Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (27 page)

“Somebody just came out the side door of the hotel where the van’s parked,” Germ said. “Black guy, shaved head. People are getting out of the van.”

I released a slow breath, realizing I’d been holding it.

“Five guys in the van, shaking hands with the bald guy. This isn’t good.”

“Reinforcements?” Scott asked.

“Looks that way,” Germ replied. “Too far away to hear what they’re saying. One lanky, older-looking black guy dressed like a cowboy. The others are all white, dressed the same. Wait one.”

“Eight of them now,” I muttered, not liking it.

“One of the guys is getting a long bag out of the back of the van. Looks heavy and bulky. I think it’s a tactical gun bag.”

“Change of plans,” I said. “Travis and I will go for a walk like we’d planned on, but instead of capturing them in the open, we’ll wait and let them get aboard.”

I quickly put the machine gun’s receiver back into the hidden compartment and closed it, replacing the cushions. “Let’s go, Colonel. When we’re outside, yack it up about going out for food. Loud enough so the guy on the balcony can hear.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked.

“We’ll play it by ear,” I said. “When they find nobody aboard, they’ll likely go off looking for Travis and me. Remember, Travis and I are a couple of smug drugglers.”

Travis stuck the night vision scope in his pocket and we left. Knowing they’d board after we left, thinking Michal and Coral were now alone, I left the hatch unlocked. They’d just bust it anyway.

Pescador waited just inside. Leaving him here might cause the guys to shoot. “You stay with me, Pescador.”

Vaulting the gunwale, I shouted, “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

Following right behind me, Pescador hiked his leg on the palm tree again as Travis asked in an overly loud voice, “Where we gonna eat, Stretch?”

“I feel like a steak, how about you?”

“Whatever you say,” Travis replied.

Walking along the dock, I heard Germ’s voice over the comm. “The little guy on the balcony went to the door and is now standing at the rail watching you. The other black guy just stepped outside and is looking back and forth from you to the boat. I think they bought the switch.”

Walking quickly, we approached the corner of the building. Around it would be where the van had parked. Germ was hunkered down in some vegetation just to the left of the sidewalk, away from the building. If I hadn’t known he was there, I’d have never seen him. He whispered, “All six men went inside a few seconds ago. You’re clear.”

“Good,” I said. “They’ll probably come out that way in just a few minutes. Let us know when they do. I’ll sprint around to where Scott is, and Travis will duck down between some cars here as your backup.”

I ran around the corner, Pescador loping beside me. Nearing the main door to the hotel, we slowed to a walk, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

A minute later, I squatted down next to Scott, who was hidden behind the dangling roots of an old banyan tree. “I’m with Scott now.”

“Roger,” came Germ’s voice over the comm. “Four men on the balcony now. The little guy and the three black guys. They’re looking all around the dock area.”

“We should have put a bug up there as soon as we got here,” Travis said.

“They’ll attempt a pincer movement, meeting at the boat from two sides,” I said. “We should be able to take them from behind.”

“They’re going inside,” Germ said. “All but the little guy.”

Travis said, “They’ll be coming out our way in just a second, Germ.”

A slow minute ticked past. “So much for being tactical,” Germ said. “Seven men, five with long guns, heading straight for the boat.”

When they came into view, Pescador’s ears came up, on full alert now, and a low rumble came from deep in his chest. I reached down and stoked his flank, noting the coarse hairs on his neck and back were standing up. “At ease, boy,” I whispered quietly.

Within seconds all but one man swarmed onto the deck of my boat and a loud blast shook the night. “Son of a bitch,” I snarled.

“You shoulda left the door unlocked, Gunny,” Scott said.

“I fucking did.”

With the
Revenge
pointed in our direction, Scott and I couldn’t see the cockpit. But it was visible and only a short distance from Germ. “Five men entered the cabin. One on the dock, one in the cockpit. Engage?”

I wanted to blow their heads off. I could hear shouting from inside my boat.

“Wait until they come back out,” Travis said, taking charge.

A moment later, four of them stepped up onto the dock, looking around. When the other three came out, Travis said, “Scott and Germ, engage.”

Scott was already prone, using the night vision goggles to aim the silenced MP5 submachine gun. Not an easy task, and it made for an uncomfortable position, but I knew he and Germ had trained with both pieces of equipment before.

Two quick puffs came from the ugly little gun and I watched as three men went down, one falling in the water. Another spun, but remained upright, as he and the remaining three sprinted toward us, shooting wildly in all directions.

Scott and I rose in unison and I pulled my unsilenced Sig from the holster behind my back. A few yards apart, we advanced toward the onrushing men, Scott’s gun spitting quietly and my Sig barking loudly with every footfall, both sending a rain of nine-millimeter lead at the startled men, now only fifty yards away and closing.

Two more went down and the other two turned and charged toward the building. The lead man crashed through the glass of a sliding door and the second followed right behind him.

Pescador charged after the two fleeing men, until I called him off. We heard muffled screams from inside the room followed by two quick gunshots. Then all went completely quiet. A moment later, I heard sirens in the distance.

“Report!” Travis shouted.

“Two tangoes down, two got away through the building,” Scott said as we approached the two men on the ground. “We’re okay here. There may be casualties inside the hotel room.”

“Three tangoes down at the boat,” Germ added. “All dead.”

Scott knelt by the two men on the ground and quickly checked for a pulse. “Got one still alive, here. But he’s not gonna make it.”

I knelt beside the injured man, Pescador right beside me, his hot breath coming out in a series of short low growls. The man was about thirty, wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a western shirt. His hair was scraggly, his goatee unevenly trimmed. I grabbed him by his shirt collar and lifted his face close to mine, snarling, “Who are you?”

“Billy,” he replied, coughing up blood. “Billy Ray Goodrich. Please don’t kill me.”

I looked down at the blood flowing freely from a chest wound. Lower, his jeans were soaked and quick bulges appeared in his pants from a wound in his thigh, a large pool already forming around his legs. His femoral artery.

“Too late,” I said, dropping him to the ground. “You’re already dead.” The man’s body convulsed once, the flow from his leg wound stopped, and his eyes went glassy.

“Back to the boat!” Travis shouted. “I’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

A Key West police cruiser came roaring into the parking lot toward Travis, lights and siren going full blast. Travis stood in the glare of the headlights, his left arm up, holding his credentials, and his empty right hand stretched out beside him. When the siren stopped, two police officers hurriedly stepped out of the car, guns drawn and aimed at Travis.

“Federal agents! Stand down!”

B
yers watched with anticipation as GT and the other six men swarmed toward the boat. One of them held back on the dock and in the dim glow of a small light shining up from the ground into the palm tree, he saw that it was the bodyguard, Erik.

With that many guns, the three men and the girl on the boat didn’t stand a chance. Hearing his boss’s plans for the girl, he was hoping that he might be allowed a small portion of the fun that was in store.

With a single shotgun blast, one of the rednecks blew the lock off the door to the boat’s cabin and five of them rushed in. There were a few shouts and then they came back out.

As they climbed back up to the dock, several of them seemed to stumble and fall, one falling into the water with a loud splash. Suddenly, the four still on the dock started running toward the far side of the building. Then all hell broke loose, the four men shooting in all directions.

Out of the corner of his eye, Byers saw two men stalking steadily toward the four men. Both of these men had their guns up, spitting flame, but Byers could only hear one. Two of the four from GT’s group fell to the ground and the remaining two ran toward the building.

Time to get the hell out of here,
Byers thought. Ducking back inside, he spotted the open bag that the rednecks had brought their guns in sitting on the bed. Going through it quickly, he found only one gun, a huge chrome-plated revolver with white grips that reflected the light in shades of pale pink and light purple.

He shoved the big gun into his pants and pulled his shirt down over it. GT and Erik had left their jackets on the bed and Byers quickly went through the pockets, smiling as he pulled out GT’s wad of cash. Shoving that in his pocket, he opened the door and headed straight for the stairs, not even considering waiting for the elevator.

There were only two people in the lobby when he got there. Both were at the door, looking outside. One was the desk clerk, the other an older blonde lady. Byers pulled his Panama Jack hat lower on his face and passed the desk, going out a side entrance.

Once outside, Byers heard a door open and close far down the side of the building. Crouching by a large anchor, he saw two men running across the parking lot. He recognized one of them as the black cowboy who had arrived just minutes earlier. The other was either GT or Erik, they looked so much alike that Byers couldn’t tell for sure in the dim light. He waited half a minute as the two men sprinted across the parking lot. As sirens approached, he quickly made his way through the nearly empty front parking lot, ducking behind a car whenever he could.

Looking back, the desk clerk and the blonde were both looking in the opposite direction, toward the docks. Byers headed straight for a bunch of trees with long dangly roots hanging from the branches. Wedging himself deeper among the thicker tangle of roots near the main trunk of the tree, he got down low to the damp ground. The side parking lot quickly filled with police cars.

Byers was good at waiting. His small size and cowardly nature made him very good at hiding as well. So he sat there on the wet ground while the police searched the parking lot. He heard one say that he’d found a trail of blood, and several others joined him, headed off toward town.

When it looked clear, Byers finally extricated himself from the tangle of roots and crept around the edge of the parking lot. A narrow opening in the fence at the corner of the property was no problem and he was soon out on the road. A large crowd had gathered near the entrance and Byers lost himself among them, moving cautiously backward as more people came running up.

Hearing thunder in the distance, Byers turned and casually walked away from the hotel on Simonton Street. When he reached Caroline Street, he turned left and hurried past the restaurant he’d eaten at the night before, suddenly realizing he was hungry.

Sneaking around the side of the restaurant and reaching the deck area, he stole a quick glance and saw there were two tables that hadn’t been bussed yet and nobody around. Moving quickly, he climbed over the low railing, grabbed a half-eaten fish sandwich from one plate and a fistful of cold, greasy fries from another and half rolled, half fell across the railing, retreating to the bushes along the side of the parking lot.

Eating while he walked down Grinnell Street to Eaton, he then turned left, knowing the last bus of the night would be coming that way. He hadn’t quite made it two blocks when the bus came around the curve and he flagged it down.

A few minutes later, the bus rolled slowly past the hotel, where police and now a firetruck and several ambulances filled the lot with red and blue flashing lights. Half a dozen people stepped away from the crowd, waving at the bus. When it stopped, they got on, all talking at once. Byers had his hat pulled low and pretended to be dozing.