As we launched forward onto plane, headed away from the attacking boat, I looked back and saw Julie turning and accelerating toward it. Deuce had joined the four agents in the bow. He must have borrowed a Sig from one of the agents with the FN’s and all five of them were firing at the boat.
Bender was now standing by the ladder, yelling at the other agent in the cockpit, as Doc was hurrying the President and Chertoff into the engine room. “He’s reloading!” Bender yelled, while looking aft through his binoculars.
The agents on the Cazador must have found the range, because there was a thunderous explosion as the attacking boats gas tanks exploded. I looked back and saw a giant mushroom of orange fire and black smoke rolling up into the clear, blue sky. In seconds it was all over and I pulled back on the throttles to an idle.
Bender was speaking into his sleeve, “Trailblazer is safe. Head immediately for Angel.” Then he turned to me and said, “Turn around, head back to the marina as fast as possible.”
I pushed the throttles forward again and turned to port. In the distance, I could see that Julie was well past the smoldering remains of the boat and headed northwest as fast as the Cazador could go. “Julie, Deuce, keep the throttle wide open, we’ll catch up.”
“How are you communicating?” Bender asked.
“Ear wigs,” I said.
“What other communications do you have aboard?”
“VHF and UHF.”
“Where’s the UHF?”
I switched it on and he changed the frequency, then spoke into the mic, “VFA-106, Trailblazer is under attack. Launch counter measures immediately.” Then he looked at me and asked, “What’s our exact position?”
I pointed at the GPS’s latitude and longitude display. “Give them these numbers. Our heading is 290 degrees.”
He relayed the information then added, “Scramble Coast Guard recovery helo. We splashed one tango at our current position. A small fishing boat.”
Five minutes later, I’d caught up to the Cazador and slowed down to match their speed. Suddenly, two FA-18 Super Hornets roared overhead only fifty feet off the water. The two attack aircraft climbed vertically and turned, then leveled off at about 2000 feet, slowed and began to circle us.
Even at full throttle, it was going to take at least a half hour to get back to the marina. I called down to the cockpit, “Doc, think you can get those fish cleaned before we make the dock?” He gave me a thumbs up and opened the fish cooler.
Bender turned to me and said. “You know, if it hadn’t been for the other Captain’s quick thinking, we might all be dead. All of you performed perfectly.”
“Think it’s safe for the President to come out of the engine room? It gets pretty hot down there.”
“I didn’t think of that,” he replied. Then into his sleeve he said, “All clear up here. Take Trailblazer inside the cabin.”
A moment later, Stockwell joined us on the bridge. Jackie was still in the second seat. “Commander Burdick, would you see if our guests need anything?”
She’d been completely quiet throughout the ordeal, maybe in shock. She shook it off and said, “Right away, Colonel. Was anyone hurt?”
“Minor injuries on the other boat, but Commander Livinston has taken care of them. The Secretary has a slight burn on his hand.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said as she left the bridge.
Stockwell sat down in the second seat. “How could anyone know the President was aboard?” He asked looking right at me. I thought about it for a minute and said, “Just before he fired, Julie said it looked like that guy from the bar that Deuce told you about.”
“What guy? What bar?” Bender asked.
So I told him all about the wet down party and the guy that seemed too interested in what we were talking about.
“Weren’t you told how sensitive this visit was?” Bender demanded.
“Look Bender,” I said with equal force. “There was no mention of the President at any time. If it was the guy from the Anchor, he didn’t learn about the President being here from any of us.”
“There will be an investigation,” Bender said with a scowl. “By the FBI.”
“We’ll be investigating also,” Stockwell said. “But I can assure you there was no leak on our end.”
Chapter 9: Key West Connection
Thirty minutes later, we came roaring into the channel to the Boca Chica marina. Navy Shore Patrol had secured the docks and forced everyone in the marina away from the area. Air Force One was at the west end of the runway, with the engines running. We circled the turning basin and came up to the docks as Bender and the second agent came out of the salon with the President and Chertoff. Doc barely had time to tie a line to one of the dock cleats and set the cooler on the dock before the four agents from the Cazador swarmed the dock and more agents came out of the two waiting cars. They were no longer hiding their weapons, but displayed them openly.
In seconds, the President and Chertoff were whisked away in the two cars, Bender carrying the cooler. In another few minutes, we could hear the roar of Air Force One’s engines as it took off down the runway.
Deuce and Julie joined us as we climbed up to the dock. Julie had a bandage on her left arm, just above the elbow and there was blood on her shirt sleeve.
“Are you alright, Julie?” Stockwell asked.
“Yes sir. Just a scratch.”
“How did you know it was a heat seeking rocket?” he asked.
“I didn’t really,” she said. “I guess some part of my brain told me there wasn’t any way a regular RPG rocket could be aimed from a pitching boat at another pitching boat. It was just instinct to fire the flare gun, I guess.”
“Whatever it was,” Stockwell said, “you reacted quick enough to save the President. There’s going to be an investigation. All of you are to cooperate with the FBI on it. I think we should all sit down tomorrow and go over every aspect of what led up to this. At the island? About noon?”
“Yes sir,” Deuce said. “Think we might be able to find out what the Coast Guard chopper finds out there?”
“We will,” he replied. “It might take a day or two, though.”
“Deuce,” I said, “you and Julie take the Cazador to the island. You can stay in the house. I’ll be up there in the morning. I still have to go into Key West and meet with Williams.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Stockwell said. Then he turned to Jackie and said, “Can I drop you somewhere, Commander?”
“Thanks, Colonel,” she said. “But I live in Key West, Jesse can drop me off.”
“Very well,” Stockwell said. “I’ll see the five of you tomorrow.” Then he turned and walked to his car at the end of the dock.
Jackie turned to me and said, “I still need to get to Marathon and get my car.”
“I’ll have Lawrence take you up there after you get off work tomorrow,” I said. “I called him just before we came into the marina. He’s going to meet me over on Stock Island.”
“You staying at Oceanside?” Doc asked.
“Yeah, I want to leave there about 0800, if you want to ride along.”
“I’ll see ya then,” he said as he started toward his motorcycle.
By now people were coming back into the marina and the Dockmaster walked toward us. Deuce said, “We’re outa here. See you at noon, Jesse.”
“Go ahead and get aboard, Jackie. Start up the engines and I’ll cast off.”
She was on the bridge and had the engines burbling as I tossed off the last line and the Dockmaster came up to me. “What the hell happened out there? That was the President’s plane wasn’t it?”
“Just another VIP client,” I said as I stepped across the gunwale and down into the cockpit. “Gotta run.”
Minutes later, we idled out of the channel turned west and made the short run to the channel into Stock Island and Oceanside Marina. Jackie was quiet all the way and I didn’t bother her. She’d bring it up, when she was ready.
“I never even got a picture,” she finally said.
“Doc got one of you and the President, while he was holding up a mackerel. He’s going to email it to me to send to you.”
“Really?” she said with a smile. “That’s good. I was afraid nobody would believe me when I tell them what happened. Wow, what an exciting day.”
“You can’t tell anyone about the attempt on the President’s life,” I said. “The fishing, sure. Stockwell hitting on you, sure. But, not about the attack.”
“Stockwell hitting on me? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t notice. You probably have bruises.”
“He wasn’t hitting on me, Jesse. Do I detect a little jealousy?”
Now there was a loaded question, if ever there was one. No good way to answer that one. “Doc showed me the picture,” I said changing the subject. “Very flattering. It’ll make a nice blowup you can frame and put on your wall.”
We arrived at Oceanside and I went in to make arrangements for an overnight slip at the private dock. Once we were tied up and the engines shut down we went down to the Galley for a quick bite to eat. As I was washing the dishes Jackie said, “I’ll be in the shower.” Then she started down the steps to the forward stateroom. On the last step she turned her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder and said, “Don’t be long.”
An hour later, while we were sitting on the bridge, Lawrence pulled into the marina and over to the private dock area. I locked up the cabin and we went out to his cab. “Did yuh see di President’s plane dis mornin’?” he asked. “Flew right over di island.”
“He was our charter,” I said. “Nice guy.”
“Yuh took di President out fishin’?”
“Along with a couple other VIP’s,” Jackie said.
“I’ll be,” he exclaimed. “Where to, Cap’n?”
“We’re dropping Jackie at her house, then I’m going to Blue Heaven, to see Jared Williams.”
“He won’t be dere, Cap’n. I jus drop him off at di cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” I asked.
“Ya mon, his friend Pop kill hisself yestuhday. Funeral’s tuhday.”
I thought that over and told Lawrence to drop me at the cemetery after we dropped Jackie off at her house. Ten minutes later, I walked Jackie to the door and then climbed into the front seat with Lawrence. “Who was Pop?” I asked.
“He a old timer on di island, name of Jackson Wainwright. Was in Vietnam a long time go. Not right in di head ever since. No kin, but young Jared was close to him and paid for his plot.”
It was only a couple of minutes to the cemetery. I told Lawrence to wait and handed him a twenty. I walked through the gate toward the statue of the Lone Oarsman, a memorial to the men killed on the USS Maine in Havana Harbor in 1898. A woman I once dated said the Oarsman and I were kindred spirits. The cemetery is pretty large, but I figured it shouldn’t be too hard to find an ongoing funeral. On the far side of the cemetery I spotted a canopy with a large group of people around it and started that way. As I got close I could see that most of the mourners were young people and a middle aged couple in the next of kin seats was crying. There were a lot of teenage kids, but I didn’t see Jared anywhere. I looked around and way in the corner of the cemetery, I spotted him. Hard not to see him, in fact. He was wearing Marine Corps dress blues.
I walked that way and as I got closer I could see the casket, draped with an American flag. Jared and one other man was standing there. The workmen who were waiting to cover the grave were at a respectable distance. The other man wore tattered clothes and had a scraggly beard and hair. A sharp contrast to Jared, who was in a heated discussion with the vagrant.
Jared turned toward me when I walked up and there was fire in his eyes. I was wearing a fisherman’s cap, jeans and a denim shirt with the Marine Corps logo on the breast pocket with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He saw the eagle, globe, and anchor before his eyes turned to my face. He recognized me and said, “You’re a Marine, McDermitt?”
“Retired,” I said. “Sorry for your loss, Jared. Lawrence just told me you were close.”
His eyes moistened a little, “Yeah, we helped each other out. He was a good man. Would you give me a hand folding his flag?”
“Be honored to, Jared.”
He turned to the vagrant and hissed, “Get lost.”
The man muttered something unintelligible and stomped off toward the gate. I took the position at the head of the casket, to allow Jared to do the folding for his friend. He stood ramrod straight at the foot of the casket and slowly raised his right hand in final salute. Together, we lifted the flag and side stepped away from the casket. I’d performed this ritual too many times in the past and it was apparent that Jared had, also. Our movements were sharp and crisp and his folding of the flag was done with reverence and precision. A moment later he made the last fold, I folded the corner of the union as he opened the slot created and I tucked it inside. He took the now folded flag and creased the edges, stuffing the corner of the union tighter and straightening it into a perfect triangle before he cradled it to his chest.
He turned smartly to the right and stepped away from the grave a few paces to where the next of kin would be seated, if there were any. There was no one else there and this really tugged at my heart strings. He stood there motionless for a moment, his head bowed as though he were speaking to someone seated, his lips moving in silent recitation.
After a moment he turned toward me, eyes red and moist. “Why’d he have to do this?” he asked.
“I don’t know, son. We all carry demons and for some, they just get too strong.”
He looked at me and noticed the Recon tattoo on my forearm for the first time. “You’re a Recon Marine? See any action?”
“Yeah,” I said. “2nd Force Recon. No action like you guys today. I served through 20 years of fairly peaceful times. Minor skirmishes in Lebanon, Somalia, and Grenada.”
“When were you in Lebanon,” he asked. All Marines know about Beirut. His eyes seemed hollow and as I thought back, I’m sure mine matched his.
“The day we lost 220 Marines,” I said solemnly and stared off toward the Lone Oarsman. I don’t like to talk much about that day, but Jared also knew the horrors of war and he’d just lost the one person he could talk to about it. “I was with BLT, 1/8. My squad was on mounted patrol and we’d left the barracks at 0600. We went up the coast road, then west on the loop around the city, heading to our assignment area. When we got to the west side of Beirut, we heard an explosion to the south. It wasn’t unusual to hear explosions, but I felt something churn in my gut. A couple of minutes later, we heard the report over the radio that the barracks was under attack. Then all hell broke loose. We had to fight our way back to the barracks and set up a perimeter around the damaged gate when we got there. To this day, I can still remember the smell.”
“I killed a little girl,” he blurted out. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know she was in the house. She stepped in front of the bullet, a second after I fired.” His eyes started to brim with moisture. Eyeball sweat.
“I know. We have some friends in common.” Then to change the subject, I asked, “Was Pop a Marine?”
“No, he was Army Special Forces. Did three tours in Nam, then got booted out.”
“A piece of paper doesn’t change a man’s honor,” I said. “Your being here proves that.”
“What friends?” he asked.
“Owen Tankersley.”
Jared nodded and said, “He believed me.”
“I know that too. I just saw him a few days ago. That’s why I’m here. Want to go get a drink and talk?”
We walked back to Lawrence’s cab in silence. As we approached the car, Lawrence got out and opened both back doors for us, then stood by the passenger side with his head bowed, holding his hat in his hands in front of him.
We got in the back of the car and I told Lawrence to take us to Don’s Place, on t
he other side of the cemetery on Truman Street. When we got there, I told Lawrence I’d call him later and slipped him another twenty. He handed it back and said, “Dis ride be on me, Cap’n.” Then he turned to Jared and said, “Man nuh dead, nuh call him duppy.” Then he turned, got in the car and drove away.
Jared looked at me puzzled and said, “Known that old guy for two years and some of the things he says just makes me scratch my head.”
“It’s an old Jamaican saying. It means ‘As long as someone’s alive, don't dismiss their potential.’ I’ve come to realize that Lawrence is a very wise man.”
We walked into the bar and took a seat at a table in the corner. There were only a handful of people in the bar, but it was still early. A waitress came over and I asked her to bring us a couple of Red Stripes and two double shots of Pusser’s Navy Rum. Jared laid the folded flag on the table between us and placed his cover on top of it. The waitress recognized we weren’t there for fun and hurried to the bar to fill our order.
“You saw Tank the other day?” Jared asked.
“Yeah, I was at Lejeune with your dad. He flew me and some friends up there for the graduation of my buddy’s daughter from Coast Guard Maritime Enforcement training.”
“You know my dad?”
“He does some mechanical work for me from time to time. We had lunch with Tank and your brother.”
“How’s he doing?”
“David, Luke, or Tank?”
“All three I guess. I haven’t seen Tank in a couple years and Luke in almost a year.”
“Your dad’s worried about you. Luke just got promoted. And Tank? Well, he’s still Tank.”
“Probably still wearing his Alpha uniform to get officers to salute him, I bet.”
“Yeah,” I said with a laugh as the waitress set the cold beers and shots on the table. “Some things never change.”
I lifted my glass and looked him in the eye, “To Jackson Wainwright, a hero.”
Jared lifted his and said, “To Pop.”
We tossed down the rum and followed it with a long pull on the cold beer bottles.
“I want to ask you a personal question, Jared.”
Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 14