STORM SEASON

by Deb Carlin

  So here was the crew. And Maggie understood clearly what Felipe was telling her and Liz. He wasn’t just showing off their handiwork. He was telling Maggie and Liz that they would soon be joining the pile.

  Chapter 9

  TULLY HAD INSTRUCTED SENATOR Delanor-Ramos to go back and stay in the SUV. To his surprise, she had obeyed without argument or discussion. Despite how tough the woman was, he knew the scene inside Ricardo’s house was not something she had ever experienced before. And although she had been withholding information and dealing it out piecemeal to Tully since the minute they met, he also knew that she had not expected or even suspected this.

  The most frustrating part for Tully was that not fifteen minutes after finding Ricardo, the Senator’s political instinct kicked into gear. As soon as Tully jumped back into the SUV she was insisting they leave.

  “A patrol unit is on the way,” Tully explained.

  “I can’t be here when they arrive.”

  He looked over at her, but she was staring ahead through the blurred windshield. The streetlights cast her face in shadow.

  “Are you suggesting I leave the scene?”

  “You’ve reported it, correct? It’s not like we can tell them anything.”

  Which wasn’t entirely true. He knew there was plenty the Senator could tell the local law enforcement about Ricardo that they might never know.

  “I’ve already called Raymond.” And she said this as though she was pulling rank on him. “He understands the situation. He told me he’d take care of things.”

  Tully saw that she had her cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. The faceplate was still lit. For a woman who was careful and deliberate about her every move and concerned about her actions being recorded and accounted for, he knew that her call to the FBI assistant director had been an added risk.

  “Where do you suggest we go from here?”

  “Back to the beach.”

  “Another business associate?”

  “No,” she said, but she winced as though his sarcasm had struck a nerve. “A friend.”

  It took them forever to backtrack. More branches were down. The water rushed across streets, in places so high it looked as if it had swallowed the tires of small sedans. Many were stranded along the sides. But it didn’t seem to stop people from venturing out. There was still a remarkable amount of traffic.

  Once they crossed the bridge and were back on the beach, the Senator pointed to a marina on the gulf side.

  “I’m hoping Howard will have something more to tell us.”

  “Howard is the friend?”

  She nodded.

  “Yours or your husband’s?”

  “Both. But he knows George. He’s known him for a very long time.”

  “Like Ricardo?”

  “No, not like Ricardo. Not at all like Ricardo.” She shook her head as if she was trying to forget the image. “Howard is a friend. And we keep our houseboat there.”

  “So Howard may have seen them leave?”

  “Howard would never let George take a boat out in weather like this, especially with the kids.”

  “Would he have stopped George?”

  She seemed to consider this for a beat too long then said, “I doubt it. When George puts his mind to something there usually is no further discussion.”

  Tully pulled up as close as he could to the shop. The rain continued, drumming down and interspersed with wind gusts that sent the rain horizontal in violent blasts. Thunder shook the vehicle. Lightning streaked through the sky, tinting the world a neon blue and crackling like electrical sparks.

  The two-story shop had a marlin painted on the side and orange and blue letters that read: Howard Johnson’s Deep-Sea Fishing. Beside it was Bobbye’s Oyster Bar. Both looked closed though there was a faint light on in the shop.

  Bistro tables were shoved against the bar’s south wall. Chairs were turned over and stacked securely on top of the tables then chained down. Still, the wind rattled the cast iron. Across the boardwalk, boats of all sizes rocked in their slips and lurched against their tie-down lines.

  Though she still had the umbrella in her hand, Senator Delanor-Ramos made no attempt to open it. They were both soaking wet. Still, she carried it as she ran for cover under the shop’s awning. A graceful run, almost a prance – Ginger Rogers in three-inch heels. Tully followed, his size thirteen’s finding puddles already deep enough to swallow his loafers. Gwen would kill him. She had bought him the Italian leather shoes for one of their anniversaries. How awful was it that he couldn’t remember which anniversary? And then, even through the crashes of thunder, without his mind missing a beat, he immediately thought – how awful was it that your significant other bought you shoes for an anniversary? It was a crazy thing to think about on a night like this one. But it was a crazy night.

  To his surprise the shop door opened despite the CLOSED sign in the window. A huge man stood behind the counter, towering over it. Barrel-chested with muscular arms. He wore a bright colored boat shirt and white linen trousers. His thick hair was completely white, as were his mustache and wide sideburns, although he didn’t look older than sixty.

  The only light in the shop came from inside the display cases and a neon sign – another marlin – this one, brilliant green and yellow. The neon danced in the reflection of the glass cases. Along with the lightning, it cast the entire shop in an otherworld illumination. Tully couldn’t help thinking the man looked more like the captain of a spaceship rather than a deep-sea fishing boat.

  “Can I help you folks?” he asked before he looked up. The baritone voice was kind and gentle despite the fact that he had already closed for the day. When he did look up, he had to do a double take. As soon as he recognized the Senator he smiled – bright white teeth and laugh lines – and shook his head. “Ellie, what in the world are you doing out in weather like this?”

  He didn’t wait for her reply. He came around the counter and engulfed her in a hug.

  The tough-as-nails powerbroker of a Senator hugged him tight, standing on tip-toe to do it, and when he let her go, Tully saw her swat tears from her eyes.

  “Howard, it’s good to see you.”

  “I saw the boat was gone,” he said before the question was asked. “What is George up to this time?”

  Chapter 10

  “JORGE, HERE ARE THE VISITORS,” Felipe called out.

  Diego had stayed back at the laundry room while Felipe had shoved Maggie and Liz forward onto a deck that was glassed in and protected from the storm. Even in the dark Maggie could see the waves crashing up and over the outside railings. She recognized it as the steering cabin of the boat.

  A dark-haired man sat in the captain’s chair behind the steering wheel and in front of a panel of instruments. He glanced over his shoulder but only briefly. His attention stayed focused on the instruments that were barely lit.

  Maggie had felt the engine come to life as they were walking through the narrow hallway. The vibration had rumbled under their feet and she knew the boat was moving again. She tried to remember what Tommy Ellis had said about the Coast Guard cutter. It was less than an hour away. How long ago was that? If the houseboat started moving in the opposite direction would the cutter ever find it? She wanted to ask Liz. She tried to read the younger woman’s expression now that she was able to see her face.

  Felipe motioned for them to sit on one of the benches alongside the wall. When Maggie didn’t comply quickly enough he shoved her down. The man behind the steering wheel turned and scowled at him.

  “Really, Felipe?”

  “What? They are federales.”

  “Yes, and if you kill one of them this will be the end.”

  From Maggie’s angle she could see Diego. He was dragging one of the bodies from the laundry room out onto to the deck. Somehow he worked the rocking of the boat and wind to his advantage. Instead of struggling, he waited for the tilt then raised the body up and let the wind and waves push it over the railing.

&n
bsp; Maggie looked away, biting back the anger and helplessness she was feeling. Her mind tried to work the pieces together. Initially when she saw the RPG she thought terrorists had pirated the boat. It made sense. Senator Delanor-Ramos was a powerful and outspoken political official. But political motivation seemed to drift away the more she watched the two thugs. Though perhaps Jorge was their mastermind.

  Revenge or kidnapping seemed more likely. The houseboat was clearly luxurious. She had no idea of the Senator’s financial situation, but a ransom would fit the profile of men like Diego and Felipe.

  Then into this macabre nightmare a little boy wandered in from a doorway at the opposite end. He was dressed in baggy shorts and an Angry Birds T-shirt. He ignored the rest of them and ran to the man at the helm.

  “Daddy, Angelica is hogging the X-box.”

  The man patted the boy and pulled him up onto his lap. Maggie exchanged a stunned look with Liz. She couldn’t believe it. Jorge was George Ramos.

  Chapter 11

  TULLY FIDGETED WHILE HOWARD pulled out an expensive looking bottle of liquor. He set three crystal-cut rocks glasses on a bistro table in the corner of the shop. As Tully wandered over he noticed the shelf that ran a foot below the high ceiling. It lined all four walls and displayed miniature model boats, tightly packed, end-to-end. They were the type that someone had painstakingly put together and painted, delicate lines and tiny pieces. He couldn’t help glancing at Howard’s large hands. They looked more like they belonged to a boxer than a man who applied fine details to tiny bits of plastic.

  The Senator had just told Howard about Ricardo. Tully couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t look shocked, not even surprised. Those big hands were steady and graceful as he poured the amber liquid. He slid a glass in front of Senator Delanor-Ramos then set down a second one for Tully before he filled his own glass.

  “Some of the old dogs have come sniffing around again in the last couple of years,” he told the Senator as he glanced from her to Tully and back.

  “Oh, it’s okay, Howard. He’s one of Raymond’s agents.” Then to Tully she explained, “Howard and George used to . . . how do I put this?” She looked to Howard for help.

  “We had some interesting friends.” He took a sip of the liquor. To the Senator he said, “If these old acquaintances have been coming around to me, they might be bothering George, too.”

  “He hasn’t said anything.” She caught herself and added, “But of course, he wouldn’t say anything to me.”

  Tully rolled his eyes. She had been talking in carefully measured phrases all day. He wasn’t going to sit here and listen to them water down the details and talk around the facts.

  “So you and George ran drugs,” Tully said bluntly and both of them stared at him as though he had walked into a cocktail party naked. “Let me guess. A Columbian cartel.”

  Still, neither responded.

  “Which means, probably cocaine, right?” Tully continued, pretending he knew the facts as he guessed.

  Did they think he was stupid? The Senator had been screwing with him all afternoon, doling out information ounce by ounce. That was fine until a dead guy showed up.

  “No disrespect intended, Senator Delanor-Ramos,” he tamped down his impatience. “Whether you want to admit it or not, your husband is involved in something. And it looks like it’s going to be messy for you politically.”

  She was staring at him. Her jaw clamped tight, her lipstick long gone. She had peeled out of her soaking-wet jacket but the rest of her clothing was also damp. Hair dripping and yet her hand dashed up to swipe back a disheveled strand. She didn’t look any closer to budging on the truth.

  Tully had never understood what he referred to as “the political class,” and in the past he was grateful his dealings with them were few and far between. In Tully’s opinion, they lived by an obscene creed that defied logic. A creed that raised ideologies and self-preservation above common sense. But his new boss, Assistant Director Raymond Kunze, had carved out a career by doing favors – or, as Tully believed, by sucking up to select congressmen and Senators. Tully and Maggie had spent over a year trying to function by Kunze’s ridiculous criteria.

  “Are you willing to sacrifice your children for your husband?” Tully asked. This seemed to get her attention. “Are you willing to sacrifice all of them for your political career?”

  “You have no right to judge me,” she snapped.

  “Ellie,” Howard said, putting a hand over hers and making it disappear but with the gentlest of touches. “Agent Tully’s trying to help. And he’s right. This is serious.” Then he looked up at Tully. “What would you like to know?”

  “You and George. What was it? Twenty-five years ago? Thirty? Florida was a major trafficking route.”

  “It’s starting to be, again,” Howard said. “A couple of the cartels are reclaiming old trafficking channels. The Sinaloa and the Zetas are warring over the routes through Juarez and Tijuana. A tremendous amount of resources have been focused on the Mexican border.” Howard shrugged. “Suddenly the Gulf of Mexico and the Florida coastline are looking very good once again.”

  “And your old cartel?” Tully asked.

  “They’re calling themselves Choque Azul now. Let’s just say improvisation was always one of their greatest assets. Did you see in the news, somewhere off the coast of Columbia a submarine was found?”

  “Yeah, I remember reading something about that.”

  “The U.S. military almost immediately suspected the Russians. Maybe Chavez.” Howard shook his head and smiled. “I’m pretty certain it was my old cartel. They’ve been looking for new vessels, new transports. Three or four months ago DEA confiscated a fishing boat off the shore of Puerto Rico. Nine hundred twenty-five pounds of cocaine was seized. They found the bags under a boatload of mahi-mahi. That doesn’t stop them. It’s big business.

  “A kilo of cocaine in the highlands of Columbia or Peru is worth about two thousand dollars. In Mexico that same kilo goes to ten thousand. Jump the border to the U.S. and it’s suddenly worth thirty thousand. By the time it’s broken down into grams to distribute for retail, that same kilo is now one hundred thousand dollars.

  “That much money involved, it’s a whole lot easier to keep finding ways to fool the DEA and the Coast Guard than to battle the Zetas and Sinaloa. The Zetas . . .” Howard stopped and studied Senator Delanor-Ramos. “Well, you know from your congressional panels that it’s nasty business these days.”

  But her eyes had wandered out to the storm. Her fingers of both hands wrapped around the glass, but Tully hadn’t seen her take a sip.

  “The Zetas,” Howard continued. “A bunch of them got their start in this business as bodyguards for the Gulf cartels. Our bodyguards.” He laughed. “They’re a bunch of thugs is what they are. Years ago people got in the way, they just disappeared. Used to be rumors that all the drug cartels had vats of lye. They were discreet about their kills. But this new bunch?”

  He glanced at the Senator again. She hadn’t moved.

  “They pride themselves,” Howard said, “in using bloodshed to send their messages. Beheadings, dismemberments . . . anything to shock and awe, not only to warn their enemies but also the civilian populations in the areas where they hide in plain sight.”

  “Taking my family,” Senator Delanor-Ramos suddenly said. “Taking George and the houseboat. Do you suppose it’s some sort of revenge or punishment for him not giving in to them?”

  Tully wanted to ask why she thought George hadn’t given in to them. But of course, he already knew why. He was her husband. However, it made perfect sense to Tully now that the situation might be quite the opposite. Not revenge. Not punishment. Was it possible that George Ramos was allowing his old drug cartel friends to use his houseboat?

  He remembered the stories Howard was referring to. Tully had read about the speedboats coming into the Gulf and dumping crates and containers of drugs into the water. Then they bribed fisherman to pick them up. He hadn’t
thought about submarines. And actually it was a brilliant idea to use a family’s houseboat. Even more brilliant in a storm like this?

  The Coast Guard’s response would be limited. If they did come across the houseboat their first concern would be that the family had gotten caught in the storm. A cutter would make sure they were returned safely, never suspecting that below deck there might be hundreds of pounds of cocaine stashed from a delivery in the middle of the Gulf.

  That’s when his cell phone finally rang. It startled him after being quiet all afternoon.

  “R.J. Tully.”

  “Agent Tully, this is Commander Wilson.” His voice sounded clipped and mechanical.

  “You’re back.”

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t heard from Agent O’Dell yet. How did it go?”

  The Coast Guard pilot went silent.

  “Commander Wilson?”

  “Agent O’Dell didn’t return with us.”

  Chapter 12

  “YOUR WIFE SENT US looking for you, Mr. Ramos,” Maggie had told the man after his son had left the steering house.

  George had sent the boy back to his cabin with the promise that he would buy him his own X-box to have all to himself. Before the boy left, George said, “Just don’t tell your mom.” And the boy grinned like it was a familiar game. Maggie wondered how many other things the boy wasn’t supposed to tell his mother.

  Now he said to Maggie, “Ellie worries too much.” Then to Felipe he said, “She worries about everything. What people think of her. What they say about her.”

  Felipe wasn’t interested. Instead, he pointed to something on one of the instrument panels. Maggie couldn’t see from her seat on the bench. George nodded at him and calmly said, “Probably ten to twenty minutes at the most.”

  “Aren’t you worried at all about your children?” Liz joined in.

  “You want I should shut them up?” Felipe asked.

  “No, it’s okay. They don’t have much time left.”