Aground on St. Thomas (18 page)

Everywhere at Once

BY MIDAFTERNOON, THE
local cell phone towers had resumed service, either because the ordered blockage period had ended or the person in control of the switch had tired of the inconvenience. So many St. Thomas residents had moved their phones over to the Tortola tower, the backup had begun to overload from the extra usage.

Word of the attorney general’s reward offer now spread to those few residents who hadn’t been able to access the intermittent KRAT broadcasts.

The volunteer-assisted manhunt for the Governor transitioned into yet a higher gear. As the islanders searched high and low for their erstwhile elected leader and, more important, the lucrative reward money, a few promising leads began to surface—and then the number exploded exponentially.

The designated hotline was besieged with callers.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, reports continued to pile in. The Governor was sighted in every possible location in Charlotte Amalie and across St. Thomas. Other eyewitnesses placed him on St. John and St. Croix—both at the same time.

For Agent Friday, overseeing the impromptu call center from the FBI’s St. Thomas field office, it was a maddening experience.

Coconut was one fruit, beverage additive, and flavoring that he would never again voluntarily consume.

•

THE LOCAL FBI
agents had been somewhat less than hospitable when Friday requested a landline and desk space in their office.

He could understand their bitterness. It had been a poor operational decision not to brief them on the day’s planned arrests. The offended feelings, he reasoned, probably explained the condition of the room he’d been offered.

The walls were dirty and scuffed, in need of a fresh coat of paint. The carpeting was so severely stained, it was impossible to tell what the original color had been. The desk was a prefab government-issue construct that looked as if one of its legs might fall off at any moment.

As for the phone, he’d been given a plastic contraption with a push-button keypad whose center number six routinely stuck in the depressed position. The receiver relayed incoming audio accompanied by a dull echo, likely a result of corroded wiring.

He had turned the phone’s volume all the way up to its maximum setting, but it was still difficult to make out the voices coming through the line.

It certainly wasn’t enough to drown out the occasional mocking comments from the agents on the other side of the wall. They were reveling in the mission’s current state of failure.

Despite the squalid surroundings, the poor equipment, and the hostile atmosphere, the field office was a far preferable command center to the Legislature Building.

Friday shuddered at the thought.

Given the difficulties in locating the Governor, the appellate judge had ordered that the arrested senators be taken into custody aboard the navy ship. It was a decision that should have been made by the district court judge, but no one had been able to track her down since she left the melee of the early morning proceedings.

The growing armada of attorneys advising the senators had pounced on this legal technicality, challenging the appellate judge’s order. The politicians had decided to stage a sit-in, obstinately refusing to move.

The situation had reached a stalemate, with no resolution in sight.

•

FRIDAY LOOKED DOWN
at the map he’d spread across the wobbly desk. He’d used his color-coded grid scheme to allocate agents into different sectors, so that they could efficiently chase down as many leads as possible on the missing Governor, to no avail.

While they were typically unable to identify the look-alike who had triggered each report, it became clear that they were dealing with more than just the occasional case of mistaken identity. An army of doppelgängers had been let loose upon the territory, preprogrammed to pop up in choreographed locations that were timed to generate maximum confusion and distraction.

As the afternoon wore on, a concentration of Governor sightings were reported at eating establishments. A doppelgänger made an appearance at Gladys’ Café, a popular West Indian place in the alleys along the waterfront. Almost simultaneously, another look-alike was seen at a diner in Frenchtown on the southwest edge of the harbor. Before those two instances could be investigated, a third Governor was spotted by the poolside kiosk at one of the island’s high-end resorts.

For the increasingly frustrated—and hungry—federal agents sent to investigate these sightings, the temptation to stop for a quick bite had been too great.

Friday listened to the latest garbled-mouthful report from the field.

“Another false alarm, sir,” the agent mumbled through an inartfully suppressed munch.

“Anything else?”

A loud swat echoed through the transmission.

“The mosquitoes down here are vicious.”

•

AGENT FRIDAY STARED
at the scuffed wall inside the tiny office and pondered the strategic implications.

The Governor’s pre-indictment efforts had extended far beyond the series of last-ditch pleas he had submitted to the executive branch in the days leading up to this morning’s invasion. He had made extensive preparations to elude capture and arrest—activities that apparently went undetected by his top aide.

Either the FBI’s Government House source had been wrong about the Governor’s mind-set in those last days or the whistleblower’s betrayal had been discovered and he’d been intentionally cut out of the loop.

This much was clear. The Governor had no intention of making an easy surrender.

His Whistle Blown

UP THE HILL
from Friday’s impromptu call center, Operation Coconut’s second headquarters was seeing far less productivity.

Little had changed inside Government House since the discovery of the second governor impostor at the construction site and the sacrificial chair being tossed over the office balcony—other than Agent Hightower had slipped into a rum-induced nap.

The office remained in a state of disarray, with Hightower at its center, sleeping on the leather recliner behind the Governor’s desk. His head was tilted back in an openmouthed drool. Every so often, a slobbering snore broke the silence, but otherwise, the Gorilla was quiet.

The Government House employees—minus the burly maid in the high-necked dress—were still being held in the first-floor lobby, but the group had grown restless. Their patience had run out, and tempers were rising to match those inside the Legislature Building.

So far, nothing had been thrown at the luckless agents standing guard, but it was only a matter of time.

•

CEDRIC FOUND HIMSELF
once more pacing inside the Governor’s office. He shook his head at the deplorable sight of the room and the special agent in charge passed out behind the desk.

It was yet another aspect of the day’s scheme that had failed to meet expectations. The Gorilla’s alcoholic rage had petered out much faster than anticipated. He had hoped Hightower would make a far bigger spectacle of himself.

Right now, Cedric considered that the least of his problems. He was deeply troubled by the latest KRAT transmission.

The Governor kept a portable radio in the office so he could listen to the KRAT broadcasts. Despite the frequent grilling he received from Dread Fred and Whaler, he was a big fan of the show and rarely missed an airing.

The interview with Senator Bobo had left Cedric perplexed. The Reverend was supposed to be tied up in the Legislature Building, protesting the indignities of the lawmakers’ unlawful detention. Instead, he was running loose around town, spouting off all kinds of nonsense. He should never have been allowed to ad-lib on air.

Cedric cringed, recalling the rambling speech. Locusts, frogs, a sea of blood—Bobo wasn’t a credible spokesperson for the separatist movement.

He tugged indignantly at his tie.

That was his role.

•

CEDRIC COMPLETED ANOTHER
lap around the room, but the typically calming action did little to quell his anxiety. He was stuck in limbo, a no-man’s-land of his own creation.

With his cover blown, there was little chance the Governor might contact him or seek him out. By now, the Fixer would have conveyed the information he’d learned during the construction site debacle—if indeed the Governor wasn’t already aware of Cedric’s betrayal.

He had been deliberately duped during the caper to elude the feds that morning. The Governor must have been told about the aide’s cooperation with the attorney general’s office—but when?

And how, he wondered again, had the Governor communicated with his accomplice?

Cedric crossed to the balcony, stepping into the spot where the Governor had so often stood, particularly in recent days. Taking a similar stance, he placed his hands on the railing and imagined that he had assumed the territory’s top leadership position.

It was an outcome that appeared increasingly less likely to occur.

•

DRUMMING HIS FINGERS
in frustration, Cedric stared out at the city.

Afternoon shadows had begun to creep across the rolling streets. A sticky humidity still bathed the harbor, but the sun’s intensity had noticeably waned.

The crowds that had flocked to Emancipation Park and the surrounding waterfront streets were enjoying a temporary lull. Even the sporadic gunfire had petered out. After a day of frenetic confusion, exhaustion filled the air—along with a morbid curiosity of what might happen next.

These were emotions Cedric shared with the masses.

He paused.

There was something different in the scene, other than the weary pedestrians loitering in the streets. It took him a moment to identify the anomaly.

The flapping flags attached to the pole above his head had been diminished by one. Someone had removed the Stars and Stripes.

A cheeky response to the day’s events, Cedric mused. Unlike Bobo’s radio ramble, this rebellious action made him smile.

Gripping the railing, Cedric returned his gaze to the leafy rooftops below.

Just north of the post office, he spied the woman from the local attorney general’s office hiking up the public stairs. Wendy was accompanied by a pair of federal agents, flanking her on either side. It was an unnecessary security precaution, in his opinion, but then she was an important figure both in her official legal capacity and with the clandestine separatist movement. She had taken numerous risks in both roles and, consequently, had made her fair share of enemies.

No doubt, she was on her way up to Government House to assess Hightower’s condition.

He glanced over his shoulder as the Gorilla snorted in his sleep, shifting his position on the recliner. A rum-scented burp wafted through the doorway and onto the balcony.

Cedric grimaced at the stench. If the agent awoke, the armed accomplices were far more likely to be needed inside the building than out.

He looked once more at the trio climbing the steps and then lifted his gaze toward Emancipation Park. An opening in the crowds revealed an empty picnic table, seemingly innocuous—and yet . . .

He blinked as the realization hit him.

On a normal business day, that same table was routinely occupied by elderly men, gossiping and playing backgammon.

Spinning around, he stared into the office at the upended table and the scattered backgammon checkers strewn across the floor.

This is how the Governor and the Fixer had exchanged messages.

He had been a fool to let it slip past him.

This whole time, they’d been sending signals to each other right under his nose.

Obsolete

WENDY WALKED UP
the public staircase from the post office, easily keeping time with her FBI security team. Despite her formal skirt and blouse, she wasn’t the least bit flushed. She’d lived her entire life in the tropics and was accustomed to both the heat and Charlotte Amalie’s endless supply of steps.

It was a route she had taken countless times during the five years she’d been assigned to the local attorney general’s office. There was a constant need to liaison with the numerous USVI officials located either inside Government House or nearby offices.

From the sloping field to the left of the staircase, she heard the familiar rustle of feral chickens scratching through fallen leaves. The hens were guarded by an overprotective rooster, who eyed everyone who passed with leery suspicion. The cagy bird looked up at the lawyer and gave her an extra head-bobbing nod of concern, as if he sensed the duplicity in her step.

Wendy continued up the staircase, unfazed by the animal’s accusing stare. She was a pro at concealing her true beliefs and loyalties.

Most humans she dealt with were not as discerning as the rooster.

As she topped the steps, she glanced briefly at Hotel 1829’s flowering veranda and the adjacent parsonage, but neither piqued her interest. Her focus was trained on the brilliant white facing of the building at the end of the row, the symbol of the territory’s seat of power.

Brimming with ambition, she prepared for the next performance.

CEDRIC WAITED IN
the second-floor hallway as Wendy marched into the Government House lobby. The attorney’s arrival sparked an eruption of pleading and frustrated voices among the building’s employees.

With practiced professionalism, she quieted the riot. Assuring the captives that she was headed upstairs to address their plight, she started swiftly up the central staircase.

The accompanying agents peeled off to join their counterparts. Wendy was alone when Cedric met her at the top banister and motioned her aside.

“What’s the latest?” he whispered tensely. “I’ve been out of the loop since early this morning.”

“When you lost the Governor,” she replied, trying to mask her annoyance. The attempt was only halfway successful.

“He gave me the slip. He must have found out about my testimony.” Cedric hesitated, trying to decide whether to divulge how the Governor had been communicating with the Fixer.

At her dismissive expression, he bit his tongue. Best to hold on to any leverage he had left. He switched topics.

“Did you hear the KRAT broadcast? Bobo put himself forward as governor.”

“I’ve been rather busy, Cedric. I haven’t had time to sit around listening to the radio.”

Cedric’s lips pressed together. He sensed he was pushing Wendy too far, but he had to know.

“It’s just that—Bobo as governor. That’s not what we agreed . . .”

With an exasperated sigh, Wendy brushed past the aide. She took a few steps down the hallway, distancing herself, before she turned to look back.

She wanted to prevent Cedric from causing any unnecessary disruptions, but the governorship wasn’t a promise she was committed to keep—if, in fact, it was ever in play at all.

“Relax.” Her voice was quiet but far from comforting. “No one takes Bobo seriously. Think about it. This plays to your advantage. You versus Bobo? Who do you think will gain the people’s support?”

For Cedric, uncertainty was quickly morphing into desperation. “Wendy, I may be in trouble. My cover’s blown. I don’t know where to go.”

“Just sit tight and wait for everything to play out. We’re in a fluid situation right now.”

With that, she strode purposefully to the end of the hallway and into the Governor’s office.

•

CEDRIC WATCHED IN
panic as Wendy disappeared around the corner.

Without the Governor, he had become obsolete.

He started down the stairs, his pace increasing with each step. He had no choice but to try to find the big man.

They’d always had a good rapport, and Cedric knew how to be persuasive. He might still be able to convince his boss that he had been looking out for his best interests all along.

Plus, he held one last piece of critical information—the identity of the woman leading the separatist movement, the woman who had so deviously plotted the Governor’s downfall.

Cedric reached the foot of the stairs and headed for the front doors, trying to ignore the lobby full of condemning stares. As far as the Government House employees were concerned, the aide’s guilt was permanent and inexcusable.

Moments later, Cedric scurried down the hill toward Emancipation Park.

With the Governor still in hiding, the aide’s best bet was to check for backgammon players congregating at the park’s tables—on the off chance he was still using that method to communicate with the Fixer.