The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3

by Alexie Aaron

  "Don't be dead, don't be dead," I cried as I crawled over the roots to the tree.

  Dwayne had one hell of a lump on his forehead, but he was breathing. I worried about his neck because his head didn’t seem to be supported. Nothing at the two weeks I spent in Girl Scouts prepared me for this emergency. Feeling helpless, I reached in my pocket and dug out my phone, hoping it had survived the soaking. It was still working. I quickly typed: “Alive in woods n of c5 – Dwayne alive but bad.” I sent it and waited impatiently.

  My head was pounding, and my body felt like post-labor with Alex - the kid had to come out kicking. My hearing was non-existent in one ear, and the sounds I received from the good ear were muffled. I heard whap whaps and thumps, but where they came from I had no idea. I kept looking around me, more worried about swamp things than escaping terrorists. My phone finally vibrated.

  It read: “Do u need ambulance?”

  "Like duh?" I typed: “Yes – Dwayne’s neck – I no hear.”

  I thought a minute and looked at the message log of the phone. I assumed that it was Betty texting me, but as I scrolled down I saw that it was Michael.

  I sent him another message. “Find me – hurry I have to pee.”

  It didn't take long to get another message: “Urgency noted – make some noise – can’t find you.”

  I tried to get Dwayne to a more comfortable position as I started calling. To me it sounded like I was under water. "Over here, I can't hear you, sure hope you can hear me!" I picked up a small piece of debris and smacked it against the tree. I chanted, I sang, all the while smacking the tree.

  The phone vibrated again: “They hear you – request another song though.”

  "Smart ass." I kept making noise until I saw the first rescuer. I sat back down and waited patiently while they threaded their way over the submerged roots of the Cypress.

  The EMT was talking to me, but I motioned that I couldn't hear. I pointed to Dwayne and pantomimed that he hit the tree, and I patted myself and pointed at the murky water. I grabbed my neck and pointed to Dwayne. The EMT understood, and when his partner reached us, they put a brace around Dwayne’s neck and strapped him to a board, before attempting to move him. I followed them through the woods and into what was left of the campground.

  Betty came running up to me and picked me off the ground with her hug. I didn't know what she was saying. I tried to communicate but was too distraught because I couldn't get over the fact that not only did they blow up cabin five but the port-a-johns too!

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  An EMT looked me over before allowing me to follow Betty who had located a real bathroom in the office. We didn't need to worry about the padlock as the blast blew the front off the building. The water that came out of the sink was a bit brackish, but it served its purpose as I was able to clean some of the swamp water off my face.

  They assured me my hearing would return. My eardrums were just bruised not shattered. I still couldn't hear the feds, and we had to communicate on paper. I asked about the terrorists, and I found out that one had died in the blast, one was shot and wounded in a gun battle, and the last one they found cowering in the landscape truck. He appeared to be looking for the keys. I started laughing as I reached in my shirt and dug out the truck's keys and laid them on the table.

  They looked at me funny after that. I felt sorry for them. Dwayne was unconscious and was taken away in an ambulance. I wanted to go along, but the feds still wanted to talk to me.

  While I waited I texted Michael: “School? Airport?”

  He sent back: “School fine – airport being secured by feds.”

  I asked: “Can we get Harry sent away to Gitmo?”

  He replied: “Harry & Dave on way to you - sorry.”

  I closed my phone and put it back in my soggy pocket. I just couldn't get a break.

  Harry and Dave arrived by helicopter. “Prima donnas,” I said to no one in particular, and I winced as Harry ran over and hugged me. Dave looked me over and suggested I hop on one foot to get some of the water out of my ears. I gave him the finger. He just smiled weakly and went to find the agent in charge to straighten some things out.

  I asked Harry if they caught the other terrorists, but all he mouthed to me was "Later."

  I felt another onslaught of wind and another helicopter landed at the water's edge. This one had some kind of seal on the side of it. I couldn't see that far so I assumed it was a big cheese. A gray-suited man jumped out, followed by two black-suiters. He approached the fed in charge and asked him something who in turn pointed over at me, and I could see him motioning that I couldn't hear.

  I squeezed Harry's hand as the man approached. He handed me a card. Edward Jones, Homeland Security, Miami.

  I looked at him and said, "I thought you'd be taller."

  He wasn't amused. Harry was, but Harry understands me.

  "Sorry, a bit shook up here. I can't, you know, hear."

  He motioned to a black-suit who took out a laptop computer and sat next to me to type as Mr. Jones dictated.

  "I’ve talked to Father Michael Williams and Sergeant Buslowski so you don't have to cover that ground. I’ve a couple of questions for you. Do you feel up to it?"

  "Sure."

  "The man they took away in the ambulance, what connection is he to this cell?"

  "Hostage, I think. I found him taped up next to the bomb in what was cabin five. He runs a toy drive for the migrant children over at the Pahokee School."

  "What were you doing here?"

  "Looking for Dwayne, the hostage." I glanced at him and asked, "Sir, there are more terrorists than these three. And there must be someone local in charge of this cell. Did you pick anyone else up?"

  "If we did, I couldn't tell you."

  "Why?"

  "You're not secure. In fact, I'm trying to not throw you in jail right now for…"

  "Rescuing a hostage and leading you to a cell of terrorists?"

  "You're quite the hot dog, Ms. Fin-Lathen. Just because the Brits let you run wild doesn't mean we will."

  "Hot dog. You called me a hot dog. Listen up, Mr. Jones, I’m an American, and I may have found myself in a couple of scrapes, but I couldn't sit back and not defend my country. They were going to hurt my friend and maybe some of the children he cares for, and you wanted me to sit home and knit?"

  He glared at me a moment and motioned for his aide to get up, so I guess the meeting was over. I called over to his retreating form.

  "Can I go home now?" I waited until Harry nudged me. He helped me up and led me over to an arriving Sheriff's Department car. I got in the back with Harry. I pulled out my phone and typed where he could see: “Betty get away?”

  Harry smiled and took the phone: “Yes.”

  I retrieved the phone and sat back and closed my eyes. I was glad I gave her my concealed knife in the bathroom and warned her that she was still carrying a concealed weapon in her waistband. I thought it wise if she had an opportunity to fade away, to do so.

  Not that I advocate getting injured while investigating a case, but it sure saved a lot of explaining. It was just too much trouble to communicate with me, so people left me alone. I couldn't talk on the phone to anyone, so Harry took the scalding I would have gotten from Noelle. Any further explanations to the authorities, well, that was left to Dave to explain.

  My contribution was to heal. I had an appointment with a hearing specialist on Monday to make sure things were mending. I started to hear more and more as the evening progressed, but I kept it to myself. After a hot shower that furthered my split-end population and giving my body a once over in the mirror (contusion city), I actually felt better. I looked like hell, but I felt better. It could have been the pain pills Harry picked up from the pharmacy or the fact that I heard Dwayne had regained consciousness or a combination of both.

  My clothes and my boots were unsalvageable. They reeked by the time we got home. Leather and swamp water didn't mix too well. It became stiff, and I had t
o extract a couple of dead minnows from my pockets along with my cat’s-eye marble. Ew! I sat down as I bagged my boots for the trash. Two pairs of footwear gone. Did this mean the case was over? Maybe for me. I hoped, but there were still people and weapons to be rounded up, so it wasn't over yet. They found two bombs complete - with the exception that the “juice” wasn't connected - in the picnic pavilion. I imagined these were for the buses.

  Harry told me that they also found vests and AK47's. I didn't know what an AK47 was nor did I know what “juice” meant, but I imagined that this was enough to seriously hurt some people. There was something that Harry wasn't telling me. I felt that he was working on the theory that if I didn't ask, it wouldn't be lying. So, I had to ask.

  "Does Homeland Security know about the priests?" I asked.

  He shook his head no.

  "Where are they?" I didn't wait for his answer. I already knew it, because I would have done the same thing were I able. "Plan A?"

  Harry nodded.

  "I guess it makes sense, but the feds were all over that airport. Unless…" I looked up at him. "They're using another airport. But where?" I asked, moving to the computer. "Tell me which ones the feds are at and which one the priests are at."

  Harry typed frantically and gave me a list. I looked it over and it seemed complete. "Wait, what about Belle Glade?"

  "Dave said it was too open, the planes, mostly crop-dusters. Nowhere to hide their gear."

  The answer hit me harder than the cabin five blast. I grabbed Harry.

  "It's already on the plane! They aren't going to jump out of planes or drop bombs. They’re going to poison the crowd. Belle Glade has always been Plan A. We keep thinking that they’re running around hilly-nilly looking for opportunities. These guys are planners, and they have an inside man. Speaking of which, has anyone talked to Dwayne yet?"

  Harry was looking at me slyly. "You can hear, can't you?" he accused. "How long?"

  "Last few hours, I'm up to 80 percent. Everything I hear is accompanied by a high ringing otherwise. Let's get back to this. What about Dwayne?"

  "Don't think anyone can get to him because of the feds."

  "A priest could, a fully decked out priest could."

  "But the chaplains are all over the county. They know Michael at the hospital and he’s not too mobile, because of the crutches."

  "But not Father Harry O'Rourke." I smiled as I saw the actor in Harry come out to play. "Call Betty, have her bring Michael and his priest duds out here."

  "I'll try to track down Dave and get the locals to keep an eye on the airport."

  Dave picked up his cell on the second ring. "Hello," a hoarse voice croaked out.

  "Dave, this is Cin."

  "How are you feeling?" His voice was distant, but I could hear him.

  "I can hear a bit better now and the bods a wreck. You sound all gravelly to me."

  "That's because I've been talking nonstop, explaining things," he said testily. "Feds have to hear it over and over again."

  "You with them now?"

  "I'm at my office. They aren't in the room at the moment."

  "Good. Let me run this by you. I'm sure you already thought of this but..."

  "Go ahead," he said gruffly.

  I caught him up on the crop-duster scenario, and he seemed receptive to the idea but brought up that the group over in Belle Glade was a close-knit cracker group.

  "I know, but there is a local involved here. He may have ties out there. Did the feds get any information out of Dwayne or the captives?"

  "If they did, they're not telling me. I'm kind of in the doghouse here, but not actually. They aren't team players. They'll use our resources, but they won't let us in on any of the decision-making. My boss is livid. My wife is livid. My life is crap."

  "You stopped a tragedy. If they would have gotten the buses…"

  "Feds look at it like Michael and I almost got them blown up. You're not high on their list either."

  "Must have been the short crack."

  I almost heard Dave laugh. "Harry told me about that. You have to learn to be more cooperative, my dear. Damn, I can see the black-suit twins coming in the outer office. You take care, and I'll look into Belle Glade for you."

  "Thanks," I said to a dead line. He must have ended the call before the suits came in. "Oh Harry," I called. "When you're off the phone, meet me in the bathroom."

  "Why?" he called out from the den.

  "Because we have to change you a bit, only Gabriel Byrne gets away with the handsome priest look," I said as I searched through my cabinet and came up successfully with a hair frosting kit from my pre-midlife crisis days.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  "I wouldn't believe it was Harry if I didn't know better," Betty said admiringly. She and I looked over Father Harry O'Rourke. The chemicals from the frosting kit, left on longer than safely recommended, had turned his temples gray, and I added some tiny streaks here and there for effect. His eyes were red and tired looking. "Pool water," I explained to Harry as I rinsed his eyes with the stingy solution. He thought I would blind him. I told him not to think so far ahead.

  Michael brought over what he called his Roman Catholic attire, which consisted of pants, blazer and shirt with collar. The clothing fit Harry loosely, but it did fit. Equipped with cross, rosary and bible, Harry could pass for a priest. We opted to drive the rental car, and I gave Betty the keys to my BMW. It would be an uncomfortable ride for Michael and his cast if they needed to use the car, but it was all I had to offer. Harry's jeep was still at Pahokee.

  "Well, this gets Harry in, but how are you going to get in?" Michael asked, looking at my blue-jeans and t-shirt.

  "I'm picking up my costume at the hospital. No, don't ask." I pulled Harry away from the mirror and headed out to the car. "We'll get back as soon as we know anything," I promised as I closed the door.

  "I can't believe what you did to my hair," Harry whined as we drove over to the hospital.

  "Don't worry, a little black dye and you'll be as good as new. Besides, it makes you look distinguished."

  "Liar, I look like a whisky priest."

  I started laughing. "Then I did a good job."

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. I parked in the back, and we went in through the MRI department. Harry chatted up the technician while I lifted a gown and slippers. I changed into them, hiding my clothes under the paper towel dispenser, a trick I learned from Harry. I came out and shuffled my way behind him until we came to a lone wheelchair at X-ray, which we stole. I got in the wheelchair. Harry had two comments about my disguise: "You shouldn't be wearing underpants," which I ignored and "What kind of makeup did you use to get all those horrible bruises?" I told him that it wasn't makeup, and all he said was "Ouch."

  He wheeled me into the elevator, but once we were on Dwayne's floor I was on my own. Harry exited first and approached the nurse's station to inquire after his parishioner Dwayne. I rolled by them and got as close to the guarded room as I could. I just sat there like an orderly left me there. No one questioned me except to move me a bit when they needed the room to pull a bed through.

  Harry walked right into Dwayne's room without being stopped by the guard. I hadn't yet figured out how I was going to get in when someone grabbed my chair from behind.

  "I think your bed is made by now," a thick Hispanic voice purred. I looked up and saw Betty in nurse’s scrubs. She wheeled me briskly past the guard and into Dwayne's room. "There now, you wait here while I get you another pillow," she said, leaving the room to start a conversation with the guard.

  Dwayne occupied the first bed. His eyes were closed as Father Harry was praying over him.

  "Is he awake?" I hissed, rolling my wheelchair closer to the bed.

  "I'm awake," Dwayne said groggily as he glanced at me. "You hit a tree too?"

  "No, just you. I’ve a bit of a ringing in my ears though. How's your ears?"

  "Just fine, but my head feels like a five-Manhattan morning."<
br />
  "Ouch. I understand that."

  "Ahem,” Harry interrupted, "Time is precious, and you're talking hangovers?"

  "Sorry, Dwayne, I bet you’re wondering why I'm here?"

  "It seemed a bit odd, but the last few days have been a nightmare. I just thought this was more of the same."

  "Do you know that you’ve a guard outside your door?"

  "No, but with this head I'm not going anywhere."

  "Have the feds been in to question you?"

  "Someone was in earlier, but I was so groggy that I couldn't tell you what he said or what I said." Dwayne swallowed hard. "Father, could I have some water?"

  Harry poured some from the pitcher into a glass with a straw. He tenderly helped Dwayne drink some and then returned it to the tray.

  "I know this is a bad time, but we're trying to stop something horrible from happening. I need you to tell me about why you were at the airport Thursday."

  "Bill Metts called me and said that he heard of a storage facility that I could have for my toy drive. All I had to do was help his landscape crew move some storage boxes out of there."

  "Were you supposed to drive the boxes anywhere?"

  "No, I drove over and was helping them load when your brother-in-law came and helped me. Good thing too, because my help took a break, and I would have been left doing it all myself."

  "When you were finished, what happened?"

  "I remember heading over to the office to wash up before heading back into town. I got as far as the bathroom, and then I woke up where you found me." He pulled a very mangled hand through his hair. “Thank you by the way. I’m not too fogged up not to remember you saved me from…”

  I put up a hand to stop him. “Don’t think about that right now. You can buy me a drink sometime. This Bill Metts, who is he?

  “He's a celery farmer."

  "How do you know him?"

  "Some of his workers send their children to the school."

  "Why would he have access to Pahokee Airport?" I questioned.