Gone Tropical (26 page)

He thought again of Amy, as he switched the bag from one hand to the other. He was cold and damp; coffee would be good. He hadn’t eaten a bite since an early breakfast. He quickly turned his thoughts away from the rumble in his stomach. It was midday. He’d last until evening without food. Water, he had.

Now, what to tell Meg. Where did I leave my car?
He ran a hand over his damp beard. If he said he’d left the jeep on the other side of the creek her father might go to retrieve it.
Okay. Think. I hitched. Yeah, that’s the ticket. All the rentals were gone, but I was determined to come out here to help them. Yeah, a trucker dropped me off on the highway, back up at the turn off, and I walked the rest of the way.

The resort came into view, and he slowed. Lights were on inside the lodge. He knew from Meg, the Thompson’s home was the building behind it. Even though it had just gone noon, the sky was dark. He eased behind the cabins. He’d have to circle around and come up from the driveway to validate his story. Large splotches of water dropped from the branches, hitting his head and trickling down his face. He shuddered as a large cold drop trickled down the back of his neck.

He scanned the area. There were only a couple of vehicles parked in it, but a damn helicopter, official looking thing, was flying in low over the mountain ridge, preparing to land in the damn middle of the parking lot. He slipped deeper into the forest. Could just be search and rescue. Meg…would Meg go? Was there a mandatory evacuation order? If so he’d show himself. She’d said they had a cellar. She’d said they were staying.

Ah, there she is, my girl.

Meg came down the stairs of the lodge, helping the woman on crutches. The kid with the tattoos followed, carrying a small duffle bag. An elderly man using a walker was being helped by an older guy, could be Mr. Thompson, and a woman followed them. Another woman stood on the verandah watching.

His eyes strayed to Meg. Her long red hair was pulled up into a ponytail. He liked it that way. She wore blue jeans and a little tight white sweater. The people got on board the copter and Meg and the older guy moved back to the verandah of the lodge as the rotors turned. The copter lifted off, and Meg raised a hand in farewell. She was beautiful.

This whole damn place looked beautiful, and if he played his cards right, it could all be his eventually. He’d buy the old folks out. And if Col didn’t make it through Cyclone Robert, he’d be happy to forget all about his investment in the island. What was a million dollar investment anyway?

He still had a stash of cash in Dubai. Yeah, he might even keep the resort.

****

Jake waved Sarge back with the gun. They were in deep trouble. He sank to the ground and peered over the rise, feeling the soaking wet underbrush press against his shirt. Sarge inched up toward him, snaking along on his belly.

“Holy shit!” Sarge said, and whistled through his teeth. He reached into his pack, pulled out his binoculars.

A slick white yacht was anchored and bobbing on the high waves. Several brawny men carried boxes down from one of the outer buildings behind the main house and stacked them up on the dock. A man came up onto the deck of the yacht and yelled out something.

Sarge handed the binoculars to Jake. “Looks like Braxton is cleaning house and the
High Seas Adventurer
is the mode of transportation.”

Jake nodded. “Could that be Braxton on the deck?”

“Not sure. I don’t know what he looks like.”

The man pranced around for a few minutes. With what little Jake could make of the facial expressions, he appeared angry and he waved his arms about as he spoke. He tried to remember everything Meg and Amy had said about Col.

“Col went to college with Firth. They’d both be about forty-two. This guy’s about that age. Col’s an ex-Brit from an aristocratic family. This guy has the look of wealth, but he’s darker skinned than I think Col would be…wait a minute. Here’s our guy.”

He handed the binoculars over to Sarge.

“Yeah, this’ll be him for sure. Dress shirt, pressed blue jeans, fair hair, light skinned, followed by three Dobermans.”

“Well, I’d say we’re grossly outnumbered,” Jake said. “We were told there were three people on the island. Between the guys on the boat and the dogs, yeah…definitely outnumbered, guess Firth and the pilot are inside the house. ”

Sarge nodded and focused on the main house. “Hmm,” he said. “There’s the chopper to the right, at the back of the house. I can just make it out. I’d like to get a look at what’s in those bloody boxes.”

“And get your leg ripped off by one of those Dobies.”

Sarge scratched his head. “Yeah, we lie low for a while and watch. When the time is right, we’ll make a move. We move too soon, they make a run for it and get out of here by copter.”

Jake nodded reached for the binoculars and scanned the area again.

“Later we can send out an APB to the Coast Watch,” Sarge said. “I know everyone is swamped with the aftereffects of the first cyclone and waiting for the next bastard to hit. I’ll give them the name of the vessel. ASIO can intervene. I’m sure those are drugs they’re clearing.”

“Security Intelligence will have a field day. Wonder how they smuggle them?” Jake asked. “What would they use to hide the drugs in? What is there out here that they could use as a cover?”

“The boxes are big,” Sarge said and refocused the binoculars on the boxes on the dock. “And so are those bloody black clouds that are rolling in. Shit.”

“Yep,” Jake said. “Robert’s gonna wreak havoc.” He focused on the sky for a minute. “Supposed to hit mainland by noon tomorrow, but I think he’s ahead of schedule. Listen, there has to be some link to do with ecology or nature.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to piece it all together,” Sarge said.

“Something naturally produced,” Jake said out loud, thinking the idea through. “The Brit has focused everything around ecologically safe environments. I don’t think the resort is just a cover for the drug trafficking; I think there’s a connection. It’s how he smuggles, or what he smuggles the drugs in.”

“Yeah, ya’ might be right.”

“What does Bungumby have that Braxton Island has? What natural resource?” Jake asked.

Sarge shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know. There aren’t any plantations, like tea or coffee, at either place.”

Jake concentrated on everything he’d seen at Bungumby. Mr. Thompson had said they had no agriculture, just the resort as a means of income. He focused on the palm trees lining the island. Then it hit him, he remembered the coconut palms at the lagoon. “Damn,” he said. “Those boxes could hold a dozen decent-sized coconuts. I remember seeing the huge things on the trees above the lagoon. Imagine, man-made coconuts filled with drugs and transported along with the real thing. Could it be possible?”

“Anything’s possible,” Sarge said. “The longer I’m in this business the crazier it gets. Ya’ break up one drug cell, another starts, and each one gets trickier than the last.”

They lay in the wet underbrush observing the dock for over an hour, talking quietly. Huge angry clouds rolled above them and the seas got higher. The trees above them blew wildly in the wind, but no rain fell yet. Jake picked up the binoculars again.

The boxes, two dozen all told, had been taken below deck. The blond-haired man had come back out of the house and called to the man on the yacht. He hustled the men who’d done the heavy lifting, and all walked back to the house.

“Here’s our chance,” Sarge said. “It’s lunchtime.”

“What’s the plan?”

“I’ll check out the yacht, you see what’s going on in that building.”

“Okay.”

“Meet you back here in one hour. The mobile might or might not work. If I don’t make it, go back to the boat and head off to Cairns and get back-up. Don’t come lookin’ for me.”

Jake nodded. He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to think about it, but they both knew what survival was all about. You didn’t help a cause by going in to rescue your buddy, especially when outnumbered. “There are two motion detectors on either side of the dock, going by what I could see on the plans,” Jake said. “You’ll have to stay low to the ground. There are video cameras on the side of the main house.”

Sarge nodded and checked his gun. “Get my back. Five minutes, then you take off.”

Jake reached over, gripped Sarge’s hand. No words were necessary.

What they did for a living was a bitch, and he was getting way too old for this shit. And Sarge, well he was one heartbeat away from retirement. Jake knew if he had to go back and tell Helen that Sarge had been shot in the line of duty, would he be able to live with himself? Yet, he knew Sarge lived to rid the streets of the vermin who sold drugs and ruined lives. He also knew you had to get the big guys, no use stopping the little guy on the street, he was small potatoes.

He thought about his longtime partner and how cruelly she’d died.

Amy had said, “Face the fear and work your way through it.” He’d tried last night and for the first time in years, he could recall not waking up at four a.m. He remembered his partner without trembling. Remembered her blood-spattered face, her gasps of pain, and the shattered windshield. And he’d had to leave her to die in the squad car, in that seedy street in East Los Angeles. He’d taken off after the suspects, shot two, captured one and been given a fucking award, but it hadn’t helped her, or her young husband and son.

He’d walked away, hung up his gun. His wife left him soon after. He’d left the LAPD to a life of nights of nightmares, and days of questions. What if he’d acted differently? What if he’d refused her request to be the driver? He’d wanted to. He’d tried to. She’d insisted he was the sharper shooter. He’d finally agreed. What if he’d let the suspects get away, could he have saved her? He thought about that now. Knew he hadn’t been to blame for the attack. It had come without warning, the car turning into the alley with no way out for them. She’d been the driver. They focused on taking her out. He’d escaped with a few nicks. The coroner had said his partner had died instantly, but he knew that wasn’t entirely the truth.

He refocused. Sarge eased off his pack and dropped it about halfway down the hill. Sarge crawled through the jungle of trees and shrubs and then lowered his body over another small rise, and tracked down toward the beach and the dock. He’d be in the open soon. Jake circled around so he’d come down at the opposite side, behind the main house. He’d take his and Sarge’s pack, unsure of what he might need, binoculars, a rope, a first aid kit, or water. He trekked along the ridge.

Shots rang out, and he froze. Loud voices rang through the quiet of the beach and the rainforest, echoing back up toward him. Dogs barked and snarled. He couldn’t see through the damn forest floor. Shit, that had taken less than ten minutes. Sarge wouldn’t have even been on the dock. The trees were flapping in the wind. He’d never hear if anyone was running through the forest
. Okay. Stay calm.

He hoisted the pack higher on his back. Just in case the dogs got his scent he’d put them off as best he could. He drew out the gun and holster. A new Glock 20. The magazine was inserted, one round in the chamber. He snapped on the holster and slipped the gun into it. His knife he left in its sheath, and wrapped an elasticized strap around his chest, slipped the knife behind it. The strap might help his sore ribs hold together and the knife was for extra protection.

Jake felt Sarge’s presence with him, talking to him, telling him how to cover his tracks. He pulled out his knife and cut two large fronds from an Australian palm and lay one down on the ground. He walked over it placed another, reached back picked up the first one and continued until he reached the base of a tall tree. He wrapped his legs around the tree trunk. The only evidence he’d left behind were the fronds, but he was a good distance from the ridge.

He hoped, and prayed, rain would come before the dogs did. It was hard going, but he hauled himself up the trunk. His chest burned with every breath and he had a damn stitch in his right rib cage. He couldn’t leave the pack and it added to the difficulty of the climb. He left Sarge’s pack wedged into the crook of a lower branch. It was wild up at the top. The branches blew every which way. He chose one he hoped would be sturdy enough and felt the first drops of rain hit his face. He pulled out the binoculars and surveyed the beach below.
Sarge is alive. Thank you, God.

He was being shoved up the pathway, hands clasped on top of his head, toward the building that Jake was supposed to check out. Jake quickly wiped the rain from the binocular lens and refocused. They shoved Sarge inside the building and closed the door. The two men, the captain, and the one he was sure was Col, stood talking outside. After a few minutes, they posted one big burly guy outside the door and sent the second one inside. Col and the captain went up to the house.

Damn.
Jake flinched at the thought of Sarge being interrogated. They’d find his ID and they’d take his gun. Sarge wouldn’t tell them where the boat was, unless they beat it out of him. And he knew Sarge was taking a beating.

The rain began to fall and the whole forest shook from the winds. His time in this tree might be limited. Jake gripped tight. Think positive. The cyclone would work to his advantage. The captain of the yacht was going to have to haul ass. He could see the vessel bobbing about on the waves. By the feel of things up here, they’d have to pull anchor within the next twenty minutes or they wouldn’t make it back to the mainland. He’d take his goons for sure, leaving Braxton, Firth, and the pilot. Would they take off?

If they didn’t, could he take out three guys, and what about those menacing looking dogs? He remembered Sarge’s words again, “Don’t come lookin’ for me.” How could he not?

It would be risky trying to go back to the boat and get help. Plus, he’d have to get the damn thing into the water by himself and it was a heavy sucker. And in the impending cyclone he doubted he’d make it back to the mainland in the small boat anyway. So that would be just plain stupid to attempt.

Amy’s words from this morning flashed through his mind, “Firth is a weak man.” He thought of her and felt a warmth flood through him. He hoped she was right. Hoped Col was weak, too. He sent out a prayer that he and Amy would meet up again and gave thanks she was safe in Cairns at the evacuation center.