. “Mr. Wilson, I’m intrigued. I’ll be happy to float the idea up the flag pole, but you must give me something to work with. Give me the name of one of your partners and I’ll see what I can do.”
Wilson vigorously shook his head. “No deal, these guys are way too well connected. I want a guarantee.”
Shelby leaned forward. “Mr. Wilson, I don’t think you understand. You are in no position to bargain. I tell you; I can’t get you anything without a good faith effort on your part. I’d highly recommend you reconsider.”
Even on the slightly grainy screen Regina and Zach could see Jack’s inner turmoil playing out. He fidgeted, wringing his hands and shifting around on his chair while the three interrogators watched without a sound. Finally, Wilson looked up. “If I tell you that a U. S. Congressman is involved, would that help?”
Shelby drew in a big breath and got up. “Mr. Wilson, that’s a good start. Let me make a few phone calls.” She left the room, followed by Brad and Nick.
Regina split the screen, so they could continue watching the suspect, and then accessed the building surveillance system, following the three HIDTA team members as they went to a conference room to call Shelby’s boss. She seemed to engage in a short conversation before she hung up the phone and gathered around the desk with the others, clearly waiting for a callback.
“Can we listen in to what they’re saying?” Zach asked.
Regina shook her head. “Unfortunately not. The interrogation rooms are set up to record images and audio, where this particular room is only set to images. Not sure about other conference rooms, but my guess is they’re all the same.”
“I must say, this was a pleasant surprise, Livingston. No wonder you weren’t worried about getting shooed away from the crime scene.”
Regina was getting ready to answer when Shelby picked up the phone; that call back hadn’t taken long at all. They watched Shelby nod, say a few words and then han
g up the phone. Then she, Nick and Brad got up and walked back to the interrogation room.
Jack was a bundle of unraveling nerves when they entered the room and sat down in their chairs. Shelby smiled a benevolent smile. “Mr. Wilson, my superiors were intrigued by your revelation and they want to know more about your operation. With that said, they are willing to grant your request, provided the information you’re about to provide is true.”
“She’s bluffing,” Zach murmured. “The wheels of justice don’t turn this fast.”
“Agreed, not usually,” Regina replied. “But if you think about the access Hernandez has, then it’s certainly possible that CBP has a similar direct line to someone who can make decisions like this on the fly.”
Wilson studied Shelby’s facial expression and what he saw must have convinced him that she was telling the truth because he sat up straight and asked, “Where do you want me to begin?”
“From the beginning, Mr. Wilson, from the beginning.” Shelby pulled her notepad closer.
Wilson took a deep breath and began telling his story. “It all started on Wednesday, May 14th, 2014. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was docked in Mary Esther, dropping off an order of tuna for one of the local seafood restaurants, when I was approached by Tony Mondello, the owner of Mondello’s Wine Bar in Navarre. He said he had heard good things about my reliability and the quality of my fish and wanted to know if I was interested in making a little extra cash transporting some non-perishable goods for his business. I needed money at the time, so I said I was interested, and he invited me to come to his bar a few days later to discuss the details.” He looked around the room and asked, “Any chance I can get some water or a soda?”
Brad got up, left the room and came back a few minutes later with four bottles of water.
