I brought the skiff down off plane and shifted to neutral as the other two boats drifted up on either side. Cindy looked over the gunwale and said, “How deep is it here?”
Her boat didn’t have a depth sounder. “It’s probably ten feet,” I replied. “A few holes might be fifteen.”
“Really? I’ve never seen water so clear. I can make out every detail on the bottom.”
“We’ll spread out here,” I said. “To the north where those mangroves are is a shelf where the bottom rises from seven or eight feet to less than a foot. There’ll be snapper, grunts, and a few grouper and snook.” Pointing toward the mangroves I added, “Up on those flats, Cindy, we might be able to put you on some bonefish. No good to eat, but a real challenge to catch.”
“We’ll go west to the channel markers,” Charlie said. “I got some good sized grouper there last week.”
I pointed to the northeast and said, “Over there’s another drop off, Julie, north and east of Crane Key there. You and Deuce can wade the sand bar between the two drop offs and you’re sure to get snapper and maybe even a snook or two.”
The other two boats started up and headed off in both directions. In the stillness, Cindy opened her fly rod case and said, “Alex told me about catching bonefish and how difficult they were. She called them gray ghosts and said they were real easy to spook.”
“They are, but that’s not the challenging part. They have a bony palate, so a barbed hooks is useless. Once you hook one, you have to constantly keep pressure on them to keep them from throwing the hook out. Want to give it a shot?”
“Yeah, sounds like fun.”
“Go on up to the casting deck, I’ll pole us toward that little bay area ahead. They scavenge on the bottom in just a few inches of water. You can usually see their dorsal and tail fins sticking out.”
I got the pole from under the starboard gunwale and stepped up to the poling platform above the outboard. A few pushes had us up on the shallows and I scanned the area ahead, but didn’t see anything.
I pushed a couple more times with the pole, heading deeper into the little bay. Cindy pointed toward the mangroves on the left and sure enough there were three bonefish tailing in the shadows.
I whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “Tease them with a couple of light rolls a few feet ahead of them.”
She stripped line from the real and started her cast. Her form reminded me of Alex. She’d tried several times to teach me her technique, but I never could get it. I’d practiced after she was killed and got better, but nowhere near as good as her. After a couple of casts, not letting the fly touch the water, she had the distance and gently let the fly fall into the water about three feet ahead of the lead bonefish. Before the line settled into the water, she whipped the rod back to her side, the line arcing behind her and then whipped it forward again, the fly touching the water less than a foot in front of the fish.
The lead bonefish exploded on the fly and the fight was on. It didn’t last long, though. The fish charged to the left, stripping line, then turned and came straight toward the boat, spit out the hook and disappeared.
“Amazing,” Cindy whispered, not the least bit disappointed. “Very strong and smart fish.” She reeled in her line and I poled slowly to the east, knowing that those three were long gone. I spotted another one near the other side of the bay and pointed toward it.
“He’s likely to do the same thing,” I whispered. “Be ready for the charge.”
Again, she stripped out line and started her cast. When the distance was right, she let the fly barely touch the water a foot ahead of the big fish, before whipping it back up again. She did the same thing again, teasing it. On the third cast, the bonefish took the fly just as it touched the water. This time, she was ready and when the fish charged, she stripped line furiously, while lifting the rod tip. It turned and charged the opposite way taking a good thirty feet of line, before turning toward the boat again. Cindy learned fast and within five minutes had tired the fish and brought it alongside.
“There’s a camera in my fly rod case. Would you mind?”
As she lifted the fish from the water, I got her camera out and took two pictures of her and her first bonefish. She got down on her knees and gently lowered the fish into the water. Holding it under the belly, she faced it into the light current to allow water into its mouth and across its gills. A moment later, with a shake of its tail it was gone.
Cindy stood up, wiped her hands on her pants and said, “I’m going to send that to my fiancé. He works overseas. Now I see why Alex loved this place. I just know a school here will be successful.”
“You knew her long?” I asked.
“We grew up together. She was a country girl and I was a city girl. We met one weekend when my parents took us camping on the Columbia River and hit it off right away even though she was a couple years older than me. She taught me to fish and just about everything I know about the outdoors, I learned a lot from her. I was sad to see her leave, but now I can see why.”
“Want to catch another one?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to be filling your freezer,” she replied. “What exactly is a grunt?”
I laughed and said, “I’ll let you figure that out yourself. They’re not very big and eat just about anything you throw in front of them. But, nothing’s better in a pan.”
For the next hour we fished for grunts and caught about thirty, along with three red snappers, a marbled grouper and a good sized pompano. She was amazed at the fight the pompano put up for its size. When Cindy landed the first grunt, it started making its usual grunting noise, grinding its teeth. She laughed and said, “Yeah, now I get it. Not much of a fighter, though.”
“That’s why we like ‘em. That and they’re really tasty.”
To the east, I heard the familiar sound of Alex’s skiff start up. She’d bought it a few days before we got married and it had a huge 300 horse Mercury outboard on it. I debated selling it, but decided to keep it and swapped the engine with the 250 horsepower Yamaha that was on the Grady White.
When I looked to the east, I saw the skiff leap up onto plane and come roaring toward us. A minute later, Julie pulled back on the throttle and turned broadside. Julie and Deuce both had anxious looks on their faces.
“Chyrel called. We need to get back to the island,” Deuce said.
“What happened?”
“Smith disappeared,” he replied.
“Y’all go ahead. I’ll go over and let the Trents know we’re leaving.” Julie mashed the throttle and the little Maverick jumped up on plane again, heading south.
“Who is Smith?” Cindy asked.
“I’m sorry, Cindy. I can’t tell you that. And I’m doubly sorry that we have to cut this short.”
I sat down and started the outboard as she broke down her rod and put it in the case. When she was seated I put the boat in gear, brought it up on plane and headed southwest, toward Cudjoe Channel, where the Trents were anchored up. I came up slowly and cut the engine before I got close.
“I have to get back, Carl,” I said when we were still twenty feet away. “Deuce and Julie already left. Something’s come up.”
Trent nodded and said, “We’ll stay a little longer unless you need me. The fish box is nearly full.”
“Nothing for you to do,” I said. “Head back when you’re ready.” I let the skiff drift southward with the current until we were 50 yards away, then restarted the outboard and headed back.
“In Alex’s last email, she mentioned you were working with a government agency. Deuce too?”
I looked at her and said, “He’s kind of my boss, but I really shouldn’t say anything more.”
“I understand,” she said. “My fiancé, Hans, works for the government and can’t talk about a lot of what he does, even though he’s only a low level clerk at an embassy in northern Africa. Thanks for bringing me out here. You were wrong about one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“A good guide doesn’t necessarily have to be a good fly fisherman. You know the water and you know the fish. You’re a great flat’s guide.” I smiled and thanked her.
A few minutes later, we passed through the Water Keys into Harbor Channel and made the turn up to my house. I brought the skiff down off plane and idled up to the pier. Cindy tied off the bow line and I reached over and tied off the stern line.
“You’re welcome to stay for supper,” I said as we climbed out of the boat. “Charley is used to cooking for a lot of people.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “But the sun’s getting low. I should head back before it gets dark.”
“There’s plenty of room here if you want to stay the night. You can stay in the guest cabin of my boat. Plenty of fishing in the morning.” Why I wanted her to stay, I couldn’t say. Maybe it was just the connection to Alex.
“Well, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
“Some of us might be a little busy, but by sunset things should cool down. There’s a shower and a washer and dryer aboard and I’m sure we can come up with some clean clothes.”
“I always bring a change of clothes when I go out on a boat, along with anything else that I might need if I get stuck overnight.”
“Smart thing to do,” I said. “Just go through that door at the bottom of the steps. You’ll find the Revenge is pretty comfortable and it’s unlocked. Guest cabin is to port, through the salon and the head is across the companionway. I hate to be rude, but I need to check on some things. There’s two tables at the far side of the clearing. That’s where we usually congregate. See you shortly.”
I left her to get her gear out of the skiff and trotted to the bunkhouse. I saw Tony and Pescador with the kids near the aquaculture tanks and stopped to tell him we had a guest. He said that Dawson went snorkeling for stone crab and slipper lobster. It’s not as common in the Keys as the spiny lobster, but there’s no season so they can be caught year round.
When I got to the bunkhouse, Deuce was in a video conference with both Kumar and Stockwell. Kumar was explaining that when they arrived in Djibouti, they went straight to the CIA station house, but the Agent on duty said that Smith had left at noon and didn’t come back. He was supposed to meet with two other field operatives and failed to cancel the meet. His cell phone was on his desk. “From what the Assistant Station Chief said, he just vanished into thin air,” Kumar said.
“That’s not good,” Stockwell said. “Djibouti can be a dangerous place. But leaving his cell phone probably means he found out that his hit men failed and he’s running.”
“Deuce,” Chyrel said, sitting at another keyboard. “Sorry, but I just found something important. I placed a surveillance code on Smith’s Swiss account and just got a hit. But, it’s an hour old. He transferred $2.5 million.”
“Transferred it where?” Deuce and Stockwell asked at the same time.
“I’m still trying to trace it, but not having very much luck. He apparently had a sophisticated transfer program written that moved it from one account to another all over the world. It appeared and disappeared in more than 40 accounts in a matter of microseconds and then it just disappeared. No way to tell which one it’s currently in, without manually hacking each one to see. Wherever it is, he can make a phone call and transfer it securely.”
“And that happened an hour ago?” Deuce asked.
“Exactly when we landed here in Djibouti,” Kumar said. “What do you want us to do here?”
“Somehow he found out and he’s got a big head start,” Stockwell said. “He’s not in the country anymore. Deuce, make arrangements to get them back home. I’m going to send a few more of the team members down there.”
“Roger that,” Deuce said and Stockwell’s screen went blank. “Kumar, Chyrel will send you instructions for extraction shortly.”
“Make it a few hours from now, at least,” came Art’s voice over the feed. “It’s after midnight here and we haven’t slept in 16 hours.”
“Get some rest then,” Deuce said and the screen went blank. Deuce turned to Chyrel and said, “Find a flight out of Djibouti for them around 0700 local time.”
Deuce and I walked out to the tables in front of the bunkhouses and sat down. I reached over and pulled a cold Red Stripe from the cooler. “Beer?” I asked. He took it and I grabbed another.
“I’m going to have to postpone the wedding,” Deuce sighed.
I looked at him surprised. “Like hell you will. Jules doesn’t want anything fancy, but I can tell you for sure she’s already made a lot of arrangements that can’t be undone. You’re getting married in less than a week, man.”
He looked over at me and said, “With Smith on the loose, it’s not a good idea.”
“Deuce, describe the guest list that will be sitting on the Groom’s side.”
He thought for a moment and grinned. “I see your point. A bunch of fishermen and divers on one side, door kickers and snake eaters on the other.”
I held up my beer and he clinked the neck with his. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll all come armed. What caliber do you think will go best with my eighties leisure suit?”
He chuckled at that as Julie and Cindy came across the clearing. “I think we’ll stay here a few days.”
“Now you’re talking,” I said. “Jeremy and Tony are getting tired of each other. Maybe Stockwell will send Hinkle and Mitchel down to spice things up a bit.”
He laughed again, as we stood up and said, “Now I’m thinking you were serious about the leisure suit.”
As the sun began its descent to the horizon, Trent lit the grill in the big stone fireplace, Charlie brought out a huge platter of fish fillets, and Dawson returned with eight good sized slipper lobster and a bucket half full of stone crab claws. Trent had set three traps for stone crabs in the shallows west of the pier a few days earlier. We sat down to a nice supper and sat around talking about fishing as the sun began to set.
Just before dark, I heard my phone chirp. I’d completely forgotten I still had it in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I saw that it was a Keys number and answered it.
“Jesse, this is Jared. Sorry to bother you so late.”
“No bother. Just sitting around telling sea stories with some friends. What’s up?”
“I got canned. Went in this evening to tell the boss that next Friday would be my last day and he fired me.”
“That sucks. You have enough to hold you over until next week?”
“Barely,” he said. I could tell there was something else bothering him. I didn’t say anything, just let him get to it in his own time. “I also got tossed from my apartment. The owner came into town unexpectedly and said he’d sold the place. He’s moving all his stuff out now. It’s a furnished apartment over the garage and everything I own will fit in a sea bag, with room to spare. I guess I can ask dad if I can crash with him for a few days.”
“Do you have a car?”
“No, I haven’t really needed one in a year.”
“Call Lawrence,” I said. “Tell him to bring you to Old Wooden Bridge Guest Cottages, just before the bridge to No Name Key. I’ll pick you up at their marina in an hour. You’re welcome to stay here on the island until we leave for DC. I’ve got plenty of room.”
“You’d do that?”
“Hell, I’ll put you to work if it makes you feel better.”
He laughed and said, “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“See you in an hour,” I said and ended the call.
“Williams?” Deuce asked.
“Yeah, his boss fired him when he gave notice. He can stay in the bunkhouse with Jeremy and Tony.”
“Who is this guy?” Tony asked.
“A Marine I’m trying to help get back on his feet,” I said. “Got a raw deal from our friend Jason Smith a couple of years ago.”
“Well, any friend of yours,” Tony said lifting his beer.
Thirty minutes later, I was skimming across the shallows between Annette Key
and the northern tip of Big Pine Key, dodging the really skinny water along The Grasses. Another five minutes later, I was entering the Marina at the Guest Cottages. I didn’t see Lawrence’s big black Ford in the parking lot, so I tied off and walked up to the boat ramp on Bogie Drive. I didn’t have to wait long before Lawrence pulled over to the curb, with his window down. As Jared opened the passenger door to get out, I slipped Lawrence a couple of twenties.
“Evenin’ Cap’n,” Lawrence said.
“This guy give you any trouble, Lawrence?”
He laughed and said, “Nutin I couldn’t handle sar.”
“I appreciate this, Gunny,” Jared said as he came around the hood pulling his wallet out.
“The fare’s covered,” I said. “You ever swing a hammer?”
“Sure. You building something?”
“I have a few projects going on. You can work it off. Boats over at the dock there.” Then I turned to Lawrence, shook his hand and thanked him.
Jared and I walked over to the dock and stepped into my skiff. “Where do you live exactly?” he asked.
“A little island ten miles north of here,” I replied. “You’ll make eleven people on the island now, might be a few more later on. Hope you don’t mind sharing a bunkhouse with a couple of Squids.”
I started the outboard and idled out into Bogie Channel and turned north under the bridge. Once clear of the bridge, I brought the Maverick up on plane and threaded my way back home, arriving there 20 minutes later. I clicked the unlock button on the key fob and the east side door started opening slowly and the light inside came on. I turned the skiff around and backed it under the house, between the Grady and the Cazador.
“Damn!” Jared exclaimed. “All these boats yours?”
“All but the Grady White there. I gave it to my island caretakers. The Cigarette and the Winter here were confiscated in a drug bust.”
“Confiscated? So how is it you have them?”
“I work for the government sometimes. Most of the people here tonight do also. I’ll make a deal with you. Give me a week of hard work and I’ll pay you $1000. That should tide you over until you get to Lejeune.”
Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 19