Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (32 page)

W
alking with Nick around the perimeter of my island, I showed him the aquaculture system behind my house. Taking a narrow path through the trees, I pointed out the reverse-osmosis unit and heavy-duty diesel-powered generator, both mounted at chest level on stilts halfway between my house and the bunkhouses.

“Over there’s the battery shack,” I said, pointing along the shoreline. “Carl has thirty deep-cycle marine batteries there that power an inverter for the things that need one-ten voltage. But most things are twelve volt or run on propane or alcohol.”

“How long can you last here if a zombie apocalypse happens?”

Laughing, I said, “If you mean the government, that’s already happened. But if things get bad, we can last more than a month. Much longer if we ration energy usage. A friend delivers diesel, alcohol, and propane once a month. With enough fuel, we can survive here indefinitely.”

Nick stopped and glanced back up to the house. “Is that why you had us come out, Jesse? To see if I’d play ball?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Nick,” I said flatly. “That was impromptu. You’re here because like it or not, we’re family. Regardless of what your mother-in-law might have told you, I’m not a complete monster. Unless you piss me off. Rule six.”

“Rule six?”

I grinned as I started back through the trees toward the bunkhouse. “You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out.”

Trotting to catch up, Nick looked through the trees at the interior of the island. “What besides those water pumps requires high voltage?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minutes later, we entered Chyrel’s comm-center. Scott was sitting at the desk in a video conference with two men I didn’t recognize. At least, I didn’t recognize their faces. Their demeanor, glimpsed for only a second before Scott closed the laptop, I did recognize. A couple of new young snake eaters.

After I’d introduced the two men and explained to Scott how Stockwell was using information from Nick and the phone call that he’d made to devise a plan, Scott opened the laptop again and the two men reappeared on the screen. One was obviously inside a car and the other appeared to be in a dense wooded area.

“These men are members of Bravo Team out of Largo,” Scott explained, zooming his camera out so that all three of us appeared in the tiny screen in the corner. “They’re conducting surveillance on the gun shop in Naranja and the fortuneteller’s place in Key West.” Turning to the screen, he said, “Gentlemen, this is Jesse McDermitt and Nick Maggio. Please introduce yourselves.”

The man on the left half of the screen spoke first. “Afternoon, Gunny. I’m Bill Guthrie, I was Jared’s spotter in Iraq.”

“He mentioned you a time or two.”

“Mostly sea stories, I bet,” the young man said, grinning. “Right now I’m getting eaten alive in the woods across from the gunsmith’s store.” He was mid-twenties, with unkempt collar-length dark blond hair and dark blue eyes. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead and he wore a goatee, with a two-day stubble covering the rest of his face. I liked him instantly.

“Anything goin’ on there?”

“The wife left in a hurry just a few minutes ago in a beat-up vintage Dodge Power Wagon. Franklin picked her up a block later, headed south on Highway One.”

“When all else fails, call the wife,” the second man said. He looked less military than Bill. I guessed he was probably a cop. He had long dark brown hair, parted down the middle and hanging past his shoulders. Also in his mid-twenties, his skin was tanned dark by the sun. At first glance, you’d think surfer, but his eyes were old and had obviously seen a few things. “I’m George Hamilton,” he said. “No relation to the guy in Hollywood. Formerly with San Diego PD, narcotics. Guess I was chosen to watch the fortuneteller because I kind of blend in down here.”

The background out the back window of the car didn’t look familiar. “She’s not at her shop?”

“No, sir, she’s at her home on Porter Lane, just a couple blocks away. It’s a cul-de-sac. The Jamaican taxi driver just left. They sat on the porch talking for about twenty minutes.”

“He’s from Andros, not Jamaica. Any other approaches to the neighborhood?”

“I scouted it on foot before bringing the car in. There’s a pedestrian path that leads to Thomas Street, by the post office. A shortcut for folks who live here, I’m guessing. Well used, but too sandy and narrow for anything other than walking.”

The camera jiggled and turned away from Hamilton. He zoomed it in and showed a narrow path between banyan trees and a stand of bamboo.

“The director’s idea,” Scott said. “Miss McKenna is taking a day off. She didn’t much like that.”

“No doubt,” I said. “Where’s Franklin?”

“He doesn’t like messing with video,” Scott replied, tapping a few keys. A map of South Florida appeared, showing a red dot in the center and a small dash-cam video in the corner. After a moment, the map moved, but the dot remained centered. “He’s southbound on the turnpike extension, traveling about seventy miles an hour, nearing US-1. Where’s the suspect, Jim?”

A voice came over the speaker. “About half a mile ahead, left lane. The big jacked-up four-by-four.” Scott moved the mouse and clicked on the dash cam. The video feed and map changed places, showing a larger video. Jim Franklin had already been a legend with the CIA and a surveillance instructor at Langley when he was recruited to teach Deuce’s team the finer points of watching someone without being seen. Far ahead of him, I could see the big off-road machine.

“Hope your tank’s full, Jim,” I said. “She’s probably on her way to pick up her husband.”

“That you, Jesse? Yeah, both tanks are full.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Keep us posted on where she’s going, but I’m betting she won’t stop for another hundred miles.”

“I’ll need help, then. Tailing someone that far is asking to be spotted. Particularly when we get to the two-lane.”

“Already on it, Jim,” Scott said. “Sherri’s at a pull-off near Lake Surprise. Coordinate with her on when and where to swap out. But it’s just gonna be the two of you.”

Sherri Fallon was one of the few women on Deuce’s team. Formerly an armorer for Miami-Dade Police, she was also an accomplished stage actress. Her job with the team, besides her proficiency at maintaining weapons, was to teach acting to the members of the team, particularly improv. Being able to think fast in a changing scenario and convey ideas to one another in a subtle way has proved helpful on more than one occasion.

“Copy that,” Franklin replied. “I’ll contact her right away. Anything unusual comes up, we’ll let you know.”

Scott minimized the screen and the two men on surveillance reappeared. “Sorry, Bill,” Scott said. “But you’re going to have to hang tight there. We don’t know enough to pull you off. Someone else may have access to the building. We’ll get someone there to relieve you before nightfall.”

“No problem,” Guthrie said. “I have an unobstructed view of three sides of the building. It’s surrounded by cleared vacant land and the only thing behind it is marsh.”

“Same for you, George,” Scott said. “We can’t be certain the subject won’t come directly there, if and when the wife picks them up. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Roger that,” Hamilton replied.

Scott closed the laptop and swiveled the chair around. “What kinda plan are you and the director cooking up?”

I spent the rest of the day mostly fussing over my grandson, making sure he stayed in the shade for the most part. Or in the water. Though he wasn’t walking yet, he quickly learned to swim. Experts call it the Mammalian Breath-Hold Response. Infants instinctively hold their breath when submerged for a second or two. I figure that in the grand scheme of things, we’re just not that far removed from our air-breathing cousins in the sea and if a person allowed themselves, they’d quickly adapt to life on or in the water. Little Jesse sure did. After the first shock of going under, and much to Eve and Nick’s astonishment while watching me dunk him, he quickly began to enjoy it, laughing hysterically when I lifted him up. After just a few minutes, he taught himself to kick with both feet and pull with his hands, to swim underwater as I backed away from him. A born waterman.

At some point in the early afternoon, Travis and Nick disappeared for a while. Eve had asked where they might have gone and I’d told her that Travis probably needed to ask him some legal advice. Not far from the actual truth, but enough that I felt guilty about it.

In my mind, I’d accomplished what had been asked, since it looked like Michal was free of the chain around his neck that was GT Bradley, and I’d told Travis about the connection to Chase Conner. A part of me wanted to be there when he was taken down, but a larger part was more concerned with continuing my life and enjoying it.

Later in the evening, after we’d eaten and were enjoying a few ice-cold beers, Travis asked Nick’s opinion on Michal’s new identity. Eve gave Travis a curious look, but didn’t say anything.

Nick considered the information Travis had told him for a moment. “So, Michal Grabowski will just cease to exist?”

“He pretty much has already,” Travis replied. “First, we already know that when his credit card records are checked, they will show usage from Pittsburgh to Key West. Second, when the police finally pulled what little was left of the crack dealer out of the tidal pool, the only ID on him was Michal Grabowski’s Pennsylvania driver’s license and the very credit card that brought him to Key West. The head and face were far too mangled to make a picture ID, but the coroner estimated the body was about the same height and weight shown on the license even though both legs were missing and at least half the rest of the body mass was gone in big chunks. Based on what he had, the coroner felt comfortable making the preliminary identification as Grabowski, pending DNA analysis. Michal Grabowski didn’t have a DNA sample on record anywhere and both parents are deceased, so that’ll come back negative. The coroner’s initial identification will then stand. Michal Grabowski, a tourist vacationing in Key West, died in a horrific accident.”

Charlie had taken the kids to put them to bed. Scott and Germ took advantage of her absence and quickly gathered the dishes in a tub, disappearing toward the north pier to wash them. Under the flickering flame of three tiki torches, Carl, Travis, and I sat across from Nick and Eve, Nick gently rocking the baby carrier. Standing behind them, Michal and Coral held hands, listening closely.

“How good are the documents you had created?” Nick asked, his legal mind already racing ahead.

“Even the CIA wouldn’t be able to disprove that the man behind you isn’t in fact Bob Trebor. And by the time we’re through, there will even be fingerprints on file, dating back to when his parents had him fingerprinted in grade school.”

“You can do that, Dad?” Eve asked.

“Me?” I said, laughing. “I can’t even compose an email without help. If Travis says it’s done, it is.”

Michal sat down next to Eve and Coral put her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled. “So, we can start a new life?”

“If you mean between Bob and Coral,” Nick said, “that’s pretty much up to you two. But, from a legal standpoint, it seems as though Bob Trebor started his life twenty-five years ago. Now, how good is yours, Coral?”

She looked shocked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Coral La Roc and Robert Trebor? Please.”

I nodded in agreement. “As my friend Rusty would say, it’s a bit of a co-inky-dink.”

Coral smiled defiantly. “I had mine legally changed several years ago and the records are sealed.”

“Sealed to casual inspection,” Nick said. “I could get a court order to produce it without very much trouble.”

For the first time since I’d met the young woman, I saw fear in her eyes and couldn’t help but wonder what she was running from. People come to the Keys on the run from something all the time. I was running toward something, a life of leisure. Or so I thought.

“Do you think Chyrel can do a little surgery there?” I asked Travis.

He gave it a moment’s consideration and said, “I’m sure she can arrange for the electronic copy of the sealed document to disappear. It may take a day or two for the physical copy. And she can beef up Coral La Roc’s background and check her old identity to make sure there aren’t any holes and no trail to Florida.” Then he grinned at the young woman. “But you really need to work on that Southie accent.”