No one saw any reason why they shouldn’t.
Fierson took his seat at the head of the table. “Pardon me one second.” His assistant handed him a page she took from her clipboard, which he initialed. The door opened again. The man who walked into the room this time was such a shock to Annie that surprise brought her to her feet. “Trevor?”
In this room and wearing a regimental tie and sports jacket with his button-down shirt and chinos, Trevor looked so out of his habitual setting that she almost didn’t recognize him. “Where are Amy and Eliot?” she blurted out.
“Her cat, my dog,” Trevor explained to the others in the room. “They’re with a pet sitter. Good one.”
The thin young woman with the clipboard laughed as if to express her amazement that they were wasting their time on cats and dogs.
Annie turned to Dan. “This is Trevor Smithwall. He lives next door. Trevor, what are you doing here?”
Trevor held out his hand to everybody, who had to introduce themselves all over again. He told them he was “Agent Smithwall, Justice.”
“Sergeant Hart, Vice,” replied Dan.
Annie was wondering if she had herself unknowingly given Trevor the means to pursue her father. How stupid not to be more suspicious of his willingness to use his FBI resources to help. “Trevor?” she said again but he seemed to think that it would be inappropriate to meet her eyes.
“Let’s begin,” suggested McAllister Fierson. “And I want everyone to feel comfortable. Lieutenant Goode, your father has placed us in an awkward…” He looked at Trevor.
Trevor said, “Situation.”
“My dad is a con artist,” Annie replied. “I don’t see how his ‘situation’ could involve the Navy, the—”
The thin young woman suddenly cursed in a loud whisper into her headset. “No, you need to get here at 8:25!” Everyone turned. She noticed their looking at her and told the man in the expensive suit, “Sorry!”
Fierson lifted an admonishing finger in her direction then turned back to table. “So we—” he bowed slightly to the flag in the corner “we find ourselves in this, as Agent Smithwall put it, situation.”
As he seemed to be speaking to Annie, she replied, “Which situation is it, sir?”
Fierson’s assistant opened a folder and placed it in front of him. Glancing in it, he replied, “A serious one.” There were details he would not be able to share; they were protected by the government’s claim that it needed to protect them. “But shall we be candid? We all know your father has, or had, in his possession a certain artifact to which the Cuban government, specifically—” he checked his notes “—the Museo Habana in Plaza de la Revolución, is laying claim. A relic that is reputedly a quote ‘national treasure.’”
Annie asked, “The Queen of the Sea?”
He nodded. “We’d like your help in solving this problem with Cuba, without further embarrassment to anyone. Your father is not yet in police custody, although charged with a number of felonies.”
“Sixty-one counts,” threw in Willie, the chunky FBI agent. He thrust his finger aggressively at Annie. “We want that statue back and we want the jewels that go in it. It belongs to Cuba. Your dad’s got that statue or he hid it someplace and he’s figuring to unload it for some real dirty money. He’s a fugitive. And you know where he is!”
Fierson ignored the agent. “Lt. Goode, by protecting your father, you have made yourself vulnerable to serious charges.”
“Like 10 years worth,” the chunky agent couldn’t stop himself from saying.
Fierson held out a palm to silence him. “If you can assist us in recovering this artifact, and arrange for your father’s return, his problems, and yours, become less…urgent.”
Before Annie could reply, Lt. Commander Bok assured Mr. Fierson that to serve the United States government in any way they asked was both Lieutenant Goode’s duty and her privilege. Chief Warrant Officer Sims couldn’t agree more.
Annie sat straighter in her seat, hands folded tensely but quietly on the table. “Mr. Fierson, should I have a lawyer present?” She glanced at Dan. “I mean, before I speak as to my knowledge of any stolen object?”
“Or the felon that stole it,” growled the FBI man. “I bet you know exactly where Peregrine is.”
“I think I can safely say,” Fierson gestured at the officers and (sternly) at the fat agent, “I think we can safely say that a lawyer won’t be necessary, since any information Lieutenant Goode may have obtained from her father—”
“Or from Rafael Rook,” Dan interjected.
Fierson nodded agreeably. “She obtained without being made in any way aware of its criminal nature. And any subsequent facto actions she took to relieve, comfort, or assist her father or his accomplice, she took in ignorance of the fact that they had committed felonies. There was therefore no criminal facilitation by the lieutenant.”
Dan muttered, “So much for ignorantia juris non excusat.”
The thin young woman laughed but quickly stopped herself.
After a brief glare at them both, Fierson held up for view the Photostat of the sketch of the Queen of the Sea, the one that Raffy had already shown Annie. “Let’s put our cards, all our cards, on the table,” he suggested.
Annie motioned with her hands as if they were spilling those cards before him. “Yes, sir.”
“Your father has somehow acquired this valuable object, a gold and jeweled Spanish Renaissance reliquary known as—” he checked the piece of paper “—La Reina Coronada del Mar. Sources indicate he has a buyer of some sort who intends to donate the statue to the diocese of the Catholic Church of the Sacred Heart in Miami.” Again, Fierson checked his pages. “‘El siglo decimosexto reliquia dorada’ appears to have a certain religious significance. We already have in our possession a small, quite authentic silver case alleged to have been removed from the statue, containing a so-called thorn from the crucifixion crown of Christ. Its existence strongly suggests the authenticity of the statue from which it was taken.”
Willie set a small package in bubble-wrap on the table. He unwrapped a little silver box with empty prongs on its lid. “This goes straight to the Cuban government,” he told them. It was the box Rafael had dug up at Hialeah racetrack.
Dan gave Annie a knowing glance. Obviously, Raffy, imprisoned somewhere here on the base, had given up the reliquary and who knows how much information about Jack Peregrine with it.
Fierson picked up the box and examined it. When he set it down, Willie grabbed it and wrapped it back into its package. Fierson turned to Annie. “We know this box was given to Rafael Rook by your father. We know Peregrine recently traveled to St. Louis to retrieve jewels belonging to the statue.”
Annie leaned around Dan. “Thanks a lot, Trevor!”
Trevor flushed. “Hang on, Annie.”
She stood up. “You hang on! Were you already involved in this mess of my father’s when I met you, or did you get involved after I came to you for help because you were my friend?”
Trevor’s ears darkened. “By the book, Annie. Your motto.”
Officer Sims interrupted them. “Lieutenant Goode, your mission is not to analyze. Your mission is to obtain a certain object and locate a certain person for your government. Is that not so, Mr. Fierson?”
Fierson wrinkled his mouth. “Let me assure you…Annie…that our national and strategic interests are involved here.” He stopped, closed and tapped his folder. “We not only want the statue back, we understand that some of its jewels have been placed by your father in a bank account in Havana. We’d like you to go get them.”
Annie scowled at Trevor. “Even if the emeralds and rubies are real and even if they’re in this bank—my dad’s just a crook. Why is this so important to the U.S. government?”
“That’s right.” Dan stood, leaning over the table at Fierson. “The U.S. didn’t steal the Queen, you aren’t trying to sell it and what’s it worth anyhow? A few million bucks? Chump change,” he growled. “So why are you her
e?”
Fierson turned a page in his folder. “Actually, even forgetting the national antiquity value, the emeralds and the 135-carat ruby are worth approximately forty-five million dollars. But you’re correct, Mr. Hart, the question is, why should we care?”
“And the answer?”
Fierson again nodded at the flag. “We don’t want Cuba to have the advantage of us in this matter.”
“Right,” snarled Dan. “Cuba’s so big and powerful.”
Dismissively Fierson swiveled from him toward Annie. “While we deeply care to see the people of Cuba once again living in freedom…all in good time. And while we know that a Communist regime will not cherish this Christian relic as a…as a relic, still there is the matter of the press this incident could cause if the Cubans were to make a public fuss about an American criminal robbing them and American law enforcement simply dropping the ball. But settling these claims—between Cuba and the Catholic Church, is not your responsibility, Annie. You produce the statue. Produce the jewels missing from it. And assist us in locating your father. You are relieved of other duties for the following two weeks in order to carry out these tasks.”
Annie pivoted in her chair toward Lt. Commander Bok. “But sir, I’m already under orders to report back to Annapolis on Monday at 0600 hours! I’m scheduled to test the F-35 Lightning II at Air Systems Command.”
With a glance at his superior, Chief Warrant Officer Sims answered for the Navy: They had already discussed with her base commander Dicky Campbell the scheduled test flight at ASC. That test would take place as planned but with a different pilot. In official records, however, the pilot performing the test would be Lt. Anne Peregrine Goode.
“Fake alibi,” said Willie, who was ignored. He picked in disgust at a cinnamon bun he took from a wrinkled bag.
Next to Annie, Dan startled everyone with a sudden hard whack of the table. “Why fly a test? Just have the news announce she broke the record!”
Annie hushed him. “I can handle this.” She turned to Lt. Commander Bok. “Sir, can’t this statue thing wait till I do the test or can’t somebody else go to Cuba—”
“Lieutenant!” snapped Bok.
“Sir! I have an opportunity to break a—”
“Lieutenant Goode!”
Furious, Annie bit her mouth closed.
“This is bullshit,” grumbled Dan.
Fierson’s voice sharpened. “Young man, we’ve heard enough from you. If you don’t want to be removed from the room, please keep quiet.” The government official turned his back on the detective. “Annie,” he soothingly went on, “I admire your desire to serve your country by testing the Lightning II. But this Queen of the Sea matter involves your country as well. We might not care for the kind of nation Cuba has become, but we can’t have an American con artist stealing its historic treasures. Can we?”
Annie looked at him for a moment. “No, sir.”
“If the statue is returned, quickly and intact, there would probably be very little reason—” he glanced with some disdain at the chunky FBI agent’s gnawing on the bun—“to call attention to its theft. Do you see my point, Lieutenant Goode?”
Annie twisted her neck side to side, trying to ease the stabs of pain. “Yes, sir, I do see it.”
“Good,” smiled Fierson. “We agree that such a treasure belongs either in a museum or…a church. Not to your father?”
“Yes, we agree.”
Dan blew a loud breath into the room but said nothing.
Fierson motioned to his aide, the young bone-thin woman, who checked through her clipboard and showed him a page of it. “All right then, to specifics. Access to the account at the branch of Banco Central in Havana depends upon a visual identification and knowledge of certain codes. Has your father confided these codes and the contents of a bank drawer to you?”
Annie scowled at Trevor. “Is there anything you didn’t tell them?” She turned to Fierson. “With respect, sir, what my father may have confided seems to me a personal matter.”
Fierson smoothed his tanned and manicured fingers across his lips. “I assure you it is not, or I wouldn’t be here. I would be fishing on Jupiter Island with my grandson.”
Flipping to the next page, the thin young woman placed her clipboard in his line of vision and pointed at something. He paused with a questioning look to her. She handed him a manila envelope.
Dan flung out his arms. “Are we ever going to say the name Feliz Diaz here today?”
There was puzzlement from the naval officers, a brief uncomfortable silence from the others.
Annie said, “I think Diaz tried to have my father killed for reneging on the sale of the Queen. I won’t do anything that will jeopardize my father’s safety.”
McAllister Fierson bent over to whisper something to Trevor and Willie. They spoke back and forth. Then the government official told Annie, “Assuming of course the FBI has access to Jack Peregrine, they will take any necessary steps to protect him. His best protection is to stay away from dangerous people.”
Annie looked up and down the row of solemn men. “I think he’s trying to do that.”
Embarrassed, Trevor still didn’t look at her as he asked, “Do you have this statue in your possession now?”
“No, I do not.” She smiled. “And I don’t think you’ve ever known me to lie.”
“No, I haven’t. Do you know where the statue is?”
She shook her head.
Dan glared at Trevor. “You skeeze. She trusted you.”
Annie grabbed Dan’s arm. “It’s okay.”
Fierson interrupted. “The minute your father’s in touch with you, you’re in touch with us and he’s brought into custody.”
Annie heard her father telling her to call the bluff. She took a deep breath, her hands flat on the desk, the gold buttons gleaming on the white cuffs of her naval jacket and looked steadily around the table, from one male face to another. “With respect, sir, I won’t bring my father into custody unless I have a written guarantee of his full immunity from prosecution.” She looked straight at Fierson. “That’s not a threat. The law’s position on my father is absolutely right.”
Dan leaned forward. “Bottom line, Mr. Fierson. Take it from the Miami police. She blew off every offer I made. She gave us total shit fits. And she likes me. She’ll go to jail but she won’t give him up.”
Fierson studied Annie.
She added, “I understand and accept what the repercussions for me could be. But this is my father. He’s dying. He has a horror of confinement. I won’t help you put him in jail. It’s just an absolute, sir.”
The room was quiet. The well-dressed, silver-haired man contemplated for so long a moment that Lt. Commander Bok wrote a note to Officer Sims, who abruptly left the room. Fierson gestured for Trevor and they had a short, whispered conversation.
Finally Fierson said, “All right. Full immunity.”
Willie spluttered his indignation but Fierson paid no attention, turning instead to his assistant. “Call Justice.” He nodded at Annie, who let out her breath. “If you find your father in Havana, get him on the plane and bring him back. I hope he won’t object to a brief conversation.”
Annie asked, “Sir, how am I supposed to get to Cuba?”
Trevor, with flushed cheeks, pulled folders from his briefcase and passed them out. Annie would go directly from here to Boca Chica Key. Her father’s Cessna Amphibian would be turned over to her. She would make a sea-landing off Puerto Esperanza in Pinar del Rio, Cuba. Accompanying her would be Sgt. Daniel Hart, who not only spoke fluent Spanish but also would be in charge of the State of Florida’s prisoner, Rafael Rook. Rook was a U.S. citizen of Cuban descent who was all too familiar with illegal ways to re-enter the island. Rook would be their intermediary; he had relatives working both in harbor security and in customs in Puerto Esperanza. He had another relative at the bank branch in Havana.
Dan muttered, “True. Rook’s related to half that island and a third of Miami.”
Annie’s eyes were icy. “Well, Trevor, it has the coincidental virtue of being true.” Finally he glanced back at her but quickly looked away.
Dan was leafing through his packet; he held up a Canadian passport. “You’re kidding? I teach moral philosophy at the University of Toronto?”
Willie laughed out loud.
Fierson took a photograph of a young, muscular nondescript man from his folder. “I understand you have a very good memory, Annie.” She nodded. “Can you remember this gentleman?” She glanced at the photo, nodded. “His name is Fred Owen. When you get the bank pouch, give it to him. Only to him.” He removed another photograph from his blue folder, sliding it over to Annie. “Her name,” Fierson checked the back of the picture, “is Helen Clark.”
Annie studied the photograph of the coppery-haired woman she’d seen at Golden Days. “She may be in Havana. Do not be conned into letting her take the bank pouch from you. Your friend Detective Hart—“ he gestured uninterested at Dan, “mentioned Feliz Diaz. This woman is his mistress.” Fierson stood, smoothing his suit. “I’ll leave the arrangements to Agents Smithwall and Greenberg.”
“Grunberg,” Willie muttered.
Fierson showed his handsome watch to the thin young woman who stood waiting at the door with her clipboard. He said to Annie, “Whether you succeed or not, you are in and out of Cuba within 24 hours. You fly back here to NAS with Sergeant Hart’s prisoner Rafael Rook, who will be remanded into custody to stand trial.”
Annie stood too. “In exchange for Rafael Rook’s cooperation, shouldn’t he be extended the same deal as my father?”
Willie burst out, “Absolutely not. Don’t push.” The agent said that considering the number and severity of the charges against Rook, an eighteen month deal was a gift. “Total gift.” Besides, Rook had already accepted the deal and pled guilty.
The Four Corners of the Sky Page 45