Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7)

by Wayne Stinnett

  The second double shot, coupled with the intense heat, made it difficult for Byers to walk a straight line, but he finally found the place the bartender had told him about. In minutes, he’d spent fifty dollars, but had a decent pair of pants and a polo shirt. As an afterthought, he grabbed a Panama Jack hat from a rack and tried it on, careful not to pull it on too tightly. Looking in a mirror, the hat dwarfed his head, but hid the huge black eye pretty well.

  “Some place I can put these on?” Byers asked the girl behind the counter.

  She tried not to stare at his swollen face and pointed to the back of the store. “Changing room’s back there.”

  Minutes later, after throwing the kids’ clothes in a trash can, Byers left the store and started shuffling back toward the hotel. At least he could get out of the heat, maybe take a nap before his new boss got back.

  Just turning the corner before the hotel, Byers watched as a pretty girl in a green dress stepped out of a big black taxi. He stopped. The alcohol in his brain slowed his reaction, but he recognized the girl as the one that had been with the coke dealer the night before.

  Stepping behind a low bush, Byers watched as the coke dealer he’d ripped off, the guy who’d been the whole reason for his receiving a beating at the hands of his new boss, stepped out of the cab with her. Then the rear door on the other side opened and an older man got out, looking around the area. That’s someone you don’t want to mess with, Byers thought.

  The front doors of the cab opened and another man got out of the passenger side. The driver, a black man with gray hair, met the taller man in front of the car, where they shook hands. It took Byers a moment to place the tall guy. He was the one in the fancy wooden boat he’d seen at the bar in Marathon. The one with the woman and kids.

  Byers instinctively crouched lower, seeing the coke dealer with these two tough-looking men. He didn’t want to be seen. The coke dealer was who his new boss was looking for.

  After the four of them disappeared around the side of the hotel, Byers quickly followed. He cut through the parking lot, keeping low behind parked cars. Barely taller than the cars, he didn’t have to crouch very low.

  Surprisingly, they didn’t go into the hotel, as Byers expected. Instead, they walked straight out toward the docks behind the hotel. Byers watched through his one eye as they walked out onto the dock and stepped into a big blue-and-white yacht with the name Gaspar’s Revenge on the back of it. Waiting a few minutes to see if the boat left or if they came back out, Byers decided to go up to his boss’s room. He remembered he could see the water from the bathroom window.

  This might be information my new boss can use, Byers thought.

  Minutes later, Byers was looking out the bathroom window and saw the big yacht, the rear of which was partially obscured by a palm tree. However, the approaches to it were visible for several yards and Byers knew if anyone came or went, he’d see them.

  It was only a few minutes after Byers had taken up his position by the window when he heard the two black men come through the door. His new boss was saying, “Call him. Now! I want him and his crew down here yesterday.”

  Byers stepped out of the bathroom. “I think there’s something you should see, Mister Bradley.”

  The sight of the little cretin startled GT. He didn’t figure the guy would be in the room, but would be out searching for Grabowski. “What the fuck you still doing here? Why aren’t you out looking?”

  “I found them,” Byers replied. “The guy you were looking for, the one with the blonde in dreadlocks? They’re right outside, on a boat with two big guys.”

  GT strode toward the sliding glass door and the balcony beyond it. “Show me.”

  Byers had preferred the bathroom window, so he couldn’t be seen. His new boss didn’t seem to care if they were seen or not. GT’s confidence gave Byers a feeling of security.

  As Erik sat down at the table with his phone, GT slid the door open and stepped out on the balcony, which afforded a commanding view of the pool below and the dock area just to the left. Beyond the docks the sparkling water stretched out forever.

  Byers stepped out and pointed to a big blue-and-white offshore fishing boat. “About ten minutes ago. The guy you’re looking for and the blonde got out of a black taxi with two tough-looking guys. I’d seen one of them before. All four of them got on that big boat.”

  GT looked at the little man, noting his new clothes and hat for the first time. “And you’ve been watching them the whole time? Nobody’s left that boat?”

  “I watched for a few minutes from down there,” Byers said, pointing to the corner of the building. “When I was sure the boat wasn’t leaving, I came up here real quick for a better view. I don’t think they coulda left the boat in that short a time and gotten far enough I couldn’t see from the bathroom window. I’m sure they’re still there.”

  “Good,” GT said, glad that something was finally going his way. “Sit your ass down in that chair and keep an eye on ’em.”

  “Lawrence is back from lunch,” Travis said, looking out the window of the photography studio.

  When Travis opened the door, I heard Lawrence say, “Dey’re here, Mistuh Travis. Across di street in di big white cah.”

  Travis turned toward us and pointed to Michal. “You two, in the backseat.” Then he looked at me and said, “Play it by ear?”

  I nodded as I followed the young couple through the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the white Escalade with dark windows across the street and pretended not to notice. It was the same car that had been parked in front of Dawn’s place when we’d arrived there earlier.

  Travis walked with me around the car, his head on a swivel. He’d already spotted them and was putting on a show. The hard-ass bodyguard.

  “How you want to do this, Jesse?” Travis asked as he opened the door for me and locked his eyes on the SUV, letting Bradley know he’d been discovered.

  “We disarmed those two yesterday, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t rearmed. How confident are you?”

  “I feel good about the background Miss Koshinski gave you, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Enough to walk over there and ask a big-time coke dealer from up north why he’s in my town?”

  Travis grinned. “Sure thing, Mister Buchannan.”

  Climbing in the front seat, I pulled my Sig from its holster at the small of my back, keeping it down low by my right hip so as not to get anyone excited.

  “I did jes like yuh say, Cap’n. Told dat mon yuh a druggy and control all di Keys.”

  I watched closely as Travis casually strolled over and leaned on the door of the big car. A moment later, the Escalade roared out of the parking lot, kicking up grass as it bounced over the curb. Travis had his hand under his shirt, but didn’t draw his gun. As the car took off down the street, it weaved back and forth, scattering people and cars from its path before nearly rolling as it turned hard, heading toward Key West Cemetery.

  “Back to the boat, Lawrence,” I said as Travis got in the backseat next to Michal.

  “I dropped your fake name on them,” Travis said and then conveyed everything he’d said and what Bradley had replied. To Michal, he said, “Your last name is now Cavanaugh, by the way. Only thing I could come up with on short notice.”

  Lawrence turned on Simonton Street and made good time through the lights. Soon, we were in the parking lot at the hotel marina.

  I thanked Lawrence and handed him two twenties. “Dat way too much, Cap’n.”

  “The extra’s for the risk.” I peeled off five more and handed them to Lawrence. “This is to cover your time, while you sit with Dawn.”

  Lawrence looked at the bills in his hand and then looked back up at me, as Coral got out of the back door. “Yuh tink Mizz Dawn might be in danger?”

  “Probably not, but I don’t like to take chances. Would you mind just hanging out near there?”

  “Me and Mizz Dawn are good friends, Cap’n. I’ll watch over her, for sure and
certain.” Climbing out of the cab, the others waited for me under the shade of a palm tree. Lawrence met me in front of the idling sedan and we shook hands.

  “Do you own a gun?” I asked him.

  “Got a little pea-shootuh in my money box,” Lawrence replied, nodding toward the cab.

  I appraised the old Bahamian man in a new light. “Good, keep it handy. These guys might make the connection and I’d hate for anything to happen to Dawn. So why don’t you go have her read your fortune and palm or whatever she does?”

  “I do dat, Cap’n. But yuh shouldn’t make light of Mizz Dawn’s gift. She truly can see tings we don’t.”

  The four of us hurried to the boat as Lawrence pulled out of the parking lot. I stepped down into the cockpit and offered Coral a hand. She bounded down to the deck lightly on bare feet without any help.

  “My dog’s inside,” I told her.

  “I love dogs.”

  “Me too,” Michal offered.

  Unlocking the hatch, Pescador sat just inside, waiting. He looked at the two strangers and then back to me, expectantly.

  “Go,” I told him. He streaked past us, bounding over the gunwale, heading straight to a palm tree that partially shaded us. “But don’t be long,” I shouted after him.

  “That’s a big dog,” Michal said.

  “You two go on in,” I told Coral. “Make yourselves at home.”

  Travis and I waited while Pescador sniffed around for just the right spot and finally hiked his leg on the only tree within a hundred feet.

  “No sign of a tail,” Travis said. “Think they’ll just give up?”

  “Would you?” I asked as Pescador jumped back over the gunwale and disappeared into the salon.

  “I damned sure would, but you and I don’t think like criminals.”

  “Bourke told me once that thinking like a criminal is an important asset to have,” I replied. Andrew Bourke is one of Deuce’s operatives. A big, barrel-chested Coast Guardsman, with a voice like a bullhorn, he’d lost his wife and only child, a little boy, in the World Trade Center collapse. He and I had spent many hours discussing how criminals think and how best to use that knowledge.

  “Well, anticipating the enemy’s probable action I can do,” Travis said. “I’m not a street cop, though.”

  “They’ll be close by soon enough,” I said, looking through the palm fronds to the top floor of the hotel.

  “What makes you think they’re that good?”

  “I don’t. Chyrel traced Bradley’s credit card. They’re staying right up there.”

  Travis looked up to the building, then grinned and started through the hatch. “Where’s your laptop?”

  I pointed to the entertainment center. “Second cabinet.”

  “This is a beautiful boat, Captain McDermitt,” Coral said as we entered the salon.

  “Thanks. Y’all have a seat anywhere. This won’t take long. There’s water and beer in the fridge.”

  Sitting down next to Travis at the settee, I watched as he powered up my laptop, inserted the thumb drive and clicked on the Smooth Jazz icon. A moment later, Chyrel’s face appeared against a plain white background indicating she was in her office in Homestead.

  “Travis?” Chyrel asked, unsure. “Where’s Jesse?”

  Leaning over closer, I said, “Hi, Chyrel. Director Stockwell and I need your help.” Travis glared at me.

  Chyrel looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “We need you to create another fake identity for someone,” Travis said. “A deep one, that’ll withstand any scrutiny. Permanent. Before you start, call Deuce and tell him what I’m asking for. Tell him I said green mushroom, then call me back on vid-comm.”

  “Green mushroom?”

  “He’ll know what you mean. Call me right back.”

  Without waiting, he closed the video feed and pushed the laptop aside. Looking at the young couple sitting on the sofa, Travis said, “What I’m going to tell you doesn’t leave this boat. The only reason you’re here is your dad, Michal. I work for the federal government, and right now that’s all you need to know. You’ll have a new identity before morning. It’ll be so complete and in-depth that even the CIA wouldn’t be able to find out who you really are. Michal Grabowski Junior dies today. You can stick with Cavanaugh, or any name you like.”

  “Robert Trebor,” Michal said. He looked at Coral and she smiled.

  “Trebor?” I asked, remembering he’d used it earlier. “That have some kind of meaning?”

  “Just to the two of us,” Coral replied.

  “You got a notepad and a pencil?” Travis asked me.

  I got both from a drawer in the galley and knowing what he wanted it for, I handed them to Michal.

  “Write down everything about you physically,” Travis said. “Height, weight, hair and eye color, scars, tattoos, anything that would identify you. Do you have a criminal record, or ever served in the military?”

  “No, I never served,” Michal replied. “Got some traffic tickets, nothing more than that.”

  “He’s meaning fingerprints,” I interjected. “Total honesty time. Your new identity is going to be placed over your old one wherever there’s a fingerprint or DNA record on you.”

  “You can do that?” Travis nodded and Michal thought for a while. “No, I’ve never been fingerprinted in my life.”

  “Good,” Travis responded. “That’ll make it easier.”

  As Michal began to write down the information, I sat back down at the settee. “Green mushroom?” I whispered.

  “Means the charade is over, Jesse,” Travis replied in a low tone, glancing at the two younger people, who were talking quietly between themselves. “When Chyrel tells Deuce I said those words, he’ll open a file on a secure server, located in Quantico. In that file will be a document from me outlining what he can divulge going forward. It means the truth about what Charity and I have been doing can be talked about within the community of the team. It was known from the start that the cover wouldn’t last forever, but it needed to be sold that way to get her in place. Steps were taken early on to release the information when the time was right. You just pushed up the schedule a little.”

  A ping came from the laptop as Michal walked across the salon deck and slid the notepad to Travis, who picked it up and scanned what Michal had written. Turning the laptop back around, he clicked the blinking video icon and Chyrel’s face again appeared. She was smiling now.

  “What can I do for you, Director Stockwell?”

  Over the next hour, Travis gave Chyrel the physical information and the five of us came up with dozens of small details to complete the background for Robert “Bob” Trebor. Some facts were real, some exaggerated, and some completely made up.

  When we were finally finished, Chyrel said, “I’ll have a Florida driver’s license, Social Security card, birth certificate, and debit and credit cards sent down by courier in the morning. How much money in the accounts?”

  Travis looked at Michal. “Do you have any money, son?”

  “Not a lot,” Michal replied. “My credit cards were in the wallet that was stolen. But they were maxed out and I only have a few thousand in cash.”

  Turning back to the laptop, Travis said, “Set up the bank statement with an odd balance around fifty thousand in savings and a couple grand in checking, Chyrel. Show six years of regular mortgage and utility payments, plus the sale of a house with a profit to bring it to that balance. Give him a fairly decent credit rating and show activity that would be consistent with the score.”

  “Will do, Director. It’s good to have you back, sir.”

  When Travis closed the laptop, Michal looked at him with an expression that could only be described as shock. “Fifty thousand dollars?”

  “Did your dad ever tell you about Mogadishu, son?”

  “I know he was there,” Michal replied. “He was with Special Forces then.”

  Travis looked out the port-side porthole for a moment, thinking
. When he looked back at the young man, his face appeared calm. “Bravo Company, Third Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment, to be precise. Your dad was my platoon sergeant, I was his CO. Long story short, he saved my life. I guess that’s worth fifty grand, don’t you, Jesse?”

  I grinned. “Absolutely, Colonel. I’m sure there’s strings attached that you haven’t mentioned, though.”

  “Strings?” Coral asked.

  “Yeah, strings,” Travis replied. “From now on, you’re Robert Trebor, resident of Key West. You’ll go about whatever life you chose to make here, but anytime you hear of anything, no matter how small or insignificant, that has to do with arms smuggling, terrorism, anything like that, you’ll have a number to call and report it.”

  “A snitch?” Michal asked.

  “More like a concerned, patriotic citizen. The part of the government I work for is tasked to investigate and deter terrorist activity in South Florida and the Caribbean. We don’t care about petty crimes or drug trafficking, at least not as it pertains to our mission. That’s the job of other agencies, like DEA. We’re interested in possible terrorist activities only.”

  “I can do that,” Michal said.

  “It also means you can’t be involved in anything illegal, son. If you get yourself picked up for trafficking, I never heard of you and you become useless to me. Think you can do that?”

  Michal and Coral looked at one another, smiling. “Yeah,” he said, “we can do that.”

  “Alright, Robert,” Travis said. “Or do you prefer Bob?”

  In the back office of a small gun store in South Miami, a black man with weathered skin, a deeply lined face, and a permanent scowl picked up the phone on his desk. Dialing with hands that were scarred and knotted from years of working as a cattleman when he was a younger man, he waited. Though only thirty-seven, he had the appearance of a much older man. Until you looked at his eyes. They were hazel and danced with the light of youth. The color of his eyes looked even lighter when set against his dark ebony skin.

  “We got a job,” he muttered into the phone, his South Florida redneck accent belying his African-American heritage.