"You don't know where she is, do you?" I asked. "Maybe you don't have as much control as you think."
Charlie stirred in his chair. "I took her little ass back to the island," he said.
"Be quiet, Charlie," Michelle said.
"It's what the Rev told me to do," he said, a defensive tone creeping into his voice.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked.
"It just didn't come up," said Charlie.
Michelle glanced over at him with a look of incredulity, as if she were just now figuring out how stupid he really was. I used that moment to hook my right foot under the edge of the coffee table, and brought it up forcefully. The table went over, hitting Michelle in the knees. I was right behind it, grabbing her gun hand with my left and delivering a hard punch to her jaw with my right.
She crumpled like a spent balloon, the pistol falling to the floor beside her. I kicked it out of reach, and turned to Charlie just as he was reaching for me with his big ham hands.
I ducked, and Charlie grabbed a handful of air. I struck him under the chin with the heel of my hand. That rocked him back some, and I slipped under his flailing arms and got him from behind in a chokehold. I kicked him in the back of the knee, taking him to the floor. He was gasping for breath as I tightened my arm around his neck, his struggles decreasing. Then he was out. I checked. He wasn't dead.
I ripped the electrical cords from two of the lamps scattered about the living room and trussed my captives like a pair of hogs. I picked up my pistol and pocketed it. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number Oscar Mendosa had given me. An answering machine picked up and I left my name and number.
Less than a minute later, my phone rang. "Mr. Royal, this is Oscar Mendosa."
"Thank you for getting back to me, sir. I need a favor."
"What is it?"
"I have two people that I need kept on ice for a couple of days. I can't take the chance that they'll talk to their colleagues. I'd rather those people didn't know I'm coming for them."
"You could kill them."
"I know, but I'd rather not."
"I'll have some men there momentarily. Where are you?"
I gave him the address and sat back on the sofa to wait. My right hand hurt where I'd coldcocked Michelle. I was pretty sure her jaw was broken. She'd be eating soup through a straw for a while.
Charlie began to stir. I went over and chopped him with the butt of Michelle's gun. He was quiet again.
I sat on the sofa, Michelle's nine millimeter in my hand. I heard the hiss of an airbrake, and then the rattling of cans in the alley. Garbage men making a late afternoon pick up. The sunbeams were no longer coming in the windows, blocked now by other houses as the sun sank toward the Gulf of Mexico. The day was waning, and I still had a lot to do.
Thoughts were bouncing around in my head like errant cue balls on a billiard table. I'd done something stupid. Again. I had to stop walking through front doors without a plan. If Michelle hadn't been so intent on making me understand that she was in charge of this operation, I'd probably be dead by now.
At least the people on Blood Island wouldn't be alerted to my presence. If I could slip in without being noticed, I might learn something. I wasn't sure how I was going to get Peggy out, but a vague plan was beginning to take shape in the back of my mind.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Logan Hamilton's number. "Logan," I said. "Can you bring my boat down to Marathon first thing tomorrow?"
"Sure. What's going on?"
"I think I know where Peggy is, and I need the boat to get her out."
"I thought you were in Key West."
"I am. But I need the boat in Marathon. I'll explain later."
"Where do you want to meet me?"
"Go to Faro Blanco and wait for me to contact you. I'll be there by dark tomorrow. See if you can pick up a rifle and a shotgun to bring with you."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Logan said, and clicked off.
I heard a door open in the back of the house. As I was tensing up to aim the pistol, a voice reached me. "Mr. Royal, Mr. Mendosa sent us. We're coming in."
"Come ahead," I said, lowering the gun into my lap.
Two men came through the door, looked at the situation, and each picked up a body. The smallest one had Charlie. I was impressed.
The larger one looked at me and said, "Mr. Mendosa said for you to call when you don't need us to keep these two anymore."
"I will. Thanks, and please tell Mr. Mendosa I appreciate his help."
They went out the back door and I left by the front.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Michelle must have thought she and Charlie could take care of me. She apparently had not called in any reinforcements. Still, I was careful leaving, and made sure nobody was following me.
The sun was low, but there was still a lot of daylight left. It was a little after six, and soon the crowds would be gathering in Mallory Square for the daily sunset spectacle.
I had to get to the dive shop to retrieve the gear I'd bought. I walked the few blocks and turned into the door of the small store. The surfer guy was behind the counter and motioned me to the back of the shop. My new equipment was piled on the floor.
"I took all the tags off for you," he said. "That's a lot of gear to carry. Is your car close?"
"I don't have a car. I have a rental boat. We can put it in there."
"Are you going night diving? I can add some lights to the package."
"No. I'm going out first thing in the morning, at daybreak. I'll just store the gear in the boat."
"I hope the stuff's there when you get back in the morning."
"It will be."
He put the gear in a two-wheeled cart and followed me to the rental boat. He handed it down into the boat, and I covered it with a tarp I found under the center console. It wasn't hidden well, but it'd do until I got back.
I had some time to kill. I was headed for Blood Island, but I didn't want to arrive before midnight. The later, I thought, the better the chance that the island would be asleep.
I walked over to a restaurant in the Historic Seaport, which wasn't very historic, but provided a sense of fun for the tourists. I took a corner table and sat with my hat pulled low on my face. I'd picked up a newspaper at the entrance, and held that partially in front of my face while reading it. I was about as inconspicuous as I could be.
I ate dinner while planning my next moves. I was hoping to find Peggy during my planned foray onto Blood Island, and then figure out a way to get her out the next night.
I'd told Logan to take my boat to Marathon, about fifty miles above Key West. Michelle knew who I really was, and I had to assume that the other people who were looking for me knew that as well. I didn't want anyone to recognize my boat and raise an alarm on Blood Island. I didn't think anybody would be looking for me or my boat in Marathon.
I was tired and grubby from a long day in the sun. I considered going back to my rooming house for a bath and a change of clothes, but I didn't want to risk being seen. I'd head back there when I returned from Blood Island. It would be late enough that any surveillance would probably have been pulled off.
If I could locate Peggy on the island, I'd be in a position to take her off the next night. Logan and I could bring my boat in close and, hopefully, with surprise and a little firepower, we'd be able to evacuate the girl. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best I could come up with.
I pulled out the schematic Debbie had faxed me. It showed the layout of the buildings on the island. There was a large main house, with three cabins on either side, making a letter C, with the house in the middle of the crescent.
On my morning visit to the island, I had seen that it was heavily wooded with Australian pines and other hardy salt-water resistant plants. Palm trees were plentiful, and the ground cover was mostly palmetto, with some blooming tropical plants. Mangroves bordered the water.
The schematic showed a path leading from the large
clearing where the house and cabins sat, down to the dock where I had seen the go-fast boats. Behind the house was a small building that I assumed was a utility shed of some sort.
I finished my meal and left the restaurant. The sun had given up the day, and darkness enveloped the key. I could hear the sounds of the nightly revelry from Duval Street, but I had no desire to join it. I walked the few blocks to the cemetery, found a bench, and took a nap.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I stopped the boat near Blood Island's entrance channel and dropped the anchor. It was a few minutes after midnight. A new moon was dawning, and the sky was dark. A low cloud cover obscured the stars.
I'd run the last few miles at idle speed, running lights off, hoping that the noise of my outboard couldn't be heard on the island. There was an easterly wind blowing from the atoll, so I didn't think the sounds would carry from my position to the west of the channel.
I stripped down in the dark and began to pull the wet suit on. That done, I sat on the gunwale and pulled on the rubber booties and fins. I hooked up the regulator to the twin tanks, checked to make sure it was working, and swung the tanks over my head, settling them like a backpack. I put my gun, Reeboks, and a couple of granola bars into a waterproof bag, and hung it on my weight belt. I pulled the hood over my head, and seated the mask on my face. I was ready.
I slipped into the water and swam down the anchor line the few feet to the seabed. I set the anchor deep into the sand bottom. I didn't want to return and find my boat gone. The water seeping into the suit next to my skin was chilly, but as my body heat warmed the trapped water, it became comfortable.
I surfaced and took a bearing on the entrance to the little lagoon. I submerged and started swimming, pausing regularly to check the luminous dial of my compass.
In about twenty minutes, I surfaced to find myself in the middle of the lagoon. I could see the dock with the go-fast boats tied to it. The glow of a cigarette flared in the night. A guard inhaling. Then I saw the fiery arc of the butt as it was flipped into the water.
I submerged and swam to my right, making for the small sand beach I'd spotted among the mangroves. The bottom was coming up, and I stopped again, poking my head out of the water just enough to see. I was about a hundred yards from the dock and right in front of the little beach. I stayed there, kneeling on the soft bottom, quietly reconnoitering. There was no movement anywhere.
I knew there was a guard on the dock, but if there was anybody watching the beach, he was well hidden. I had to chance it. I crawled toward the edge of the sand, where it met the mangroves. As I lifted my body slowly out of the water, I tensed for a shout or a shot. Nothing.
I eased over to the mangroves, removed the fins, mask, and tanks and stowed them among the roots. I moved into the trees that came down to the beach. I sat and took off the booties and pulled my Reeboks from the waterproof bag. I took out the nine-millimeter Glock I'd taken from Michelle. It was loaded with a seventeen-round clip. I put the sneakers on and put the booties with the rest of the gear. I hung the waterproof bag on my belt.
There was a path leading off the beach. I followed it, moving quietly, remembering the jungle craft I'd learned a long time ago in a very different part of the world. A mixed choir of insects and frogs was hidden in the brush, singing loudly. Now and then, a small animal rustled the leaves as it moved about. I was just one more animal, a little bigger, perhaps, and more deadly, but at one with the jungle.
I neared a bend in the path, and became aware of the pungent aroma of a burning cigarette drifting on the breeze. I stopped, standing stockstill, not moving a muscle. I heard the rustle of feet walking the path, coming my way. I didn't want a confrontation that would arouse the island, and I didn't want anyone to know I'd made a visit. I ducked off the path into the bushes. In my black wet suit, I would be virtually invisible.
The steps moved closer, and I made out the shape of a man holding a rifle, walking carelessly along the trail toward the beach. A regular patrol, I thought. I hung back as he passed, and then slipped back onto the path.
I came to a clearing. I could see a large house in the middle, lights on in two of the upstairs windows, otherwise dark. Three smaller buildings flanked either side of the main house, forming a crescent, with the big house situated in the middle at the bottom of the figure. Just like the schematic from the Property Appraiser's Office. The guest cabins were dark. No lights in any of them.
I made my way to the first cabin on my right and stood quietly by the door. I didn't hear any sound from inside. Then, out of the darkness, a snort. Pigs? No, someone was snoring.
I turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked, and the door swung inward. I stepped quickly into the space and found myself in a bunkhouse. There was only one main room in the building, and a door at the far end that I assumed led to the bathroom. There were a dozen army cots spaced around the perimeter of the room, each one flanked by a tall metal wall locker. Lumps were in some of the beds, and an occasional snore erupted from one or the other of the bunks. I saw men's clothing hanging from hooks next to several of the lockers, and rifles leaning against the wall. This was the guardhouse.
I counted eight beds with occupants. The other four were empty, but not made. That probably meant that there were four guards stationed around the island. Two shifts were sleeping and would replace the others at whatever interval they used. I thought it might be like the old army guard regimen of two hours on and four off.
I softly closed the door and moved to the next building. Again, I stood at the door and listened. No sound at all. I tried the door. Locked. I peered into the nearest window. The place was similar to the first; twelve beds, all occupied. I didn't see any weapons. I moved to the next building. The door was standing open, and the building was empty.
I crossed the courtyard and went to the end building on the crescent, the one farthest from the house. A guard, carrying what appeared to be an M-16 rifle, rounded the far corner of the building just as I reached the front door. He was fifty feet from me. I dropped to the ground and rolled next to the foundation of the cabin, concealing myself in the weeds that had grown up there. He came toward me, and then turned and went to the front door. He couldn't see me in my black wetsuit and hood. He opened the door and peered inside, standing quietly for a few moments, as if listening. Closing the door, he moved off the way he'd come, back around the building.
I rose and moved to the door. I stopped and listened, but heard nothing. The cabin was quiet. The door was bolted from the outside, locking the inhabitants in. I only had to slide the bolt back to open the door. What I assumed to be the bathroom door at the far end of the room was ajar, and some light escaped into the larger room. I saw the same bunkhouse arrangement I'd seen in the other cabins, except this one seemed to house women. Was Peggy here? No way to tell. I didn't want to chance waking any of them and raising an alarm.
I turned to leave, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I turned quickly, and found a woman in a white gown coming at me like a wraith in the dark. I saw the glint of steel in the anemic light escaping from the bathroom. She held a small kitchen knife, raised in a stabbing position. I grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back and covered her mouth with my hand, silencing her. The knife dropped to the floor. She kicked at my shins with her bare feet, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.
I whispered into her ear. "Quiet down. I'm here to help."
She slowed her movements and then stopped completely.
"I need to talk to you. If I let you go, will you be quiet?"
She nodded her assent, and I loosened my grip on her mouth.
"Where can we talk?" I asked in a whisper.
"Bathroom," she said, her voice mumbling beneath my hand.
We went toward the bathroom, my hand still held loosely over her mouth, her arm in a hammerlock. I pushed open the door and we walked into the lighted area. I let her go, taking a chance that she'd be quiet.
She turned to face me. "Hi, Peggy," I s
aid.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Matt Royal. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"Laura's ex?"
"Yes. She sent me to find you."
"Can you get me out of here?"
"Not now, but I'll be back tomorrow night."
"How did you find me?"
"Long story. I'll explain later. Are they drugging you?
"They tried. But I haven't eaten any of the food they've given me, so I think I'm okay. I've been feigning a drug stupor when they're around."
"What about the guards?"
"They're checking all the time. They tie me to the bed at night, but for some reason they forgot to do that tonight. I brought the knife back from Key West, and they didn't find it. The guards usually just look in the door, but sometimes they come inside. When I saw you, I thought you were a guard. I was hoping to get off the island again. I know where they keep the boats."
"I need you to stay put for one more day. Can you do that?"
"Yes. But I'm hungry. I haven't had anything to eat in two days."
I pulled the granola bars out of my waterproof bag and gave them to her. "Maybe this will help a little," I said.
"You've got to put a stop to this. Something big is about to happen, but I haven't figured it out yet."
"I know about the prostitution."
"It's much bigger than that."
"Any ideas?"
"No, but the Rev keeps bragging to me that he's about to do something bigger than anything he's ever done."
"Do you talk to him?"
"Mostly, I listen. He has me brought to the big house a couple of times a day. He wants to sleep with me, but so far I've held him off."
"How did you get to the phone in the Sharkstooth Bar?'
"One of the Rev's goons took me to Key West. They were going to put me in the whorehouse, but I got away."
"How?"
"I didn't eat anything the night before or at breakfast that morning. I had some sort of a stomach virus, I guess, and I couldn't keep anything down. The drugs wore off, but the goons didn't notice it. I scratched the guy taking me to the spa and ran. I tried to call my dad, but they found me and brought me back here."
Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island Page 13