The crooked FBI agent I mentioned before — a man named George Kelley — ordered Nora's execution. He was there in the room with us when one of his minions killed a woman I thought was Nora.
Nora's faked execution in St. Thomas was supposed to intimidate me and get me to roll over on Mary. Seconds after Kelley and company killed the stand-in, Mary and I sprang our own trap and killed Kelley and two of his henchmen. We didn't know the identity of the woman who died in Nora's place.
Soon after that, I got a text about my daughter's kidnapping. My daughter shouldn't have been part of this. She didn't even know I existed, let alone that I was her father. Nobody but her mother and I knew.
Why that was so is a story for another time. The point was, these people found out and went after her, looking for leverage over me.
A quick call from Mary to her friend Phorcys resulted in my daughter's rescue and the deaths of the goons who were holding her. Through Phorcys, we learned who ordered the kidnapping.
Mary and I killed that person ourselves; I'm a vengeful bastard when it comes to threats to innocent people. Before he died, the son of a bitch told us how they learned about my daughter. It seems Nora, or as he called her, Phyllis Greer, told them.
I wasn't aware that she knew about my daughter, but she must have gotten access to my old Army records, where the story of my divorce was recorded. Those records were beyond Top Secret; they were hidden away when I joined the group Nora was running now.
Nora didn't know yet that I uncovered her duplicity; she was continuing her effort to manipulate me. She and her cronies were after Mary and the files, and they saw me as a means to their end.
Back to Mary. After we killed that man who arranged my daughter's kidnapping, we thought we should split up for a couple of weeks.
We were careful not to leave evidence, but the coincidence of our presence in the neighborhood of two hits wouldn't be overlooked. Kelley and our other victim were connected to each other; that would be enough to make Mary and me suspects.
We didn't want to be too easy to find. Mary stayed in the States, and I flew back to the BVI and picked up Island Girl. Back then, Mary and I were planning to meet two weeks later in Bahia Guánica, Puerto Rico.
When I sent my message to Mary the day before yesterday, I gave her enough hints about Nora so she had at least an idea of what was going on. I was changing my strategy from "run and hide" to "seek and destroy."
A two-week delay would just give Nora and company that much more time to find us. I asked Mary to meet me in Puerto Rico in two days instead of two weeks.
I was relieved when I found her answer in the email drop.
That's great news. Glad your old girlfriend survived. She may be able to tell us something useful. Can't wait to see you both.
That senator’s suicide in Florida caused such a stir that I can't get anything done here, anyway. Headed your way day after tomorrow. I'll join you at our rendezvous the day after I arrive; getting in late, will stay near the airport and go to our place the next morning.
Don't reply — no time for me to check; in a hurry. I'll explain when I see you.
Love,
Mary.
That brought a smile to my face. I put the laptop away and took out the burner phone I used to call Aaron earlier.
5
"What's going on?" Aaron asked, answering my call.
"Got a few minutes?"
"For you, always. I haven't forgotten who saved my ass that time."
"This time, it's my ass on the line."
"Happy to help, man. Just ask."
"First thing, have you noticed anything strange about our boss lady?"
"You mean aside from the fact that she put out the word that you've gone rogue?"
"She said that?"
"Not in so many words, but the implication was clear enough."
"Any reactions to that from the rest of the agency?" I asked.
"No, but you know how compartmentalized we are. Good chance I wouldn't hear anything."
"What do you think about it?"
"You going rogue? Man, you shouldn't even need to ask. You know what I think about it. She's wandered off the reservation. You got any idea what she's up to?"
"Yeah. She's been bought by the mob."
"The mob? I would have figured maybe the Chinese or the Russians got their hooks into her somehow. Or even some of the Arabs, maybe. But the mob? You sure about that?"
"As sure as I ever get about stuff like this." I gave Aaron a quick rundown on Mary's adventures, leaving out her identity, but emphasizing the files she stole. "And they found out about Abby. They kidnapped her to try to make me give them the girl and the files."
"Ah, shit, man. You know who took her?"
"Yeah. They've all paid for their sins already. She's home safe, none the wiser."
"But how could the boss even have known about Abby? Nobody but the guys on the team back then knew, and none of them would have…" His voice trailed off.
"What?" I asked.
"Just thinking about who might have told her. I guess there could be something about all that in your old 201 file, but I thought those were buried deep when we came over here."
"That's my guess, the 201. You in touch with any of the guys who were with us back then?"
"No. They all bought it on their next mission. That was after you moved over. My transfer was in process, so I wasn't with them that time. I was still in the loop, but I guess you weren't, by then."
"No. I'm sad to hear that."
"Yeah. We were a hell of a team. Back to now, though. You think the boss has the clout to get her hands on our 201s?"
"I don't know about her, but the guy she told about Abby was high enough up where he could have gotten my 201 for her. He could have gotten any kind of classified military records, if he knew what to ask for."
"You gonna ask him about it?"
"I already did, but I didn't probe that particular subject. Once I found out it was the boss who told him about Abby, he didn't have any reason to keep on living."
"Wait a minute. Are we talking about who I think we are?" Aaron asked.
"Maybe. Who are you thinking about?"
"A recent high-profile suicide with some embarrassing history. A senator."
"Could well be the same person."
"Nice work, buddy. How the hell did you find him?"
"That brings me to the reason for my call." I told him about Mary's friend, Phorcys.
"Sounds like a good person to have on your side."
"Maybe. But I'm not sure whose side he's on. Right now, it suits him to help my lady friend, but he doesn't owe me anything, and I'm not sure what his connection is to her."
"You sure you want to know? I mean, you said you were tight with her. You start digging into stuff like that, you might find shit you would rather not know."
"I'm willing to take that risk. I trust her. It's him I'm not sure about. He could be playing her. I doubt it, but I want to know who he is, anyway. You think you can help?"
"Hell, yes. You know damn well I can. You know any more about him than what you just told me?"
"No. You have everything."
"Okay, then. I got some work to do. Good to hear from you. Take care. I'll call when I get something. If you pick up any more hints about Phorcys, call me. Even small things can help."
"Thanks," I said.
"My pleasure," Aaron said, and he disconnected the call.
I put the phone and the laptop away and made sure everything below deck was secured for open water. After I turned on the navigation lights, I climbed up into the cockpit. Two minutes later, the anchor was lashed on the bow and I raised the main and my biggest headsail.
I trimmed the sails for a beam reach, and Island Girl accelerated to six knots in a few boat lengths. When I was out of Simpson Bay, I took up a course of 278 degrees magnetic and eased the sheets for a broad reach. That would put me off the southeast tip of Puerto Rico late the next afternoon.<
br />
6
I anchored just inside the entrance to Ensenada Honda in Culebra and took the dinghy into town. After clearing in with customs and immigration, I bought a cold six-pack and some minutes for my throwaway cellphone at a little store near the dinghy dock.
Back aboard Island Girl, I put my paperwork away and retrieved the burner cellphone and my laptop. Settling into the cockpit with a cold beer, I checked the email drop, just in case Mary's plans changed. There was no message from her, which was good news. She should arrive in Puerto Rico late tomorrow. I would see her in Bahia Guánica the day after.
That worked out well. I was a hundred-mile sail from there. I would leave Culebra this evening and get Island Girl situated in Bahia Guánica late tomorrow afternoon. I would have time to pick up a few groceries and clean the boat up from the voyage before Mary got there.
Before I sipped my beer, I turned on the burner cellphone. Once it acquired service, the voicemail indicator flashed. I thumbed my way through the menus and saw that I missed a call from Aaron. It was a bit early in the day; he was probably in his office. I was surprised he didn't want me to wait until after working hours to call. I listened to the message, but he just said, "Call when you get this. Any time's good." Taking him at his word, I called.
"Hey. That you?" he said, when he answered.
"Yep. Who else?"
"Just checking. You got my message?"
"Yeah, all you said was call when I got it. You at work?"
"No. I left early so I could talk with you. I've got information on that person you asked about."
"Everything okay?" The part about leaving early so he could talk to me worried me.
"Yeah, no problem. I couldn't find your guy in our system, though. So I bought a late lunch for a friend who knows stuff that's not in the databases. She's heard of this Phorcys. Or at least somebody she thinks might be him. You where you can talk?"
"Yes. I'm all alone. Closest boat's anchored half a mile from me. Is your friend one of us?"
"No, she's not one of us. She's in the private sector. Works for a think tank. She's a researcher. We help one another out from time to time. Anyhow, about Phorcys. You said he was connected with a criminal organization?"
"I don't know that; I'm guessing." I thought about Phorcys wiping out the people who snatched Abby. But who was I to judge him a criminal? "Why do you ask?"
"Because that part doesn't fit. My friend says there are rumors about somebody who uses the name Phorcys, but nobody thinks he's a criminal."
"You're losing me," I said.
"She and her sources think Phorcys is a pseudonym used by a reclusive billionaire who funds a lot of moderate politicians. He's nonpartisan, but he doesn't like extremists of any kind — conservative or liberal. You with me so far?"
"Yeah, but who is he?"
"Nobody knows. Whoever he is, he hides behind a lot of shell companies. And he backs middle-of-the-road, straight-arrow politicians."
"But he's not a crook?"
"Not that anybody knows, anyway. But she did say he makes his own rules, whoever he is. Nobody has ever connected him with anything criminal."
"And why does she think this unknown guy might be Phorcys? I'm not following the logic, here."
"Yeah. It's tenuous, all right. The behavior pattern you described fits the man they call Phorcys."
"Behavior pattern?" I asked. "How much did you tell her?"
"Nothing that will come back on any of us. I sketched out the story about you and your lady friend, but I left out the bad parts. Mostly, my source focused on the phone calls you mentioned. I told her you stumbled over files that might implicate several prominent politicians in corrupt activity, and that they tried to strong-arm you into giving up the files. The part about them kidnapping an innocent person for leverage got her hooked. When she found out your friend called Phorcys for help, she got excited. That's the kind of thing this guy does; they look at him as a knight in shining armor. He's always doing good. Never sets a foot wrong, according to her."
I thought about the people who died in retribution for Abby's kidnapping and shook my head. Aaron didn't know those details, so he couldn't have shared them with his friend.
"If it's the same guy, your friend's only seen part of the picture," I said.
"That's probably so. Anyhow, that's all I have so far. She thought the Florida connection matched up with the Phorcys they know, though. Especially his in-depth knowledge of everything that happens there, legal or not. She's going to do a little more snooping and get back to me."
"Okay. Thanks," I said.
"No problem. One more thing I need to ask you before we hang up."
"Sure. What's that?"
"I think I know the answer, but I told her I'd ask, okay?"
"Okay. What's she want?"
"To talk with your lady friend, basically. How does she know Phorcys? What's her connection to him? Any chance she might talk to my friend? None of that's meant as a quid pro quo, but… Well, she wanted me to ask."
"I understand. I have no clue about her relationship with Phorcys. And she's not likely to talk with anybody about anything. Like I said when we spoke before, she's one of us, just working in the private sector. Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I understand. I'll call when I have more."
"Thanks, man. Stay safe."
"Yeah. You, too." With that, Aaron disconnected.
Picking up my beer, I found it was warm. I needed to move on, anyway. Pouring the beer over the side, I cranked the diesel and went up to the bow to retrieve the anchor. I wanted to get out of the Ensenada Honda entrance channel while there was enough light to see the reefs.
7
The entrance to Bahia Guánica made me nervous. It was buoyed and straight-forward, but there were unmarked reefs to the west of the channel. Late in the day they were hard to see, and there was often a strong current sweeping across the channel. It would only take a moment of inattention to end up wrecked on the submerged coral.
Once I was northwest of the little mangrove island called Gilligan's Island, I relaxed. Out of the current, I had a straight shot into the bay's entrance. The opening between two steep hills looked like a misplaced fjord. I started the diesel; the high ground on either side of the entrance would soon block the wind.
Safely in the protected water of the entrance, I lashed the tiller and throttled back to crawl speed. I went forward and dropped the sails; I would have to motor into my chosen anchorage.
When I reached the north end of the marked channel leading to the town of Guánica, I turned about 45 degrees to port. Guánica itself was a good-sized town, but a mile to the west was a relatively secluded spot in a cove called Cueva de la Julia.
Close enough to the main town for easy dinghy access, it was a quiet, well-protected anchorage. There were two unoccupied local boats on moorings, but otherwise, Island Girl and I had it to ourselves.
Once satisfied that the anchor was holding, I went below. I spent half an hour putting the boat in order and then took a beer out of the icebox. Exhausted from three overnight sails in a row, I decided to skip going into town.
There was plenty of food aboard for a day or two. Mary was planning to stay near the airport in San Juan tonight, since she was arriving late. She would take a bus to Guánica in the morning, and we could do our grocery shopping there when I took the dinghy in to meet her.
From the drawer below the chart table, I retrieved my iPhone and the burner phone I was using to communicate with Aaron Sanchez. I settled myself in the cockpit and turned both phones on before I popped the top on my beer.
After my first sip, the phones were up and running. No one had called the iPhone; that was what I expected. Aaron had left a voicemail on the burner, though. Thinking he must have learned more about Phorcys, I retrieved the message.
"Call me as soon as you can. Shit's happening." The message was less than an hour old.
I took another swallow of beer and returned his call.
"You get my message?" he asked by way of a greeting.
"Yeah. Shit's happening?"
"Yep. Looks like the boss wants me out. I had a visit from humanoid resources right after lunch. They're 'downsizing,' as they say, 'consolidating my function with another department in furtherance of our mission and for greater synergy.' Their bullshit words."
"So do you have any options?"
"Not really. There's a sweetener if I waive a bunch of appeals I'm entitled to and sign a non-disclosure agreement. Otherwise, I only get my retirement." He chuckled.
"A non-disclosure agreement?"
"Yeah. Like they don't already have that covered."
"Are more people being let go?" I asked.
"Not that I know of, but I don't have good intel on that. That's why I called, though. Something's rotten here. I got a firm indication that you were right about our boss — former boss, that is."
"You mean about her being dirty?"
"Yeah, but not exactly on that point. You got me to thinking yesterday when we talked about those 201 files. I followed up on that. On mine, specifically."
"Just yours? Not mine?"
"Yeah. When I checked yesterday, there was no record of yours."
"That's what I would have expected. But what about yours?"
"My source found mine, all right. It was filed in a special place, well-hidden — wouldn't have been found by anyone who didn't already know a lot about my service. That was yesterday, in the morning. They were going to do an access audit when they couldn't find yours, based on my telling them yours should be there if mine was. My source was puzzled by that, too; said it couldn't happen. He agreed with me, said if mine was there, yours should have been."
"Okay," I said. "And?"
"And my source got back to me later in the day yesterday. My 201 was pulled by someone up the line from me between the time I spoke to my source and the time he called me back. You know who's up the line from me, right?"
"Same as with me. The boss lady, whoever that undersecretary is that she reports to, and then — "
Vigilantes and Lovers Page 2