Gray Ghost (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 1)

by Swinney, C. L.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Dix dialed the number for Sergeant Michael Pierce, but as it rang, he heard the distinctive tone telling him he had an incoming call. He figured since he’d kept his sergeant in the dark this long, a few more minutes wouldn’t make much difference.

  He answered the incoming call from Snead. “Boy, you clear to copy some information?”

  “Absolutely. What have you got?”

  “Info on the boat. It was made in Florida and registered to Jackie Spears after she was found dead. It’s been registered in Jamaica, the Bahamas, and even Columbia. Aliases for different dead people were used for each registration in each country. Now, how do you like them facts?”

  Dix grunted. “This Caller guy’s good. He’s left no traces to anyone alive. Where were the tags sent?”

  “I checked. People can go to the DMV to pick up the decals and stickers.”

  Dix thought for a moment. “Don’t those places have cameras?”

  “Yep, at least the one here does. I’m not sure how my sources got the intel, but they said a white male adult picked up the decals and registration information for the speedboat you’re after. They said he looked at the cameras several times and grinned.”

  “I wonder what that means.”

  “Well, here’s where it gets real interesting. My guys tried to find the man through all available databases. Even used some facial recognition software. They got nothing. According to these guys, the smiling man doesn’t exist.”

  “Jesus. I wonder if he’s the Caller.” Dix felt himself get a little excited.

  “I wondered myself. The guy on the surveillance tapes was about thirty. How would he have the resources to pull this stuff off?”

  “Maybe he works for the Caller.” Man, this is getting complicated.

  “Some vacation.”

  Snead chuckled. “You and that pile of horse manure you keep stompin’ your big boots in.”

  “Go ahead. Rub it in.” Dix was laughing too.

  “You might want to know I’ve got certified copies of the registration for the boat. Since it’s currently registered out of Florida, I think you could make a case it belongs to the Miami-Dade Police Department.”

  “But it’s in the Bahamas right now.” Dix thought Snead had a point, but how could Miami-Dade claim it?

  “Seems to me, whoever retrieves the boat could file a claim on it.”

  Dix considered Snead’s point and decided it was way beyond time to report the situation to Sergeant Pierce.

  Snead cleared his throat. “Since you’re not saying anything, I’m guessing you’re thinking about what I just said. I figured you’d want this case for yourself.”

  “I do, but I really want to catch the Caller. And I think this one belongs to the Bahamians.”

  “Don’t know if guys that good get caught. You’ve been around long enough to know we usually only catch the ones who’re dumber than dirt.”

  “I know, but if we let the Bahamians get the boat and store it, the guy just might come looking for it.” Dix sounded hopeful.

  “Or he might just send more mercenaries.”

  “Good point,” Dix said. “But I think he’ll come himself.

  It’s too big a haul not to.”

  Snead ran scenarios that could help Dix. “He may show up to check on his sniper. He’ll want him pushin’ up daisies. What about calling the feds for extra help?”

  “Yes. I figure between the AWOL sniper and the sunken load, our guy won’t trust anyone else. We’re hoping the Bahamian cops will make contact with the Coast Guard, at least.”

  “Before you’re up to your neck in muck, call up Sergeant Pierce and drop the bomb on him.”

  Dix cringed. “That was my plan. Thanks for everything.”

  “Not a problem. Keep me in the loop.” The line went dead.

  Dix walked back to Roger’s house and shared the information he’d received from Snead with the others. Before he got caught up in small talk, he decided he’d waited long enough to talk to Sergeant Pierce.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dix called Pierce’s number again. This time he was determined to talk to him before he encountered more distractions. However, the call rolled to voicemail, so Dix left a message.

  Five minutes later, his phone rang.

  Even before Dix could answer, he heard his boss’s voice. “Pierce here. What’s up?”

  “Sergeant Pierce. Thanks for calling back. You know how Petersen seems to be a shit magnet?”

  Pierce laughed. “Don’t tell me you guys are in jail. That would make my day, maybe the whole year. Hell, probably my entire career.”

  Dix cleared his throat and tried to decide how to approach the subject. “I wish it was that easy. You know I wouldn’t call you for that.”

  “Then what the hell is it? We’re actually working here while you and Petersen lie in the sun. I don’t want to hear how great your trip is.”

  “This won’t take long, and it can’t wait.” Dix was prepared for his boss to erupt.

  “Damn it. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll give you the condensed version. We have a vessel last registered in Miami, Florida, that we think was headed to Miami before it was sunk. Both people on board were murdered. The boat is loaded with cocaine with a street value in excess of one hundred million dollars. A hired mercenary sniper, named M. A. Thomas, gave us information about the guy running the entire operation, a male adult known locally only as the Caller…”

  “Hold on!” Pierce slammed the horn is his car, “Hey, get the hell out of the way.”

  Dix laughed out loud.

  “Okay, continue with this crazy story,” said Pierce.

  “The sniper also confessed to the murders. He escaped and opened fire on the home where he’d been detained. The homeowner killed him before he could be turned over to the local police. They were called, and we told them most of what we knew. They have the coordinates for the speedboat and plan to bring it up and store it, but the facility they use isn’t secure. With your permission, Petersen and I would like to be involved at this end. Maybe Miami-Dade can get this guy.”

  Pierce shook his head. “Are you kidding me? You guys are on vacation in the Bahamas and you want the department’s help with a drug case you just happened to stumble into?”

  “Sarge, this case just might cinch your promotion to lieutenant, and the whole unit might get a commendation. Maybe the whole department. Think of the great publicity. We might need the help of the Coast Guard and whoever else you think would be useful.”

  Pierce covered the microphone on his phone, and Dix heard garbled conversation before the sergeant spoke again. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call the captain. You handle things on your end. I’ll notify the Coast Guard and U.S. Navy, and open a line of communication with the Bahamians. We do this right, and we got a shot of coming out as heroes. That is, as long as you two don’t mess it up.”

  “Okay, Sarge. Obviously, if I learn anything new, I’ll let you know.”

  Pierce grunted. “One more thing. You guys catch any fish? What do they call them, bones or something?”

  Dix chuckled. “Yeah, one. They’re called bonefish. Some of the locals call them gray ghosts.”

  “You get this deal done, and I just might approve your vacation request for next year.”

  Dix laughed as Pierce hung up.

  It had gone better than he’d thought. Now to get on with solving the case.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Snead fired up his computer, poured a tall cup of black coffee, and sent some requests to friends in other agencies. Then he waited. Soon the replies started. He waded through the suggestions and did his own follow-ups. Roughly three hours into it, he caught a break. According to his research, the speedboat was custom built in 2000, not 2007, and the buyer used an electronic fund transfer to purchase it.

  The wire transfer was a mistake. One of Snead’s contact’s skills was the ability to decipher worms, cod
es, and language intended to send interested parties in the wrong direction. Information embedded in the data was left behind. The transaction traced back to a Dell computer purchased by the Coast Guard. His heart nearly stopped.

  “Check again.”

  His contact replied, “There’s no mistake.”

  “Thanks. See if you can get the exact date and time of the transaction.”

  “Will do.”

  Snead hung up. He was starting to think someone in the Coast Guard could be involved in the mess Dix and Petersen were in.

  If he was lucky, he might be able to narrow down the number of people who could have made the transaction.

  And he hoped he’d find the Caller.

  He refreshed his coffee, popped a Hot Pockets in the microwave and began to make more calls. Many people owed him favors, and he intended to collect every last one of them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As the Bahamians worked with the Royal Netherlands Navy to raise the Gray Ghost, local fishermen watched from their boats. They were ordered to stay a long distance away from the effort.

  As the boat was slowly lifted to the surface, assisted by massive airbags, a Coast Guard UAV flew overhead documenting the scene. One of the Bahamian divers looked up, caught a glimpse of the object, and pointed it out. The crew stopped what they were doing and watched the expensive toy fly away, make a large circle back, and fly overhead again at a high rate of speed.

  Thousands of bubbles broke the surface as the speedboat came up. The vessel was about three feet from the surface when an air bag along the stern exploded. Two quick-thinking divers grabbed huge orange buoys and leaped into the water. They attempted to get a rope around the stern to keep the boat afloat. It worked. The boat stayed in position long enough to work another airbag under the stern. About that time, the lead officer ordered the locals to leave in order to create a straight path for the recovered boat to the main dock.

  Once the boat was secured on the flat barge, the cocaine was placed in the locked compartments of the other police boats. When all was ready, the convoy set a course to the main boat ramp. Local boats stayed well behind the convoy as a Coast Guard and Royal Navy cruiser escorted the speedboat. A tugboat ran alongside to assist.

  Roughly four hours later, two Royal Bahamian vessels loaded with cocaine and the speedboat arrived at the main dock. The Yukon Denali, which had originally towed the boat, and the custom trailer hitched to it already sat waiting. Twelve armed officers guarded the scene and oversaw the process.

  Another two hours passed before the damaged boat was finally onto the custom trailer. Then, escorted by what seemed like every police service vehicle on the island, the boat was towed to the storage yard, which doubled as the police warehouse.

  Dix and Petersen waited as the boat and trailer were secured in the warehouse. They observed as local officers began to file out of their vehicles and take up defensive positions around the warehouse.

  One of the officers, Prescott, according to his badge, said, “Won’t they laugh when they find out the dope ain’t in the boat?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Where the hell’s the dope?” Dix yelled.

  The officer explained that they’d moved the cocaine into their secured police boats to ensure they wouldn’t lose the drugs. These boats were still at the main dock.

  Dix frantically grabbed the officer’s radio from his shirt and yelled, “All units, all units, code three to the dock. I repeat, code three to the docks.”

  “I can’t believe you did that. Every officer in the area is here. You left a huge shipment of drugs unguarded back at the marina?” Dix said.

  Dix and Petersen jumped into the car they’d borrowed from Roger.

  The detectives raced back to the dock, followed by the local officers. Petersen looked through binoculars. “I can see the boats, I count two. There’s no one around them. Punch it!”

  The speeding vehicles came to a halt, and everyone ran to the police boats moored in their slips. One by one, they were checked, and the contents accounted for. Each still contained the packages of cocaine. Petersen and Dix exchanged glances.

  Dix demanded to speak to the officer in charge (OIC). No one responded. He took several deep breaths and decided their own department could deal with the incompetence.

  “We all make mistakes, but this cannot happen again. Double check, then triple check everything you do from here on out. I won’t tell your boss about this if you don’t.” Dix addressed the officers at the scene, who were embarrassed but expressed their appreciation for how he had handled it.

  Dix and Petersen decided to split up, one in each police van, as the cocaine was taken from the marina to the warehouse. When they arrived at the warehouse, they assisted as the officers unloaded the cocaine into large, black duffel bags and placed them in secured storage lockers next to the speedboat. Dix shook his head and rubbed his chin. He looked at Petersen, who rolled his eyes at him. This just gets worse by the minute, thought Dix.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  At four in the morning, Calhoun was awakened by a constant chirping of his cell phone. He’d been dreaming of an exotic island with beautiful women. Whoever this is better have a good reason for waking me.

  He rolled out of bed, retrieved the device, and accepted the data link to the flashing message. Then he activated the speaker function of his smart phone.

  “UAV images you must see,” a voice said.

  He moved the mouse attached to his laptop to get it to start processing and saw a message with an attachment in his inbox. He double checked the source of the message to confirm it came from his son’s secure, wireless link. Calhoun double clicked the paperclip representing an attachment, and the computer downloaded a video. He clicked play on the media player.

  The first images showed several small boats and a larger one in the water.

  The narrator spoke. “That video was taken off the northern end of Andros Island.”

  Calhoun wasn’t impressed. It didn’t matter if they knew about the drugs because he didn’t have to worry about getting the boat up by himself. As the UAV got closer to the boats, his computer froze and then shut down. What the hell is this?

  He turned his laptop back on and found the link to gain access to the video again. Calhoun grinned as the video came in crystal clear, and he saw the speedboat he wanted just beneath the surface. He watched the boat almost slip away as an airbag burst, but two divers jumped in to save it. Images from the UAV showed the cocaine being unloaded from Gray Ghost and placed in police vessels. The UAV quickly left the area once the boats appeared headed for the journey to the dock.

  Calhoun chuckled. The poor bastards have no idea what they’re doing.

  Eventually, he’d hoped they’d store the cocaine somewhere easy to access. He planned to make his move in about three days. Calhoun knew law enforcement tactics. He’d even written about them and figured the first few days the local officers would guard the storage facility aggressively. When nothing happened, they’d begin to let their guard down. That’s when he and his son would wait for the cocaine to be delivered to them on the tarmac. Calhoun planned to use an elite Coast Guard unit, known as a DOG Unit, to storm the facility, grab the cocaine, and be gone before anyone knew what happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Sergeant Pierce informed his guys that operations were over. “Take the rest of the day off. Report at zero seven hundred hours tomorrow.”

  Some of the men grumbled.

  “Dix and Petersen stumbled onto a major drug operation while they were supposed to be on vacation in the Bahamas. Go home and rest. Tomorrow could be rough.” Pierce watched his men leave, then dialed the narcotics lieutenant and filled him in on the details. Once that was done, Pierce relaxed some but still had calls to make.

  He notified the other agencies potentially involved in the operation in the U.S. When he finished the last call, he remembered he had a date night with his wife. They had reservations at a classy
restaurant and tickets for a play for the following evening to celebrate their anniversary. He probably wasn’t going to be available for that special night, so he made some calls to see if he could come up with a backup plan. Then he dialed his home number.

  Before he could utter a word, his wife said, “Let me guess. Another high priority case, right?”

  “Sorry, honey, but I can make it work. I changed our plans to tonight. Are you game?”

  “You did what? How? It took two months to get the dinner reservations.”

  “Don’t ask. Just get dressed and be ready for an enjoyable night.” Pierce loved his wife more than anything and wanted to make her feel special.

  As he jumped into his truck, he remembered he hadn’t called his old friend, Jim Calhoun, to see if he knew anything about the circus happening in the Bahamas. He figured if they had any shot at catching the bad guy, they’d need Jim’s expertise and resources.

  Pierce dialed Calhoun’s cell number. It went straight to voicemail. He thought it odd since he teased Jim often that he was attached at the hip to his cell phone.

  He left a message. “Jim, Mike Pierce here. Call me. I think I’m gonna need your help.”

  Then after he had hung up, he realized he’d forgotten flowers for his wife. Fortunately, there was a florist on the way home. A dozen roses was a good start to a great evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dix and Petersen began assessing their options at the police warehouse. Wilfred had arrived to join them.

  “Since we’re here, we ought to look for vantage points where we can observe the boat. I figure the Coast Guard will send that cutter we saw yesterday, and maybe the helicopter we saw too,” Dix said.