Broken Stern: An Ellie O'Conner Novel (Pine Island Coast Florida Suspense Series) Book 1

by Jack Hardin

  “Not a thing,” he answered glumly.

  “You’re about due for a relationship, aren’t you?” she teased.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m in no hurry for that kind of thing. You know that.” Now it was Warren’s turn to want a change of topic. He looked at Ellie. “How are you doing?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s been half a year now since you dropped your career. Any regrets? Do you ever feel like you made a preemptive decision?”

  Ellie turned her reel a couple revolutions and stared at the spot where her line disappeared below the water. She waited half a minute before answering. “It still feels like I’m on vacation. Like in a few days I’ll be flying back over the Atlantic to get back in the game.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Parts of it. I miss the challenge, the thrill. I was good at it.” Being careful with her words, she said, “I was good at both of the jobs I had. I didn’t think adjusting would be this hard.”

  “How so?” Warren came to his feet and worked on bringing up another catch. Something heavy was on his line. He tightened his body and started working against it. The snook broke the surface, flopping and gyrating on the hook. “Good one there,” Ellie said. The fish was close to three feet long. Warren got it into the boat, and Ellie held it down while he worked the jig out of its mouth. The fish had a long, silvery body with a black line down the middle of it, like a child had taken a black Sharpie and drawn all the way to its tail. Its fins were a bright yellow.

  “There,” Warren said. He tossed the hook to the side, grabbed the fish with a firm grip, then heaved it overboard. He wiped his hands on a towel then worked more bait onto his hook. Warren was a stickler for falling in line with Florida’s fishing regulations. His license as a marina owner almost necessitated it. Eyeballing it, he knew the snook would measure a few inches too long to keep. Beyond that, snook season was still a few months away which meant that, for now, the catch had to go back. He cast back out and settled back into his seat. “Sorry for the interruption. You were talking about the adjustment being hard?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “What I did...what I was a part of...had a way of mastering you. Several of my…” She wanted to say team members. Instead she said, “...co-workers started to live on the adrenaline rush. There was a real thrill to what we were doing.” A real power too, she thought. That was the most thrilling part about all of it. You came into an area, scouted it out, perched yourself, and became an indifferent executioner with no consequences. You pulled the trigger, confirmed the kill, and went back to your daily routine of exercise, training, and favorite television shows. Or, if the mission was simply to garnish surveillance, you inserted yourself, stayed for a couple months, and blended into the cultural landscape of the locals. Accents, dress, mannerisms. All-in-all you were always pretending to be someone else. And that was the hardest part of being back. Major was the one person she could be completely honest with. “I think somewhere along the way I forgot how to be myself.”

  He said nothing, but she knew he was thinking. Major was a good listener - always had been. Ellie could remember vividly when her shoe heel broke at the junior prom and her father had been in D.C. on a work trip. She had called Major and asked him to come get her from the prom. After his failed attempts to get her to stay, he whisked her away and landed them both in a hard booth at Dairy Queen. He listened to her pre-adolescent dramatization of the humiliating evening while they both worked down a ginormous Oreo Blizzard. When her father died it had been Major who called to tell her the news. She hadn’t said much that night, but she called him in tears two weeks later, and he just listened.

  Ellie had come to learn that after you circle through one of the most intense training programs ever concocted by the U.S. government you don’t come out with a better knowledge of yourself. No, you lose yourself. The me dissolved into the mission. You were a biological weapon; a warm, highly skilled body to get a job done in service for your country. Your favorite books, movies, colors, paintings, people, wine; your beliefs, religion, philosophy; all became irrelevant. You were trained to do a job where your personal preferences did not factor in. Only your ability to flawlessly carry out a mission. It was pure ability created, shaped, and perfected by the government for the government. Ellie still loved an aged merlot while listening to Dylan or Coltrane, still loved Hemingway and Sean Connery. And the salty waters of the Gulf made her feel like a part of her she had suppressed for so long was beginning to stir beneath. It wasn’t that these preferences became non-existent when she was on the team; they just stopped being important. They were not necessary and had no place to bloom.

  Even the members of her team were, by all accounts, all unknown to each other.

  All but one.

  Voltaire.

  From the first hour of training to the day their team was dissolved, they were never allowed to speak of their origins or their pasts. The reasons for this were clear and obvious. If someone were captured and tortured, they could not give away personal information about anyone on the team.

  Where is their family from? I don’t know.

  Where do they like to vacation? I don’t know.

  Who are their oldest friends? I wouldn't know.

  They knew the trivial things about each other, and the more missions they went on they came to know who was the clown of the group, who always forgot a piece of equipment, who would smack their gum with their mic turned on. They knew what TV shows each one liked and what kind of food. But the important specifics were never discussed. Not with anyone.

  Except for Voltaire.

  She adjusted her ball cap over her eyes.

  Major finally spoke up. “If it helps, I haven’t forgotten who you are. And these last six months have been a great reminder for anything I may have forgotten about you. As a matter of fact, you were barely an adult when you left. Now you’re a mature woman, and I can’t think of anyone I would rather be out on the water with.”

  She looked over at him. “Thanks, Major.”

  “But that’s not the whole of it, is it?”

  She smiled in unbelief and shook her head. He just always knew. “No. It’s not.”

  “You’re wondering if you made a difference.”

  How did he know?

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “Does that matter?”

  The question surprised her. “I think so. Don’t we all want to put our mark on the world, no matter how small? To get to the end and know that we did something good with our lives?”

  Warren started to reel his line in for a recast. “Ellie. Most all of us live our lives according to our conscience. We do what believe in, and we think it’s right. Outside of the few with no moral compass, we all go to work believing, to some degree, in what we do, even if we happen to be stuck in a dead-end job we don’t like. I know you, Ellie. You believed in what you were doing. You’re not one to compromise. If you thought that what you were doing at the time was wrong or unhelpful, you would have quit.”

  He was right. He was so very right. That night, sitting atop a gold and burgundy bedspread in a fifth-story Saint Petersburg hotel room, Ellie spent hours poring over the information she had been given. She had almost thrown up that night, but the anger overwhelmed the nausea. She had decided to find a way to confirm that the unexpected intelligence was legitimate, that it wasn’t mis-information. If it was, she was out. But it didn’t come to that. She botched the mission, and, after being recalled back to their operational base in Brussels, the team was told collectively that there was no longer a need for what they were doing. That they had served their country well and that funding had been cut and...(white noise). She had stopped listening. The reasons were concocted. Ellie had been in the game long enough to detect BS. If she had her guess, she was not the only one who had received the information given to her in Russia. The leak had spooked someone at the top, and they turned on the faucet, soaped up, and were washing their hands of it all. T
he swiftness and vitality in which the team was disbanded only served to confirm that this new information was correct. How many missions had been executions and takedowns for someone’s monetary or political agenda? She didn’t know, and even now it turned her stomach.

  Major flicked his line back out. “Plus, you’re not old like I am. You’re still a young little thing with the rest of your life ahead of you to go and make a difference.”

  “You’re not old, Major. Geez, you’re barely sixty.”

  “But I’m not thirty-four either.”

  “Maybe it would be easier on this side of things had I been able to see more good that I accomplished. Instead I just see a trail of ruins that leads nowhere.” Ellie had filled Major in on the general reasons why she had left the CIA, but she didn’t have the authorization to speak with anyone about the specifics. She still wondered about the people she had killed. During her time in Afghanistan, she’d had little opportunity to access the proper databases. Most of her time was spent in a flat in the city with no access to the servers that might give her answers. In the event her flat were broken into and she were robbed, there would be nothing amiss on her laptop that would point back to her undercover work. The few times she had been covertly bussed back to Camp Phoenix for debriefing, she had searched and found some information on her past targets. Some of them had proved to be legitimate. Others, however, were ghosts. She couldn’t find anything on them. How many of her kills had truly been for the security and better interest of her country? How many had been assassinations for a suit with an agenda? How many innocent fathers, mothers, sons, daughters had she killed? Assam’s confused eyes flashed across her vision. She blinked it away and checked her line again.

  They were quiet for the next few minutes. The breeze kept the sun’s growing heat off their skin and gently rocked the boat. Major’s voice broke the calm. “I called Katie last week.”

  The name stung like a hot poker on raw meat. She closed her eyes. Last summer Katie took a low-level tech job in Seattle. It was literally as far away as she could get from her childhood home, the furthest corner of the contiguous states.

  Ellie opened her eyes again, blinking against the sunlight. “How is she?”

  He sighed, reeled in his line a couple feet. “I don’t know. She doesn’t say much. I don’t ever hear from her. If we talk it’s because I call her. Sometimes I wonder if she’s mad at me too.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? She had to blame someone, right?”

  “How about the driver of the tanker?” Ellie suggested hotly.

  “But he’s dead too. Much easier to blame someone still breathing.”

  “I guess,” she conceded, and sighed. All her memories of Pine Island had her father and her sister in them. Now she was making new ones without them. It was like painting on a new canvas without your favorite colors. “Everything’s changed,” she said. “Everything but this place.” She looked out at the west side of the island, dark green leaves of the mangroves flanking it. Tall palms stood strong along the edges as if they were the eternal guardians of the island. She blinked behind her sunglasses. “Okay, enough heavy talk for one day.”

  Major smiled.

  “How long are you going to keep going back and forth to Marco? You’ve been at it for, what, six years now? Is that a forever thing?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t think I would hold onto the marina down there this long, but I kinda like the change of pace it affords. It’s turned into a good source of income. Maybe I’ll sell it one day.”

  A white boat hummed loudly across the water a couple hundred yards out from their location, heading in their direction. Several boats had criss-crossed them since they had been out here, but none of them had a course set directly toward them. The both kept their eyes on their lines, and the boat kept on its course in their direction. “I sure hope he turns,” Ellie said.

  Major raised his chin and squinted through his sunglasses. “DEA,” he said.

  “You got rid of all that heroin you were keeping on here, right? Major, tell me you got rid of it.”

  He chuckled. “Funny girl. You get the wrong agent out here, and he’ll stay around talking your ear off and waste half your day. I still don’t know why they come out in the daytime.”

  “They’re probably tired of pushing paper and want some sun time.”

  “Bingo.”

  Two men were in the government boat, and the man at the controls brought the throttle down and idled toward them before pulling up a few feet off Warren’s starboard.

  The other agent, a tall man in a dark blue wind jacket and sunglasses, spoke up. “Hey folks, sorry to intrude. We’re doing a few rounds out here today.” He dug a hand into his jacket, brought it out, and a badge caught the sunlight. “We’re with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

  “We may have gathered that from your boat decal,” Warren said, smiling.

  “Yes, well...we just wanted to stop by and see what you’re up to today. Out for a little fun in the sun?”

  “Just fishing, Officer,” Ellie replied courteously. “I ━”

  The other boat drifted closer. Warren frowned and pointed into the water. “Ellie, you might want to bring your line in so it doesn’t get tangled into their rotor.”

  She leaned over and started spinning the handle.

  “Ellie?” The agent dipped his head forward and focused in on her, forgetting the conversation he had initiated. He set the inside blade of his hand over his eyes. “Ellie O’Conner?”

  Ellie darted her eyes toward her uncle then back at the agent. “Yes,” she said slowly.

  He laughed, removed his sunglasses, and squinted against the flashing glare coming off the water. “I can’t believe it! Ellie, it’s me, Garrett. Garrett Cage.”

  The name brought up dusty images from Ellie’s past. “Garrett? Garrett, no kidding!” Her voice perked up. She tilted her head. “You’re DEA?”

  He laughed. “I am that,” he said.

  “You get that badge on eBay and steal the boat?”

  “Actually, I’m up at the Fort Myers office.”

  “Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. “It’s like you grew up.”

  “Well, now I wouldn’t go that far, but...yeah, maybe.” He put his shades back on. “Did you...did you move back? Or just visiting?”

  She hadn’t seen Garrett Cage in over a decade - not after her first year of college. They had gone to high school together and ended up going to Florida State before Garrett dropped out and came back home. “I moved back in February.”

  “No kidding.” He widened his stance for support as his boat rocked in the water. “Where from?”

  “I was abroad for a while.” Old friend and with the DEA or not, she couldn’t tell him where she had been. “I’m back for good now.”

  “What are the odds?” Garrett asked out loud. “I just got back myself about eight months ago.”

  “Hey kids,” Warren interjected, “I hate to break up the reunion, but we are doing what we can to catch some fish.”

  Garrett shot up an apologetic hand. “Of course. Yes. Sorry to bother you guys.” He looked back at Ellie. “Call me at the office sometime. We should get some coffee or breakfast and catch up. Been a long time.”

  “That would be nice. I’ll do that.”

  He nodded toward her uncle. “Sorry to bother you two. Enjoy your time out here.”

  “Have a good day, Agent Cage. Thank you both for all your work,” Warren said. The boat idled away slowly until it was fifty yards off their starboard when it throttled up and shot away. “What’s the connection there?” he asked.

  “Old friend from my school years.” Ellie looked out toward their disappearing wake. “I never would have pegged him for law enforcement. Funny how things work out.”

  “Thank he would have pegged you for CIA?”

  Ellie huffed. “Of course. I look very CIA-ish. Good looks, perfect skin, and out-of-this-world
smarts.”

  He laughed. “Well, I hope he’s doing his job right. The world isn’t getting any better. Those drug cockroaches are everywhere.”

  “Has the DEA stopped you out here before?” she asked.

  “No. A couple of them came by the marina a couple months ago and got some lunch at The Mangrove. They asked a bunch of questions - have I seen anything suspicious, heard anything, will you call me if you do - the standard stuff. I got the feeling that they were just working a procedural handbook, trying to run the clock down until they could go home.”

  The sound of water spraying into the air got Ellie’s attention. She turned and saw two dolphins swimming calmly past their stern. “Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” Warren said.

  “They really are.”

  “We’d better be getting back,” he said. “It will take a while for the fish to come back after your old buddy ran over our spot. I have a meeting over at the Kids Club. Picture day or something like that. They want me over there after lunch.”

  Ellie set the hook in the fishing rod’s eye. “Pictures for what?” Hanging behind the bar at The Salty Mangrove were a couple dozen small, framed pictures of the community events and sponsorships Warren had been involved with over the years. Little League teams, Randall Research Center, Elks Lodge, among others. He was the embodiment of everything that made the island good.

  “I donated some wheelchairs to some kids in need, so they want me to come get my face in the middle of them when they give them away.”

  Ellie took his pole while he got behind the wheel. “You’re a good man, Warren Hall.” She grinned. “I don’t care what Fu Wang says about you.”

  〜〜〜〜〜

  A HALF HOUR later Ellie stepped off the end of the boardwalk’s ramp and back into the parking lot. She’d left her fish for Major to clean and to serve to someone for dinner at the grill. She walked past her truck, up Oleander Street, and turned east onto Fourth Avenue before heading south onto Lime Street. It was early enough in the day that she would eventually make her way back to the bar. She would bring her truck back then. The breeze blew softly into the palm trees, and their lazy fronds generated a rustling sound like dry wheat. A gull squawked overhead before turning right and coasting toward Monroe Canal. Her house was the fourth one on the right. It was a narrow cottage that she had purchased from a couple who had rented it out to vacationers for the previous fifteen years. Like many of the cottages on the island, the exterior had been painted with a bright, eye-numbing blue. Ellie had decided early on that she preferred softer, less intrusive colors. She re-painted it herself, opting for a kinder gray instead.