We had arrived at the coordinates that Wong had set out in the Straits, about two miles from the Zhi Zhu Nu. Huck had throttled down to idle—to conserve fuel. Then we waited for the Coast Guard. And after that we would wait again: for the drug run that was supposed to happen in early evening, according to Snow, where coke would be transferred from the big rig to the small one, from where it would be hurried through the hidden waterways of the Big Cypress by airboat to landfall and then to points north and east in the United States. Good plan. Using oil rigs in the Caribbean as distribution centers.
“That’s what got Jack Hayward killed,” Wong said as I went below to get out of the weather. “He got in the way of what they were doing!”
Richie was nodding off. Louise was trying to look interested. Wong had been talking all through the afternoon—he talked, and talked, and talked. I needed to go topside before I lost my mind. But he was still going when I got back.
“You better believe it,” he muttered, as much to himself as to us. “Fucking drugs taking over our young people’s lives. Our job is to stop the flow. You better believe it. And the worst thing—my niece...” His head was down the whole time, like a man condemned.
I tried to enrich his Coke with some more Captain Morgan. He refused. “Need to keep my head clear.” He paused. “But suit yourself.”
And so I did. Then I took my drink topside to check on Huck.
The sun was heading for the horizon, barely visible through the rain.
Huck. “How long we gonna wait?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Cooper’s enigmatic,” he replied.
When Huck wants to, he can speak very literately. He loves to play dumb. It’s a ploy.
“I is,” I said. I can play too.
The sound of heavy motors droned through the distance.
Wong must have heard them because he was topside and standing next to me, looking in the direction of the sound.
“The Cutter,” he said. “They’ll have a copter and a chase boat.” He strained to see through the rain even though it had settled into a drizzle. But there was also a fog now haunting the Straits. I could only see about a hundred yards.
Part Three
“Yesterday, upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there!
He wasn’t there again today,
Oh how I wish he’d go away!”
William Hughes Mearns, Antigonish, 1899
Chapter Ninety-Two
The Watch
Saturday Morning, December 10
It was around 5:00 o’clock in the a.m. when Maxie dozed off on the soft queen in the guest bedroom. Joey stayed up and talked another hour until his uncle started to nod off, then they both went to sleep, Joey on a leather couch in the den and the uncle in his own bedroom. Charley didn’t rise until almost noon at which time he woke both Maxie and Joey for breakfast: waffles, sausage and eggs. Both boys ate like you would expect them to eat, having only noshed on potato chips, peanuts, Cokes, and candy they picked up at the bus stops.
“Time to go back to your house,” said Charley, turning to Maxie as he cleaned up the dishes. “Someone ought to be there by now.”
Maxie’s stomach was at it again, the pain rising quickly, right in the middle of his gut, but he didn’t show it. There was no point. They piled into Charley’s car—the black car. A scary black car.
It was late afternoon when they parked in front of the house. There was another car parked up the street. Maxie thought he recognized it. Asp maybe, he thought, and he became terrified, almost like when the men had taken him those many years ago; eight to be exact. And Maxie strained to see if there was anyone in the car.
Charley parked and they took the concrete steps up the embankment that led to the front porch of his house. Maxie kept glancing back at the car down the street, parked almost in front of Anthony’s Antique Shop. Steam was coming out of the exhaust as it sat there. Maxie shivered from the cold—or from being scared. He couldn’t tell which.
“Is something wrong?” Charley said, looking back at Maxie.
“No,” said the Boy, wondering if he should have said, yes, and explained it all to him. But he was afraid of what the Asp might do if the uncle went over to his car, so he said, “No, everything is okay.”
Keeping his eyes on the car the whole time, almost tripping as he mounted the stairs that scaled the embankment, and almost slipping on the icy walkway as he crossed to the porch, staring at the lawn where he had played. It was now covered with snow. Then he looked up the street to see if the car was still there. And it was.
Before the Boy realized it, the uncle was knocking on the door and waiting for a response—which didn’t come. So Charley turned and pointed to a coffee shop down the street across from where the car was parked that might be the Asp’s and said, “Let’s wait in there and see if your mom comes home,” and Maxie wondered if this woman whose name was Jillian Cooper was really his mom, or whether she was someone with the same name who, maybe, bought the house. There might be lots of people with that same name, he thought—because my mom is dead. The Man who took him said she was—and he said his dad was dead also—both killed in an automobile accident. And Maxie had seen that crash so many times in his head that it had to be real.
So they set out for the coffee shop, and as they crossed the street in front of the car that might be the Asp’s, Maxie looked quickly at the car to see...but the windows were fogged, and he thought that maybe...maybe it wasn’t Asp. They entered the warmth of the coffee shop where Maxie had come often with his dad and mom, and they sat at a booth in front of a window overlooking the street so they could watch the house where Maxie had grown up.
They had sat there for over an hour, when a black Mercedes pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the garage of Maxie’s house. And the Boy’s breath left him as he watched a woman get out of the car. She was so bundled up he couldn’t see her face. Then a man climbed out of the driver’s side and helped her up the stairs. Maxie stared at the man who was with the woman who might be his mother. The man and the woman hesitated at the front door, and they kissed for what seemed an eternity to the Boy.
As the man turned away and began to descend the steps, the uncle began to rise. But the Boy had an uneasy feeling as the man started across the sidewalk to his car, because he turned and looked their way. And the Boy’s stomach dropped through the floor as the man took off his hat, brushed hair away from his face, and looked straight at Maxie in the window of the coffee shop, then hesitated, like he actually saw him. Then he turned back to the house, climbed the stairs once more, and opened the door.
The Boy pulled Charley back down to the table. “Not yet,” he said.
Then, moments later, the man—now Maxie was sure it was him—came back out carrying a scarf that he was wrapping around his neck. Then he got into his car, pulled around in the drive so he wouldn’t have to back into the street, and headed in the direction of the black car. As he passed it, the car pulled out and followed him.
Maxie was frozen, just like the lady in the Bible story, and Charley, the uncle whom Maxie trusted now, the man who had rescued Joey from the orphanage, this same man, stared at Maxie who was white with terror, and asked him what was the matter and Joey asked him, “What’s wrong, dude?”
But Maxie just stared at the two cars moving down the street, almost in synchrony, and said, “That’s the man who kidnapped me!”
,
Chapter Ninety-Three
I met a Man Who Wasn’t There
Maxie wondered why he, the Man who had kidnapped him, was with his mom—if this was his mom—and now he was hoping it wasn’t, and if she was his mom really, what did it all mean?
Charley said, “Shit!” Maxie had never heard him swear before and Joey said, “No way, dude!” Then all three of them were silent for a few moments. Staring at the house where Maxie had lived out his childhood. And both the uncle and Joey must have been wondering the same thing Max
ie was—why was his mother with this evil man?
But the uncle, a man of determination, rose quickly, turned to the boys and said, “Stay here,” and headed toward the house on the hill. Maxie and Joey watched him ascend the drive, being careful not to slip; and then mount the stairs covered with snow; and knock on the door. They watched the woman who was supposed to be Maxie’s mother, Jillian Cooper, open the door. They watched him talking with her. They saw her put her hand over her mouth as if in a scream. They watched as she fell forward into Uncle Charley’s arms. He caught her, and held her.
The uncle looked back at the coffee shop, nodded for the boys, and then waved them over when he was able to free an arm from the woman, who must be Jillian Cooper, Maxie thought. Then the woman began to right herself and stood frozen on the frozen porch of the big home on the hill, where Maxie grew up, and waited for the two boys to come up the drive. And they did.
The woman, who was Maxie’s mother, Jillian Cooper, the woman who had thought that her son was dead, ran off the porch almost slipping and screaming as she hurried to them—for a moment stopping and glancing at both Joey and Maxie, as if to choose between them—then quickly rushed ahead, threw her arms around Maxie, and cried and pulled him into her body, smothering him against her breasts until the snow melted around them.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, I knew you were still alive!” she screamed, loud enough so everyone in Muskingum, of O.H.I.O could hear, and a few people on the street, walking toward Anthony’s Antique Shop, did stop and stare, and Charley, the man who had come to his rescue, and Joey Lewis, his new friend—maybe his only friend—smiled and laughed and cried a little, and then, finally, Jillian held Maxie away from herself, looked into his face, into the face of the boy she had thought was lost, forever, wiped his tears away, brushed his hair away from his face—some blond still in it—and then wiped the tears from her own eyes and took a deep breath, and said, “My God, I can’t believe it! You are home! After all these years!”
Jillie and Maxie, and Joey and Charley stood on the front lawn of Maxie’s home, all of them still disbelieving, Jillie thinking, I have to call Coop. He won’t believe this!
Chapter Ninety-Four
Oh How I wish He’d Go Away!
Then Maxie said, “Who was that Man you were kissing?”
Jillie started at that question. “The man? You saw...?”
“Yeah,” Maxie said, a little embarrassed. “We were across the street at the coffee shop.” He turned and pointed to it.
“Oh,” she said, and tried to begin to explain—hurriedly—thinking that Maxie might think she was being disloyal to his dad. So she said, “Oh, that man is just an old friend from Georgetown.” She paused, then started up again, nervously, explaining that his dad knew the man and that it was okay with him, because…” Then she realized that Maxie wouldn’t know they were separated, so she added quickly, “Well, because your father and I are no longer together.” She felt funny about telling him that—so soon—so soon after Maxie had reappeared so magically—after eight years of pain and worry—but Maxie was just staring at her. And she wondered why.
Then, “That’s the Man who kidnapped me,” Maxie said, dead-voiced and quiet.
A silence fell over Jillie, over all of them, and could have extended to all the people in Muskingum of O.H.I.O. who might be standing around them, as if to celebrate, you know, like in the movies made in Hollywood, when the main characters, the man and the woman, who are in love, finally get together and the people surrounding them on the set start clapping, just like they should be now, except...
Upon Maxie’s news flash, instead of clapping (from this imaginary crowd), there was only a stunned silence. Jillie didn’t know what to say, so she just stared at Maxie, afraid to ask about this Man. She was thinking, No, that’s not possible, he...
Her mind was confused at this news from her son who had just returned to her after eight years of torture. If there had been onlookers from the town, like on a movie set, if there had been that crowd, they would also have been confused and the clapping would have stopped. And the booing and the anger would have started, just like it was starting in Jillie as she began to incorporate this new information into her brain, about this man—whom I had been dating; this man—and she was frozen like the wife of Lot in Sodom and Gomorrah—whom I have slept with!
The horror of it struck her as she realized what had happened. This man who had wooed me in Georgetown and who has for the last eight years destroyed our lives, and contaminated our home, and taken my son away from me, and driven my husband from me; this man who dared to kiss me on the porch, in front of my son…and she knew that Cooper would be like an erupting volcano when he found out.
She screamed and then cried and grabbed Maxie and held him tightly to her body and said, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” And sobs shook her body as she spoke under her breath into his ear, trying to console him. “I had no idea. I had no idea!”
She looked into the winter sky and raged inside at what Henry had done to her. And to Cooper. And to Maxie. And she vowed revenge as the snow fell on them and the afternoon got colder. I have to call Cooper, she thought. Once excited, but now...
She looked at Charley and then at Joey, as if to thank them, but also as if to say, I’m so ashamed.
Charley put his arm around her and pulled Maxie in as well, and Joey tried to put his arms around them all. Then Charley whispered to Jillie, “It’s going to be all right. Your son’s back. That’s the main thing.”
Charley and Joey followed Jillie and Maxie into the house, the one that sits on a hillock in Muskingum, Ohio, where Maxie used to play, that is before someone took him, eight years ago, a man who had retrieved a baseball that Maxie had been playing with, that had rolled into a ditch at the bottom of the hill that abutted the street, muddy that morning with rain from the night before, a man who had helped him clean off his baseball, luring him to his car, a long black one, with the promise of finding a rag to “clean it up better,” then pushed him into the car and drove away with him, leaving that house on the hill behind, as Maxie watched. That very house that Maxie was now entering again—for the first time—in eight years. And Maxie would be telling Jillie—and Cooper—all about it. All the while his stomach would hurt, and all the while Jillie’s heart would be near to shutting down, and all the while Cooper would be raging inside. But that would be later. When this was all over.
As soon as they were all in the house, Jillie excused herself and hurried to call Cooper. But he wouldn’t answer because...
Part Four
The Battle in the Florida Straits
Chapter Ninety-Five
Plan of Attack
Saturday Afternoon, December 10
Fourteen Shopping Days Before Christmas
We were in the middle of the Straits, twenty-five miles or so from the Keys, and sitting in a bank of mist, when I saw it and was transfixed by it. The ship I mean. It came out of the fog. A beast of a ship. Long and menacing in the mist that surrounded it. The words U. S. COAST GUARD in big black letters on its side. The number “910” across the prow. The ship itself was all white, a large red stripe running at an angle down the hull, white and blue stripes chasing along the side of the wide red stripe. The ship had come prepared. A big gun was mounted on a turret in the center of the foredeck and the blades of a helicopter emerged on the aft deck as the ship was now only a few hundred yards away. A small chase boat was riding in its wake.
“You brought out the Navy,” I said, leaning into Wong’s ear.
“The Coast Guard is part of Homeland Security, Cooper. Been that way for a few years now. You need to study up,” he added, watching the vessel approach.
“How’d they find us in this stuff?” I said.
“You kidding? I’m Deputy Secretary. Got my ways.”
I watched with him as the cutter began to bear down on us, its motors quiet as it cut the waves like a sharp knife through a meringue pie.
“We going to i
nvade the Zhi Zhu Nu?” I said, admiring its massive size.
“You crazy?” he said, turning from the cutter to me. “We go into Cuban waters, we could start a war.”
“But you are the Deputy Secretary,” I reminded him. “Maybe you can declare war on the Zhi Zhu Nu.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to the cutter now only about a hundred yards from our port side, “and you would be looking at the former Deputy Secretary.”
Then he pulled himself up over the railing to watch three seamen board the chase boat that had been dropped from the stern of the cutter. The seas were rough despite the passing of the rain, and the men struggled to keep their balance in the boarding maneuver. Then the chase boat wheeled away from the cutter and pulled in tight to the Canyon and three Guardsmen climbed on board through the transom door that’s located next to the Yamahas. Two were in their working gear: blue cap, shirt untucked, and blue pants tucked into black boots. The third Guardsman was a woman. She had commander’s insignia (resembling a Maple Leaf) on her shoulders. She was tall, maybe six feet one or two, thin. Her cheeks were chapped red from the wind and rain. Some hair had escaped from under her cap and hung over the left side of her face. She took off her cap, pushed the hair, black and wet, into place, and saluted Wong. She looked like a young Lucy Liu.
A Cold Copper Moon (The Cooper Series Book 3) Page 24