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

by Wayne Stinnett

  “You’re an asshole,” I said.

  “Yep, earned that title a long time ago, when some general pinned those little birds on my collar. Look, this really is something the CCC should be the lead on, and right now, that’s you. When Deuce gets there, he’ll take over. Later, you and he can sit down and talk about Cay Sal.”

  “You got the wrong guy for this,” I said. But there was no sound from the phone. Looking at the screen, I saw that the call had been ended. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered as I stomped my way back to the group, everyone waiting for me to tell them what to do.

  I looked at Marty first. With an FBI agent, an Army CID guy, Linda with FDLE, and two MPs all waiting to investigate the murder of two people on board the yacht, probably four more murdered and fed to the sharks, and two more kidnapped, what does the federal government do? In their infinite wisdom, they put a fisherman and junior sheriff’s deputy in charge. No wonder they call it the Puzzle Palace.

  “Deputy Phillips,” I said, trying to sound professional for his sake. “Find out how long before the coroner and your CSIs get here. You’re in charge of securing the scene. Agents Parsons and Binkowski, until I’m told differently, and I haven’t been ordered otherwise yet, this is Deputy Phillips’s case. He’s been working it since yesterday morning when the first clue was found and was assigned the case by order of the top law enforcement person on these islands, the Monroe County Sheriff.”

  “At the moment,” Binkowski said, “you’re the top law enforcement person.”

  “How long have you been down here?” I asked him, beginning to get irritated.

  “Two years,” Binkowski replied.

  “And in that two years, you’ve never read the Florida constitution? It specifically gives each elected sheriff complete jurisdiction within their counties. Over FDLE, the state police, the FBI, and even DHS. The sheriff assigned this case to Deputy Phillips, and only the sheriff can authorize a federal agency to take it over. Until then, I’m offering the full cooperation of Homeland Security and its subordinate agencies to this deputy. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Binkowski replied, somewhat pissed.

  “You don’t look like any kind of federal agent to me,” the huge security guard said.

  Stepping past the four suits, I looked Waldrup squarely in the eye. “I work with the Caribbean Counterterrorism Command, an undercover badged agency of Homeland Security. It’s the top-tier federal agency that the FBI, CIA, CID, DEA, and any other letters you can think of that pertain to any federal investigative and law enforcement agency answer to, Captain. If I looked like you, I wouldn’t be very effective, would I?”

  “Sorry, sir,” the human mountain said. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that, well, the dead woman on board might be my cousin.”

  “There were two couples and four crewmembers on board,” Parsons offered. “The report from the Coast Guard said only two bodies were found.”

  I glared at Parsons. “Two bodies, and an arm and leg from at least one other victim. Deputy Phillips found the arm yesterday, and the leg was in the water by the yacht when it was found.”

  Marty returned from his patrol boat. “Captain Hammonds said our CSI team should be here any second, and he and the coroner will be here in five minutes.”

  “Until Hammonds gets here,” I said, “you’re the top law enforcement officer on the scene, Marty.”

  Turning to Waldrup, I said, “Sorry, son. If you’ll accompany the deputy, perhaps you can identify whose bodies are still aboard.”

  He started to turn and follow Marty. I put a hand on his bulging shoulder. “It’s not very pretty in there.”

  “Army Airborne, sir. I’ve seen ‘not pretty’ before.”

  I nodded, and he and Marty went aboard the yacht. Turning to the two agents, I asked, “Which of you is most up on the Minniches’ disappearance?”

  “That’ll be me, Agent McDermitt,” Parsons said, flipping open a notebook. “I’ve been interviewing co-workers of the missing couple since yesterday.”

  “Just Jesse,” I said. “What have you come up with?”

  “Then call me Dave,” he replied, then read from his notebook. “Darius and Celia Minnich left Miami a week ago to cruise to the west coast and pick up another couple, friends and supporters of their work, Jacob and Eliana Albright. They refueled in Fort Myers two days ago before heading south. Their last known location was in the Marquesas, yesterday morning. They planned to depart there at seventeen hundred hours, but failed to check in with Captain Waldrup at their prearranged time an hour after that. Onboard electronics appear to have been turned off, so their location couldn’t be determined.”

  Looking south, out over the harbor, I thought for a moment. “Mooney Harbor has shallow approaches,” I said, thinking out loud. “High tide yesterday was about seventeen hundred. It’s a good eighty miles from there to where we found the yacht adrift.”

  “What’s that tell you, Jesse?” Linda asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Dave, Agent Binkowski, this is my girlfriend, Agent Linda Rosales, Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and my daughter Kim.”

  They all shook hands as I continued my train of thought. “The yacht probably draws too much water to get out of Mooney at any other time. If they left on the high tide at seventeen hundred and didn’t check in or couldn’t be located at eighteen hundred, that’s got to be the time frame the yacht was rigged to sink.”

  “Sink?” Binkowski asked.

  “Yeah, someone deliberately pulled the hose off the bilge pump to sink her. A boat like this couldn’t go much faster than forty knots, I’d guess.”

  “Forty-five,” Parsons interjected. “As reported by Captain Waldrup, who seems to know the boat intimately.”

  “Forty-five knots would put them somewhere in the vicinity of Big Pine an hour after leaving the Marquesas. That’d explain the arm up in the Contents. The current would carry it east and the tide took it north, probably through Spanish Harbor, up to my island.”

  “Where’s that?” Parsons asked.

  “Twenty miles northwest of here.”

  “Currents could carry an arm that far?” Binkowski asked.

  “Only if it was tossed overboard in the right place and it was semi-buoyant,” I said. “Based on currents and tide, about ten miles west of where we found the yacht adrift in the Gulf Stream. The tidal current through the back country up there is pretty fast.” I pointed toward the south-southwest, across the harbor where the mouth of Sister Creek feeds out into the ocean. “About eleven miles that way was where it occurred.”

  Marty and Waldrup stepped back down to the dock and walked toward us. The security captain wore wraparound sunglasses like most watermen do around here, his eyes inscrutable behind them.

  Marty nodded his head toward the bigger man. “Captain Waldrup has positively identified the bodies as his cousin, Eliana Albright, and her husband Jacob Albright. Evidence suggests sexual assault and execution-style murders.”

  “No sign of the Minniches?” Binkowski asked.

  I knew where he was headed. Kidnapping is the bailiwick of the Bureau. He was jumping the gun by a long shot. There was something more important at the moment.

  “Until a ransom demand is made,” I said in a low, even tone, “we’re going on the assumption that they’re missing. Is that clear, Binkowski?”

  “Now just wait a minute, McDermitt,” Binkowski said. “This has all the earmarks of a kidnapping. And—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I froze him in place with a hard cold stare.

  Slowly, I turned to Waldrup. He stood ramrod straight, arms clasped behind his back, eyes a mystery behind his sunglasses.

  “Mi más sentido pésame a su pérdida, Capitán.”

  Nodding, Waldrup said, “Thank you, sir. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “No,” I said, feeling my eyes well up slightly. “She didn’t.”

  I jerked my head toward the far
end of the dock and started walking, Waldrup falling in step beside me. Changing the subject, I looked out over the water and asked, “You were Airborne?”

  “Yes, sir. Seventy-fifth, in Kuwait.”

  “Then stop calling me sir, dammit. I’m a retired Marine Gunny.”

  He turned toward me then and removed his shades. His eyes were blue, which I hadn’t expected. They were also moist and bloodshot, the latter of which I was pretty sure was because he was tired and overworked. I could sense it in the way he moved and carried himself.

  “You lost people?” he asked.

  Looking into his eyes, I could see that behind the pain of loss, there was a fire still there. “Yeah, a few,” I replied. Then without knowing why, I added, “Someone closer than a cousin was taken in the same way. I really am sorry, soldier.”

  “You’ll help me find out who did this, Gunny? Give me ten minutes alone with them?”

  I realized that I was already committed. Stockwell and the Cay Sal Bank would have to wait. “Yeah, we’ll find out who did it. You have my word on that. And if it was up to me, I’d give you fifteen minutes.”

  “Jesse!” Marty shouted. I turned and he pointed to a white van pulling up to the two cruisers at the foot of the pier. “CSI team’s here.”

  “Come on,” I said to Waldrup and we marched back to the others.

  The sheriff’s CSI team consisted of two men, both looked to be in their mid- to late forties. Marty introduced them as Lieutenant Richardson and Sergeant Jimenez. The two men wasted no time, going straight aboard the Obsession, each carrying two large satchels.

  A moment later, the coroner’s van pulled in, parking next to the CSI van. Doc Fredric got out of the passenger side and started our way. A younger man got out of the driver’s seat and went to the back of the van.

  Doc nodded at me and Binkowski, who I guess he’d met before. Then he smiled at Linda, extending his hand. “Agent Rosales, so nice to see you again. Is this your case?”

  Linda smiled and shook his hand. “No, actually, it’s Jesse’s case, and he’s put Marty in charge for now.”

  Doc Fredric looked puzzled for just a moment, then smiled up at me. “So those rumors are true, then.”

  “I don’t know, Doc. I never put much stock in sea stories myself.” I introduced him to the others.

  “Army CID?” Doc asked, when I introduced Dave Parsons. “How’s this connected to the Army? Or should I not ask?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can, Doctor Fredric. But the reason the Army’s interested is classified.”

  “We don’t stand on formality down here, son. How about Doc? That’s what everyone else calls me.”

  “Okay, Doc, and you can call me Dave. That’s what everyone will be calling me in a few weeks when I retire. What I can tell you is that Mister Minniches’ company, which Captain Waldrup works for, has a research contract with the military. They’re scheduled to exhibit a project very soon that they’ve been working on for several years. It’s a vitally important project to the Army. I was assigned by one of the Assistant Secretaries of the Army and report directly to the Pentagon. That’s really all I can say right now.”

  “Jesse!” Jimmy shouted from the cockpit. “Your laptop just started playing Coltrane.”

  Suddenly, Pescador vaulted over the gunwale and went charging for the yacht, barking at a high nervous pitch. His actions all day had been way beyond normal. I quickly moved into his line of sight and yelled, “Pescador! No!”

  As if seeing me for the first time, he stopped and sat down, looking from me to the yacht, whining. “Sorry,” Jimmy said, running up behind Pescador. “He’s been wanting to get off the boat, since we tied up. Thought he had to piss, man.”

  Grabbing Pescador’s collar, Jimmy tugged on it, calling his name. The dog didn’t budge, but jerked his head back, trying to pull out of the collar.

  “Pescador!” I said firmly. He instantly sat back down, and I knelt in front of him. Taking his big shaggy head in both hands, I gave him an affectionate shake. “What is it, boy?”

  Pescador looked at me as if begging for something. Glancing over to the yacht, he whined again. “Damn, I wish you could talk. Hey! Look at me.” When he turned back to me, I said, “Go with Jimmy. Get back on the boat and stay there.”

  As I stood, Jimmy gave him a gentle tug. Pescador turned and walked back toward the Revenge with him, occasionally looking back at the big yacht and whining.

  Waldrup had pulled Parsons aside, speaking urgently in a low tone, as I rejoined the group. “Sorry, my dog’s never acted like this before. I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

  “Would you say he might have recognized the yacht?” Parsons asked. “Like he’d seen it before?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “That’s exactly how I’d describe it.”

  Waldrup whispered something else to Parsons.

  “Deputy Phillips,” Parsons said, turning to Marty. “Will you go aboard, please? Go to the master stateroom and bring us the framed photograph mounted on the wall next to the hanging closet door.”

  Doc’s assistant arrived with a single gurney, a large black case on it. “Want me to go ahead and get the second gurney, Doc?”

  “Not just yet, Clyde,” Doc replied and then turned to me. “With your permission, Jesse, I’d like to go aboard and have a look at the bodies. Have they been identified?”

  “Yeah, Doc. Captain Waldrup here is related to the woman, and the man is her husband. If y’all will excuse me a minute, I have a call on the boat that I need to return.”

  As Doc and Clyde boarded the Obsession, I trotted quickly back to my own boat. When I opened the salon hatch, Pescador was standing there waiting, still whining.

  “Sorry, dude,” Jimmy said. “I didn’t want to yell across the dock that you had a call on your spy computer, man.”

  “What the hell’s with that mutt?” Rusty said from the galley, where he and the forensics lady were talking. “Known that dog two years and he ain’t never acted up like he has today.”

  “No clue,” I said, opening the laptop. “Miss Stewart, Doc Fredric’s here. They just went aboard to examine the bodies. If you’d like to help, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

  “Gunshots aren’t my specialty, but I can take a hint,” she replied with a bright smile, heading through the hatch.

  After a second, Deuce’s face appeared on the screen, with Julie standing over his shoulder. Thinking quickly, to let them know that Rusty was with me, I said, “How about making me some of whatever you’re having, Rusty?”

  Looking at me from the back of the laptop, my old friend winked as Deuce said, “Hold off on that a second, Rusty. I need to talk to Jesse in private, if you don’t mind.”

  I nodded at Rusty and Jimmy, and the two headed for the hatch and out onto the dock, after Meg Stewart. “They’re gone,” I said. “What the hell is Stockwell doing, putting me in charge?”

  “Just symbolic,” Deuce said. “Actually, it was my idea. The whole team is up in Homestead, and Julie and I will get there before any of them can. So, since you were on the scene…”

  “Well, at least it got you out of DC early. Can you tell me anything that I should pass on to the real investigators on the scene?”

  Deuce gave me a complete rundown on the project the missing couple’s company was working on. When he finished, I let out a low whistle. “An invisibility suit?”

  “Not really invisibility,” Julie said. “More like mimicry.”

  Then it hit me. The company’s name. “Like a cephalopod? I get it now. Yeah, this thing would be extremely valuable on the battlefield.”

  “Which is why DHS and particularly the CCC has to be the lead investigative agency. If the Minniches have been abducted, this technology could end up in the hands of our enemies.”

  “How long till y’all get here?” I asked.

  “We caught a tail wind most of the way and I told the pilot to keep it floored. We should be touching down in ten minutes. You�
��re at City Marina?”

  “Yeah, guess you’ll surprise Rusty here, then?”

  “He still doesn’t know?” Julie asked.

  “No, he and Jimmy stayed in the cockpit when we got here, watching after Pescador. Damn dog’s been going nuts.”

  “Alright,” Deuce said. “See you in about fifteen minutes.”

  I had to slide sideways through the hatch, to keep Pescador inside. Once I closed it, he erupted into continuous barking.

  On the dock, I said to Jimmy, “Be careful going back in. He’s right by the door.”

  “Why was Doc Fredric asking you if he could look at the stiffs?” Jimmy said.

  “Stockwell put me in charge, until Deuce gets here.”

  “When’s that gonna be?” Rusty asked.

  “Come on, bro,” I said. “We’ll wait for them together. Should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

  When we rejoined the others at the stern of the large yacht, I noticed a crowd was gathering at the end of the dock and that another man had joined the group, waiting for the coroner and CSI team to finish up. He wore the same uniform as Marty, with captain’s bars on his collar.

  “You must be Captain Hammonds,” I said.

  “And you’re Jesse McDermitt?” he asked. “I’ve heard of you around here. Never knew you were a Fed, though.”

  “We like to keep it that way,” I said. “My boss will be here in just a few minutes. Until he arrives, you and your men are in charge of security here.” Turning to Parsons, I said, “Can I talk to you a second, Dave?”

  We walked out of earshot of the others and I turned toward him. “Have you seen this cephalopod suit? Is it as good as they say?”

  “Better,” he replied, unsurprised that I knew about it. “A guy was right in front of me wearing it, and I couldn’t see him.”

  “I was a sniper instructor in the Corps, Dave. That’s what we got paid to do.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you weren’t lying on a table in a ghillie suit, with the table turning all psychedelic colors, were you?”