Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2)
Read Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) Online
Authors: Nick Vellis
Follow the Evidence
Nick Vellis
A Mac Everett Mystery
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may
not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means electronic,
mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise without
express written permission from the author except by a reviewer who may quote
brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this
book are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people,
living or dead, or to actual events or places, is coincidental and not intended
by the author.
© 2016 Nick Vellis
ISBN-13:
978-1523765928
ISBN-10:
1523765925
Kindle Version ASIN:
B01BHBW59O
Learn more about the author at:
www.NickVellis.com
or
www.amazon.com/author/nickvellis
Cover by: SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt
Contents
Chapter 1 Tropical Storm Eva
. 1
Chapter 3 A Chance Meeting
. 50
Chapter 4 Painful Memories
. 83
Chapter 5 A Dragon on a Storm Tossed
Sea
. 118
Chapter 10 Someone You Know
.. 263
Chapter 12 One Last Chance
. 319
Human Trafficking Resources
. 358
Eva
October 8
“Pon pon, pon pon, pon pon, all
stations, all stations, all stations, this is the United States Coast Guard,
Sector Jacksonville. An unknown distress call was received on channel 16
FM…Vessel in distress reported fifty miles southeast of Cape Canaveral. All
mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, render assistance, and report
sightings to this or any Coast Guard station. This is the United States Coast
Guard Sector Jacksonville, out at 1300 hours.”
The two-word emergency signal,
gibberish to the average Joe, grabbed everyone monitoring the emergency band by
the throat. They knew lives were at risk. Sailors, ham radio operators, and
even the few pilots who heard the alert said a silent prayer for souls going in
harm’s way. Florida’s east coast was on alert for a vessel in trouble, but the
weather was deteriorating fast. What was worse, it was the fifth alert in what
would turn out to be a very long day.
Aboard the fifty-foot Striker Sport
Fisherman
Danny-L
off the Florida coast, John Lewis wrestled the helm to
head into growing swells then turned to port to make northwestward headway.
John was an experienced hand, but what he didn’t know was, he was fighting a
losing battle.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” eight-year-old
Danny shouted over a howling gust of wind. “How long before we get to the
inlet?”
“Soon son, we’ll be OK,” his father
replied. John was worried. The wind and seas were rising with every passing
minute. Normally John could cover the nearly ninety miles between Bimini and
the Cape Canaveral light in less than four hours. Today, they had been underway
for more than five and still had a long way to go. John saw the weather reports,
but he had to get Danny back for school and be at work on Monday. When he
decided to leave Harbortown, Bimini, John was sure he could outrun a storm
nearly a hundred miles away traveling in the opposite direction. By the time
John heard the Storm Warning, Bimini was already two hours in their wake.
They’d made good headway at first, but now the cold deep blue of the Gulf
Stream was rising up against them. It was if an invisible hand rising from the
depths had them in its grip.
Tropical storm Eva’s unexpected
westward turn caught John, The Bahamas, and Florida’s east coast by surprise.
Early October storms normally spin harmlessly off into the eastern Atlantic,
but Eva formed close to shore, turned west, and accelerated toward land. The
sudden change in the weather canceled fishing tournaments, art festivals, and
family outings. Activities turned from festive to feverish. Near-panicked
residents and business owners boarded up and prayed for the best. On the edge
of the intensifying storm, deadly dramas were playing out and John and Danny
would be in the middle of one of them.
John studied the sky. Conditions
were nothing like the pleasant orange sunrise and brilliant aquamarine sea
they’d left behind in Bimini. The sky had gone from orange to gunmetal gray and
now was coal black. The ocean had turned a sickening grey-green. Fat raindrops
driven by gale force gusts pelted them. John knew he was only a few dozen miles
west of the Florida coast, but like an evil living thing, the storm blocked
their path to shore. They faced an unbroken curtain of black clouds from sky to
the windswept whitecaps. Ominous clouds raced overhead and thunder boomed as
flashes of light cracked the distant thick black-velvet sky. Most dangerous of
all, the seas had leapt to massive heights.
John was used to handling four to
six-foot seas, sometimes even a bit more, but these waves were nearer twelve
and building. He and Danny had abandoned the flybridge more than an hour ago
for the relative protection of the interior cockpit. Foam topped breakers
curled into an arch and broke on top of the
Danny-L
. The boat
corkscrewed left then corrected right as the stern lifted out of the water. The
twin three-bladed bronze props whirred as they spun in the air. Another wave
hit then from the port side, slammed down and flooded over the side. John
corrected course just as another wave overtook them.
A rush of frothing water broke over
Danny-L’s
bow driving her into the sea. The boat shuddered and tried to
rise, but was hit with another monster wave. John spun the wheel to port to run
the wave’s trough in an attempt to tack. He’d try to take the swells and wind
at a forty-five-degree angle. His zigzag failed when he correct his heading to
soon and another massive wave crashed into the port side threatening to roll
the boat.
“That was a big one Daddy,” Danny
said as he braced on the corner of the wheelhouse deck next to his father.
John didn’t have time to answer
before a fourth massive wave swept over
Danny-L’s
bow from port
.
The
windshield shattered showering both man and boy with glass and cold seawater.
John motioned Danny closer and leaned over to snug down the boy’s orange
reflective life vest. He patted the front pocket to assure himself the boy’s
Personal Locator Beacon was in place.
The
Danny-L
was an older
boat, but her ¼ inch welded aluminum hull was tough and the twin Cummins
turbocharged diesels had only two hundred hours since their last overhaul. In
fact, John had done a complete refit on the 1975 Striker Sport Fisherman. He
added a new flybridge enclosure to protect an impressive array of electronics
including 48-nautical-mile radar, depth/fish finder, color GPS plotter, color
depth sounder, a pair of VHF radios, and a state of the art Emergency Position
Indication Radio Beacon. Below, he’d completely redone the cockpit, the two
small staterooms, and the galley.
Danny-L
was as comfortable, safe, and
as up-to-date as John could make her. Strikers, known as ‘little ships,’ were
tough. John wasn’t stupid enough to go out in a hurricane, yet here he was
getting beaten death on the outer edge of an intensifying tropical storm.
Salt water sluiced through the
broken windshield now with every breaking swell. John tried to get a final
bearing before the GPS died. The electronic screen flickered and went dark, but
he’d gotten a position. They were fifty miles southeast of Cape Canaveral, but
John doubted the seas would let them make it that far.
“Remember Danny, if something
happens, stay with the boat,” John shouted over the screaming gale as another
wave showered over them. Salt water drenched him again. Danny could just hear
him, but gave him a nervous nod. “Your vest has a strobe. It will turn on in
the water. It can be seen for miles. Your PLB will activate in the water too. Remember
what that does?” he asked.
“My Personal Locator Beacon sends
my location to a satellite in space so you can come get me,” Danny replied.
“Right,” his dad said. “Whatever
happens we will be found! Don’t be scared.”
“What about you Daddy, you don’t have
a beacon?” Danny cried.
“Hand me that length of line,” John
said.
Danny grabbed a blue nylon line and
handed it to his dad. John took two snap hooks, threaded them onto the line,
and cinched them down. He hooked one end to a D-ring on his vest and the other
one to the ring on Danny’s vest.
“I’ve got my vest and now I’ve got
you,” he replied. “I’ll stay right with you. Think you can try the radio
again?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy. I can do it,” Danny
said.
“When you reach the Coast Guard,
tell them we are 50 miles southeast of Cape Canaveral in a blue and white
fifty-foot boat and there are two of us on board,” John said. “Fifty miles
southeast and there are two of us. Got it?” John said with a smile. He hoped
this worried expression didn’t scare his boy. “Remember how to call for help?
Say Mayday three times and then wait.”
“Got it, Daddy,” he replied.
The boy struggled to his feet,
hugged his dad’s leg, and fell as the deck dropped out from under him. He leapt
up, grabbed the VHF radio’s mic and pushed the transmit button.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday…we need
help…we need help,” he said.
He heard nothing but static and
looked at his dad.
“Keep trying,” John said. “Keep
trying. They will hear you,” his dad said, hoping he was right. Not knowing if
the radio was transmitting John wondered if their Emergency Position Indication
Radio Beacon would even work. The EPIRB is an emergency radio beacon registered
to the boat. If they went down the coast guard would know who they were and
have their exact location.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday…we need
help. Help…we need help,” Danny said into the mic.
“This is Coast Guard Station
Canaveral. Identify and give your position,” came the reply.
“Daddy, I got an answer,” Danny
called excitedly.
“Good, tell them where we are,”
John smiled hopefully.
“There’re two of us on our boat.
We’re fifty miles from port, Danny said. “The storm is real bad.”
“All right son, stay calm. What is
the name of your vessel?” the voice from the radio’s speaker said. “What color
and how large is it?”
“Daddy…”
“Tell them
Danny-L
and it’s
a blue and white fifty-foot Striker.
“It’s a blue and white boat and its
fifty…”
“Pilot to crew, report ready for
takeoff,” Coast Guard pilot, Lt. Commander Donna Beck said over the intercom.
The four-man crew, Pilot, Copilot, Flight
Mechanic/Crew Chief, and Rescue Swimmer, rapidly completed their takeoff
preparations. It was a practiced routine, but their lives and the lives of
victim’s in the water depended on getting everything right.
“Preflight checklist complete,”
copilot, Lt. Mike DeGrasso reported.
Rescue Swimmer Marty Webber
finished stowing his medical gear and gave his Senior Chief a thumbs up.
“Crew ready for takeoff,” Senior
Chief Fox reported as he buckled his harness and snugged it tight. The four-man
crew of the white and orange Coast Guard H-60 Jayhawk braced for takeoff.
Clouds filled with blowing rain
seemed to squat over Coast Guard Station Canaveral. A sustained southwest wind
was blowing at fifteen knots, gusting to 40, but every man and woman on post
knew it was only the beginning. Sheets of wind-driven rain pelted the tarmac,
but once airborne, the helo would race through the buffeting slop at 160 knots.
“Roger, Senior,” Beck replied.
“Coast Guard 6045, Sector, ready
for takeoff reference Search and Recovery mission.
“Roger, Coast Guard 6045, you are
cleared for takeoff,” operations responded. “Your vector is east forty-five.”
“Roger.”
The big helo taxied gaining speed
to force air over the stubby wing-like airfoils creating lift. Suddenly, the
15,000-pound chopper leapt into a leaden storm-stained sky. Rain peppered the
cabin as the wipers helplessly swiped the windshield. Once airborne, Beck came
on the intercom.
“Senior,” she said.
“Go ahead,” the Senior Chief
replied.
“The brief on this is pretty clear.
A boy called in a Mayday on channel 16. The vessel is a blue and white fifty
footer with two souls on aboard. The transmission cut off in the middle of the
call. Sector Jacksonville is unable to raise the vessel. We have a tailwind so
we should arrive in the area PDQ, ETA twenty minutes. Let’s look alive and get
eyes on the scene.”
“Roger,” the Senior Chief replied.
He tapped the Rescue Swimmer Marty Webber on the shoulder. When the man turned
from his preparations his immersion suit squeaking, he gave the chief a thumbs
up.
“Coast Guard 6045, Sector
Jacksonville.”
“Coast Guard 6045, go ahead.”
“Coast Guard 6045, we have received
a single PLB and an EPRIB, vessel name
Danny-L
. The signal received is approximately
fifty-five nautical miles southeast of Station Canaveral, forty-eight miles off
the coast. That’s your target.”
Copilot DeGrasso checked the
emergency band and immediately heard the signal. He smiled and nodded to Beck.
“Roger Sector, we’ve picked up
those signals as well. ETA-twenty-five minutes,” Beck replied.
“At least they’re relatively close
to shore,” DeGrasso said.
“Thank God for small favors,” Beck
replied.
“Roger,” DeGrasso acknowledged.
Normal flying in a helo isn’t for
the faint of heart. It’s like driving full speed on a bumpy road with your eyes
closed, only a lot louder. The sudden drops and pitches can send you sailing.
It’s impossible to talk over the engine without the intercom on a calm day, but
today’s rain sounded like anti-aircraft fire hitting the airframe. Blasting
through a rising hurricane at one hundred sixty knots makes that hypothetical
bumpy ride seem like your grandmother’s comfy Sunday drive. The MH-60 crew
never quite got used to it even if it was part of the job.
“Whoa!” Webber shouted as the helo
plunged a hundred feet and he was thrown to the ceiling. Webber grabbed the
intercom cord and plugged it back in when he scrambled from the deck.
“You guys OK back there?” DeGrasso
said. “We didn’t see that one.”
“Can we go back for my guts,
Lieutenant? I seem to have misplaced ‘em,” Webber laughed.
“Sorry Marty,” Beck added. “You
about ready?”
“I was born ready, Commander,”
Webber replied.
“Commander, we’re pretty sure
Marty’s going to have to get wet on this one. Those swells are too big for an
unassisted basket hoist,” Senior Chief Fox said.
“I was thinking the same thing,
Chief. The drop is going to be a problem though.”
The four-man crew focused on the tasks
in front of them. In the cabin, Senior Chief Charlie Fox and Rescue Swimmer
Marty Webber continued their preparations. On the flight deck, Beck and
DeGrasso attempted to keep the big helicopter on course in the constantly
shifting winds. After a tense twenty-minute flight aircraft commander Beck
prepared her crew.
