by Jack Hardin
Garrett took a final look around the room. His mouth opened like he wanted to speak. But then, as if he had tripped on something, he pitched forward, the scarf stretching against his weight, tightening around his neck. His feet swung out, came back, and the backs of his heels hit the stool, which went flying down the hallway.
The silence in the room was ominous, broken only by irregular grunts and groans coming from the man dying at the end of one of his wife’s scarves. Garrett’s face turned a deep red and then slowly purple before holding on gray. His fixed eyes were dark sinkholes of horror.
Ringo watched him the way he might watch a mango swinging gently on a tree, serenely and perhaps with a mild disinterest.
Garrett's eyes finally closed. It was when his bladder failed him and its contents crept across his shorts that Ringo knew the job was done. He stood up. He grabbed the S&W’s magazine and walked around Garrett’s body to the end table. He slipped the magazine into the gun and brought the slide back, putting a round into the chamber. He set the gun back down and went back to the table where he pushed his chair back in. Then he walked through the kitchen to the rear door. He pulled the spare key from his pocket, stepped into the darkness. He shut the door and locked it, then walked down the path to the dock. Andrés paddled the canoe closer to the dock and Ringo got in and sat down. He picked up a paddle, and, putting Garrett’s house behind them, they slipped into the inky darkness of the bay.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ellie stared at the ceiling of her Lee Memorial hospital room, wishing she could leave. Last night, the emergency room doctor had diagnosed her with a concussion and, against her preferences, admitted her for a night of observation. The doctor said she was lucky not to have inhaled much smoke. Still, they slipped a nasal cannula under her nose and sent several liters of oxygen through it.
As soon as she arrived at the emergency room, she had called Mark and told him everything, starting with Garrett Cage’s betrayal. It took her repeating herself three times before Mark seemed to really believe it. Then she proceeded to tell him about Duncan Industries’ connection to Stacey Bloom’s operation and Quinton’s involvement as Ringo.
Mark had come by early this morning and informed her that Garrett had been found dead in his home of an apparent suicide. DEA brass from Virginia and Miami had come in to investigate the SAIC’s involvement. Jet, he said, was retiring on a high note, successfully conducting overnight raids on the nursery and Stacey’s vitamin warehouse. When he left, he still looked like his world was upside down.
Tyler had stayed the night with Ellie, parked in a chair that he claimed had been designed during the inquisition. They still didn’t know who had put a hit out on her, he’d said, and he wasn’t about to leave her alone.
Major, Katie, and Chloe had just left, Ellie’s sister fuming about Garrett and crying about Quinton. Major had been unusually quiet. He had just lost his best friend. All Ellie knew was that she had no words for him, only an “I’m sorry,” which felt nothing short of trivial. Major had spent most of his time looking out the window. He finally broke a long silence when he said, “I hate that willow tree. It’s looks like it’s in constant mourning.”
As soon as they walked out of the room, Tyler entered, holding a bouquet of daisies and roses. He looked around for some kind of vase. Not seeing anything that might work, he just laid the flowers on the tray table. “They letting you out soon?”
“This afternoon. Or so they say.”
Tyler grabbed a chair and slid it closer to the bed. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry, Ellie. This is insane.”
“Yeah.”
“You still haven’t heard anything more about the guy who rescued you?”
“No. Not a thing. And something tells me I’m not going to.” Last night, just before docking at the marina in Pineland, Ellie had come to. She had been able to get out of the boat, while her rescuer walked her and the compressor to a black Malibu. Once they got in the car, Ellie entered a coughing fit before falling back into a groggy haze. Just as they were pulling up to the emergency room entrance, Ellie had sat up and tried talking to him. He wouldn’t talk to her, just helped her inside and left.
“It was strange,” Ellie said.
“What’s that?”
“I keep thinking that he looked cold. He had burned his hand pretty badly, if I remember right. But it wasn’t that.”
Tyler stood up and walked to the window. “Hey,” he said, “I’m sorry about the party the other night. I was a bum to leave like that. I know I still owe you an explanation.”
“Thanks.” All of a sudden she felt nervous.
“I feel like a coon’s tail.”
“I’m good with that.”
He adjusted his hat over his eyes and sat back down. “The phone call. It was my ex-wife.”
Ellie’s stomach descended to her feet. “Oh” was all she could muster, and she felt silly for it.
“She wanted to talk about her and me.”
“I see.”
“Yeah,” he said. “She said she misses me. As it turns out she’s been dating someone and he wants them to get hitched. She thought hearing my voice might help her know what she wants to do. You know, if she thought maybe she gave up on us too soon.”
Ellie wanted a glass of wine. “Okay.”
“But,” he said, “it turns out that talking with me helped her realize that marrying this other dude is what she wants after all.”
“And...what about you?”
“Me?”
“That couldn’t have been an easy call. How do you feel?”
He looked down at the floor. “I won’t lie. It was hard. Stirred up a lot of—well, I won’t call them emotions. I’ll just go with stuff. It brought up a lot of stuff.” He sat up and looked at Ellie. “But I’m good with it. I’m happy for her. I feel like a door that was shut is locked now. It’s a good thing.”
She searched his face. “That’s great, Tyler.”
Ellie’s nurse broke a growing moment between them, returning to check her vitals for the four-hundredth time. Tyler came to his feet. “I’ll be out in the hall.”
____________________
Cardboard boxes, stacked eight to ten high, filled the foyer of the mansion. Chewy walked past them and down the wide hall until he reached Ringo’s office. Ringo was sitting behind his desk, looking around a room that looked naked without the books.
“Chewy,” he said, “how’s your hand?”
Chewy looked down on his right hand wrapped in gauze. “It’s hurting some. I took some pain medication, and the ointment you gave me is helping.”
“Good.” His cigar jammed between his fingers, Ringo motioned toward the door. “I got something for you. It’s behind the door.”
Chewy went back to the doorway and brought the door away from the wall. Hanging on a hook was a new wool trench coat. Chewy grabbed it up and put it on, careful as he slid his bad hand through the arm hole. He lifted it off his shoulders and it settled back on them. He shrugged a couple times and then nodded. “Thank you, Ringo. This is kind of you.”
“It was kind of you to rescue my niece. Come here. I have one other thing.” Ringo leaned back in his chair and opened a desk drawer. He reached in and produced a white envelope. He slid it across the table. “Open it.”
Chewy fingered back the flap and drew out a piece of paper. He unfolded it. “What is this?”
“That...is a deed. A deed to a bungalow at Barracuda Cay. The one to the left of where we met with César. It’s my way of saying ‘thank you’ for all your help in sending him to that great barrio in the sky. And, for just being you.”
Chewy’s unbelieving eyes lingered on the document. “Ringo. Thank you.”
“I bought Andrés a place on the water down in Miami. Somewhere he can take his mother. I also purchased surfing lessons for him.”
“He’ll look ridiculous on a surfboard.”
Ringo laughed. “I suppose he will.”<
br />
Chewy’s expression hardened, and he folded the deed and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep the swollen tears behind his eyes. His entire adult life, Ringo was the closest thing to a father he had known. “Will I...ever see you again?”
Ringo adjusted his fedora and answered slowly. “There is a time to gather stones and a time to cast them away. This is a time to cast them away. But I would expect so, in time.” His eyes were moist. “Somehow, I’ll make sure that we do.” He stood up and stepped in front of Chewy. He set both hands on the taller man’s shoulders, looked him in the eyes. He seemed as though he was going to say something but then just pulled Chewy in and embraced him. Finally, after clapping each other on the back, they let go, their cheeks wet. “You stay out of trouble, kid.”
Then, without looking up, Chewy turned, put his back toward his favorite person in the world, and left the room.
____________________
Katie turned onto Pelican Avenue and pulled her car into the rental’s driveway. Ellie had checked for a tail on the way back from the hospital and saw nothing that sent the radar up. It was dark now, Ellie’s discharge having taken far longer than anticipated. Chloe reached around the seat back and tried for a hug. “I hope you feel better, Aunt Ellie.”
“Thanks, Boo. I’ll be fine. Just need a good night of sleep.”
“You sure you don’t want us to stay the night?” Katie asked. “Chloe can be quiet.”
“Thanks. I’ll manage.”
“We’ll bring Citrus back tomorrow after you wake up.”
Chloe yelled a long goodbye out the window as they drove away, and Ellie fiddled with her keychain. She found the house key with a little help from the porch light. She went inside and shut the door, immediately sensing an abnormal pressure in the room. It wasn’t Citrus’s absence. She flipped the living room light switch. Nothing. She flipped it on and off. Still, nothing. She turned and froze when she saw the darkened silhouette sitting on the couch. She spoke with a strained voice.
“What do you want?”
The figure stood and brushed back a hoodie from his head. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Ellie’s breath caught. That voice. The same voice that spoke over her every night of her childhood and told her goodnight. It was the same voice that cheered for her as a teenager when she won shooting championships. The same one that encouraged her to join the CIA, to go, and follow her dreams. A thin haze of light from the kitchen oven range touched his face and fell across his shoulders.
It was her father. It was Frank O’Conner.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ellie blinked into a flurry of emotions. She couldn’t move. “Daddy?”
“Yes.”
His voice—soft, gentle. She took a step toward him, squinting in the meager light. “It’s really you?”
“It’s me, sweetheart.”
Her heart knew, but her mind was still lagging behind, and it wasn’t until he smiled that she melted on the inside. Frank O’Conner smiled with his eyes, crows feet bunching up as he squinted. It was his smile. It was him.
She closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. She wept. He returned the embrace and for the next two minutes father and daughter clung to each other, weeping on the other’s shoulder and, finally, laughing in between sobs. Ellie gathered herself and pulled back. She searched his eyes and stared into a face that had grown older. One that was now filled with a certain sadness, even against the joy of seeing his daughter.
He motioned toward the couch. She sat, not taking her eyes off him. He had a beard now, like in the picture. Mostly gray, but some brown still holding out. She reached out and grabbed both his hands. She held them tight, rubbed them with her thumbs. “We all thought you were dead.”
His brows drew together. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No apologies. You did what you needed to. I don’t need to know why.”
“Yes. Yes, you do.” The firmness of his tone surprised her. “How is Katie?” he asked. “And my granddaughter?”
“They’re doing well. Chloe’s getting bigger. She’s such a chatterbox.”
He nodded as a man who was heavy with loss. “And Warren?”
“He misses you. He doesn’t say much, but he really misses you. We girls had a birthday party for him a few weeks ago.” She smiled fondly. “He was telling us about that time that you, him, Norma Jean, and Gunny went down to the Keys. He said something about you winning a turtle race.”
She watched her father’s face as he scanned diminished horizons. He smiled. “Yes. That was a good weekend. I won five hundred clams if I remember correctly. I almost lost my head to a bunch of bikers. It took two months for my jaw to feel normal again.” He blinked and paused. “Ellie, I’m not DOJ.”
She knew that much now. The connection to Ryan Wilcox. The secrecy. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” It was a silly question. She of all people knew the answer. But this was her father and it felt like the rules shouldn’t apply. She shook her head. “Nevermind. I know you can’t answer that.”
“I can’t,” he said. “But I will. You deserve at least that much.” He stared at her hands as he spoke. “This all started when Deputy Director Hanson commissioned one of our officers to look into a probable intelligence leak. When that officer was found dead nine months later, Hanson put me on it. All we knew at the time was that the wizard behind the curtain was very powerful.”
“So you faked your death.”
“Remember the dossier you received in St. Petersburg? The one that made you decide to abort your mission?”
Her father knew about that? “Of course.”
“The officer that was killed before I came in. He’s the one who left it. He didn’t have enough information to expose the entire program.” Frank scratched at his beard. “Ellie, Mortimer fed you all bogus missions.”
She knew it. Ever since that seed of doubt had been planted in her mind that cold St. Petersburg night. “All of them?”
“No. No, of course not. Several years into your time in Brussels someone got a hold of him and blackmailed Mortimer into doing his bidding. We had our suspicions, but we weren’t sure until last week. Ellie, it was Scott Reardon.”
Ellie blinked. “Scott Reardon? I thought he was involved with bad energy contracts.”
“He was. But he’s a busy man.” Frank paused and looked away, formulating his next words. “Ellie, Trigg Deneford was working for Reardon.”
The words had no sooner left his lips than Ellie stood up. She rubbed at her face. As she paced slowly across the room the pieces started coming together. “Reardon was taking us out because we did his dirty laundry.”
It wasn’t a question, but her father replied with a soft, “Yes.”
Ellie's hands were fists now. “Scott Reardon had my friends killed. But...why now? It’s been years.”
“Some of his relationships on the Continent have become unsteady. He was covering his bases.”
“But Deneford was working at Hawkwing. What’s the connection?” She returned to the couch.
“Like I said, Reardon was a busy man. Deneford was his cleaner, but he was also making millions for Reardon moving dope. When Deneford was a SEAL he murdered an Afghan family in their home. Somehow Reardon acquired evidence to the event and blackmailed Deneford into working with him.” Frank sighed. “Ellie, I’m sorry. I had no idea he was sending someone after you. Not until a week ago. By the time I found out you had already been warned.”
“Virgil,” she said. “That’s why I’m still here at this place. How did you find out?”
“I’ve spent the last couple years working myself into his inner circle. A man by the name of Titus Clark was his personal assistant. Last week I managed to grab Titus, putting Reardon in a position where he had no one else to trust to destroy his private files. All of them, going back thirty years.”
“So Reardon’s under i
ndictment?”
“No. Not anymore,” Frank said. “He’s dead.”
____________________
Chewy had been instructed to leave his car at the far edge of the dirt parking lot and walk into the grove. He was to count thirteen mango trees in and turn right, count seven more trees and turn left. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark as he worked his way through the trees without any urgency.
She was already here. Fragments of moonlight cut through the trees and spangled across her face. Her eyes were swollen, her hands twisted in her lap, clasping a tissue. A plastic outdoor chair sat next to her.
“Hello, Chewy.”
“Hello.” He sat and looked into the darkness of the grove. Neither spoke for several minutes, not wanting to start a conversation that would quickly lead to goodbye.
Her sorrowful voice broke the silence, full of lament, asking what she already knew to be the case. “So, it’s all over then.” She said softly, but with the finality of director yelling cut, telling everyone it’s a wrap. “I can’t believe he tried to kill Ellie. I would have done him in myself.”
“Yes.” Chewy swallowed hard against the sadness sitting across his shoulders like a wet blanket. “It’s over.”
“I remember the first time I ever saw you,” she said. “I liked you then and I like you even more know. I’m going to miss you, Jared.”
“You were my favorite distributor,” he said.
“It’s been a good run, hasn’t it?”
“Your husband still doesn’t know?”
“No. I never did tell him. Didn’t see a good reason.” It was quiet for a few minutes as they listened to the cicadas and crickets. “The cancer centers are going to miss the money. I hate that.” She stood up. Chewy followed suit. She extended her hand. He took it into his and shook it gently. “Goodbye, Chewy. It has been a sincere pleasure working with you these last ten years. If you ever need anything, anything at all, let me know. I hope you don’t receive that as a triviality.”