Castro Directive (37 page)

"I'm not working for Andrews. I'm working with Odin. And I want you to call me Thor, honey. Let's hear you say it."

When she didn't respond, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, pushed her next to Pierce. "Talk to me, Lisie. You know I don't like being ignored. Did you like my drawing on your closet door, Lisie?"

"You bastard!"

"Come on. Call me Thor. Say it."

She winced in pain and struggled to get away. "Thor. Thor."

"Let her go, Simms," Pierce barked.

Simms jammed the Mach 10 against his ear. "What was that, Pierce? Did I hear you say something?"

Pierce didn't answer.

Simms lowered the weapon and snapped on handcuffs, squeezing them tight on Pierce's wrist. "You like fucking each other so much I'll hook you two together."

"Hey, what's this?" K.J. said. Pierce looked back and saw that he'd found Elise's .22 in the pack. "You couldn't kill a squirrel with that thing, Pierce."

"Hurry up, Frey. Open the goddamn box. And you two keep your eyes on the wall."

Pierce heard K.J. banging the chisel against the latch. "Careful," Simms cautioned.

"I know what I'm doing," K.J. said. "I got it open."

"Let me take a look. You watch them."

Pierce stole a glance over his shoulder as Simms reached into the box. He turned back to the wall as K.J. pointed the .357 at him.

"Yeah, that looks like it," Simms said after a moment. "Let's move out. You take the box. I'll handle these two."

He walked over to the wall, grabbed Elise by the arm, and pulled her and Pierce several steps. "I'm going through first. Follow me." He slowly backed through the door.

"Move," K.J. said when Simms was out of sight.

Just as they pushed their way through the door, Pierce glimpsed a silhouette, a figure partially hidden behind the well. Then they were through the wall and standing in the garden.

Please, be the cop, be the cop, Pierce said over and over to himself.

"Over there." Simms pointed the gun toward a hedge.

Jesus Christ, they were going to kill them right here, Pierce thought. You better hurry, he mentally told the man in the courtyard, the man who had to be the cop.

"It's a beautiful garden in the moonlight, isn't it, Lisie?" Simms said.

They skirted the hedge until they came to an opening. In front of him, as though it were just another piece of coral furniture, was the dark blue Mercedes, the same Mercedes he'd seen following him. The car had been shielded by the shrubbery, parked not fifty feet from where he'd heard Redington lecture his students.

"See, we were waiting for you. We've been here all along," Simms said. "Lisie, you know who my partner here is? Don't you?"

"Frey," she spat.

Simms laughed. "Very good. He's also my workout partner and Andrews's bodyguard. You getting the picture now?"

Pierce heard the faint groan of the revolving door and tried to cover the sound with a question. "So why didn't you get the box yourself if you knew where it was?"

"That wasn't the plan."

"So Andrews makes all your decisions now," Elise snapped.

Simms cast an irritated glance her way. "Get in the backseat."

"Hold it right there," boomed a voice from the corner of the hedge. Pierce gaped as the man stepped out into the moonlight, aiming what was probably a semi-automatic pistol. He never thought he would be pleased to see Neil Bellinger.

"Who are you?" Simms barked.

Bellinger sneered. "Sorry guys. The hundred grand was tempting, but your boss bribed the wrong cop tonight. Now drop those guns and back off."

Simms hesitated, then lowered his Mach 10. K.J. dropped his, and stepped back. "I'm Steve Simms. I'm a prosecutor for the Drug Enforcement Administration."

"Drop it, I said."

"This man with me is an undercover agent. I'm going to reach for my identification card."

"The hell you are."

Simms lowered himself onto one knee, set the machine pistol on the ground, and kept talking. "This is a drop-off point. The box is full of cocaine, and you're fucking up my bust."

"Don't bullshit me. I know who you are, Simms. Where's Carver?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The revolving door creaked again, and a commanding voice rang out. "Police. What's going on here?"

Bellinger turned. "It's okay."

"Drop it!" the cop yelled.

The moment of confusion was all Simms needed. He scooped up his Mach 10 and sprayed a dozen bullets. Bellinger was knocked back against the hedge. He hung there a moment, then flopped to the ground. The cop lay several feet behind him.

Simms walked over the Bellinger, pumped another bullet into him, and did the same to the cop. "Get in the car," K.J. said, hustling the handcuffed pair into the backseat. Simms slid in behind the wheel, and K.J. joined him in front.

"God, you killed them!" Elise shouted.

"Too bad about that, Lisie. Couldn't be helped." Simms started the engine and eased the big car out of its hiding place and across the lawn to the parking lot.

"Where're we going?" Pierce asked.

"You guys are going for a little ride. Got someone who wants to see you two."

Pierce looked out the window as they cut through the parking lot and headed north on U.S. 1. The tint was so dark he could barely see. For the first time in his life he sensed the proximity of death, his death. He heard it whistling through the air, a bullet with his name on it, a blade K.J. or Simms would sink into his heart, his body dumped into a canal like Scarjaw. . . . No telling what form it would take. Bad thoughts. He touched his pants pocket with his free hand and felt the amulet. He heard Tia Juana's voice in his head saying:
proteccion.

He clasped Elise's hand, squeezed it. He glanced over at her and saw she was staring intently at the back of Simms's head. "Why did you do it, Steve?"

"Do what, Lisie?" he called back.

"Sell out to Andrews. You knew what he'd done to my father, you knew what I thought of him."

"Sure I did, and I took advantage of it. The divorce was over, and you'd burned me. So I decided to get you at your weak spot. I knew K.J.—Frey—from the gym. So it wasn't hard to get to see Andrews. He was happy to meet me. He introduced me to a whole new world, you could say."

They'd been on the road for thirty or forty minutes when Pierce heard the sound of steel grating under the car. They were crossing the Rickenbacker Causeway on their way to Key Biscayne. That was fine with Pierce. In fact, it couldn't be better. If they were going to Andrews's condo, Carver should have the place staked out. Then again, Bellinger had asked Simms where Carver was. What the hell did that mean?

But they weren't going to Andrews's place. Simms passed the turnoff to Mimosa Drive, and several blocks later pulled off the road. There were no lights outside now, and Pierce could barely see out the windows. He knew they must be near the state park at the end of the key.

"If either of you makes a sound, you're dead," Simms said. "You got that?"

The front doors opened and warm, pungent night air wafted over them. K.J. opened the back door, and his beefy arm reached in and jerked them out. They were led down to a canal with a half-dozen slips filled with boats. The state park was on their left, and private homes to their right. But the houses were too far away, Pierce realized as they were hustled over to a streamlined Cigarette boat. Nobody could see them.

Death at sea, he thought grimly, and saw an image of Scarjaw's bloated body in the morgue. He touched the amulet through his pants pocket. But the little bag offered faint hope of protection - hope that faded with each second that they moved closer to their destination.

"Get in," Simms said. K.J. took the wheel of the boat and fired the engine. Simms released the guide ropes and they eased out of the slip. K.J. and Simms were seated in comfortable swivel chairs while Pierce and Elise sat side by side in the bow on a bench covered by a thin cushion.

K.J. guided the boat through the canal toward Biscayne Bay, keeping the speed low so as not to attract attention. As they reached the mouth of the canal, they passed close to a house, but the place was dark. And even if they yelled, it wouldn't have mattered, because K.J. pulled back on the throttle. The Cigarette whined as it picked up speed. It barely skimmed the surface of the water as though it were a creature of the air, not the sea, and they were soaked with the spray.

Pierce looked over his shoulder and saw the lights of downtown Miami twinkling in the distance. To his right he momentarily glimpsed the shadowy houses of Stiltsville that stood like sentries in the moonlight on the bay. Then they were beyond the tiny water community and out into the glistening ocean.

They were heading south along the keys, but the ride lasted only another ten minutes. They pulled up to a white yacht that rested quietly on the placid waters. ARGO-II was painted in bold, black letters on the side. Pierce remembered seeing a photo of the yacht in Andrews's study. There was no doubt who was waiting for them. He saw a couple of men on the deck; then a spotlight flooded over them, bleaching out everything.

They were taken aboard and into a plush, wood-paneled salon that was larger than his living room. Simms pointed his pistol at a leather couch in the corner and told them to sit down. Across from them was a large-screen television set.

"We going to watch a movie? Is that what we're going to do? Eh, Steve?" Elise emphasized his name as she spoke it.

"Sure, Lisie. Wait till you see the main feature. Gripping stuff."

Pierce looked around and noticed that the walls were mahogany and decorated with nautical clocks. To his right was a grandfather clock, and he noticed it was bolted to the wall. At the other end of the salon was a dining area and bar. In the center of the salon was a high-backed captain's chair, obviously awaiting their host, and next to the television was a video camera on a tripod. The camera was turned on, its red light glowing and its lens aimed directly at them.

Simms said something to K.J., took the box, and tapped lightly on a door. It opened, and for an instant Pierce glimpsed a stateroom with gold-painted walls. Then Simms closed the door behind him.

He looked over at Elise. Her clothes, like his, were wet and soiled; her face streaked with dirt. Her eyes were red and troubled. "You okay?"

She bit at her lower lip, whispered: "What're we going to do?"

"Shut up," K.J. barked.

Their plan to trap Andrews had backfired before they'd even had a chance to set it in motion, Pierce thought. And now he didn't even know if anyone was looking for them. When Redington heard Carver was missing, he must have told Bellinger about the Coral Castle. Now Bellinger was dead, and he didn't have much hope for Carver. Redington would have no idea where to look for them now.

"Well, we're all ready, aren't we?" said a voice from across the salon.

Pierce saw Andrews step through the door of the stateroom, Simms behind him carrying the box.

Andrews beamed at them a moment, then motioned for Simms to set the box on the bar. Andrews was dressed in a navy blue blazer with an open white shirt, navy pants, and white shoes. His yachting attire, Pierce thought.

"Welcome aboard, Nicholas. I thought this would be much nicer than your office." He smiled as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about their meeting. "And Dr. Simms. I don't believe we've ever met."

"I've heard about you." As if they'd just dropped by for cocktails, Pierce thought.

Andrews laughed. "Oh, a little humor. I like that." He settled into the captain's chair and swiveled toward them.

"How about explaining what's going on, Ray?" said Pierce.

"All in time." Andrews's smile turned to a frown as he noticed the handcuffs and their clothing. He turned to K.J., who was cleaning the salt spray from his .357. "Frey, please come and take these handcuffs off, and keep the gun out of sight."

He stuffed it in a shoulder holster and unlocked the cuffs. Pierce rubbed his wrist; it felt bruised from the tight grip of the cuff.

"Why did you call them Frey and Thor?" Elise asked. She still maintained her casual, conversational tone, but her hands were trembling.

"If you aspire for godliness, it helps to identify with the gods of the past. Let me formally introduce myself. You can think of me as Odin. You, of course, know Thor, and Nicholas knows Frey as my mute bodyguard. He can speak, but he usually prefers not to do so in my presence, which I find suitable."

Andrews is mad, totally mad, Pierce thought. Their only hope was that somehow they could turn his obsession to their advantage. The yacht's engines revved; they started to move. "Where're you taking us, Ray?"

"No place special. Just the cruise of your life, that's all. It won't be boring. I'll keep you entertained." His eyes flicked over them; an expression of disdain claimed his features. "You two are terribly dirty. Why don't you wash up and change clothes. I think we can find something for both of you."

"We're fine," Pierce said.