by Al Turner
“What?” exclaimed Steve as he leapt to his feet. “That’s bullshit. How can I be responsible for everything that went wrong today? This was thrown at me with virtually no planning budget—not to mention the targets were obviously well connected.”
“All true. A professional would have improvised. I guess that’s what I get for putting a rookie in a pro lineup,” Victor said calmly as he pressed a button. A large monitor was lowered from the ceiling, showing another image of Jack Page for everyone to see.
“I can fix this,” Steve pleaded.
“Ultimately, this man is the mission, and he must be alive,” Victor said, raising his voice. “Thankfully, Steve’s stooges missed. Two idiots got themselves killed, one during the botched surveillance and the other when we were forced to clean up the mess. Another died mysteriously during a bathroom fire, while his partner is still missing. Steve, you will report directly to Carl when your people find him.”
“I’m not fired?” Steve asked hopefully.
“No, you’re definitely fired, but only from your current position. You need to go back to the minor leagues and practice your swing. I’ll fill your vacant position with someone who doesn’t make my company look like a junior varsity squad. You will report as new special projects lead. No, let’s just call you a projects lead. There’s nothing special about you.”
“So I’m being demoted to my old job?”
“I thought that was clear.”
Steve grumbled something under his breath before he said, “And the current projects lead?”
“You can bounce his ass to the curb for all I care. He did cost you a nice plush office and that hot assistant you had. Be more selective of your people next time and you may rise back up through the ranks—though I seriously doubt it. You may leave the room now—it’s for major league players only.”
Angrily, but without another word, Steve left the room. Victor turned his attention to the remaining audience as the door abruptly shut. “It looks like we’ll need a new special projects director. Ron, you’ll take over Steve’s duties until you find a more competent replacement for him. Agnes, you’ll assist with that.”
Both simply nodded. Victor turned his attention to Carl. He could tell the man had something to say. Carl was usually a man of few words, unless he had something worth saying. He did have what Victor considered a “tell” in poker terms. When something was on his mind, he would run his hand through what thinning gray hair was left on his head.
“Yes, Carl?”
The man’s baritone voice filled the room. “It can wait, Victor.”
“So we wait for our client to make the next call?” Agnes asked.
“Yes, now we must wait. I need everyone to remain focused. This account is worth a lot of money to this company. There’s no room for failure.” Victor adjourned the meeting.
Everyone left rapidly—that is, except Carl. The old iron horse of the company walked over and sat in the chair adjacent to where Victor had been sitting. He ran his hand through his hair.
“Spit it out, Carl. It’s getting late.”
The older man let out a deep sigh. He glanced around to ensure everyone else had gone before he spoke. “Victor, we now have a powerful, pissed-off client to add to our woes. You know who’s coming next. When that hurricane comes ashore, we’re the barrier island between him and our client. Can we absorb that kind of pounding?”
Victor sat and leaned back in his chair. He had pondered this same question. He had probably made the situation worse by expanding the original plans beyond just grabbing the wife. What’s done is done, he kept telling himself. He wanted to sound confident in his response but knew it was a roll of the dice. “If we can, I’ll be rid of my family’s old ghost and our client will reward us handsomely.”
“I have my doubts, Victor.”
Victor shook his head in frustration and was ready to unload on his old mentor. Coming to some understanding of the man’s words, he stopped. “Look, Carl, if you’re worried about your stake in the company, don’t be. If you think our guys weren’t up to the task, then I hear you. We’ll bring in better people. Also, I’m told by our client that assets are being sent our way to assist.”
“To assist? That can be interpreted different ways. Hell, they may assist in making Steve and his team disappear for the mess they made.”
“Hardly a loss," Victor quipped. "As long as shit rolls downhill."
“That may work for now, but let me remind you of the type of people we're dealing with," Carl said. "Our client will require their pound of flesh. Pops will come as well.”
“You concerns are noted.”
“Good,” Carl said but remained seated.
“What?” Victor asked impatiently.
Carl leaned in closer and spoke in low tones. “Don’t let your pride get in the way of your success. Your father made that mistake a long time ago. This company almost never recovered.”
“Anything else, Carl?”
“Consider allowing me to take the reins on this one. At least until things simmer down.”
Victor eyed him suspiciously at first, but then a grin slowly spread across his face. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.” He stood up and slapped his old mentor on the shoulder. “Carl, you take the reins. We’ll fulfill our requirements to our client, then I’ll get my bonus. Keep me posted on all activity. After today, it’s just business.”
SECRETS AMONG FRIENDS
Daniel insisted that the cab driver drop off Nikki at her car in Destin. They asked her to call in an anonymous tip but not give out any of their names. Tripp handed her one of his business cards. Her goodbye hug lasted longer than they had time for. He eventually had to pry her loose but promised they would reconnect later.
They passed several residential streets on their way to Viridian Square, where Carson and Tripp had loft apartments. Daniel typically stayed either at Tripp’s place or in their shared office space one floor below. The twins’ parents had a home conveniently located one block south of the square along the canal that connected to Santa Rosa Sound.
Along the way, Daniel tried to explain that, although he’d been tasked to be their guardian for years, their friendship was real. Carson accepted it, though she clearly thought it was an insane revelation. Tripp, however, grappled with the validity of their friendship. Even with Daniel’s insistence, Tripp seemed to have his doubts.
“Okay, I have to know how this came about,” said Carson.
Daniel was happy to finally share the story. “Pops saved my uncle Fumi from a boating accident many years ago. He’s considered family now.”
“What kinda business do Poppy and your uncle do?” Carson asked.
“Officially?” Daniel tried to think of the best way to explain it. “Pops owns many small businesses incorporated under a larger one—fishing, oil surveillance, salvage, and some others. My uncle Fumi has a shipping business.”
“And?” Carson asked suspiciously.
“I suspect they both dabble in the black market,” Daniel admitted.
“I knew it had to be something like that!” Carson exclaimed. “Isn’t that cool, Tripp?”
Tripp looked skeptical. “It certainly is. There’s more to the story, is there not?”
Daniel caught the hostility in his tone. “There is,” he said. “This is just through my, uh, own observations, but I believe they’re also part of some organization.”
“As in a cartel or syndicate?” asked Tripp.
“Something like that. I don’t have the details,” replied Daniel.
Carson’s mouth fell open at this. “I remember traveling around the world as missionaries. Before I was even a teen, our parents were always on the move. They were very protective and always looking over their shoulders. They didn’t chill out until we all moved to Viridian Cove. Do you think these creeps are after us because of something Poppy did?”
“I have no idea,” Daniel said. “Most of my information comes from stories I overheard on my u
ncle’s yacht in Singapore.”
“I find it unlikely you obtained the lion’s share of your information from the banter of seafarers,” Tripp said dryly.
Daniel was known for using his computer skills to pry into things he shouldn’t, and he tried to steer around the indictment. “Well, I did hear a story years ago about a tragedy involving two brothers. One died, while the other had to flee. I often wondered if it was about your family.”
Carson looked puzzled. “You mean the story was about our dad and uncle?”
Daniel paused as he glanced over at Tripp, who in turn raised a brow, anticipating his response. “Well, I only assumed the story could be about your dad and deceased uncle.”
“What happened?”
“It was a long time ago, but one detail puzzled me. One brother was trying to stop a disaster the other brother had caused. He died in the process, while the other fled in shame.”
Tripp hardly looked receptive to the story. “Please enlighten us . . . how exactly did you draw a connection between this story and our uncle’s car accident?”
“I believe it was a cover-up for how your uncle really died,” Daniel said.
“You base this on what facts?”
“Just stories I’ve heard. I wasn’t privy to all the details, Tripp.”
“So this theory is based on hearsay, your imagination, and not much else?”
Daniel felt the ice forming between Tripp and himself. “You’re right—the two accounts may not be connected at all.”
“I would think not.”
“And if they are connected?” Carson asked.
“That would indicate that our dad, the preacher, was a lousy brother,” Tripp said glaring at Daniel. “Maybe he was just paid to be our uncle’s sibling?”
Daniel sighed deeply. “I was told to watch over you. I would have been compensated whether we were friends or not.”
“Yet, the convenience of friendship can make one’s job easier.”
Tripp had moved the conversation away from the conspiracy theory and back to his own hurt feelings, and Carson looked irked. “Really, Tripp? I’d love someone to pay me to hang out with some of the losers I’ve called friends.”
Daniel groaned at her attempt to make things better. “It wasn’t like that.”
“I believe that puts things in perspective. Thank you, Carson, for clarifying. We’re here,” Tripp said as the car pulled into Viridian Square.
The driver was a pasty older man who likely received most of his daily sunshine through the windows of his car. He had been silent the entire time and undoubtedly had been listening in on their conversation. They had been completely oblivious to him.
Daniel took out two one hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the man. “Keep the change and what you’ve heard to yourself.”
The man simply nodded as he admired the nice tip. He would have heard many a story in his years, but he probably thought this latest one was a doozy and was already wondering what the guys at the bar that night would think about it.
Carson had a bounce to her step as they walked away from the cab. “So Uncle Conner was some sort of badass hero?”
“I believe so,” Daniel said, happy to steer the conversation away from himself. “Your uncle Conner was a naval officer and might have even been special forces trained.” He hoped what he said next wouldn’t spark an argument. “Whoever the story was about, it also involved killing some government agent.”
“That’s crazy,” said Carson.
“A cloak-and-dagger tale of action and betrayal—it gets better and better,” Tripp added with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Carson ignored the comment. “You said your uncle sent you here. How did that come about?”
“I was raised by my mother, but it was Uncle Fumi who arranged for me to learn certain skills. When Pops approached my uncle for assistance in protecting his family, he suggested I’d be an ideal solution.”
“Why?” Carson asked.
“I guess because he trusted my family and I could blend in,” Daniel said with a shrug.
“And blend in well you did,” Tripp said, indignant. “You certainly had me fooled.”
Carson looked weary of her brother being the difficult one, a job that was usually hers. She pulled Tripp aside, jabbed a finger in his chest, and glared up at him. “Listen, I may give Daniel a lot of shit, but he expects it from me. So if anyone’s going to be the bitch around here, it’s me. Got that? Oh, and try not to forget that he saved both our asses today.” She poked him again for good measure.
Tripp’s attitude changed completely. “You’re right, of course. I apologize for my behavior.”
Daniel nodded but said nothing.
Carson patted Tripp’s cheek and walked on.
As they made their way up to Tripp’s and Daniel’s office, Daniel looked around to ensure they weren’t being followed. He was hastily entering the code to the door when a voice startled them.
“You kids okay?”
They all turned, relieved to see Rick Sanchez in his normal uniform of blue jeans and a brown button-up shirt. Carson grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
Ricardo Sanchez, known to his friends as either Rick or just Sanchez, was the local detective in Viridian Cove. Of Cuban heritage, his family had come to the US before he was born. He and Jack Page had met back in their high school days in Texas.
“Mr. Sanchez!” Carson exclaimed, before finally releasing the man’s hand. “We’re so glad to see you. It’s been a crazy day.”
It was obvious Sanchez had been waiting for them to show up—at the behest of the twins’ mom, no doubt. He studied them before he spoke. “A crazy day? Something happen on the bay?”
Carson started to answer, but Daniel cut her off. “Carson means crazy people, Detective Sanchez. You know how goofy it can get around Crab Island this time of year.”
Sanchez eyed them with suspicion. “In fact, I did hear things got strange on the water. A body was just discovered in Choctawatchee Bay. You guys hear anything about that?”
“Yes,” said Tripp.
“No,” said Daniel, elbowing his friend.
Carson stood between him and Tripp, looking back and forth, as if trying to determine which story to go with. “We might’ve heard a rumor. So the guy was just floating in the bay, Mr. Sanchez?” Perhaps she had learned from her mother that it was sometimes a good tactic to answer a question with a question.
Sanchez looked uneasy, as if something wasn’t right. He was used to them getting into a little mischief—after all, they were a preacher’s kids. But this was something totally different. “I never mentioned the gender, Carson, but the deceased was a male. My buddy at the Coast Guard station on Okaloosa Island says an anonymous caller tipped them off to a dead guy in a boat. This female caller also mentioned another potential body floating around, but nothing so far. Strangely, she went on about her tall, handsome rescuer and his Mexican sidekick.”
Tripp glanced over at Daniel and allowed a slight grin to form. “I’ll wager that Mexican sidekicks are nice to have around.”
“Second only to Asian ones,” Daniel said through gritted teeth. What a lousy anonymous caller Nikki was.
Carson seemed more concerned by a lack of a second body. “You mean the other guy is probably still alive?”
Daniel nudged her. “Assuming it was also a guy.”
Carson tried to recover. “It sounds tragic. How are you?”
Sanchez was trying not to chuckle at their feeble attempts at pretending they knew nothing. “You guys have always been lousy liars. You should know that forensics will tell us who was on that boat with the dead man. And the anonymous caller used her own phone to call in, so the authorities will catch up to her soon.”
“What a dumbass,” Carson muttered under her breath.
Sanchez shook his head. “We’ll discuss it further after you’ve had time to reflect on what happened. Come on, let’s go see your mom.”
Daniel froze. It wa
sn’t a request but a polite way of saying they must accompany the man. However, he really wanted to get into his office, so he stood and pointed silently at the glass door.
Sanchez wasn’t interested in any delays. “Whatever it is, Daniel, it can wait. Let’s go.”
That was that. They climbed into the back of Sanchez’s black sedan. At the last minute, however, the detective had Tripp move to the passenger seat next to him. The front and backseats were segregated by a glass and steel cage for protection when he transported potentially dangerous people. A sliding glass window was usually open, so those in the two sections of the car could talk freely. But before they pulled away, Sanchez closed off the glass.
Forced to sit back and watch the two up front speak privately, Carson grew frustrated. “Just great,” she said. “Sanchez has always known how to get the truth out of Tripp. You remember the time we borrowed that Jet Ski?”
“Borrowed? That’s a nice way of putting it,” said Daniel.
“If we hadn’t been caught by Sanchez, we would’ve returned it.”
“After Tripp admitted everything, I had to buy it to keep the guy from pressing charges. I ended up storing it near Destin,” Daniel said.
“You bought the thing?”
Daniel shrugged. “For more than it was worth. Back then, I was just trying to protect my girl and my best buddy.”
Carson looked mildly surprised at “my girl.” It was ancient history to her, but Daniel had a hard time letting it go. She ignored the reference. “Where is it now?”
“Floating around the bay, I suppose,” Daniel said. The Jet Ski was the vehicle he had ridden to the rescue on.
“Well, we got busted for that back then, and now, after Tripp gets done, we’ll be screwed again.”
“Carson, it’s not like you asked to be kidnapped. Besides, Tripp can be tough when he needs to be.”
***
Sanchez put the vehicle in drive and started the short but slow journey to the Page home. “So Tripp . . .”