Determinant (21 page)

He went to the boat’s navigation and scrolled down the screen. He tapped Marco Island. The navigation screen claimed a hundred and twenty-five nautical miles. The location had everything he needed. He could dock, fuel up, and get some sleep before continuing on.

The wind pushed the boat away from the dock. Ray released the lines and idled out. He’d be out of the bay in an hour and a half, after that, it would be open water.

I requested more patrol officers to comb the area. My best guess was that he’d head back toward the mansion. I had the officers fan out over two blocks and search their way back to the house. Hank and I drove. We could start searching for any of Ray’s belongings. He may have left something that could point us in the right direction. I wanted to ask Callie if she had any ideas. There was a chance she overheard something while Ray held her captive.

We pulled up to the house. Two black Suburbans sat parked behind the cruiser with Viktor inside. Two agents stood at the rear of our cruiser. I walked up.

“Lieutenant Carl Kane TPD Homicide, you guys taking him?”

One of the agents spoke up. “We’re leaving with him in a few minutes here. You need to speak to him?”

I thought for a second. Even if he knew where Ray would go, he’d never tell us. “Just real quick.”

He stepped aside. I opened the rear door of the car and crouched down to get a look at Viktor. He stared back at me. His eyes were full of rage.

“Enjoy prison, Asshole.” I waved and closed the door.

He yanked at the cuffs behind his back. He kicked the window.

I turned to the agent. “I’m through with him.”

The agent wore a smile.

Hank and I walked inside.

“Where do we start?” Hank asked.

“Try to find what room he was staying in. I’m going to see if Callie overheard anything.”

“And the bedrooms are where?”

“I don’t know. Just start looking around.”

Hank walked toward the stairs.

I found Callie. She sat at the back bar where we were being held. She spun on the bar stool and faced me. “Did you find him?”

I gave her a quick head shake.

She stared down at her feet. “He’ll come back.”

“We’ll find him. I have officers out searching on foot now. Cal, is this the only place he took you?”

She looked back up. “Yeah.”

“Did he ever leave to go anywhere?”

“I don’t know. He had me locked up in that wine room the whole time.”

“Did you ever hear him say anything to Viktor? Maybe something about another location, a place he had to go? Anything like that?”

“Not that I can think of, Babe. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK. We’re going to look around here and see if we can find anything.”

She nodded.

I went to her and gave her a hug. “Find me before you leave, OK?”

“I will.” Callie spun back around to the bar.

I found Hank at the base of the stairs on his cell phone. He cupped the mouthpiece. “Station is putting me through to the homeowner. I guess he just called? You want it?” He held out his phone.

I grabbed it and put it to me ear. Hold music played.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mister Brewer?” I asked.

“Yes. Who is this now? What is going on there? I keep getting bounced from person to person.”

“This is Lieutenant Carl Kane.”

“What is going on there? I got a message from a Sergeant that something was going on at my house. Then I get a message from one of my friends at the yacht club that someone was using my boat.”

“What boat? When?”

“My thirty-seven footer, the Illusion. One of the guys a few slips down called a few minutes ago. He said someone was taking my boat out. I said no cars, no boats.”

“What yacht club?”

“Tampa Bay Yacht and Country Club. It’s two blocks from my house.”

“Mister Brewer, someone will call you back.”

I clicked off Hank’s phone and jabbed it into his stomach. “Come on! Let’s go!”

“What’s going on?”

“I know where Ray is.”

I stuck my head in by Callie and told her I had to run. I let her hang onto my phone in case she needed to get a hold of me.

Hank and I grabbed Jones and Donner and rushed from the front of the house. The Feds had already left with Viktor. Hank and I jogged to his car. I opened the door and put a foot in.

I called over to Jones and Donner. “Call this into the station. Have them send our Marine Unit.”

“Got it,” Donner yelled back.

I called the local FBI office on the quick ride over to the yacht club to let them know we had a lead on Ray. It was a short professional courtesy call. The TPD had a warrant for multiple murders on Ray—the Fed’s charges would be pushed to the back burner. Ray was ours.

Hank skidded to a stop at the front doors of the yacht club. Jones and Donner pulled in behind us. We bailed out and jogged around the building, past the pools, to the yacht club’s marina. It reflected off the water. The docks held at least seventy-five boats. Four rows jutted out from shore. Sailboats, yachts and speedboats held slips on each side. Covered docks sat to the north. I had no idea where we were headed or what boat we were looking for. I scanned the area looking for anyone. The sun was starting to come up. It rose over the Port of Tampa—just three miles across the Hillsborough Bay from where we stood.

“Got a few guys over there.” Jones pointed under the covered docks.

We ran over. Three men were standing on the dock next to bright orange Donzi ZR. The Ferrari of speed boats was on my list of things to purchase, that is, if I ever won the lottery. It was over forty feet and over a half million dollars new. This one might as well of had the price tags still on it. They could run over a hundred miles an hour at full throttle.

“You guys didn’t happen to see a big guy leave on a boat called the Illusion did you?”

“Yeah, I just called the owner. He asked me to keep an eye on his boat. I didn’t think I’d actually need to. Some guy just left with it ten minutes ago.”

“Which way did he head?” I looked out over the water. The rising sun shined back, blinding me. I cupped my hand over my eyebrows.

The guy pointed. “He headed south.”

I turned to Donner. “What’s up with the Marine Unit?”

“I called it in. I’m guessing twenty minutes or so until they get out here.”

“We don’t have twenty minutes.”

I turned my attention back to the three men. “You say he went south. How far do you suppose he is from here now?”

The guy shrugged. “A mile or two.”

I nodded at the Donzi. “Is that yours?”

“She’s mine.” He pointed to the guys standing beside him. “Buddies and I are getting set for the poker run today.”

“We’re with the TPD Homicide Division.” I flashed him my burned badge. “We need to catch that boat that just left. Think you guys could help us out with that?”

“Hell Yeah!” He made for the back of his boat.

I followed him over. “How many of us can we get on here?”

“We have seating for five, but I need to take at least one of my guys in case something comes up mechanically.”

“Donner, Jones, flip a coin,” I said.

“No need. You couldn’t pay me to get on that thing. Water and I don’t mix,” Donner said.

Jones pushed his way past him. “Works for me.”

We boarded the boat.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Bill Grooms. This is Rich Qualls.”

I shook both their hands. “Lieutenant Kane.” I pointed to Hank. “This is Sergeant Rawlings.” I pointed to Jones. “This here is Detective Jones.”

“You OK?” the one named Bill asked me.

I looked at my bloody clothes.

He pointed at my face and side of my head. “Your head looks like it needs stitches, Bud.”

“I’ll make it.”

“Alright, good to meet you officers. I got a couple life jackets below. Rich, you want to go grab a couple for these guys?”

He nodded and went through the counsel into the cabin. Rich returned with a stack of orange Mustang life jackets. Hank and I each took one. Rich looked at the one in his hand and then eyed Detective Jones. “Don’t think we have one big enough for you.”

“Toss me the one you got there. I’ll see what I can do with it,” Jones said.

Jones draped the vest over his shoulders and held the straps. The buckles and zippers down the front were a foot apart from touching.

Bill looked over at Jones tugging at the buckles. “Don’t worry about it. You won’t need it.”

“Hope not,” Jones said.

“I’ll try to keep us shiny side up, but if you get tossed from here doing a hundred, you’ll be dead before you can drown anyway.”

“That’s reassuring,” Jones said.

We sat—Jones in the center Hank and I to each side. I buckled the life jacket.

Hank looked to me. “Is this thing going to be able to chase him down?”

Bill caught Hank’s question before I could respond. He looked back at Hank and smirked. “Twin eight-fifties. There isn’t anything on this water this boat can’t catch.” He fired the engines.

Hank, Jones and I sat on the three across bench seat. The engines sat behind us. Our seats shook. The water rippled at the sides of the boat.

The other guy in his crew untied the boat and tossed the lines up to Rich. We idled out away from the slip.

I waved back to the dock. “Donner!”

“Yeah!”

“Get in touch with the Marine Unit again! Tell them we’re headed south! Call the Coast Guard!”

“Will do!”

We pulled through the breakwater of the marina and got out into Hillsborough Bay. Bill pointed the bow south and brought the speed up. The boat got on plane. He looked back at us over his shoulder. “Hang on to something.”

I reached down with my right hand and took hold of the metal bar to my side. Hank did the same. Jones was sandwiched between us. The sound of the engines went from the low moan to a sustained growl. My back pressed into the seat. The boat flew over the surface. We spent more time airborne than in the water. A thirty foot rooster tail shot up from the center of our wake. I caught the speed over Bill’s right shoulder. It was somewhere in the seventies.

Bill looked back. “We should catch him within a few minutes. We’re doing double his max speed now.”

“Sounds good.”

“You guys alright back there?”

I was fine. I looked at Jones. He had found a loop between his legs to hold on to. I looked past him to Hank. His eyes were wide. He had one hand on the metal bar to his left and was white-knuckling a handle on the seat in front of him.

“Think we’re OK.”

“Alright. I’m going to open her up.”

The pitch of the engines turned to a full wail. Wind ripped past my ears. Ocean mist peppered my face. The boat leapt from the water and smacked down on the right side. It leapt again and touched down on the left. It continued the back and forth smacking off the surface as we built speed. The boat gobbled up football fields with each skip off the water. The relentless thrust from the twin engines rocketed us forward.

A boat came into view. It grew from the size of an ant to inches tall in a second. It was a sailboat and not what we were looking for. Bill never lifted from the throttle. I leaned my head to the right to catch the speed. We were just nearing a hundred.

Bill saw me leaning up. “We should see him within the next minute or so. Keep your eyes open.” He shouted. His voice was barely audible over the roaring engines and sounds of the water on the hull.

I relayed the message to Jones. He relayed it to Hank. We skipped across the water’s surface another thirty seconds.

Bill stuck a finger in the air. He pointed out to our left. “Looks like Brewer’s boat.”

He throttled down. It felt like we were crawling across the water. The boat in question was still coming closer. I looked at the speedometer. We were still doing sixty-five.

Bill looked back over his shoulder. “I’m going to make a pass. Brewer’s boat is called the Illusion. It says it real big across the stern.” The boat came closer. We were a hundred yards to his right and a hundred yards back. Bill came in on an angle outside of the boat’s wake and matched its speed.

Ray finished plotting out his course out of the bay and down the coast. He shook his head. Anger built inside him. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. He couldn’t believe it came to this. Everything he owned in the states would have to be left behind—his cars, house, clothes, all gone forever. The income he made from the clubs—gone. The money they made and fenced—no more.

There would be FBI agents sitting on the house. His passport would be flagged. He’d never be able to return to Miami. Viktor would be another story. Ray had to find a way to get his brother out of the FBI’s custody. He couldn’t let Viktor sit in prison. Ray would get a message to Viktor that he made it out when he was safely back in Russia. Getting back there was the only thing that mattered now.

Ray had his travel planned. Marco Island would be his first stop en-route to Key West. Viktor had friends in the Keys, they’d be able to arrange him safe travel to Cuba. From Cuba, Ray would be able to find travel back to Russia with ease.

Ray had the boat set at a cruising speed of just below thirty miles an hour. The sun was over the horizon on the port side. Ray checked the time on his Rolex—a few minutes after 7:00 a.m. If all went well, he’d be at his first destination around noon. He sat in the captain’s chair and ran his hand through his hair. Ray’s fingers caught on chunks of dried blood. Once he got out of the bay, he’d set the auto pilot and go below to clean up.

A sound caught Ray’s ear over the noise of the engines. He glanced back over his shoulder to the sound. An orange speedboat approached from behind. The boat grew closer with every second. They slowed when they came parallel to Ray. He figured it was out of courtesy for a fellow boater. It wasn’t. The boat passed Ray’s wake and matched his speed. They started closing in from the side.

Ray spotted the lieutenant aboard. He spun his captain’s chair around and ducked below the grill. He opened the cabinet door beneath and dug through. His hand touched what he sought—his overnight bag that he’d left on the boat. Ray unzipped the top and dug his hand inside. Two addition clips for his Desert Eagle were removed. He went back to the seat and spun around to the wheel. He sped up.