“You don’t think someone found him and tried to ki—”
“No, I don’t,” R.B. interrupted her. “His scooter isn’t here, his wallet and keys aren’t on the hook by the door, and most importantly, his cowboy hat is gone.”
She looked into his eyes and he thought she must surely see that he wasn’t convinced of this at all. But he moved on from the subject.
He exhaled heavily and put his hands on his hips. “He may just be crashed somewhere, sleeping off a hangover. It’s likely he’ll come stumbling home sometime today… or tomorrow.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Megan started, “because there’s a line of strong storms coming tomorrow. And past that, they keep talking about a new storm brewing that could become another hurricane. We need to get to that site again, and fast.”
Vince Pinzioni’s heart skipped a beat when Ryan Bodean and Megan walked into Captain Tony’s. There was no sign of Troy, but this was a two-for-one deal that he couldn’t pass up.
And then they asked him to take them out on the boat, and he couldn’t believe his luck. His mind raced, trying to put together a quick plan to permanently erase the two of them and leave no evidence that he’d been anywhere near them.
“Yeah, I can take you out on the boat,” he played along, “but what’s it for this time? Fishing? Tanning? Drinking?”
R.B. and Megan exchanged a glance. He wondered if they were weighing up whether or not to tell him the truth. But, whatever story they gave, he’d pretend he bought it and would take them out.
“We’ve found something in the water,” R.B. finally said.
“And we just want to see if anything is left of it after the storm,” Megan added.
Vince pondered this for a minute. Might be a good chance to check out the site, see if the storm had done a proper job of burying the wreck.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, and laughed his best sarcastic laugh. “You guys in the treasure huntin’ biz now?” He slapped a hand on R.B.’s shoulder and shook his head.
“Something like that,” R.B. said sheepishly.
“Alright!” Vince clapped his hands together. “So, what’s my cut, eh? Do I get a piece of the action?”
He watched as the two of them squirmed like fish out of water.
“I’m playin’, I’m playin,” he said, letting them off the hook, “whatever junk you find out there, it’s all yours.”
He untied his apron and tucked it under the bar. Spotting a box of latex gloves, he shoved a pair into his pocket.
“Let’s do dis,” he said, smiling broadly as he put his arms around them.
He could not believe his insane luck. Two more loose ends would be tied up by tonight. And whenever Troy showed back up, he’d take care of him too.
“Thanks, Vince,” R.B. said.
“Fughedaboutit, bro,” Vince said, and grinned.
The water was cold and rough. Visibility was near zero. R.B. held his hands out in front of him as he cruised back and forth along the ocean floor. They were right on top of the place they’d discovered the few pieces of shipwreck detritus, but now… there was nothing. His gauge showed that he was nearing the end of his air supply and he decided he’d make one more pass and then come up. He scanned the edge of the coral reef along where he thought they’d seen the cannon. There was absolutely nothing left.
As he peered ahead, a smooth grey snout suddenly bumped into him. Shit! Shark! His heart pounded, and he thrashed backward from the beast and slammed his fist straight down onto its nose.
The impact was so solid, he thought he might’ve cracked a knuckle bone. What the hell? This was no shark. It couldn’t have been more than five feet away now, but he could only see a vague blur in the water ahead.
He eased forward until he could see the object more clearly. It was gently swaying from side to side in the current. Thankfully, it was an inanimate object, not a creature from the deep trying to eat him. As he traced along the object, he began to make out the unmistakable outline of a drone. He recognized it from his later days in Afghanistan; this thing was military. What the hell is this thing doing in the gulf?
His air gauge pinged. Two minutes left. He swam straight up from the drone, intending to mark its location below where he surfaced. When he broke through, he circled around until he caught sight of the boat. He had drifted maybe fifty-feet away.
“Yo, Vince!” he called after removing his regulator, “over here!”
The captain of the boat turned and saw him, and Vince waved his recognition. The boat rumbled to life and turned slowly in R.B.’s direction. Less than five minutes later, he was climbing into the boat.
“Okay, treasure boy,” Vince joked, “you find your gold?”
“No,” —R.B. busied himself removing his tanks and diving gear— “but there’s a drone down there. Military. Not weaponized, but definitely military.”
Vince’s face was frozen in a smile. Not a natural looking smile, but a forced one.
“Well… ” he said, “that’s… strange.”
His voice sounded like someone who had just found out their mother-in-law had driven their Ferrari off a cliff. His smile began to fade.
“What the hell is a military drone doin’ out here?” Vince’s voice now edged into what sounded like anger.
R.B. thought that was an odd emotion to have. “I have no idea,” he said, and looked around. “Hey, where’s Megan?”
Vince didn’t answer. He was staring out at the water. “They frickin’ found it,” he mumbled, “they sent out a damn drone and found it.”
“Huh?” R.B. had no idea what he was going on about. “Vince, where’s Megan.”
The Italian ship captain seemed to snap out of his daze. He slid a hand under his linen shirt and pulled out a gun.
“Oh, her?” Vince said, pointing the pistol at R.B. “She’s tied up down below.
37
You’re Going The Wrong Way
George Wyatt stood on the catwalk below his massive oil rig, Wyatt 1, as the day began to wane. He couldn’t help but feel a little giddy from the news that his crew had found a reservoir of oil nearby and that it looked to be massive. It would be months, maybe years, before they would be able to get through the red tape of regulations and permits to drill there, and maybe another year to get the rig in place. But by all accounts, this looked to be a life-changing sized reservoir.
The gulf didn’t look as dark tonight as it had the past few months and he didn’t feel like jumping in and letting the black water swallow him. He was waiting for Hector, but this time things would be different. Hector would be leaving without dropping anything off and without picking anything up. This would be the end of their relationship.
An hour passed and the usual meeting time drifted by with no sign of Hector. Odd, thought Wyatt, he’d never been late in the past. Another half hour and he decided to climb back up to the rig. About fifty steps up, he heard the distant buzz of a boat.
“Dammit,” he muttered and turned around to descend the massive flight of stairs.
As the sound got closer, he looked out into the water, straining for a look at the boat. He could see it in the distance now and thought that it didn’t look like the same boat Hector had used before… again, odd.
As it raced closer and closer to the rig, he could tell that this boat had no intention of slowing. That’s not Hector, he thought and inhaled sharply, then returned to climbing the steps. At least I’m getting a good workout tonight.
Nearing the top after a sweat-inducing climb, he looked out in the distance as the sun set below the horizon. The boat was long gone in the coming darkness. But that didn’t make any sense; they were heading out into the ocean, not in. They should’ve been going the opposite way at this time of night.
Wyatt closed the hatch and walked toward the control room. Inside, a warm glow told him Gene Henry was still working. Typical Gene.
He knocked politely and opened the door to find the man hunched over a computer terminal. The key
s were clicking at a thousand-taps-a-second. He never looked up.
“Uh hem!” Wyatt cleared his throat.
No response.
“Gene?”
Nothing.
He walked over and touched the man’s shoulder. Gene jumped like he’d been hit with a taser.
“Oh, shit, George,” he said, breathing heavily, “you scared the shit out of me.”
“I knocked on the damn door,” Wyatt said and laughed, “and I said your name at least twice. You were just too—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gene interrupted him, “enough about all that.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. This was unusual behavior for his hard-working chief drill rigger.
“You’re not gonna believe this,” —Gene’s face had widened into a huge smile— “it went through!”
“Huh?”
“The drill permit,” he said as he pointed at his screen, “it came back approved within an hour after I submitted it.”
George Wyatt almost fainted for the second time this week. “How is that possible?” He leaned over to peer at the computer screen.
“This new president is all about drill-baby-drill, I guess,” Gene said and swiveled his chair around to face Wyatt, “and we’re gonna be rich.”
Wyatt let his mouth hang open.
“Not like millionaire rich,” —Gene stood and put his hands on Wyatt’s shoulders— “like, Bill Gates, eat your heart out rich!”
“Ha!” Wyatt exclaimed, “Finally!!”
The two men jumped around in a circle in the booth, nearly knocking over the nearby desk chairs. After a few minutes, they had both settled into a chair and were staring at each other. The door cracked open and Bill Bane stuck his head in.
“You tell him?” he asked Gene.
“Yup,” he said and flashed a thumbs up.
“What’s the order, boss?” Bill turned to Wyatt and smiled.
George Wyatt inhaled deeply. After a second, he said, “Bring it up.”
“Yes, sir.” Bill Bane grinned and mocked a salute.
The huge man closed the door behind him, leaving the other two in silence.
“Oh, by the way,” Wyatt said, suddenly remembering why he’d come in here in the first place, “I need you to check the radar. I want to see where a boat I just spotted is going.”
“You bet,” Gene said and turned toward the console, then clicked a few keys.
After a second, the image pinged. One dot was tracing across the screen. Gene used his finger to point farther along their path. “Hmmm,” he said, “strange to be going there at this time of night.”
“Where are they headed, Gene?”
“Fort Jefferson.”
Vince Pinzioni slammed the iron bars shut. The fort had been shut down after the homicide investigation and they’d only had to cross the yellow police tape in one spot.
He’d thought about shooting his two captives, but decided to wait. He needed Troy too, and he would do them all together. And by the time he had him out here, he’d have a plan to make all of this go away and with zero trace left behind.
R.B. and Megan Simons were bound and wouldn’t be a problem. R.B. stood defiantly, but there wasn’t much defiance in the face of a gun. Vince had also duct taped their wrists together and then wrapped their wrists to the bars of the fort’s prison cells, R.B. in one and Megan in the other.
“You’ll never get away with—”
Vince slammed the butt of his pistol against R.B.’s forehead. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, kid.
R.B.’s head lolled back and his eyes closed… he was out cold.
The girl screamed, but Vince raised his arm as if to hit her too. That had quieted the bitch, and now she was whimpering with her head down.
“Ain’t nobody anywhere near this place,” he said, grinning, “so scream all you want, honey.”
She was a good looking broad. Maybe he could spend a little time with her before he left them out here. He thought back about how good she had looked in that bikini. She cringed away from him as he took a step, but his cellphone chirped, temporarily saving her from him.
He would get to that in a minute, but not before she gave up the location of the artifacts they had pulled from the shipwreck site.
As he climbed back onto his boat and fired up the engine, he clicked open his cellphone and tapped out a message.
-All proceeding as planned, Papa.
-Good. Let me know when it’s done.
-Yes, Papa.
He slid the phone back into his pocket and eased the throttle up to pull his boat off the sand. He never saw the figure crouched down in the trees at the edge of the beach.
38
Overheard
Troy jerked his head back toward the others milling around the drunk tank.
“Hey, fellas,” he asked them politely, “can you keep it down?”
A few of them grumbled, but most just rolled over and went back to sleep.
One of them walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey, bro,” he said with a grin that showed a distinct lack of teeth, “you got any Molly?”
Troy could smell something acrid and rotten as the man breathed on him. He tried hard not to breathe through his nose.
“Nope,” he replied, “sorry, dude.”
“Aw, man, you’re just a big ole jabroni, ain’t ya?”
“Jabroni?”
“Yeah, man,” —the guy stuck a finger into Troy’s chest— “a big fat jabroni.”
Troy put his hands up in a surrendering gesture, and lied. “Hey, I had some, but I did it right after they brought me in.”
The man’s tone changed immediately. “Right on, bro. If I had some, I woulda taken it too. You’re all right, dude.”
“Thanks,” Troy said, and nodded.
The man turned away from him and said to the others in the room, “Any of you other jabronis got any Molly?”
Nobody answered, so he proceeded to walk around the room asking everyone individually. No Molly here.
Troy turned his attention back to the conversation happening between Joe and Steve, the officers out in the office just beyond the holding cell.
“So, what we’ve got is a dead park ranger,” the officer named Joe said, “gunshot to the head. No DNA on the blood yet.”
“Check,” the officer named Steve said, and Troy thought he heard the sound of a dry erase marker squeaking across a whiteboard.
“A missing park ranger, one,” —there was a pause and some papers being shuffled— “Natasha… Wainwright. Current C.I.A. agent.”
Dangit, Troy thought. He knew where Natasha was… the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, which meant that the dead park ranger was James. Who the hell would want to kill James? Shit, he was one of the good guys.
“Hector Martinez,” —Joe again— “Cuban drug runner. Shot by Officer Steve Haney in self-defense.”
“Check.”
“Hector’s G.P.S. shows several trips to Fort Jefferson. Suspect in the murder of James Howard, former C.I.A. Blood evidence on the scene in the lab.”
“Check,” Steve said, and added, “You think maybe James was dealin’? Deal gone bad or somethin’?”
James? Troy thought. C.I.A.? That had to be bad info. Ain’t no way James was C.I.A.
“No evidence to support that at the fort, but it’s worth exploring,” Joe said.
Steve scribbled something on the whiteboard. Then there was a pause in the conversation and the sound of a cardboard box being opened.
“Bundle of DVDs,” Joe said, “encrypted tighter than a well-digger’s butt. And a couple of kilos of heroin.”
“Check,” Steve said and marked the board again. “Lisa’s workin’ on the DVDs. Should have somethin’ for us soon.”
“Okay, I think that’s it,” Joe said and exhaled heavily.
“I think so.”
“Now, what about the possibles?” Joe asked.
“Right.” Steve sounded like he was turning pages on
a notepad. “Possibly related, Vince Pinzioni’s boat at the same marina, in the water and recently driven. G.P.S. shows last trip was to Fort Jefferson.”
“I don’t think that goes in possibly related,” Joe said. “I think it’s definitely related, given the timeframe and location evidence.”
Troy heard the sound of an eraser on the whiteboard and then more scribbling… moving Vince into the related column.
Dangit, Troy thought, why the hell was Vince out at Fort Jefferson?
There was a lull in the conversation, then the sound of a chair squeaking as it leaned.
“Hey,” Joe asked suddenly, “where was the trip to, the one right before Fort Jefferson on Vince’s G.P.S.?”
“Um… I dunno,” —Steve resumed shuffling around in the box— “lemme check it out.”
A few clicks later he said, “Eh, just some random location out in the gulf. Middle of nowhere, just off the reef.”
The wreck site, Troy thought, Vince went from the wreck site out to Fort Jefferson. Shit…
“What about Hector’s last few trips?”
More shuffling and clicking sounds. “Um… looks like he went to Cuba and back.”
“No surprise there,” Joe said.
“And had a pit stop at the Wyatt oil rig,” Steve added.
“The Wyatt oil rig?”
“Yup.”
“What the hell for?”
“No clue.”
The officers were silent for a minute. Troy’s head was swimming with all the details. He had no idea how they all fit together, but he was sure there was something bad happening here. And it all seemed to revolve around his shipwreck… the wreck of The Santa Maria.
“What else is in the box, Steve?”
“One cellphone found at Fort Jefferson,” he said, “presumed to belong to James.”
“And the message we saw?”
“Just said, REPORT.”
“And before that?”
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 45