The Carducci Convergence

by Nicolas Olano

  The people at the Sports Shop were very cooperative and both the FBI agent and the detective from Kansas were looking at the security tape. The man with white-blond hair under a baseball cap and wraparound sunglasses had pinged the facial biometrics but as much as they looked this guy could not be positively matched to any of the photos of Enrico Testa. The man had bought a small tent, sleeping bag, lantern, batteries, water, cord saws, all-in-one fishing gear, power bars, and a sling spear. The last could be considered a weapon but was nothing out of the ordinary. He had paid in cash a total of $287.50 and never looked at the camera. On the way out he had his head down while examining his purchases and no more was seen of him.

  “That didn’t help much” said Delany as they left the shop with a copy of the tape and the bill.

  “I’m not too sure about that,” said Amiable. “If he knows we’re on to him he won’t go to a hotel and the things he bought means that he can be camping out somewhere. The problem is that there are hundreds of places where he could be.”

  “In that case I suggest we start looking from the Carducci house outwards progressively and see if we hit pay dirt. Let’s go to SPD headquarters and brief them on this. They can do the legwork and we can follow up if they find anything suspicious.”

  Marco and Patricia spent the whole day following up on their respective businesses. Patricia was looking at the southern harvest that was just about completed while Marco was reviewing his encoded mail systems that were now on the secure servers that Francisco Lujan’s organization had. All of the Carducci communications were being routed through there, which meant that the electronic digging that NSA and other interested parties were doing was hitting a very hard and permanently changing wall. Among the many routine emails, the reports from Leon, and updates from Ian Carlo, Marco found a rather cryptic and intriguing one from a Mr. John Convers of the British Overseas Investment Bank. He asked for a meeting, in person, as soon as possible. He had signed it Chair Person and Director.

  Toby Carson had been working for Special Agent Joseph Delany for a few weeks since he had wisely sent him a heads up on the subject he was searching for through the facial identification program. The only thing was that so far it was really boring. All he did was review cases that were being investigated by FBI offices all over the country and prepare hundred-word briefs for Delany. Some were interesting but most were terribly mundane and repetitive; that is, until today. Toby had been instructed by Special Agent Delany, his SAC, to join seven other agents on a special surveillance detail. He could hardly believe the target of this stakeout and the difficulty that it implied.

  Since their two sons had left for college, Archibald Mason and his wife Cristina had found each other’s company increasingly unbearable and as discreetly as they could, separated and then divorced. The senator maintained what appeared to be an exemplary life of dedication to duty and service to the state; but today was one of his special days. He left his office a little after five and headed for the Round Robin Bar at the Willard Hotel. There he met with a lady friend with whom he had an occasional rendezvous, which was no news to the reporters that staked out the place. When they left the bar for the elevators nobody noticed. Once inside the room the senator shed his clothes and put on a white waist jacket like those used by the room service attendants. He left the lady watching television and slipped out of the room, holding a tray and keeping his face away from the cameras. He went to the service elevator and again avoided the camera behind the mirror on the upper corner. He got off in the basement and walked out to a loading platform, covering his face as if lighting a cigarette; the old worker catches a smoke and a few minutes rest. A car came to the back and the senator got into the passenger seat. It headed west and a few blocks away the driver got out and Archie took the wheel. He headed for Maryland.

  Several cars back at a discreet distance, Toby and a female agent named Betsy Blues followed the senator’s car. They had almost missed him when he came out, confusing him for whom he was supposed to be, a worker taking a break, except that Toby was on his toes and insisted that the target had just gotten into the car that was leaving. Betsy was smart enough to defer to Toby and followed the Buick as it left the alley and headed west. They saw the driver get out and Archibald Mason move to the driver’s seat. An oncoming car illuminated his face and the agents got their positive ID. They followed the senator to a small apartment building in Rockville just a block from the mall. They waited outside until a light went on. They checked the door for names on the third floor and only 3C had no name. They made a note of this and waited until the senator left two hours later and followed him. They observed the same routine but in reverse until finally Archibald Mason came out the front door of the Willard and headed home.

  M&M came back from his fishing at about noon. The morning had been slow and only one small school of tarpon had been seen, and they had no interest in the fly. Pete had moved onto a grass flat where he picked up a few redfish and a small snook but it was not what M&M was looking for. Later that afternoon he would try again and see if the change in tide would bring better luck. He joined Marco and Patricia for lunch and treated himself to a long siesta. That Amiable, he thought as he drifted off to sleep…what an intriguing and delightful person.

  Just when Delany and Manning were going out to have a bite they got a call from one of the patrol cars that were checking out the camping places. It was not a long drive and they decided to check it out first. The Gulf Beach Campground and Water Sports Rental was only a couple of miles from the Carducci home…maybe less by water. The manager had identified the photo from the Dick’s film and took the officers to a small campsite that held the bare minimum equipment: a one person pop-up tent, a flimsy sleeping bag, some water bottles, a half-empty box of power bars, and a cheap fishing rod and reel with a box of jigs and lures. That was it. The manager said that he didn’t know which car belonged to this guy as they were all parked away from the site. Most of the campers were out and probably wouldn’t be back until late. He hadn’t seen the man that day and had no idea where he could be.

  “This guy’s gotta be stalking the house from somewhere but I don’t see the point. It’s a fortress,” said Delany.

  “It has to be from the beach or the water somewhere. The front offers no view other than a solid wall and the side is that harbor where they keep their boat, and that’s wide open.” Manning pointed out.

  “Then it has to be the beach. Who’s out there?” asked Joseph.

  “I don’t know…it’s one of your people and a policewoman from SPD.”

  Delany called the FBI office and got the cell for the agent on the stakeout.

  “Agent Frost, this is Special Agent Delany. We have reason to think that the suspect will be using the beach or the water to check out the house. Have you seen anybody or anything even mildly suspicious?”

  “No sir, the beach is practically empty; a mother with two kids, some older couples playing cards, and a few fishermen down a hundred feet from where we are.”

  “I want you to check out the fishermen and call me back.”

  “We did that already. We walked past them twice and there’s nothing odd about them. Both are much younger than the suspect, kids really.”

  “Are there any boats around?”

  “Nothing at all; we saw a couple of kayaks earlier but they kept on going and we lost them around the point north of the house. Lots of boats go by but far out from the beach.”

  “OK, keep sharp; you should be replaced in an hour or so. Tell your replacements to stay on their toes.”

  “Yes sir.”

  ‘Not knowing what Testa is up to gives me the creeps,” said Delany. “We are talking about a cold-blooded killer with the highest training our beloved country can give a man to do that job and not someone that will give up because there are some guards and a few cameras.”

  ‘I hear you,” said Amiable, “but whatever he’s planning, it’ll be soon. Nobody can live for long on what he has h
ere.”

  …

  When Testa saw the skiff leave the house and head north he made two calls, one confirming a transfer and the other to give his hired help the go-ahead. It was just a few minutes before four in the afternoon. He would have his people ready to go around six.

  Delany called Marco and gave him an update on their day, and warned him that there was going to be some action soon and that he should take Patricia and leave the house.

  “Maybe that’s just what he wants us to do,” said Marco. “I feel safer here. I’ll alert the security company and we will be attentive, but leaving is not an option.”

  “We should be there about seven in the evening, we have a status meeting with the SPD but that should not take long and it’s about twenty minutes from your place, so expect us around that time.”

  “Be hungry, there will be dinner,” said Marco and hung up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  As the skiff meandered north M&M thought about last night. He and Amiable drank a couple of bottles of excellent Malbec and talked deep into the night. The boy had opened his soul to him and M&M had found it a treasure to be harvested with care and understanding. Any consummation of his lust would have to wait until Amiable really understood who he was and what he wanted. Until then he would exercise his well-honed patience.

  M&M and Pete had been searching the water, looking for the torpedo shapes of tarpon on the move or maybe tarpon rolling on the surface.

  “There’s a patch of nervous water at two o’clock,” said Pete pointing twenty feet left of where the tide ran through a pass rushing water into deeper contours that edged the flat.

  “I see it, but this angle doesn’t let us see the fish, cut the engine and we can use the trolling motor and see if it’s as good as you say…”

  “There…see that roll?”

  “Yes, got it!” said M&M getting ready.

  He had 40 feet of loosely coiled line at his feet, the rod out at 90° and a 15-foot loop of line dragging along. In his left hand he had a few loops of line and the fly held lightly between his thumb and forefinger. One back cast would be enough to take the fly high in back and ready the cast. Pete angled the skiff to give M&M the best possible shot at the oncoming fish, of which they could only see their backs and occasional tailfin as they rolled towards them. Baitfish took to the air, clearing away from the string of tarpon. M&M made the needed back cast to get the line and fly airborne and the rod loaded. He made one false cast forward, then another, and landed the cockroach fly right in the path of the lead fish. The tarpon veered off and opened its huge maw to inhale the tiny fly. M&M saw the take, waited a few seconds, and then grabbed the line in his left hand and jerked it hard away from the fish in a strip strike to set the hook. He hit the fish with three more strip strikes before all hell broke loose. The line turned rigid…and a second later what erupted out of the water was a submarine heading for the sky, except that it had a huge mouth and blood-red gills that could be seen under the flapping chrome gill-covers that clacked as the fish shook its head.

  Neither of the two men on the skiff could believe their eyes. This was the biggest tarpon either man had ever seen. It had to exceed two hundred pounds and the 16-pound class-tippet suddenly seemed like a thread leash for a St. Bernard. It was going to take every bit of skill from both men to get this fish to the boat before one of the knots failed or the tippet itself snapped.

  M&M gained on the fish with help from Pete who used the trolling motor expertly, and the tarpon jumped again not thirty feet from the boat. M&M bowed deeply to his flying majesty. It was even more impressive up close. Its silver flank and dark back spoke of a mature fish that had swum this migration many times and most probably lived through this experience before. M&M and the fish traded glances and continued with the battle. It was up close and personal. The fish would not run but held its ground, jumping only once more in hope of dislodging the hook that was well stuck into the corner of its lower jaw. M&M held the rod down with the tip close to the water, trying to anticipate and counter any roll that would give new air to the behemoth. Suddenly the fish changed its tactic and, peeling line from the reel at a nauseating rate, headed for deeper water. It used the current of the pass to its advantage and Pete tried to follow, poling as fast as he could and then with the trolling motor, but it was of no avail. In desperation M&M applied maximum pressure to the drag and, using the butt of his rod, put as much force to the side as he dared to see if he could turn the fish’s heading.

  Then…a muffled snap and the line went limp, followed almost instantly by M&M’s very spirit. It was nearly too much to take. Both men stood silently, thinking of what could have been, regretting moves, recounting ifs, but the tarpon was nothing but the memory that haunts the few lucky anglers who have glimpsed the impossible dream, if only for a moment.

  The afternoon dragged by at the Carducci home. Marco and Patricia had spent it working. They didn’t need to pay attention to their guests and there was nothing more that could be done about the crazy priest. They knew he was coming and they were ready for him; or at least as ready as they could be. Marco thought about this. He had everything that money could buy protecting his home and their lives, yet he had the lingering thought that a determined man with no fear for his own life could breach these gates of heaven…

  Delany and Manning listened to the reports of the SPD and the FBI contingencies that had worked all day on finding Testa. After locating the campsite they had combed the beach; water patrols then ran continuously up and down the adjacent miles of water from the Carducci home. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The patrols would be out until late but nothing was expected. Even a SPD helicopter had flown several overpasses around the house, the harbor, the mangroves and adjacent properties; nothing. No one had any new ideas, drones showed nothing; maybe Testa had seen it was an impossible feat and left the area.

  Patricia looked at her watch and saw that it was almost six in the evening. She went to the kitchen to see if Matilde had dinner under control and, satisfied, headed to the bathroom for a shower and change of clothes for when their guests arrived. She was quite fond of the young detective. He was such a contrast of smart and naïve that made her maternal instincts subvert her cool. M&M was a character for sure and she wondered if he had returned yet from fishing. The man was very independent and made himself at home without being in the least intrusive. She liked that in a houseguest. Then there was Delany, a forceful person but not offensive. He was non-judgmental and treated everyone with respect but there was a coldness about him that spoke of repressed anger and defensiveness. She wondered who or what had wounded his soul.

  Marco finished a long email to Leon on the international corporations, particularly the Canadian ones, and asked a series of questions about Scorpio Multimodal Transport Brokers since they had taken over the logistics of all of the Lujan and Carducci wine and the southern harvest promised to be a large one. Tired of working and tense with the thought of Testa, Marco felt like a swim. He changed into trunks and headed for the pool.

  M&M had cast to several other schools of tarpon that swam by deep and at an increasing speed, sensing the change of tide and ignoring his efforts. With his soul still drained from the loss of the giant tarpon that had escaped him, he decided to head back to the house to clean up and change for dinner. He looked forward to that. The table at the Carducci was exceptional and the vine unsurpassable, not to mention the great company that all of these people turned out to be…well, all but Delany; he was elusive to say that least.

  Pete pulled up the pole, rose, and shackled the trolling motor and cleared the deck for the run home. He started the big engine, which responded with a deep rumble, and quickly coaxed the skiff onto a plane heading south. The trip was only a twenty-minute ride but towards the end he would have to be extra careful with the low tide as he approached the point just north of the harbor. The water was calm and the sun was just above the horizon when he started south. By the time he reached the curv
e along the mangroves that led to the point it was beginning to get dark. The long shadows melted into dusk and then disappeared altogether when all that remained was the luminous horizon after the sunset.

  When they reached the point Pete stood up to keep a better view of the pass and slowed the skiff to maybe five miles an hour. As the bow came back down he noticed a kayak adrift just by the point. Some idiot must have left it untethered and now it had become a hazard. Pete slowed down even more to avoid hitting it.

  As he maneuvered the big skiff around the kayak an explosion of water burst from behind it and then he felt an impact on his right shoulder that sent him flying out of the boat and into the shallow water. He was disoriented but found the bottom with his feet and instinctively went for his gun only to discover that he had no use of his right arm. He felt with his left hand the place where the pain was centered and touched the spear that was imbedded in him. He tried to reach for the gun with his left hand but there was nothing in the holster. At that moment he heard the engine accelerate and the skiff depart. There was little he could do.

  M&M was paralyzed with fear; he was non-violent at a personal level and was overwhelmed by the sudden and unexpected attack. In seconds Pete was no longer there and a man dressed only in trunks and a T-shirt jumped into the boat and showed M&M a knife.

  “Stay still and you might live to see another day,” said Testa to the terrified passenger, who only looked at him without uttering a word.

  Testa took a cell phone out of a small waterproof pouch, auto-dialed a number, and said “now” into the mouthpiece and threw the phone overboard. He moved behind the center console of the skiff and inserted a plastic “key” into the emergency shut down plug vacated by Pete when he fell off. Testa started the engine and motored slowly back north until he was about 200 feet back, where he had shot Pete out of the boat with his spear gun. There he shifted the engine back into idle and waited for his hired help to put up their show.