Rising Spirit

by Wayne Stinnett

  “Now!” Deuce’s voice came over Andrew’s earwig.

  Even in the shadows with his eyes closed tightly, Andrew could still see the light. It flashed for only a second, then Andrew charged out from behind the boat, pistol raised.

  Sheena Mason, I thought, as I closed the laptop. I’d all but forgotten about her. She’d been the lead agent during the arrest of a United States congressman in Beaufort, South Carolina ten years ago. The congressman had hired a Jamaican gang to kidnap and murder his own daughter and mother-in-law. In the excitement of the chase and apprehension, I guess we’d both needed a distraction.

  I wasn’t overly worried about Eve and her family, though it weighed on my mind. I could call Chyrel and have her patch me into their comm, but Deuce and the others had practiced this kind of takedown many times. And even my anxious breathing would be a distraction. They had a huge technology and manpower advantage, and Stuart Lane had no idea that anybody was on to him. He might know that a Florida drug dealer named Stretch Buchannan knew why he was there, but I didn’t think Pritchard would cancel things because of that. I felt certain that before I went to sleep, Deuce would let me know that Lane was hog-tied face down on the floor of the van and that they were headed back to Key Largo. I knew I wouldn’t sleep until he did.

  As I was unlacing my boots, my phone rang. I grabbed it up, thinking it was Deuce already, but it was Judge Whitaker.

  “Did Pritchard call you?” I asked, without saying hello.

  “Yes, he did,” Ollie replied, sounding pleased. “I always wanted to be part of an undercover investigation.”

  “What’d the prosecutor have to say?”

  “He sort of beat around the bush at first,” Ollie said, sounding as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Finally, he just blurted out the question, asking if I knew who Stretch Buchannan was.”

  “And what did you say?”

  I could hear the judge chuckle. “I didn’t tell a lie,” he said. “Nothing I said could ever be used against me or you. But it was the way I said it. I told him that not only did I know who Stretch Buchannan was, but that I’d personally hired the man.”

  I grinned. The judge was a very smart man. By saying that he knew who Stretch was, he alluded to the fact that, unknown to Pritchard, he knew my real name.

  “Good choice of words, Ollie.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “There will be a third person meeting us for breakfast,” I replied. “An FBI agent by the name of Sheena Mason will be coming in from DC.”

  “The FBI? I thought it would be the state police.”

  “Fifty gallons of LSD means interstate distribution,” I replied. “Hell, probably worldwide. We’ll talk to Sheena in the morning and see how she wants to include state law enforcement.”

  The judge laughed. “In this case it would be the collective commonwealth law enforcement. The state police is the only Virginia government organization with the word state in its title. Weird, I know.”

  “I’ll never get used to it,” I offered. “You don’t mind meeting with the FBI, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Ollie replied. “I’ve met Special Agent Mason a few times.”

  This surprised me. “I’ve only met her once; ten years ago, down in South Carolina.”

  “Ten years ago?” he asked thoughtfully. “The arrest of former congressman Nick Cross?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “That case made her career. Were you involved?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I worked for Homeland Security at the time. The team I was with was tasked with rescuing Cross’s daughter and mother-in-law from Jamaican kidnappers in the Bahamas. It turned out that they were on Cross’s payroll and had double-crossed him.”

  “Good riddance, if you ask me.”

  “I agree.” My phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. “I have another call. See you in the morning.”

  I switched over, thinking surely that it was Deuce calling. “Did you get him?”

  “Get who?” a voice asked.

  For a moment I didn’t place it, then realized it was Pritchard.

  “Is this Aiden?” I asked in a friendly tone. “I thought you were someone else calling.”

  “I heard some distressing news a little while ago.”

  I pushed my boots off with my toes and grinned. “I bet you did, Aiden. You were holding out on me. And here I thought we were friends.”

  “Obviously our earlier arrangement will have to be renegotiated.” He was nothing if not focused.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Seven bucks a gallon sounds like a pretty good price to me.”

  “For the liquor, yes,” he said, not losing his cool. I had to give the guy credit. “You and I both know that’s not even a fair price for a drop of what Doctor Brown is making.”

  “I’m meeting my partners in the morning,” I said, becoming equally serious. “You tell me what you think is a fair price and I’ll mention it.”

  “Judge Whitaker?”

  I paused a moment for dramatic affect. “So, you know about my relationship with Ollie, huh?”

  “And I don’t like it one bit,” Pritchard said.

  “I don’t care if you like it or not, Aiden. That’s not how this kind of thing works in the real world. What? You figured you could corner the market or something, without anyone finding out? Give me a number.”

  “I already have a buyer,” Pritchard said. Then his voice broke ever so slightly. “I can cut you in. We’ll call it protection. A few others will be pretty upset.

  “Taliaferro?” I asked. “He’s in on the murder cover-up just as deeply as you are. He tries anything funny, prison will be his best outcome.”

  “My buyer is willing to pay two million for the first twenty gallons.”

  “Like I told the doctor, Aiden, I’m taking over your whole operation. I can find a buyer easy enough. Probably for more than that. I have contacts in this world—you don’t. All I want from you is a number that you can live with. And it ain’t two million. I told you, I’m a fair guy. So, let’s say… four times what your expenses are for the rye, the equipment to extract the ergotamine, and the manpower to do it. You spend or split that amount however you see fit.” He didn’t say anything. “Aiden?”

  “I’m still here, though I should just hang up.”

  “Is that any way to do business, counselor?” I asked. “Let’s not forget the videos and other evidence I have on you. I’m not a lawyer, but I bet it’s enough to put all of you in prison for the rest of your natural lives.”

  When he spoke again, it was with a voice resigned to defeat. “I’ll have to crunch some numbers.”

  “You do that, Aiden. Text me a number at six o’clock.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’m having breakfast with the judge and the person who will be making Monday’s pickup.”

  “I’ll text you,” he replied. “But it won’t be a negotiable price.”

  “Everything’s negotiable, Aiden.”

  I ended the call and set my phone on the desk. Taking my ditty bag out of my pack, I went to the head to brush my teeth and wash up. My phone rang again, and I raced back to the desk to grab it. It wasn’t Deuce, but I recognized the area code; Washington, DC.

  “Hello?”

  “Jesse McDermitt?” a woman’s voice asked. “Or should I say Stretch Buchannan?”

  “Special Agent Mason?”

  “Oh, come now, Jesse. I think we went a little beyond titles the last time we met.”

  “Sheena. How are you?”

  She laughed. “Much better off since we first met. I never had a chance to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” I asked.

  “Being the lead agent in the arrest and subsequent prosecution and conviction of a sitting co
ngressman was quite an accomplishment for my career.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was that big a deal.”

  “And now you have your sights set on an assistant state prosecutor in Virginia?”

  It was my turn to chuckle. “Assistant commonwealth prosecutor,” I corrected.

  “Paul told me that he’s involved in making moonshine and LSD,” Sheena said, getting serious. “You’re certain of his involvement? Neither is really the FBI’s territory.”

  “True,” I said. “The moonshine would be ATF and maybe the IRS. The LSD would fall under DEA. But since it involves the county’s prosecutor and sheriff planning to distribute across state lines, I thought maybe the FBI would be interested. He’s not just involved, Sheena; under the sheriff’s protection, Pritchard runs the operation. Or, he did, that is.”

  “Paul said you had him convinced you’re a drug smuggler and just muscled your way in,” she replied. “Yes, the FBI would be most interested. When can we get together?”

  “I’m having breakfast with Judge Oliver Whitaker. He’s the circuit-court judge here in Staunton and says he knows you.”

  “I remember him,” she said. “I was a witness in his court twice in the last couple of years.”

  That could present a problem. Pritchard has been prosecutor for longer than that and would obviously know her.

  “You’re there in Staunton now?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not far. I can be there in an hour.”

  I looked at my watch and thought of our last meeting and Sara at the same time. It was nearly 0100 now. Five hours until I was meeting the judge.

  “The judge and I will see you in the morning at the Cracker Barrel,” I said gently.

  There was a hint of disappointment in her voice when she replied. “In the morning?”

  “Yeah. It’s been a real long day and I was just about to go to sleep.”

  “Okay,” Sheena said. “Paul told me six o’clock. Is that right?”

  “Yeah—oh and one more thing; can you wear a dark wig?”

  “You don’t like natural blondes anymore?”

  “No—er—well, it’s because…”

  “Just busting your chops, Jesse,” she said, laughing. “You’re worried Aiden Pritchard might see us together, recognize me, and figure out what’s going on, right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “The two times I appeared in the Staunton courthouse, I was wearing a black wig, big dark sunglasses, pancake makeup, and enough lipstick to make a sailor blush, so I could maintain my undercover status. Coming as plain old me should be fine this time around. See you in the morning.”

  The call ended and I sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Sheena and I had had a brief affair, if you could call it that. It’d been more like a one-night stand that went on for a couple of days. She’d snuck into my room the night before we took down Congressman Nick Cross. I couldn’t let that happen again. I was single then. Though my relationship with Sara was a little unusual emotionally, it was mutually monogamous. I didn’t need to clutter my life with more than one woman. Two was completely out of the question.

  As I started toward the head to get a shower, I got a text message from Chyrel.

  Lane’s on his way to Largo. No injuries.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Eve and the kids were safe. I texted her my thanks and said I’d call her after meeting the judge. As I started to turn back toward the head, a movement outside my fifth-floor window caught my eye. I went over to it, drew open the curtains, and scanned the parking lot below.

  It was snowing.

  On the north side of town, Aiden Pritchard entered a well-lit all-night diner and went straight to a table in the corner, where Lou Taliaferro sat. Sunday was the only day that Lou wasn’t in uniform. Before sunrise there were only a handful of people inside.

  “Find out anything since I called you last night?” Lou asked, as Aiden took a seat.

  “Yeah, a lot. Stuart called last night. By now the job is done.”

  “You haven’t heard from him this morning?” Lou asked.

  Aiden dug his phone from his pocket. “No, I tried texting and he didn’t reply, so I called. It went straight to voicemail, so he’s probably still asleep or on the plane.”

  Aiden pulled up the picture his neighbor Keith Reed had sent him. “Ever see this woman around?”

  “Whoa,” Lou said, leaning in for a closer look. “No, I’d definitely remember her.”

  “That’s one of Buchannan’s people,” Aiden said, worriedly. “The two of them are having breakfast down at the Cracker Barrel.”

  “So? As soon as Stuart gets back, he’ll find out what Buchannan has on us and who else he’s told. There’s always an electronic trail.”

  “They’re having breakfast with Judge Whitaker.”

  “Oh my God,” Lou muttered under his breath. “This isn’t good.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Aiden said. “The judge is with Buchannan. He must have found out what we’re doing somehow and brought Buchannan in to take over for him.”

  “You mean they’re in cahoots?”

  “Yeah,” Aiden said. “Brown overheard Buchannan talking to the judge last night in the hotel restaurant. Seriously? I think the old coot is behind everything.”

  “This is turning into a real shit show, Aiden.” Lou studied his friend’s face a moment as he sipped at his coffee. “What else?”

  Aiden looked around the room and leaned slightly across the table. “They know about the other stuff, too.”

  “Dammit, Aiden!” Lou burst out.

  Several people looked over at them, but quickly turned back to their food or conversations. Aiden and Lou met in public all the time, and both were well-known in the diner. They often discussed high-profile cases and the townsfolk knew to leave them alone.

  “How the hell did he find out?” Lou hissed.

  “He’s staying at the same hotel Brown is in.”

  “Brown told him?”

  Aiden shook his head as Madge poured coffee in his cup and hovered the pot over Lou’s. Lou nodded and she topped his mug off, then walked away. She knew both men wouldn’t be ordering food. They only came here to talk and drink coffee.

  “No,” Aiden replied. “From what Brown said, Buchannan already knew about it. He even ordered him and Frank an after-dinner drink—rye whiskey—before introducing himself. Buchannan told them that he knew about what they were making in my old barn and he said he was taking over the whole operation.”

  Lou looked out the far window at the snow-covered field across the highway. “What are we gonna do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Aiden replied. “At least not right now. Once we know who else he’s told, we can send Stuart and Jeb after them. But until then, we’re just going to have to take a loss.”

  “You mean—”

  “Buchannan is expecting to pick up more than just the moonshine on Monday. He wants to know a price that will keep us in business and placated.”

  “How much has Brown made?”

  “By tomorrow morning, close to six gallons. But Buchannan doesn’t know that. Brown told me that he’d spilled the information to Buchannan that they’d already made two gallons.”

  “Then that’s all he’ll get,” Lou said. “Tell him two hundred grand.”

  “He’s no fool.” Aiden sipped at his coffee. “He’ll know that production is ongoing. And he made it real clear last night that he’s not interested in retail or even wholesale price. He wants to know just how much it will take to keep us productive.”

  “Okay,” Lou said. “Tell him four gallons at fifty grand each. That’s a loss of less than half, right? And we sell the other two gallons to your buyer at full price.�
�

  “That was my thought,” Aiden said, as he picked up his phone. “But he’s going to counter, I guarantee it.”

  “When it’s time,” Lou said, his voice low and menacing. “I want him all to myself.” He stabbed a finger at Aiden’s phone and said, “Jeb and Stuart can have the woman and I’ll force Buchannan to watch until they’re finished with her. Then I’ll slit that asshole’s throat from ear to ear.”

  When I got to the restaurant, there was a light dusting of snow on the grass, as well as the bare trees. It was still an hour before sunrise, but it was already light enough that I could tell the sky would be low and gray later on.

  The pavement and patches of dirt and rock were just wet. I guess they held enough heat from the previous day to keep the snow from sticking.

  The headlights of the rental truck swung across the long front porch of the building. As was usual for this chain, it was decorated with a collection of antique-looking odds and ends—rocking chairs and barrels with checker boards set up on them.

  The lot was mostly empty, but there were several cars parked around the corner. I saw the judge’s Buick out front and backed into the spot next to it. Ollie was behind the wheel. We both got out of our vehicles at the same time and shook hands at the front of my truck.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Hope you slept well.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said with a ready smile. “And, yes I did. Sorry if I woke you last night.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” He chuckled and smacked me on the back. “The older I get, the less sleep I need.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

  “You seem exceptionally jubilant.” Ollie snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you’re from Florida. Is this the first time you’ve seen snow?”