"Tell me about your brother. He was wounded in Iraq, you said?"
She grimaced and shrugged. "He was in Iraq. He was a sniper, I guess. He was wounded, but nothing major. He was decorated for valor, and he was out by the time my parents were killed. But he wasn't staying with them. He was estranged from my parents. He's ten years older than I am. He left home and joined the Army when I was about eight. I hardly knew him until he came along and took me under his wing.
"He got out of the military and started teaching mixed martial arts; I was telling the truth about that. He was great at it. He took me in and made a home for me, got me back in school, whipped me into shape. I owe him a lot. Thanks to him, I was only a quarter late finishing school.
"He was a success at the MMA thing. He won all kinds of matches and ended up with his own gym. Then they came after us."
"They?"
"The people my parents were involved with."
"But why?" I asked. "What did they want with you two?"
"They thought he was keeping a bunch of files for my parents. I was back in college by then. They threatened me in order to get him to hand over whatever it was. But I didn't even know that about the threat. Two of them were following me around on campus. They sent him pictures of me, reminded him what happened to our parents. I was oblivious to it.
"The two guys following me were found dead on campus, overdosed on some kind of designer drug. I was still clueless, at that point. My brother never told me what was going on. Not until I was out of school. Things were quiet after that. For a while."
"Was he behind their deaths?" I asked.
"The two who were following me?"
"Right."
"Probably, but he wouldn't talk about it. He said it was wrong to ask someone a question like that. I mean, I know some of what he did in the military. He was a sniper, at one point. I remember hearing that from my parents. But I think he was more than just a regular sniper, at least later. Maybe an assassin."
I raised my eyebrows at that. "Did you make up the part about his disability?"
"Not exactly. Like I said, he was wounded in Iraq, but not seriously." I thought about that for several seconds as she ate a little of her dinner. When she finished chewing, I said, "Fast forward to a week ago, in Puerto Rico."
"Okay. What do you want to know?"
"How did you get there?"
"They kidnapped me off the street in Miami. I was held on Sisyphus for a couple of weeks. I got the drop on one of my guards in Fajardo and escaped. I was making the rounds of the places where cruising yachts hang out, trying to hitch a ride. I spotted you. I'm sorry, Finn. I shouldn't have gotten you caught up in this. You don't deserve it."
"Quit apologizing. It's a waste of time, at this point. And you have no idea what I deserve or don't deserve. Were the men in Puerto Real from Sisyphus?"
"I never saw them aboard her. They could have been, but I don't think so. Over the time I was there, I'm sure I got a look at everybody aboard."
"And you don't know who owns Sisyphus?"
"Not for sure, but I'd guess she belongs to O'Hanlon."
"O'Hanlon?"
"He's the head of the mob my family was connected to — like the Irish Mafia. Rory O'Hanlon. From Boston, originally."
"Never heard of him, but that doesn't mean much. When you jumped ship in Fajardo, what did you bring with you?"
"The clothes on my back. Why?"
"Where'd you get the backpack? And the passport?"
"Stole them. Not the passport. When I killed the guy watching me, he was carrying it. They were getting ready to send me somewhere. He was going to take me to the airport and escort me to wherever O'Hanlon wanted me. So I got lucky with that. I found a little cash on him, too. But the rest of my stuff, I picked up along the way. Why?"
"I thought maybe they'd planted a tracking device in your stuff. They found you in Bequia pretty damn quick. Any idea how?"
She frowned and shook her head. "No. I was wondering about that. I spotted those men in Puerto Rico early on. They were beating the bushes, showing people pictures, offering them money. The ones here came out of nowhere."
I nodded. "The passport — it's yours?"
She squinted and shook her head. "I don't — "
"I mean, did you have it before they kidnapped you in Miami? They didn't give it to you?"
"No. I mean, yes, I had it before. They took it away from me, but I'm sure it's the same one. It's got all the right stamps in it. Why?"
"Still trying to figure out how they tracked you to Bequia."
"Could they have followed us?" she asked.
"You mean from Puerto Rico?"
"Yes," she said.
"In theory, yes, I guess they could have. But then why wait until we got here to make their move? They could have nailed us at sea with no witnesses."
"Good point. But where does that leave us?"
"In the dark, for now. How big is O'Hanlon's operation?"
"I don't know. Big, I think."
"Big enough to have people on his payroll in the islands?" I asked. "You said he was into drugs."
"I don't know, Finn. Maybe. What are you thinking?"
"I'm just trying out ideas, wondering if he's got enough stroke to have somebody on his payroll in customs and immigration. Maybe in each of the countries that are major transshipment points for drugs into the U.S. St. Vincent fits that description. That's happened before with big-time drug smugglers."
"If that's so, what about Grenada?" she asked.
"I don't know. It's possible, but less likely, to my mind. Grenada's not as much of a crossroads for drugs. Tell me about the three people who boarded Island Girl."
"What about them?"
"Black, white, Asian? Local? American? Any accents? Anything at all that you remember. I'm trying to figure out if they were recruited nearby or sent in from elsewhere, for starters."
"Well, they were black, and they spoke a patois. English with a little French mixed in. One of the men was light-skinned, with these eerie green eyes. Except for the scars on his face, he would have been stunning. He was slender, but muscular. He seemed to be in charge. He's the one whose nose I broke. The others weren't as distinctive looking. Does that help?"
"Maybe, but not right now. They could have been locals, or from any of the islands, based on what you've told me so far. Think about it and let me know if you remember anything else about them."
"Okay. You finished dinner? I'll go clean up."
I handed her my bowl as she stood up. "It's a nice evening," I said. "We can anchor in Chatham Bay on the west side of Union Island. Should get in by 10:30 or 11:00. We'll get a good night's sleep and sail around to Clifton on the east side to clear out in the morning. Sound okay?"
"Sure," she said leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Thanks again, Finn."
"My pleasure."
16
While Mary Beth squared away the galley, I thought about my options. I was between missions; my time was my own. Mary Beth was in trouble, but it wasn't my trouble. Not yet, anyway. I could cut her loose in Grenada, or take her to St. Lucia. She would stand a better chance of finding a crew slot there, if that's even what she wanted to do. I wasn't sure she was serious about that. If she was, St. Martin would offer even more opportunities for her that way. But I wasn't feeling good about cutting her loose.
I was attached to her. Having a lady in my life was nice for a change. She liked me well enough, but I wasn't sure she was interested in any permanent relationship. I was out of practice at this kind of thing, and then there was the generation gap, too. People her age were more casual about relationships than old bastards like me.
That could be a plus, her openness. She would likely find it easier to talk about our prospects than I would. That wasn't my biggest worry, though. I knew deep down inside that I already made my mind up about her, and my gut said she felt the same way about me. If I was reading this wrong, she would let me know soon enough. I was all-in as far as
keeping her around.
I knew that was just the beginning, though. She claimed not to know why O'Hanlon was after her, but I wondered about her brother. What did he know? And was she in touch with him?
Those questions could wait. We had more immediate problems. To stay safe long enough to solve the O'Hanlon puzzle, she needed a new identity. I could help with that, once we got past the personal side of things.
Given that O'Hanlon's people tracked her to Bequia, they would have me on their radar. Whoever they were, they were pros at this. They might have written off a single encounter with me like the one in Puerto Real. After they saw us together in Bequia, though, they would figure I was part of their problem. I knew how to deal with that, but before I did, I wanted to know exactly who I was up against. I needed to learn more about O'Hanlon and company.
The first thing was to reach an understanding with Mary Beth. As if on cue, she joined me in the cockpit.
"Nice evening," she said, as she settled in next to me on the windward cockpit seat. "At times like this, I feel like I could stay at sea forever."
"Yeah, I know the feeling. But every so often, you have to go ashore."
"I feel safe out here," she said.
"That's an illusion. Trouble can follow you anywhere. Whoever's after you knows by now that you're with me."
"I'm sorry, Finn."
"No need. Trouble and I have a long history. Some folks think I'm a carrier, even."
"A carrier?"
"Like Typhoid Mary — no connection to you — just a figure of speech."
She gave me a hard look, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. "You killed those people. From the news, it sounds like they had it coming."
I steered the boat and let the silence hang. She snuggled up against me. I didn't want to lie to her, but I wasn't going to discuss my work with her, either.
"I like you, Finn. I'm glad you're not working for O'Hanlon. You remind me of my brother."
"That's not exactly music to my ears. I had in mind a different kind of relationship between us."
She elbowed me in the ribs, hard enough to make me flinch. "You know what I meant. That was a compliment."
"If you say so."
"He's killed people," she said. "Not that he ever talked about it, but I could tell from the way he reacted to certain things. Threats, for example."
"You're okay with that?" I asked.
"Some folks just need killin', as they say in Texas," she said. "If he knew O'Hanlon was trying to snatch me, he'd go after him in a heartbeat."
"He doesn't know?"
"I haven't told him. He's not in any shape to go after these people. I don't want him to know; it could get him killed."
"I thought you said he was active in MMA. Doesn't sound like he's exactly a wilting violet."
"Physically, no. But not all his wounds were physical."
I wondered about that. PTSD? I decided to let it go, for now. "You're not in touch with him, then?"
"Not about this. Why?"
"I was hoping he could shed some light on why O'Hanlon was after you."
"What difference does that make to you?"
"I've decided I want on your team, Mary Beth."
"That's sweet, Finn. But you don't even know me. Not really. I'm not some damsel in distress. I got myself into this; I can handle it."
"I don't doubt that for a minute. I'm not trying to be your knight in shining armor, to extend your metaphor."
"Then I don't get it, Finn. What's in it for you? Your best interests would be served by getting as far from me as possible."
"Except for one thing," I said, chewing on my lower lip.
"What one thing?"
"I'd miss you too much. I want to keep you around." I held my breath, waiting.
After several seconds of silence, the moon broke through the clouds and I got a look at her face. She was staring into the distance, tears rolling down her cheeks. She caught me looking and rubbed them away, forcing a smile as she locked eyes with me.
"I didn't mean for this to happen, Finn."
"I never thought you did. Neither did I, but here we are."
"I wish things were different," she said.
"They will be. Just wait."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Things change. If you don't like the way they are right now, just hang in there. Pretty soon, they'll be different."
"I'm not good at waiting patiently when somebody's chasing me," she said.
"No, I didn't figure you were. That's one of the things that makes us alike. Let me in, and let's kick some ass together. Then we'll see where we go next."
"I don't … I'm not in a position to make any commitments, Finn. If I were, I'd latch onto you in a heartbeat and never let go."
"Yeah, I get that. That's all I needed to hear. I'm in."
"What's that mean?" she asked.
"It means you and I have things to do."
She looked up at me. "Okay, but first, I need to tell you some stuff about me and O'Hanlon. I didn't tell you the whole truth a little while ago. I'm sorry. I should have, but it's become a habit not to trust anybody."
I nodded. "Okay. I understand why you'd feel that way. I'm not pushing you to tell me anything."
"I know. You're so sweet to me. I know you're not going to do me any harm, but about helping me… Let me tell you everything. Then we'll see if you still feel the same way."
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Tell me. Then we can work out a plan for the next few days, at least."
She nodded and said, "It started when I found my parents. I didn't freak out like I told you. I had a pretty good idea what they were up to all along. Before I took off, I gathered up a few things they had stashed. Computer files, some notebooks, that kind of thing. They tried to keep me in the dark, but you know how nosy kids can be."
"And that's what O'Hanlon's after?" I asked.
"It's not that simple. I'll tell you, but it's going to take a while, okay?"
"We've got plenty of time."
17
Island Girl was swinging to her anchor. We were tucked well up inside Chatham Bay, Union Island, and the boat's motion was gentle. On a normal night, it would have put me right to sleep. But that night my eyes were wide open.
Mary Beth and I were stretched out on the V-berth. Her head was on my shoulder, and she was sound asleep. I was too busy processing what she told me over the last hour of our trip.
Now I understood why O'Hanlon was chasing her. He had $15 million worth of reasons. Her father was O'Hanlon's bagman, and Mary Beth walked away with all the codes for the offshore bank accounts after she found her slain parents.
She emptied the accounts before O'Hanlon knew what was going on, moving the money to her own offshore hiding places. I pressed her on how a kid like her had that sort of know-how, but she just said, "Remember, Finn, I grew up in that environment. It doesn't take a genius; it just takes someone who's paying attention to the details."
Not only did she steal the money; she also took her father's records of all O'Hanlon's suppliers and distributors. By now, they were a bit out of date, but from what she told me, they could put O'Hanlon in prison for a long time. And one file listed politicians who were on O'Hanlon's payroll. Several of them were prominent nationally. They had their own worries about where those records might be.
She wasn't sure if O'Hanlon or one of his rivals killed her folks. O'Hanlon accused her father of skimming; she overheard some harsh exchanges that summer while she was home. She believed it was a rival, though. O'Hanlon would have extracted the money and records from her father's grasp before killing him, by her reckoning. I agreed.
O'Hanlon at first assumed Mary Beth's brother was behind the theft. No college girl would have been savvy enough to do what she did, in O'Hanlon's view. His people were shadowing her on the college campus, all right. And he told her brother that if he didn't cough up the money and the records, Mary Beth would pay.
Before things turned ugly at the gym, the brother protested that he knew nothing about money and records. Based on that and the brother's handling of his interrogators, O'Hanlon shifted his attention to Mary Beth. He figured her for a softer target.
Besides, O'Hanlon got his hands on the police reports from the parents' murders. The only fingerprints found at the scene belonged to the parents and Mary Beth. That included the prints on a concealed safe, which was found open and empty. By the time O'Hanlon learned this, Mary Beth was on the run.
She also confessed that Mary Elizabeth O'Brien wasn't her real name. Mary Beth told me that when I offered to get her a passport in a different name. Protesting that we didn't have time, she said she knew what that took. She spent months establishing her O'Brien identity, she said.
I knew a quicker way. After a series of encrypted text messages sent via my sat phone, I got a commitment for delivery of a new passport the next afternoon. We would wait for it in the anchorage between Petit St. Vincent and Petite Martinique.
"But they'll need a picture, at least," she'd said.
"They'll use the picture from the Mary Elizabeth O'Brien passport," I said, "assuming the U.S. passport office indeed issued it."
"They issued it all right, but they don't have my passport. It's here. How can — "
"Don't ask," I said, laughing at the look on her face. "I can't tell you how, but they have internal access to passport office records."
"Who are those people?"
"What people?"
"The ones you were texting," she said.
"Not sure which texts you mean," I said, unlocking the sat phone and handing it to her. "Show me."
Assassins and Liars Page 7