"I think it's what got the Daileys butchered. I can't make any sense of it. Mary Beth said it requires context to extract the meaning."
"Yeah, okay. I have an idea on that. I have friends that do context. Does she have this stuff?"
"Yes. I think she's working her way through it; maybe picking up on that context."
"Uh-huh. Is she in the States?"
"That's my guess. Why?"
"O'Hanlon's associates back home are dropping like flies. The FBI thinks there's a war within the mob. You think it could be Mary Beth?"
"Yeah. She said she was tying up loose ends."
"You know who she's working for?"
"No, not for sure. But I'd say there's a good chance she's working for herself, at this point. She took maybe 15 or 20 million dollars from O'Hanlon's organization, as best I can figure."
"She double-crossed them?" Nora asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I'm not sure who double-crossed whom. She's just looking out for herself. O'Hanlon would have viewed her as a liability, even though all she did was kill the Daileys and retrieve the files, like he hired her to do. She was on her way to deliver the files to him when she was ambushed by some of his people. She got the better of them, but after that, killing O'Hanlon was a matter of self-preservation for her. The others just got in her way, probably."
"You don't know the half of it, Finn. This is about more than Mary Beth killing off a bunch of guys who deserve worse. Don't forget your pal George Kelley."
"No, I haven't forgotten. I figured you'd get to that."
"He's dirty. I don't know how high up in the FBI the corruption goes, but it goes all the way to the top in Homeland Security."
"Wait," I said. "Why Homeland Security?"
"ICE. People smuggling. Selling green cards."
"But that sounds like penny ante stuff, Nora."
"We're talking wholesale. Tens of thousands of green cards, expedited processing for citizenship. It goes way beyond O'Hanlon's bunch. Money laundering's just the tip of the iceberg. The DEA may be compromised, too."
"How high up the food chain?"
"In the DEA and ICE? The top. Maybe higher. Certainly wider."
"Jesus," I said. "You mean — "
"I don't know if it goes that high. We're still checking."
"What's going to happen?"
"Too early to say. The first step's to gather the facts."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Can you reconnect with Mary Beth?"
"Yeah, but why do you want me to do that?"
"Because she appears to be making sense of those files."
"Why do you say that?"
"There's a pattern to her actions. But it's only evident after the fact."
"I thought you said you had a way to do that, to ferret out the meaning in the material."
"We're dealing with data that only has meaning if you know the context, as you said earlier."
"Actually, it was Mary Beth who said that."
"Right. The broader our perspective, the better our deductions will be. Do you need to go back to the States to get reacquainted with her? I can arrange for somebody to take care of your boat."
"No, I don't think so. Last I heard from her, she wants to meet up down here soon and make plans. She suggested that she might be able to use my help."
Nora grinned. "Great minds, and all that."
"Yeah. I was worried about how that would play with you and your chain of command, but…"
"But now you know. Just keep me in the loop."
"That may be tough, once Mary Beth and I get started."
"Why's that?"
"There's not much privacy on a small boat."
"I thought you trusted her."
"To a point, yeah. But that doesn't mean I'll tell her about you."
"She's bound to suspect you work for somebody, Finn. Tell her, but keep my affiliation vague."
"Given what you've told me, I couldn't do anything else, even if I wanted."
"Yeah, I know. Me either, but that's my problem. You okay with this new arrangement?"
"Yeah. I'm still taking direction from you. Like you said, we have a track record. But I do have a question."
"What's that?"
"I never figured I was your one and only."
"No?" She smiled. "I didn't think you did. I would have been surprised if you were that naïve. Is that your question?"
"Sort of. It's not history that I — "
"If there were others working for me now, I wouldn't tell you. You know that."
I nodded.
"But since there aren't, I don't see any harm in it."
I raised my eyebrows. "Just you and me, huh?"
"And Mary Beth, if she agrees."
"A threesome."
She smiled. "Don't do that, Finn. I know I started it; I'm sorry about my remark earlier. It was unprofessional."
"Forgotten, then," I said. "But it's nice to put a person with that disembodied voice I've been hearing all these years."
"Yeah, I agree."
"But you already knew everything about me."
"Not everything. That's why I came down here. I had pictures and descriptions, but you were two-dimensional. Like you said, it's nice to match a real person with all that data."
I held her eyes for several long seconds.
"You need to catch a plane," she said. "We'll meet again. I like you. And maybe you can introduce me to Mary Beth."
19
My flight from St. Martin arrived at Tortola's Terrance B. Lettsome International Airport at 3:40 pm. By the time I got through customs and immigration and made my way to Soper's Hole, it was almost time for an early dinner.
Tired from the last couple of days, I planned to drop my duffle bag on Island Girl and go to one of the overpriced restaurants in the marina. The next morning, I could settle my bill for dockage and go back to the nice, quiet anchorage off Fort Recovery. That would be a good place to kick back for a few days while I worked out the details of meeting up with Mary Beth.
Alas, it wasn't to be. As soon as I stepped into Island Girl's cockpit, I saw the splintered teak where somebody pried out the hasp and staple that secured the companionway hatch. The locked padlock was still hanging there, useless.
At least, the bastard who broke in closed the hatch to keep out the rain from the afternoon showers. Looking down into the cockpit footwell, I could see that the two cockpit lockers received the same treatment as the companionway hatch. So much for the marina's security guards.
A quick look in the cockpit lockers satisfied me that nothing was missing. But there wasn't much there to tempt a thief, anyway. I slid the companionway hatch forward and took out the drop boards, stacking them in the cockpit.
The area below deck was a mess. Everything from the lockers was scattered on the cabin sole. I shoved aside the stuff on the chart table, making a big enough space to put my bag down.
Starting at the foot of the companionway ladder, I picked up whatever was immediately underfoot and returned it to its normal place. Most of the stuff back there went in the galley lockers.
Thankfully, none of the glass jars that held gooey things like jelly and condiments was broken. The dishes were plastic, so they were intact as well. In ten minutes, I put the galley back in order.
The charts, books, and papers from the navigation area weren't too hard to deal with. Soon, I was in the main saloon. Towels, bedding, and odds and ends of clothing were scattered there.
The locker that held Mary Beth's stuff was at the forward end of the saloon on the starboard side. Her belongings received special attention. The intruder emptied her backpack — up-ended it and shook it, from the looks of things.
The clothing she bought in Ste. Anne wasn't spared. Seams where anything might have been hidden were ripped out. I made a quick check of the backpack itself. Feeling the seam where the microSD card was hidden, I smiled. It was still there. It must have been small enough to escape the burglar's
notice.
I stepped over Mary's things and took a quick look in the head and the fore-cabin. Both appeared to have been given only a cursory going-over. Based on the attention Mary's belongings received, I suspected that this was not the work of an ordinary thief.
George Kelley was probably responsible. The coast guard search had spotted Mary Beth's things, and somebody returned for an in-depth look. But they missed the only thing that could have been of interest to them. I chuckled at their folly as I put the rest of the things away. The mess could have been worse.
On my way up the companionway ladder, I picked up my duffle bag. I stepped out into the cockpit and put the drop boards in, closing the hatch. Climbing over the lifelines, I walked up the dock and ambled along restaurant row.
Settling on a place that advertised fresh ahi tuna steaks cooked to order, I got a table. The waitress wasted no time; she took my order as I sat down. In a couple of minutes, she brought me a beer. Seeing my laptop, she fumbled a card with the WiFi password from the pocket of her apron.
Handing me the card, she gave me a warm smile and said, "Food soon come. Jus' wave if you need anyt'ing."
I thanked her and powered up the laptop, checking the blind email drop in hopes of word from Mary Beth. I wasn't disappointed.
Guessing you'll be back on the boat tonight. Meet the 2:30 Miami flight at St. Thomas tomorrow. Don't reply. Already on my way. See you soon, sailor.
As I was putting away the laptop, the waitress brought my food. "Anyt'ing else right now?"
"No, thanks." As I ate, I considered my options for meeting Mary Beth. Taking the boat to St. Thomas put me back in U.S. waters, in Special Agent Kelley's jurisdiction. If his minions were behind the search of Island Girl, he probably wasn't interested in the boat any longer. But he might be curious about what I was up to. I didn't want to lead him to Mary Beth.
Frankie's tracking device was on the boat, still. I could remove it, or even plant it on another boat, if I wanted to confuse Kelley. But odds were high that someone was watching the boat, anyway. That meant they would try to follow me when I went to the airport, no matter what I did with the boat.
Not knowing Mary Beth's plans, I decided to leave Island Girl in the marina. There were several storefront operations that offered diving and snorkeling excursions here. In the morning, I would sign up for one. If someone were watching me, they wouldn't follow an excursion boat to a dive site.
They would wait here for me to come back. When the excursion boat returned without me after a few hours, the watchers would be stumped.
I finished my dinner and went for a stroll along the waterfront, checking out the dive and snorkel operations. I narrowed the options to three, each of which used sizable boats.
I wanted to be part of a crowd when I left in the morning. That way, when the excursion boat came back without me, the watcher might think I slipped ashore in the group without being noticed. By the time they realized I was missing, Mary Beth and I could be somewhere else.
20
The Virgin Islands are overrun by American tourists. That's a blessing and a curse. That next morning, it was a blessing, at least for me. American tourists are an unkempt bunch, so it wasn't hard for me to disguise myself.
I wore flip-flops and a pair of baggy, quick-drying nylon shorts that doubled as swim trunks. My T-shirt came from one of those beachfront places that sell them three for $10. It advertised a product I never heard of. A mildly obscene baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses completed my outfit.
My oversized fanny pack was waterproof, and it held my wallet and the passport Nora gave me. The special satellite phone plus another tourist T-shirt and a floppy canvas sun hat were in there, too. And my Smartphone, of course.
I carried my snorkeling gear in a mesh bag. The fee for the trip included the use of gear from the excursion company, but I told them I preferred to use my own.
"Lotta people do, mon," the lady in the booth told me. "Don' like them snorkel ever'body put they mout' on. Mm-hmm."
I didn't bother to explain that my reason was different. I didn't want to steal their stuff; that would make me more memorable. What I was planning would be unusual enough without adding petty theft.
The other ten people on the snorkeling trip were dressed just like me. I couldn't tell myself apart from the other males when I caught our reflection in a plate-glass window as we were lining up to board the excursion boat.
Fifteen minutes after we boarded, we finished a scenic run around Frenchman's Cay. The skipper picked up a mooring near the reefs that lined the north shore of the big cove just east of the Cay. We were only a half mile from the marina we departed from, but the tourists didn't realize that.
While the mate passed out gear to everyone, I told the skipper I would bail out here after I got a look at the reef. He looked surprised, but I slipped him a $20 bill and he nodded.
"I'm just anchored over there in Soper's Hole," I said, pointing across the little isthmus that connected Frenchman's Cay to the mainland of Tortola.
"Ah," he said, pocketing the bill.
If he thought that was odd, he kept it to himself, turning his attention to one of two young women in skimpy bikinis. They were having trouble figuring out how to adjust their buoyancy compensator vests.
I couldn't have asked for a better distraction. The skipper was absorbed in the project, tugging the stiff fabric of the inflatable vest to fit over her ample bosom, smoothing out the wrinkles while she giggled.
The mate was having the same trouble with her friend's vest. The four of them were laughing and flirting while I put on my gear. I clipped the lanyard of my almost empty mesh bag to the belt of my fanny pack. There was nothing in the mesh bag but my flip-flops.
The mate and the skipper didn't even notice as I slipped over the side. Thanks to the two bikini girls, they wouldn't miss me when I didn't return.
I swam along at the back of the pack as my fellow tourists paddled toward the reef, letting them get ahead of me. Once I was several yards behind the crowd, I turned and swam east along the shore for a few hundred yards. Treading water, I pushed my mask up on my forehead and looked around. Nobody was watching me.
Working my way into knee-deep water, I took off my gear, putting it back in the mesh bag. Once ashore, I unzipped my fanny pack and took out a quick-drying microfiber towel. Soon, I was attired in a dry T-shirt, a floppy sun hat, and a different pair of sunglasses from the ones I wore when I boarded the boat.
Picking my way over the rocky shore in my flip-flops, I made my way to the road that runs around the perimeter of the island. In a few minutes, I flagged down a bus that was headed east. After swinging through several little communities, the bus dropped me in Road Town. From there, I boarded a passenger ferry to Red Hook, St. Thomas.
An hour later, I walked down the gangway and showed my passport to the U.S. immigration officer at the terminal.
"Welcome back to the U.S., Mr. Fincastle."
"Thanks," I said.
Outside the gate, I caught a dollar taxi to the airport. My roundabout route took me almost three hours, but I was sure no one followed me.
The excursion boat I boarded in Soper's Hole would be dropping off its passengers now. Thinking about the reaction of the person who might be watching for me there brought a smile to my face.
I found a video display listing arriving flights; Mary Beth's flight was on time. With over two hours to kill, I went in search of a restaurant. Once I ordered my food, I took my cellphone and the satellite phone out of my fanny pack. The phones were in a heavyweight waterproof bag in case the fanny pack leaked.
While I waited for my lunch, I checked for messages. Nobody was trying to reach me. I didn't expect to hear from Mary Beth, but I wouldn't have been surprised to find a text from Nora.
Almost 24 hours had passed since I left her at the hotel in St. Martin. I wondered where she was. Oddly, I missed her and was more than a little worried about her. I chuckled to myself and took a sip of beer. In
all the years I took orders from her, I never thought much about her until now.
Meeting her face to face after all this time made me curious about her. What kind of life did she have? She seemed like a normal woman, personable, attractive. Now that I was safely out of her presence, I admitted that she was sexy, even. And she knew it.
She flirted with me, and she was annoyed with herself for doing it. For a few seconds, there, we were like two regular people.
But we weren't. Not by any definition of regular. We both lived in dark places, the recesses of society that most people didn't know about.
She surprised me when she told me to enlist Mary Beth, but in hindsight, that wasn't so strange. The three of us shared some uncommon traits.
I recognized a kindred spirit in Mary Beth right away, but Nora, or whatever her real name was… Well, she was nothing more than a bureaucratic voice on the phone until yesterday.
People like me and Mary Beth, we looked at other people the way predators looked at prey. Oh, sure, there were a few others out there who were more like us, but they were rare. And most of them were unbalanced, too self-absorbed to be much danger to people like us.
Nora wasn't like that. She was neither predator nor prey, at least not the way I classified people. She was something else. Maybe something even scarier than Mary Beth and me.
Nora hinted that I was her only asset at the moment, but I knew she ran teams of agents like me in the past. Most of the lives I took in the last 20 years, I took at her command. I always pictured her sitting in an office somewhere with no idea of what havoc she wreaked on the people we called targets.
Now I knew what she looked like, what it felt like to put my arms around her. That woman was responsible for more deaths than Mary Beth and I were together, most likely. But she was a warm, friendly person. In a different world, I could imagine the two of us —
"Sir?"
I jumped when I realized there was a hand on my shoulder. I blinked and saw that my food was on the table in front of me. Looking up, I could tell the waitress was worried. I forced a smile.
"Sorry. I drifted off."
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