Charley Manner series Box Set

by Michael Marnier

  Hawk said, “I’ve been in that tower. It’s ready to fall apart. Had to climb a steep path through the rocks on the northwest wall of the cay to reach it. Let’s go back and have a look.”

  “The rest of the writing doesn’t say much. It mentions diamonds stashed inside a tank and a thousand stones you’ll discover.”

  “What do you mean doesn’t say much? Diamonds? When do we leave?”

  I looked at Hawk and grinned. “Slow down, Captain Kidd. Don’t forget the glint. And the EPIRB beacon. Better we do some recon before charging off.”

  “Good point, CJ. Let’s sleep on it and go ‘fishing’ Thursday or Friday after my S&R shift. Make a copy of the map, lock it up and put the original in a plastic bag. It smells pretty bad.”

  SOMEONE WATCHING

  CARLOS BANDINERA slid a flash memory card into the laptop computer, opened the video file and pressed play. A grainy image appeared with two men leaning over the side of a boat looking at something floating in the water. The view zoomed in close, showing them attaching a winch line to a fishing chair with a body in it. Carlos pointed at the body and said, “That is Juan, Señor Campinera.”

  Jorge Campinera turned the PC and leaned close. “Who are these men? Los Zetas?”

  “The name of the boat is Triple H. The NOAH documented vessels list shows it is registered to Harold Handy. We tracked them to a slip at Marathon Marina.”

  “Where did they find Juan?”

  “Near Deadman Cays.”

  Jorge frowned. “Is he alive?”

  “I doubt it, Boss. You cut him up pretty bad. I didn’t expect him to jump overboard.”

  “What about the map?”

  “No sign of it. Juan escaped before we could continue the interrogation.”

  “You should not have left him unguarded, Carlos. I hold you responsible if the diamonds are not recovered.”

  “He passed out. Lost a lot of blood.”

  Jorge smiled and licked his lips. He reached into a pocket and grasped the smooth ivory handle of his knife. Flaying live bodies always gave him pleasure. Holding the weapon made him feel powerful.

  Carlos watched the expression on Jorge’s face and stuttered, “B-Boss?”

  Jorge broke his reverie and scowled at Carlos. “Enough. He was ready to break.”

  “Yes, Boss. Do you believe his story about the DEA deporting his family unless he cooperated?”

  “No one could lie with that much pain.”

  “For a mule, he was a sly one. Why did he hide the diamonds?”

  “Who knows? Maybe to be sure his family was safe before turning them over."

  Jorge stood and said, "Delaying payment raised my suspicions. And I was right, but I thought it was Los Zetas interfering, not the DEA.”

  Campinera paced the length of the room, turned and glared at Carlos. “And so where is the map? If the men have it, you must get it back, or you will suffer more than Juan.”

  Carlos swallowed hard. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the map. And if they have found the diamonds, I will get them back.”

  Campinera’s eyes narrowed. “You do that, Carlos. Now leave me.”

  Carlos backed out of the stateroom and returned to his fast boat tied alongside the mega yacht. Fifty minutes later, he dropped anchor a mile off the Marathon Keys and reached for his cell phone.

  STRANGER CALL

  HAWK WAS HEADED for the door to my RV when his cell phone rang. “Hawk here.” His expression turned stone cold, a look I’d often seen when we were on a mission, right before engaging the enemy. I waited for him to say something. He sat back down, switched to speakerphone and put his iPhone on the table between us.

  “—and your partner have something that belongs to my boss.”

  Hawk asked, “Who are you? How did you get this number?”

  “My name is Carlos. You are the owner of a Fountain boat named Triple H, yes?”

  “What’s it to you ... Carlos?”

  “If you are Harold Handy, you have a document you need to give back. And please introduce your friend. I know you have me on speakerphone. Where are your manners, Señor?”

  I pressed the mute button. “This guy sounds Cuban. Bet he’s the man behind the glint. He seems to know a lot. We better play along.”

  I released the mute button. “My name is Charley Manner, Carlos. You have us at a disadvantage. What do you want?”

  “Muy bueno. I like a man that is direct. You and your friend have something of great importance to my boss. The man you found was about to tell us where he hid it but chose to go swimming instead. Not a wise choice in shark-infested waters. We could not see him in the darkness and thought he drowned. An unfortunate situation. Please tell me you have the map, Señor.”

  Hawk asked, “Just who is your boss, Carlos?”

  “That is not important, Señor Harold. You need to understand your situation is serious.”

  Hawk was not known for his patience or his tact. That stone-cold look came back as he said, “Listen up, Carlos. Nobody threatens us. Get to the point. And don’t call me Harold. I go by Hawk.”

  “No need for anger. This is strictly a business call. You have something that does not belong to you. We want you to give it back.”

  I spoke up, trying to cool down my fearless friend, “And if we did have this so-called map, how would we give it to you?”

  “We know where you live, Charley Manner. Señor Hawk’s boat is in a slip at Marathon Marina. I am betting you live nearby. I can send a courier.”

  “Whoa, no one said we have a map, Carlos.”

  “That is unfortunate. We have a video of you and your friend hoisting Juan and a fishing chair into Señor Hawk’s boat. Did Juan tell you about a map?”

  I decided to bluff. “I’d check your video, Carlos. All we found was my chair, the EPIRB and a seriously bled out body.”

  “Si, the EPIRB. How gracious of you to leave it on. The signal made the task of finding you quite easy. Too bad Juan did not survive his swim. We will be watching.”

  The line went dead. Hawk and I exchanged WTF looks. So much for slow and steady recon. Better watch our six. Hawk saved the number before closing his phone. Carlos will be calling again.

  MIAMI DEA

  A TALL BRUNETTE walked up to me and Hawk as we sat drinking margaritas under the coconut palm outside my Winnebago. Her gait and clothes, the shoulder holster under her open jacket, signaled Fed. Her partner stayed in the car at the curb.

  She flashed her badge. “Afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Special Agent Vicky Borne with the DEA. Are you the men who found a dead body near Cay Sal Bank two days ago?”

  I put down my drink next to the open EPIRB and the new batteries I bought yesterday. “Affirmative. Any news on the identity?” I looked at Hawk and he got the message to play dumb.

  “His name is Juan Madera, a known Cuban drug cartel mule.”

  “Why did someone cut him up like that?”

  Vicky hesitated, then said, “We’d turned him and set up a deal to divert a large payment of diamonds for drug shipments. Someone leaked the plan.”

  Hawk and I looked at the EPIRB sitting on the bench but kept our mouths shut.

  “Do you guys know anything about that?”

  Hawk raised an eyebrow, then went stone cold.

  I asked Vicky, “Why are you here?”

  She remained silent and stared at me for a full minute. Vicky had beautiful eyes, yet I felt a bit unnerved. Finally, she said, “I think you know, Charley Manner.”

  Uh oh. We’ve been burned. I turned on my best boyish charm. “Gee, Ms. Borne, we went out to get my fishing chair, a very expensive chair. The stiff happened to hitchhike a ride. That’s it.”

  I don’t think she was impressed. Vicky smiled. She had a beautiful smile.

  She asked Hawk, “Why so quiet, Mr. Handy?”

  “Call me Hawk.”

  “Okay, Hawk. You have something to say?”

  “Negatory, ma’am.”

  “Well gent
lemen. As ex-Navy SEALs, you both should know the surveillance capabilities of our government. It happens that one of the National Reconnaissance Office satellites scanned the Florida Straits and the Keys two days ago right about the time you two hauled a fishing chair off Hawk’s boat. You were particularly interested in something you found in one of the chair’s fishing rod tubes.”

  Hawk’s stone-cold look froze solid. My jaw dropped and a shit-eating grin emerged. I said to Hawk, “The lady gets to the point, doesn’t she?” Hawk grunted.

  Vicky’s voice hardened. “You can show me what you found, Charley. And while you’re getting it, Hawk can show me the call log on his cell phone. We know Carlos Bandinera called you. NSA recorded it. The caller mentioned a map.”

  Hawk’s stone-cold look melted like butter on a plate of spicy-fried conch fritters. Time to ‘fess up, I guess. DEA, NRO, NSA—alphabet soup serving too much evidence to swallow without choking. I raised my hands, “You win Agent Borne. What do you want?”

  “No more lies. I need the diamonds. We planned to GemPrint them so they would be traceable and then allow Madera to deliver. The DEA is well-equipped when it comes to following the money. Everything was in place until he disappeared a week ago.”

  “But Madera’s dead. How will you complete the delivery?”

  She looked at Hawk, then back to me. “I can’t deliver what I don’t have. Get the map.”

  Coming back out of the Winnebago, bagged map in hand, I asked Vicky, “Who is Carlos Bandinera? His accent sounded Cuban. Very polite, but deadly serious.”

  “He’s a top lieutenant in the Cuban drug cartel led by Jorge Campinera. Campinera’s the guy we want for organizing transshipments of Columbian cocaine through Cuba into the States. Juan Madera was our best bet to get hard evidence of a transaction.”

  Hawk said, “Looks like Madera’s death by a thousand cuts put the kibosh on that plan.”

  Vicky frowned at Hawk and reached for the map.

  I handed it over and asked, “Is that why you want to see this?”

  “You’re a quick study. Why else?”

  I was hoping she came to hear my fish tale firsthand or maybe to ask me for a date. No such luck. Used it all, out on the straits.

  Looking at the writing through the clear plastic bag, her brow furrowed. “Have you figured out what this means?”

  “Not yet.”

  Vicky slipped the bag into her pocket. “I’ll take this back to the lab in Miami. Maybe our analysts can figure it out. Thanks for your cooperation, boys.” She gave each of us a close look, lingering a bit on me, or maybe I’m just wishing. As she walked to her car, Vicky glanced back and said, “We’ll be in touch.”

  When the car pulled away from the curb, I said to Hawk, “Good thing we copied the map. When do you want to visit the lighthouse tower?”

  Hawk looked around and spoke softly, “Better wait a few days. The Cubans, and now the Feds are watching us.”

  “I agree. My sister and Hilly are having a party this weekend and we’re invited. The recon can wait till Monday.”

  LITTLE BIG SISTER

  KATIE IS MY LITTLE, BIG SISTER; a foot shorter, a hundred pounds lighter and four years older than me. Growing up, I always had her at my back. Our mother died in a car accident when I was ten and Dad was always out of the country. We didn’t know at the time that he was a spy for the DIA, but that’s another story. Katie stepped in when grade school bullies tried to push her little brother around. She still looked out for me. I tend to be impulsive and get myself into dangerous situations. Katie was there to bail me out. Hilly’s a good match for her. Both are stubborn, but Hilly usually gives up when Katie digs in her heels. They plan to make an announcement at the party.

  ~~~

  TWO HUNDRED FRIENDS and neighbors crammed into the American Legion hall. When Katie has a party, she doesn’t go halfway. Every permanent resident on the Marathon keys has been invited. The loud music and spinning disco ball set the seventies theme for the celebration. Dozens of Key-dwellers drinking, dancing, telling tall tales—not me, of course—enjoying the party. Everyone except Hilly. He stood in a corner, biting the nails of his right hand, an untouched glass of SoCo on the rocks in his left. I worked my way across the dance floor, showing a few disco dance moves to anyone that noticed, ending up in front of Hilly.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Hildebrand? Nerves curb your thirst?”

  “I prefer Hilly, if you don’t mind, little brother.” Hilly wiped his brow and looked across the hall where Katie was laughing with some girlfriends and pointing at the disco ball. He looked up at me with a dead serious look. “Katie will probably kill me, but I want to tell you something before we make our announcement.”

  “What is it, Bro? Tonight’s all about fun. Why so serious?”

  “You know I love your sister very much.”

  “Yeah, isn’t that why you two are announcing your engagement tonight?”

  Hilly looked away for a second. “Well, in fact, we’re already married.”

  “Say again?”

  “You heard me. You’re already my brother-in-law, Bro.” Hilly smiled, put his finger to his lips and said, “Mum’s the word. We couldn’t wait any longer, went to a JP last month. Everyone will know later but I didn’t want you to be totally surprised.”

  “And I thought I was the impulsive one in the family. Katie is usually more deliberate when it comes to big decisions.”

  Hilly grinned. “I guess my worldly charms won the day.”

  “I have to admit, you are good for her and she is definitely good for you. Where are you going for the honeymoon?”

  “We plan to sail to the Bahamas and do a little scuba diving.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “About two weeks. Leaving tomorrow.”

  “Be careful, Hilly, and stay in touch. Don’t take the southern route—too many pirates and drug smugglers.”

  “You bet, brother.”

  Katie walked over and grabbed Hilly’s arm. “It’s time to make our announcement.”

  The DJ spooled up a rendition of Here Comes the Bride and cranked up the volume. A waiter wheeled in a huge wedding cake with tiny palm trees swaying above plastic bobble-head statues stuck on top. The groom wore surfer shorts and sported a high wave haircut right out of the fifties and the bride’s hula skirt wiggled from the motion of the rolling cart. A sweet couple.

  Hilly and Katie shouted, “Surprise!”

  Not to me but I faked it, gave Hilly a slap on the back and Katie a big hug. The night got louder, and the celebration went past midnight. I wished them bon voyage and once again warned Hilly to be careful. He’s an experienced sailor, but that’s not what worried me.

  TREASURE HUNT

  THE INSURANCE CHECK arrived. A hundred thousand smackers. Not even close to what I’d sunk into the Ocean 35, but at least they paid quickly. Kinda weird considering Paraguay is landlocked in the center of South America. No ships within several hundred miles except maybe some fishing boats on the Paraguay River. And there’s money to issue yacht insurance?

  I’m not complaining. Their premiums were reasonable, but they hid behind the d-word: depreciation, when it came to pay out. Well, I ‘depreciate’ their check anyway. They whined a bit about the size of my claim. Wanted to be sure all of the gear, except the fighting chair, was permanently lost in the Deep Strait. I suggested they could go after it, but a thousand feet of ocean discouraged that option.

  Replacement costs will depreciate my bank account big-time. I’ve already placed a deposit on a new boat and lined up a loan. This check is the down payment. Hope it doesn’t bounce.

  ~~~

  MY NEW BOAT—a Fountain 38 Sportfish with quad Merc Verado 350’s—arrived yesterday. A sweet ride. I named her Too Fast For U. Fourteen-hundred horses and a top speed of 85mph. My fishing chair fits in the center of the aft deck. I haven’t mounted outriggers yet. Serious marlin fishing in the Deep Strait will have to wait. For bone fishing in the f
lats, I added two electric trolling motors, one at each corner of the transom. The broad beam of the boat allowed enough room, even with the four Mercs installed. None of the gear is necessary today. Hawk and I will fish for diamonds.

  We left Marathon at 0600, two hours before dead low tide. I punched in the GPS coordinates for Elbow Cays.

  At 0645 Hawk pointed to a small opening in the cliff ahead as I eased Too Fast For U up to a flat outcropping. A rusted vertical bar fastened to the side of a ledge served as a tie point. Hawk used a sliding loop bowline knot so the boat would rise and fall with the tide. We deployed four large fenders over the gunwales to keep my new baby away from the sharp-edged rocks.

  The top of the lighthouse tower loomed a hundred feet above us. A silent silhouette as the pre-dawn sky brightened from ochre to brilliant red. How’s that sailor’s saying go? Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning…?

  As we climbed the rocks, I glanced back at the receding tide. Plenty of time to reach the tower before dead low and look about where housemaids scour. Hawk and I discussed what this might mean before we left Marathon. There must be a clue somewhere on the tower floor.

  We followed a well-worn path up the side of the cliff to the tower entrance and looked in. Evidence of other visitors lay about—boot scuffs, discarded wrappers and cans. A heavy layer of seabird droppings added to the ambiance. Openings in the rotted roof and broken windows let in the elements, covering everything with a layer of grime.

  Starting at opposite edges of the first floor, we began a slow walk along a spiral path, tracing our mini-lights back and forth, pushing the dirt aside with our boots.

  Fifteen minutes into our search, I noticed a slight depression, an arc-shaped line close to the center of the room. We dropped to our knees and scraped away the debris, revealing a full circle carved into the stone. In the center a diamond shape, with numbers on left and right sides and the bottom point—seven, fifteen and thirty. Number thirty choose to play, I pushed thirty, hoping it would trigger some hidden door. Nothing.