Cayman Crackdown (Coastal Fury Book 18)

by Matt Lincoln

  An hour later, I was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the muscles in my arms and legs were throbbing. I’d deliberately worked myself a little harder than I normally would have in an attempt to tire myself out, and it had worked. Even though I wasn’t really sleepy, my body felt worn out, and the idea of lying down sounded heavenly.

  I stripped off the rest of my clothes and stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Once the hot water had washed away the sweat from my workout and the general grime of the day’s travels, I stepped back out and climbed into bed. I set an alarm for six in the morning and closed my eyes, hopeful that I’d be able to catch at least a few more hours before it was time to leave.

  I didn’t notice when I started to feel sleepy, but when I opened my eyes a while later, I could tell that at least some time had passed. The sky outside the window wasn’t quite as dark as it had been earlier when I’d initially laid down, but my eyes felt heavy, and there was a slight cloudiness in my head that only came as a result of still being half-asleep.

  I rolled over to where I’d left my phone charging and plucked it off the nightstand. It was a little after five, which meant that about four hours had passed. It was still a little early, but sleep schedule issues were expected any time international travel was involved.

  I slipped out of bed and stretched languidly before walking over to the bag that I’d left on the floor the previous night.

  I pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a simple t-shirt. It was an outfit that was low key enough not to draw in undue attention while still being presentable. There had been more than one occasion where Holm and I had needed to pretend to be hapless tourists in the course of our missions, and I’d learned pretty quickly that making people believe you were harmless was an invaluable investigative tactic.

  Once I finished dressing, I left my room and headed downstairs into the lobby of the hotel. There wasn’t any kind of coffee maker or fridge inside the room, but I figured there might be somewhere else for me to acquire a nice strong dose of caffeine somewhere in this place. Maybe even something to eat, too.

  After a bit of wandering, I found something that looked promising. Actually, it looked a little like an office break room. Several shelves mounted along the back wall of the room sported rows of snacks and drinks, and a sign just in front of the shelves displayed a list of items and their respective prices. In the center of the room was a small sitting area consisting of a few chairs and a low, square table. Just inside the entrance was another, longer table lined with baskets full of an assortment of breads and fruits, as well as a coffee machine. A sign on this table invited guests both in Italian and English to help themselves.

  A young man standing behind a counter on the right-hand side of the room smiled at me as I stepped inside. He wore a set of headphones, and he bobbed his head up and down as he listened to whatever music was currently blasting out of his phone, loud enough that I could hear it even through the headphones.

  I walked along the shelves first, curious about what kinds of snacks they might have. I recognized a few American brands among the mix of available items right away, but most of the food on display was completely unfamiliar. Cookies, chocolate bars, a plastic package with an image of a waffle on it, and something that looked exactly like a tub of ice cream but obviously couldn’t be since it was sitting out in the open all caught my eye briefly. In the end, I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars to try for later. As curious as I was, five in the morning was probably not the best time to be trying a bunch of experimental new foods.

  I took the two chocolate bars over to the boy at the counter, who immediately took his headphones off. The music was still audible, and I wondered how loud it must sound through the headphones if I could hear it so clearly from where I stood.

  “Quattro e ventisei,” the kid said after punching something into the register and quickly bagging up the two chocolate bars.

  I tried to do the math in my head as I handed my credit card to him. “Quattro” was four. I knew that much. I couldn’t quite remember the current conversion rate, but I knew that it was probably around the same amount in dollars, maybe slightly more.

  After collecting my bag, I headed over to the table with the coffee and breads on it. I took one of the paper cups next to the machine and filled it up with coffee before grabbing a croissant as well. Now that I had my breakfast, I headed back out of the small room and up to the fourth floor.

  Once I was back in my hotel room, I dropped the bag with the chocolates on the bed before taking the single chair in the corner of the room out onto the balcony. The sun was just starting to rise, sending rays of warm yellow and orange light across the city.

  I was pleased to find that my suspicion from last night had been correct. The view from the balcony really was lovely now that the sun was out. From the fourth floor of the hotel, I could see well into the city and over the roofs of many of the buildings. Most of them were tan or brown, with pops of reds, greens, and blues interspersed throughout. To my right was something that might have been a park nestled among the sea of buildings. Tall and lush green trees took up a small chunk of the area, an unexpected but pleasant interruption to the cascade of closely packed buildings all over the city. To my right was some kind of open field. A group of kids was playing soccer in it, and if I listened closely, I could just hear them yelling and laughing as they ran around.

  Out on the horizon, I could make out the bright blue of the ocean. It was just a sliver, impeded from my view by a jumble of tall buildings, which themselves were a fair sight to behold. Nevertheless, I could see the water’s surface glittering like a diamond as the sun rose higher into the sky.

  I took a long, slow sip of coffee as I enjoyed the quiet morning. We may have come here as part of a mission, but at that moment, as I watched the sun come up, I felt incredibly at peace.

  I wondered vaguely if I might end up somewhere like this one day, long after I’d retired. I wouldn’t mind that. Beautiful views over the Italian coast, a hot, strong cup of coffee as I watched the sunrise.

  I snorted at the mental image. Maybe not. After all, I’d never been able to stay still, and I wasn’t sure I ever would be. Whatever I ended up doing after retiring, it probably wouldn’t involve sitting on my butt staring out a window all day.

  15

  Charlie

  Charlie Hills had never been particularly interested in the tourism aspect of his job. His family and friends had admonished him for it, insisting that most people would kill to have a job that allowed them to travel all over the world.

  Junior, especially, tended to nag him any time they traveled to a foreign country for work, especially when it was a popular tourism destination like Italy. He spent every second of spare time during missions just wandering around whatever city they happened to be in, soaking up all the culture he could.

  He was doing it right now as the four of them walked down the street on their way to the Naples Police Department. He gawked at everything they passed by, occasionally tossing them some random bit of information he’d read about a particular region or landmark in Naples.

  Charlie watched as his partner craned his head to peer into a narrow alleyway tucked between two tall buildings. Both walls of the alley were lined several feet high with all kinds of stuff. Souvenirs, presumably, though Charlie couldn’t quite tell from this distance what exactly the stuff was.

  Charlie could appreciate Junior’s interest and rabid desire to spend all his time looking at stuff, but he honestly couldn’t understand the appeal. He liked catching bad guys, sure. He liked going on missions and the heart-pumping adrenaline-fueled euphoria that came with finally taking down some low-life and knowing he’d rid the world of one more piece of criminal scum.

  Aside from that, though, he was pretty content to just sit, have a beer, and maybe catch a game or two.

  He had no desire to get lost roaming around the bowels of Italy, though there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t have much say
in the matter. He was certain that the moment there was a lull in the case, Junior would drag him off somewhere to look at some thousand-year-old painting or something.

  Then again, he still needed to find a souvenir for his niece, Amber. He supposed he could humor his partner at least until he found something suitable.

  The police headquarters in Naples was an impressive building, to say the least. Made of white stone and towering over three stories tall, with large windows and an arched entryway lined with dark bricks, the place looked majestic and imposing.

  They were there to meet with the police liaison accompanying them during their time in Italy. It was something they usually had to deal with while working a case abroad since most countries tended to want one of their own law enforcement officers to be aware of and involved in whatever crime happened to be occurring on their soil. They also needed to make sure they made a record of what weapons they had with them since the gun laws in Italy were pretty strict.

  That was all fine with Charlie. After two years of dealing with annoying bureaucratic crap and having to jump through hoops just to do his job, he’d gotten used to it.

  “Mt. Vesuvius is near here,” Junior commented as the four of them stepped into the building.

  “That’s the volcano that destroyed Pompeii, right?” Agent Holm asked. “The one that vaporized everyone so fast that it froze their bodies in place?”

  “Technically, it destroyed the bodies,” Junior corrected. “They disintegrated in the same instant that they were coated in a thick layer of super-heated volcanic ash, so the inside was hollow like pouring cement over a balloon and then popping the balloon. Anyway, the bodies in the museum are actually plaster molds of the holes that were left behind. Oh, that would be cool to see, actually. Charlie, we should go to the museum if we get the chance.”

  “Can’t wait,” Charlie snorted sarcastically in response. It was kind of interesting, he had to admit. At the same time, though, there was something a little perturbing about knowing they were right next to the volcano that had obliterated an entire civilization and left a bunch of people-shaped holes in its wake.

  The inside of the police station was busy and noisy. Even though the small lobby was separated from the rest of the station by a wall and a thick pane of glass, Charlie could hear people talking further inside, on the phone or with one another. Even the officer staffing the front desk, sitting behind the thick, protective glass barrier, was on the phone. Her brows were knit together, and she spoke rapidly. Charlie couldn’t understand what she was saying, but she sounded frustrated.

  The four agents stepped up to the counter and waited patiently for the officer to finish her call, which she did rather aggressively, hissing something into the phone angrily before slamming it forcefully back into the cradle on the desk. She looked down and took a deep breath before looking up at the men.

  “Posso aiutarla?” she asked flatly, barely bothering to hide the fact that she was still angry over whatever had just transpired over the phone.

  “Agent Ethan Marston, with MBLIS,” Agent Marston replied as he presented his badge to her. “You… don’t happen to speak English, do you?”

  “I do, actually,” the woman replied as she leaned forward to take a closer look at the badge.

  That was a relief, Charlie thought. As helpful as his partner’s limited ability to understand Italian was, it was still limited. Trying to get anywhere was going to be a pain if they were unable to communicate.

  “Where did you say you were from?” the officer asked as she sat back up straight.

  “MBLIS,” Marston replied. “It stands for Military Border Liaison Investigative Service. It’s an American agency that investigates crimes that cross international borders. We’re here to meet with Captain Vitale about the cargo ship that was attacked off the coast two days ago.”

  “Just one moment, please,” she replied before picking the phone back up and pressing two buttons. It rang for just a moment before she started speaking to someone on the other end in Italian. A few seconds later, she hung up the phone and looked back up at the agents.

  “You can come through,” she informed them as she reached over to push a switch on the desk. The door next to the window where she was sitting gave off a mechanical click that Charlie assumed meant that it was open. “The captain will be here to speak with you in just a moment.”

  Charlie stepped forward to pull the door open, and the four agents stepped through. The station’s noise was even louder once there wasn’t a thick wall to separate them from the rest of the station.

  Directly behind the officer who had greeted them was a large bullpen made up of several rows of neatly arranged desks. There was an officer at almost every single one, talking on the phone, rapidly typing away into a computer keyboard, or otherwise chatting among themselves. Every once in a while, someone would suddenly get up and walk away, or someone would arrive and take a seat at one of the empty desks. The room’s entire atmosphere felt chaotic and cramped, and Charlie suddenly felt grateful that he worked in a quiet office with few coworkers. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand being in such a crowded, stifling room all the time.

  The agents had only been waiting for about a minute before a man walked through another door at the other end of the bullpen. Charlie only needed to look at him for a moment to know that he was the captain that they were waiting for. The man himself wasn’t particularly big or scary-looking, but he walked with purpose, and he carried himself in a way that commanded authority. As he stepped closer, Charlie realized that his gray-flecked mustache was styled peculiarly. It was thick and bushy and carefully curled up at the ends. He reminded Charlie a little of the mascot from the Monopoly game. It was a feature that would have undoubtedly looked silly on most people, but somehow the man pulled it off.

  “Hello!” he greeted them with a strong, booming voice. “I don’t recognize you, so that must mean you’re the agents I’ve been expecting.”

  “That’s us,” Marston replied as he moved forward to shake the man’s hand.

  Charlie had never liked long introductions, especially when they had to be done over and over throughout an investigation, which happened pretty frequently since most jobs required them to speak with several people. Police officers, witnesses, victims, experts, suspects. It all got so tedious after the hundredth time he had to go through the rigamarole of explaining who he was and what MBLIS was. He much preferred to just cut all the diplomatic crap and get straight to the chase.

  Nevertheless, he still put on a polite smile and shook the man’s hand. He seemed like a decent guy if the friendly way he was receiving them was anything to go by.

  “I’m Captain Henri Vitale,” the man introduced himself with a smile. “Why don’t we go speak in my office? It’s so loud out here.”

  Yeah, it is, Charlie thought to himself, grateful for the opportunity to get away from the annoying thrum of the gathered police force.

  The captain led them through the bullpen and back through the door he’d come through. It was already much quieter back there, but the captain led them further still, down a short hallway and over to a set of elevators at the rear of the building.

  “Is this your first time visiting Italy?” Vitale asked them as they all piled into the elevator.

  “Yes,” Junior replied immediately. “Well, for Ch—er, Agent Hills and me, it is, anyway. I’m not sure about Agent Marston and Agent Holm, though.”

  “First time for us, too,” Marston replied. “With a few exceptions, we don’t usually tend to travel this far away from the coastal areas of the US. The Caribbean is where we tend to stick, with a bit of west coast thrown in now and again.”

  “Well, I wish you were here under more pleasant circumstances,” Vitale sighed. “But I’m grateful you’re here all the same. It was shocking what happened the other day. I’ve dealt with all kinds of crime during my time on the force, things I never could have imagined back before I ever joined the police. But this is
something I’ve never seen before.”

  “We saw the video,” Marston replied as Vitale led the men into his office. “It was certainly shocking.”

  The captain’s office didn’t look like a police captain’s office, in Charlie’s opinion. Rather, it looked more like a professor’s study. There was a plush, intricately woven carpet spread out over the floor. The walls were painted a dark cream color, and an assortment of tasteful lamps illuminated the entire office, casting a soft, warm glow over everything.

  One half of the office, the side immediately through the door, contained a heavy oak desk. Behind it was a large, plush leather sitting chair, while a line of smaller chairs sat in a line in front of it. On the other side of the room was a leather couch and armchair that matched the large sitting chair behind the desk. A low coffee table was set between the two pieces of furniture, and several bookshelves lined the entire far wall of the room.

  “Please, have a seat,” Vital prompted them with a wave toward the chairs. They sat, and Charlie found that although they were smaller and thinner than the large chair behind the desk, the chair was still comfortable. It was upholstered with woven fabric that looked like a similar material to whatever the carpet was made of. Muted brown and gold swirls and flowers were embroidered into the fabric. It looked expensive, and Charlie thought that Vitale must take a great deal of pride in his job if he was determined to decorate his office so grandly.

  “It was shocking for several reasons,” Vitale continued as he took a seat behind his desk. “When I first saw the videos myself and later read the reports of the first-hand accounts, I was shocked but relieved to discover that the crewmen aboard the cargo ship had managed to fight off the pirates and turn the tables on them. But then I realized something wasn’t quite right.”

  “In what way?” Marston prompted.