Fallen Mangrove (Jesse McDermitt Series Book 5) (20 page)

“Nobody that’s not here right now,” I replied. “Except my daughter.”

“I think we can rule Kim out,” Charity said. “We talked quite a bit those two nights we bunked together. All she wanted to know about was what kind of man her dad was. I told her what I could and I felt she was genuinely proud of you, Jesse.”

“What about before the fishing trip?” Doc asked.

The chopper had disappeared into a cove three or four miles up the coast. I thought about Doc’s question while I started the engines, turned east-northeast, and brought her up to cruising speed. I wanted to head even further out to sea before turning in to Elbow Cay. It would mean a later arrival but I didn’t want to get there before sunrise now, anyway. I figured whoever it was in the chopper was poorly trained at best and thought like a landlubber. Using the light, they were target fixated and couldn’t see outside of its cone, where we would have been visible by the light of the moon. Landlubbers only expect to see people, and therefore boats, near the coast and that was where they were concentrating their search.

Suddenly, it hit me. “The day we sold the Confederate gold!”

“Conner!” Deuce said, snapping his fingers. “He was the IRS guy. What was that other guy’s name?”

“Bradbury!” I exclaimed. “With the Florida Historical Society.”

“How are a tax guy and a history nerd connected to either an escort service or this Maggio guy?” Bourke asked in his deep baritone as he climbed up the ladder. Then to Deuce he said, “I even swept the foredeck, Boss. Nothing.”

“Conner didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would utilize an escort service,” Deuce said. “Not in his hometown, anyway. Did any part of that treasure discovery find its way into the courts?”

“No,” Rusty said. “It was a straight-up cut. The state got its share and the income tax forms were all filed properly along with the tax payments.”

Noting our direction by a quick glance up at the stars, Deuce asked, “Are you going to run way outside and get to Elbow Cay in the morning?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “We’re not due until noon, anyway. We’ll make the cut about zero seven hundred.”

“I’ll go below and shoot an email to Chyrel. Have her find out what she can about Conner and Bradbury. Anyone else you can think of?”

I thought back over the last few months since the wedding and before that. The influx of cash from the Confederate gold we sold the Historical Society meant I didn’t have to take out any charters.

“The last time anyone else was aboard was a marlin charter four months ago.”

Deuce looked at Bourke for an answer. “The battery in that device couldn’t have lasted three months, Boss. Never mind four months. Based on its power level, I’d say it was activated ten to twelve weeks ago.”

“I’ll go send the email,” Deuce said.

Nick Maggio hung up the phone, puzzled. “What happened?” his father asked him, noting his expression.

Nick looked up slowly. “Lopez and Serrano are dead.”

“How?” Alfredo asked, sitting forward. “You just spoke to Serrano an hour ago when they got to the lighthouse and Lopez an hour before that, while McDermitt was undergoing customs inspection.”

“When they arrived at the lighthouse,” Nick said, still puzzled, “Reynolds and the others were McDermitt’s captives. A gun battle erupted and one of McDermitt’s people killed Serrano. Reynolds and the others were caught in the crossfire. Lopez was shot and the Cigarette destroyed.”

“What?” Alfredo said, rising from his chair in his son’s office and raising his voice once more. “They were only supposed to stop there to get guns and fuel. How did McDermitt know?”

Still puzzled by the strange turn of events, Nick looked up at his father on the other side of the desk. “Purely a coincidence. One of them knows the lighthouse keeper. McDermitt captured Reynolds and the others at sea and planned to drop them at the lighthouse for the keeper to guard, while they conduct the treasure search.”

“The helicopter?” Alfredo asked.

“All six are onboard and it’s in the air, searching along the coast for McDermitt’s boat,” Nick replied.

“The bodies?”

“Had to be left behind. The helicopter couldn’t carry all eight. Reynolds had them moved inside along with the light keeper’s.”

Alfredo walked across his son’s office to look out over the South Beach skyline. How it had changed since he arrived here as a young man, crowded with fifteen others in a small boat. He’d done well for himself in the thirty-six years since then. He’d worked hard when he arrived, scraping a living out of the cane fields west of the city. For three years, he’d cut cane and done any kind of job the overseer asked of him, and his reliability and hard work hadn’t gone unnoticed. His employers soon recognized his ambition, his sense of honor, and his intelligence, taking him out of the fields and sending him to college. He represented the sugar company for ten years after he received his law degree and passed the bar. Even after the change in ownership that brought in some unsavory people.
When did I become a criminal?
Alfredo thought as he gazed out over the bright lights of South Beach.

Turning back to his son, he said, “Have Reynolds and the two women dropped off on Elbow Cay as planned. Then have the helicopter go back and dispose of the bodies. Tell them to refuel first and go far out to sea. They don’t have to locate McDermitt. We know where he’s going. Tell Quintero to contact you when it’s done. Round up four more people. Professionals. And get them over there.”

I sent everyone to get some rest and plotted a course on the GPS for Tilloo Cut, with a waypoint fifty miles east-northeast of our current location. At twenty knots, this route would get us to the cut at sunrise and we’d hopefully elude the chopper. We had to sleep on the boat anyway—might as well do it out on the blue, where we’d be just a speck.

We figured out sleeping arrangements to everyone’s satisfaction and set up a bridge watch. Me and Bourke would take the first two hours, then Rusty and Tony would take over. Doc and Nikki would take the sunrise watch as we were nearing the coast again. After the adrenaline rush of the last several hours, everyone was tired.

“I’m still not convinced the bug and these people are connected,” Bourke said after ten minutes of silently staring out at the stars. When I know someone’s deep in thought, I try to let them work that thought out themselves.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Think about it. After we made those four at Hurricane Hole, we sat right down there in the salon getting the information from Chyrel, with all nine of us talking and making suggestions.”

“That bothered me, too,” I said. “With four of them captive, why would they send only four more to try to free them, knowing how many we are?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “Tactically, it’s never a good move to attack an enemy that outnumbers you more than two to one. Waiting for more manpower would have been the better idea since they knew where we were ultimately going. That’s why I don’t think the ones on the island knew our strength, and therefore they weren’t there to free the prisoners at all.”

He looked out over the water to the east, thinking, and I let him come to his conclusion on his own. “They were cohorts, though. Before Tony opened up, I could see muzzle flashes from at least five guns on that cliff and y’all said there were four before Deuce dropped one. That means Reynolds and the others knew the guys in the chopper and took up arms with them. But, then again, they made quite a few tactical errors besides that.”

“How certain are you about when the bug was activated?”

“Ninety-nine point nine percent. If we were at Homestead I could run a diagnostics check and see when it sent the first data burst, to get an exact date. But it was definitely eleven weeks ago, give or take a few days.”

“That’d fit perfectly with when Conner and Bradbury were aboard,” I said. “To what end, though? Neither of them struck me as a criminal.”

“I don’t know, man,” Bourke sighed. “Maybe one or both of them just got bored with their humdrum life.”

“Makes as much sense as anything else,” I said. “Then, when they found out we had a lead on a treasure, maybe one or both of them hired people to try to take it from us? But at one point I know we talked in the salon about doing this through the proper channels. They’d have to know the treasure would be turned over to the Bahamian government the moment it’s found.”

“It’s hard for law-abiding people like us to think like a criminal,” Bourke finally said. “Chyrel will come up with something. That gal can run circles around the best computer analysts the Agency has.”

We rode on in silence for a few minutes, and then Bourke asked me about my family and what it was like to reconnect after such a long absence.

“I never thought I’d see either of my daughters again,” I said. “My ex took them when I deployed to Panama and divorced me when I was deployed again for Desert Shield. You have kids?”

“I did,” he said. “I lost my wife and four-year-old son five years ago. I was on recruiting duty, Lower Manhattan. We had a little brownstone in Red Hook. Nice neighborhood, quiet. Know where that’s at?”

“Brooklyn, right?”

“You know it, huh? Anyway, my wife took a job as a receptionist for a shipping firm in the North Tower of the World Trade Center. She was happy to have a job and they had a daycare just a floor below. We’d take the Carey Tunnel to Manhattan every morning and I’d drop them off before going to the office. Then I’d pick them up when I left work. Now and then, we’d have lunch together.”

“September eleventh?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, we were running late that Tuesday morning and I dropped them off at the North Tower a few minutes after eight and then went on to work, just like any other day. I was just walking into the office when I heard the explosion. A few minutes later, the Chief I worked with turned on the radio and we heard the announcer say the North Tower was on fire.”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought I’d had it rough with my wife taking off with the girls. It explained a lot, though. Bourke was a career Coastie if ever there was one. Most men after twenty years with the Coast Guard would retire and take a part-time job or take up golf or something. Not take a job in a clandestine organization at the age of forty. “I’m really sorry, Anthony.”

We rode on in silence, Bourke having given me more to think about.
Think like a criminal
, I thought. I’d always had the ability to get inside the head of the enemy. They were usually narrow-minded zealots of one kind or another, so that was pretty easy. I’m out of my element trying to figure out what your average, run-of-the-mill criminal would think or do. But what had happened back there made no sense whatsoever. The only conclusion I could come up with echoed what Bourke had been thinking. The four who ambushed us weren’t there to ambush us and free Reynolds and his people.

At 0300 Rusty and Tony joined us on the bridge. Bourke gave Rusty his night vision goggles and climbed down the ladder to turn in. I quickly brought Rusty up to speed on our current location, heading, and distance to the waypoint. The radar was clear, nothing anywhere near us. Seas were flat calm and no chance of weather coming up. All they had to do was stay awake and not hit anything floating in the water.

“Doc and Nikki will spell you guys at zero five hundred,” I said, handing Tony my goggles. “Tell Doc to wake me when we’re five miles out, if I’m not already up.”

“Will do,” Rusty replied. “Go get some rest.”

I climbed down the ladder and went into the cabin. With limited berths, we were forced to hot bunk on the pull-out sofa in the salon. Doc and Nikki had the forward stateroom, while Deuce, Julie, and Charity had the guest cabin with its fold-down Pullman-type bunk. Pescador was curled up under the settee, where nobody would step on him. Bourke was already snoring and I lay down, thinking. Soon, the gentle motion of the boat on the waves and the drone of the big diesel engines just below the deck lulled me to sleep.

It seemed like only a few minutes later when I woke up, but the light streaming in from the rear porthole told me otherwise. I rose and went forward to the galley. Someone had seen fit to set up the coffeemaker and I could see from the little tube it was still half full. I filled a mug and a thermos, then headed up to the bridge.

“Morning, Jesse,” Doc and Nikki said at about the same time.

Checking the GPS and seeing we were about ten miles from the cut, I handed Nikki the thermos and sat down on the port bench.

“Any sign of the chopper?” I asked.

“No sign of anything,” Nikki replied, pouring a fresh mug for both her and Doc. “We just passed the first outbound fishing boat a few minutes ago.”

“This is your gig,” I said. “We can cancel everything if you guys want to. After what happened last night, do you still want to continue?”

“We’ve been talking about it for the last two hours,” Doc replied. “Whoever those people are, they surprised you guys up there on that cliff, but I’m betting they got the bigger surprise. I know that’s not gonna happen again. If we do find this treasure, it means our kids and their kids will be set for life. It’s a lot to give up, knowing what we know.”

“Trouble is,” I began, “they, whoever they are, also know what we know. At least a good bit, anyway. That many zeroes will make people do some really desperate things. It could get a lot more dangerous.”

“Then give me a gun,” Nikki said. “I’m a Marine, too.”

I grinned and looked at Doc, who nodded. “Okay, when we go ashore everyone will be armed.”

A moment later, Rusty climbed up to the bridge. “Somebody drained the coffeemaker,” he growled, holding out an empty mug. “I put more on.”

“Sorry,” I said, handing him the thermos as I slid over on the bench for him.

“You want the helm, Jesse?” Doc asked.

“No, but let Rusty take the second seat, Nikki. He’s been through this cut a few times.”

One by one, the others came up to the bridge, making it standing room only once more as we approached the cut. Doc slowed to ten knots and looked north and south along the beaches we’d just flown over a couple of days ago. Both were deserted.

Gazing up the beach to the north, I had the strangest feeling. I’d heard people talk about déjà vu, but I’d never experienced it myself. Until now. Suddenly, I felt a rush of foreboding as I looked at the white sand beach stretching away to the north and felt certain I’d been here before, though I knew I hadn’t.

Death had visited these shores, I remembered. Every person on this island had died. And it had happened not once, but twice. The Spaniards killed the original inhabitants by the hundreds. A few were taken captive, mostly women and children. After that tragedy, the wind blew through the trees and the blue-green water lapped at the white sand with nobody to hear it for a whole generation. Then the Spanish returned, this time wrecked somewhere up that very coast I was looking at. There, they died of either thirst or starvation. Otherwise, the coconut and the treasure would have been found. Death by either thirst or starvation is a horrible way to go.
Better a quick thrust with a Spanish sword
, I thought.

We idled slowly through the cut, Rusty pointing out the nearly invisible markers and guiding Doc to the south for about a hundred yards. “That’s Tahiti Beach,” Rusty said. “It turns into a sandbar with some shallow cuts, there where the water’s shoaling. Swing tight around that marker at the end of the sandbar.”

The channel turned one hundred eighty degrees to the north and we entered the Sea of Abaco, the shallow body of water between the many barrier islands and the mainland of Great Abaco.

The resort owner had given us GPS coordinates for the channel and we soon found it. Slowly idling through an opening in the sheltered reef into a small deep-water harbor with three docks, Doc pointed to a house on the bluff and said, “That big blue house on the hill is where we’ll be staying and that’s the resort’s dock on the left.”

“Turn her around here,” I said. “It looks like we have the whole dock to ourselves. We’ll tie up to the tee on the end.”

A few minutes later the
Revenge
was tied off and we went down to the salon. All but Pescador, that is. He ran to the nearest tree as soon as we were close to the dock.

“Until we know the area better,” I said, “let’s stay together. If it’s all right with you, Deuce, I’d feel better if everyone was armed. At least for a little while.”

“Do you have enough aboard?” he asked.

I’ve always been kind of a gun nut and had a pretty large collection of sidearms and rifles, all stored away in waterproof boxes under the bunk in my stateroom. “Yeah, I have enough.”

I went forward and retrieved two more Penn Senator reel boxes, each holding two Sigs and four magazines. I also grabbed a smaller reel case that held Pap’s old Colt 1911 that I’d first learned to shoot with. I was issued a 1911 my first year in the Corps, but they soon replaced it with the Beretta 9mm.

I set the two larger boxes on the settee and those still unarmed passed around the magazines, clip-on holsters, and pistols. I gave Nikki the Sig I’d been carrying, along with its holster and extra magazine, then holstered the Colt and clipped it inside my shorts at the small of my back.

Doc had been on the phone with the resort owner to tell them we’d arrived early. When he ended the call, he said, “She’s calling the caretaker and he’ll be here in a few minutes with a golf cart for our stuff.”

“Let’s get going, then,” I said. “I hear a shower calling my name.”

When we had our gear unloaded, a golf cart appeared at the foot of the narrow pier, turned, and backed expertly down to where we waited by the boat.

“Welcome to Crystal Waters,” the young man said as he got out of the cart. “You’re early, but it doesn’t matter. The house has been empty for two days and is all ready for you. Only one of the villas is occupied. Some other folks are due in today.”

He said his name was Thom, “with an
h
.” I introduced myself and the others, telling him we were from the Keys and were going to be doing some fishing and sightseeing around the Abacos for a few days. The real reason we were there, we would keep secret as long as possible. Thom was in his late twenties maybe, with blond hair and a dark tan. He said he’d been working for the owners for just a year, but charter boats were fairly regular customers.

When we got to the top of the hill, I immediately noticed two things. First, it wasn’t a resort as most resorts go. It was more like a private residence. Second, it was elevated. High. From the water I could tell it sat at least fifty feet above the docks. Maybe the highest part of the whole island. A huge two-story house, painted light blue and perched at the top of the hill. The steep climb up from the dock provided an excellent view even from the driveway. Standing there, I could see the bridge of the
Revenge
down below
.