Shadows at War

by Capps, Kenneth L. ;

  “That’s good news, Scott Briggs. Now I know I have the right dock and the right person.” Trust flashed that gleaming grin again and stood with his hands on his hips, chest out.

  “Is that so?” Briggs asked.

  “You and I have a mutual friend. Jeff Blake is my nephew.”

  “I know Jeff, sure,” Briggs offered. “He okay?”

  Trust waved his hands in the air. “Oh, hell yeah. He’s just fine. He has written to me about you and your adventures together. It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Scott.”

  Briggs was immediately enthralled by Trust, with his Hollywood persona and Texas accent. There was something about Trust that reminded him of John Wayne riding atop a magnificent steed. The wealthy Texan was dressed in top-of-the-line fishing attire. His Rolex Oyster complemented his three-hundred-dollar Costa Del Mar sunglasses to a tee.

  Briggs smiled to himself. Okay, Shelby Trust. I am impressed. But he started wondering about Jeff Blake’s connection to all this. Blake had never mentioned his rich Uncle Shelby, not once. And they’d talked about a lot of family history between them.

  Trust pointed again at Brigg’s pocket where he’d put his phone. “So I bet you got lots of fishing tricks up your sleeve, eh?” he said, abruptly changing the subject. Briggs noticed that his senses bowed up in response. He was a guy whose gut instincts had saved his life more than once. So when his senses bowed up, he paid attention. There was a lot more going on here than the surface interactions were indicating.

  “I guess you learn a few tricks growing up around the water,” Briggs replied.

  Trust nodded, inhaling the morning air, which was as crisp and clean as they come.

  The conversation stalled for a moment, and Briggs wasn’t sure what to do about it, until he realized that any normal person would ask why Trust was there. He would raise suspicions if he didn’t ask some questions, so he threw one out there.

  “So, Mr. Trust. What brings you here to me this morning, besides a few letters from Jeff Blake? The reason I ask is because someone in my line of work who gets a visit from someone in uniform, or from a stranger from another family, is about to get some really bad news, if you know what I mean.”

  Trust squinted his eyes at him. For a moment, Briggs thought he might have been too abrupt in his questioning. Then Trust started laughing. Loudly.

  “Well, hot damn,” he said, clapping his hands together. “You get to the point, doncha, son? And please, call me Shelby.” He pointed at Briggs. “I like you. And I’d be wondering the same damn thing. Well, let me fill you in.”

  They walked down the pier to sit on the very bench where Check and Briggs had sat not too long ago.

  “You see, Blake’s father Jeff Blake Sr. and I grew up together in Texas. We attended Texas A&M as freshmen. Then Jeff Sr. went to school at Baylor University to become a doctor while I stayed at Texas A&M to finish my degree in engineering.”

  He paused a moment. “Not my idea, that engineering degree,” Trust added. “I wanted to be a florist.”

  Briggs had been staring at the picnic table as he listened, but he whipped up his head to look at Trust at that odd detail.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say . . . ?”

  A roar of laughter flew from Trust’s chest. “Nah, just seein’ if you were listening,” he said through a fit of chuckles. “You should have seen your face just then.” He started to laugh some more.

  Briggs couldn’t resist, and he started laughing too. “Okay, you have my attention,” he said to his odd new friend and nemesis.

  Trust went on to tell Briggs about how his relationship with Janet, the sister of Blake’s dad, grew into a loving relationship. He and Janet were soon married in wealthy Texas fashion, and they settled down on a section of the Trust land, owned by his father Lyndon Trust, just outside Austin.

  “But our marriage didn’t last—only five years.” Trust glanced out at the water, a sad smile on his face. “Janet moved on with her life, and so did I. I set my focus on my father’s oil business and learned the trade with heart and soul. Then, when my father died in a freak accident on a drilling site, I took over the reins of the company.”

  “And how did your company lead you to me?” Briggs asked.

  Trust smiled. “You led me to you, Scott Briggs.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  August 2006

  Briggs wasn’t sure what his next move should be. They had spent more than an hour talking about everything from the war to fishing. Trust didn’t seem to want anything except a casual conversation and the promise of a future fishing trip. Briggs came to the conclusion that Trust was an okay guy, and if he didn’t know any better, Briggs would easily take Trust into his confidence.

  The wind had started to pick up, and the slight chop on the bay between Gloucester and Harkers Islands had turned into a menacing stack of white caps that would surely keep Trust from going back to Morehead City.

  “Looks like it will be a rough ride back to—wherever you’re staying.” Briggs floundered, barely stopping short of saying “Morehead City.” That would definitely set off Trust’s warning bells. Even though Check had told him Trust’s men were in Morehead City, Trust had not. Briggs was starting to understand the “need to know” clause in his new life. Even though it angered the crap out of him each time Check had said, “I can’t tell you. Not yet. You’ll have to find out on your own. Need-to-know basis,” those limited-knowledge rules really made sense. If he had made the Morehead City slip just now, it could have all been over.

  Trust didn’t seem to have noticed Briggs’s almost-slip. “What I thought I would do is have my driver bring a car here and take me back to Taylor’s Creek. I’m staying on my boat, docked by the restaurant there. Maybe you could show me a good fishing spot tomorrow. Here’s my calling card.” He handed it to Briggs. “My cell phone number is listed there. Call and let me know what would be a good time to go.” He pulled out his cell phone, which was vibrating, and answered it. He held up a finger with his free hand and motioned that he was going to take a minute to talk. Briggs looked toward the house to see his mother and sister Michelle approaching.

  “Who’s your friend, Scott?” his mother asked as Michelle wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

  “How’s my favorite brother?” She rocked him back and forth, trying to push him off balance.

  “Careful, honey. You’ll hurt his arm,” his mother said.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s not bad. It—”

  His mother held up her hand, stopping his words. “I’m tired of you coming home all torn up, son. It’s bad enough that you are hurt, but that’s all I need to know about it. I’m just thankful you’re walking and talking, alive. I didn’t let your father tell his stories about his war wounds, and I won’t let you tell yours. A mother worries, even more than a wife.”

  Scott broke away from his sister’s embrace and hugged his mother.

  “I got you, Mom,” he mumbled as his sister joined in the group hug.

  “Someone smells like fish, and this time, it’s not me,” Scott teased Michelle, sniffing the air.

  She punched him in the chest. “No kidding. It’s only my life.”

  For Michelle, there was just no escaping the smell of fish; it was in the air, on her clothes, on her skin. It came with the fish house territory.

  Scott looked over at Trust, who had moved away from them and was standing on the dock, still talking on the phone. Knowing that his mother and sister would want to interrogate the stranger, he said to his mother, “He’s the uncle of one of my Marines, but he is a bit strange. So don’t make a big fuss, okay? I will tell you about him later.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. What’s his name?”

  “Yeah, Scott, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Come on, let’s go meet him. He looks kind of cute, Mom.” Michelle waggled her eyebrows and grabbed her mother by the arm, pulling her along as she headed in Shelby Trust’s direction.

  “Oh no, the last thing I need is
a man. I’ll meet him, but that’s it.”

  “Ladies, I’m not sure—” Scott started to tell them to steer clear, but it was useless. They were halfway down the dock before Scott could stop them. He saw Trust end his call and pocket his phone, ready to greet his public.

  They introduced themselves to Trust, extending their special brand of Southern hospitality. Briggs pushed away his concerns, remembering Check’s instructions to act normal and relax. And so he did, joining in the camaraderie, just like he would have done with any stranger who had pulled up at his dock.

  When his mother heard that her visitor had a driver coming out to pick him up, she insisted there was no need for that. They would be more than happy to drive him back to his boat at Taylor’s Creek.

  But Trust shook his head. “I’m grateful to you, Alma, but I have this limo service at my beck and call all week. I have a better idea, in fact. You three ride out with me and have dinner in Beaufort, then my driver can bring you home. Whady’all say?” He grinned, pleased at his suggestion.

  His mother and Michelle looked at Scott. “Well . . .” he hesitated.

  “Please, everyone come. I insist. There is plenty of room in the limo and I can use the charming company.”

  His mother smiled and nodded. As the group walked back to the house to wait for the limo, Scott’s mother and Michelle chatted amicably with Trust. They took a few minutes to freshen up, and when Michelle’s husband Mike arrived after working late at the fish market, Trust invited him to join them.

  Before they left the house, Briggs decided to leave his cell phone in his room, stashed away behind some books on the shelf above his headboard.

  Briggs’s plan was to get to the restaurant, have dinner, and get back before 2100, but he quickly realized there would no chance of that. Trust had poured on the charm to his highly receptive audience the second they had met. From the liquor in the limo to the movie theater on board his “boat”—a hundred-and-forty-foot customized steel-hulled yacht built in Holland—the opulence and grandeur that were Trust were hard to ignore. No one in Briggs’s family had ever been exposed to such affluence, and they were immensely enjoying Trust’s hospitality. The night ended on the open deck of the fly bridge where Trust hoisted a toast to family and to the Corps.

  When the evening ended and they began walking from Trust’s yacht toward the limo and their ride home, Trust touched Briggs’s arm to stop him.

  “I would like to talk to you about a favor I’d like you to do for me, but that can wait until morning. Do you know what the weather is going to be like tomorrow?”

  Briggs thought for a moment. “I think it will be okay if we set out early.”

  “And what is early to you, Scott?”

  “Before 0600,” Briggs replied with a slight grin, certain that Trust wouldn’t be up before ten o’clock.

  “Perfect!” Trust bellowed happily. “No matter how late I go to bed, I am always up around 0500 for coffee. If it is not too inconvenient, could you bring the Shearwater over and meet me here in the morning? You can run that boat, can’t you?” Trust asked, now grinning widely.

  “Hell, does a frog’s ass bump the ground? You bet I can!” Briggs was delighted to get a chance at running such a magnificent machine. “Are the keys in it?”

  “I left them on your kitchen table just before we headed out. You’ll find tackle for trout, drum, and flounder inside the dry boxes. I have fished these waters before.” Trust gave Briggs a firm pat on the shoulder and a wink. Then he handed Briggs five one-hundred-dollar bills and said, “Anything else you can think of that we’ll need, including gas and ice, grab it. I bet you can put us on some big ones.”

  Briggs tried to hand the money back. “Sir, this is way too much money, and besides, nothing will be open until later in the morning. I don’t need this.” Trust pushed the money away, put his arm around Briggs, and turned to walk him off the yacht.

  “Scott, I am not bargaining or bribing when I give someone money. I enjoy spending it and being generous with it, so spend it. And if you can think of anything we need while I’m here, get it for us. I will be in Beaufort for a week or two—we’ll need at least that much in gas, don’t you think?” He patted Briggs on the shoulder again. Briggs nodded then slid into the limo where his family was already waiting.

  On the ride home, his mother, sister, and brother-in-law could not stop raving about Trust’s generosity.

  “Did you notice that he didn’t drink?” his mother said. “Shelby said that he never has more than a small sip or two. I find that a little odd.”

  “Maybe he is a recovering alcoholic like our neighbor Laura, you know, a recovering twelve-stepper,” Michelle replied. “Remember when we caught her drunk in our pool at two thirty in the morning last year? She’s been on the wagon ever since.”

  “I don’t think he’s a recovering alcoholic,” his mother said thoughtfully. “I think he’s got so much going on in his head that he can’t afford to fog it up with liquor.”

  Scott knew better. As much as everyone liked Shelby Trust—and he was a charmer, no doubt—Scott could see past it. He was no big drinker for the simple reason that he wanted to stay in control at all times. Booze made you slow, lessened your inhibitions, and loosened the tongue. Leaders could never let their guards down, especially ones who had an ulterior motive, be it of good or foul intent. Even though Scott had been briefed very vaguely about Trust, he just didn’t seem like the kind of man who would invest money and time with no prospect of a return. There weren’t many men who would.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  August 2006

  The limo returned them to their doorstep at two-thirty in the morning, and his sister and brother-in-law headed back to their home. He was hoping to get home earlier so he could spend time with Anita, but that just didn’t happen. Scott retrieved his cell phone from his room and stepped out the back door.

  The phone had received one phone call with no caller ID. It had to be Check. Scott started dialing him back as he stepped off the porch, but the phone was already vibrating in his hand. “I need you to stop where you are. Don’t bring the phone anywhere near that boat. Put it back in the house,” Check said without preamble.

  Scott immediately tensed and took a step backward as he scanned the yard. To the left, approximately eighty yards away in the thick brush near the woods, his eye—honed by combat training and experience—caught a movement. Scott slowly slid back into the shadows of the house. His first instinct was to retrieve a weapon from his gun safe and flank whoever it was by going out the side door of his room.

  The house sat in the middle of eight acres. The back was four acres from the house to the shallow marsh water. The front had approximately four acres of dense bushes and pine trees that led up to the road. The rock drive was cut through the thick woods to the house, which was surrounded by perfectly maintained grass. The house to the side, just twenty-five yards away with a pool in the backyard, was Michelle and Mike’s home. Both houses were flanked by thick bushes full of thorny briers and areas that held marsh water. If someone were out there right now, he wouldn’t get out very fast. All of this ran through Scott’s brain, an automatic sequence of responses—partly learned, partly instinct—to the threat.

  Still holding the phone to his ear, he asked, “Colonel, are you here?” He spoke in a low, quiet voice as he made his way back inside through the sliding glass door.

  “Yes,” Check responded. “I am here, and there are two more of my guys in the woods to the left and right of the back door.”

  “I saw the one on the left. Where are you? At the end of the dock?”

  “You saw me too?” Check asked.

  “Just a guess.” Scott’s pulse began to calm.

  “Leave the phone in the house and meet me at the foot of the dock.”

  Scott quietly stepped into the house, walked to his room, dropped the phone on his bed, stepped back outside, and walked to the foot of the dock. As he did, he caught sight of the man on the
righthand side.

  “That’s a good way to get shot by my neighbor. You wouldn’t be the first dingbatter shot by a hightider,” Briggs whispered as he met Check on the dock. Check was dressed in black with an earpiece and radio.

  “What in hell’s a dingbatter?”

  “Never mind,” Briggs replied. “What the hell is going on?”

  “While you and your family were being wined and dined by Shelby, the shifty bastard had his people wire the phones and install listening devices in your house.”

  “Damn it, this guy is thorough,” Briggs said as he felt the anger building inside him.

  “You have no idea. He also has his boat rigged to pick up transmissions from your cell phone. That’s why I stopped you before you walked down here with it.”

  “Oh shit,” Briggs barked.

  “Oh shit what?” Checked echoed.

  “When he first came up this morning, I had the phone on. I was talking to you.”

  “Did you get on the boat while you were talking to me?”

  “No. I was on the dock, but I never got on the boat. I placed the phone back inside the Ziploc bag before I got near his boat.”

  “You’re good then. You would have to be within five feet or so. The transmitter is powered by twelve volts and rigged into the GPS.”

  Check pulled at Briggs’s arm in order to steer him toward the end of the dock, deeper into the darkness. Trust was methodical, and Check seemed determined not to be outmaneuvered.

  Check knelt on the dock, indicating Briggs should do the same. “Okay, let’s you and I take a quick review,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “So far, Trust has been able to clear out your house, bug it, and set you up with a boat that can track your movements and phone calls. Oh, and by the way, he got your car and your mother’s car as well.”

  “Damn it,” Briggs seethed. “I should have seen this coming! I don’t know what he wants yet, and he’s out-slicked me already.”

  “Yep, he is a real smooth operator.”