The Opening Chase

by Cap Daniels

  I pocketed the card as Mr. Shepherd opened the ledger, made some entries, then passed me a slip of thin paper with some cryptic note scribbled across it. “Hand this to the cashier and she’ll get you the money for your safe.”

  I tried to pretend that I understood, but he obviously detected that I was quite uncomfortable.

  “Look Chase, this is no big deal. Really. We do this sort of thing all the time. It’ll get easier. Don’t be afraid to ask me anything. Absolutely anything. I’m here to help. We’ll get you some stash money, some walking around cash, and a place to live. You have a car, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. They gave me a BMW.”

  “Good,” he said. “Enjoy it and your new life. Soon enough, you’ll get a call and have to go to work. Living between jobs is important. You have to live. Never forget that. Call me anytime.”

  I shook his hand and took the slip of paper. I was beginning to feel a little more comfortable—until I met the teller.

  I handed her the slip of paper and she smiled. “I’ll be right back, sir. Do you have a bag?”

  I certainly didn’t have a bag of any kind. “No, I don’t have a bag.”

  She never missed a beat. “That’s no problem, sir. I’ll get you one.”

  She returned with a cart, another teller, and a very nice leather attaché case. She counted out one hundred ninety thousand dollars, placed the bound stacks of bills inside the case, and slid it across the desk to me.

  In a cheerful voice, she said, “If there’s anything else you need, Mr. Fulton, just let us know.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as I slid the case from the desk. I was surprised how much one hundred ninety thousand dollars in cash weighed. Before I made it to the door of the bank, Mr. Shepherd appeared and handed me a small, oddly shaped key.

  I looked up at him, something I wasn’t accustomed to doing. “What’s this?”

  “This is your key to your safe deposit box here in the bank. I would recommend making use of it before you find a permanent place to live and have a safe installed.”

  He glanced down at my attaché case and back at the safe deposit box key. He had a very good point, so I followed him to the vault. He showed me how to work the safe deposit box, then he left me alone. I counted out one hundred seventy thousand dollars and stacked the banded bills neatly into the box. In the bottom of the box was a small yellow envelope. I pulled the envelope from the box, cautiously opened it, and pulled the card from inside.

  Written on the card was: “Nothing good can come of what you’re thinking. Forget about her.”

  It was signed, “Rocket.”

  14

  An Old Friend

  How could Dr. Richter have known about her?

  I’m not sure if I consciously chose to ignore Dr. Richter’s admonition or if I was incapable of heeding it, but either way, I was not going to stop thinking about her. He was, of course, correct. I should’ve banished the thought of her from my mind, but I just didn’t see that happening.

  I pulled yacht broker’s card from my pocket and found a pay phone.

  “Good afternoon. Paradise Charters and Yacht Brokers,” came the decidedly Hispanic voice on the other end of the line.

  I imagined her sitting behind a curved desk, wearing high heels and a little red sundress, and long, dark hair falling across her shoulders.

  Recovering from my little daydream, I said, “Hi, my name is Chase. My banker, David Shepherd, gave me Mr. Fontana’s card, and—”

  “Hello, Mr. Fulton. We’ve been expecting your call. Please hold one moment. Dominic will be right with you.”

  I hoped I’d be able to make a call or show up someplace in the near future without being expected. I was beginning to believe that everyone around me knew more about my life than I did. That’s when the phone came alive with a much too happy voice.

  “Chase! Dominic Fontana! I’ve been waiting for your call. How are you?”

  “Fine,” I said, feeling a little uncertain.

  “Good, good. That’s good to hear. Listen, I have an old friend of yours here who would love to see you. Why don’t you come on down?”

  “I’ll be at your office in thirty minutes.”

  He hung up the phone. I couldn’t imagine who he was calling an old friend of mine, but just like the rest of my life, I was sure it would be a surprise.

  When I arrived at his office, the receptionist looked exactly as I’d imagined except she was wearing glasses. I hadn’t thought of that detail, but the glasses worked nicely for her. I doubted she’d been hired solely for her skill as a telephone operator, but she certainly made the lobby look good. She smiled as I walked through the door and introduced myself. Her lipstick was a little too bright, but other than that, I couldn’t find a flaw.

  “Hi, I’m Chase, and I’m here to see Dominic.”

  It occurred to me that I was still dressed like a bum. I started to apologize for my appearance, but it would’ve sounded awkward and made me look even more ridiculous.

  “Hi, Chase. I’m Maria. It’s nice to meet you. Dominic’s office is straight back. Go ahead.”

  I’m not sure what was happening in Heaven the day God made Cuban girls, but He must’ve been in a very good mood.

  When I found my way to Dominic Fontana’s office, I knocked confidently and a voice came gently from the other side.

  “Please come in.”

  I wasn’t expecting what awaited me on the other side of that door. I’d expected Dominic to be the typical flashy used-car-salesman type, but I thought I’d found his grandfather instead. The gentleman behind the door was no Sonny Crockett wannabe. He was a seventy-something, white-haired yacht skipper. He rose with the spry step of a much younger man and extended his tan, weathered right hand.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Fulton. I’m Dominic Fontana. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Unlike the polished salesman tone that he used on the phone, Dominic spoke in a smooth, southern drawl that made me feel instantly comfortable and right at home.

  I shook his offered hand and looked into his experienced eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected when we spoke on the phone earlier.”

  “Be careful what you expect, Mr. Fulton. Reality is rarely what it appears to be. Now, let’s go see that old friend of yours, shall we?”

  I decided to play along. “I can hardly wait.”

  My anxiety and impatience were going through the roof. I couldn’t imagine who he was talking about. I decided to practice a little self-control and wait patiently for the big surprise. We climbed into Dominic’s Range Rover and headed for the marina. I tried to figure out what the afternoon would hold, and I couldn’t resist asking about the earlier phone conversation.

  I cleared my throat. “So, Dominic, who did I speak with on the phone earlier, and what was that all about?”

  He continued his concentration on the road. “That was me on the phone earlier, Chase. We all have skill sets that make us valuable in unique ways. My skill sets are very much unlike yours. You have youth, strength, and the ability to look down a long black barrel and pull a trigger when most people would tremble in fear. I can’t do that.” He paused. “More correctly, I can’t do that anymore. These days, I just pretend to be different personalities on the telephone to make people believe things that aren’t true. I set people on edge or set them at ease depending on what the particular instance calls for. I’m what’s called a voice man. I can whisper in your ear and convince you that I’m a seventeen-year-old Guatemalan virgin, or I can be a ninety-year-old pervert—and almost anything in between. The day will come when you can’t run and jump and dodge bullets anymore, and you’ll have to refine your skill set into something a little less physical, but that’s a lifetime away for you. Ah! Here we are. Do you remember her?”

  When I looked out the windshield, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Sitting there, atop a dozen stands with a gorgeous new paintjob, was Aegis, the sailing yacht on which I’d been recruited in
to that crazy life almost two years before.

  “That’s Ace’s boat.” I did my best to hide my excitement.

  “Ace isn’t with us anymore, my friend. He loved being alive, but the things we love the most are the things that are the most difficult to hold on to. Before he passed, he told a few of us old dinosaurs that he wanted you to have Aegis. Specifically, he told us, ‘If that little son of a bitch from Georgia makes it out of The Ranch, ask him if he’ll take care of my boat, will ya?’”

  I’d given up trying to hold back the tears. I remembered that day off the coast of Jekyll Island when he let me take the wheel. I never imagined that I would ever see Aegis again, but there she was, sitting right in front of me.

  I stepped from the Range Rover and stood in awe of the magnificent yacht. I found a ladder poised at her stern and started up as memories of that day poured over me like rain. Her lines were elegant, and she was welcoming, just like an old friend. I slid my palm against the wheel and almost felt the ship sigh at my touch. I slid back the companionway hatch and lowered myself down into the salon. It had been completely gutted. There was nothing inside. I was astonished and disappointed. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t an empty space. As I turned to climb back into the cockpit, I saw Dominic standing there.

  “Don’t look so grim, my boy,” he said in a British accent. “She’s awaiting a refit under your direction. There are master carpenters and shipwrights hereabout who will turn her into whatever you fancy. In my younger days, I was a naval architect for the British Navy, you see, so I’ll be at your service during the refit. You’ll make the old girl a bloody-good skipper, I do say.”

  I laughed. We shook hands and climbed back down the ladder. As we nestled back into the luxurious leather seats of his Range Rover, he said, “She’s yours of course, but the yard fees and the refit will have to be paid. I understand that you’ve made arrangements with David Shepherd for the financing. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I met with him earlier, and he made it clear that I would have whatever I needed. I’m confident that he’ll be more than willing to foot the bill to get her back in the water. Don’t you think so?”

  “Indeed, he will,” he said with confidence. “I would think we can have the interior and the engine done in a matter of weeks, and she’ll be back in the water before you know it.”

  * * *

  The weeks passed quickly and Aegis came together beautifully. Dominic turned out to be an astonishing wealth of knowledge and experience in the design and fitting of the new interior. We even included a nicely concealed safe aboard, as well as an impressive electronic array. Aegis would be more capable of extended sailing than any vessel I’d ever seen. Even though I didn’t know much about sailing yachts, it was easy to see that she was something special. Her accessories included a desalinization system that could produce thirty gallons of fresh water an hour, a massive collection of radio equipment that would allow me to talk to almost anyone almost anywhere at almost any time. Her engine was a one hundred fifty horsepower Cummins diesel that would push her along at around eight knots in almost any conditions. She was impressive to say the least.

  The day we launched her was a day made in Heaven. The wind was blowing twelve knots out of the east, and the sky was as glorious as a Renaissance painting. Beater, Tuner, and Dr. Richter showed up to watch the flag and sails go up again. They even agreed to serve as deckhands on her maiden voyage, under my command of course. Well, everyone except Beater agreed to that. He agreed to drink, complain, and ride along.

  I’d paid for the yard fee and refit with a cashier’s check from David Shepherd, and the harbor master at the marina offered me a slip for a month at no charge, just in case she sprung a leak and had to be hauled back out of the water. I accepted his generous offer and finally moved everything I owned aboard my new home.

  There were no leaks and no need to haul her back out, so when my free month reached its end, I fired up the diesel and motored out of the marina. My immediate destination was Key Largo. I would spend a few months there at the Anchorage Resort and Yacht Club on Jewfish Creek. I thought it would be best to stay relatively close to Miami for a while, at least until I was completely confident aboard Aegis.

  When I reached Anchorage Resort after motoring down Jewfish Creek at high tide, I found my mooring ball and set Aegis to rest. I hadn’t been at anchor more than ten minutes when my satellite phone chirped. I answered it, and my peaceful life aboard my yacht came crashing down around me.

  15

  Enter the Gopher

  I lifted the satellite phone, pressed the green activation key, and waited for the electronic tone before saying, “Chase.”

  The voice on the other end was dry and monotonous. Without preamble, the caller asked, “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, I’m alone.”

  The voice responded, “Prepare to be boarded,” and the connection went dead.

  Although, by education, I’m a psychologist, I don’t know why I stared at the phone after it went dead, but that’s exactly what happened. I held the bright yellow plastic phone in my hand and bore holes through it with my eyes.

  Prepare to be boarded.

  Following the mysterious instructions, I left the salon and headed up on deck just as a dinghy with two men aboard motored alongside at the stern of Aegis.

  I tossed them a line. “Come aboard, gentlemen.”

  The younger of the two caught the line and made it fast to a cleat on the bow of the small boat. The two men climbed aboard Aegis. The younger was clearly more comfortable on the water than the older of the two. I chuckled while watching the older one stumble up the ladder. I secretly hoped he might end up in the drink.

  We shook hands. I offered drinks, and they accepted. While I was pouring, one of them fired up the stereo and turned it up a little louder than I would’ve preferred. It occurred to me that the purpose of the music was to shield our conversation from any ears that might be within range. I was learning. At that moment, I was pretty sure I would never stop learning the craft.

  We sat on deck, drinks in hand, and introductions were made. I’m confident they used names that weren’t the ones their mothers had given them, but that didn’t matter to me since I doubted that the messengers would become fixtures in my life. When the cordials were over, they wasted no time getting to the point of their visit.

  Not remembering their made-up names, I decided to label them Thing One and Thing Two in deference to Dr. Seuss.

  Thing One, the older man, began the meat of our conversation. “Chase, it’s time to go to work,” he said. “We have an operation for you. Take a look at these.”

  He handed me a stack of photographs that were clearly taken from a significant distance with a very good camera. In each of the pictures was a short-haired, thin, wiry, and extremely bucktoothed man in his thirties. In each of the photos, the man wore neither a frown nor a smile. I suppose the terribly unfortunate condition of his exposed front teeth kept him from producing any other expression. He just looked odd, like a cartoon character.

  I handed the pictures back to Thing One. “Okay, so who’s this character?”

  They looked at each other and then back at me.

  “He’s no character,” said Thing Two. “We don’t know what his real name is, but he’s known as Suslik.”

  I ran that name through my mind, trying to come up with its meaning, but it wasn’t coming to me.

  Thing Two cracked the first smile of the day. “I thought your Russian was good. Come on, Chase, dig deep. Really chew on it. It’ll come to you.”

  But no matter how much I chewed on it, I couldn’t figure it out, so I leapt into the salon and grabbed my Russian-to-English dictionary and thumbed to the S section. “Really, guys? You call this poor guy, Suslik . . . the gopher? That’s just cruel.” I tossed the dictionary back on the table and climbed into the cockpit. “So, tell me about our friend, the gopher.”

  “He’s far from ou
r friend, Chase. He’s a dangerous man. It’s extremely rare to see him outside of Europe, but we’ve gotten lucky this time. We have intel that puts him aboard a yacht in the mouth of the Rio Almendares. The Secret Service, in doing their advance work for the secretary of state’s trip to Central America next week, picked up some chatter that Suslik had been contracted to take a shot at the secretary. You see, there’s a little bit of bad blood there from the good ol’ Cold War days.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So is the Secret Service going to pick him up?”

  Both Things smiled. “No, Chase. That’s not how it works. The Secret Service doesn’t just pick up people like Suslik and question them. Suslik doesn’t let himself get picked up. He kills people who try. If he’s under contract to shoot the secretary of state, he’ll do it, or he’ll die trying.”

  “So what do we do about it?” I asked.

  “We make him die trying,” they said in unison.

  Thing Two said, “Well, actually, you make him die trying, Chase. You’re going to hop a freighter into the Port of Havana and make your way to an asset we have there. This asset will take you via fishing boat into the mouth of Rio Almendares where you’ll find Suslik, positively identify him, kill him, and get the hell out of Cuba before Castro gets his hands on you. Simple, right?”

  “Oh sure, simple,” I said. “I’m going to sneak into a communist country, kill an assassin, and sneak out before anyone knows I was there. Hell, I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  Thing One handed me an envelope. “Inside this envelope, you’ll find a photograph of your Cuban contact and his boat. You’ll meet a helicopter at Homestead Air Force Base tomorrow morning at six. The chopper will take you to the Hondial Shanghai, a freighter bound for Havana. You’ll make the Port of Havana by dark tomorrow night. After that, you’re on your own. If you get caught . . . well, don’t get caught.”

  Before I could ask any questions, they headed for the stern and back to their dinghy.

  I hurriedly asked, “So how do I get home?”