A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  “Good. I’ll be there in twenty-four hours. We’ll find these men and collect our bounty. We have some competition though. There’s a Slavic-looking güey in the bar pumping a DWR guy for information, just like I did.”

  “He probably works for Volk. We’ll need to move fast.”

  They spoke for a few more minutes before Comacho hung up the phone. He took out the battery and the sim card then carefully destroyed both. He dumped the pieces in separate trash cans on his way into the hotel.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Northwest Passage laid off Caye Caulker and dropped anchor. Jim Kilroy left the aft bridge and walked down the stairs to the main deck. A crewman helped attach the lift sling to the thirty-two-foot, yellow-and-white Yellowfin center console boat. Jim held the sling in place while the crewman scampered to the crane and maneuvered the boom over the boat. Jim attached the crane hook to the sling. He pointed his index finger into the air and made a circular motion with his wrist.

  The crane operator followed Jim’s signals to lift the Yellowfin from its blocks and swung it over the side of the boat. Jim pointed to the water and swiveled his wrist again. The crane lowered the Yellowfin gently into the water. Jim already had rubber fenders hanging off two cleats on the starboard side of the boat’s hull to keep it from bumping into the transporter.

  Jim climbed down into the center console where he fired up the twin three-hundred-horsepower Mercury Verado outboard motors. He let them idle while he unhooked the lift sling. The crane operator raised the sling out of the way.

  Putting the engines in gear, Jim eased away from Northwest Passage and steered toward land. He left the helm long enough to pull in the two fenders.

  When Aaron Grose had told Jim that he wanted to build a dive shop and hotel on the small island, Jim had jumped at the chance to own part of a dive resort. At the time, Jim and Karen were traveling the eastern coast of Central America, sampling the diving and fishing on an extended honeymoon.

  He smiled at the memory of himself, a forty-four-year-old man wooing a twenty-four-year-old girl. She was beautiful—still was—and he’d fallen in love with her the moment they’d met. She didn’t need much persuasion to get into bed and then into a bridal gown. He’d introduced her to diving, and she’d become a passionate enthusiast of the sport. She, in turn, had introduced him to Aaron Grose.

  Jim pulled the Yellowfin along the Caye Caulker Adventures’ dock. He tossed out the fenders and shut off the motor. A dive guide, standing on the dock, caught Jim’s line and tied the boat off with a few quick turns on the dock cleat. Jim sprang to the dock and tied off the stern line.

  “Is Aaron here?” Jim asked the guide.

  The man answered in a thick Australian accent. “I saw him not long ago, mate. He’s up in the dive shop.”

  Jim appraised the resort’s two forty-six-foot Newton dive boats and the fifty-foot Viking fishing vessel, used for private fishing and diving charters. As he walked up the dock to the beautiful forty-room hotel and dive center, Jim recognized other small craft belonging to a few locals he knew.

  The hotel was built in an L-shape with the short leg of the L to the south and the long leg running parallel to the north/south street along the front of the property. A separate building to the north, on his right, housed the dive center and shop, one of the largest in Belize. Aaron handled everything from newbie open water students to technical divers going below the open circuit recreational limits. In the center of the layout was a luxurious pool equipped with a water slide, a swim-up bar, and a lift for handicap persons. The pool had a maximum depth of twenty feet and tapered up to three feet deep at the bar. The extra depth and size of the pool allowed for the resort’s confined water dive training needs. Surrounding the pool’s azure waters were swaying palms, and thatched-roof cabanas dotted the property.

  Jim continued up the walk, past long rows of shiny, aluminum dive tanks being filled by a compressor, and into the dive shop. Air conditioning and the smell of rubber and wet neoprene hit him. He took a deep breath and continued past rows of buoyancy compensating devices, racks of wetsuits, dive skins, masks, and countless other gear used to enjoy the underwater world.

  He found Aaron in the shop’s cramped office. Jim leaned on the door jamb and asked, “Hey, Aaron, how are you?”

  Aaron looked up sharply, his eyes wide. A look of fear crossed his face. It was gone almost as fast as Jim recognized it. If he hadn’t been staring right at Aaron, he would have missed it.

  “Goo… good,” Aaron stammered. “Karen got in last night.”

  “Great, I can’t wait to see her.”

  Aaron laid down his pencil and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you. She was pretty upset, but she said she’s come to terms with whatever she was mad about.”

  Jim nodded. “Good.”

  Aaron sat forward in the chair, placed his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands.

  “You okay?” Jim perched on the edge of the desk.

  “Yeah, I need to make a little money on the side.”

  “I thought the resort was doing great.”

  Aaron smiled. “It is, but I have some extra expenses. I haven’t been paying U.S. taxes, and I need some cash to bargain with them.”

  Jim rubbed the back of his neck and pondered the situation. If Aaron owed the IRS then he, by default, owed the IRS. “How much do you need?”

  “I’m not sure, probably five hundred k.”

  Jim snorted. “You don’t owe that much in taxes.”

  “Taxes, and some debt from buying the Viking. You know, get back to square one. If I have the money, I can bargain with them, maybe get the amount knocked down.”

  “You won’t need to bargain with them as much as you think.”

  “Look, Jim, I know what you’re doing on the side. I’d like to get in on the action.”

  Jim leaned in close, his voice low and menacing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The guns you’re hustling.”

  Jim looked Aaron up and down like he’d just seen him for the first time in his life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you accusing me of running guns? I thought we were friends.”

  Aaron shrugged and picked up the pencil. “Does Karen know what you do in your spare time?”

  Jim came off the desk and took a step forward, his finger poking the air in front of Aaron’s face. “You little snot! I took you in and helped you build a thriving business. Now you’re willing to tear it all down for money! Go ahead and burn. I hope the IRS rapes your place because I’m done.”

  Aaron’s voice rose with indignation. “Good! I don’t need any illegal activity at my resort anyways.”

  Jim held up his hands in frustration. “Who do you think owns this place?” He leaned down to come face-to-face with Aaron. “Me, that’s who! I own everything you have. All I have to do is call the note, and you’re sunk, mister.”

  “Good, then you’ll be the one with the tax problems, and I’ll be free and clear. I’ll call the IRS right now.” Aaron reached for the phone.

  He clamped his hand on Aaron’s wrist. “Don’t be an asshole!” Jim’s face reddened with anger. “You’re not dumping this on me. You’re the one who didn’t pay your taxes.”

  “Then cut me in on the action, Jimmy. I’ll be a good boy and fall back in line.”

  “You really think I’ll cut you in?”

  Aaron stared up at Jim. “Honestly, I don’t want any part of it. Just don’t bring it to my resort.”

  Jim released Aaron’s wrist and stepped back. “If you don’t care, why the big stink?”

  “Because I thought we were friends, Jim, and as your friend I’m going to tell you what happened to me in Atlanta.”

  Jim looked puzzled. “What happened in Atlanta?”

  Aaron motioned for Jim to sit, and he did. He was more curious than anything. He hadn’t laundered money through Caye Caulker Adventures since its first year of op
erations, and no gun sales took place on the resort grounds. He did meet Darren Parsons there, but meeting a person wasn’t illegal, nor could it be pinned on Aaron.

  After a quick drink of water, Aaron leaned back in his chair. “I got picked up by a Homeland agent and a private contractor right after I passed through customs. They took me to a little holding office and told me I was going to Gitmo for aiding and abetting a terrorist. Then they told me you were running guns all over the globe. And to top it all off, they told me I owed back taxes and they’d look the other way if I introduced the contractor to you and acted as their snitch.”

  Jim rubbed his chin. “Who’s the contractor?”

  “Some guy named Ryan Weller. He works for a company called Dark Water Research.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Jim said, crossing his arms. “What the hell is a guy from a commercial dive and salvage company doing snooping around here?”

  “Something about you supplying guns to the Aztlán cartel. He got in my face and told me he was going to take you down. I could go down with you or rat you out.”

  Jim scratched his chin again. “When are you supposed to introduce us?”

  “He’s supposed to come here, but I haven’t seen him yet,” Aaron said. “I told them I had no idea when or if you would show up.”

  “But you’ll let me know when he does?” Jim asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay,” Jim said, standing up. “I want you to play both sides of the fence on this. Pass them enough intel to get you clear on the tax debt, but not enough to put me in jail.”

  Aaron nodded. “Jim, did you really supply the cartel?”

  Jim sighed. “Yes, I did. I had no idea what Guerrero was planning. I just supply the weapons.”

  Aaron shook his head.

  Jim opened the office door and stepped out. As he closed the door, he said, “Stick to the dive business, son. It won’t get you killed.”

  Jim walked along the sidewalk in the shade of the mature palms. He and Aaron had always had a good business relationship. Aaron paid his bills on time, and yes, Jim had laundered money through the resort in the beginning. Even though Aaron had built the resort into a profitable business, the margins were thin, making it hard to hide the cash Jim had passed through the books. The dive shop might have been the largest in Belize, but the dive industry was a fickle beast, hinging on tourist dollars and the economy. An old joke sprang to mind. Know how to make a million in the diving industry? Start with two.

  At the end of the hotel’s short leg were two suites, one on each floor overlooking the docks, a small beach, and the azure waters of the Caribbean Sea. Jim jogged up the steps to the second floor and knocked on the door of the suite. He turned to look over the pool while he waited. When the door opened, Karen stepped into his arms.

  When they broke from a kiss, she cooed, “Oh, I’ve missed you, Jim.”

  “I missed you too, honey. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “I know you were just trying to protect me, sweetie, and it’s just business.”

  “That’s all it is,” Jim affirmed.

  She kissed him passionately and pressed her body to his. In his ear she whispered, “Come in. I’ve got some business you need to take care of.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Darren Parsons sat at the small bar just off the lobby of the Caye Caulker Adventures hotel. The hotel was one of the nicest on the island, with clean, modern rooms, fast Wi-Fi, and best of all, in Darren’s opinion, a full-service bar and restaurant. He had a bottle of Belikin beer in front of him and a plate of whole, fried red snapper and French fries. A baseball game between the Cleveland Indians and the Texas Rangers played on a large flat screen. On another, ESPN’s SportsCenter, and a third showed a montage of diving, snorkeling, and fishing video footage and pictures taken by the guides at Caye Caulker Adventures.

  Darren set the empty beer bottle on the bar before motioning for the bartender to bring another. The lithe young woman brought him a cold replacement and asked if he needed anything else. He was about to say yes but decided he should hold his tongue. There were plenty of women available to him. He didn’t need trouble with the hotel staff if she turned down his indecent proposal. He’d learned in his travels throughout third and first world countries that there were always women willing to do whatever he asked, albeit for a price. He’d learned to gauge who would be willing and who would not.

  Darren’s fifteen years in the Army had allowed him to experience a wide variety of exotic locals and women, and his thirst for sex hadn’t diminished since he’d become a private contractor. On the contrary, he could afford better quality women and more exotic fetishes.

  He was a few days early for his meeting with Jim Kilroy, because there was a woman on the island who accommodated his fetishes. But he put his plans on hold when he saw Kilroy had arrived early as well. His boss had a grim set to his mouth. Darren had also learned it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  The fish was excellent, and he left half the fries and a stack of bones on the platter. After signing the room check, he took his beer outside. From experience, he knew Jim and Karen always booked the second-floor suite and he moved carefully to avoid being seen by them as he walked to the dock.

  “Who owns that sportfisher beside Jim Kilroy’s boat?” Darren asked a dock hand.

  “I don’t know, suh.”

  Darren watched as three men boarded a small rigid hull inflatable, which had been launched from the sportfisher’s extended foredeck, and head toward the island. The driver ran the RIB up to the Caye Caulker Adventures dock.

  “Hey, da dingy dock be over der,” the dock hand said, and pointed.

  “We need to unload this dude, then I’ll park over there,” an athletic man in his early thirties said. “Won’t take long.”

  A man with an artificial leg hefted a wheelchair onto the dock, and then Athletic Guy and Artificial Leg helped a third man maneuver from the boat to sit on the edge of the dock. The two men climbed out of the boat and lifted their partner into the wheelchair.

  “You good?” Athletic Guy asked Wheelchair Man.

  “Yeah,” Wheelchair Man replied, busily adjusting himself in the chair.

  Athletic Guy, who had done all the talking and had the use of both legs, jumped into the RIB, and ran it over to the dingy dock while the other two moved up the dock toward the hotel. Darren sipped his beer as he watched them. They had a casual but coiled tenseness to them, despite their disabilities. He had seen many injured men in his line of work. His profession caused those injuries.

  “I need to watch those guys,” Darren said to himself as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ryan Weller ran the RIB up on the beach and raised the motor. He locked it in place and used the bow line to tie the boat to a post already knotted with half a dozen dinghy painters. He walked across the short stretch of beach and stepped up on the seawall.

  “Feels good to be back on land,” Ryan said.

  “I don’t think Greg’s seawheels have worn off yet,” Mango said. “He’s all over the place.”

  “Greg’s always all over the place,” Ryan replied, laughing at his buddy.

  Greg gave Ryan the middle finger as the three men strolled along the palm-lined sidewalk to the resort’s office. They checked into their rooms and then congregated at the bar. Each ordered a margarita.

  “Too bad you can’t get to the swim-up bar, Greg. We could be sitting with the ladies,” Ryan hassled his buddy.

  Greg handed his margarita to Ryan. He rolled out of the bar, across the pool deck, and, at the last second, did a wheelie off the edge of the pool. He splashed into the water. Several people gasped audibly and ran to see if he was okay. Ignoring the stares, he left his chair floating by the side of the pool and swam over to the bar where he hauled himself up onto a stool. The bartender, a slim brunette, looked at him in shock.

  “Three margaritas.” Greg held up four fingers as
a joke.

  From the side of the pool, Ryan said, “You’re an idiot.”

  Greg laughed. “That will teach you to say stupid stuff.”

  While they were retrieving the wheelchair from the pool, Mango nudged Ryan and whispered, “It’s your lady friend.”

  Ryan glanced to his left to see Karen Kilroy walk over to the pool, drop her sarong on a chaise, and dive headfirst into the deep end. Seeing her made him think of Emily, and he missed her. She would love to dive Belize’s barrier reefs with him.

  After she had accompanied him to the Florida Keys on his sailboat and then dropped everything to join him in Texas for a few days after his return from Mexico, Emily’s boss had told her no more vacation days. That had been a month ago, and she’d hardly had a day off since.

  When he’d left her apartment to go to Belize, she’d told him not to get hurt and to come back safe. It was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Moses Tillett swept his hand over his short hair. In his old age, it was more gray than black. His bloodline was a mix of Miskito Indian and African slaves brought by the Spanish. As a young boy, he’d walked across Caye Caulker when there was nothing but sandy paths and a few driftwood huts. Now he used a cane to help him shuffle along the hard-packed sand of Front Street. He passed Caye Caulker Adventures and turned into a small alley. To his left, a vine-covered wall separated the resort from an apartment complex. He smelled blossoming flowers combined with salt air and suntan lotion as he shuffled to the end of the sand and gravel track.

  He stopped at the seawall and looked down at the water lapping the rocks. It was as clear as gin. Tiny fish darted among the rocks and played in the gently lapping water. He lifted his gaze to the two boats anchored side by side, a giant ship with an aft superstructure and a blue-and-white sportfisher.