Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (19 page)

“How long does it take them to mature?” Tony asked.

“About four months in the wild,” Trent said. “Found that out at the library. We might be able to shorten that to two or three months, here on the island. I’ll know more when Chyrel gets me hooked up to the interweb and I can do some more research.”

“So, we could have a Cajun boil by the end of summer?” I asked.

“In theory, yeah. We have a little more work to do before we can start breeding them. They burrow when the females lay eggs. I’ll have to get some Louisiana clay for the bottom of the brooding area. I figure after the first hatching, we can harvest about half of them and leave a few hundred for brood stock.”

“Sounds good
,” I said. “Speaking of Chyrel, I need to see her. You guys should knock off for the night.”

“Just want to get these plants in,” Tony said. “Chyrel’s in the east bunkhouse.”

I left them and walked across the clearing toward the two bunkhouses. Pescador trotted ahead and disappeared between the bunkhouses, headed for the pier. Things were finally coming together here on my little island. I reached the bunkhouse and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Chyrel said. I opened the door and was amazed at all the electronic equipment she’d brought.
She was dressed in baggy shorts and a tank top, with an unbuttoned work shirt over it and her glasses pushed up on her forehead. She was behind a makeshift table, loaded with computers, monitors, and probably ten miles of wire and cable.

“Hey Jesse, how’ve you been?”

“Good, thanks. Wow, how did you get all this stuff here?”

“It looks like a lot, but it’s not. I
had it all boxed up and Deuce brought it out on the boat. I should have everything ready to go in an hour. Thanks for letting me come out here to work. I really like it out here.”

“Anything that helps to find the other guy and who’s behind them. Hey, I want to give you something,” I said as I reached into my pocket. I handed her a cashier’s check made out to her, for
$25,000. “This is for your help in finding the wreck.”

She looked at it and said, “I can’t take this. What I did was nothing.” She started to hand it back, but I shoved my hands in my pockets.

“It’s yours. Deuce told me you did all the research on your own time. You deserve it.”

She looked at it again then looked back at me and smiled, “Well, I would like to buy a little boat. Something like that little blue on
e of yours.”

“A flats skiff? I didn’t even know you fished.”

“Whatever it’s called,” she said. “It just looks cool and goes really fast.”

“Okay,” I said. “
Then you should go see a guy on Big Pine, by the name of Skeeter. Trent can take you. Tell him I sent you and he’ll fix you up right.”

“I’ll do that,” she said as she put the check in her pocket. “Now, get out of here so I can work.”

I left her to her work and joined Deuce, Julie, and Tony at the table outside. I could hear Trent behind the bunkhouse, hammering. The partition would be nothing more than a twenty foot by seven foot wall. He must be building it outside, so as not to disturb Chyrel.

Julie had a laptop, a notepad, and several file folders she was reading by the light of a kerosene lantern hung on a rod above the table. Now and then she made a note on the pad. Night had fallen and there was little sound, except the gentle lapping of the small waves against the mangrove roots to the east. Tony and Deuce were sitting backwards at the other table, leaning against the table top and staring up into the star filled sky.

“Working on your class, Jules?” I asked.

“Yeah, I have it about ready to present to the Colonel. I’m trying to make it so it’s not only useful information and practical implementation, but fun also.”

“Good idea. Having a good time while training, always seemed to make the training stick for me.”

I sat down next to Deuce and Tony and followed their gaze toward the heavens. “You know,” Tony pondered, “out on the water like this, seeing so much more of what’s out there, really makes a person feel pretty insignificant.”

“That it does,” Deuce responded.

“You think Chyrel will be able to dig something up?” I asked.

Deuce chuckled. “All her equipment has battery backups. When she fires everything up, it’ll put a drain on the islands main battery system almost immediately as it all goes into recharge mode and the generator will kick on. I predict that fifteen minutes after that, she’ll come out here with some news.”

Just then, as if on cue, we
could just make out the sound of the generator starting through the trees. I glanced back to the bunkhouse and saw the unmistakable blue glow of computer monitors. I noted the time on my watch to check Deuce’s prediction.

Deuce was close. Chyrel came out with two folders after only ten minutes. “You guys aren’t going to believe this.” She handed Deuce and me a folder. “I made two copies.”

We all walked over to the other table where the light was better and sat down. I opened the folder and looked at the first sheet
, with Tony looking over my shoulder. It was background on Stolski. He’d been an agent with the CIA for nearly ten years, moving from one country to another every year or two. When he left the Clandestine Service, he apparently did some work as a mercenary, even a few contracts for the Agency, itself.

The second page was a list of known accomplices and other agents he was close to that ha
d also left the Agency. Each one had a picture and a short bio. The one at the top stood out, as he had left the Agency at the same time as Stolski. Kyle Parker had also worked with Stolski in four different countries over a span of three years with the Agency.

“Parker,” Deuce said.

“He’d be my guess, too,” I countered.

I flipped to the next page. Apparently, Chyrel had become adept at reading Deuce’s mind. It was Parker’s full bio.
I glanced up at her and she grinned. Parker had also been hired as a freelance operator by the Agency a number of times. He had a strong background in explosives, too. Something else struck me then. I flipped back to Stolski’s bio and put them side by side. Both men had been hired by the Agency for freelance work a number of times each the year following their leaving the Agency, but neither in the last two years.

I looked up at Chyrel and said, “Can you get anything more on the last time both Stolski and Parker were hired by the Agency to do freelance work? Both did
five or six jobs for them the first year after leaving, but neither in the last two years. Did they screw something up?”

“I’ll get right on it,” she said and started to turn.

“Chyrel,” Deuce said stopping her. “How hard would it be for you to follow their money?”

She cocked her head and
grinned. “Oh, please.”

“Sorry. Let me know when you find something.”

I went back to the file. The next page contained evidence photos of the boat Stolski had rented. Besides finding the body, the Coast Guard found his weapons. He was armed with a 9mm Glock 17 and the rocket launcher was actually a Russian made SA-18, which explained it’s heat seeking ability. Next were several photos of a number of pieces of identification, with matching credit cards. In all, Stolski had passports, driver’s licenses, and credit cards for three different aliases. They looked like excellent forgeries.

“Get to the next page,” Deuce said.

I flipped the last of the pictures over and looked at the last sheet. It was a letter of commendation from the Station Chief in Karachi, Pakistan. I didn’t get what Deuce thought was significant, until I saw the name of the Station Chief at the bottom, Jason Smith.

“Smith?” I asked.

“Could just be a coincidence,” he responded.

“But, then again, it might not be.”

“If it’s not,” he said, “I really don’t like where this takes us.”

“Yeah, it means
Smith still has Parker out there, or someone else, but my money’s on him. And he’s after you, or more than likely you and me. We should have someone on watch.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Tony said.

“I got second,” Dawson piped in.

“Third,” Deuce raised his hand. “Then I’ll wake you
, Jesse.”

“You won’t need to
wake him,” Julie said with a laugh. “His coffee maker will.”

Moments later
Chyrel came out of the bunkhouse with another folder. She placed in in front of Deuce and said, “You’re not going to like this.”

He opened the folder and studied the three sheets of paper inside. “Help me out here, Chyrel.
Financial reports aren’t my strong suit.”

“Using the credit card numbers from the pictures, I checked for recent activity. Stolski made three withdrawals from an ATM here in the Keys in the last three days. That gave me the routing number to his bank
in Miami, which I hacked into. Last Thursday he made a substantial transfer into that account from another bank in New York. Like you said, I just followed the money. He transferred money from one bank to another to get it to the New York bank and then to Miami. It comes originally from a numbered account in the Caymans. That took a few minutes, but I managed to access the data. Two weeks ago, $50,000 was wired to that account from a numbered Swiss account. It took another few minutes to access that one. It’s owned by a shell company, which is in turn owned by another shell company. That one is owned by Downeger Industries. The CFO of Downeger Industries is listed as Charlotte Downeger Smith. In 1997, our old boss, Jason Smith, married a woman by the name of Charlotte Downeger, sole heir to the substantial liquid, stock, and land holdings of Downeger Industries in upstate New York. She was murdered by a mugger in Manhattan, almost three years ago, less than a year after she inherited the estate.”

“Damn,” Julie exclaimed.

“Damn is right, babe,” Deuce muttered.

Suddenly, I could see the connection. “Chyrel, find out two more things, then you can call it a night. First, check the background of Charlotte
Smith’s father. Specifically, was he in the military? Second, is it possible to check bank records from 2003? Did Stolski receive a large sum of money about that time?”

“I’ll get right on it. Is there a specific time frame for Stolski receiving the money?”

“Yeah, look at the month prior to and just after Charlotte Smith’s murder.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Deuce said. “I knew the guy for a year. He could be a prick, but he’s no murderer.”

“That’s what they said about Jeffrey Dahmer, Deuce. Just check it, will ya, Chyrel?” Deuce nodded to her and she went back to the bunkhouse.

“I’m surprised you
haven’t made the connection, Deuce. Think about it. Downeger?”

He looked off toward the pier, between the bunkhouses for a moment. Suddenly, he turned back to me and said, “
Master Chief Archer Downeger!”

“Who’s he?” Julie asked.

“One of the originals!” Tony exclaimed. “He was the first Instructor at the Amphibious Scout and Raider School, in Fort Pierce, during the early months of World War Two. They were the forerunners of the modern day Navy SEAL’s.”

“It’s a pretty long reach,” Deuce said.

A moment later Chyrel returned and plopped yet another folder in front of us. “Master Chief Petty Officer Arthur Downeger, United States Navy, Retired. Is that what you were looking for, Jesse?”

“Depends on
what else you found,” I replied as Deuce picked up the file and started looking through it.

“Two weeks before Charlotte Smith was murdered, Stolski made a single deposit
of $75,000 into his primary bank account in Washington. He was working at the CIA office in New York at the time.”

“Not so much of a reach now is it?” I said looking at Deuce, who was
still reading the papers in the folder.

He frowned and all he could say was, “All that time.”

“We need to get this information to the FBI,” Julie said.

“No,” Deuce slowly muttered. “No, we need to get this information to the Colonel.”

Deuce, Chyrel and I went to the bunkhouse. She activated the encrypted video connection on her laptop. A moment later, Colonel Stockwell’s face appeared on the monitor.

“I was just about to call you, Deuce. What’s up?”

“Chyrel is sending you a secure fax, sir. We figured out who Stolski’s accomplice is. Another former CIA operative by the name of Kyle Parker. And they weren’t after the President. They were after me.”

“Stand by a second, the fax is coming in now.”

He turned away from the monitor and picked up a bunch of papers from a fax machine right behind him. He put on a pair of reading glasses, as he shuffled through the papers. Deuce continued, “Stolski and Parker were paid by none other than Jason Smith, sir. And we uncovered more. It looks like Smith paid Stolski $75,000 in 2003 to murder his wife, so that he could inherit her money. Money that she’d inherited from her father, one of the first original Navy SEAL’s.”

“That part’s purely circumstantial,” he said setting the papers aside. “But I agree he was responsible for this morning’s attack. Contact Kumar Sayef, get him
and another team member on the next plane to Djibouti. I want to have a word with Mister Smith, before the FBI does. That’s what I was about to call you about. The Feeb’s want you and Jesse in DC, for a debriefing with the Secret Service. It’s set up for next Saturday. They wanted it earlier, but the President himself intervened. He wants to meet with you, Jesse, Julie, Doc Talbot, and Doctor Burdick. He’s making a surprise visit with the troops on Tuesday in Afghanistan and asked if you could make it Saturday.”

“Not a problem, Colonel,” Deuce said.

“Are you sure, Commander?” Stockwell said with a grin.

Behind us Julie said, “We’re getting married Sunday.”

Deuce cringed, but recovered quickly. “We’ll just have to get there and back in one day, sir.”

“I’ll arrange a Gulfstream,” Stockwell said. “Consider it a wedding present.”

Then the screen went blank as he disconnected. “You think he’d mind an extra passenger?” I said.

“
Who?” asked Julie.

“Jared Williams
. I promised him I’d take him to DC on Saturday.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Deuce said. Then he turned to Chyrel and said, “Get Kumar on there. Then you can turn in. I promise.”

With just a few quick key strokes, Kumar’s face appeared on the screen. Kumar Sayef was one of Deuce’s first team members. He’s in his late thirties, but could easily pass for fifteen years younger. He’s a Sergeant First Class and was serving with the Army’s 1
st
Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, commonly referred to as Delta Force, when he was recruited by DHS. Born in the upper Midwest to Pakistani parents, he was fluent in several Arabic dialects, as well as French, Spanish, and Italian. More than fluent in fact. Many Middle Eastern languages have subtle regional accents, which he’s also mastered.

“Hiya Deuce,” he said with a decidedly Midwestern accent. “What’s up?”

“Colonel Stockwell has a mission for you, Kumar. Chyrel’s making the arrangements as we speak and will send instructions to you in a few minutes. How’s your French and Ta'izzi Adeni Arabic?”

“Aw, man
. There’s a reason they call Djibouti the ‘Armpit of Africa’ ya know.”

“In and out. Two days at the most. I promise.”

“What’s the objective?” Kumar sighed.

“Locate and capture Jason Smith, then bring him
to see the Colonel.” The bewilderment on Kumar’s face was apparent, so Deuce added, “We have proof he was directly involved in this morning’s attempt to kill Jesse and me.”

Kumar’s face turned hard. He was a team player and fiercely loyal to Deuce. “My go bag’s by the door.
I’ll grab a bite to eat, while I wait for Chyrel’s instructions.”

“Thanks, Kumar.
Call Art, he’s going with you. Let me know when you land.” Art Newman has been on Deuce’s team from the start. Before that, he was on Deuce’s SEAL team.

“Roger that, Boss.”

The screen went blank and Chyrel said, “I have a Gulfstream 5 available out of Miami, taking a group of oil executives to Yemen. Leaves in an hour and lands in Aden, Yemen at 1900 local time. I’ve already added Kumar’s name to the flight manifest, as a French envoy from the Seychelles, in Miami on business. Art’s his Executive Assistant. They already have cover ID and background that’ll stand close scrutiny.”

“Perfect,” Deuce said. “Send
Kumar the information.”

“On its way,” she said. “
I also arranged a helicopter from Aden to Djibouti, through the French Embassy. They’ll be in the city shortly after nightfall.”

“Okay, let’s all get some rest,” Deuce said. “The ball’s in motion and we won’t know anything until tomorrow evening.”

“I have a little more work to do here,” Chyrel said. “Do you have a cot I can set up in here for tonight?”

“Better than that,” I replied. “There’s a real comfortable hammock over by the casuarinas, strung between two palm trees. I’ll get it and have Trent put a couple of hooks in the walls to hang it in here.
He’s already working on a partition to separate this end of the bunkhouse. Deuce, you and Julie can take the main house and I’ll bunk under the stars.”

“No,” Julie said. “
We can sleep on the boat. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the ground.”

“Jules, I’ve
probably slept more nights on the ground than not. Besides, it’ll be easier for Dawson to get to Deuce in the house. I’ll get a couple things out of the boat before everyone turns in.”

I left the bunkhouse and went straight to Trent’s little house and told him what I wanted him to do with the hammock.
He was busy cutting 2x4’s for the partition in the bunkhouse. Then I went to the
Revenge
and raised the bunk in the forward stateroom. I took out three small boxes and one of the fly rod cases, which I left on the table in the house. From the hanging closet in the bedroom, I grabbed a bedroll and blanket before returning to the group. Trent was in the bunkhouse with Chyrel getting the hammock strung up.