Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) (17 page)

I pushed both throttles to eighteen hundred rpm and the
Revenge
shot forward, thanks to the twin twenty-two inch, five blade CNC machined propellers. In seconds, we were up on plane and accelerating.

“Don’t show 'em too much, Jesse,” Deuce said. “We don’t want them to know we can outrun them, until it’s too late for them to turn back.”

I dropped the throttles to sixteen hundred rpm and we were cruising along at a sedate twenty-five knots.

“I researched that Carver,” Art said. “Twin Mercruisers 5.7’s, pushing three hundred horsepower each. Cruising speed is sixteen knots, with a max of twenty-six.”

“Good,” I said, “she’ll be pushing her maximum speed all the way to Alligator Reef. That’s where I’m going to hammer the throttles and pull away from them.”

“How fast will that be?” Tony asked.

“Nearly double that,” I replied.

“Dayum,” Tony and Art said in unison.

“What the hell you got down there?” Tony asked.

“Go have a look,” I replied.

Both men scampered down the ladder as only real boat bums would, anxious to see the engine room. When they came back up, Art asked, “You ever think of running drugs?”

All four of us laughed. Tony stole a look back and said, “The Carver’s just coming up on plane now, about half a mile astern. She’s smoking a bit though. Think it’ll hold together for three hours? ”

“I hope so,” I replied.

Saturday afternoon, October
29, 2005

Lester got out of the car and headed toward the docks. Two guys dressed like fisherman were walking behind him and he overheard one say, “I’ve heard a lot about the Captain of
Gaspar’s Revenge.
He’s supposed to be one of the top skippers in the Keys.”

The other guy said, “Yeah, it’ll be fun hitching a ride down there to meet the other guys. Glad you called McDermitt this morning. Boy are they gonna be pissed.”

Lester turned around and said, “Couldn’t help overhearing, you talking about Jesse McDermitt?”

“Yeah,” the black guy said, “He’s heading in right now, to drop off another client. My pal here called him this morning, just before we got in the car to drive down to Marathon. We’re gonna ride with him and ride back with our buddies after our fishing trip. Hey, there he comes now.”

Lester turned and saw a big fishing boat headed in from the west. He started to walk quickly to the boat, while trying to get his phone out and not drop his and Tomas’s lunch. Once he got close, he called to Benny, “He’s coming in!”

Just then, Sonny answered the phone. “Hey Boss,” he said. “McDermitt’s heading in now.”

“Are you back to the boat yet?” Sonny asked. “I’m just a few miles away.”

“Yeah, Boss. I’m here.”

“Good. Grab him when he docks. If his clients give you any shit, just push 'em in the water.”

“Right, Boss,” Lester said and hung up the phone.

Benny had already rousted Walt. He and Tomas joined them and together they started down the dock, where
Gaspar’s Revenge
was already tied up. “I already called the Boss,” Lester said. “He’s headed back here.”

They weren’t halfway there, when the big boat cast off and started backing up. They picked up their pace, but the boat was already turning and heading back out.

“Back to the boat!” Walt shouted.

They ran back to the boat and untied it from the dock, while Tomas started the engines. Walt pulled out his cell phone and called Sonny when he got back to the bridge.

“Boss, they headed back out, before we even got close.”

“Get to the boat and head after him,” Sonny said.

“Want us to wait here for ya?” Walt asked.

“No, dumbass!” Sonny yelled. “They’ll be long gone before I can get back there through this traffic. Get going and keep me posted.”

Walt closed the phone and mumbled, “One a these days, assbite.” Then he turned to Tomas and said, “Get after him!”

Tomas pulled away from the dock and turned out toward open water. Once clear, he pushed the throttles to the stops and the boat lurched forward, belching blue smoke from behind. He said, “Jefe say his boat muy rapido. It be lucky to catch a dugout canoe.”

Once they were away from land and heading south in Biscayne Bay, they were making twenty-three knots, wide open. There was no way the engines would hold together for a long time at this speed and they were barely going as fast as the big fishing boat. Tomas throttled down to twenty knots and they sounded better.

“What the hell you slowing down for?” Walt yelled. “They’re gonna get away.”

“I blow up Jefe’s engines, he keel me dead,” Tomas replied. “Don worry, they slowin’ down.”

Sure enough, the big boat about a half mile ahead did seem to be slowing. Tomas turned on the radar and adjusted it to a one-mile radius. “Look,” he said. “Da big boat is going da same speed.”

“Okay,” Walt said. “Just stay with him, but don’t make it look obvious.”

They stayed about a half mile behind the big boat for two hours, with Tomas complaining the whole way. He was tired, he’d been up since midnight and it was already three in the afternoon. Plus, the engines weren’t sounding all too good.

“What the hell!” Lester said, looking ahead. “He’s speeding up.”

Tomas checked the radar and sure enough, the big boat was quickly pulling away. Within a few minutes he had to expand the radar range to five miles and the big boat was a mile ahead, still pulling away. Half an hour later and it went off the radar screen.

“Damn,” Walt said. “Wonder if they’re headed to Marathon or out fishing.”

“They’re headed to Marathon,” Lester said. “I talked to those two guys that went out with him. They’re meeting two others down there.”

Saturday afternoon, October 29, 2005

The Carver was no match for the
Revenge
. I had to cut the speed down to just twenty knots to keep from running off from them. Finally, after two hours, the big black and white light tower marking Alligator Reef was coming up. I pushed the throttles to the stops. The wind had come around and was now blowing out of the east, giving us a good ten-knot tail wind and the seas were nearly flat. We were running flat out, at 2500 rpm and the speed indicator showed forty-six knots.

Tony was out of his seat, really reveling in the speed. We were running a rhumb line on autopilot near the one hundred fathom line, staying well clear of the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary. After twenty minutes, the Carver disappeared off the radar, which was set at fifteen miles. Wwe’d lost sight of them well before that. I switched the radar to its maximum of twenty-four miles and found her again. The Sombrero Key light was coming up, so I’d have to slow to cross the reef just before Delta Shoal. Most of the shoal was ten to twelve feet below the surface and it was low tide now. Turning the sonar to forward, I watched for anything that might have grounded on the shoals, but saw nothing. Once clear, I pushed the throttles back up to eighteen hundred rpm and headed north-northwest, toward the big microwave tower near Rusty’s canal. The Carver had closed a little, but she wouldn’t get close enough to see us until we were well inside the canal. I’d noticed she had a dome radar antennae, but it was a cheaper unit and probably couldn’t pick us out of the background clutter at this range and that was only if they knew how to operate it. At this point, I had my doubts.

I lined up the markers going into the canal and brought the speed down to idle, as we past the first one. Checking the radar one last time, as we entered the canal, I saw that the Carver was still just over ten miles away. No chance they saw us.

I brought her into the little turning basin and swung her around, before bringing her up to the dock on the east side of the canal, next to the bar, but in front of mine and Alex’s Mavericks. Rusty and Jimmy were waiting there to tie us off.

“Took ya long enough,” Rusty said.

“We had to run slower than I figured,” I said. “That Carver’s a real pig. She might not even make it to Dockside. Where’s the girls?”

“They’re inside, decorating the place,” Rusty replied.

“Decorating?” I asked.

“Don’t even get him started, Jesse,” Jimmy said. “He bitched about their plans all the way from Miami. Personally, I think they have a good idea. Angie’s inside, helpin’ out, too.”

The six of us walked over and sat down at a long, wooden table, next to the bar. “Aaron’s gonna tell those guys you’re likely gonna be here tomorrow for the party,” Rusty said.

“You need a cover ID,” Deuce said. “Nothing deep, but a different name. How many people will be here? Can you trust them?”

“In any matter where an outsider and a local is concerned,” Rusty answered, “the locals around here can be completely trusted. We’re a small town, on a small island, in a group of small islands. Everyone’s tight, especially where outsiders are concerned. Everyone that comes tomorrow will be a local, except you three and those four.”

“Yeah,” Art said, “we already got a sense of that last week when we were looking for Jesse. Y’all are a bunch of tight-lipped people.”

“I got an idea,” Jimmy said. “How about I be out at the end of the driveway, to kinda direct folks where to park, man? As the locals come in, I can tell 'em that Jesse is Joe Smith, or whatever, if anyone asks and that Jesse isn’t here. I can also tell ’em that you three cats are Jesse’s fishing clients. Locals treat clients a whole lot different than outsiders.”

“No, not Joe Smith,” Tony said. “Our mentor was just telling us yesterday that there are surprisingly few Joe Smith’s and Bill Jones’s in the world. When creating an alias, it’s better to use uncommon names or nicknames.”

“Stretch Buchannan,” Art said with a grin.

“That’ll work,” Deuce added. “Stretch is a member of our old team. Big, lanky guy, like yourself, Jesse.”

“Jesse?” I asked. “Name’s Stretch.”

Everyone laughed, and then Rusty said, “A lot of folks will be coming by boat. I can do the same down at the docks.”

“Okay,” I said. “But where’s Jesse? His boats here, his clients are here, where’d he go?”

“I don’t know,” Deuce replied. “But, maybe Stretch can take one of them to where he is, in his little boat over there. Would it be safe to say that it’s too small for you and four people?”

I grinned at the way he was thinking. “Stretch is a bit of a cutthroat,” I said. “Why, just the other day, he tried to snake Jesse’s clients away from him. Right there in front of Aaron. And yeah, my skiff’s not big enough for three men, especially if two of them are over 225 pounds, which both Lester and I are.”

“If this works,” Deuce said, “you need to be able to bring him somewhere secluded. Somewhere that I could be waiting.”

“Jesse’s house,” Rusty said. “Up in the Content Keys. You could fire a cannon up there and nobody could hear it. Take my skiff, the GPS will take you right to it.”

We continued to discuss options and alternatives for half an hour. Russ used to tell us that just as soon as any operation started, you could pretty much throw the initial plan out the window and to always have redundancies for redundancies. Rusty’s phone rang; he looked at it and said, “It’s Aaron.”

“Put it on speaker,” I said.

Rusty punched a button and said, “Hey Aaron. I’m sitting here with Jesse, you’re on speaker.”

“Hey guys,” came the voice over the speaker. “Your buddies just left. Actually, all four came in, arranged for dock space and fuel, then left. The one guy, the body builder, came back a second later. He did just as you said he would, Rusty. Asked about your doubloon necklace. And guess what. He was wearing one exactly like it. Pulled it out and compared it to yours. Only difference was an RL inscribed on the top of the mount, on the back.”

“That ties it,” I said, looking at Deuce. “Aaron, be real careful around those guys. The one with the necklace is a killer. That necklace belonged to a friend of mine that drowned up in Palm Beach. I’m going to have a friend come over to baby-sit those guys. His name’s Art. Should be there in fifteen minutes. Where’d you dock the Carver?”

“Right now, she’s at the fuel dock. I put her in slip ten, two down from your old one. They were pissed you weren’t here. Asked a bunch of questions and made some lame story about having to rent their own boat to go fishing. I said I didn‘t know where you were mooring the
Revenge
, but you‘d probably be at the Rusty Anchor tomorrow for the party.”

“Jesse,” Jimmy said, “that’s right next to Angie’s slip. I’ll go talk to her, man. Art can use her houseboat.”

“Tell her she’s welcome to stay in the guest room, Jimmy,” Rusty said. “You and her both.”

“Thanks, amigo,” Jimmy said, as he and Art got up and headed toward the bar.

“You did good, Aaron. Thanks a lot. See you tomorrow. Oh yeah, until further notice, my name’s Stretch Buchannan. Keep it on the down low, but pass the word to any locals and warn them to steer clear of those guys. One more thing. Can you be here early tomorrow? I’d like to borrow Rusty’s necklace.”

“No problem, Jesse, er, I mean Stretch. See ya tomorrow.” The line clicked off and Rusty closed the phone.

I turned to Art and Jimmy, headed across the yard and said, “Art, see me before you head over there.” Then to Deuce I asked, “How are you guys armed?”

“I’m carrying,” he replied. “But Tony and Art aren’t.”

“Follow me,” I said to Tony and Deuce.

“You sure, Jesse?” Rusty asked, knowing what I was about to do.

“Dead sure,” I replied.

The three of us walked over to the dock and boarded the
Revenge
, with the dog trotting along beside me.

“Stay and watch,” I said to the dog. He promptly turned around and sat down on the dock. I unlocked the hatch to the salon and took them forward to my stateroom. Punching in the code on the keypad under the foot of the bunk, and then pulling the release, the bunk lifted up. I spun the combination lock on the large storage box beneath it. When I opened it, both men exhaled sharply.

“Seriously,” I said, “Us old Jarheads just have to have our toys.” Inside the storage box, which I call my war chest, was my arsenal. “I’ve always believed a man would be a fool to go out on open water in the Caribbean with no means of defending his vessel from pirates. Your dad did too, Deuce. In fact, he was the one that taught me just about everything I know. Pirates still exist, but not the swashbuckling type, from the old Errol Flynn movies. Today’s Caribbean pirates are mostly drug runners and slavers. Hundreds of boats have disappeared and their owners never seen again, taken over by pirates and used to haul drugs, the owners murdered and tossed overboard or sold as slaves in the sex trade.”

Art called out from the dock, “Permission to board?”

“Come forward,” I called back. I removed two holstered Beretta M9’s, four matching magazines and a box of nine-millimeter parabellums and handed them to Art and Tony. The M9 has been the standard issue for both the Navy and Marine Corps for twenty years, so I knew they’d be very familiar with them. The holsters could be worn inside or outside the pants, clipped onto the belt. I also removed my Night Spirit monocular and handed it to Art, who put it in a cargo pocket of his shorts. I then removed one of many long narrow fly rod cases and handed it to Deuce.

He hefted it noting that it was probably too heavy to hold a fly rod and reel. Then he opened it and removed my M-40A3 sniper rifle, with a mounted U.S. Optics MST-100 scope, designed by John Unertl. Deuce inspected the weapon and it was obvious he’d handled the M-40 before. I also handed him a small box of .308 Lapua ammo.

“What’s it zeroed at?” he asked.

“Two hundred meters and I’ve fired it accurately over nine hundred,” I replied. “The case is actually an old Sage fly rod case I gutted to install form-fitting foam pads for the rifle and scope. It won’t look a bit out of place on Rusty’s skiff or anywhere else in the Keys, for that matter. Ammo is dovetailed and moly coated Lapua. If I can get Lester to go with me to the house, you can set out just ahead of us. Rusty’s skiff will cross any skinny water between here and there and I’ll make a few turns to give you time to get up there and get set up. The deck will give you a clear view all around for nearly a mile. When I get about four hundred meters from the house, I’m going to stop and let Lester know who I am and that he’s covered, just in case he has any ideas to take the boat and come up to the house alone. To prove the point, I’ll raise an oar up in the air. Think you can put a nice round hole in it, center mass, at that distance?”

“He can,” Tony said. “Even at twice that distance.”

“Let’s keep it at four hundred,” I said. “The skiff might be rocking some and that’s the distance where you can first start to make out the house.”

I closed and locked the storage box, then closed the bunk. Tony smiled and said, “What else you got in there, Gunny?”

“Just toys, like I said,” I replied.

Tony and Art had loaded the mags, holstered the Beretta’s and stuck them under their shirts at the small of their backs. Deuce put the rifle back in the case and we climbed back up to the dock, where Rusty and Jimmy were waiting. Rusty noted the case Deuce was carrying and said, “That’ll fit in the fish box up on the front of my skiff. It’s airtight and has a lock.” He handed Deuce the key ring and Deuce walked down the dock and locked the case in the fish box.

When he came back, he said, “Never heard of a locking fish box before.”

“That’s the only place to store an expensive fly rod,” Rusty said back, with a knowing grin.

Deuce said, “I need to call Director Smith to update him and see if he has any more intel on Beech and al Madani. I’d rather do a face to face, but emails will have to do.”

“Use my laptop, dude,” Jimmy said. “There’s a secure server on the
Revenge
and I built my own encryption into the laptop. It’ll match any encryption sent or received.”

“And you were a Machinists Mate?” Deuce asked, skeptically.

“First Class, bro,” Jimmy replied. “Angie said ‘No problemo’ for using her houseboat. Here’s the keys.”

He handed a key ring to Art, who said, “I’m going to go ahead over there. I’ll stop in the office and let your friend know who I am and where I’ll be. I’ll check in every half hour, till 2200, or sooner, if anything develops.” He then walked around the end of the turning basin and disappeared down the trail, through the woods.

“Tony,” Rusty said, “you can bunk on Jesse’s boat tonight.” Then turning to Deuce, he said, “Son, you’re welcome in my house, or join Tony if you like.” He then turned and headed over to the house. The implication was obvious. Rusty accepted the relationship.

The sun was getting low in the sky and it looked to be another beautiful sunset in paradise. What the next day was going to bring was anyone’s guess, though.

“We should all turn in and get some rest,” I said, as I saw Alex and Angie come out of the bar. “Tomorrow could be a long day.”

Deuce headed for the boat to make his video call and I went over to talk to Alex. Jimmy intercepted Angie and they headed into the bar so she could show him the decorations.