The Missing Taylor

by R C Cameron

  I walked towards a street with plenty of commercial businesses oblivious to the onlookers smiling at my passage. I entered a small bicycle shop and asked if I could use their phone. The owner observed me from head to toe, especially the toes, and asked what happened.

  “My friends threw me in the water and disappeared. I need to call someone to come and get me.” My explanation seemed probable, he directed me at the end of the counter where a phone sat. I dialed Jennifer’s number from memory.

  “Hello.”

  “Jennifer, it’s me, Jason.”

  “Oh my God, where are you?”

  “In Miami Beach now, abducted in Marathon, and they brought me back here aboard the yacht but I escaped. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Here’s what you should do.”

  I suggested she return her rental and go to my SUV. A man with foresight like me hid a spare key in a magnetic holder under the right front wheel space. We could meet at a restaurant in Miami Beach around 2 PM, almost a three-hour drive ahead of her. I would use the time to get dry, buy a new pair of shoes, eat something, and plan our next move.

  Jennifer arrived a little earlier than predicted but so did I. She must have driven fast to get the news, driven by curiosity. Sipping a nice cold beer, I saw her looking for me. She trotted toward the table and even before being seated, she asked: “What happened? Tell me everything.”

  “Sit down, we’ve got plenty of time. Do you want something to drink?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  I asked our waiter to bring two more beers.

  “Well, I got out of my car and ran behind the shopping mall to the other end where the taxi dropped the two Asian guys. The building is strange, there are no signs, just a simple door up front. No activity there, so I moved to the backside. A light appeared from a window and I peeked inside: just an empty room. Anyway, as I turned around to leave, someone stood there, a gun in his hand.”

  “And?”

  “They brought me inside, asked a few questions and then, transported me aboard the yacht, in the crew quarters, tied up.”

  “And you escaped?”

  “Yes. As we entered the canal at South Point peer, I jumped into the water and swam ashore. Then I called you.”

  “As I watched the building last night, a panel truck drove behind it and drove off a few minutes later. I hesitated to follow it but decided against and awaited your return. I waited and waited. Your car didn't move, and I checked it a few times to no avail. I rang your cell but heard it inside your car.”

  “And then?”

  “I found a spot where I could see your car, parked the rental and watched. I think I fell asleep a few times.”

  “And there’s more bad news in this case, Jennifer.”

  “What?”

  “I think the gang leader is Bruce Steiner.”

  “Who?”

  I proceeded to explain how I came to know Steiner and the actions the FBI deployed to catch him. I left no parts untold, including the bomb and the death of a respectable FBI agent. The whole time I narrated the bizarre story, her eyebrows were drawing closer and closer. When I stopped, she expelled a long breath of air and sat back.

  After ordering sandwiches and a shared salad, we talked about the evolving case and how we were getting way over our head. We’d gone from a simple missing person’s case to a full-fledged battle against a criminal organization. Mark Taylor’s disappearance made us discover this gang. Now, we still ignored what happened to him. Like if he disappeared into thin air, or into the deep sea.

  “I think it’s time we see the authorities about this situation. At least, report your own kidnapping Jason.”

  “Maybe, let me think about it. You know what Jennifer; it’s Sunday, be with your family. I’ll drive you home. I'll try to get a hold of John Russell and seek his guidance. If we're lucky, we could meet him tomorrow. Then we’ll decide.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help Jason…”

  “I know you do, so do I. But the case has escalated big time, not quite what I expected in the beginning either. Let’s see what John recommends and we’ll take it from there.”

  Jennifer agreed and after our light lunch, I drove her back to her place and then booked a small hotel near the beach. From my returned SUV, I recovered my backpack with my laptop inside and reclaimed my cell phone with a dead battery. I recharged it during my trip to Jennifer’s place and back. When I looked at it inside the hotel’s parking lot, I had several missed calls, the majority from Jennifer looking for me but also one from an unknown number. A voice mail was present, and I retrieved it while waiting for the elevator in the garage. It was Angelillo from the Marathon police. He wanted me to call him back, and he left his number. It was still Sunday, I would wait until tomorrow.

  At the hotel, I watched professional golf from the comfort of my king-size bed. I closed my eyes during the first commercial and when I woke up, the Sunday edition of the news was on. I had slept over two hours and now I was hungry. But first, I called Cynthia. She had asked me to keep her informed, and it was time to do so. But she would get my personal version of the news. My intentions was not to worry her.

  I gave her the highlights but skipped details I preferred to keep to myself. I told her Jennifer, and I went back to Marathon that we followed the bad guys to a building and both of us returned to Miami today. These were all truths. I then told her I was going out for dinner and I planned to return to the oysters and seafood place she had liked so much. She envied me and wished she was here with me. So did I. I left her on that note with a promise to send her information on what I had for dinner. She asked me to be careful, I replied I always do. In my mind, I regretted going in alone looking for the Asians without the help of Jennifer. It was my mistake, and I made myself a promise not to repeat it.

  I grabbed my backpack knowing my laptop was inside. I would enjoy time on my hands to update the little social media I used and clean out my Inbox. The restaurant was within walking distance and the retreating sun provided lower temperatures which I enjoyed.

  (--)

  I picked a quiet area of the restaurant, ordered a martini and opened my computer. But first, I needed to verify if Jennifer and I could talk to JR soon. I texted him this message: “Any possibility I see you tomorrow, lunch or otherwise?”

  Even on a quiet Sunday evening, JR answered a minute later. “11 AM, Monday, my office?” My reply was as brief: “10-4” used by all policemen to mean OK or understood. I then confirmed with Jennifer, telling her we would meet in the lobby of the Miami-Dade Police Department building on SW 117th Avenue. She replied she was OK and would see me there.

  When I launched my email program, my Inbox had a dozen unread messages, two-thirds I could dismiss at once and a few I moved to my to-do folder. One of them caught my attention, from Hank Hackman titled FYI and contained another of his famous encrypted file.

  Once extracted with my secret password, the first page showed an image of a company database service about Black Cat Management Corporation. The report gave various information such as a registration in Delaware and ownership split between Yang Nelson and another entity named Sailing the Atlantic LLC owning 85% of the 1,000 shares issued. They still listed Yang as the president of the company. Nelson’s home address was the same as the famous bar in South Beach, I guess this was standard practice.

  The next page showed information about Sailing the Atlantic LLC, but no ownership data appeared. The LLC was also registered in Delaware. As the IRS, I would have knowledge about the people behind this company, but I was neither the Internal Revenue Service nor the Justice Department. Which reminded me, I still had friends at Justice; I made a note to contact Barry Gilmore.

  Another page to Hank’s email included information about a company named Vitamin World of China. Only a single owner existed, Sun My. The main business address was in Miami. On the double, I launched Google Maps and located 460 NE 28th Street on the mainland, just across Biscayne
Bay. This was a million-dollar condo unit with a fantastic view of Miami Beach across the bay. The vitamin business must be booming.

  My oysters arrived but I could not put the laptop down. Hank had provided me with a lot of information. I search the Miami-Dade property appraiser website hoping to see the real owner of the condo. The corporation name was the official owner of the unit, and no other owner information was present. Also provided on the appraiser site were past buy and sell transactions. The last purchase was recent, about a year ago. And the price paid was $950,000. It must be nice to have a condo near the water.

  I finished my oysters, enjoying each one. Near the water … someone used that expression around me in the last days. Who was it? My daughter? Maybe. Then I remembered a talk with Jennifer on the Nelson tail she performed. I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.

  “Sorry to bother you Jennifer but I have a pressing question.”

  “No problem Jason, my husband and I were just cleaning the kitchen waiting to watch a romantic movie on TV.”

  “Good for you Jennifer. Some days ago, I believe you mentioned going by a condo near the water. Do you remember the context and where it was?”

  “Yes, one day I followed Yang Nelson after his surfing to a condo building downtown. He stayed there for a while, and I got bored. I returned home.”

  “And where was this?”

  After she asked me to hold a minute to get her notes, she returned and said: “460 NE 28th Street in Miami”.

  “How interesting. I received information from my friend Hank about Nelson and his business connections. I will mail you the documents. Looks like the location Nelson went to is the business address of a company named Vitamin World of China owned by a Sun My, she may be his girlfriend.”

  “Possible.”

  “The other news is two entities own the Black Cat Bar: a company called Sailing the Atlantic with 85% ownership, Nelson, the rest.”

  “And?”

  “It sort of confirms Nelson is the number two in the organisation. Whoever is behind Sailing the Atlantic owns a larger share of the business. If Hank didn’t name the real owner, it’s because he can’t, it’s probably because registered in Delaware or something. It would not surprise me if we find Steiner behind this front, but I have no proof. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As I hung up, I remembered this data I was looking at was from a request made to Hank about Nelson. I returned to the first email. Had I missed something? My fish arrived, and I ate while reading files on my laptop. This time I checked each page, and every line written. And then I found it. In one document I got from my favorite hacker, it listed the 28th Street address as Yang Nelson’s home. Sun My could be his current girlfriend.

  I was not a DEA expert by any means but this was taking shape: a bar who distributes drugs, a company importing and selling vitamins in tablet form used as a front and a large cruising yacht able to transport people and things all over South Florida.

  (--)

  The following morning, I had wandered to a neighborhood Starbuck examining the crowd in and around the renown coffee supplier. My phone then complained about receiving an email from Lieutenant Angelillo of the Marathon police. The DNA delivered by Nadine did not match the individual discovered back in August. I responded with my thanks for informing me. I called Nadine Taylor right away. The good news was they had not found Mark’s body, but it was also bad for the same reason. I told Nadine I was meeting John Russell this morning but gave no details.

  At a quarter to eleven, in the hall of the Miami-Dale Police Administration, I was awaiting Jennifer for our session with JR. When she strolled in, I joined her and we both approached the security desk to obtain our visitor pass. We had time before our appointment, so we rested near an enormous window waiting for our host to sign us in.

  Jennifer looked up the Vitamin World of China business this morning before arriving. Her research showed a company importing rare herbs and supplements from China and manufacturing vitamins which they move on the Internet all over Florida. They even run a fancy website where you can choose either prepared vitamins or ingredients creating your own personalized concoction. They ship orders to your home and accept payment by credit card or PayPal. The website's news section promised deliveries in other states soon. The look was sharp, not a low-budget operation. She wondered if a link existed to the drug business, but we held no proof yet.

  I asked her, when she could, to deliver Hank a message. We needed him to take a look at this website, determine if it’s legit, and give us an idea of its popularity and sales levels for a typical month. We would also welcome any other pertinent information.

  From our vantage point, we observed policemen, detectives and various species of the human race enter or exit the Miami-Dade headquarters for various reasons. Certain folks worked at this location, others didn't want to be here, even less be seen here. But when JR showed up with his towering height and perfect blue striped bankers suit with an immaculate white shirt, most heads spun in his direction. Jennifer’s jaw was dropping to the floor when I told her “You’re a married woman, slow down.”

  “It’s not because I’m on a diet, that I can’t look at the menu,” she whispered under her breath.

  As John strolled towards us, he extended his long right arm for a handshake in Jennifer’s direction, completely neglecting me.

  “This must be Jennifer, I am delighted to meet you,” he announced as they both peered into their eyes for an awkward moment that looked like a minute.

  “Yes, and I’m Jason, we’re both glad you could make the time to meet us,” trying to regain control of this scene. “If you’d let go of her hand, we could move on to a spot where we can talk.”

  “Please follow me,” as he finally pulled his hand out and showed the way to Jennifer, moving by her side leaving me to trail behind like her assistant. After a quick ride up the elevator where my two partners continued their social acquaintance, we entered a tiny but comfortable meeting space. A single window provided most of the lighting, a white board decorated the space, the only object on the walls.

  “Sorry, the boardroom was not available this morning,” JR admitted with his perfect smile.

  “I prefer it cozy anyway,” replied her new admirer.

  “OK kids, can we get down to business?” I asked.

  As we all sat around the small table with cushion chairs, JR asked if we wanted a coffee but we all passed. I wished to get the ball rolling.

  “Thanks for seeing us on such a short notice JR. I asked Jennifer to give me a hand on my investigation, she’s as former FBI colleague. We have discovered new information over and above what the existing police investigation uncovered.”

  “Should I invite Freeman and Jackson in here?” JR asked.

  “First, let me tell you what we have found. Afterward, if you want to, I can brief them,” I suggested, wishing to bring up Freeman’s situation later on.

  “Fine.”

  “The police investigation showed Taylor left the Black Cat bar after his shift with two individuals. It’s the last time they saw him in Miami, Friday, September 10th, of last year. Freeman could not locate the two guys in question but we found them although we still don’t have their identities. What we know is that they’re friends or work with Yang Nelson, the official owner of the bar. Nelson is also a surfing buddy of Mark Taylor.”

  “Are these oriental gentlemen the ones we're looking for in the old man's death on your boat?”

  “I see you follow your investigations; yes, they are.”

  “Thank you, that’s my job over here,” he said looking at me but the information was for Jennifer who returned another perfect smile.

  “So Taylor, the two individuals, Asians by the way, and Yang Nelson landed in Marathon, where our search continued. We identified lots of trips to Marathon by a large yacht carrying Nelson and his bodyguards, all this happening at regular intervals. Nelson’s job is to entertain his guests while the two guys and the
captain have other duties.”

  “What kind of duties?” John asked.

  “Well, they could be drug related. Taylor talked about fentanyl to his friends in Miami and William Tudor died on my boat from a pure fentanyl injection, given by the two Asians. It's not a coincidence and we have video surveillance tapes of their arrival and departure at the time of the crime.”

  “Hold on a second. Taylor was inquiring about fentanyl. Was he a user?”

  “No, he was a DEA informant.” A long silence followed. This was news to John.

  “How are you aware of this? Your FBI connexions?”

  “From reliable sources, let’s say.”

  “OK.”

  Jennifer, quiet until then, continued our story. “In Marathon, we tried to understand what the gang was doing there, so we organized surveillance. Nelson was off with his customers as usual as soon as the yacht arrived. His guests are winners of a phony contest at his bar. The two Asians were of interest so we followed them to a location where they kidnapped Jason.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes, I was snooping around a building where our guys had stopped when their boss saw me, held me against my will, and questioned me.”

  “Did they hurt you?” asked John.

  “No, they brought me back on the yacht returning to Miami but I jumped ship and swam to shore, no harm done. I have a good memory, I’ll find them, for sure.”

  “Will you want to press charges?” asked JR.

  “No, I’ll pass.”

  “Well, so far it’s quite a tale,” said JR.

  “And my kidnapper is a man I crossed path with some years ago, Bruce Steiner. Back then we executed a search warrant but he escaped. I’ll have to check with the Bureau what his status is today. We believed then he operated a drug manufacturing plant; he may be doing the same thing today.”