A Dangerous Identity

by Russell Fee

  “You planning on attending?” asked Callahan.

  O’Donnell chuffed derisively. “Actually, I am. I’m as concerned about the island as everyone else, but I’m getting worried.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t want the island to become the epicenter of a protest earthquake. We don’t have the resources to handle that.”

  “I could use another deputy,” said Callahan.

  O’Donnell glanced up and smiled sardonically. “The county’s still paying for that boat of yours.”

  Callahan shrugged. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion?” he said.

  “Well, these demonstrations are a concern. I’ve heard that people from the mainland have come to the island to join the protests. They could be outside agitators. And I’m getting more and more calls from the mainland press. Did you know there was a TV crew on that barge the other day? WPBN-TV in Traverse City apparently got word of the planned blockade.” Before Callahan could answer, O’Donnell said, “By the way, you did a great job there. Thanks. You and Amanda looked good on the six o’clock news.”

  Chapter 23

  Jackson pumped his travel mug full of coffee from the thermos at the breakfast bar of the Motel 6 before checking out. He had spent a sleepless night after waiting endless hours at the Grotto the day before in hopes that he might catch the bent man purchasing Susan’s remaining painting. He hadn’t, and the two extra days spent in Grand Rapids had been a wasted effort. But the failure of the stakeout and the sea of coffee he had drunk while on it were not what had kept him awake. He rarely slept anymore.

  Their falling in love was not meant to happen. Personal relationships were strictly forbidden between protected witnesses and their handlers within the program. Such relationships would cloud a handler’s judgement and endanger a witness. If known, they would fatally taint a witness’s testimony and jeopardize the outcome of a criminal prosecution. The US Marshals Service enforced rigorous procedures to prevent such nonprofessional relationships. But he had seen it happen before with catastrophic outcomes. He was certain that he was immune. Until the service assigned him Susan’s case.

  He believed he and Susan might pull it off. They had planned everything so carefully; rehearsed until they were ready to spread the deceptions that would cover their disappearance together. He had planted the roots of their new identities too deep to be detected. The cyber footprints on the trail of their escape were ready to be wiped clean. No one would find them. But someone had found Susan, and now she was dead. He blamed himself. He had never experienced a passion like he had for her, never known such a power could exist. He would do anything for her. But he had failed to do what he was expertly trained to do, what his very being compelled him to do—protect her. He had overlooked something; had exposed a clue to her identity and whereabouts that someone had exploited. Now he would find that person.

  He drove north toward Charlevoix and the ferry to the island. The coffee kept him alert, and the uninterrupted drone of the car’s engine over the 180 miles of US Highway 131 was a white noise that uncluttered his mind and helped him think. As the road slid under him like a pulled ribbon, his thoughts focused on the bent man. What was his connection to Susan? Why had she been communicating with him? Jackson felt the skin on his face tighten. Susan’s life and his had depended on her telling him everything. But she hadn’t.

  Chapter 24

  Callahan, Julie, Amanda, and Nick sat in a snug at the Arranmore Pub watching the two old men, one at either end of the bar. Both were perched on tall chairs and stared straight ahead over the sweating glass of Guinness in front of each of them. As they all watched, the one on the right slowly reached out with a gnarled mitt of a hand and gripped the glass. You could hear a pin drop in the pub as he wiped his lips with the back of his other hand and slowly raised the glass. When the glass reached his mouth, he took a sip; and a smattering of chortles and muffled groans filled the pub. Callahan held out his palm over the table, and Nick placed a five-dollar bill in it.

  Amanda had filled Nick in on the local color. The two codgers were cousins, born a day apart. They were in their late eighties and both named Malone. They looked so alike that they were often mistaken for twins. Patrons of the pub had named them Right Malone and Left Malone after the end of the bar where they sat. Because of a feud, the origins of which no one on the island remembered, they hadn’t spoken to each other in nearly fifty years. Yet, they arrived at the pub at almost the same time every evening, taking up positions at opposite ends of the bar, rarely speaking to anyone, and ordering a single Guinness, which they nursed until closing time. Logic would dictate that the pub’s owners would discourage such impecuniousness. But the opposite was true.

  Their places at the bar were reverently reserved for them, and they were welcomed like astronauts returning from the moon and catered to like royalty. All this because the two old fools made thousands for the pub by winning and sometimes losing small fortunes for its patrons. It was an entrenched island pastime to come to the pub and bet on the boys: Who would be the first to take a sip, drain their glass, take a piss, or pay? The permutations were endless, thoroughly entertaining, and irresistible. Nick had not resisted, much to his chagrin.

  “I’ll put this to good use when I pay for the next round,” said Callahan, stuffing the bill in his pocket. “Or not,” he added with a smile.

  “Or not what? Not use the five dollars or not pay for the next round?” asked Amanda.

  “Both,” said Callahan.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” said Amanda.

  “Then want to bet again? This may wind up in someone else’s hand,” said Callahan, grabbing the bill from his pocket and slapping it down on the table.

  All shook their heads, mostly in dismay.

  “Okay. Then, to stay in everyone’s good graces, I’ll belly up to the bar and order a round.” Callahan scooted out of the snug, and, as he stood, a man who had just entered the pub bumped him and nearly knocked him off balance.

  The man braced Callahan’s back with one hand to steady him and said in a barely audible voice, “Sorry, Sheriff.”

  “No problem,” said Callahan as the man walked past him in a slow awkward stoop.

  Callahan walked to the bar and stood next to Right Malone. He placed the five-dollar bill on the bar and pushed it next to Malone’s glass of Guinness. “By rights I figure this is yours. Sláinte.” he said, wishing him good health with the Irish toast.

  Right Malone covered the bill with the flat of his hand and slid it off the bar into his pocket. “Much obliged, Sheriff. Sláinte agad-sa,” he said in Irish, wishing Callahan good health as well.

  Callahan nodded and signaled for the bartender. As he did, he noticed the image of the man who had bumped into him reflected in the mirror behind the bar. The man sat alone at a table along the wall and was staring at him. The intensity of his gaze, its focus, was different from the gawking Callahan usually experienced. He ordered the drinks and approached the man at the table.

  “Do I know you?” asked Callahan.

  “Pretty sure you don’t,” said the man.

  “I saw you staring like you were wondering if you knew me,” said Callahan.

  “Nope. I’m just curious about people is all. Didn’t mean to offend.”

  Callahan appraised the man a moment more and then nodded. “No offense. Enjoy your evening.” He rejoined Julie, Amanda, and Nick at their table; and as he sat down, he watched the bent man leave the pub.

  Chapter 25

  Amanda grabbed the offered hand of the crewmember and stepped into the yacht’s tender. Nick was right behind her. To her surprise, the tender was nearly full of people she did not recognize. She assumed that they were guests of Bland who had flown in from the mainland. The women were all dressed elegantly, and Amanda silently congratulated herself on her choice of evening wear. After learning of the attire for the yacht party, she spent hours searching NordstromRack.com until she found som
ething that fit her physique, taste, and pocketbook. Even at a deeply discounted designer apparel website, that wasn’t easy. She had picked a grey crepe sheath with a halter neckline and asymmetrical hemline. She looked stunning even if she thought so herself. Nick certainly did, and, apparently, so did most of the men in the tender who looked at her a bit too long for the comfort of their female companions. Before she and Nick sat down, a second crewmember offered them a glass of champagne. Another couple boarded, and the tender got underway, motoring to Bland’s yacht moored in the middle of the bay.

  Amanda’s reluctance to accept Bland’s invitation and succumb to Abdullah’s entreaty to attend the party was erased by Nick’s enthusiasm for a special evening together and Callahan’s idea that it posed an opportunity for them to determine if Bland threw the type of party where a young girl might tumble overboard.

  As the tender glided farther out into the bay, it pulled away from the light of the town until the surface of the water was as black as the night sky. Surrounded by the sparkle of the stars in the sky and their perfect reflection on the water, Amanda felt as if the boat were suspended in space where there was neither an up nor down. The sensation was exhilarating but disorienting, and she had to keep her eyes on the yacht and hold tight to Nick to keep her world upright.

  Minutes later, the tender sidled against the hull of the yacht, and a crewmember lowered aluminum stairs from the yacht’s deck. Nick stood and helped Amanda up, and when it was their turn, they climbed the stairs. Bland waited at the top to greet each guest.

  “I’m so glad you both could make it,” said Bland, raising his voice to be heard over the live band playing on a deck above them. “Abdullah will be especially pleased.” He pointed behind them. “You’ll find drinks and hors d’oeuvres astern. Dinner will be served later. Enjoy.”

  Nick and Amanda acknowledged Bland’s greeting and made way for the guests boarding behind them.

  “I’ve never been on a yacht this size, short of a cruise ship,” said Nick, craning his neck to scan the two decks above them.

  “Me neither,” said Amanda. “This is amazing.”

  Amanda and Nick worked their way toward the stern of the ship, past animated guests hugging the rail until they came to an open area. It served as a dance floor. A large bar stood at the far end, and tables adorned with ice sculptures lined the sides. The tables held trays of exotic morsels beautifully presented but unidentifiable except for their title and ingredients engraved on gold cards suspended above them. A crowd massed around the bar.

  “Want some more champagne?” asked Nick.

  “That would be great,” said Amanda.

  “Wait here, and I’ll brave the log jam. I hope they have beer,” he said as he began to step gingerly around guests holding small plates and hovering in ravenous indecision above the assorted delicacies on the tables.

  Amanda felt a light touch on her elbow and turned around. Abdullah smiled at her.

  “You’re in the right place,” he said.

  In response to Amanda’s confused look, he explained. “Here at this table. It contains all the delicacies from my part of the world, the United Arab Emirates.”

  “Oh,” said Amanda, sweeping her eyes over the table.

  Abdullah laughed. “Are you here alone?” he asked.

  “No. I’m here with my boyfriend. He’s at the bar getting us drinks,” answered Amanda.

  “Nick, is it?” said Abdullah.

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that he works at the university’s biological and environmental station.”

  “Yes,” said Amanda.

  “Excellent. There is someone I would like him to meet. Would you mind?” said Abdullah.

  “You can ask him yourself,” said Amanda as Nick, holding a drink in both hands, maneuvered passed the guests along the table and handed her a glass of champagne.

  * * *

  Abdullah did not reveal the identity of the guest he wanted Nick to meet until he had guided him and Amanda to a plush room on the upper deck where a tall grey-haired man regaled two couples. When the man saw them enter the room, he offered his audience a quick apology and broke away to greet Abdullah.

  “Abe, I was wondering when we would bump into each other on this floating behemoth.” He shook hands with Abdullah and then turned to Nick and Amanda. His eyes, however, were only on Amanda. “And who have you bought with you?” he asked.

  “Governor, this is Amanda Gillespie and Nick Randolph. Nick is the person I told you about,” said Abdullah.

  Nick was floored. As soon as Abdullah had addressed the man, he had recognized him. Edward De Boer was Michigan’s governor. Nick certainly hadn’t expected to meet any dignitaries and was stunned to hear that Abdullah had spoken about him to De Boer. He wondered what on earth Abdullah could have said.

  “I’ve been told you work at the environmental station on the island,” De Boer said to Nick.

  “Yes. The university has recently transferred me there,” said Nick.

  “And what is it that you do there, if I may ask?”

  “Well, I am helping to develop and program its database management system.”

  “Sounds like a big job,” said De Boer.

  “Bigger than I originally thought. The university faculty at the station includes experts in a broad range of scientific disciplines, including conservation genetics, aquatic population modeling, and landscape ecology, as well as limnology and geographic information sciences and systems. There’s a lot of research and a lot of data generated.” Nick knew he sounded like he was puffing himself up under the guise of being informative and ceased his jabber, embarrassed.

  De Boer nodded as if he were familiar with the scientific disciplines in Nick’s litany and said, “Very impressive. You must know about everything that’s going on there.”

  “Indirectly, but yes. All the data from the field and lab research comes through me.” Nick kicked himself. What was it about this man that made him feel he had to impress him?

  “I hear that the station’s research projects involve the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, not just the island and its archipelago. Is that correct?”

  “Actually, the station houses the Great Lakes Environmental and Ecological Research Institute. The target research of the institute involves the entire shoreline of Lake Michigan.”

  “I see,” said De Boer.

  Nick was finding it both surprising and refreshing that the governor appeared to be interested in the institute’s research and asked, “Have you seen the most recent findings about the health of the lake?”

  Abdullah shouldered in with the answer. “Those findings have been politicized,” he said.

  “What?” said Nick, startled by the interruption.

  “The head of the institute has used its findings to fuel an attack on the creation of jobs and to stymy the economic growth of Michigan’s shoreline towns and cities,” said Abdullah.

  The conversation had made such an abrupt turn that it took Nick a second or two to track its path. He knew that the institute’s head was an environmentalist and an advocate for the ecological health of the lake but also an ethical and respected scientist. “I believe his conclusions are based on solid research and objective facts,” Nick countered.

  “The vehemence of his rhetoric shows otherwise. He selectively uses and skews findings to support an agenda adverse to legitimate business interests. He’s not a scientist but a partisan. His research cannot be trusted,” posited Abdullah.

  Nick saw De Boer give a slight nod. This tacit ascent to Abdullah’s rant infuriated Nick, and he felt compelled to fight against it. But before he could speak, De Boer said, “It’s too festive an evening for strenuous debate. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, shall we? It was a pleasure meeting you and your lovely date, Nick.”

  Amanda visibly chafed at De Boer’s chauvinism and started to pull Nick away, but not before De Boer stepped over to Abdullah and led him by the elbow back to the couples to whom he had bee
n chatting. Nick and Amanda were left to themselves.

  * * *

  “What just happened?” asked Nick.

  He and Amanda had worked their way to the bow of the ship where the music wasn’t so loud and they could talk. They leaned on the rail side by side facing the shore.

  “I’m not sure,” said Amanda.

  “Why would Abdullah want me to meet the governor and then turn the occasion into an attack on the institute before the reason for the meeting became clear? Unless it was a set up for Abdullah to attack the institute. But that doesn’t make sense. He apparently has the ear of the governor and doesn’t need a pretext to express his views,” Nick mused.

  “You’re not directly involved in the institute’s research, so you don’t own any of it.” Amanda put air quotes around own. “Maybe they both wanted to see what your stance on the work of the institute is as an insider-slash-outsider, if that makes any sense. A confrontation may have been Abdullah’s way of doing it in front of the governor,” said Amanda. Nick looked skeptical, and Amanda added, “Maybe Abdullah believed that goading you would get a more forthright response than simply asking for your views in an out-of-the-blue meeting.”

  “But why?” asked Nick.

  “Drilling into and near Lake Michigan is outlawed, but the political landscape is in upheaval. I don’t know if you know it or not, but the governor is a climate change denier and has publicly claimed that if the climate is changing, it’s not because of any human activity. He has steadfastly championed Big Oil in its efforts to change Michigan law and may see the institute as a threat to that agenda,” said Amanda.

  “Was the governor trying to enlist me in his cause in some way?”

  Amanda watched the headlights of a lone car as it followed the curve of the shore. “I just don’t know,” she answered.

  “Well, if he was, he wasted his time,” said Nick. “Come on, let’s check out this floating bacchanal.”