"I don't want to die," she said.
I sat on the bed beside her. I reached out and took her hand. "I don't want you to die either. Tell me what Simmermon is doing."
She caught her breath, swallowed a sob. "I'm not real sure. He's been crazy lately. Says God's talking to him and telling him to kill the heathens."
"How does he plan to do that?"
"I think he's got some of those kids convinced to use themselves as suicide bombers. He's planning to blow up churches."
"Churches? Christian churches?" I said.
"Yes. He thinks if he sends the bombers into Christian houses ofwor- ship, the Muslims will be blamed. He wants what he calls another Crusade to free the Holy Land."
"How does he figure to do that?"
"He says that the bombings will cause such a groundswell of public outrage that the U.S. will have to bomb the Muslims out of existence."
"All one and a half billion of them?" Incredulity strained my words.
"That's what he says, starting with the ones in our country."
"He's not squeamish about sacrificing his brother Christians in return for killing Muslims?"
Michelle rolled her eyes. "He says the Christians who are killed are going to heaven anyway, or most of them, and they'll be better off."
"He's not planning to be among them I take it."
"No. He says God wants him here on earth to help turn everybody else into Christians, to save them."
"And if the Jews or Buddhists or whoever don't want to be saved?"
"I don't think he's worked that one out yet," she said.
"How long has he been planning this?"
"I'm not sure. He just told me about it a couple of days ago at lunch. I think he's been working on it for a long time though. He said the plan is already in operation."
"How did a string of whorehouses come to this?"
"I don't know. I met the Rev a few years ago at a tent revival in Alabama. He understood what I was going through, and I joined his organization. I'd worked in a house in Birmingham, and when I realized all these little sluts were looking for salvation, we came up with the plan for the spas. It was a good deal until he went nuts."
"Not such a good deal for the girls."
"Not a bad deal either. They have a nice place to live, food on the table, and a medical plan. Most of them don't want to leave."
"But you keep them drugged."
"Only for the first month or so. Then they can either leave or stay on at one of our other spas in a different town."
"So, Key West is where you break them in."
"You could say that."
"What happens if the girl doesn't want this kind of life?"
"The Rev takes them back home I guess. I don't really know."
"I thought you ran things."
"I thought I did too."
"Where is lie sending the bombers?"
"I honestly don't know. I didn't even know there were bombers until a couple of days ago."
"Okay. You're going to stay here for a while. One of your other guys is here too."
"Who?"
"Martin Holcomb."
"He's one of the Rev's thugs. I hardly know him."
"I'll have Charlie brought back to his room."
"His body?"
"No, Michelle. Charlie's not dead. Sane people don't kill just to make a point."
"But I saw your buddy shoot him."
"Yes, but with a dart gun. The gunshot came from a pistol fired into the ground. Charlie will have a headache but that's all."
"You can't prove anything."
I pulled a tape recorder out of the pocket of my shorts. "I think I can," I said.
"You son of a bitch," she said. "You rotten son of a bitch."
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The driver took Logan and me back to the Coast Guard station. I thanked the driver and told him I'd be in touch about his guests.
The Coastie on the front desk took us to a room in the back of the building. Jock was there, sitting at a small conference table. Paul Galis sat on the other side, nervously rubbing his hands together. A compact man in Army battle fatigues was at the end of the table.
Jock introduced Logan to Galls, and both of us to Major John Lockman.
"The major is in command of the Delta Force team," said jock. "They've secured the island and have all the remaining men under arrest."
"What about the girls?" I asked.
Jock shook his head. "They're bringing them in on a Coast Guard boat. They'll be treated for drugs, and then we'll see what we can do about them."
Galls said, "My people raided the spa, and we have three men in custody. The girls are being held for medical treatment."
"They're all on drugs," I said.
"We know," said Galls. "I doubt they'll be much help to us in making a case against Simmermon."
I shrugged. "I've got three of his people under wraps and a recorded statement from Michelle Browne, his top assistant."
A look of surprise crossed Galls' face. "Where are they?"
I grinned. "I don't think you want to know. But I'll get them for you later today."
Galis laughed. "Good enough."
I turned to the major. "Did you lose anybody?"
"No, sir," he said. "There were only a half dozen armed men left, and they gave up quickly. We found several bodies with gunshot wounds and five who died from what looks like grenade shrapnel."
Jock put his elbows on the table, leaning in. "That sounds about right. Matt and Logan are old infantrymen."
The major looked at us. "Army?"
Jock said, "Matt was Special Forces, and Logan was in the 82nd until he got out of the mud and learned to fly helicopters."
"Airborne," said the major, just loud enough to be heard.
"Airborne," Logan and I repeated. It was the mantra of those who jump out of airplanes in order to take care of the rest of us. George Orwell once wrote something to the effect that people could sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. I was looking at one of those rough men, and I was glad he was on our side.
I said, "Did you find any explosives, Major?"
"Yes, sir. We found a big stash. There were also vests, like suicide bombers use."
Logan spoke up. "Did the people you took prisoner know anything about suicide bombers?"
"Yes, sir. We've got several who keep talking about wanting to die for God. They told my intelligence people that they were supposed to leave the island today and fan out across the country. Apparently something big was planned for this Sunday."
Jock said, "Simmermon is as crazy as a run over dog, but he keeps talking about the ones who went out yesterday."
"How many?" I asked.
"Only three, he says, but who knows."
"Did he say where they're going?"
"Yes. One is here, another is going to Atlanta, and the third is headed for Orlando."
Logan said, "Today's Saturday. Are we talking about tomorrow? That's not much time to stop this."
"Tomorrow,"Jock said. "We've got to move fast. I've alerted the FBI. Their counterterrorism force is working on it. Galls will have men at every church in Key West on Sunday. I don't know about Atlanta and Orlando. Too big. Too many churches."
The phone on the table rang. Jock picked it up, listened, and hung up. He looked at me. "Peggy's about to leave. She wants to see you."
Galis stood up. "I'll take you to her, Matt."
I followed him out the door and down a hall to another small conference room. Peggy was there, dressed in slacks and a blouse. Another woman, a tall blonde in her mid-twenties, was with her.
Peggy stood and hugged me. "Thanks for saving my life:'
I hugged back. "You're worth saving. Laura told me so:'
"Come to Atlanta with me. Laura will want to see you:'
"How is she?"
"Bad. Very bad. Daddy said she perked up when he told her you found me, but
she doesn't have long."
"I can't leave right now, honey. We've got a big problem on our hands with Simmermon."
"Matt, if you don't come now, you may not get to see her."
I knew that, and I also knew that I wasn't needed in Key West. But I thought Jeff and Peggy and her sister, Gwen, should share what little time Laura had left. I'd long ago forfeited my right to those last precious hours of her life.
I kissed Peggy on the top of her head. "Tell Laura I'm thinking of her."
Peggy started to cry and wrapped her arms around me. "Come see me in Athens, Matt. Promise me."
"I will. Soon."
Galls introduced me to the good-looking blonde. "Matt, this is Deputy Karen Senkbeil. She's going to Atlanta with Peggy."
We shook hands. "Take care of my girl, Deputy," I said. I turned and walked out the door, hurrying before I started crying. Paratroopers aren't supposed to do that. Not in public, anyway. Not even for Laura.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I rejoined the meeting. Coffee had been delivered and each man had a mug in front of him. I poured myself one and sat down next to Logan.
Jock said, "We've worked out a plan of sorts. Blood Island is secure, and Major Lockman is going to leave a platoon there to make sure it stays that way. He and the rest of his men are headed back to Hurlburt. I'm going to sweat Simmermon some more, and see if I can get something else out of him. We're also going to be interrogating the other people from the island. Maybe somebody heard something or knows something."
"What about other governmental agencies?" I asked.
"The FBI is on it, and because of the explosives, ATF is joining them. The president is being briefed, and if we can't stop the bastards, he'll be prepared to make a statement to the nation on Sunday evening, explaining what happened."
"Not a great plan."
Jock looked at me. "No, it's not," he said, "but unless you've got a better one, I don't know what else to do."
"How do Logan and I fit into this?"
"You don't, officially."
"Unofficially?"
"I'd like for you to go to Orlando today. Make contact with your buddy at the U.S. Attorney's Office. He'll be expecting you. He's been told that you'll be coordinating our efforts up there and acting as liaison with me:'
"That sounds pretty official."
"There'll be no record of it. Parrish knows that."
David Parrish was the chief assistant U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Florida. He'd been my law school classmate and good friend for many years. We'd worked together before.
"Okay," I said. "Can Logan take my boat back to Longboat Key?"
"No. The Coasties will take care of your boat. I want Logan to go with you. You'll be met at the airport by one of our men. He'll drive you to Parrish's office and leave you a car. Check in with me when you get there."
"What about the people I'm holding?"
Galls stirred. "I'd like to have them in custody," he said.
Jock looked at me. "How quick can you get them here?"
"Pretty quick. But I've got to go get them."
I called Mendosa's number again and waited for the callback. It came quickly.
"I need to pick up my people and deliver them to the cops," I said. "If it's all right with Mr. Mendosa, I'll drive out and pick them up. Nobody has to know where they've been."
"Hold on."
I waited.
He was back on the line. "Mr. Mendosa said to come on out."
Logan and I took a government car and drove back out U.S. 1, taking the turnoff on Big Coppitt Key. The garage door opened as I pulled into the driveway. A space was waiting for me. I pulled in, and the door slid closed. A man was standing at the doorway leading into the house. He waved Logan and me in.
Our three guests were standing in the kitchen, hands cuffed behind them, blindfolds over their eyes, their mouths gagged. Nothing was said by anyone.
We guided the three into the backseat of the car, and I backed out of the garage. We returned to the Coast Guard station on Trumbo Road and turned them over to Detective Galls.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Orlando. My old hometown. It was a city that lived up to its nickname, "The City Beautiful." It was dotted with over a hundred named lakes, and its suburbs had many more. It was a city of gracious homes and tall office buildings. Condos were sprouting downtown and the city center was a vibrant place to be on a weekday. On this Saturday, it was quiet.
"I'll leave the car for you," said our driver, tossing the keys to me. "Somebody will pick me up in a few minutes."
He'd parked in the public lot beneath 1–4, across the street from the federal courthouse in downtown. "Better leave your weapons in the car," he said.
Logan and I had flown up from Key West in a business jet owned by some federal agency. We didn't have to surrender our weapons. Each of us had a nine millimeter, and I still had a dive knife strapped to my ankle.
Before we left Key West, jock had dispatched a Coastie to retrieve my dive gear from the surfer guy who ran the shop. It would be stashed aboard Recess.
A Coastie had directed us to an area where we could shower and shave. Logan and I were both dead tired. We hadn't slept since we took the naps while anchored at Boot Key the afternoon before. We grabbed a couple of hours of sleep, and then dressed in new clothes provided by a grateful government. We both were wearing slacks and golf shirts, with light windbreakers to hide our pistols.
We landed at Orlando Executive Airport shortly before noon, met our escort, and were driven to the courthouse.
We left our weapons in the trunk of the government sedan, cleared courthouse security, and were escorted to David Parrish's office. He was waiting for us, a big blond man whose hair was now mostly gray, a slight paunch hanging precariously over his belt.
"Matt," he said in his Georgia accented baritone, "it's good to see you."
I introduced him to Logan, and said, "I'm told you know why we're here."
"Not exactly, but I got orders from Washington to, as they say, show you every courtesy. That means I'm to do what you tell me to do."
"I like that," I said. "How about getting me a cup of coffee?"
"Go to hell, Royal," he said, grinning. "There are just some things I won't do for my country. Can you tell me what's going on?"
We had taken seats in a small conference room. David sat at the end of the table, and Logan and I flanked him. The seal of the U.S. Justice Department hung on the wall behind Parrish's head, and black-and-white photographs of the present and former U.S. attorneys general lined two other walls. The final wall was glass, providing a view of 1–4.
I leaned into the table. "David, we're in a hell of a fix. Somebody is going to blow up a church here on Sunday."
"Whoa. What's going on?"
I filled him in on what we knew and what we didn't know. It was sketchy at best, and not very enlightening.
Parrish leaned back in his chair, hands under his chin, fingertips touching. "What are we supposed to do?"
"I don't know. I need to call jock and see if he has any more information."
A look of mild surprise crossed Parrish's face. "Ali," he said, "I should have detected the fine hand of Mr. Algren in all this. He has a lot of juice in Washington."
Jock, David, and I had worked together before.
"He seems to," I said.
David looked at Logan. "Where does Logan fit into all this? Are you government too?"
Logan laughed. "Not since I got out of the Army. I got shanghaied into this mess by our friend Matt. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do here, other than hold Royal's hand."
I stood up. "I've got to make a call," I said, and stepped into the hallway, pulled out my cell phone.
Jock picked up on the first ring.
"Anything more?" I said.
"Not much. We've helped the Rev's memory with some drugs, but what we're getting is pretty disjointed. He seems to be living in die past somewhere and talking about
somebody named Albert Thomas and another guy named Colin Edinfield. I don't know who they are, and die government computers tell us they're both dead. I can't make any sense out of it."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing. He keeps mumbling something about Arlington. That doesn't make any sense either, and the people he's named aren't buried there."
"Let me know if anything comes up."
"Okay. You should have some FBI and ATF types getting to Parrish's office within a few minutes." He hung up.
I rejoined Logan and David, and in a couple of minutes two men in suits were shown into the room. David stood and made the introductions. FBI and ATF agents.
David sat back down and asked, "Do you guys know anything about why you're here?"
The FBI agent spoke up. "We've been briefed about a possible church bombing in die area. That's all we know."
"That's about all we know too," I said.
The FBI agent turned to me. "Tell me just exactly who you are."
Parrish fielded the question. "Mr. Royal is in charge. Mr. Hamilton is assisting him. That comes from the very top, and that's all you need to know for now"
I could tell the two federal agents didn't like that. "Gentlemen," I said, "I don't like this any better than you do. I've got my assignment though and, if it'll make you feel better, I'm taking my orders from somebody who works for the government and outranks almost everybody in the world. If and when I give an order, I'll simply be conveying it from my principal. Clear?"
"Not really," said the AFT agent, "but I know how to take orders."
"Good." I then told them everything I knew, including the garbled information Jock was getting from Simmermon.
The FBI agent shook his head. "That's not much to go on. I know we've got all our people and ATF's people ready to go to work. Our counterterrorism guy is in charge. We just don't know what to do."
My cell phone rang. It was Paul Galls.
"Michelle tells me they have a whorehouse in Orlando," he said. "There's one in Atlanta too."
"Where's the one in Orlando?"
He gave me an address and hung up.
I looked at the men gathered at the table. "We may have a starting place." I explained how the Heaven Can't Wait Spas operated, and their ties to Simmermon.
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