After waiting in the long line at the landing, he boarded the second ferry that arrived. The ferry was at capacity. He stood on the bow for the three-minute trip to the City Hall landing, wondering what Kaplan so urgently wanted and why Beth had a tone of panic in her voice. He disembarked and walked along the river, as the group had the first night, thus avoiding the always overcrowded tunnel where River Street went under the Hyatt.
The breeze tousled his hair. When he left for the airport earlier in the morning, he was dressed for the cool morning—blue jeans, a long-sleeved yellow button-down, brown leather jacket and Timberland hiking boots. He was comfortable now but realized soon he wouldn’t be and wished he had changed his shirt and dropped off his jacket while he was at the Westin. It was too late now.
He rounded the corner of the Hyatt and right in front of him was Kevin Barry’s Pub, looking much different in the daylight than at night. The sunlight revealed its age. Faded wood panels had long since weathered and were in desperate need of paint. Sun bleached letters had lost their Irish green luster.
To his right a crowd had gathered around a young man breakdancing to funky Irish music playing from a boom box. He was dressed in traditional St. Patrick’s Day style—green. The music was loud.
He made his way toward the pub, craning his neck to see through the crowd watching the dancer and looking for any sign of Beth or Kaplan.
He turned around toward the pub and ran into four young men, college age, with painted faces. Painted green. Two of them wore tall fuzzy hats. Green and white. Cat-in-the-Hat style hats. The other two wore wigs—one, a green Afro-style wig, and the other, green dreadlocks. All of the young men held mugs of green beer, not their first mug of the day.
Jake worked his way through the crowded entrance of Barry’s and looked in. The pub was busy yet there seemed to be seats available at the bar. He noticed the sign over the bar he’d seen on his first visit. It read “CE’AL MI’LE FA’ILTE” across the top and, in an arch in the middle, “Kevin Barry’s.” He had no idea what the words meant.
A few patrons had come in for an early lunch. He looked around for Beth and Kaplan. He moved through to the main restaurant and scanned the dining area. A band was setting up equipment. He went upstairs and checked the Balcony Bar and Liberty Hall dining room. No Beth. No Kaplan.
He took a seat in the Balcony Bar. He figured it an ideal spot as it offered a clear view out over River Street. He should be able to spot Beth and Kaplan without much difficulty.
A female bartender walked up behind him and said, “Hello, welcome to Barry’s—may I get you something?”
He looked at her big brown eyes, warm and inviting. She was attractive, mid twenties, with thick brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. She wore a clingy white knit skirt that stopped just below the knees, along with a t-shirt bearing the Barry’s Pub name and logo. “Not right now,” he replied. “I’m waiting on a couple of friends.”
He noticed her right forearm and wrist were wrapped in a black Velcro arm splint. “What did you do to your arm?”
“I broke it last week snowboarding,” she replied.
He detected her Northern accent and smiled. “Your accent, I can’t quite place it. Somewhere up north, certainly not Savannah,” he said. “Nope. I’m from Michigan. A little town just north of Detroit.” “So, are you a Yankee, or a damn Yankee?” Jake quipped.
“What’s the difference?”
“A Yankee comes down South, then goes home. A damn Yankee comes down here and never leaves.” He gave her an impish grin.
She waited a second or two, then smiled back. “I’m just a Yankee. I’m going back home when I finish school in Savannah.”
“What school is that?”
“SCAD.”
He looked puzzled.
“Savannah College of Art and Design,” she said.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that. I’ve seen the signs around town.”
“Just give me a shout when you’re ready to order.”
She moved to another table.
He took out his cell phone and placed a call to Beth. After the sixth ring, it went to her voice mail. After waiting for ten minutes, he decided to go ahead and order something to eat. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and the hunger pangs got stronger with each whiff from the kitchen.
He leaned back and waved at the waitress to get her attention. She nodded and gave him the “be right there” wave. He turned around and faced the window again, scanning the crowd for any sign of Beth or Kaplan.
A man stared up at him from the street.
Jake instantly recognized him.
CHAPTER 37
Jake stood abruptly and took two steps back away from the glass, bumping into the waitress. He turned to her, opened his mouth, but said nothing.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said. He struggled to think of an explanation and finally said, “Do you see that big man with the streak in his hair?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen him in here before. He’s creepy looking, his eyes and all. He’s rude and a bad tipper.”
“What’s he doing now?” he asked.
“He’s trying to get across River Street. Looks like he’s coming in here.”
He needed to find Beth. He was worried about her safety and with the current path the investigation was taking, this man now could be a threat. He needed a cover story. He couldn’t just tell the waitress his suspicions.
“That’s my ex’s new boyfriend. He’s real jealous and he’s real mean.”
“And real ugly.” She said, “There’s something’s wrong with your ex if she traded you in for him.”
“Is there another way out of here?”
“Yes. There are two doors on this floor that exit onto the alley in the back. One is just under that exit sign and the other is through that door.” She pointed to a small door bearing the sign, “Office.”
“But you have to zigzag through the kitchen to get out that way,” she said.
“Which one is quickest?”
“Just go through that door at the exit sign and you’re in the alley.” “Thanks. I owe you one,” Jake ran for the door.
* * * Kaplan stood outside the doorway of the Riverhouse Bakery, two doors down from the entrance to Kevin Barry’s Pub. Bubbles rained down on him from the Loafer’s Loft gift shop directly above him.
He watched the man in the doorway to the pub, looking around, blocking the entrance. Two college-aged girls tried to squeeze around him. One said, “Do you mind?” The other, “Puleeze, how rude.” The man didn’t move.
He had noticed the man following Jake as soon as Jake got off the ferry. He recognized him from the description Jake had given him the day before in front of the Gulfstream plant. He had been on his own way to catch up to Jake when he picked up on Jake’s tail by chance.
When Jake stopped, the man stopped. When Jake turned around, the big man ducked to conceal his presence.
When Jake had stopped at the green-faced boys, Kaplan stepped to the other side of the break-dancer in order to observe both Jake and the big man. No doubt about it, the man was following Jake.
He looked at the two doorways, the only ways in or out of Barry’s Pub from the River Street level. He repositioned himself next to the Hyatt tunnel for a better vantage point. The big man disappeared inside. Jake was still inside. At least, Kaplan thought Jake was still in there, until he saw someone moving out from behind Barry’s on the second-floor level. He saw Jake run across the ramp and over to the stone steps that led up the bluff to the front of the Hyatt at the Bay Street level.
He glanced up at the balcony bar window and saw the big man grab the waitress. He shook her and she pointed toward the rear of the bar.
He moved to warn Jake when he spotted the man again, coming out from behind Barry’s Pub at the same place Jake had come from. The man moved quickly to the stone steps, shoving people out of his way. He could see Jake was nearly at the top of the steps when the man reached the
bottom of the stone steps.
Stalking the big man reminded him of a time long ago when he first encountered covert urban operations.
In December 1987, he had been dropped into a remote portion of the Panama jungle on a covert mission with three other soldiers. Their mission was to scout, locate, and map the position of target officials and facilities of Panama as intel for what became Operation Bushmaster. Operation Bushmaster was an operation that used infantry units to supplement military police patrols in Panama, specifically the areas immediately surrounding the Panama Canal and American installations. Their mission was primarily executed under the cover of darkness and they were told that, in the event of capture by General Noriega’s forces, the U.S. government would disavow their operation and claim they were merely mercenaries.
When Operation Bushmaster became official, he and his team were extracted and returned to the United States.
In early December 1989, he received an acceptance letter from the FAA, his start date would be in March. However, on Christmas Eve 1989, Kaplan found himself on another C-130 Hercules transport plane leaving Hurlburt Air Field in the Florida Panhandle in the dead of night, headed for Panama again.
This time his main target was General Noriega’s second-incommand, Raul Diego. He’d acquired his target and followed him through the streets of Panama City. Diego drove from bar to bar ending up at the doorstep of an ill-reputed whorehouse with his favorite prostitute, Angelina Vasquez. He stayed close but out of sight and when Diego arrived, he radioed his squad, “Blue jay is in his nest.” The squad moved in through the rear entrance, as prearranged with Vasquez, and captured Diego, literally with his pants around his knees.
The extraction went as planned and when placed in confinement, Diego divulged enough information to make the operation a success.
He’d all but forgotten Panama and what it had taken to survive there, sure that he would never need those skills again—that is, until now.
He knew Jake was in big trouble.
He also knew he had to help.
CHAPTER 38
Jake heard the noise of the parade, already in progress along Bay Street. He moved fast to the stone steps leading to Bay Street and into the mob of revelers watching the parade. He hoped to blend in with the crowd. When he reached the top of the steps, he turned east toward the Hyatt entrance.
He paused at the corner of the hotel, pulled out his cell phone and hit redial. Still no answer. Where was Beth?
Jake looked over his left shoulder, one last look down at River Street.
He saw the big man.
And the man saw Jake.
He jammed his phone back in his jacket pocket, turned back toward the east, and walked as briskly as the crowded sidewalk would allow. He turned around again to look for the big man. The one advantage Jake had was his size, not too tall to stand out. The big man’s height was a disadvantage and Jake spotted him right away, now walking across the Hyatt driveway looking straight at him.
He tried to think rationally. What could this man want with him? He could just be doing what the other thousands of people here were doing, enjoying the St. Patrick’s Day festivities.
He looked back at the man again and his instincts told him—run. This man is trouble.
He ran across the brick driveway toward City Hall. A drunken college student wearing a huge green foam cowboy hat was taunting a pretty girl with his beads. His buddies were chanting words of encouragement egging her on. Looking up, Jake could see the clock just below the gold dome of City Hall.
The clock showed 11:55.
The music was louder as the bands in the parade marched down Bay Street. Another roar from the college boys behind him. He turned around to see the young woman pull the front of her shirt up to her neck and shake her breasts. Her nipples were covered with green shamrock pasties.
The throngs of revelers packed the park in front of the Hyatt entrance, obscuring most of the parade from view. Only the floats were visible above the crowd.
He stopped at the corner of City Hall and looked back across the front of the Hyatt. He had a relatively clear view of everyone coming across the entrance as the swelling crowds jammed up next to Bay Street to watch the parade.
Then he spotted the man with the blaze in his hair. The man stopped and looked around. Jake tried to round the corner of the building but wasn’t fast enough. He peered back around the corner and saw the man coming toward him fast.
He pushed his way through the massive crowd packed in front of City Hall, where the distance from the building to the street was much smaller. He bumped into a man wearing a camouflage baseball cap and a green wife-beater shirt.
“Hey! What’s your problem, man?”
“Sorry, man,” Jake said, and moved as quickly as he could past City Hall.
He walked east in front of the old Savannah Cotton Exchange, now Solomon’s Lodge Freemason Hall. A red-winged lion guarded the front of the old Exchange.
He stopped for the parade at the corner of Bay and Abercorn streets. Looking up at the old majestic live oaks, still bearing their leaves, he saw Spanish moss hanging from the limbs and gently swaying back and forth in the breeze.
He looked around at faces, searching for his pursuer. A vendor selling beads, hats and trinkets stood next to the light pole on the corner. Three teenage girls walked by giggling, each with a headband supporting two shamrock antennas.
He heard one of the girls say, “Did you see his hair? And his eyes … they were creepy looking.”
A flood of panic swept over him.
He scanned the area.
He saw nothing.
He feverishly looked around, jumping up to see over the sea of green headwear.
Then he saw the man.
Twenty feet away, coming right at him.
* * * Without hesitation, Jake ran into Bay Street, cutting through the middle of a high school marching band. He almost made it across the street without running into anyone, until a band member raised his trombone to play. He collided with the shining brass horn, knocking it free from the musician’s hands. The horn bounced twice on the red brick crosswalk.
Jake jumped over the horn and kept running. The band member shouted at him in anger.
He turned south down Abercorn. Looking back over his shoulder as he ran. He made it forty feet before he lost his footing when the sidewalk suddenly dipped at an entrance to a parking garage. He tumbled onto the concrete entrance landing hard on his left shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder and into his neck. He rolled over and looked at his shoulder, his leather jacket was scuffed and stitching had pulled loose. He was glad he was wearing the jacket now.
He jumped to his feet. His left shoulder throbbed from the impact on the pavement. Farther down the sidewalk, a vendor selling green beer in two-foot-tall plastic glasses looked at him, then shook his head in disgust at what appeared to be just another drunk.
Glancing back the other way, he saw the huge man crossing Bay Street. Jake had increased his lead to a hundred feet.
Almost all of the streets in the Historic District were closed to vehicular traffic during the parade. Jake stepped into Abercorn and ran down the middle of the street until he reached Reynolds Square.
The square was full of revelers. A vendor selling strands of green beads to two teenage boys had set up his station next to a park bench, not far from the statue of John Wesley that stood in the center of the square.
Panting, he slowed to a brisk walk, weaved through the mass of people, looked around and saw the man gaining on him again.
He broke into a full sprint out of Reynolds Square, south on Abercorn past the Lucas Theatre. As he approached Broughton Street, he saw the parade coming north on Abercorn. The parade turned east at Broughton, so he turned west.
The corner and surrounding streets were lined with people, some having camped out for hours ahead of time in order to get a good view of the parade. Many had set up chairs with their coolers close by. A few even set
up umbrellas for shade, but Savannah’s Finest made them take the umbrellas down for safety reasons as the crowds grew.
He ran diagonally across Broughton Street at the Broughton Municipal Building toward the Marshall House. Two blocks farther, he reached Bull Street, where the sidewalks were again jammed with parade-watchers.
The parade was moving south on Bull toward the end of its route. The route had started on the southern end of the historic district, looped through downtown, then ended back just a few blocks from where it began.
Jake weaved through the crowd, stopping underneath the awning at Starbucks. He looked back and hoped he had lost his follower. The aroma of the coffee shop made him realize he hadn’t eaten all day. His stomach growled at him in protest. He paused, looking around for a few moments to get his bearings, until his angst pushed him onward. He followed alongside the parade down Bull Street.
The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series) Page 15