by Matt Lincoln
“How much was it?”
Watts blanched, and he dropped into his seat.
“Close the door, will ya?” he asked me, as I was closest to it.
I obliged him and returned to my chair and watched as Watts tapped a pen on his desk calendar.
“Zhu heard about those, er, allegations,” Watts said in a low voice, and his pen tapped faster. “He didn’t believe that I was innocent, which I am, by the way. That envelope was what he felt my services were worth. Was I given a choice in this matter? Yes, and I took the least painful option.”
He rolled up his dress shirt sleeve and showed us a line of fading pink cigarette burns that extended up from his wrist and ended close to the elbow.
“What kept you from reporting this?” I pushed.
“He threatened my kid. If Zhu finds out I’m telling you this, I don’t know what he’ll do to my family.” Watts shuddered. “It wasn’t a tough choice.”
“Why would Zhu want to cheat on pilings, though?” Holm moved to the front of his seat and leaned forward with elbows on his knees. “Aren’t some of these facts basic knowledge in the industry? You sink the pilings to the right depth and at the right intervals so that the building stays up.”
A faint smile crossed Watts’s face. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” He pulled a laptop from a drawer in his desk and plopped it on the thick desk calendar. “Let me show you.”
Watts pulled up a graphic with a side view that showed two long, thin cylinders that went into the ground. One hit what I assumed to be bedrock. The other went into deep dirt with no bedrock to be seen.
“The ideal solution is to drill the pilings down into bedrock. You can see where that is advantageous,” Watts said as he pointed to the first image. “The other option is friction piling, which is done with there is only soil. Well, we have Miami limestone, and it is porous. Most of the southern half of the state is over this stuff. Water moves through it and creates more and bigger holes.”
“That’s how the Gulf Coast and center of the state get sinkholes,” I ventured.
Watts nodded. “We can get them, also, but less often.” He closed the laptop. “Most contractors in this area use helical pilings.” Watts paused. “They’re the ones that look like huge screws.” At our nods of understanding, he continued. “For a building of that size and on that property, well, those pilings had to go real deep. Mr. Zhu had his own formula figured for the Dragon Tide. It looked like it would hold.”
“And yet, it didn’t,” I reminded him.
Watts flinched. “Here’s where we got into trouble.” His hands shook as he unlocked a filing cabinet that sat behind the desk. He pulled out an olive green portfolio envelope and hesitated before opening it. “We didn’t get this information until the building was almost completed, about three months ago. If he finds out I’ve shown this to you, he’ll go after my family and then come for me.”
“Zhu?” I asked.
“Yes. Him.” Watts handed me the envelope which I opened. “I wasn’t involved in the sale of the property. You have to know that.”
I glanced up. “Noted.”
Holm leaned over to look as I sifted through an array of papers. Watts didn’t know we had a working knowledge of infrastructure due to the nature of our duties when we were SEALs. Holm and I weren’t experts, but we sure as hell knew how to bring shit down around someone’s ears.
I stopped at a single paper that was buried in with other forms from the seller, Lance Bellows. The unassuming sheet changed everything.
“May we borrow this?” I asked Watts. The man’s jaw trembled, but he nodded. “I suggest you take your family for an impromptu vacation, preferably out of state.”
Watts stood. “I… That sounds like a good idea. I’ve been wanting to take the kids to see my cousins in Tennessee. No time like the present.”
“Sounds good.” I pinned him with a hard glare. “Stay in touch with us.” I handed him a card, as did Holm. “Make sure you don’t get too lost. We might need your opinion on a few things down the road.”
“As long as it doesn’t get me killed.” Sweat had broken out on his forehead. “Talk to someone about witness protection or whatever you call it nowadays, would ya?”
“I’ll see what we can do,” I assured him.
On the way out, I wondered what could have spooked Marlin Watts. It had to be worse than anything we had on record. Then again, anyone who had the power to threaten someone’s family had to be taken seriously by that someone. It gave me a lot to chew on as we headed toward the main entrance.
“I don’t buy the story,” Holm told me in a low voice.
“He’s no more innocent than a sailor in a bar fight,” I agreed as we stepped from the building department into the broiling Florida sun. “I believe the part where Zhu threatened his family, though.”
“Yeah.” Holm pushed his sunglasses up. “I bet he only tried to refuse because of Zhu’s reputation for running with big-time baddies. Watts is more of a small-time local operator.”
A high-pitched shriek stopped us in our tracks.
“What—”
Before I could as the question, another scream pierced out from around a nearby corner at the end of the strip mall.
“Help! Help me!” The feminine voice cracked in the last syllable.
Holm and I sprinted in that direction and drew our guns. Shoppers cried out and dove into stores and a sandwich shop as we rushed past. A man stepped out of a storefront and put his hand to an improperly holstered pistol at his hip.
“Get inside,” I ordered as I flew past. He appeared to see my badge and disappeared back into the store.
Loud crying came from the side parking lot just out of view. We edged to the corner and took a look.
The only thing there was a Bluetooth speaker with the cries and screams that were just now looping to the original. There were no people save for the ones peeking out from the other stores who saw us holster our weapons.
“There’s a message on the back,” Holm pointed out as he circled the speaker. “Take a look.”
Whoever left the speaker had printed out a warning: “Watts broke his word and will pay. Drop your investigation, or Alice Liu is next.”
A car spun its tires near our end of the parking lot with the loud blatting of its modified exhaust system, and the speaker lost its signal with a double-beep. Less than a second later, a raucous crunch echoed off the building.
CHAPTER 23
Onlookers rushed over to the collision by the time we reached the scene. The car that had peeled out and was now wedged between a small sedan and the rear of two parked vehicles. Two people were visible in the suspects’ car as we approached from the rear.
“Move back,” Holm yelled at the onlookers who were trying to help.
The driver in the small sedan saw us with our drawn guns and held up unsteady hands. His airbag sagged against the steering wheel, and a pair of broken glasses dangled from his right ear. I motioned for him to get down.
The other car looked like an overpowered Civic. Its driver leaned motionless against the broken window, where the side-impact airbag had deflated under his ear. A passenger had freed himself from their belt and slid out of his equally shattered window. He sported black clothes and a dark mask.
The passenger drew a gun. Holm dodged to the left, and I hustled to the driver’s rear side. Our suspect couldn’t cover us both at once, and he knew it. He stumbled down across a parked track’s crumpled bed and out, away from Holm. I shifted gears and gave chase as the suspect darted through a row of hedges toward a busy road. Holm stayed back with the other suspect.
“Stop!” I bolted in the creep’s direction.
He slowed, and his movements grew wobblier with each stride, almost like he was skipping. I put on a burst of speed and slammed into the suspect’s back. He stumbled, tucked, and rolled onto his stomach with arms tucked under his body. I aimed my gun at him as he rocked back onto his elbows and knees.
Skippy grunted and put his forehead on the ground. He clenched his gloved fists and hit the ground once before putting his arms forward and splaying his fingers wide in surrender.
“Flat on the ground.” I didn’t want him to spring up into my face. That happened exactly once in my career, and never again. “Toss your weapon, stretch those legs behind you, and lace your fingers behind your head.”
He growled and did as ordered. Holm came up to me at the same time and whispered in my ear.
“The driver is in bad shape,” he told me. “They’re having to cut him out, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Skippy here got himself hurt, too.” I nodded at the suspect and raised my voice. “As long as he plays nice, he won’t get more hurt.”
Holm went over to cuff our catch of the day. When he was less than two feet away, Skippy reared back onto his knees and then lashed out with the good leg, which was closest to Holm, and caught my partner on the back of his knee. Skippy then whipped his hands from behind his head and grabbed Holm’s arm to send him the rest of the way onto his face. Within two seconds, Skippy was back on his feet with Holm’s gun in his left hand and pointed at its owner.
Skippy looked up and met my eye, but I wasn’t having it.
“I don’t think so. Drop the gun now, or you’re done.”
Skippy answered by putting his right hand on the gun as well, but Holm was ready. He launched into Skippy’s mid-section. The gun went off as they tumbled to the ground in a tangled mess. I holstered my gun and ran over as Holm extricated himself and his weapon. Skippy lay curled around his arm.
“Winged himself,” Holm announced. He cuffed Skippy and hauled him to his feet. The guy put his weight on the good leg and bled from his left arm. “You’re a lightweight. Your buddy is more like the big guys we’ve run into so far. Is your fighting style what got you into the goon squad?”
Skippy tried to turn away, but Holm jerked his wrists to make his face forward. I went over and found a steely pair of dark eyes as Skippy stared me down.
“Time to find out what the hell is going on,” I told Skippy as I went up to him. “Who are you?”
I yanked off the mask. Underneath was a young Chinese woman with a long ponytail. Her face was reddened and sweaty, and she panted from the exertion she’d expended on the chase.
“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “That was your voice on the speaker. Feel like screaming for help now?”
Skippy refused to speak. Her only answer came in the form of a double middle finger. The motion made her wince, and I laughed. She’d earned that shot in the arm, and she got to march back with us to the scene where her buddy was still being cut out of the Civic.
CHAPTER 24
“Are you sure you ought to be taking time away from your case like this?” Ben Holm put his hand on my shoulder as he, Robbie, and I strolled toward where my plane was docked. He met my eye in a fatherly way that my dad never pulled off. “I can get Linda’s friend to go over to the house any day.”
I smiled. “Nah. We’ll be back before we question the next person. Besides, this will clear my head.”
My ever-helpful partner, the younger of the two Holms, gave me a playful shove toward the Cessna. “Any excuse to go diving for the Dragon’s Rogue.”
“If it’s the Rogue,” I pointed out. “Think about how many ships have gone down in the ocean since, well, ships sailed. It could be anything.”
Holm rolled his eyes, and his dad chuckled. They knew me too well. Yes, I was itching to get out there. Searching for the Dragon’s Rogue was the pursuit of a lifetime. Not only that, but this was personal even before I found out I was descended from the original owner, Lord Jonathan Finch-Hatton. Before the last great hurricane hit Grand Bermuda, I’d gone to the island with Tessa Bleu and found a graveyard with Eva and Johnny Finch, presumably mother and son. What made the discovery more interesting was that the wife of pirate captain Mad Dog Grendel had likely lived near West Bend on the island.
“I filled the tanks before you got here,” I told Ben and Holm. “The diving gear is ready to go.”
Ben held up his hands. “I don’t dive anymore, boys.”
Holm grinned at his dad. “I know, you old fart.”
Ben soft-cuffed Holm under the chin and then climbed into the co-pilot’s seat of my water plane. The elder Holm used to go on dives with us, but since developing a sinus condition, he found it too painful to pressurize even at three feet deep. He was along to babysit the plane while his son and I dove to the potential wreckage, assuming we found the site the other pilot thought he spotted by the Mantanilla Shoal.
After taking off, I made out to sea rather than risk my luck of a repeat since my last circle over Biscayne Bay. Ben guided me toward the approximate coordinates recorded by the other pilot. The shallows in the shoal area were maybe ten feet deep, but there was a reef much closer to the surface to avoid on landing.
“I’m thinking a galleon could go down if they hit that reef in the middle of a bad blow,” Ben told me over his headset. “Sailing the Little Bahama Bank isn’t a cakewalk, anyway.”
He wasn’t kidding. The safest approach to Grand Bahama was to its southern coast, where Freeport stood. To the north, boaters had to pay close attention to the paths through the reefs and shoals, lest they strike bottom and ground themselves.
“Let’s say Grendel’s wife lived at any point west of Freeport,” I thought aloud as we approached the coordinates. “She’d be safest away from anyone who might go after a pirate captain’s wife if she lived to the north. I’m thinking the Dragon’s Rogue might anchor as close in as possible, and he’d use a pinnace and rowers to get him ashore without grounding the ship.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Ben agreed. He looked over his shoulder at his son. “What do you think, Robbie?”
I couldn’t see a reaction because Holm sat directly behind me, but his dad rolled his eyes.
“Dipstick fell asleep,” Ben laughed. “Are you people working him into the ground or what?” The humor faded, and a strained smile took its place. “I mean, you folks are wearing him out.”
“Something like that,” I answered. Holm’s recent brushes with death had shaken me more than I’d ever admit to anyone alive. Robbie Holm and I were brothers by water and fire. “We’re almost at the coordinates.”
I started by flying a few lazy circles over the shoal and reef. Mantanilla was a popular area for sport fishing, and sure enough, I saw three boats, each festooned with rods.
“They’ll be pissed if we land close enough to scare the fish,” Ben observed with a mischievous glint. “Or if we fly too low over them.”
“Hey, there,” I protested. “I haven’t been qualified for open water landing long enough to push my luck with other authorities. We have tail numbers for reasons, you know.”
Ben chuckled as he reached back and smacked his son on the leg. “Time to wake up, boy-o. Get your eyeballs on the sea.”
I heard a good-natured series of grumbles interspersed with audible swear words. With a shake of my head, I concentrated on a wide arcing loop to begin the first line of my runs. Like searching for a missing person in a wilderness, I went about this in a methodical pattern of lines that would allow us to cover the entire area.
“I never get tired of clear water like this,” Holm said from behind me.
I couldn’t agree more, although I worried about how long those waters would be clear. With so much reef die-off and changing currents, things were changing. It was no wonder green and preservation architecture were growing more popular. Zhu’s and Alice’s visions were at odds with each other in some ways, but they were alike in acknowledging the rising sea and its threat to low-lying cities like Miami.
I was glad I’d be gone long before Miami drowned.
“What’s that?” Holm’s voice was a much-needed break in the dour turn of my thoughts. “There’s a dark patch down there.”<
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Ben picked up his binoculars, and I circled over an inconspicuous patch of water. I glanced out of my window once I leveled out, but there was nothing to see. Ben, however, had a different opinion.
“There’s definitely something down there,” he told us. “Ethan, make another circle so you boys can get a good look. I’ll baby the controls for a few minutes.”
The man had been itching to get his hands on the yoke since I got the plane’s title in my hot little hands. He’d been conveniently logging flight hours when he could get away from the house so he could regain the small craft license that he’d given up for lack of an excuse to fly a few years earlier.
“Hand me the binocs.” I accepted the binoculars as he took the controls.
At first, all I saw was the shimmering blue and turquoise of the water’s surface. I scanned the area. On the second pass, I saw a spot of darkness. It wavered like a mirage and was gone. With the third pass, I saw a straight line that ended in a wider area with a ninety-degree angle. Natural didn’t do straight edges or right angles, at least not in this locale.
I took back the yoke and landed us as close to the spot as I could manage. The clear water was a boon to us that day, and we easily saw to the fifteen to twenty feet bottom. I kept the engine at low RPMs so we could taxi around until we spied the location.
“I don’t see it from here,” Ben called out from his side. “What about you boys?”
All I saw was the sea bottom. It was low tide, and the top of the reef was just barely visible in the distance. That was the only landmark I had, but it was a good one.
“Guys, keep your eyes peeled.” I revved the engine and trolled along while keeping the reef in that distant space. “It was about this far out from that reef—”
“Got it!” Holm shouted. “Cut the engine. We’re almost on top of it.”
I glanced out the window and saw the dark blur to our left and a hair forward. My heart jumped as the remains of a mast with a single surviving yard came into view. I killed the engine, and Ben dropped the anchor. The soft current tugged at us, but the plane held steady.