Fallen King: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 6)

by Wayne Stinnett

  I froze when I heard the pursuers at the top of the small cliff, a few loose rocks tumbling down to the water. From there, it was only fifty feet across the quickly moving water to the next, much smaller island. I hunkered down in the water and pressed myself into the mangrove roots and watched.

  At one point, one of the two men, the one whose foot I’d stomped on, looked directly at me. I was deep in the shadows of the mangroves and though the sun was coming up and it was plenty light, he apparently didn’t see me. I realized that my face and hair were probably streaked with black soot, making me nearly invisible among the dense roots in the gathering light.

  The two men turned and went away. I knew they’d keep looking, probably send a couple of men to the next island. I had to move. My friends wouldn’t be here for at least an hour, if I guessed right. Seven by sea could mean one of two things. The Cigarette could only hold six, so they were either coming in two boats or all of them aboard the Revenge. Hopefully, they already had a boat out looking and would rendezvous with Fire in the Hull, which would be leaving now. With no place to land, two by air must have meant choppers providing cover. More than enough to take these idiots down.

  Behind me, on the narrow beach, I heard a twig snap.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Charity ordered the fuel guy away from the chopper as she started the engine. He’d only filled the tanks a little more than halfway. Being only ninety miles to where they were going and another seventy-five to Homestead, it would have to be enough.

  Lifting off, she ignored the rules to follow the taxiway and runway, pushing the cyclic forward and making a beeline for the coordinates Stockwell had given her. In the back of her mind was the file he’d handed her and how that was going to impact her life. She pushed those thoughts from her mind, concentrating on the mission at hand.

  Bourke and Hinkle were making themselves ready for the transfer, Hinkle breaking his rifle down and packing it in the shockproof case he carried it in. They’d made transfers from chopper to boat many times and even though this one would be at a much higher speed, they felt confident in their ability, as well as the abilities of their teammates.

  “I have the Cigarette on radar,” Charity said over the intercom. “ETA is twenty minutes.”

  Bourke replied in his usual calm, deep voice. “If I don’t get the chance to say it later, thanks for getting us on board safely.”

  Charity looked at the big man in the copilot’s seat and nodded. She liked his easygoing way. Ten years older than her, in many ways he was like her older brother, steadfast and wise. Always the calm voice in any situation. His instruction during small boat boarding training had always soothed any anxiety she felt, like now. Hovering over a boat and dropping people into it was one thing, but doing it while underway took a lot of composure.

  They’d never done it at speeds above forty knots, though. She was glad that it was Tony at the helm, knowing he’d be talking constantly when they came over the boat. Her job was to match their speed and let Art guide her with hand signals. Tony would be talking more to Bourke and Hinkle, giving a running report on water conditions ahead of him in a way the two men on the chopper could relate, to time their leap into the Cigarette’s cockpit perfectly.

  She was flying low, only a hundred feet off the water. The images on her radar scope were headed back toward shore, so picking out the superfast boat heading away was easy. Only one other boat was heading north, about ten miles behind Tony and on the same course. A moment later, it came into view a few miles ahead.

  “Is that—” Bourke began to say.

  Charity finished his question. “Jesse’s boat?” The chopper closed on the Revenge, going more than seventy knots faster, then flashed on past. “Sure is.”

  “That was his daughter at the helm!” Bourke exclaimed, reaching for the radio.

  Charity put her hand on his and glanced over. “What are you going to do? Order her to go back? Something tells me she’s already been told that. Forget it, this thing will be over before she gets there and she’s not going to listen to reason.”

  Bourke didn’t know much about teen girls. He had a son once and had moved so fast through his own adolescence, he couldn’t remember. He looked at Charity and she grinned. Something he didn’t see often. “You know I’m right, big guy.”

  Bourke nodded, unbuckled his harness, and climbed past her to the rear compartment of the Huey. They’d be over the boat in just a few more minutes.

  Charity turned on her earwig. “Tony, can you hear me?”

  “Weak and broken,” came the static-filled reply. They were still almost five miles away, which was the outside, unobstructed range of the devices.

  “Five miles out. Rate of closure is forty-five knots.”

  “Roger, Charity,” Tony replied, much clearer now. “Slowing to seventy knots. Damned sea is flat as glass. Never seen it so calm. We’ll have to get Jesse to bring us all out here tomorrow and catch some fish.”

  Charity knew he was trying to diffuse the situation Jesse was in, not just for her, but everyone else. Tony was like that, but he didn’t have to. Jesse had been captured on the island and brought out here against his will. The fact that he’d been able to signal Stockwell meant he was somehow free. Her only concern was if he’d leave anyone alive. She’d seen firsthand how quickly he could react against anyone that crossed him. No threats, no intimidating tactics, no attempt at mediation. Just swift but calculated action.

  Charity pulled back slightly on the cyclic while decreasing the collective, causing the chopper’s nose to come up slightly, bleeding off airspeed as it descended. She looked back at Bourke and nodded.

  Unlatching the port side door, Bourke slid it open, the roar of the air swirling in around the two men as the bird slowed. He and Hinkle both had their equipment tightly secured to their bodies and were ready. Being the biggest, Bourke would go first, so he sat down and slid his legs out the door. The wind caught his pant legs and the snapping sound of the loose clothing added to the cacophony inside the helicopter.

  She slowed more, putting the bird into a crablike angle with the nose pointing slightly to the right of their direction of flight. She heard Tony talking to Bourke, but was concentrating more on Art’s hand signals.

  “Over the boat in ten seconds,” Charity said over the intercom.

  “Roger that, mate,” came Hinkle’s reply as he and Bourke unplugged the comm link cables from their helmets.

  Hinkle sat down right behind Bourke, helping the larger man steady himself as he slid further out the door and put his feet on the left skid.

  No longer even looking where she was going, Charity followed Art’s signals. He was standing in front of the left seat, with Agent Rosales between the seats and Bender strapped in on the port side.

  The cockpit looked a lot bigger when she’d been on the boat itself. Now it appeared much too small. Art continued to signal her forward with his left hand, the other palm out, toward Bourke. When he clenched his left fist, she held the controls steady, flying at seventy knots just five feet above the boat.

  Though she couldn’t see him, she heard the light thud as he dropped almost eight feet to the deck of the boat and she felt the bird lighten and she moved slightly off target. Art patiently guided her back to the right spot over the boat and gave the second signal. A second later, Art gave her a thumbs up and she peeled off, setting a course for Homestead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tony was looking far out ahead as the boat rocketed across the water’s surface. Nearly as fast as the helicopters that were following behind them, the Cigarette ate up the miles of ocean quickly. He liked the go-fast boat. When they used it in training, he’d take her out on the Gulf afterward to blow the cobwebs out of the engines.

  Art kept his eyes on the radar screen, which let him know about any boats in their path. There were a lot of them out here. Halfway to their destination, Art switched the radar to full scan to see where the choppers were. He picked them up eas
ily, two echoes flying close together just north of Key West, and a third one more than ten miles behind and closing. He also saw that there was a boat back there on the same course. Stockwell hadn’t mentioned any other boats heading out.

  Art studied the echo and determined that whatever boat it was, it was pretty fast, traveling at nearly fifty knots. Jesse’s big boat was the only one he knew of in the area that was as big as the echo return indicated and could make that kind of speed. He doubted even the sheriff’s patrol boats were that fast.

  As the chopper came closer he forgot about the boat on the radar. “Charity’s about ten miles back and closing fast,” Art said.

  As Tony began a gradual deceleration, Art unbuckled his harness and turned around, putting his knees against the bottom of the seat and leaning forward over the backrest to keep his head out of the slipstream. “Get ready!” he shouted to Linda. “You’ll need to move up here between us in just a minute.”

  Linda nodded and unbuckled her harness, sliding forward in the seat. Standing up fully at this speed would probably lift her out of the cockpit, so she intended to scramble forward on her hands and knees.

  “Paul,” Art said, “slide over to the outside seat and strap in. I know you haven’t done this yet, but you’re the wide receiver. When Andrew hits the deck, grab him and hang on. He’ll turn around and grab Donnie when he jumps. Don’t let him go until both are on board. Got it?”

  Paul nodded, unbuckling his harness and sliding over. He strapped himself in, pulling the lap belt as tight as he could, but leaving the shoulder harness unbuckled.

  Tony held his hand to the side of his head, covering his ear. “Roger, Charity,” he said, hearing her voice over his earwig. Then in a calm voice, like they weren’t still traveling faster than any legal speed on land, Tony said, “Slowing to seventy knots. Damned sea is flat as glass. Never seen it so calm. We’ll have to get Jesse to bring us all out here tomorrow and catch some fish.”

  A moment later the beating of the helicopter’s rotors all but drowned out the sound of the engines, now throttled back to almost three quarters. Art motioned Linda forward and she scrambled on all fours between the two front seats, then turned around on her knees.

  Three minutes later, Linda was sandwiched between Bourke and Bender, amazed at how easy these men made it look. Hinkle sat down in the starboard rear seat, assembling his rifle, as Tony pushed the throttles to the stops once more.

  “Welcome aboard,” Tony said, glancing in the small mirror on the console at Bourke. “Might have a few sprinkles in a little while. Glad you got here before it started.”

  Picking up the sheriff’s patrol boat on the radar, Art reached for the radio mic. The patrol boat seemed to be drifting about ten miles ahead, maybe a mile from the coast.

  “Deputy Phillips,” Art said into the mic, “this is Agent Newman. Do you copy?”

  A moment passed and Marty’s voice came over the speaker. “Hi, Agent Newman. I only got here a few minutes ago. Didn’t expect you for a while longer.”

  “We caught a tail wind,” Art said. “We’ll rendezvous where you are, and two of our people will join you.”

  “Roger that. Standing by.”

  Another voice came over the radio then. “Marty? What are you doing out here?”

  “That’s Kim!” Linda exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” Bourke said, turning to Linda, his voice competing with the roar from the powerful engines right behind them. “We flew over her a little ways back. She’s on Jesse’s fishing boat, but she won’t get here for another twenty minutes or so.”

  “Kim?” the young deputy’s voice asked over the radio. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “I’m doing my job. Where are you?”

  A few seconds ticked by before Kim replied. “About twenty miles south of you.”

  “I order you to turn back,” Marty said.

  Bourke remembered the short conversation he’d had with Charity and laughed out loud. “Yeah, that’s gonna work real good, kid,” he said to nobody in particular.

  “She’s got her dad’s backbone, that’s for sure,” Tony added.

  There was silence on the radio for a few seconds, then Kim came back on. “Not happening, Marty. Revenge out.”

  The young man tried to hail her a couple more times, but she didn’t answer. Tony started to slow down as they neared the patrol boat, finally reversing the engines and coming to a stop alongside.

  “I hope she turned back,” the deputy said.

  “She won’t, mate,” Hinkle said as he vaulted over to the deputy’s boat. “Just as stubborn as her old man, I’d expect.” Art joined Hinkle on the deputy’s boat. He’d cross-trained with him and his spotter, and the two had worked well together.

  Tony handed Linda the extra earwig he’d snagged late last night. “Stick this in your ear and adjust it to fit. You stay with me. Like a second skin. Understand? Jesse’ll kick my ass if you get hurt, and I’m pretty sure you’d do it if I told you to stay on the boat. So I’m just mitigating my way out of two ass kickings.”

  Looking around at everyone, Tony said, “We have as many as a dozen hostiles and maybe twice that number of refugees here. Probably forced labor to grow weed, housed in a makeshift camp maybe two hundred yards inshore. We only engage if fired on.”

  Turning to the young man, he said, “Deputy, this’ll probably be over before Kim gets here. If it’s not, you’ll be out here to stop her. That’s a third ass kicking I want to avoid.”

  Phillips started to protest and Tony stopped him with a single look. “This is Collier County, Deputy. You’re outside of your jurisdiction, but you can help us before she gets here. Satellite imaging shows elevated ground three hundred yards from the camp, not far from the northern tip of the island. You said you’re familiar with the area. Know where that is and how to get to it unseen?”

  “Sure do,” Phillips replied. “I can get there through the cuts and channels from the north. Take maybe ten or twelve minutes to get there from here.”

  “Good,” Tony said. “That’s enough time to put Donnie and Art ashore and get back out here.” Tony quickly outlined the plan and the patrol boat sped off.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I was in a different structure when I woke up for the third time. My head was severely pounding, a lot worse than from the gas. I’d been clobbered. Once more, I had my hands and feet tied, sitting up in a straight-backed chair. Light through an open window told me that I hadn’t been out long. The sky was still gray outside. With my head hanging down, the floor was the first thing to come into focus. I wasn’t blindfolded and two of the gangbangers were in the room with me, standing by the door with assault rifles slung on their shoulders. The room itself was nearly devoid of furnishings and decoration, but had a wood floor and was fairly clean. A bed was pushed up against one wall and a cheap table and two chairs were against the opposite wall.

  Remembering my earlier escape, I’d been just about to turn around, hunkered down in those mangroves, when I was clocked from behind. It couldn’t have been the two I saw on the cliff, so it was one of the others. As soon as I get loose, I thought, I’m gonna knock out every damned one of these assholes. I was getting old, my reflexes were slowing down, and I was becoming lazy with too much relaxing island time. I’d neglected my daily runs and swims and it was taking its toll. I was getting soft. Ten years ago, anyone sneaking up behind me was being lured into a trap.

  There was a scuffling sound outside the door. When it opened, Lavolier strode into the room. His eyes spoke of the arrogance he felt as he walked around the room and back, eyeing me like a cat would a mouse. He was dressed in off-the-rack camo pants and a long-sleeved tan shirt.

  “You don’t look so tough, wou kaka.”

  I stared him straight in the eye, my anger slowly building.

  “Erzulie say you a rich man. A very rich man.”

  Ah, the money from the treasure, I thought. The number one
motivator among criminals, according to Bender.

  Lavolier, typical of many islanders, was a dark-skinned black man with light-colored eyes. He came toward me. Grabbing my hair and forcing my head back, he placed a knife against my throat. “Just another chickenshit white boy,” he said.

  My eyes never left his as I growled, “You’ll look real cute when I shove that blade up your ass.”

  “Enough!”

  Lavolier released my hair and wheeled. “I wasn’t going to hurt him. Just wanted to scare him a little.”

  “Men like Jesse McDermitt don’t scare easy,” Horvac said as she walked into the room. She had her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and was wearing jeans, boots, and a lightweight tropical work shirt. Miami chic. The two men guarding me lowered their gaze, averting their eyes from the voodoo spirit. “Men like him scare other men.”

  “He’s not so scary,” Lavolier replied.

  Horvac went to the table, set her black leather briefcase down and opened it up. “It doesn’t matter how frightening he appears just now,” she said calmly, lifting out the false bottom and placing it on the table. “Tell the others to leave.”

  Lavolier nodded to the two guards and they hurried out the door, obviously happy to be away from the woman. “You giving him the same wason you gave me?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, handing him a small flask. “This is yours. Drink only half.”

  The man took it from her and quickly twisted off the cap. He began drinking the concoction instantly, swaying as he chugged it down. “His will be a bit stronger and mixed with a serum that will prevent him from telling me a lie.”

  Turning to me, I could see his eyes already clouding with animal lust. “You gonna like Erzulie’s wason, white boy.” He grabbed his crotch and added, “Might make your pati gason as big as mine.”