A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  Captain Ken Hitchcock was already on a flight from Amsterdam to the island to return the Hydra back home. There would only be eight passengers on the return voyage; the same eight that were sitting around one of the tables in the dining room sharing a make-shift breakfast of leftover rolls and fresh fruit they were able to scrounge from the kitchen.

  Simone Goodman’s ankle had been worked on by one of the paramedics and she had her leg up on a second chair. Frank and Matt Walker’s cuts and bruises had been attended to as well.

  “So exactly how is it that you’re alive again?” Lauren asked as she tore a seeded roll in half.

  Frank Walker had already explained everything to his son, but he didn’t mind retelling the story for the table. He knew he would have to meet with the police eventually. He signed as he spoke, having taken classes at the University of North Florida as soon as he learned of his son’s circumstances. Matt was beaming with pride watching his father interpret for him and Simone. “My wife and I had grown apart during the last year of her life. Matt was away at school, and we didn’t want to upset him until we came to an agreement on the terms of our separation. We planned on talking to Matt about it on the weekend she was murdered. We had finally worked out the details, and both believed that Matt was old enough now to understand and handle the situation.”

  Toby wiped a crumb away from the corner of his mouth. “So obviously she was in bed with someone else the night Magnetti came calling.”

  “Poor schmuck,” Walker said.

  “You don’t know who he was?” Lauren asked.

  Walker shook his head. “Everyone including the police assumed it was me.”

  David Jannick, with his daughter Hope sitting by his side, spoke up. “We both knew Peter Mason was behind the attempt of Frank’s life. It was no secret that he opposed the direction that Mason wanted to take the company. Not a single board meeting went by where they didn’t end up toe to toe over Mason’s vision for the company.”

  “So you decided to stay dead?” Petty Officer Simms asked. “What about Matt? Didn’t you consider his well-being?”

  Frank Walker put his arm around Matt and pulled him close before he continued to translate as he spoke. “Matt was the main reason I did it. If Mason knew I was still alive, he might have made a run at Matt again, or maybe my parents. Believe me, Matt has not been out of my sight for the last ten years. I bought a place in Jacksonville less than a mile from my parents’ house to keep tabs on him.”

  “It was you at the baseball game, wasn’t it?” Matt signed.

  Walker patted the back of his son’s hand. “And at your graduation, and in the back booth of your favorite pizza place.” He paused for a moment. “I even hid behind a tree at your grandmother’s burial service.”

  Matt bolted upright. “Oh no,” he signed. “What about Grandpa? Grandpa is going to have a heart attack when he finds out you’re still alive!”

  Frank Walker frowned. “Yeah, we’re going to have to think about how we’re going to handle the old man.”

  “So how did you know about everything that Peter Mason was planning?” Toby signed and spoke.

  Walker shifted his water glass on the table. “I only entrusted two people with my secret: Dave here, who kept me in the loop from his Miami office, and Gerald Banks, who is Peter Mason’s brother-in-law in Jacksonville. They both agreed with my opinion of Mason’s business goals and mental stability. Just the fact that I lived through an assassination attempt was all the proof they needed. I was Mason’s right-hand man at the time. If I wasn’t safe, then no one who worked for him, nor their families, would be safe either.”

  Scott Simms leaned forward in his chair. “So where did the stolen military technology fit into his scheme?”

  “MCL was hemorrhaging cash under Peter Mason’s management. With the expansion plans in Jacksonville, his utterly narcissistic need to build a ballpark, and own his own Major League franchise, he had to do something to raise capital. He saw an opportunity, and he took it.”

  “He killed fifty innocent American servicemen onboard the Intrepid,” Simms added. “How does a person do that?”

  “And don’t forget about Arthur Beckworth, a sitting City Commissioner,” Walker added. “Anyone who got in his way, or who he thought might be a witness, was expendable. The man was a modern day pirate, just like his father, and his father before him. I wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near Matthew. Thanks to Dave, Hope, and Gerald Banks, my son has been the best-kept secret since Colonel Sander’s chicken recipe.”

  “We’ll need to talk to Banks,” Lauren said.

  “You should,” Walker agreed. “He’s been keeping meticulous records of all of Mason’s shady dealings. It’ll take forensic accountants years to sift through all of the files.”

  Toby buttered his third roll. “So, Mason hired Anthony Magnetti to do all of his personal dirty work for him?”

  Walker shook his head. “Magnetti was a thug, plain and simple. He would work for whoever paid him. This whole coaching career was just a cover that allowed him to travel unnoticed around the country,” he said, looking across the table at Lauren. “You might want to check the cold-case files in the cities that his teams played in. I’d be willing to bet that you’ll get a few hits, pardon the pun.”

  “So I guess that about wraps it up,” Toby announced, as he eyed his fourth roll.

  The Detective disagreed. “We’ve got two crime scenes on this ship that you need to analyze and report on Toby. I’ve got interviews with the staff, and I need to get Mr. Walker’s story on the record. I’m sure my superiors are going to want to further investigate the circumstances around Anthony Magnetti’s death.”

  Matt slapped his hand on the table making the shell-shaped pat of butter fall off of Toby’s knife. “But my father was just protecting us! He won’t be in any trouble, will he?”

  Lauren smiled as Toby interpreted for her. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Your father’s actions were certainly justifiable considering the circumstances.”

  Matt put his arm around his dad. It was like having all of his prayers answered.

  Scott Simms snapped off a grape from the plateful of fruit at the center of the table. “I guess since we’ve gotten our technology back, all of those crimes in international waters will probably be handled by the State Department. I’ll be out of the loop, probably reassigned to another cutter,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

  Lauren bit into a slice of pineapple. “If you ever decide to take off the uniform, you might have the makings of a pretty good detective,” she said.

  “The sea is my mistress,” Simms professed.

  “Did you actually just say that?” Toby said, rolling his eyes. “The boat’s not even moving, but suddenly I feel queasy.”

  Lauren stood up and stretched. “Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do before we get back to Jaxport, but the first thing I want to do is to find a store on shore where I can pick up a pair of jeans! This dress is cutting off the oxygen supply to all my lady parts.”

  The Petty Officer was the next to stand up. “Would you mind if I tagged along? The next transport is six hours from now.”

  “Do you have good taste?” Lauren asked.

  Simms smiled. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?

  Everyone at the table groaned out loud, as Toby translated.

  Dave Jannick and his daughter excused themselves. “I have a few things to check on, and then we’re going to spend a day or two on the island before heading back to Miami.” He shook Frank Walker’s hand. “Glad to have you back, buddy. We missed you.”

  Hope gave Matt a peck on the cheek and did the same to Simone. “I’ll see you online, okay?”

  Matt stood up and gave her a hug.

  “Well,” Toby said, tossing his napkin on the table. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but I think I’m go
ing to wash up and check out how comfortable the bedding is in one of those suites. It’s time for my power nap!”

  Frank Walker stood up and walked around the table with his hand outstretched. “Thank you, Doctor Bilston, for all of your help. I know it took a bit of convincing, but I knew you could be trusted. As the father of a terrific son like Benjamin, I knew you were the person I needed the most on my side.”

  Toby stood up and grabbed Frank Walker in a bear hug. “You take care of that boy,” he said in Walker’s ear. “You’ve got ten years to catch up on, and he’s more special than you know. If you need anything, you know where to reach me.”

  Frank Walker returned the hug. “I might just take you up on that.”

  Toby pointed across the table at Matt. “You take care of that young lady,” he signed. “I have a feeling we’ll be working together again.”

  Frank Walker reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Before you leave, Dr. Bilston, would you mind taking a picture of me and my son? I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

  Toby took the phone as everyone around the table fought hard to hold back their emotions. “Yes sir, it would be my pleasure.”

  Epilogue

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” Gerald Banks commented, as he took a seat on the sofa in the back office of the One-Eleven Club.

  Jimmy Diaz laid down his pen on the purchase order he still needed to sign. “It’s been two months. How long was I supposed to wait? I thought it was time to redecorate.”

  The walls had been painted a pale blue, and the black furniture had been replaced by lighter pieces.

  “It almost feels welcoming.”

  Diaz leaned back. “Welcoming...that’s what I was shooting for. Do you want something to drink?”

  Banks declined. “No thanks. Any progress yet?”

  Diaz stood up and walked around to the front of the desk. He leaned against it and crossed his arms. “There won’t be any excavation. We’re just covering it all up with topsoil, sod, and a bunch of trees.”

  “I’ll bet those trees grow fast. There’s lots of fertilizer in that ground.”

  Diaz nodded. “I appreciate you buying up the land and turning it into a public park. It was a nice touch naming the place after Commissioner Beckworth.”

  “It was the least I could do for him and the city,” Banks admitted. “It’s going to take a long time to earn our reputation back. We had to sell off half the fleet. I’m talking to the government about a hydrofoil contract for the Coast Guard to use against drug runners.”

  Diaz shrugged. “Drugs are a nasty business. I hope it works out for you.”

  “Didn’t Nicky deal?”

  Diaz held up his hand. “That’s all behind us now.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re a shrewd businessman just like me,” Diaz said. “You’ll do what needs to be done to survive.”

  Banks laughed to himself. “First thing I did was file for divorce. I don’t want anything to do with that family anymore.”

  Diaz nodded. “No one does.”

  “I’m thinking about changing the name of the company too. Might help people forget.”

  “What would you change it to?”

  Banks shrugged. “Don’t know. Got any ideas?”

  Diaz pondered the question for a second. “Not really.”

  “How’s the club business going?” Banks asked.

  “The employees smile a lot more now,” Diaz admitted. “No one has to walk around on eggshells anymore. Now a hammer is just a hammer.”

  Banks smiled. “That’s terrific. So what did you want to talk to be about? I know this isn’t a social call. You couldn’t call me? You made me walk all the way across the street?”

  “Exercise is good for you.”

  Banks rubbed the front of his pin-striped shirt. “That’s what they say, but I wouldn’t know.”

  Diaz uncrossed his arms and leaned back on the desk. “I’ve been thinking about something ever since I set foot on your ship. You’ve got financial problems, and my business could always be better. What do you say about a partnership?”

  Banks eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”

  “You look nervous all of a sudden.”

  Banks squirmed on the sofa. “That’s because I’m nervous all of a sudden.”

  “You want your company to turn a profit?” Diaz asked.

  “No, I think I’d rather continue on the downward spiral my company is in until I drill through to the center of the earth.”

  “I might have the answer,” Diaz announced.

  Banks looked skeptical. “Are you waiting for a drum roll?”

  “Casinos.”

  Gerald Banks ran his finger across his lips. “That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Cruise lines make a considerable chunk of their revenue from onboard gambling. Once a ship is three miles from shore, you’re in international waters, casinos are legal.”

  “Who the hell needs one hundred cabins for a trip that lasts ten hours?” Diaz asked skeptically. “You renovate your ships, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Banks stood up and held out his hand. “I like it. Have your lawyer drop off the papers, and once my legal team looks over the contracts, we’ll talk designs.”

  “A drink to celebrate?” Diaz asked.

  “Too early for me,” Banks admitted.

  Diaz held up his glass of bourbon. “Here’s to pirates!” He toasted.

  “Seriously?” Banks asked.

  Diaz smiled. “Arrrrrrrrrr!”

  About the Author

  Lyle Howard was born and raised in South Florida. Married to his wife Riva, Mr. Howard has always been an avid writer. “As long as I can remember, writing fiction has always been my creative outlet.”

  Lyle Howard first hit the literary scene with his first published novel “Mr. Sandman” in 1995. In the nineteen years since, he has been teaching journalism classes to aspiring young writers.

  “I don’t look at the world the way others do.” It’s this perspective on life that makes Mr. Howard’s novels unique and thought provoking. “I look forward to getting back into professional writing.”

  So don’t think that Mr. Howard has ever stopped writing during his teaching hiatus. He has eight more novels waiting for editing, so his fans can look forward to more excitement and tension for a while to come.

  In his free time, Mr. Howard loves to walk the beach with his wife and hit the links with his golf buddies.

  Lyle Howard is a Benjamin Franklin Digital Award SILVER HONOREE for his book “It’s About Time”

  Author’s Note

  I hope you enjoyed reading A Trace of Revenge.

  When I first came up with the concept for the story, I wanted it to be mainly about flawed individuals and redemption. Everyone is different. I think we should embrace those distinctions and celebrate what makes each of us unique.

  We seem to be living in a time where our differences are dividing us, but if you look back throughout history, that’s the way it’s always been. I don’t want to get too sappy, but if we can focus on what we all have in common and understand that each person’s exceptionality adds to the answer, and not subtracts from it, we would all be much better off. It’s just something to think about.

  Before you go, I’d like to ask you for a little favor.

  If you enjoyed this book, please don’t forget to leave a review on Amazon! It only takes a minute. I highly appreciate your input.

  Independent authors such as myself, depend on reviews to attract new readers to our books. I would greatly appreciate it if you’d share your experience of reading this book by leaving your review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be long. A sentence or two would do nicely.

  I would love for you to subscribe to my web
site:

  www.lylehoward.com

  It doesn’t cost a thing, and it’s where I’ll keep you updated on the latest news about my work.

  If you could take a few minutes to leave an honest review on my Amazon page, I would really appreciate it. Reviews are what we writers live for. I read them all and take them to heart. Here is the link:

  https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=lyle+howard

  Feel free to join me on Facebook @ Lyle Howard. It’s always great to make new friends, and you can see what I do with my free time. I hope to hear from you!

  As a little gift, I’m attaching the first chapter of TROUBLE IN PARADISE. I hope you enjoy it and will read all of my other stories as well.

  Until next time.

  I love you all!

  LH

  Trouble in Paradise

  Lyle Howard

  The Nocturne

  One

  23.42° North 75.50° West

  60 Nautical Miles West of Andros Island, the Bahamas

  Through the night vision lenses, everything was bathed in a soft green glow. The sea looked even more ominous through the specialized glasses as the white caps continued to batter the bow of the thirty-six foot Thunderboat, Rosalita.

  “Douse the running lights,” Pedro Gallinas ordered, pointing at the instrument panel. His younger brother Estaban flipped a switch, and whatever meager light there was illuminating the darkness evaporated. It was a moonless night, and most of the stars were hidden behind a low layer of clouds. An eerie shroud fell over the boat as the warm night air suddenly made all five men in the boat shiver in unison.