“Switch seats,” McDermitt ordered and stood up.
Stockwell obliged, and once the captain was back at the helm, he slowly pulled back on the throttles, bringing the Revenge down to idle speed just inside the reef line, west of American Shoal. Travis noted that they were a good three miles from shore.
Turning to Travis, Jesse studied the side of his face. “Bullshit, Colonel. I haven’t had a paygrade in over eight years now. I don’t give a hairy rat’s ass whose idea it was, but making Deuce lie to his friends goes completely contrary to his sense of honor. You can spout national security all you want, but I know it’s about control, and you’re not the controlling type. But Deuce would never jeopardize the security of this country, and if he were ordered not to divulge something, he wouldn’t. That forces him to lie, which is so against his nature, he’d alienate himself from his friends, pretty much like he’s doing now. Tell me I’m off base.”
Travis looked starboard, toward the distant shore. “Chyrel’s good. No doubt she picked up some intel she wasn’t supposed to and passed it on to you. That’s not good.”
Glancing over, McDermitt seemed almost relieved at what Stockwell said. “Chyrel’s one of the good ones. If it’s even implied that something should be kept secret, she wouldn’t spill. She told me straight up she wasn’t allowed to talk to me about anything job-related. Just because I’m a grunt doesn’t mean I can’t add two and two, Colonel. You’ve been lying to me all along. And spying on me. I never mentioned Bradley’s first name.”
Stockwell turned quickly toward his friend and started to say something.
“Please don’t compound that lie with a lie of denial,” McDermitt interrupted. “There’s no investigation going on into Charity’s disappearance. That means she’s on the company clock. If you even attempt to deny it, you’ll swim to shore from here.”
Stockwell involuntarily tightened his grip on the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being dressed down and felt like a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant that he’d made such a blunder. After a moment, he relaxed and sighed. “It was just a matter of time until you and the other team members put it together.”
“She’s doing wet work for the DHS and you’re her handler?”
“No, not DHS,” Stockwell replied vaguely, looking off toward shore once more.
“You’re shittin’ me! The CIA?”
Stockwell turned toward the man he considered a friend. He’d hoped the truth wouldn’t come out quite so soon, but known that it would sooner or later. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“And Deuce knows, but was ordered to keep it under his hat?”
Lowering his head slightly, Stockwell replied, “Even his wife doesn’t know.”
The truth was that Deuce was in a situation where his duty had to be placed above his honor. Though he didn’t like it one bit, Stockwell had indeed ordered the man to lie. The Revenge gently rocked in the swells, with the sun high above the eastern horizon. Gulls dove toward the stream of turbulent water at the stern as if expecting someone to throw fish guts overboard. Suddenly, McDermitt pushed the throttles to the stops and the big boat nearly leapt out of the water.
“Sometimes, Colonel,” McDermitt began, obviously irritated, “A man’s honor has to be placed above his duty. Maybe not with everyone. There are plenty out there whose sense of duty easily outweighs their sense of honor. Not with a man like Deuce, though. This has to be tearing at the very fabric of his being.”
“You have to keep what you know to yourself, Jesse.”
Turning in his seat, McDermitt gave Stockwell a threatening look. “Like hell I do, Director. Don’t worry, I won’t be shouting it from the rooftops, but there are people in the man’s life that have a right to know. People in Charity’s life, too. Their friends and family. Deuce can’t function at a hundred percent with a lie to his wife hanging over his head.”
“This is why you brought me along? So you could threaten to feed me to the sharks if I didn’t divulge a matter of national security? What Charity’s doing down there is important, and she’s good at it.”
“I’ve no doubt she is,” McDermitt said. “I’ve seen her work up close. With your predecessor.” He seemed to relax after a moment and pulled back on the throttles, slowing the boat but not coming down off plane. “Truth is, I do need you, Travis. These guys in Key West are dangerous.”
Stockwell knew full well the kind of man McDermitt was, and he also knew that he could trust the man’s judgment. He grinned at Jesse and said, “Then let’s go see the fortune teller. We can figure the other problem out later, all right?”
When Charity woke the next morning, Rene was gone. How he’d slipped out of her bed without waking her was a mystery. She struggled to free herself from the disheveled sheets and blanket.
When she rose, she found two of the pillows on the floor, along with her faded yellow tee-shirt. Picking it up, she pulled it over her head, tossing her hair and pulling the shirt down over her hips before stepping through the open glass doors and onto the balcony.
“Good morning,” Rene said, startling her. He was seated in the corner, hidden by the partially closed drapes inside.
“I thought you’d left,” Charity said, looking away from him and out over the water below.
“Considered it,” he replied, standing and moving to the rail beside her. “But I thought it’d seem kinda cheap and tawdry.”
A gust of wind blew Charity’s hair across her face. She managed to tuck most of it behind her ear, but a few strands escaped her as she turned her head to face him. “So you’re not the slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am type?” she asked with a smile.
“Hardly,” Rene replied with a chuckle. “What are your plans today? Or will you have to kill me, if you tell me?”
Charity considered the question. Having an extra pair of eyes would be a benefit and Rene, being someone trained to observe and remember, would be far better than the one-eyed giant she’d taken upriver yesterday.
“I want to fly upriver again,” she replied, reaching a decision. “There’s a man up there I need to talk to. Would you care to tag along?”
“Up the Manamo?” Rene asked. Charity nodded and he considered it for a moment. “Yeah, I could do that. I don’t leave for a couple of days.”
“Good,” Charity said, turning and clasping her fingers behind his neck. Rene slid into her embrace, the surprise in his eyes evident when his hands found only her bare back and bottom.
Charity leaned in and kissed him. Not a deep, passionate kiss like the night before, but not a quick peck, either.
Rene drew her closer and she whispered in his ear, “I need a shower, coffee, and food, in that order.” Then she pushed him back slightly. “Neither of us slept much last night.”
“You mean that really happened? I thought I was dreaming.”
She smiled, remembering how much they’d had to drink at the festival and how for a few hours, she’d been just a woman enjoying life and having fun with a man.
“If it was a dream, it was an exhausting one,” she said.
“I’ll meet you up there. I need a shower myself.”
“The shower’s big enough for two here,” Charity said, then gave him a wicked smile. “And there’s a hot tub.”
Two hours later, with the sun already halfway up the morning sky, Charity and Rene stepped out of the elevator in the lobby. She stopped at the concierge’s desk and asked if there was a package for her and the man disappeared into a room behind the desk. He returned with a small box, which she signed for and stuffed into her backpack. Outside, she started toward the lone taxi waiting by the entrance, but Rene put a hand on her shoulder.
“We can take my scooter,” he offered, nodding toward a row of rental scooters and bikes. “It’s just over there.”
Once he got the little machine started, Charity threw a leg over and climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. The ride to the airport only took a couple of minutes. Rene pulled into th
e private aircraft terminal, parking the scooter under some trees in the corner of the lot.
Ten minutes later, they were airborne, climbing in a steep turn, banking to the left over the shore line. Charity glanced over at Rene. Unlike the man from the previous day, he was sitting comfortably, craning his neck slightly to look down at the people on the beach.
“Do you handle a boat as well as you do this Huey?” Rene asked over the intercom headset.
“Not yet,” she replied. “I’ve been sailing and flying ever since I was a kid. More flying than sailing the last few years.”
“Who’s this guy you’re going to meet?”
“I’m not sure. He’s a farmer, is about all I know.”
“You don’t even know his name?” Rene asked, as Charity put the chopper into a shallow dive, heading towards the wave tops just beyond the southern tip of the island.
“No, but I think it’s important that I talk with him.”
A hundred feet above the water, Charity leveled off, pointing the nose of the chopper straight in the direction of the farm where the old man lived. No messing around, flying along the river, she thought. Straight in, then maybe fly over that wall again on the way out.
As they approached the mainland, the jungle canopy rose up from a deserted beach. Charity pulled back on the cyclic, bringing the bird up higher. Just like the day before, the jungle looked like something from some distant time, green and impenetrable as far as she could see.
“Beautiful,” Rene said, as they soared over the desolate beach and the trees just beyond it.
“Not far removed from the primordial ooze our ancestors crawled out of,” Charity remarked, remembering what Napier had said about the jungle.
“How far upriver is this farmer?”
“Not far,” she replied, pointing to the GPS display on the dash. “I was there yesterday, but we flew along the river and it winds back and forth a lot.”
“We?”
“My guide showed me the way.”
Off to the right, the river could be seen whenever it twisted east or west from its mostly north-to-south course. It didn’t take long at all before there were signs of civilization. A large swath of jungle opened up into a clear-cut area, laid out in haphazard grids.
Near the middle, a portion of the jungle remained, and Charity could see that there was a large clearing in the center of it that she’d missed yesterday.
Flying past the jungle oasis, she banked and looked past Rene at the clearing. It appeared to be plenty large enough to land in. Hopefully there wasn’t any loose debris that might get whipped up into the rotors. As Charity circled back, she decided stealth was worth the risk, seeing nothing but grass in the clearing.
“You’re going to land in there?” Rene asked, with a tinge of alarm in his voice.
Without answering, Charity pulled back on the cyclic, bleeding off speed as she banked even more to the right and increased power. Slowly, she leveled the Huey and carefully brought it down into the clearing, the chopper seeming to be swallowed up by the dense jungle around it.
When they were on the ground, Charity quickly shut down the turbine and moved aft, opening the storage locker. Reaching over, she pushed on the release catch and removed the tray full of camera equipment and set it aside.
“Are you armed?” she asked, looking up at Rene.
“I thought it would be wise,” he replied, looking down into the false bottom of the storage locker at Charity’s weapons. “But apparently not as well as you are.”
She removed the sniper rifle and a second handgun, handing the Sig Sauer to Rene. “You can never be too well-armed.”
Opening her backpack, she removed her own holstered Sig and clipped it onto her belt. Sliding open the cargo door, Charity quickly stepped down. When she turned toward the front of the chopper, a small man was standing just beyond the nose of the bird. He wore a long loincloth tied around his narrow waist and a faded Jimmy Buffett tee-shirt.
It was the old man she’d seen in her dreams, and again yesterday. He looked to be quite ancient, lines etching his face like a roadmap. His hair was long and mostly silver, his skin the color of Georgia clay. But it was his eyes that drew Charity’s attention. Dark brown, clear, showing no fear, and full of wisdom.
“I am Vicente,” he said. “Buyei of the Ye’kuana people.”
Slinging the rifle over her left shoulder, Charity stepped closer to the old man, moving slowly so she wouldn’t frighten him.
“My name is Charity Styleski,” she said, using the name her great-grandfather had arrived in America with. She didn’t know why she said it—her grandfather had changed it, dropping the ki before her father was born. The man’s calming eyes inspired her to be completely open and honest.
“You are the wind dancer spirit,” the old man replied, as Rene stepped up to join her.
She remembered suddenly her first dream about this man, and subsequent dreams about this place. As she slowly looked around the clearing, everything seemed familiar. Near the tree line, she saw two young boys hiding. She’d forgotten that first dream, where the old man had stood on the deck of her boat and she told him its name.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I am Wind Dancer.”
“Did you hear that?” Karl asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Hear what?” Jenifer said, finally pulling away from him, thankful for any distraction. “We will be married soon, Karl. We have to wait until then.”
Karl turned, putting a hand behind his ear. Far in the distance, he heard the same whumping sound he’d heard before the helicopter came around the bend in the river. This time the sound was softer, and steady. It seemed to emanate from the jungle, far beyond the river to the east.
“It is the helicopter,” Karl said, in a voice so low nobody could hear it.
Jogging quickly to the door in the wall, Karl pushed it open with his shoulder and stepped through. The farmers were scattered all through the huge field to the south, some swinging scythes and axes to cut back the jungle plants. Others were piling the cut leaves, branches, vines, and deadfalls into piles, two of which were already blazing.
As Karl approached him, the babo turned toward him. “It should never get like this, Karl. If Mister Wirth is unable to keep up with it during the harvest, your men will have to do it.”
“I think the helicopter is returning,” Karl said. “I could hear it, far off to the east.”
The babo turned and took several steps toward the river, listening. But with the sounds of the men working, Karl knew he would not be able to hear it.
“Come to the other side,” Karl said. “There is too much noise here.”
The two men walked through the door and Karl pulled it closed. Jenifer had walked toward the river, and motioned them to follow. When they caught up to her, she was standing with her head cocked slightly, as if listening to something.
“It is very far away,” Jenifer said. “I can only hear it now and then.”
The two men listened. “I hear nothing,” Beisch said.
Neither Karl nor Jenifer replied for a moment. Then Karl heard the helicopter again, the whumping growing louder as it had the previous day, but still far off to the southeast.
“There!” Karl said. “Do you hear it now?”
“Yes,” Beisch replied, putting a hand to his chin, deep in thought.
The sound grew in intensity, becoming steady, but it still seemed very far off. After a moment, the whumping stopped. Karl waited a long minute, to see if he could hear it again, but all was silent. Stepping further away from the wall, Karl cupped a hand behind his ear again and waited, but the sound was gone.
“It landed,” the babo said. “What is down there, where a helicopter can land?”
Turning toward Beisch and Jenifer, Karl replied, “The farms.”
“Go get the boat!” Beisch shouted. “Bring two of your men and pick me up here.”
Sprinting to the ATV, Karl climbed in and started the engine. Ja
mming the gear shifter into low, he stomped the throttle, spinning the rear tires and slinging mud as he turned toward the trailhead. He drove the machine as fast as possible back toward his home, and came sliding to a stop at the house next to his.
“Rolph!” Karl shouted at the house.
The door opened and Rolph Hoffman stepped out onto the porch, his young wife cowering behind him. “What is it, Karl?”
“Get one of the men! Anyone you can find quickly, and meet me at the pier.”
As Hoffman started down the steps, Karl started the machine and raced across the yard separating the two homes. He stopped at his small shop and ran inside. Uncasing his rifle, he returned quickly to the machine and roared off again. A minute later, he was on the boat. After stowing the rifle, he quickly started the engine and untied the stern line from the dock. The current kept the boat in place.
Rolph came trotting down the dock, David Kohler right behind him. Rolph Hoffman was Karl’s most trusted man, and Kohler one of the biggest in Karl’s small security force.
“David, get the bow line!” Karl shouted, as Rolph stepped down into the boat.
“What is going on?” Rolph said. “Why the hurry?”
“The helicopter returned,” Karl said, as Kohler pushed the bow away from the dock and leaped aboard. “It sounded as if it might have landed at one of the farms.”
Karl engaged the transmission, turned the boat upriver, and accelerated. Minutes later, the boat rounded the bend in the river, and the wall came into view. Beisch was standing at the water’s edge, hands on his hips.
Karl turned toward shore, slowing the boat until it nosed up on the bank next to the leader. The babo grabbed the low rail in both hands and vaulted upward, slinging his right leg over the rail, as his arms straightened, holding him high above the side of the boat.
Once the babo was onboard, Karl reversed the engine, catching a glimpse of Jenifer and her father standing by the wall, watching them. The girl smiled and waved as Karl backed away from the bank and turned the boat upriver. He nodded at her as he shifted the engine to forward and accelerated toward the farms.
Ruthless Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 2) Page 14