I chuckled.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because most people would think I'm a monster, given my history. I don't know that anybody's ever said I was good and kind and thoughtful."
"Most people don't know you the way I do," she said.
"Well, anyway, I'm glad you like me. I wouldn't want you for an enemy, Miss Garden-Variety Killer."
"Speaking of that, do you know who we're going after in Charleston?" Mary asked.
"No. I thought you might have a clue."
"Not me. All I picked up was that it was somebody in the shipping industry."
"That makes sense," I said. "Charleston's a big port; probably a good place to bring in contraband."
"Yeah. I like Charleston and Savannah. They're pretty places, and there are lots of good places to eat."
I laughed.
"Why are you laughing, Finn?"
"I don't think of you as being fond of good places to eat; your tastes are like mine — food's fuel."
"You're right. But I'm running close to empty; how about stopping for lunch?"
"All right. We're approaching St. Augustine; there's bound to be somewhere."
She rummaged in her duffle bag and took out her iPhone, opening the web browser. "I'll find a place. Seafood okay?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sounds good to me."
Mary and I were relaxing in our room, waiting for Aaron's call. She found a bed-and-breakfast near Charleston's Battery; we were pretending to be tourists for cover. We planned to have a late dinner at a place within walking distance after Aaron's call. At 7 o'clock, my encrypted phone rang.
"Hi, Aaron," I said, taking the call in speaker mode.
"Hi, yourself. Mary with you?"
"Yes, I'm here. Good evening Aaron."
"Hi. Are you two in Charleston?"
"Yes. All set to be tourists. Is Mike going to join us?" I asked.
"No. Not unless you need him for something. We figured this call would be straightforward enough. Before we get to the mission, though, let me tell you about that motel outside Savannah; you'll get a kick out of what happened."
"What happened?" Mary asked.
"Well, the first thing we discovered is that we underestimated their surveillance. They had four people, not two. There were the two outside I mentioned before, but they also had a man and woman in a room across the hall. We aren't sure when they moved them in, yet, but we'll find out later this evening. Anyhow, they're all gone now, back to Savannah. It's only a few minutes away.
"The maid showed up to clean Mary's room at 11:30 — checkout time was 11:00. She found the room unoccupied, with all the stuff we left there. Her supervisor called the manager, who called the phone number on the registration. That was the burner that was in the room, and it didn't take them long to figure that out. The manager told the maid to pack up the stuff and move it to their lost-and-found room. We paid cash in advance and they didn't have a credit card they could charge for another night. Plus, they were overbooked this evening, so they needed the room. This was all as we planned, but then it got amusing.
"The watchers in the room across the hall saw what was happening, and the man went down to the desk and asked the manager what was going on. At first, the manager wouldn't say much, until the guy pretended he knew the woman whose room they were clearing out. That's when it got funny. The manager asked him how to get in touch with Mary Maloney, and the dumb shit got in a huff trying to cover his tracks. It escalated. The manager called the cops, and the surveillance team hauled ass — all four of them in one car. They're definitely working for the Savannah target; we trailed them to his office.
"Our team got good pictures of the four people. We figured that might come in handy when you go after the Savannah target."
"Sounds like amateur hour," Mary said.
"Yeah. I thought you should know what kind of talent you could expect to run up against when the time comes."
"Did you send my text to the Russian?"
"We did. We sent it while all the excitement about the motel room was going on — around noon. There's still no reply from the Russian, but the burner phone he's using has moved since the last exchange. Anastasia is underway; she's running north along the coast, close enough to shore that the burner phone was still on the network. But then the phone disappeared. They probably ditched it."
"You sure about that, Aaron?" I asked. "They're not faking that?"
"Great minds, Finn. We had the same thought, but we spotted Anastasia in the same position as the phone. She's blasting along at 20 knots, a mile or two off the beach. Maybe they're headed for Savannah, figuring to catch up with you there. We're keeping an eye on their Savannah operation to see what they're up to."
"Keep an eye on the boat, too," I said. "At 20 knots, it wouldn't take them long to get to Charleston."
"Right," Aaron said. "But we're doing everything we can to make them think Savannah's the target."
"Okay. Anything else related to the motel?" I asked.
"No. Ready to talk about the mission?"
"Yes. Tell us about our Charleston target," I said.
"Jeremy Theroux runs a shipping company," Aaron said. "It's a family business; he inherited it. He's the fourth generation Theroux to run the operation. He's turned it into a real powerhouse in the industry.
"Until his father died and Jeremy took over, it was Theroux Shipping, Inc. Jeremy rebranded the company. The new name is SeaConnect Intermodal Corporation. They're into everything related to moving stuff around the globe.
"They do it all when it comes to logistics, including moving contraband. Illegal drugs, cash, people, stolen goods, prohibited exports, arms — If it can be bought and sold, Jeremy can move it from where it is to where his customers want it. They handle pickup and delivery, warehousing, consolidation, customs brokerage, and they move goods on land, sea, and in the air."
"Okay," I said. "And I gather Jeremy lives and works here in Charleston. Is that right?"
"He lives there, yes. He travels a lot, though, mostly by private jet. He lives in the old family home, an antebellum mansion on Battery Street overlooking the harbor. It's on the National Register of Historic Places. You won't have any trouble finding it. He has live-in security and uses an armored limo to commute to his office a few blocks away. Not an easy target."
"What about the office?" I asked.
"It's in an old three-story warehouse that's been renovated and turned into an office/condo complex. He owns it, and the top floor is his headquarters. The rest is rented out."
"Married?" Mary asked.
"Yes, technically."
"Technically?"
"His wife doesn't spend a lot of time there. They have another house in Washington, D.C., where she stays."
"Good," I said. "Less chance of collateral damage, then."
"Children?" Mary asked.
"Two, in college. A girl at the University of Virginia, and a boy at William and Mary."
"What else?" I asked.
"He's in a long-term relationship with his secretary. She practically lives at the house on Battery Street. And that's probably enough to get you started. There's a package on its way to you via courier; you should get it in a couple of hours. All the details we have are in there, along with photographs. It's on paper with copies on a memory stick. You going to be in your room this evening?"
"We're about to go out for dinner," I said. "Otherwise, yes."
"I'll have the courier call to make sure you're home before she delivers it. Once you've taken a look, call me with any questions."
"Wait," Mary said. "You said he travels a lot. What's his schedule like over the next few days?"
"He just got back from a swing through Southeast Asia. The plane's laid up for a routine inspection until next week. He's probably recovering from jet lag while that happens. Then all bets are off, so you probably want to move fast. Unless you're thinking about knocking the plane out of the sky."
"Not my first choice," I said.
&nbs
p; "Nor mine," Mary said.
"All right, then. Have a nice dinner, and call if I can help."
"Thanks. We'll be in touch," I said, disconnecting the call.
"Ready for dinner, sailor?"
"Yes, siren."
18
"They're just leaving the house," I said, watching the Mercedes pull out onto Battery Street.
Mary and I split up after an early breakfast. I was watching Theroux's house; Mary was across the street from his office. We were in the early stages of our reconnaissance, in constant touch using throwaway cellphones with Bluetooth earpieces.
"Okay, I'm all set," she said. "Figure it'll take them 15 minutes to get here. Traffic's a nightmare."
"I'll head up your way," I said. "I doubt there's any point in my staying here, now that he's left for the office."
"What about his secretary? She with him?" Mary asked. "And what kind of car?"
"Yes. I saw them both get in the limo. It's a dictator's classic — big old black stretch Mercedes — you can't miss it. Probably couldn't stop it with an antitank weapon."
"Okay. You walking or taking a cab? Traffic stinks, seriously. I just got here. Probably would have been quicker to walk, in hindsight."
"That's what I'll do, then. Might as well keep the connection up, huh?"
"Sure," Mary said. "Nobody pays any attention to people talking to themselves any more. Every other person on the sidewalk has some kind of ear…unh…"
"Mary?"
I heard one more soft groan followed by a few seconds of silence. Then another woman's voice said, "I think she's fainted or something." I turned up the volume and started to jog up the sidewalk along Battery Street. Theroux's office was less than a mile away; the automobile traffic was bumper to bumper, and it was moving at a crawl.
I heard a man's voice in my ear now. "Step back, please. Give us a little room. I'm a doctor. The ambulance is on its way."
"Oh, good," the woman's voice said. "She was just standing here at the bus stop, and the next thing I knew, she collapsed."
"Okay," the man's voice said. "She'll be all right — pulse and respiration are strong. We'll — "
The sound of a siren cut him off. Ten seconds later, he said, "Okay, good. You got here quick. I'm Doctor Little. Vitals are strong. Let's get her to the ER and see what's going on. I'll ride with you."
"Okay, Doc. Just let us get her on the gurney, here."
There was another groan, louder than the conversation. That was Mary. Then the ambulance attendant again. "Okay, everybody give us a little room, please."
I could hear people in the background, speculating about what happened as the EMTs rolled her into the ambulance and closed the door.
"Let's haul ass," the doctor said. "With all those damn people, somebody may have called 911."
I heard a blast on the siren.
"Kill the siren," the doctor said. "No need to attract more attention."
I heard a response, probably from the driver, but I couldn't make out the words. Then the doctor spoke again.
"Yeah, okay. Well, we're clear of the crowd now, so cool it. It's okay if it takes a while to get to the boat; it'll give her time to come around. Better if she can stagger aboard under her own power. Anybody sees us, they'll just figure she's still drunk from last night. They would be more likely to remember somebody bein' carried aboard on a stretcher."
There was more conversation I couldn't understand, and then the doctor's voice said, "Gimme those blackout sunglasses. Might as well get them on her before she comes around. She don't need to see any of us, let alone the boss man."
There was a rustling sound, and then, "Shit," the doctor said. "Bitch was on the phone. One of them Bluetooth ear — "
A click told me he broke the connection. I stopped running and pulled my encrypted phone from the pocket of my shorts. Placing a call to Aaron, I crossed my fingers that he would pick up.
"Finn?"
"Yeah. We got a problem. Somebody snatched Mary while she was watching Theroux's office. She's in an ambulance with three guys, and they're taking her to 'the boat.' I need you to track this cellphone number I'm about to give you; find out where 'the boat' is."
I gave him the number of the throwaway that Mary was using to communicate with me. His keyboard clicked as he entered the digits, and then he spoke.
"Okay. That's in the works, but I can probably short-circuit this. Anastasia is in the City Marina, right downtown. Got in about dawn. Think that's the boat?"
"You got somebody watching her?"
"Yeah, but they're not tactical. They'll be no help beyond observation."
"That's okay. I'll hang up and haul ass to the marina. I'll call back when I get there, but if they get there first with Mary, you call me."
"Got it. Bye."
I broke into a run, pacing myself for a seven-minute mile. Given the traffic, I should easily beat the ambulance to the marina. As I ran, I considered what to do when I got there. If Mary's captors were trying to avoid notice, they would probably park the ambulance and walk to Anastasia. Then again, I didn't know much about the boat. A lot of big motor yachts carried golf carts, or even vans and cars. Was Anastasia that big? And did I remember that the City Marina offered courtesy golf carts?
I would have answers soon enough. My best chance to rescue Mary would probably be when they took her out of the ambulance. My guess was they shot her with a tranquilizer dart. From what I overheard, they expected her to regain consciousness by the time they got where they were going. But she might still be dopey; I couldn't count on her help.
There was the bogus doctor, and probably two men pretending to be ambulance attendants. They wouldn't be expecting trouble, especially by the time they got to the marina. The people on Anastasia would be waiting for them, though. They would most likely call somebody aboard the boat to let them know about their captive. That was another argument for hitting them as soon as they arrived at the marina.
Checking the street signs, I could see I was only two minutes from the marina. I wondered where the ambulance was. Aaron would probably know by now, but I didn't want to stop running long enough to call him. It didn't matter at this point. I would either beat them to the marina, or not. If not, they would have Mary.
I pondered that. The snatch removed any doubt; they wanted something from her. If they wanted to kill her, she would be dead by now. But they were planning on taking her aboard 'the boat' to meet the boss man. She was probably safe enough for the moment.
My instinct was to rescue her, but I reminded myself that one of our options was for her to accept the Russian's invitation to a meeting. Should I let that happen? I might not have a choice, but then again, I might. I wished that I could brainstorm this with her and Aaron and Mike, but that was a luxury I didn't have.
The downside to letting their plans go forward was clear enough. Mary was in danger; the only question was how much. What were the potential downsides of my rescuing her?
And then there was the question of how they knew where to find her to begin with. I put that aside; it would keep. The more critical question was whether I should take her away from her captors.
By now, I was jogging across the marina parking lot, heading for the entrance to the docks. That made a good choke point; the large yachts were tied on the outside of the face dock, and the only access was via a footbridge at the entrance. I found a park bench and leaned against it while I caught my breath. I kept an eye on the traffic out on Lockwood Drive, watching for the ambulance to turn into the parking lot.
After a couple of minutes, I got worried enough to call Aaron.
"Yeah, Finn," he answered.
"I'm at the marina. No sign of the ambulance."
"They took a detour, but don't worry. The last couple of fixes on that phone still show it headed in your direction. My bet is they ditched the ambulance. It was stolen; they probably switched to a car."
"When did they steal the ambulance?"
"A couple of hours ag
o. Looks like they planned this well in advance."
"Yeah. I was just wondering how they found her. Hang on; a cab just pulled into the lot, headed this way. Gotta go. Call you later."
I watched as the cab cruised through the lot, expecting it to pull up near where I waited. Instead, it turned into an open parking place close to the marina entrance, and the driver got out. He was wearing an EMT uniform. He opened the left rear door and leaned into the back seat.
I walked toward the cab as fast as I could without attracting his attention. As I got within a few feet of the cab's back bumper, I could see the other man helping the driver get Mary out of the back seat. She wasn't unconscious, but she was too groggy to give them much help.
I made my decision. If I set up the scene properly, rescuing her wouldn't tell the Russian anything he didn't already know. They would think she escaped by herself. They knew that when she was O'Hanlon's prisoner in Martinique, she killed him and a half-dozen of his thugs all by herself. The Russian would just figure his boys got careless. How dangerous could one average-sized girl be, anyway?
I waited until they got her out of the back seat. The driver was struggling to support her. Her knees were wobbling and her head was lolling around. I rushed the driver from behind and caught his chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other. I snapped his neck before he knew I was there. I dropped him and reached for Mary. She gave me a vacant grin, gurgled something, and collapsed on top of the dead driver.
The second man was getting out of the back seat, trying to point his pistol at me when I kicked him in the face. He fell back into the cab, and I took his pistol. I dragged the dead man out from under Mary and shoved him into the back seat on top of the other one, closing the door.
The driver's door was still open, the engine running. I reached in and popped the trunk. I stepped over Mary and ran around the back of the cab, opening the right rear door. I dragged the man I kicked in the face out and helped him into the trunk, slamming the lid. I closed the right rear door and went back to Mary, loading her into the front seat and shoving her across to the passenger side.
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