by J. B. Turner
A thousand thoughts were ricocheting through Catherine’s mind as she contemplated what to do. The risk of making a wrong move was higher than ever, given the worsening Nathan Stone situation. If he, or the men hunting him, was ever traced back to the Agency, the fallout would be incalculable.
Just then her landline began to ring.
Great, she thought. What now? John’s partner at the architectural firm would have called his cell phone. Her boss would have called hers. That left a family emergency—John’s parents weren’t in the best of health. She headed to the living room and picked up. “Yes?”
“Catherine? Oh my God, how are you? It’s Becky McFarlane. I just sent you a text message, but I assumed . . .”
Hudson gathered her thoughts while Becky rambled on, her familiar voice taking Hudson back to dorm rooms and instant ramen and all-nighters before an exam. “Becky, you’ve got to be kidding me. What a lovely surprise. But it’s the middle of the night.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I forgot. I’m so sorry. I’m in London.”
Hudson’s alarms were ringing at maximum volume. What the hell did she want? “Yeah, I just saw your message. How did you get my number?”
“I’m sorry I’m calling out of the blue. I can call back later if that’s better.”
Catherine noticed that Becky hadn’t answered the question. “No, no, I’m wide awake. I can’t believe I’m hearing from you after all this time. What a lovely surprise.”
“How long has it been, Catherine? I don’t even want to think.”
“Two decades?”
“It can’t be that long. Where has the time gone?”
Hudson’s mind was racing. “Becky, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you get my number after all this time?”
“Your number? I called your husband. John. First time I’ve spoken to him.”
Hudson was taken aback; she tried to compose herself. “I see. Sorry, I’m just a little surprised.”
“It’s my fault. You know what I’m like—so impulsive. He was on LinkedIn. I saw the number for his firm on his profile. So I called him.”
“You called him? When?”
“A couple days ago, I think. He gave me your cell. And he gave me this number. And here we are!”
“Here we are indeed, how lovely.” Hudson could barely contain her annoyance. “You should have just sent a message through LinkedIn.”
“I wanted to hear your voice. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Hudson lied.
“I was so excited to see your profile, you have no idea. So, you’re a management consultant. That’s really interesting.”
Hudson closed her eyes briefly. “It has its moments.”
“I can’t believe you still sound the same. And your picture on LinkedIn, you look fantastic.”
Hudson ignored Becky’s attempt to ingratiate herself. “So, how’s life treating you in London?”
“Busy. Crazy busy.”
“I can imagine. Where are you working?”
“US embassy, processing passports. Pretty routine. Tell me more about your job. What does that entail?”
Hudson noted that Becky had volunteered the information about her job being pretty routine. “Advising firms on takeover strategies, outsourcing, that kind of thing.”
“That is so amazing. What companies and sector?”
“Wide variety. Some technology, some hospitals—it’s a pretty broad spectrum.” Hudson allowed a silence to open up between them, compelling Becky to speak.
“Interesting. So, I was wondering—and I’m not going to keep you any longer with the time difference—if you might be free to meet up in a couple of days. I’ll be back home in the States for my mother’s birthday.”
Hudson closed her eyes. She couldn’t figure it out. She couldn’t tell if Becky’s intentions were legit. She wondered if she was overthinking a simple friendly call from a long-lost college friend. Then again, old friends who hadn’t been in touch for years and suddenly reappeared were a red flag for any intelligence expert. “I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you.”
“Yes, of course.”
“But sure. I’d like that, Becky. I’m slammed with work at the moment, but by all means send me a message through LinkedIn. That would be best.”
“Now that I’ve got your cell, I’ll drop you a text. How about that?”
Hudson scrunched up her face, furious that John had given out her cell phone number. “LinkedIn messaging works best for me, if that’s okay.”
“Not a problem. If you insist.”
“So tell me, are you married? Family?”
“I’ve had a couple of close calls, but no, nothing so far. To be fair, the amount of work I have, I struggle to look after myself without thinking about kids and a husband. Right?”
Hudson cleared her throat and forced a laugh. “So true. Look, great to talk to you, Becky. But I’ve got to catch an early flight. And I’m just about to hop into the shower. So, I have to run.”
“Not a problem. Great talking to you again, Catherine. I’ll be in touch.”
“Please do.” Hudson ended the call and let out a long sigh. Her heart was beating hard. She headed back to the kitchen and sat down at her computer. She was still mulling things over when her bleary-eyed husband walked into the room.
“Honey,” he said, “who was that?”
“I’m sorry to wake you. It was an old college friend. Becky.”
“What?”
“She said you spoke to her recently.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Sorry, I should have told you. Completely forgot.”
Hudson looked at her disheveled husband and forced a smile. “That’s okay, don’t worry. It’s not a big deal. Did she tell you what she wanted?”
“She’s in London or something.” John scratched his head and yawned. “Son of a bitch. I need more sleep, I’m telling you.”
Hudson smiled. “Did she say anything else?”
“About what?”
Hudson shrugged.
“No, I don’t think so. Just that she was going to be in town, wanted to meet up. I thought it was very thoughtful of her, to be honest. She sounded nice.”
“She is. You’ve never met her?”
“Becky? No, I haven’t. What’s she like?”
“She’s smart. Interesting. She’s very pretty too.”
John rubbed his face as if trying to wake up properly.
“I was just wondering . . .”
“Wondering . . .”
“Wondering why you gave her my cell number. It’s not on my LinkedIn profile.”
John shrugged. “Did she say that?”
Hudson wondered if he had just forgotten he’d told Becky her number. Her cell number was known, literally, to only a handful of people, and John knew how protective she was about maintaining it only for work calls.
“You sure you didn’t inadvertently tell her your number?”
“How?” Hudson said. “She contacted my cell phone by text. That’s the first contact I’ve had with her in twenty years.”
John shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Did you maybe tell her the details? It’s fine if you did.”
“Absolutely not. I might have if she’d asked for them, but she didn’t. I remember I had to volunteer the landline number.”
“She didn’t ask for my number?”
“Nope. I would’ve remembered that. Trust me.”
Hudson smiled as her mind went into overdrive. Her husband’s story wasn’t aligned with what Becky had said. Either her husband was lying—but why?—or Becky had obtained her number by other means.
Something was definitely off.
Eighteen
Nathan and Beatrice made sure they left everything on the tiny island the way they had found it. They tidied up, blew out the citronella candles, which Nathan placed back in the cupboard, and removed the three bottles of water they still had left. It was importan
t to leave as little trace as possible that anyone had been there.
They headed through the scrub and mangrove trees to the shoreline under the light of the moon.
Beatrice climbed into the boat. “Where are we headed?”
“Closer to civilization.”
“Thank God. I don’t know how much of this I can stand.”
Stone pushed off with the paddle, Beatrice sitting at the front of the boat with her bag and the water. He paddled through the shallows into the darkness, occasionally letting the boat drift on the rippling current.
The sun would be up in a couple of hours. He couldn’t afford to be complacent. The Commission would be redoubling their efforts now that more than twenty-four hours had passed. And he wanted to put even more distance between the trail they had taken after dumping the car and where they were now.
Stone dragged the paddle through the water, only a foot or so deep here. The moon was behind them, illuminating the channel’s surface with a pale, ethereal glow. Lightning bugs and mosquitos filled the fetid air.
It felt good to be moving. They needed to keep moving. Vital. Stay still and they would die.
Beatrice turned and faced him as they headed east past the islands dotting the edge of the southern Everglades. “Are we gonna be okay?”
“We keep moving, we’ll be fine.”
Beatrice rifled in her side pocket. “Well, that’s something.”
“What?”
“I’ve got some Xanax after all.”
“Good. Take it. Might chill you out.”
Beatrice popped a couple of pills and washed them down with some of the water. She reached over and handed Stone the bottle. He took a gulp and handed it back to her.
“Let’s conserve it,” he said, and she nodded, then curled up on the floor of the boat. A few minutes later, she had fallen asleep.
When the sun peeked over the horizon a couple of hours later, washing that cotton-candy glow over the water, he turned and realized how far they’d come. They were two miles, maybe more, from the tiny island his friend had inhabited.
Gotta keep moving.
Stone paddled on. Through the seagrass and the twisted mangrove stumps, avoiding muddy sandbanks. Up ahead was a small island whose tiny sandy beach was shaded by mangroves and palm fronds on one side.
Stone jumped out and pulled the boat a couple of yards up the sand. Beatrice was still sleeping.
Stone left her like that while he got his bearings. He washed his hands in the water, then his face and his torso. The exertion of nonstop paddling had drained him. The heat and humidity were high already. He lay back on the sand and closed his eyes.
The sun was high in the sky—it was late morning perhaps—as he came to.
“Hey, you okay, pal?” a man’s voice shouted.
Stone’s blood ran cold. He sat up on the sand. Out on the water, twenty yards or so away, was a kayaker. Stone held up his hand and smiled. “I’m good. Just enjoying the Florida sunshine.”
“How long you been out here?” the guy asked.
“Just a few hours.”
Beatrice stirred and sat upright in the boat. She turned around and looked at Stone.
Stone wondered if she would say anything. He shielded his eyes against the fierce sun, stood, and moved close to her. “We don’t know who that guy is,” he whispered, “or who he’s with. Just give him a nice wave. And say something sweet.”
Beatrice looked over and waved at the kayaker. “Great day, isn’t it?”
“You guys on holiday down here in the Keys?”
Beatrice spoke before Stone had the chance. “Just moving around, enjoying the sights and sounds of the Everglades.”
“Looks like you’ve got some bad sunburn. You need some spray?”
Beatrice shook her head. “We’re good. We’re just headed off.”
“Where to?” the guy asked.
Stone said, “Think we’ll stop off on Cormorant Key.”
“You got enough provisions?”
“We’re fine, thanks.”
The kayaker gave a wave of acknowledgment. “Well, you take care, guys,” he said. “I’m headed all the way to the Flamingo Visitor Center.”
“Good luck with that,” Beatrice said.
The kayaker laughed. “I’m gonna need it. I’m about six miles from there.” He paddled away, headed northwest, back to where they’d just been.
Stone waited until the guy was out of sight. “Well done. Smart response.”
“You think he could’ve been one of them?”
“Don’t know. How you feeling after your nap?”
“Dry. Hot. Feel like I’m burning alive.”
“Lie in the water. That’ll cool you down.”
Stone knelt by the water, cupped his hands and dipped them, then splashed his face and hair. “See. It’s good.”
Beatrice gingerly stepped out of the boat, then hesitated. “I’m terrified of alligators.”
“I think you’re fine out here. A few miles back, it was thick with them. But I’d say we’re fine.”
Beatrice walked a foot or so into the channel. She knelt and lay back in the water, letting it soak into her hair and clothes. “That’s better.” She sat up and looked up at Stone. “We need to move, huh?”
Stone nodded. “Get back in and we’ll try and put a few more miles between us and this place. The guy might inadvertently report this at the visitor center.”
“You think so?”
“Sure. Might speak to a ranger at the center. And he might put out an alert. And that will attract the attention of the guys who are looking for us.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“In what way?”
“What if the guys aren’t interested in killing me? What if they’re just interested in killing you?”
“You’re within your rights to bail on me. But if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that these people don’t play games. They won’t be able to sleep knowing that you might be out there, knowing what you know.”
Beatrice stared out over the River of Grass and toward the islands in the distant haze. “This is crazy.”
Stone shielded his eyes and squinted against the sun. “We need to move.”
Beatrice got back in the boat.
Stone pushed off. “Keep your head down.” He paddled relentlessly throughout the afternoon, ignoring the sun burning his back. Sunburn and heatstroke were risks he had to take.
He didn’t rest until the sky began to darken.
Nineteen
Kevin de Boer’s team was in one of three boats, which had fanned out through the southern Everglades. They had pinpointed the location of the original sighting by the conservation charity’s cameras of Stone and the woman, close to the Snake Bight Trail. But their whereabouts at that moment were still a mystery.
“The fucker could be anywhere,” he said to Bakker. “There are hundreds of goddamn islands where they could be hiding out. He could be on any one of them.”
A voice in his Bluetooth headset. “Kevin,” an analyst in Sarasota said, “we’re just hearing from an old Seminole tracker who’s with the second crew. There’s a sign that they might’ve been on a tiny little key near Buoy Key, way out in Florida Bay.”
“Copy that,” he said. “Go ahead.”
“The tracker and one of our team landed on the island to have a look. There are signs of an improvised shelter. Broken branches, palm fronds laid out. Cut quite recently.”
De Boer adjusted his Bluetooth headset as he listened.
“We’re looking at a map of the southern Everglades, Kevin. It appears that Stone had headed due south after going down the Snake Bight Trail. Then stole the boat and headed to the key.”
“Then what?” de Boer said.
“If I was in his shoes, tell you where I’d go.”
“Southeast?” de Boer asked.
“That would make sense. There are other islands where they could stop off.”
“Then aga
in, he might just decide to head north and back onto the mainland.”
“More risky. Way more risky.”
De Boer nodded. “So let’s assume he does what we’d both do, head southeast. That means he’s among countless tiny, uninhabited—perhaps uninhabitable—islands dotted across Florida Bay. Very difficult to track.”
“But not impossible. We’ve already picked up his trail. He won’t know that. He might suspect that we’ll be after him. But he won’t know for sure. Plus he’s got the girl, who’ll be desperate to escape.”
“He might’ve killed her,” de Boer said. “I’d be surprised if he hasn’t already. He has to know she’s worthless as leverage.”
“It’s a possibility. Probability I would say.”
“So, if we both agree he’ll head southeast, shouldn’t we try and intercept him there?”
The analyst sighed. “I know the Keys real well. Grew up in Marathon. The coast guard patrols night and day around Islamorada for cocaine smugglers. If they catch our guys out there, they’ll be wondering why a few of them were pulled over on the highway forty-eight hours earlier, and that would be a major red flag. Then we would be seriously fucked. The operation would be dead.”
De Boer sighed and contemplated the best way forward. “I say we continue on. Let’s spread out across Florida Bay. Let’s try and use our technological advantages. We have our night vision. But let’s listen in on the coast guard frequencies in case our guys are picked up.”
“Got it.”
“Another question is, What’s Stone’s plan going out there? Is he planning to hide out for a few days, weeks, and then head back to civilization?”
“Days would be far more realistic. He could survive out there for weeks, maybe months, by himself. But not with her.”
De Boer ran a few scenarios through his head. “He’ll head back to the mainland. And pretty soon. Cut and run.”
“Yeah, I second that.”
“This whole thing is fucked up,” he said.
The analyst remained quiet.
De Boer felt empty as he stared over the dark waters. “He’s already killed my brother. We’ve lost control of the situation. And it’s very difficult to put the fucker back in the box.”