Fallen Mangrove (Jesse McDermitt Series Book 5)

by Wayne Stinnett

  He was already fully aroused before she bent and released him from his shorts, then turned her back. Gripping the insides of the open doorframe, she arched her back, turning her head and smiling seductively at him. “You have about ten minutes before you’ll be missed, James. Don’t waste any of it staring.”

  Temporarily sated, Ettaleigh sent her new boy toy on his way, telling him to return by way of the secluded deck when he took his lunch break. In her business life, she had to maintain a certain aloofness to be effective at her job. These business preparation trips were sometimes the only way she could let loose and satisfy her physical needs. Since they were few and far between, she’d learned to be more aggressive and take what she wanted during the short time she was preparing for upcoming business.

  Occasionally, she would have a day off on a weekend and would rent a car and drive to another city, where she could go on the hunt for strong young men at will. She had no problem with using modern chemistry to ensure a willing partner and would add a second dose if a man showed even the slightest sign of faltering. So far, this one had remained more than ready, even twelve hours after the first dose.

  Opening her laptop she read a few emails, responding to those that required a response, then listened to the latest audio clip sent to her from one of her associates. She played it back and listened closer, then forwarded the audio file to her employer along with a message explaining what she thought this new development would mean for their business plans.

  Her immediate work completed, she decided to get a couple of hours in the sun on the secluded deck before lunch. As she lay on the recliner, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the tingling sensation of the cool ocean breeze on her bare skin, she heard the sound of an airplane. She rose from the recliner and stood at the deck’s rail, searching the sky.

  She spotted the bright red seaplane circling the house on the rock to the south of her cottage. It then flew a mile offshore and circled a large rock that protruded up from the ocean bottom, undercut all around from the constant wave action. The plane circled the rock and then flew out to sea before turning and coming back toward the beach. It flew over just to the north of her cottage and turned a slow, lazy circle to the south before heading north along the coast once more.

  The plane moved so slowly, she wondered how it even stayed in the air. As it flew over the water just offshore, she saw the pilot turn and look down at her. She smiled and waved and the plane dipped its wings in return before moving further up the beach and performing another lazy circle.

  She saw James approaching from the beach, carrying one of those large umbrellas people use to ward off the sun. She smiled again. What friendly people these islanders are, she thought as she went back inside the cottage, leaving the door open once more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After flying over the last of the rocks Chyrel had marked on the map, I turned due east and followed the southern shoreline of Grand Bahama Island at eight hundred feet. Reaching Freeport, I turned southwest toward Miami and climbed to five thousand feet.

  “Is the water here always so clear?” Kim asked. “I can see the bottom.”

  “Pretty much all the time,” Rusty explained. “The Gulf Stream moves north between Florida and these islands, drawing water out of the islands with the rise and fall of the tide. Kind of like a giant filter.”

  For the next two hours as we flew steadily back toward civilization, conversation centered on the hunt for the treasure and in what order we should search the four areas.

  We arrived at Miami International Airport just before 1600 and had no problems clearing customs, refueling, and taking off once more toward Marathon.

  Kim would be leaving to drive back up to Miami in the morning and I was already beginning to miss her. I now wanted more than anything to meet my oldest daughter, Eve.

  Forty minutes after leaving Miami, I contacted Marathon Airport about a water landing in the Bight. They gave me the go ahead and told me wind speed was up to ten knots, so a downwind landing was out of the question. I flew over Vaca Cut and checked the water in the bight for boats. One was heading out of the cut, but it would be well clear before I touched down. I banked right and circled Sombrero Beach, flying over Boot Key Harbor and reducing speed. A few minutes later, we came in low over the trees and settled into the water at the end of Rusty’s channel.

  I kept the plane up on the step and turned around, taxiing toward the boat ramp with the wind behind us. Dave had warned me about downwind taxis and I kept the yoke forward so the wind held the tail down. Approaching the ramp, I lowered the landing gear and powered up to climb out of the water.

  I could see that Bourke was just finishing up the concrete pad, but it’d be a day or two before the concrete cured enough to park on it. I turned sharply to the right at the top of the ramp, stopped the plane so we could push it back alongside the newly poured pad, and shut down the engine.

  Both Bourke and Charity were waiting to lend a hand pushing the plane back once everyone was off. A moment later, we had it where we wanted it and I saw that Bourke had figured on this and put temporary tie-downs under the wings and another under the tail. Once she was tied down, everyone headed to the bar to get something to eat.

  With all the details and arrangements hammered out, there was little to do until morning. As we ate Rufus’s pork roast and seasoned vegetables, we continued the discussion from the plane about which site to search first.

  “The largest rock is the one with the house on it,” Rusty argued. “If I was to get marooned on a deserted island, I’d pick a spot like that to make camp.”

  Kim picked up one of the many photos Deuce had printed out from his little office on the Caird and said, “See how this rock’s undercut all the way around the bottom? I bet it was a whole lot bigger four hundred years ago.”

  “You might be right, Kim,” Deuce said. “There’s been a lot of wave action in the last four hundred years and according to Chyrel sea levels have risen a few feet too.”

  “I suggest we work south to north,” Doc said. “The offshore one and the one on the northern tip will be difficult. The area west of it is vacant land, just tangled mangroves and brush.”

  As sunset approached, Kim and I made our way out to the boat ramp to watch the sunset. Sitting on the table, with Pescador sniffing his way along the seawall, Kim said, “I want to stay here.”

  “Stay here?” I asked.

  “Here in the Keys. Not permanently, just until I start college next year. I don’t have a job to get back to and I’ve already decided on putting college off until next year.”

  “What’s your mom gonna say about that?”

  “It’s not for her to decide,” she replied forcefully. “I have my own car that I bought with my own money and have been making my own decisions about everything for a long time.”

  “You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. Pap raised me to think and do for myself at an early age.”

  “So, can I stay?”

  I thought about what she was asking. Living on an island with basically no electricity, no television, and spotty cell service didn’t seem like something most teenagers would aspire to.

  “There’s not very much to do on the island,” I said. “We fish and dive for lobster, work in the little garden, but mostly I just wait for the next part of life to happen. Pretty boring.”

  “Sounds like just what I need. Will you teach me to dive?” she asked, as if the decision was already made.

  In fact, it was. “Yeah, I can teach you to dive.”

  “And to fly, too?”

  I glanced over at the plane, its red aluminum skin glistening in the late evening sun. Island Hopper, I thought. That’s just what we’ll do.

  “Yeah, I’ll teach you to fly, too.”

  We talked some more as the sun performed its mesmerizing dance of colors, finally deciding that Kim would return to Miami in the morning before we departed for the Bahamas and she’d return in a week. Then we went bac
k to the boat to turn in early.

  Dawn broke overcast and cooler, with a fifteen-knot wind out of the northeast. It was going to make the crossing difficult. I considered postponing our departure, but then I thought about those who would be crossing on the boat. Deuce and Tony were both Navy SEALs, Bourke and Julie were Coasties, Doc was a Navy Corpsman, his wife Nikki was a Marine, and Charity was once an Olympic swimmer. While I was sure of the first five, I had no idea how Nikki and Charity would handle a ten-hour crossing of the Gulf Stream and Bahama Banks then around the north end of Andros and across the Tongue of the Ocean, or TOTO, to New Providence Island. I planned to refuel there and spend the night. After that would be another four hours to Elbow Cay in some of the deepest waters of the Atlantic—the northern dogleg of the TOTO.

  I got part of my answer when I stepped up into the galley, where I smelled bacon and coffee. Kim and Charity were making breakfast and whispering quietly. I was surprised they’d been able to board without me noticing. I cast a stern look at Pescador and headed to the coffeepot.

  Waiting until I’d downed a third of my cup, Charity said, “Looks like it’s going to be a fun crossing.”

  “You’re still going to leave in this storm?” Kim asked with a concerned expression on her face.

  Tony and Bourke stumbled up into the galley and headed straight to the coffeepot. “It won’t be so bad,” Tony said. “Ten-foot seas crossing the Stream. Nothing the Revenge can’t handle.”

  I leaned against the island cabinet and nodded at Kim. “We’ll be fine, it’s just a small blow. What time are you headed back to Miami?”

  “Right after breakfast,” she replied.

  “Will you remember—” I started.

  “To call you when I get there? Will your cellphone work that far from land?”

  “Yeah, I’ll forward my cell to a satellite phone. It’ll make me feel better knowing you got back okay.”

  She smiled and said, “I will if you promise to call me from Nassau and Elbow Cay.”

  “Deal,” I said with a grin.

  From outside I heard Deuce call out, “Permission to board?” A single bark from Pescador was all the answer he needed. Deuce, Julie, Doc, Nikki, and Rusty came through the hatch a moment later.

  “Everyone grab a plate,” Charity said. “Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.”

  It was cramped inside, so me, Rusty, and Bourke took our plates up to the bridge. I wanted to familiarize Bourke with the details of operating the Revenge, since the three of us would be posing as crew, taking three couples to the islands, in case anyone got nosy.

  Kim took our plates after we’d finished eating and I started the engines. Doc and Tony set about casting off the mooring lines, while I walked Kim to her car.

  “Be careful,” I said. “And tell your sister I said hello.”

  “Don’t forget to call me when you get to Nassau tonight,” she said. “And I’ll call you as soon as I get to Eve’s.”

  I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and watched as she backed out and drove down the crushed-shell driveway. I suddenly experienced a great sense of loss. Though I hadn’t seen her for most of her life, watching her leave was like having a part of me taken away.

  When I got back to the Revenge, Tony and Bourke were at the bow rail and stern, ready to shove off. I stepped aboard and they pushed first the bow, then the stern away from the dock as I climbed up to the bridge. Doc was in the second seat and switched on the bright spotlights mounted on the roof, illuminating the canal and the foredeck, where Pescador sat looking forward. I put the starboard engine into gear first, then the port engine, straightening the boat in the middle of the canal. With Rusty finishing the breakfast dishes in the galley, everyone was able to sit on the bridge, though it was a bit cramped.

  We slowly idled down the canal to open water. Once we cleared the jetty, the waves starting slapping the hull and I pushed the throttle up to cruising speed, the engines lifting the big boat up onto plane, where the Revenge took the waves with no problem. The real trouble would hit once we reached the Gulf Stream. Seas there would likely be a lot rougher.

  I knew Rusty was readying the cabin for rough water, so I kept inside the reef and ran Hawk Channel northeast. I sent Tony and Doc down to help him, knowing that we’d be encountering more direct wind and larger waves as we followed the curve of the Keys more and more northerly.

  Originally, we’d planned to get outside the reef and just set a straight course for the north end of Andros. However, just like a battle plan, it was tossed as soon as we engaged the enemy. Today’s enemy was Mother Nature. I kept the NOAA Weather Radio turned up, the mechanical voice droning on monotonously as we followed the markers up the Intracoastal Waterway. This plot would keep us in fairly sheltered water, cutting our time in the open water of Florida Strait to only sixty miles while only adding about forty miles to the run. We all agreed it would be worth the time.

  Rusty, Tony, and Doc soon joined us on the bridge. Rusty took the second seat while Doc sat with Bourke and Deuce, leaving Tony standing up front with the women. He always seemed to prefer standing.

  “Everything’s secure,” Rusty said.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “We’re gonna run on the inside to Biscayne Bay.”

  “Probably wise. Which way’s the storm headed?”

  “Stalled out over Florida Bay,” Deuce replied. “We should punch out of it, when we get to Bimini.”

  “Hugging the flats all the way to Fowey Rocks?” Rusty asked.

  “It’ll add two hours, but it should keep the pounding to a minimum,” I replied.

  An hour later it became obvious we had made the right decision. Passing Tavernier the curve of the Keys had us headed straight into the wind and waves. Seas were still fairly calm at only three to four feet and barely noticeable. The chatter on the VHF from fishing boats out on the Strait told us that it was far worse on the outside.

  Twenty minutes later, as we were passing north Key Largo, my cellphone chirped from my shirt pocket. Deuce looked at me with a surprised expression. It was Kim calling to tell me she’d made it to Eve’s house and asking how things were going. I told her our change in plans and that I’d call her back once we reached Bimini then I ended the call.

  “You have your phone on you?” Deuce asked, incredulous. “And it’s charged?” Rusty nudged me with his elbow and grinned. While Julie was at Coast Guard basic training and Maritime Enforcement School, he was never more than an arm’s length from his phone.

  “I keep it close by whenever I’m expecting an important call,” I replied.

  It took another two hours before we turned toward open water just north of Legare Anchorage. As we made the turn, I called Pescador off the foredeck. He seemed a bit reluctant but picked his way along the starboard side to the cockpit, where he made two turns around his favorite spot by the transom door before lying down. The seas picked up dramatically as we passed from the relatively sheltered water of the Intracoastal just south of Star Reef and out into the wide open Atlantic. The sonar showed the bottom falling away sharply and just a mile out, it was beyond the range of my sonar.

  Either the fishing boats earlier were exaggerating or it had calmed some. It would still be a rough two-hour crossing, with wind-driven waves rolling out of the northeast at eight feet, but they were spaced well apart. Nothing the Revenge couldn’t handle with ease. I even nudged the throttle up to thirty knots, taking the rollers on the port bow, its sweeping Carolina flare knocking them down with only occasional spray over the foredeck and a bit of a nudge sideways. I looked down to the cockpit and saw Pescador curled up sleeping, blissfully unaware of the rough seas.

  Halfway across the Strait, I called the dockmaster in Bimini to see what the weather there was like. He reported seas weren’t very favorable for small craft and asked if I had a slip arranged at my destination. When I told him where we were headed and said that I did have a slip reserved for the night, he suggested that we continue on to our final
destination to clear customs.

  Just like that, we went from behind schedule to ahead of schedule. After passing Bimini, we headed out onto the Great Bahama Bank, a huge, sandy, shallow part of the ocean west of Andros and south of Grand Bahama. We broke out of the overcast sky and into sunshine thirty minutes later, the rolling waves falling away to nothing soon after we got out onto the vast submerged plain. The water across the bank is always crystal clear and usually very calm.

  Because it was out of the currents, the water was warmer and more prone to evaporation. This caused a higher salinity, restricting growth of sea grasses and corals. We now had the sun slightly off the starboard beam, and our shadow, flying across the sandy bottom twenty feet below, was clearly visible off the port bow. Having gained back the time we’d lost, I suggested we anchor up for lunch. Nikki and Charity went below to get it ready as we dropped anchor in ten feet of water, where there was barely a ripple.

  Getting underway a short time later, we soon crossed into the TOTO north of Andros via “The Pocket,” the deep-water triangular part of the Northwest Channel. The change here was even more dramatic than leaving the Intracoastal. The flats funnel through a deep chasm at the north end in a very narrow canyon that was once an ancient river. It’s always a bit disconcerting when looking at it on a chart. Even though there’s plenty of depth on either side, the dropoff from twenty feet to over six thousand feet is one of the steepest anywhere in the world.

  In less than a minute, the bottom dropped far beyond the range of my sonar. This huge trench between Andros and New Providence is over a mile deep, its waters changing from the crystal clear of the bank, where minute details of the bottom can easily be seen, to the cobalt blue of the deep in just a matter of minutes as we passed the Northwest Channel light.

  Just before sunrise we arrived in Nassau Harbor, which is actually a channel between New Providence Island and Paradise Island. I’d reserved a slip for the night several days earlier at Hurricane Hole Marina, a small deep-water marina on the south side of Paradise Island. I called the dockmaster at Hurricane Hole on the VHF while Doc ran up the yellow quarantine flag and informed him of our arrival. He directed me to the fuel dock and told me once I was fueled to go to slip number forty-eight, between the office and Green Parrot, on the west side of the marina. As we idled into the deep little bay, I was glad I’d reserved a slip—they were all full but one. After fueling, I backed into the slip where the dockmaster stood ready and helped tie the Revenge off.