The Rogue Horse Recovery: Book One of the Recovery and Marine Salvage Inc Series (Recovery and Marine Salvage, Inc.)

by Chris Poindexter

  The mate met us in the salon and handed me a folded piece of paper. “Skipper said this is the one you’d be looking for,” he offered.

  “Thanks,” I said taking the paper and the mate hurried off. I looked at it and handed it to Q.

  “Great,” Q sighed, crumpling the paper. The message was only three words: INQUIRIES BEING MADE.

  I picked up the salon phone and asked Mack to put me through on the satellite voice circuit, there was no point trying to be stealthy now.

  “Hey boss,” Deek greeted. If he was surprised to hear from me he didn’t show it. The connection was lagged as the signal had to travel 22,800 miles into space and through encryption circuits at both ends. Even at that we were careful.

  “How bad?”

  “Bad enough,” he informed. “Multiple hits on where you are and someone’s asking questions about the owners.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “It’s all digital so far but there’s a lot of it and from more than one source,” he explained.

  “Are you in any kind of a bind?”

  “Nah,” he said immediately. “They’re knocking on the castle gate but they’re not in the courtyard yet.”

  “Be ready to pull the plug,” I informed him as Q’s eyebrows went up a notch, “and tell our people downtown we’ll be needing them.” The people downtown were in the prestigious law firm we paid to manage our legal affairs. There’s an old joke that good lawyers know the law and great lawyers know the judge and we had great lawyers. No one would get an ex parte search warrant without us knowing about it.

  “I thought you might say that,” Deek came back. “Already in the works.”

  “You’re due some vacation time,” I reminded him.

  “Maybe I’ll go skiing,” he joked.

  “You still able to join us later?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” he assured me. “I’m working on some party favors.”

  “Don’t take any chances,” I instructed.

  “Copy that.” The line faded out.

  “That bad, huh?” Q asked, suddenly serious.

  “Damn annoying,” I told him. “Registration hits on the MP, people looking into the shell company that owns her and someone cataloging our comm.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” I said heavily. “Things move way too fast now days.”

  “Even at half speed you keep up pretty well,” he grinned.

  “I have a feeling our lawyers are going to be earning their billing this week,” I joked, taking a minute to look around at the scenery. The ocean was choppy and the breeze was brisk but otherwise the weather was nice. Clouds streamed in off the ocean and the sun took on a golden tint as the afternoon wore on. We passed Palm Beach and Mack moved us farther off shore for the run to Fort Lauderdale. The MP rolled in the swells but the motion was tolerable due to her size and Mackey no doubt pumped seawater into the ballast tanks to keep the MP from being top heavy.

  After a couple beers and combined with the gentle rocking Q was already nodding off on the comfortable couch. Military people could fall asleep at the drop of a hat almost anywhere and I mastered the skill in med school.

  I woke up with a start when the MP hit a wave. The lights were down in the salon and it was dark outside. Q was gone, probably down in one of the staterooms getting some rack time before we went into go mode. The digital clock on the wall told me had a little over two hours before the meet. We were making good time, Mack was already guiding us into Lake Mabel and we’d be turning south to navigate the narrow channel to the marina. Once we were out of the wind the waves died down to a light chop that the MP plowed through with barely a dip. Mack would be pumping out ballast, lightening the MP for the journey through the shallow channels.

  There was just time to go over the objectives one last time. At this point it would be possible to get Donnie Meadows off the worst of the criminal charges but that wouldn’t help him with the cartel. The wife and her business partners would be loose ends and the temptation to include our client in the cleanup operation would be nearly irresistible. Regardless of what deal we had already made with the young Mr. Silva, even he wouldn’t argue with his step father if he decided to neutralize the ambiguity.

  We were also running out of time. We could lose the Feds once more, maybe twice, but they already had co-opted local resources and were expanding their footprint on our turf. We couldn’t dodge them much longer and our operational window was closing.

  The problem with not knowing all the opposition is not understanding their possible courses of action. We knew two of the players, had a good guess at the third but the others were a question mark. We couldn’t have the cartel thinking there was another loose end floating around out there, leaving our client alive was already asking a lot.

  “Wow, this sucks,’ I said out loud to myself. Simple math was our enemy. The more players, the more unknown variables leading to more possible outcomes. There were too many question marks and not enough time to fill them all in. But at least I could give my team the widest possible latitude and we knew the terrain better than the opposition. I put my earpiece in and flipped it on.

  “How we looking?” I asked the air.

  “Everything’s in place,” Deek reassured me.

  “The package?”

  “On the way,” he advised.

  “In position,” V advised before I could ask.

  The plan was for us to leave our phones on the MP and arrive at the warehouse by car. Jennifer would return to the MP, which would then do its best to look like it was hauling ass for international waters. Hopefully the Feds would follow the boat. We only needed them to tail the bait for a couple hours and we’d be home free.

  “Armored car approaching,” V announced after a minute. The guards would park the truck across the street under V’s perch and a motor pool car would pick them up. Deek had already couriered the spare keys to Jennifer and she’d deliver them along with Don Meadows.

  A few minutes later the truck was secure under V’s sniper scope and the guards were on their way back. If they had any questions about abandoning a truck in a marina parking lot, they would keep them to themselves. So far, so good.

  The lights came on in the salon and Q made his way in, still looking rumpled from his nap but then he always looked that way.

  “We should gear up,” I suggested.

  We made our back below decks to the specially paneled office that was adjacent to the crew lounge. Carefully concealed behind the paneling was storage that was normally empty but today contained my pair of HK45s and Q’s chunky old .40 Sig/Sauer P229. I put one gun in a cross-draw shoulder harness and the other in an inside-the-pants side holster. Q went with a shoulder holster for the Sig and an ankle holster for a Beretta P4 Storm sub-compact.

  “How come you never wear an ankle holster?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Because I don’t want to bend over that far anymore,” I groused. “It sucks getting old.”

  “Hehe, so I hear,” he grinned.

  My safari jacket was a little heavy for the weather but was cut to hide concealed weapons and the sleeves rolled up. I had a sudden thought.

  “Maybe we should go to Africa and hang out there,” I said absently.

  Q frowned at the thought. “I was hoping for somewhere a little more developed.”

  “I suppose,” I agreed, checking the two spare mags in my shoulder holster. “What about Perth?”

  “You got a deal there,” Q beamed. It was a nice place to disappear for a while. The rugged coastline of Western Australia and the comparatively wild west meets tropical big city paradise lifestyle of Perth. It also helped we were on good terms with the Aussies.

  “Can I come, too?” Deek asked.

  “Absolutely,” I chuckled, “it wouldn’t be a party without you.” The phone rang in the office, Q was closest so he picked it up.

  “Right,” he said after listening for a moment. �
�Show time.”

  We headed up to the bridge as the MP’s engine tone shifted and Mack used the thrusters to ease the big boat into her stall. Q and I were using the IR optics to scan the marina and parking lot.

  “Not seeing anything,” I said after a careful inspection.

  “What about our Coast Guard tail?” I asked Mack.

  “Passed us off to Broward County at the inlet,” Mack informed me. “They’re hanging back just around the bend.”

  I panned the IR camera around and zoomed in, just making out the nose of the sheriff’s boat a mile back.

  “They can’t see shit from there,” I surmised. “They’re watching the boat but they don’t know what they should be looking for.”

  “Jenn’s ready,” Q pointed out the minivan on the far side of the marina.

  “Okay, start the clock.” We didn’t have mission clocks anymore but it was a hard habit to break.

  As usual the MP was out on the end of the pier so we had a long walk. Jennifer got out of the vehicle carrying an envelope. She walked purposely but unhurriedly towards us, handing us the envelope wordlessly as she passed. Inside were the van keys, the spare keys to the armored car and two new phones. I fished out the car keys and handed them to Q. Just as we got to the car the MP’s diesels came to life. Jennifer stepped on board, pulled the ramp up behind her and the MP was moving back up the channel within seconds.

  The sheriff may or may not have seen us leave but it was more likely they would be momentarily spoofed by our phones sitting on the coffee table on the MP. We left our new phones off for the moment. Donnie Meadows had moved from the passenger side to the middle row so Q and I could have the front seats. I was glad there were no sheriff’s patrols on shore. As I suspected the Feds told them to focus on the boat. That situation wouldn’t last and we needed to keep moving.

  “Jennifer brief you?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “She said I should just stand there and you’ll handle it.”

  “Her faith is admirable but this one could ugly and we’re short staffed,” I replied, pulling out the HK and clip-on side holster and handing it to him. “If the shit hits the fan we’re going to need every swinging dick.”

  He nodded, pulled the weapon free of the holster, clearing the mag then the chamber. He worked the thumb safety and looked the weapon over carefully before reloading it and fitting the holster inside his slacks.

  “We’re going to let you go in alone,” I began. “Only you won’t be alone, we’ll be right behind you.”

  “And I just pretend I’m there to pick her up?” he asked.

  “That’s it,” I replied. “Unless I’m way off she’s not going to be in a hurry to leave until she knows where the bonds are.”

  “Just out of curiosity--”

  “Across the street in an armored car,” I assured him.

  We pulled off on a side street and into a strip mall parking lot. I handed Q his phone and we switched them on. Deek fed us video from the warehouse, which was all quiet.

  “We bugged the warehouse,” I informed Mr. Meadows. “The door with the light over it is unlocked. There’s a small office on the east side of the building. Turn the lights on and just wait there. It’s an industrial marina, not the kind anyone stays overnight.”

  “Everyone check in,” I said to the air.

  “Ready. All clear,” V announced.

  “We’re ready and it’s all clear,” Amber announced. Fred opted for a Searay 52 instead of The Star for the narrow channel. The Searay had a sheltered cockpit with a wide field of view and was fast and maneuverable but still big enough to carry everyone. Fred had The Star slotted up further up the channel in the industrial dockage, it was just too big for this location.

  “Looking good on my end,” Deek confirmed. “The locals are tied up with a handful of traffic accidents and domestics and the Coast Guard went after the MP. There’s been a lot of chatter from the boat trailing them.”

  “What kind of chatter?” I asked, but already had a guess.

  “If I had to guess they’re trying to get clarification on the no board order,” he said, echoing my own thoughts.

  “What’s Mack doing?”

  My phone beeped with a message. It was a satellite shot with a green square around the MP and a red square around her Coast Guard shadow. Mack was already out in open ocean and making for international waters. Not that an imaginary line would stop the Coast Guard from boarding any U.S. flagged vessel, Mack was just dragging them farther from shore and trying to look guilty. He was doing a good job.

  “Looks like a merry chase,” I grinned, but it wasn’t really all that funny. The Coasties would almost certainly get permission to stop and board the MP and, when they discovered no one aboard but the crew, the Feds would start looking for us and piecing together our movements, only with more urgency. It wouldn’t take them long to find us. The clock on the dash of the minivan said it was going to be close.

  “These are SO cool!” Amber blurted, forgetting about her earpiece. No doubt impressed with the night vision binoculars Fred was showing her. We could hear Fred reminding her about comm discipline in the background. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. Q and I chuckled in spite of ourselves.

  “What’s so funny?” Donnie Meadows asked, not being party to the conversation.

  “My girlfriend is discovering the joys of night vision,” I said without thinking.

  “Girlfriend?” Amber pounced. “Wo-ho!”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” V added.

  12

  “I’M GOING TO send you a copy of the employee handbook,” Deek joked. “Isn’t dating employees a no-no?”

  “We don’t have a handbook,” Q reminded him. “Or board meetings,” he added with a sly look my way.

  “Okay, show’s over,” I interrupted. Truthfully, everyone needed a reason to break the tension and I had just given it to them.

  “You guys are really strange,” Donnie Meadows reminded me from the back seat, obviously bewildered by the snippets of the conversation he could hear.

  “Normal people wouldn’t have taken this job, Mr. Meadows,” I reminded him.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything,” he said defensively. “I really appreciate what you guys are doing...but you are kinda of a strange bunch.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” Q agreed.

  “Let’s move out,” I suggested. Q started the minivan and we were on our way.

  “Where are our Colombian friends?” I asked Deek.

  “Looks like they’re getting some dinner,” he advised. “They checked out of their hotel this afternoon, flight plan is filed and they have the phone with them. They’re about 10 minutes away from the meet site at a Cuban restaurant.”

  “Send them a text to wait there until they hear from us,” I requested.

  “Affirmative.”

  A long minute passed before Deek had the reply. “They acknowledged,” he reported. “No problems.”

  It was a winding drive through some of the older sections of Fort Lauderdale. This part of town was where the dock workers and mechanics lived and the water side was dominated by warehouses, marinas, and shipyards. We passed security gates and brightly lit shipyards where activity around big container ships hummed pretty much 24 hours a day. Our little corner of this haven of capitalism was on the extreme south side and activity here did not hum 24 hours a day. Our warehouse and marina was dark, save for a single light on above the outside door about a third of the distance toward the end.

  A few covered boats were moored at the dock, but those would be boats waiting for parts and there wasn’t enough room for shore storage or they were too big to haul out.

  “I see you,” V announced as we passed her perch. The armored car was barely noticeable in the shadows parked next to the building.

  “We gotcha,” Amber echoed. We could just make out the Searay up the channel on the swampy side. The boat houses didn’t give them a great view. Fred would be anc
hored but have the line tied off amidships so he could pull up and haul ass if the need arose.

  We pulled up to the door with the nightlight on over it.

  “I guess this is it,” Donnie Meadows said heavily. He couldn’t be relishing what was certain to be an unpleasant reunion with the wife.

  “We’ll be right outside,” I reminded him. “Just stick to the plan and make sure you unlock the office door on the side where the docks are. That’s where we’ll be coming from if there’s trouble.”

  He left by the van’s side door and disappeared into the dark warehouse. There was a nightlight in the office so he could find his way and after a few moments the lights in the office came on.

  “Okay, cameras are working and he’s unlocking the dockside door,” Deek informed us. “Now he’s making coffee.” The office had one of those single serving coffee machine and Donnie Meadows was making himself at home.

  Q and I stashed the van between two boathouses on the water side, tucked in behind the trash dumpster so no one could see it from the water. It was the weekend and the dumpster was piled high with parts boxes and trash which didn’t get picked up until Monday. We had plenty of cover. We could use the boathouse walkway to get to the office. Now all there was to do was wait and, over the years, we’d all done plenty of that.

  “I have to pee,” I announced. One of the many downsides of getting old.

  “You should have thought of that before we left,” Q scolded. “You must have a bladder the size of a walnut.”

  “My bladder does not appreciate your humor,” I retorted.

  “I think your bladder is being kind of a vagina,” Q surmised.

  “Will you guys quit talking about peeing?” Amber requested. “Now I think I have to go.”

  The minutes ticked by and eventually I did finally pee in front of the car and behind the dumpster.

  “Wow, the mics in these earpieces are really good,” Amber observed when I was finished.

  The joys of stakeouts. Hours of inactivity followed by a few seconds of furious action.