Fallen Tide: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 8)

by Wayne Stinnett

  Two military policemen were there waiting by the rear bumper of a white Chevy sedan, parked to the right of the gate. Both were dressed in casual civilian clothes and sport jackets. Approaching the gate, Parsons buzzed the window down, and the same guard as the day before stepped out of the shack.

  “Your men have been here for a few minutes, Mister Parsons,” the guard said. “I told them they’d have to wait here. They’ll need to ride in with you, sir. Captain Waldrup doesn’t like a lot of vehicles in the inner lot.”

  Parsons stepped out of the car and walked around the back, motioning the two MPs toward him. As they approached, he held out his ID and said, “Special Agent in Charge, Dave Parsons. You two will accompany me in my car.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Parsons,” the shorter of the two said, a black man about thirty years old. “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. I’m Staff Sergeant Barry Pitts and this is Sergeant Terence Brahm.” The taller sergeant carried a computer case over his shoulder.

  “Call me Dave, alright? I’ll be a civilian in a few weeks.”

  The three men shook hands and got into Parsons’s car. As the guard lowered the barricade posts in front of the car, Parsons flipped through his notepad. Finding the page he wanted, he handed it to the sergeant in the backseat. “See what you can dig up on this couple, Terence. The man’s a lobbyist who worked on getting funding for CephaloTech research.”

  “What kind of research are they doing?” Barry asked.

  “I assume you both have a top secret clearance?”

  “Yes, sir, we do,” Barry replied.

  “CephaloTech is working on a new high-tech ghillie suit. I saw a small demonstration of it yesterday. Thing’s amazing. It’ll allow our recon and sniper guys to just sit right down in an enemy camp if they want to, and never be seen.” Glancing over his shoulder at the man in the backseat, he added, “The couple was with the head of CephaloTech and his wife two days ago, when the yacht they were on disappeared. I wanna know if either the lobbyist or his wife have any ties to Cuba, or any other country or entity that might want to steal the technology.”

  Turning into the entry for the parking area, Waldrup was already waiting. He raised the gate, still looking around the perimeter as he had the previous day. This morning, Waldrup looked a bit haggard, though. Parsons parked the car and the three soldiers got out. He introduced Waldrup to the two men.

  “Any updates?” Parsons asked Waldrup.

  “No, sir. I spent the night in the security office, following up on the search. Most of my men did the same thing. We have a bunk area in case of emergency.”

  “Sergeant Brahm here is looking into the backgrounds of the lobbyist and his wife. Anything you can tell him?”

  “Mister Proctor is just what he seems,” Waldrup began as they approached the front door to the building. “A career lobbyist with a fat wallet. His only concern is moving money from one hand to another, skimming part of it off the top.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan of the financial process used in Congress?”

  “Not a bit, sir,” Waldrup replied, swiping his card and thumbing the console. “At least not on the outside. Money is needed for research, I get that. But burying the request in a completely unrelated bill is just stupid. Our research here is vital, as you now know. Such funding should be supplied based on the merit of the research. Instead, we have to use lobbyists to compete for dollars that might go to researching gay Tibetan monkeys.”

  The outer door whisked inward and the three men entered, Waldrup nodding to the guard on the other side of the one-way glass.

  “What about his wife? Know anything about her?”

  “She’s my mother’s cousin,” Waldrup replied as the inner door opened and the four men headed to the corner where Lori Juarez was already waiting, a laptop open in front of her.

  “So, your opinion of her might be biased?” Parsons asked. “Sorry, but in my experience, relatives make the worst character references.”

  “In most cases, I’d agree with that, Mister Parsons,” Waldrup replied, seeming to take no offense. “In the case of Eliana, though, trust me, she’s no different than her husband in most ways. He’s rich and middle-aged. She’s a gold digger, young and beautiful. They were made for each other. If it weren’t for her looks, she’d be working in a liquor store in Opa-Locka.” Tapping a finger to his temple, he added, “Not much upstairs, but she has a great staircase.”

  Lori rose from her seat as the men approached. Though she wore a skirt today, it was simple business attire, as understated as the previous day. Parsons introduce her to the two MPs.

  Lori sat down on the edge of her seat, crossing her legs and tucking them to the side. Probably a habit born of her desire to be inconspicuous, Parsons thought. To be accepted for her mind and not her looks.

  Parsons took the same seat as before, with his back to the wall, and Barry motioned to Terence to take the remaining seat so he could work on his computer on the table.

  “Do you think either Jacob or Eliana Albright might have told anyone where they were going?” Parsons asked Waldrup, referring to the lobbyist and his wife.

  “Only that they were going to Miami,” the captain replied. “It was Missus Minnich’s idea to stop in the Marquesas. She and Eliana both like to swim and snorkel. Mister Minnich is more into wreck diving. Same with Mister Albright. Mooney Harbor is pretty big and shallow. Great for snorkeling and looking at tropical fish.”

  “I doubt you’ll find anything on the Albrights,” Lori said. “He works on all kinds of funding requests, from environmental concerns to weapons manufacturing.”

  “For money,” Parsons said. Always follow the money was Parsons’s primary goal in any investigation. Nearly every crime had some basis in monetary gain. “Pretty good money from the sound of it,” he added.

  “Yes, but these types of people have to be squeaky clean,” Lori said. “Otherwise, they couldn’t be trusted by either party they negotiate with.”

  “True,” Parsons said, taking out his notebook. “But, if offered that one big score?”

  “I suppose anyone could be tempted,” Lori said, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

  “I contacted the Pentagon last night,” Parsons said. “Just to give an update on what was going on. I was assured more assets would be diverted to the search. Where are we this morning?”

  “I’m actually following the search in real time,” Lori said. “General Bottoms arranged access for me. Right now there are two helicopters each from the Navy, Coast Guard, and Monroe Sheriff’s office up in the air, working a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree grid search, plus a Coast Guard cutter from Key West and other smaller boats from Marathon and Islamorada are searching. Nothing reported so far.”

  Parsons asked questions and jotted down notes as Terence Brahm continued digging into the background on the Albrights. Pitts and Waldrup stood off to the side, having found a common link in the infantry. At noon, Lori suggested they move upstairs to the cafeteria, where they could talk and have lunch at the same time.

  In the elevator, standing next to Miss Juarez, Parsons detected the faintest scent of perfume, something he hadn’t noticed the previous day.

  All five of them sat down at a large round table, an actual waiter waiting to take their lunch orders. “Please, order whatever you like,” Lori said, motioning Parsons to the seat next to her. “Our kitchen staff is equal to any restaurant.”

  Glancing over the menu, Parsons ordered a cheeseburger and fries, then continued asking questions, now turning to the Minniches’ background, particularly Mister Minnich’s first wife, Darlene.

  “From what he’s told me,” Lori said, “Mister Minnich has had zero contact with her since their divorce. They’d been married twelve years, no kids. She didn’t want any, but he did and thought he could change her mind. I’m not even sure if she’s still living in the area.”

  “Bad divorce? Equitable split?”

  “From what I gat
her, it was less than equitable at the time. Mister Minnich was taken by surprise when she left. He was down in the dumps for weeks. He didn’t even hire a lawyer, I don’t believe. Darlene hired a good attorney and received most of the marital assets and alimony.”

  “Since then?” Parsons asked.

  Lori thought a moment. “Well, there was the one time,” she finally said. Parsons leaned forward. “Her lawyer didn’t go far enough. I guess Darlene never expected Mister Minnich to succeed the way he has. Her alimony wasn’t increased when CephaloTech received the Department of Defense contract. I guess he did sort of reach out to her after the contract was awarded. When he came out of his stupor, he began seeing Celia. She worked in the lab then. Mister Minnich sent Darlene an invitation to their wedding. It was on a private island in the Eastern Caribbean.”

  Parsons considered it. Money was a big player in this case, had to be. He was now convinced that the Minniches had been kidnapped. CephaloTech was on the verge of selling billions of dollars’ worth of technology to the military and could probably equal that in sales to our allies. A kidnapper could demand a very high ransom. His thumbing his nose toward his ex-wife in that way had been sophomoric at best. But damned if Parsons didn’t like the guy’s style.

  Just then, Lori’s phone, which was sitting next to her laptop, began to buzz. As she reached for it, Parson’s own phone vibrated in his pocket. As she answered hers, he saw that he had a text message from Colonel Brash’s aide. It was only five words.

  Obsession found. Proceed to Marathon.

  After the threat of the chain saw was removed, Darius told the man that he would give them anything, tell them anything, if they’d not hurt his wife. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been. The two men had left without a word. He’d talked to his wife then, trying to reassure her. The very real threat of being hacked up with a chain saw frightened her a great deal.

  The thought of watching it done to the woman he loved, having suddenly and completely recalled the spectacle on the sundeck as his captain and crew were literally executed one limb at a time, scared him enough that he’d do or say anything.

  If he turned over the information they wanted and their captors released him and Celia, they’d probably have to flee the country. Patriots are supposed to give their lives rather than divulge secrets.

  Darius would do that without hesitation, if it were only himself. He loved his country. If they killed his wife, they’d get nothing and would have to execute him as well. But, cut off one of her arms and sell her as a one-armed sex slave? Darius would do anything.

  The husband and wife had talked after the men left. They’d tried escaping their bonds, but it was hopeless. The timbers they were tied to were strong and thick, and their restraints were large nylon zip ties, so tight they bit into the flesh of their wrists, their upper arms, and Celia’s bare ankles.

  Once their captors got the information they wanted, there was a very real chance they would be killed anyway. But Darius had one bargaining chip the captors didn’t know about, something he might be able to use. It was a long shot, and they’d have to live out their days in a foreign country, but it was probably the only chance they’d have to survive this ordeal and Darius knew it.

  He’d explained it to Celia, and they’d discussed the merits, and the likelihood that their captors would go for it, for over an hour. At first, Celia had been against the idea, convinced that these men would release them once they got what they wanted.

  Darius knew better. In giving these men the information they wanted, they’d be committing treason. The fact that their lives were at stake would have little or no bearing. His company would be ruined, he and Celia most likely dead and a black mark left on their names.

  Finally, exhaustion had overtaken them both, when the men hadn’t returned after a couple of hours. The inside of the building had grown very hot, the air heavy with moisture, and both Darius and Celia had passed out.

  Darius didn’t know how long they’d been asleep when the same two men entered again, the slamming door waking him. The one called Oleg carried a small folding table and chair, with a satchel over his shoulder. At least he doesn’t have the chain saw, Darius thought.

  The leader of the two stood in the near-total darkness, staring at Celia, still passed out. Oleg hung a small battery-operated lantern from a roof beam, then set the table and chair up in front of Darius.

  “Ready, Ilya,” Oleg said.

  The leader turned around. “Go get your tools, Oleg.”

  When Oleg left, the man called Ilya walked toward Darius, his hands clasped behind his back. “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, Mister Minnich. I am Ilya Dobrovska.”

  “I would say it’s a pleasure, Mister Dobrovska,” Darius said. “But that would be a lie.”

  “I too value honesty,” Ilya said. “And I will be very honest with you now. I have a client who is going to pay me quite well for the information you are going to provide. I will get that information any way I have to.”

  Oleg came back through the door then, and Darius could see that he was once more carrying the chain saw. Placing it on the floor in front of Celia, he removed a large pair of pruning shears from his pocket and moved around behind Darius.

  Ilya took a small semiautomatic handgun from under his shirt and pointed it in Celia’s direction. “Oleg is going to free you now, Mister Minnich. If you move in any way I do not like, I will shoot your wife and then you. I will not kill either of you, I will only shoot to inflict pain. A kneecap, perhaps. Then Oleg will work on your pretty wife with his saw while you watch. Am I making myself perfectly clear to you?”

  “Yes,” Darius replied with a nod. “I’ll cooperate completely.”

  Ilya nodded his head and Darius felt the tension from the nylon strap on his left wrist tighten for a moment before it fell free, cut by the large pruning shears. One by one, Oleg cut through his restraints.

  Free once more, Darius stood with his arms stretched out, as if he were still secured to the beams. He didn’t want to do anything to provoke the man.

  “You may lower your hands, Mister Minnich.”

  Slowly, Darius lowered his arms, while he looked straight at the Russian black marketer in front of him.

  “We don’t have to do it this way,” Darius said. “Yes, I know what you’re after, and I will give it to you. Freely. After that, if you should kill us, you’ll never know of any other discoveries my company has made. Other information that we can also sell to the highest bidder. I wish to be your partner.”

  It was late evening before we made our way into Boot Key Harbor. As predicted, the cutter Key Biscayne was ordered to escort the towboat and yacht, and we were instructed to accompany them to City Marina, where an agent with the Bureau would have some questions.

  Rusty and Jimmy tied off as I stepped over the gunwale and up to the pier with Kim. Before towing the yacht, two Coast Guardsmen in hazmat suits had boarded it and opened all the exterior hatches in an attempt to dissipate the stench of death. It helped. A little. We walked as wide past it as possible.

  The sheriff’s office had two cruisers at the end of the dock, with crime scene tape blocking anyone from entering the dock area. As we strode toward them, several suits started our way, along with a man in some kind of uniform. The uniformed man towered over the others with shoulders like a professional football player.

  “Are you Jesse McDermitt?” one of the men asked. He was close to my age. His hair was cut in a military fashion, but the bushy mustache said otherwise. Two other men were obviously military or cops. The fourth man I recognized as the FBI agent who had helped in the search and failed rescue of my late wife two years earlier.

  I extended my hand to the Bureau man. “Binkowski, right?”

  He took my hand firmly. “Yes, sir. This is Special Agent in Charge Dave Parsons, with Army Criminal Investigation.” Binkowski then nodded to the other two suits and the huge man in a security guard uniform, adding, “Sergeants Pitts an
d Brahm, Army MPs, and Captain Miguel Waldrup, head of security for CephaloTech. Mister Parsons was in charge of the investigation, until just a moment ago, when we all received orders from DHS.”

  I looked at the CID man, Parsons. Up close, I could see that he was probably a few years older than me, which meant he was nearing mandatory retirement age.

  “So, who’s in charge now, Mister Parsons?” I asked, shaking his hand, as Marty and Linda joined us, Linda talking on her cellphone.

  “You are, Agent McDermitt,” Parsons said.

  Linda extended the phone to me. “It’s Chyrel. She has Director Stockwell on hold for you.”

  “Will you excuse me?” I said to the four men, taking Linda’s phone and retreating down the dock a way.

  Putting the phone to my ear, I said, “Chyrel, what the hell’s going on here?”

  “Good afternoon, Jesse,” a familiar voice said.

  “Travis? Is this your doing?”

  “Just until Deuce arrives. He and Julie just took off over an hour ago and will land in Marathon just after sunset.”

  “What the hell did you tell these guys, man? There’s an FBI agent, a warrant officer from CID, two MPs, and a gorilla in a security guard’s uniform here telling me that I’m in charge.”

  “You are in charge, Jesse,” Associate Deputy Director Travis Stockwell replied. “Deuce will relieve you. You said you wanted to have your deputy friend involved, so involve him.”

  “I don’t know anything about investigating a damned double murder, Colonel.”

  “You don’t have to,” Stockwell replied. “Just direct the ones that do. I’ve put you on the clock. Starting time was when you radioed the Coast Guard. Your usual fee.”

  “This is totally different, Travis,” I whispered angrily. “Screw the money. A couple’s lives are at stake here.”

  “The coroner should arrive soon, along with forensics people. Until then, the yacht is a federal crime scene. You can allow the two agents access, to look. But nobody touches anything until the forensics people get there.”