“Chyrel,” Deuce said. “Figured she’d hack it faster than I could call and get it. Yeah, Monday.”
“And it wasn’t a passenger van, Deuce. It’s a cargo van. Something more, on Stolski’s list of associates is a guy in Baltimore by the name of Joshua Lothrop, a former explosives expert with the CIA, now a freelance bomb maker.”
“Cargo van,” he said thinking out loud. “Bomb maker. Miami. Monday.” I let him come to it and didn’t say anything. Then in a whisper he asked, “The wedding?”
“Julies there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, listen. Strategically, it’d be a great choke point. He knows the date and place of the wedding. He blames you and maybe me. Plus he can take out everyone else involved. He knows the whole team, including Stockwell, will be there.”
“I need to get back up there,” he said. “We need to get proactive and find him. We only have three days.”
“Wait till morning,” I said. “Nothing we can do tonight. I’ll get with Stockwell, email him the information we have and bring him up to speed.”
We said goodbye and I turned to Chyrel. “Get the Colonel on video conference and email him the information on the van and Lothrop. I’ll be there in just a second.”
She headed to the bunkhouse and I turned to Cindy next. “Sorry to ruin your fishing adventure, but we’re going to be busy for the next few days.”
“Is it safe here?” she asked in a very worried tone.
“Safer here than anywhere else,” I said. “We’ll have two men on watch all night.”
Next I turned to Jared and said, “You’re now on the team, temporarily. You okay with that?”
“Aye aye, Gunny!” he said a little too enthusiastically.
“Good. Come with me.”
We walked across the clearing up the rear steps to the main house and down to the docks. “Come aboard,” I said. “There’s a few things we might need.”
We went up through the salon and down to the forward stateroom. I knelt down and punched in the code to unlock the bunk and raised it up. I pulled out three boxes and handed them one by one to Jared. Then I pulled out one of the larger fly rod cases and lowered the bunk.
“You familiar with the Sig P226?” I asked.
“Yeah, dad owns one and I’ve fired it many times.”
I took one of the cases and opened it. Inside were a pair of holstered Sigs, four magazines, and a box of ammo. “Load those mags,” I said handing them to him along with one of the Sigs. I opened the fly rod case and pulled out my M40-A3 and attached the night scope to the rail. “I know you’re familiar with this,” I said.
“Damn straight. What the hell else do you have in there?”
“Just a few toys,” I replied with a grin.
“What’s in the other boxes?”
“Pulsar Edge headsets.”
“Night vision?” he asked.
“Yeah, they come in real handy for night fishing,” I said with a grin.
As we walked back across the clearing, Jared said, “Thanks again for letting me stay here. It’s good to be able to hang out with others, well, like me.”
I glanced at him in the gathering gloom. He seemed a lot more relaxed than the other times I’d seen him in Key West. “Any problem sleeping last night?”
We walked a bit before he answered. “I’ve had a recurring dream just about every night. The nights I don’t have that one, there’s several others with the same theme. Bad dreams. I wake up in a sweat every night. But, last night was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in two years. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Could just be the salt air. My guess is you’re just more comfortable. Like you said, being around others like yourself, guys that have been fighting their own demons, it’s good. Opening up and facing your own fears is better. That’s what you and Pop did, right.”
He just nodded as we joined the others. I left him and the boxes on the table and went to the bunkhouse. “He’ll be on in just a second,” Chyrel said. “He was at a dinner party and had to find a quiet spot.”
I sat down in front of the laptop and waited. A moment later, a screen opened and Stockwell’s image appeared. “I just read the emails that Chyrel sent, Jesse. Where’s Deuce?”
“He and Julie had some errands, but will be back here in the morning,” I replied.
“Good. I agree with your assessment and I’ll have the Feebs put out an APB on the van and check out Lothrop’s place in Baltimore. I’ll call you on your satphone within the hour.”
I went back outside to the tables and less than an hour later, after most everyone had turned in, my phone chirped. It was Stockwell. “The Special Agent in Charge in Baltimore just called me,” he said. “They raided Lothrop’s house and took him into custody. When he realized he might be charged as a terrorist he sang like the proverbial canary.”
“Smith was already gone, I assume?”
“Long gone. He admitted that he made a bomb for him, but said he had no idea it was for a domestic target. He arrived a little after 0900 and left within a half hour.”
“Tony’s here with me, Colonel. I’m going to put you on speaker. What kind of bomb is it?”
“A really nasty one. Twelve pounds of homemade semtex, with no detection taggant added. It’s a triangular shaped charge roughly four inches on all three sides and two feet long. The semtex is inside a small drum 12 inches round and two feet tall. The rest of the space is filled with small finish nails, like used in cabinet making.”
Tony let out a low whistle and turned to Chyrel, “Do you have a calculator?” While she went to her gear box he asked Stockwell, “Did Lothrop say what type of semtex he made? There’s a number of versions.”
Chyrel handed him a calculator and he started working numbers quickly. Before Stockwell could find the answer in the fax from the SAIC, Tony said, “Never mind, Colonel. From the dimensions and weight, it’s semtex 10. Pretty much what’s manufactured today.”
“Yeah, here it is,” Stockwell said. “You’re right, he said he manufactured it identical to semtex 10.”
Tony continued as he worked the calculator again, “Without that taggant added it’ll be hard for dogs to detect it. Semtex 10 has an explosion heat of 5030 kilojoules per kilogram and a detonation velocity of 7300 meters per second. Twelve pounds of that shit is equal to about 20 million foot pounds of force. That can completely vaporize a concrete structure. A drum that size is about 11 gallons, minus the semtex so you’re looking at about a hundred pounds of flechettes, that’ll kill anyone standing within 200 feet. The whole thing is going to weigh at least 115 pounds. Not something you can throw.”
“Not something you need a cargo van to haul either,” I said.
“At least we know what it is and we know what he’s driving,” Stockwell said. “I’m sure the van will be found before he can get there. But, I’m going to go ahead and mobilize the team. We’re all coming Sunday anyway. Expect more people there by 0900 and a detail will accompany you to DC on Saturday.”
The screen went blank, so Tony and I joined Hinkle and Mitchel at the other table. They had the first watch. Hinkle already had the night vision headsets out of the box and was checking the battery levels.
The night was uneventful, as I figured it would be. The next morning, Deuce arrived early without Julie. She had a few things to do and would come up later in the day. I told Cindy she should probably head down to Marathon for the time being. I gave her the phone number for Pam Lamarre, the manager of the State Bank of the Florida Keys and a close friend. I’d instructed Pam months ago to form a Board of Trustees to take care of a large sum of money and create a college fund for the kids of local watermen. They also started work on finding the right location for Alex and Cindy’s school, with the help of some local real estate people.
At 0900, the now familiar ‘whump whump’ of a heavy chopper was heard approaching from the northeast. Ten minutes later, the Air Force TH-1 Iroquois helicopter had landed,
disgorged eight more guests and taken off. This was just about everyone on Deuce’s team, including Art and Kumar, who had just returned from Djibouti.
With this many people on the island, housing was becoming a bit of a problem. The Trent’s house was almost complete, but still had a lot of finish work to be done. Trent took charge and as it turned out, a number of people on the team had some construction experience. Several members of the team were women, something I’d not taken into consideration when I built the bunkhouses. Not counting the Trents, Deuce, and Julie, we now had 13 men and 3 women to house. I insisted Deuce and Julie stay in the main house.
Carl came up with a simple plan. The partition he’d put in the eastern bunkhouse to separate Chyrel’s comm center from the living quarters would be moved so that the comm center would also include the first set of bunks on either side, nearest the office area. An added benefit was that I could put my hammock back outside. The eastern bunkhouse would then have room for the three women, Chyrel and two Miami Dade Police Officers, Charity Styles, and Sherri Fallon. Charity is a martial arts expert and Sherri is an armorer.
That left eight bunks in the eastern bunkhouse. I assigned those to the four senior members of the team, something military people are used to. Scott Bond is a Navy SEAL Lieutenant, and dive supervisor. Andrew Bourke is a Coast Guard Senior Chief Petty Officer and like Julie and Dawson was a Maritime Enforcement Officer. Kumar being an Army Sergeant First Class made three and I made four. That left the western bunkhouse with its twelve bunks for the remaining nine men.
By noon, the finishing touches were being put on the Trent’s house and they started moving in. With everyone pitching in, it didn’t take long and by midafternoon everyone had stowed their gear in their assigned places.
Everyone had brought their own side arms and Bond also brought ear wigs for the whole team. We could now put two men on duty throughout the night who could be in constant communication with one another.
We sat down that evening to a meal of baked lasagna, fresh baked bread and broccoli from the aquaculture system. It was our first harvest and though there wasn’t much of it, everyone got a small amount from the near fully grown plants we started.
Over supper, Art asked, “Do you really think you can grow enough to feed this many people?”
“Not right away,” Trent responded. “But, in a few more months we will.”
Everyone pitched in and helped clean up after we ate, then broke up into smaller groups clustered around two camp fires at opposite corners of the clearing. Jared and I wound up sitting with Deuce, Tony, Kumar, and Charity at the table. I dropped some fish in a bowl for Pescador and he waited for me to tell him to eat, as always.
“How’d you find Djibouti?” I asked Kumar with a grin.
“Went to the Red Sea and turned right,” he joked right back. Then in a serious tone, “It’s changed since I was there last time. Ever been there?”
“Embassy duty in ’84,” I replied. “When were you there?”
“About the same time. The people are poorer now. Poverty has a stranglehold on the whole region. Well, except for the politicians. They seem to be doing okay.”
“So many people in such a desolate land,” Tony quipped.
We were silent a moment then Charity asked Jared if he was part of the team. “He is for the next couple of days,” I said. “Then he’s reenlisting in the Corps.”
Once more, the same question is always asked. “What did you do in the Marines?” she asked.
“Infanty, ma’am,” he replied and immediately wished he hadn’t. “Sorry, it’s a habit. I’m a sniper. What did you do before joining this team?”
“Long story, short, six years ago, I swam on the Olympic team,” she responded. “After 9/11, I joined the Army, finished college, and flew a medevac chopper in Afghanistan. I was only there four months when my chopper was shot out of the sky and I was captured by the Taliban. I managed to get away a few days later and then spent six months in a hospital and another six in rehab, before I was discharged. After I recovered, I joined Miami PD. I’ve been training in mixed martial arts since I was a kid and became an instructor with the force until I was asked to join this team.”
“I never knew you were a prisoner of the Taliban,” Kumar said softly.
“That’s what the rehab was for. To learn to deal with the psychological trauma and learn to talk about it.”
“Did they….” Jared started to ask.
“Rape me?” she said offhandedly. “Yes, several times a day, twenty nine times in all. I learned to use that in martial arts. Trust me, if you get in the ring with me, padding or not, you will be bruised.” She was grinning when she said this.
“Damn,” Jared whispered. “Some of what I’ve learned here in the last two days makes what I experienced seem trivial.”
“There’s nothing trivial about what we’ve all experienced,” Kumar said. “Everyone deals with psychological trauma in their own way. Some seek the counsel of a psychiatrist, others seek the counsel of their peers.” Then with a chuckle and nodding toward Charity he added, “And some kick the ever living shit out of their sparring partners. How do you handle it, Jared?”
Just like the night before, Jared’s eyes at first showed panic. Then he regained his composure and said, “I had a friend in Key West, a Nam Vet, and we talked. He died a few days ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charity said. “You’re not alone, though. There’s lots of others that you can talk to about your experiences. Having been there, I wouldn’t suggest psychiatry. Damn shrinks might have tons of diplomas, but they’ve never been in the shit. Group sessions, or like with your friend, one on one, is a lot more helpful. At least it has been for me.”
“Thanks, ma’am, er, Charity.”
Deuce stood up and said, “Julie should be out of the shower, I’m going to hit the rack. Did you already assign watch, Jesse?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Everything’s covered.”
“And I’m not on it?”
“You will be tomorrow if you want,” I said. “We have more than enough people here now.”
“Goodnight, then,” he said and started across the clearing.
“Think I’ll turn in too,” Kumar said. “I have the midnight watch.”
“Me too,” I said. Then to Jared and Charity I said, “Don’t you kids stay up to late.”
As Kumar and I entered the bunkhouse, he asked, “Did you know about her being captured by the Taliban?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was helping Julie with her boat boarding course outline the other day and read over everyone’s bios.”
“You put those two together on purpose, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “They’re both athletes, close in age, and they both could use a friend. I hope Jared can come to grips with what happened to him. Charity just might be the one that can help him.”
“You Jarheads aren’t as dumb as most would think,” he said with a grin then turned to head for his bunk.
“Night, Kumar,” I said as I got ready to hit the rack. I stripped off my tee-shirt, tucked my holstered Sig under the pillow, and slipped out of my deck shoes. Pescador made two turns on his poncho liner by my bunk and then plopped down. Laying back on the bunk, I was soon fast asleep.
Two hours later, the sound of the door opening woke me. “Tony’s still on watch,” Dawson whispered when I sat up. “Which bunk’s Kumar’s?”
“Go ahead and hit the rack, Jeremy. I’ll wake him.”
“No need,” Kumar whispered.
I slipped into my boat shoes, pulled on my tee-shirt from earlier, and took the night vision headset Dawson handed me. After my watch, I planned to get a hot shower aboard the Revenge. Rank has its privileges, I thought. Kumar and I slipped quietly through the door so as not to disturb Bond and Bourke. They’d have watch tomorrow night.
Outside, I unholstered my Sig, removed the magazine and ratcheted the slide ensuring there wasn’t a round in the chamber. I thumbed th
e decocker and heard the satisfying metallic click of the hammer dropping, but felt it to be sure, before reinserting the magazine and reholstering it. I put on the night vision headset Dawson had given me and stuck the ear wig in and turned it on. I could see Tony headed toward us across the clearing. “You hear me okay, Tony?” I asked.
“Loud and clear,” he replied.
“Same here,” Kumar said.
When Kumar got the other headset from Tony, we split up and headed in opposite directions around the small two acre clearing. “Wouldn’t it be better if we were outside the tree line?” Kumar asked over the ear wig.
“The only places you can walk without getting wet are in front of Carl’s house and near the north pier,” I replied. “With night vision, you can look through most of the mangroves to the water. Anyone trying to get through will make noise. Pescador will pick up on that, if we miss it.”
We walked the perimeter of the clearing from the northern pier to the main house and back again. I’d set up each watch for two hours, so as not to tire the team out. With 18 team members on the island, we had more than enough to cover the night hours and alternate nights.
At 0100 I heard the sound of an outboard to the south. It wasn’t unusual to hear boats out here at night, though. This one was moving slowly north, threading the narrow channel west of Howe Key.
“Sounds like a boat approaching,” Kumar said.
“Not unusual up here. Late night fishermen, sometimes drug runners who get lost.”
A few minutes later, the boat slowed as it neared the entrance to my channel. Not good. “Kumar, head for the steps.”
“Roger that.”
A moment later, the outboard shut off. Pescador and I ran straight across the clearing and met Kumar at the bottom of the steps.
“Wait here and keep your eyes peeled to the north and watch Pescador,” I whispered. “It might be a diversion.” Then to Pescador I pointed to the north end of the island and said, “Watch the pier.” He took off like he’d been shot from a cannon. I didn’t have to watch to know he’d stop at the foot of the pier and sit down. I’d come to learn that he’d been very well trained to do a lot of things and every day it seemed, I discovered something new.
Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 22