Aground on St. Thomas (2 page)

The Escape

THE GOVERNOR TURNED
away from the balcony railing, relief on his face.

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the Fixer’s arrival, Cedric noted, his own concern deepening by the second.

The aide watched, perplexed, as his boss bounded into the office.

Given the sedentary nature of his leadership position and the frequency of job-related eating engagements, the Governor wasn’t in great physical condition. The combination of inactivity and constant eating had widened his already bulky form. He suffered from innumerable aches in his joints and muscles and saw a chiropractor, acupuncturist, and a masseuse with regularity.

None of these oft-cited infirmities appeared to hamper his mobility on this occasion. Cedric had never seen the big man cross a room with such vigor.

“Thank you for coming.” The Governor glanced at the name tag and added with a smile, “Fowler.” He clasped the newcomer’s shoulders and gave him a firm hug. “I’d almost given up hope.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Fowler replied with a glance toward the harbor. “You’re not out of the woods. Not by a long shot.”

“Let’s get going, then.” The Governor reached for a hanger attached to a hook on the back of the door.

Fowler stopped him before he could slip on his suit coat.

“You won’t be needing that, Guv.” He lifted a tote bag from his shoulder, reached inside, and pulled out a T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of worn tennis shoes. “Better change into these. You need to be less conspicuous, and, uh . . .” He looked skeptically at the Governor’s wide girth. “We might have some hiking to do.”

As the Governor loosened his collar and unfastened his cuff links, Cedric resumed his worried pace around the office. The aide was unnerved by the sudden change in circumstances. The situation was spinning out of control—and he wasn’t referring to the incoming feds.

Fowler folded up the Governor’s shirt and slacks and tucked the clothing, along with his loafers, into the tote. As the Governor stood from tying his shoelaces, Fowler handed over a white visor printed with the logo from a New York–based tennis tournament.

It wasn’t much of a disguise, Cedric thought, surveying the improvised outfit. The Governor’s chubby figure was well known throughout the territory, particularly in Charlotte Amalie. He wouldn’t get more than a block or two from the building without being identified and called out.

Fowler was far more confident in the costume’s chances of facilitating evasion. With an approving nod, he cracked open the door and peeked down the hallway. The Governor leaned forward, anxiously peering over the other man’s shoulder.

Cedric stopped his pacing and stared at the pair crowded by the doorway. He shook his head, stunned by the rapid turn of events.

For the past six years, he had run the Governor’s schedule, overseen his legislative obligations, and managed almost every aspect of his daily life. He’d been invited to family events and had dined regularly at the Governor’s Mansion. He had been the only aide trusted to babysit the First Lady’s beloved Chihuahuas. He’d been an essential part of the politician’s very existence.

But if he didn’t act fast, his services were about to come to an abrupt end.

With difficulty, Cedric swallowed his pride. He would have to set aside his qualms about the Governor’s accomplice—no matter how much he disliked the thought of involving the Fixer.

“How can I help?” he asked meekly.

The Governor turned his head back toward the office and shifted the visor so he could see out. The tone of his voice matched the incredulous expression on his face.

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

•

THE TRIO CREPT
down the hallway, with Fowler taking the lead, the Governor following cautiously in the thin man’s footsteps, and a bewildered Cedric bringing up the rear.

The group hugged the corridor’s right-hand side so they wouldn’t be visible through the opposite wall, which opened to the floor below.

A quiet hush rose through the building’s empty center space, the collected bated breath of the Government House employees waiting for the raid to commence. Cedric veered left to peek down through the slats in the hallway’s side railing.

Like most offices, theirs was a fractious workplace, particularly behind closed doors and turned backs. Feuds were often fueled by jealous speculations about who was in favor and who had fallen out.

As the Governor’s trusted aide, Cedric discreetly monitored the building’s verbal traffic. He could usually squelch the most damaging rumors before they reached the newspapers.

Over the years, he had overheard countless disgruntled discussions from hidden positions on back stairwells, inside bathroom stalls, and behind copy room doors. The complaints ranged the gamut, from perceived inequities in pay and workload to suspicions about the administration’s ethical policies and practices.

But at this moment, none of that rancor was in evidence.

As Cedric looked down at the employees gathered in the lobby below, the faces reflected back a wall of undivided loyalty. Their innate aversion to the imposition of foreign troops combined with the Governor’s attempt to elude the invaders had forged a temporary unity.

That allegiance wouldn’t last more than thirty seconds after the big man left the building.

At least, that’s what Cedric was counting on.

In recent months, the trusted aide had turned on his employer.

He was now the star witness in the federal government’s case against the Governor.

•

FOWLER THREW BACK
his hand, halting the train of followers behind him. From the top of the building’s central curving staircase, he angled his head to see through to the front lobby.

A woman had been posted to serve as lookout for the approaching federal agents. She stood next to the security scanners in an area dedicated to a display of the territory’s past leaders. The lobby’s homage included portraits of both elected and appointed governors, going all the way back to the Danish Colonial era. On the near wall hung a pair of Pissarro paintings, a tribute to the famed Impressionist artist who was born on the island in 1830.

From her position in the lobby entrance, the woman had a clear view of the narrow one-way street running in front of Government House as well as the public gardens that dropped down the slope from the opposite curb.

Fowler puckered his lips and sent out a low whistle.

At the sound, the woman leaned forward for a last check through the glass doors. Then she glanced up toward the unseen trio and subtly nodded.

With that signal, Fowler ushered the Governor forward, and the group began a mad dash down the red-carpeted staircase, a wild scramble of thumping, slipping feet.

Cedric considered faking a fall that might slow their departure. But before he could gauge a safe tripping distance, a heavyset man with a build similar to the Governor’s chugged up the steps to meet them.

Fowler hit the brakes, nearly causing a collision. As Cedric struggled to regain his balance, Fowler reached into the tote bag and tossed the man the Governor’s formal clothes and shoes.

“Hold them off for as long as you can,” the Governor said gratefully, patting the doppelgänger on the back.

Cedric turned to watch the man continue up the stairs and along the hallway to the Governor’s office. Once more, he found himself wondering how all of this subterfuge had been arranged without his knowledge.

Clearly, the Fixer’s sudden appearance wasn’t the only unforeseen wrinkle in the day’s schedule.

The aide hesitated on the stairs as the other two resumed the charge to the bottom. It was an unsettling sensation, being so uninformed and out of the loop. He had no idea what to expect next.

Even after the Governor’s earlier urging, he wasn’t sure how far he was invited to join in this improvised escape.

Swallowing his anxiety, Cedric trotted down the remaining steps. No matter what bizarre tricks the Fixer had up his sleeve, he couldn’t afford to lose track of the Governor’s position.

Not now. Not when he was so close to achieving his goal.

He caught up with the pair on the first floor, falling in line as they passed the receptionist, who buzzed them through a security gate leading to the rear of the building.

They were moments away from fleeing into the surrounding residential neighborhood.

Cedric straightened his tie, trying to convey a look of confidence, even as his mind reeled with anguish.

Months of careful planning had just been thrown out the window.

A Warm Island Welcome

CEDRIC TRACKED HIS
boss through Government House, following the man’s bobbing visor down a series of narrow corridors. Up ahead, Fowler took off into a maze of tiny rooms, an indirect but, Cedric presumed, less conspicuous course to the rear exit.

The building’s floor plan had been modified numerous times since its original Danish construction, the 1860s format being incompatible with the functions of a modern-day office space. The resulting layout contained several odd-shaped hallways and closet-sized cubbyholes, the squeezed-off remnants from efforts to create a center open area.

Fowler’s winding path took the three men through a servant’s quarters that had been converted into a copy center and across a galley-style kitchen that now served as a break room.

It was a frantic pace, and Cedric found himself struggling to keep up. The Governor’s bulky frame flashed in and out of view, moving with surprising swiftness and agility.

“Where did the Guv get all this energy?” the aide panted, but there was no time to ponder the question. In all the twisting and turning, Cedric temporarily lost sight of the hefty politician.

He stopped in a hallway intersection, puzzling at the circuitous route.

The Fixer must be lost, Cedric reasoned. He allowed himself a modicum of hope. Maybe they wouldn’t make it out of the building after all.

But when he reached the exit a few minutes later, he found the two men kneeling on the floor, peeking out the door’s upper screen.

“Where to next?” Cedric whispered, crouching beside the Governor’s visored head.

Fowler replied with a raised finger to his lips.

The federal agents had reached the lobby and were conversing with the woman who had been stationed by the security scanners. One of the men demanded impatiently to be let through.

After a tense back-and-forth, the lookout stepped aside. She spoke loud enough to be heard across the first floor.

“The Governor is upstairs in his office.”

Scraping chair legs and shuffling feet communicated the agents’ progress through the building. Once the uniformed men started up the central staircase, Fowler pushed open the screen door and crept outside.

The trio tiptoed through a courtyard and across a path leading to a gate in the high-security fencing that encircled the back side of the property.

Surely, the feds would have covered the building’s rear access, Cedric thought, internally exasperated.

But the area appeared to be clear. Fowler unlocked the gate and eased himself through to the other side. After checking around the far corner of the building, he waved for the others to follow.

Not wasting any time, the Governor jumped through the opening, joining Fowler on a sidewalk attached to a flight of stone steps that led up Government Hill. The public stairs cut between Government House and an adjacent structure, another Colonial-era building that served as the parsonage for a local church.

Cedric proceeded more cautiously through the gate, expecting that at any second he would hear the sharp whistle of an arresting federal agent.

To his dismay, he too crossed to the outer sidewalk unimpeded.

He poked his head around the edge of the building and looked down toward the waterfront, still in disbelief at the ease of their escape. Craning his neck to see over the intervening neighborhood, he scanned the shoreline.

By now, he reasoned, the watchful residents of Charlotte Amalie would have noticed that something was amiss. The cruise ship traffic in and out of the harbor was closely scrutinized by the island’s taxi drivers, tour guides, jewelry shop sales force, restaurateurs, and everyone else tourism-employed in the up-slanted town. Many were no doubt wondering why the day-trippers had yet to disembark—and why a navy vessel was moored in the deepwater port beside the fancy cruise ship.

Cedric grimaced at the scene below.

Frustrated citizens stood on the sidewalks, waving their disabled cell phones in the air, grumbling about the sudden loss of signal.

Confusion reigned among the street vendors. Many of them had given up for the day and had begun packing their mass-produced goods into the plastic bags provided by the moneymen who financed their shilling operations.

A truck drove through the downtown streets, cruising at a snail’s pace with its windows rolled down. The vehicle’s radio had been set to an earsplitting volume. The speakers pumped out the broadcast of a local station whose transmitter had so far avoided being shut off.

Cedric couldn’t make out the broadcast words, but the message was heard loud and clear across Charlotte Amalie’s lower downtown area.

The backgammon players pocketed their dice, gathered their checkers, and folded their game boards. The remaining street vendors rolled up their wares. In the high-end alley shops, staff and storeowners scurried to secure the iron gratings used to protect their merchandise at night. The pickpockets had long since disappeared into the back streets, keen to avoid the surge of federal agents.

In the distance, ammunition began to pop through the air, reminiscent of the island’s annual New Year’s Eve ritual when celebratory gunfire peppered the sky. The regular January barrage was scary enough, leaving citizens hunkered on the floors of their houses, fearful of stray bullets flying in their windows.

Cedric listened to the reverberations, counting the rounds. A scattering of police cars ventured into the streets, but the local officers wouldn’t make much of a dent in the gunfire. As with the incidents that took place at New Year’s, there simply weren’t enough resources to track down every report of randomly fired shots.

Cedric had warned there would be unrest during the execution of the arrest warrants, but the woman at the local attorney general’s office had dismissed his concerns. Her superiors in Washington were reluctant to bring in extra manpower.

The aide gripped the corner of the white-painted wall, staring at the movements along the waterfront.

He hoped the feds were prepared.

They were about to receive a warm island welcome.

•

“PURE CHAOS,” CEDRIC
said, pulling his head behind the building. “And getting more so by the minute.”

His words hit the concrete sidewalk without reaching human ears. Fowler and the Governor were no longer standing behind him.

Startled, his eyes swept up the hillside steps.

He nearly laughed aloud at the sight of the Governor scrambling over a window ledge into an unoccupied residential building that was under renovation. The roof had been torn off, and the frame had been stripped down to a concrete shell. The Fixer crouched on the ground beneath the Governor, laboring to heft the larger man through the square portal.

What was he so worried about? Cedric thought with a grin. The plan had been thoroughly vetted. There was no chance the Governor would escape capture. He just had to keep track of him until the feds caught up.

What could possibly go wrong?

He sprinted up the steps.

“Hey! Wait for me!”