Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (28 page)

Jock introduced Logan to Galls, and both of us to Major John Lockman.

"The major is in command of the Delta Force team," said jock.
"They've secured the island and have all the remaining men under arrest."

"What about the girls?" I asked.

Jock shook his head. "They're bringing them in on a Coast Guard
boat. They'll be treated for drugs, and then we'll see what we can do about
them."

Galls said, "My people raided the spa, and we have three men in custody. The girls are being held for medical treatment."

"They're all on drugs," I said.

"We know," said Galls. "I doubt they'll be much help to us in making a case against Simmermon."

I shrugged. "I've got three of his people under wraps and a recorded
statement from Michelle Browne, his top assistant."

A look of surprise crossed Galls' face. "Where are they?"

I grinned. "I don't think you want to know. But I'll get them for you
later today."

Galis laughed. "Good enough."

I turned to the major. "Did you lose anybody?"

"No, sir," he said. "There were only a half dozen armed men left, and
they gave up quickly. We found several bodies with gunshot wounds and
five who died from what looks like grenade shrapnel."

Jock put his elbows on the table, leaning in. "That sounds about
right. Matt and Logan are old infantrymen."

The major looked at us. "Army?"

Jock said, "Matt was Special Forces, and Logan was in the 82nd until
he got out of the mud and learned to fly helicopters."

"Airborne," said the major, just loud enough to be heard.

"Airborne," Logan and I repeated. It was the mantra of those who
jump out of airplanes in order to take care of the rest of us. George Orwell
once wrote something to the effect that people could sleep peaceably in
their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on
their behalf. I was looking at one of those rough men, and I was glad he was
on our side.

I said, "Did you find any explosives, Major?"

"Yes, sir. We found a big stash. There were also vests, like suicide
bombers use."

Logan spoke up. "Did the people you took prisoner know anything
about suicide bombers?"

"Yes, sir. We've got several who keep talking about wanting to die for
God. They told my intelligence people that they were supposed to leave
the island today and fan out across the country. Apparently something big
was planned for this Sunday."

Jock said, "Simmermon is as crazy as a run over dog, but he keeps
talking about the ones who went out yesterday."

"How many?" I asked.

"Only three, he says, but who knows."

"Did he say where they're going?"

"Yes. One is here, another is going to Atlanta, and the third is headed
for Orlando."

Logan said, "Today's Saturday. Are we talking about tomorrow?
That's not much time to stop this."

"Tomorrow,"Jock said. "We've got to move fast. I've alerted the FBI.
Their counterterrorism force is working on it. Galls will have men at every church in Key West on Sunday. I don't know about Atlanta and Orlando.
Too big. Too many churches."

The phone on the table rang. Jock picked it up, listened, and hung
up. He looked at me. "Peggy's about to leave. She wants to see you."

Galis stood up. "I'll take you to her, Matt."

I followed him out the door and down a hall to another small conference room. Peggy was there, dressed in slacks and a blouse. Another
woman, a tall blonde in her mid-twenties, was with her.

Peggy stood and hugged me. "Thanks for saving my life:'

I hugged back. "You're worth saving. Laura told me so:'

"Come to Atlanta with me. Laura will want to see you:'

"How is she?"

"Bad. Very bad. Daddy said she perked up when he told her you
found me, but she doesn't have long."

"I can't leave right now, honey. We've got a big problem on our hands
with Simmermon."

"Matt, if you don't come now, you may not get to see her."

I knew that, and I also knew that I wasn't needed in Key West. But I
thought Jeff and Peggy and her sister, Gwen, should share what little time
Laura had left. I'd long ago forfeited my right to those last precious hours
of her life.

I kissed Peggy on the top of her head. "Tell Laura I'm thinking of
her."

Peggy started to cry and wrapped her arms around me. "Come see
me in Athens, Matt. Promise me."

"I will. Soon."

Galls introduced me to the good-looking blonde. "Matt, this is
Deputy Karen Senkbeil. She's going to Atlanta with Peggy."

We shook hands. "Take care of my girl, Deputy," I said. I turned and
walked out the door, hurrying before I started crying. Paratroopers aren't
supposed to do that. Not in public, anyway. Not even for Laura.

I rejoined the meeting. Coffee had been delivered and each man had a mug
in front of him. I poured myself one and sat down next to Logan.

Jock said, "We've worked out a plan of sorts. Blood Island is secure,
and Major Lockman is going to leave a platoon there to make sure it stays
that way. He and the rest of his men are headed back to Hurlburt. I'm going
to sweat Simmermon some more, and see if I can get something else out
of him. We're also going to be interrogating the other people from the
island. Maybe somebody heard something or knows something."

"What about other governmental agencies?" I asked.

"The FBI is on it, and because of the explosives, ATF is joining them.
The president is being briefed, and if we can't stop the bastards, he'll be
prepared to make a statement to the nation on Sunday evening, explaining
what happened."

"Not a great plan."

Jock looked at me. "No, it's not," he said, "but unless you've got a
better one, I don't know what else to do."

"How do Logan and I fit into this?"

"You don't, officially."

"Unofficially?"

"I'd like for you to go to Orlando today. Make contact with your
buddy at the U.S. Attorney's Office. He'll be expecting you. He's been
told that you'll be coordinating our efforts up there and acting as liaison
with me:'

"That sounds pretty official."

"There'll be no record of it. Parrish knows that."

David Parrish was the chief assistant U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Florida. He'd been my law school classmate and good friend for
many years. We'd worked together before.

"Okay," I said. "Can Logan take my boat back to Longboat Key?"

"No. The Coasties will take care of your boat. I want Logan to go
with you. You'll be met at the airport by one of our men. He'll drive you
to Parrish's office and leave you a car. Check in with me when you get
there."

"What about the people I'm holding?"

Galls stirred. "I'd like to have them in custody," he said.

Jock looked at me. "How quick can you get them here?"

"Pretty quick. But I've got to go get them."

I called Mendosa's number again and waited for the callback. It came
quickly.

"I need to pick up my people and deliver them to the cops," I said.
"If it's all right with Mr. Mendosa, I'll drive out and pick them up. Nobody has to know where they've been."

"Hold on."

I waited.

He was back on the line. "Mr. Mendosa said to come on out."

Logan and I took a government car and drove back out U.S. 1, taking the turnoff on Big Coppitt Key. The garage door opened as I pulled
into the driveway. A space was waiting for me. I pulled in, and the door slid
closed. A man was standing at the doorway leading into the house. He
waved Logan and me in.

Our three guests were standing in the kitchen, hands cuffed behind
them, blindfolds over their eyes, their mouths gagged. Nothing was said by
anyone.

We guided the three into the backseat of the car, and I backed out of
the garage. We returned to the Coast Guard station on Trumbo Road and
turned them over to Detective Galls.

Orlando. My old hometown. It was a city that lived up to its nickname,
"The City Beautiful." It was dotted with over a hundred named lakes, and
its suburbs had many more. It was a city of gracious homes and tall office
buildings. Condos were sprouting downtown and the city center was a
vibrant place to be on a weekday. On this Saturday, it was quiet.

"I'll leave the car for you," said our driver, tossing the keys to me.
"Somebody will pick me up in a few minutes."

He'd parked in the public lot beneath 1-4, across the street from the
federal courthouse in downtown. "Better leave your weapons in the car,"
he said.

Logan and I had flown up from Key West in a business jet owned by
some federal agency. We didn't have to surrender our weapons. Each of us
had a nine millimeter, and I still had a dive knife strapped to my ankle.

Before we left Key West, jock had dispatched a Coastie to retrieve
my dive gear from the surfer guy who ran the shop. It would be stashed
aboard Recess.

A Coastie had directed us to an area where we could shower and
shave. Logan and I were both dead tired. We hadn't slept since we took the
naps while anchored at Boot Key the afternoon before. We grabbed a
couple of hours of sleep, and then dressed in new clothes provided by a
grateful government. We both were wearing slacks and golf shirts, with
light windbreakers to hide our pistols.

We landed at Orlando Executive Airport shortly before noon, met
our escort, and were driven to the courthouse.

We left our weapons in the trunk of the government sedan, cleared
courthouse security, and were escorted to David Parrish's office. He was waiting for us, a big blond man whose hair was now mostly gray, a slight
paunch hanging precariously over his belt.

"Matt," he said in his Georgia accented baritone, "it's good to see
you."

I introduced him to Logan, and said, "I'm told you know why we're
here."

"Not exactly, but I got orders from Washington to, as they say, show
you every courtesy. That means I'm to do what you tell me to do."

"I like that," I said. "How about getting me a cup of coffee?"

"Go to hell, Royal," he said, grinning. "There are just some things I
won't do for my country. Can you tell me what's going on?"

We had taken seats in a small conference room. David sat at the end
of the table, and Logan and I flanked him. The seal of the U.S. Justice
Department hung on the wall behind Parrish's head, and black-and-white
photographs of the present and former U.S. attorneys general lined two
other walls. The final wall was glass, providing a view of 1-4.

I leaned into the table. "David, we're in a hell of a fix. Somebody is
going to blow up a church here on Sunday."

"Whoa. What's going on?"

I filled him in on what we knew and what we didn't know. It was
sketchy at best, and not very enlightening.

Parrish leaned back in his chair, hands under his chin, fingertips
touching. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know. I need to call jock and see if he has any more information."

A look of mild surprise crossed Parrish's face. "Ali," he said, "I
should have detected the fine hand of Mr. Algren in all this. He has a lot
of juice in Washington."

Jock, David, and I had worked together before.

"He seems to," I said.

David looked at Logan. "Where does Logan fit into all this? Are you
government too?"

Logan laughed. "Not since I got out of the Army. I got shanghaied
into this mess by our friend Matt. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do
here, other than hold Royal's hand."

I stood up. "I've got to make a call," I said, and stepped into the hallway, pulled out my cell phone.

Jock picked up on the first ring.

"Anything more?" I said.

"Not much. We've helped the Rev's memory with some drugs, but
what we're getting is pretty disjointed. He seems to be living in die past
somewhere and talking about somebody named Albert Thomas and another guy named Colin Edinfield. I don't know who they are, and die government computers tell us they're both dead. I can't make any sense out
of it."