“Whoa, slow down, Deuce. I never said I was going to hire on. In fact, I said just the opposite. Twice!”
“You’re being compensated as a private contractor for this one job. You’ve been on the payroll retroactively since 0400 today. Your contract ends when I say and you’ll need to sign a federal nondisclosure contract. I have some in my briefcase, below. You can’t say no at this point, Jesse.” Then he chuckled and added, “Or I’ll have to kill you.” I rolled my eyes and he continued, “I’ve been instructed to use my discretion on bringing Jimmy and Rusty on board. Like I told you when we first met, I’m a crazy good judge of men, so I’m going to give them most of the details. You’re to split the twenty thousand with them, half to you and a quarter to each of them.”
“Just when I was having fun,” I said. “Back under Uncle Sam’s thumb.”
“We really don’t have any choice, man,” Deuce said. “Mister Smith said to go ahead with our plan and get them down to Marathon. He’s working on a plan to round up the whole bunch of them, when they return from Brown’s Cay, Tuesday night. Until then, we can try to find out what we can about dad’s death.”
“Can you at least tell me which bunch of alphabets I’ve been shanghaied into?” I asked.
“All I can say is that our team is a division of Homeland Security and Jason Smith is an Associate Deputy Director of that agency.”
“Unbelievable,” I said. Then it occurred to me that I’d been using that word a lot about another member of our ‘team’. “What about he dog? He getting paid, too?”
Deuce laughed and said, “Go ahead and get the guys up here, so we can read them in. Have Jimmy bring my briefcase, too.”
I called them up and when we were all together on the bridge, Deuce opened his briefcase, took out three sheets of paper, and passed them to each of us. He said, “Sign these.”
“What is it,” Jimmy asked, reading it over.
“Never mind, Jimmy,” I said. “Just sign it, you’ve been shanghaied again.”
“DHS?” Rusty asked when he saw the letterhead. “What the fuck?”
“Just sign it Rusty,” Deuce said. “I’ll give you all the details once you do. It’ll be simple and worth your while.”
After they’d signed the contracts, Deuce outlined what was going on, withholding only a few details. He changed the plan slightly, saying that Jimmy and Rusty would go ashore and ride back with Alex and Julie. He’d need to personally make sure the boat followed us back to Marathon and didn’t want them in any danger. Both men argued that point, but it was Deuce’s call to make. “Besides,” he’d said, “I think I’m qualified to be the mate.”
Jimmy was watching the boat through the binoculars and said, “The older guy and the Arab are leaving.”
We looked through the windscreen and saw them walking along the dock. We’d been on station since 0700 and it was nearly noon now. Jimmy handed me the binoculars and said, “There’s activity on the Carver, man.”
I trained the binoculars on the boat and saw that a new guy I hadn’t seen before was on the bridge and Lester was walking down the dock, behind the older man and the Arab. He got in the blue sedan and drove off. I was hoping it was just a food run. The new guy was a shaved-headed black guy and he took a seat at the helm. He actually looked more at home there than Lester did, as he was dressed in boating attire, unlike the Italian.
“Looks like the boat meets Madani’s approval,” I said as I watched the two men shake hands, get in separate cars, and drive away. “Deuce, give Tony a call and see if he heard what they said.”
Deuce made a one minute call and said, “Yeah, they struck a deal. It’s on.”
“Call your boss,” I said. “Since this is now your show, maybe it’d be a good idea to have Tony and Art join us, after Rusty and Jimmy depart. Make out as if we’re dropping one charter and picking up another. If he gives the okay, call Tony back and have them walk out to the pier at the boat ramp and wait there for us. Maybe they can kill some time by walking out to the end of the dock.”
Deuce caught on instantly, “Do a little recon, huh? Great idea.” He called Smith and gave him our updated plan. Without saying anything more, he disconnected and made another call.
“Tony, how are you guys dressed?” he asked. After a few seconds, he said, “That’s perfect. You’re our next charter. In a few minutes, we’ll be at the pier by the boat ramp. Rusty and Jimmy will get off there. We’ve already arranged a ride back for them. Walk out to the end of the dock where the Carver is. Stop there, see what you can, and talk about your plans for the fishing trip. Drop Jesse’s name and the boat’s name, if you can. See how they respond. When you see us coming, head back to the pier and come aboard. We want to drop them and pick you up in a matter of seconds, and then head back out. It’ll happen just after the blue Ford that the Italian looking guy left in returns.” He listened for another few seconds and closed the phone.
Minutes later Lester pulled back into the parking lot, got out and boarded the Carver. Tony and Art were just behind him, talking animatedly as they neared the pier. Lester stopped in his tracks and turned around. He talked with them for a minute, then started toward the Carver at an increased pace, juggling the bag from McDonalds in his hands as he fumbled with his cell phone.
“Hoist anchor, Jimmy,” I said. “All three of you, head down to the cockpit. Deuce, don’t forget to thank them for the charter and shake hands. Whoop it up, as we move along the docks.”
When I heard the windlass start to strain, I started the engines and let them idle until I heard the anchor seat itself. Then I nudged both throttles into gear and idled around the sailboats, headed toward the docks. I could see Lester boarding the Carver and pointing our way. He then disappeared below deck.
I called Alex and said, “There’s been a change of plans, babe. Rusty and Jimmy will be riding back with you. Can’t explain right now, but we’re heading for the docks. Get over there to pick them up, okay.”
“Okay, we’re on our way. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said and disconnected. Although I hadn’t said those words in a lot of years, it felt right.
Deuce was just climbing down the ladder and overheard me. “Really?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Really. Now get your ass down there, mate.”
As we idled along the south side of the southern dock, Rusty and Jimmy were talking loudly about the fish they’d caught and promising Deuce they’d charter us again. Normally, I like to back into a dock, but it was a long pier, open on the port side. I wanted a quick turnaround, so I nosed in forward. Tony and Art were at the end of the pier and boarded just after Rusty and Jimmy climbed up and headed toward Alex’s car, which had just pulled up. I had on my fishing cap, pulled low with side and back flaps covering my face and a pair of polarized, wraparound fisherman’s sunglasses. I was sure that Lester and Baldy couldn’t recognize me at this distance.
At the end of the pier, I could see all four men climbing out of the Carver and headed our way at a pretty quick pace. Before they were even half way, I was backing away from the pier. When I pushed the throttles into forward and turned back toward the southern canal, all four men turned around and ran back to the Carver. Idling along the southern pier, I watched three of them as they clumsily untied the Carver, while the black guy went to the bridge and started the engines. Blue smoke belched from the exhausts. This was going to be easier than I thought.
Deuce invited our new ‘clients’ to join me on the bridge and all three men came up. “Welcome aboard, guys,” I said, as we cleared the end of the docks.
“Good to see you again, Captain,” Tony said and gripped my hand firmly.
“Nice to be back aboard this fine vessel,” Art said.
They sat on the bench seat to port and Deuce sat down in the mate’s chair. He dutifully checked the gauges and turned on the sonar and radar. Having watched Jimmy earlier, he was familiar with them.
“Bottom is fourteen feet below the
keel, Captain. Only those two anchored sailboats on the radar, within a mile.” Looking back, he added, “Carver’s leaving the slip with all four aboard.”
“Saturday night, rock and roll!” I shouted.
“Huh?” Art said.
“Flashback to Grenada,” I said. “When we were ready to jump from the chopper into the bay, Deuce’s dad gave the order, ‘Line of departure, lock and load.’ But, somehow, I heard, ‘Saturday night, rock and roll’.” With that, I turned on the stereo loud enough for the men on the Carver to hear. Jimmy always had a classic rock CD in the player and sure enough, “Born to be Wild” came out of the speakers.
I pushed both throttles to eighteen hundred rpm and the Revenge shot forward, thanks to the twin twenty-two inch, five blade CNC machined propellers. In seconds, we were up on plane and accelerating.
“Don’t show 'em too much, Jesse,” Deuce said. “We don’t want them to know we can outrun them, until it’s too late for them to turn back.”
I dropped the throttles to sixteen hundred rpm and we were cruising along at a sedate twenty-five knots.
“I researched that Carver,” Art said. “Twin Mercruisers 5.7’s, pushing three hundred horsepower each. Cruising speed is sixteen knots, with a max of twenty-six.”
“Good,” I said, “she’ll be pushing her maximum speed all the way to Alligator Reef. That’s where I’m going to hammer the throttles and pull away from them.”
“How fast will that be?” Tony asked.
“Nearly double that,” I replied.
“Dayum,” Tony and Art said in unison.
“What the hell you got down there?” Tony asked.
“Go have a look,” I replied.
Both men scampered down the ladder as only real boat bums would, anxious to see the engine room. When they came back up, Art asked, “You ever think of running drugs?”
All four of us laughed. Tony stole a look back and said, “The Carver’s just coming up on plane now, about half a mile astern. She’s smoking a bit though. Think it’ll hold together for three hours? ”
“I hope so,” I replied.
27
Saturday afternoon, October 29, 2005
Lester got out of the car and headed toward the docks. Two guys dressed like fisherman were walking behind him and he overheard one say, “I’ve heard a lot about the Captain of Gaspar’s Revenge. He’s supposed to be one of the top skippers in the Keys.”
The other guy said, “Yeah, it’ll be fun hitching a ride down there to meet the other guys. Glad you called McDermitt this morning. Boy are they gonna be pissed.”
Lester turned around and said, “Couldn’t help overhearing, you talking about Jesse McDermitt?”
“Yeah,” the black guy said, “He’s heading in right now, to drop off another client. My pal here called him this morning, just before we got in the car to drive down to Marathon. We’re gonna ride with him and ride back with our buddies after our fishing trip. Hey, there he comes now.”
Lester turned and saw a big fishing boat headed in from the west. He started to walk quickly to the boat, while trying to get his phone out and not drop his and Tomas’s lunch. Once he got close, he called to Benny, “He’s coming in!”
Just then, Sonny answered the phone. “Hey Boss,” he said. “McDermitt’s heading in now.”
“Are you back to the boat yet?” Sonny asked. “I’m just a few miles away.”
“Yeah, Boss. I’m here.”
“Good. Grab him when he docks. If his clients give you any shit, just push 'em in the water.”
“Right, Boss,” Lester said and hung up the phone.
Benny had already rousted Walt. He and Tomas joined them and together they started down the dock, where Gaspar’s Revenge was already tied up. “I already called the Boss,” Lester said. “He’s headed back here.”
They weren’t halfway there, when the big boat cast off and started backing up. They picked up their pace, but the boat was already turning and heading back out.
“Back to the boat!” Walt shouted.
They ran back to the boat and untied it from the dock, while Tomas started the engines. Walt pulled out his cell phone and called Sonny when he got back to the bridge.
“Boss, they headed back out, before we even got close.”
“Get to the boat and head after him,” Sonny said.
“Want us to wait here for ya?” Walt asked.
“No, dumbass!” Sonny yelled. “They’ll be long gone before I can get back there through this traffic. Get going and keep me posted.”
Walt closed the phone and mumbled, “One a these days, assbite.” Then he turned to Tomas and said, “Get after him!”
Tomas pulled away from the dock and turned out toward open water. Once clear, he pushed the throttles to the stops and the boat lurched forward, belching blue smoke from behind. He said, “Jefe say his boat muy rapido. It be lucky to catch a dugout canoe.”
Once they were away from land and heading south in Biscayne Bay, they were making twenty-three knots, wide open. There was no way the engines would hold together for a long time at this speed and they were barely going as fast as the big fishing boat. Tomas throttled down to twenty knots and they sounded better.
“What the hell you slowing down for?” Walt yelled. “They’re gonna get away.”
“I blow up Jefe’s engines, he keel me dead,” Tomas replied. “Don worry, they slowin’ down.”
Sure enough, the big boat about a half mile ahead did seem to be slowing. Tomas turned on the radar and adjusted it to a one-mile radius. “Look,” he said. “Da big boat is going da same speed.”
“Okay,” Walt said. “Just stay with him, but don’t make it look obvious.”
They stayed about a half mile behind the big boat for two hours, with Tomas complaining the whole way. He was tired, he’d been up since midnight and it was already three in the afternoon. Plus, the engines weren’t sounding all too good.
“What the hell!” Lester said, looking ahead. “He’s speeding up.”
Tomas checked the radar and sure enough, the big boat was quickly pulling away. Within a few minutes he had to expand the radar range to five miles and the big boat was a mile ahead, still pulling away. Half an hour later and it went off the radar screen.
“Damn,” Walt said. “Wonder if they’re headed to Marathon or out fishing.”
“They’re headed to Marathon,” Lester said. “I talked to those two guys that went out with him. They’re meeting two others down there.”
28
Saturday afternoon, October 29, 2005
The Carver was no match for the Revenge. I had to cut the speed down to just twenty knots to keep from running off from them. Finally, after two hours, the big black and white light tower marking Alligator Reef was coming up. I pushed the throttles to the stops. The wind had come around and was now blowing out of the east, giving us a good ten-knot tail wind and the seas were nearly flat. We were running flat out, at 2500 rpm and the speed indicator showed forty-six knots.
Tony was out of his seat, really reveling in the speed. We were running a rhumb line on autopilot near the one hundred fathom line, staying well clear of the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary. After twenty minutes, the Carver disappeared off the radar, which was set at fifteen miles. Wwe’d lost sight of them well before that. I switched the radar to its maximum of twenty-four miles and found her again. The Sombrero Key light was coming up, so I’d have to slow to cross the reef just before Delta Shoal. Most of the shoal was ten to twelve feet below the surface and it was low tide now. Turning the sonar to forward, I watched for anything that might have grounded on the shoals, but saw nothing. Once clear, I pushed the throttles back up to eighteen hundred rpm and headed north-northwest, toward the big microwave tower near Rusty’s canal. The Carver had closed a little, but she wouldn’t get close enough to see us until we were well inside the canal. I’d noticed she had a dome radar antennae, but it was a cheaper unit and probably couldn’t pick us out of th
e background clutter at this range and that was only if they knew how to operate it. At this point, I had my doubts.
I lined up the markers going into the canal and brought the speed down to idle, as we past the first one. Checking the radar one last time, as we entered the canal, I saw that the Carver was still just over ten miles away. No chance they saw us.
I brought her into the little turning basin and swung her around, before bringing her up to the dock on the east side of the canal, next to the bar, but in front of mine and Alex’s Mavericks. Rusty and Jimmy were waiting there to tie us off.
“Took ya long enough,” Rusty said.
“We had to run slower than I figured,” I said. “That Carver’s a real pig. She might not even make it to Dockside. Where’s the girls?”
“They’re inside, decorating the place,” Rusty replied.
“Decorating?” I asked.
“Don’t even get him started, Jesse,” Jimmy said. “He bitched about their plans all the way from Miami. Personally, I think they have a good idea. Angie’s inside, helpin’ out, too.”
The six of us walked over and sat down at a long, wooden table, next to the bar. “Aaron’s gonna tell those guys you’re likely gonna be here tomorrow for the party,” Rusty said.
“You need a cover ID,” Deuce said. “Nothing deep, but a different name. How many people will be here? Can you trust them?”
“In any matter where an outsider and a local is concerned,” Rusty answered, “the locals around here can be completely trusted. We’re a small town, on a small island, in a group of small islands. Everyone’s tight, especially where outsiders are concerned. Everyone that comes tomorrow will be a local, except you three and those four.”
“Yeah,” Art said, “we already got a sense of that last week when we were looking for Jesse. Y’all are a bunch of tight-lipped people.”
Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 17