Gray Ghost (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 1) (15 page)

Bubba didn’t respond. He saw one of his childhood friends walking outside a converted warehouse known for prostitution. The place was used primarily by visitors to the island looking for a little paid fun.

Bubba flagged the guy over. He and Wilfred got out of the car. Counting on drug use in connection with prostitution on Andros, he knew Remy was at the center of both. Bubba asked his friend if he’d seen “Money,” Remy’s nickname.

“
Yeah. Saw him in a pearl white Cadillac Escalade in the alley.”

As Bubba was about to ask him other places Remy might be or where he was dealing, Wilfred tapped him on the shoulder and pointed down the street.

Bubba saw the vehicle they’d been talking about cruise slowly about a block away.

His friend followed Bubba’s gaze. “There he go right there.”

A kid approached the driver’s window of the Cadillac, and a drug deal appeared to go down as he and the driver handed something to each other.

Bubba and Wilfred jumped into the car and Bubba put it in gear. He didn’t want to be too obvious, so he followed at a distance. As the white vehicle continued, a few more people approached it and appeared to do hand-to-hand deals with the driver.

The Cadillac sped away. Bubba did what he could to stay with it but saw a Royal Bahamian Police Force car pull directly behind it and turn their lights and sirens on.

The SUV pulled over, and the officers exited their police vehicle and approached Remy’s Cadillac. Bubba and Wilfred watched as both officers went up to the driver’s door.

“
What the hell are these guys doing?” asked Wilfred. He knew two-man units would never go up to the same door.

“
Don’t know,” answered Bubba.

Wilfred pointed to a spot at the curb several cars back from their targets. “Let’s chill here so we can see what’s happening. Something’s not right.”

Bubba pulled over and stopped.

They watched as Remy handed one of the cops a manila envelope. The men joked for a few minutes, shook hands with the driver, and got back into their patrol car. They drove away, and the Escalade continued north.

Bubba followed for about six miles until the Cadillac abruptly pulled over, and Remy jumped out. He began swaggering back toward Bubba and Wilfred.

His blazer jacket bulged, and he held something in his right hand.

Wilfred grabbed his gun.

Remy yelled, “You boys want to talk?” He motioned for them to meet him outside their vehicle.

Wilfred looked straight at Remy. “He looks pretty pissed.”

Bubba turned off the key. “Let’s talk. That’s what we came for.”

Remy put his right hand behind his back. “Bubba, what’s got you following me?”

Bubba and Wilfred kept their eyes on Remy’s hands. “We need to talk,” Bubba replied. “Okay. But in my truck.”

Bubba and Wilfred both shook their heads. “No, we do it right here,” said Will.

Remy chuckled. “Okay then, but this better be quick. I need to make some more money tonight.”

They walked toward him.
This ought to me interesting,
thought Bubba.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Eating dinner with his wife in a romantic setting helped Pierce forget about work.

His cell phone vibrated reminding him he had two agents in a foreign country working a drug case they probably shouldn’t be involved with. Pierce told his wife he wanted to take her home. He gave her a little wink, hoping to distract her.

As he drove home, he was making plans, expecting to make love to her. He knew he would be tied up for the next few days and would be in serious trouble if he didn’t make her feel special. When he left the room, his wife said, “Go get him, honey. We’ll get together again
after
you catch him.”

Pierce smiled and gave her a long kiss and hug.

He went to his living room, wanting an update from Dix before figuring out what was needed next. When he called Dix, no one answered.

Pierce had thought about the case at length. He wanted help from Jim Calhoun based on what he understood about the size and sophistication of what Dix and Petersen were dealing with. Pierce dialed Calhoun. The phone rang three times, and a new voicemail message played. “I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m on vacation for two weeks. If this is an emergency, please call my secretary, explain the issue, and she’ll relay the message.”

Pierce found this very odd. Calhoun never took time off, except once to attend his daughter’s funeral.
That must have been about fifteen or twenty years ago.

On to Plan B.
Trouble was, he didn’t have a Plan B. He wasn’t able to help Dix or Petersen. He felt useless.
Come on, man, get your shit together and make something happen
.

Pierce climbed into his unmarked undercover vehicle and drove toward downtown Miami, hoping to find a local dealer to hit up for information about large local suppliers.

It took him about twenty minutes to find a guy he classified as a mid-level dealer. Pierce had busted him before and this guy liked to talk in an effort to keep from going to jail.

Pierce watched the man from afar and determined he was selling narcotics again. He called dispatch and asked for backup. Then he turned on his dash cam. Once it was obvious the guy was dealing, Pierce decided to take him down.

He surprised the suspect right in the middle of a transaction and was out of the car and had the guy in handcuffs before he had any clue Pierce was there.

As Pierce was about to advise dispatch of his location and status, an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria screeched to a halt behind him. All four doors opened and members of his team sprang out and chased the customer who’d just made the purchase away.

The man immediately pointed to the dealer in the back of Pierce’s car. “I just bought from him. He’s been selling for years down here.”

Pierce looked at the dealer and smiled. “Boys, take that guy to the precinct. I’ll take this one in myself.”

The dealer looked nervous and was sweating profusely.

This is going to be fun,
thought Pierce.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Snead clicked the Google shortcut on his desktop and waited a few seconds as the browser loaded on his screen. In the search bar, he typed: Coast Guard, U.S. Navy, Skipper and hit enter.

Two hundred sixty-one thousand web pages contained these words popped up. Snead was not happy. He sifted through several of the top sites and learned the term skipper was mostly used when addressing the captain of a ship. It was not commonly used today.

It appeared in Coast Guard jargon because not all cutters had a captain. So the men began calling the person in charge a skipper. It seemed to be another connection to the Coast Guard. Tyrone Holmes had heard it almost fifteen years earlier, so it was even more likely the men who used the term were Coast Guard seamen.

Snead now searched to see who might have been in charge of Coast Guard cutters fifteen years before. He’d then try to eliminate names from the list he got from the MIT guys of who had access to the computer where the online transaction for the registration of the speedboat originated. It was a daunting task. Snead shook his head in disgust.

The only name he didn’t have to check was Jim Calhoun.

He’d crossed off the name as soon as he received the faxed list.
There’s no way the guy could be involved in this crap
.

One item that popped up was a number to contact the Coast Guard for general questions. After being re-directed for five minutes, he finally spoke to a live person. He asked for a list of previous captains or skippers of cutters. The secretary said she’d never heard the term skipper before and asked what a cutter was.

Snead rolled his eyes, glad that she couldn’t see him. “How about this? Are Coast Guard records archived on a database accessible via the internet?”

She paused a second. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer. You see, I’ve only been here for a few days.”

“
May I speak to your supervisor?”

The woman paused. “Well, she’s not here right now.” Snead persisted.

“
When will she be back?”

“
I don’t know. She’s been gone awhile. Wait a second. I hear her coming.”

Snead perked up. “Excellent. I’d like to talk to her.”

“
Sure. Please hold.”

“
How may I help you?” The woman sounded a bit out of breath.

Snead tried to be charming. “My name is Sergeant Andrew Snead from the Miami-Dade Police Department. I’m sorry to bother you. I have a few questions.”

“
What kind of information are you looking for? Our systems aren’t as modernized as some agencies. However, we may be able to help depending on what you need.”

Snead hoped this would work. “I’m looking for a list of all captains and skippers of Coast Guard cutters over the past twenty years.”

The woman whistled. “If we’re talking that far back, there is a record, but it’s not automated, at least not yet.”

Snead scowled. “Are the records in a vault or in storage?”

“
They’re in a storage unit in Virginia. The last time I checked, Florida was a long way from Virginia.”

Snead chuckled. “Okay, thanks. May I ask another question?”

“
Sure, go ahead.”

“
If I email you a list of names, can you identify the people who are no longer with the Coast Guard?”

“
I guess. Can you tell me what this is all about, or is it classified?”

Snead laughed out loud. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She laughed. “You’d better bring an army. I like guns and know how to use them.”

Snead wrote down her email address. She said she could get to the list after lunch. That gave him time to surf the internet some more and get a bite to eat.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jorge Blanco, John Lester, Tim Simpson, Paul Kemp, and David Timms studied an ops plan from a top-level clearance mission recently assigned to their unit. They’d been hand-picked by Rear Admiral Tony Charles and led by Blanco.

As missions went, this appeared to be fairly mundane. They had to infiltrate a storage unit currently being guarded by the Royal Bahamian Police Force. Several informants used by the Coast Guard revealed a handful of local officers were helping someone plan to steal the narcotics inside. Blanco’s team would safeguard the cocaine. But they could not advise the local police commissioner for fear the mission would be compromised. Once secured, the narcotics would stay on a cutter, heavily guarded, until the investigation was concluded. The cutter would remain off the coast of Andros Island.
I wonder why they just don’t ask the locals to hold the drugs in a safer location
, thought Blanco.

The area containing the cocaine was bugged and surrounded by cameras, but the locals would present the biggest challenge. Blanco figured they could easily disable the surveillance equipment and take out a few corrupt cops. The problem was they had to do it all and not be detected.

They could not be caught or identified. If it happened, they’d be left to fend for themselves, and all record of their association with the Coast Guard or the United States military would be eliminated. This elite team was told any equipment available to the Coast Guard and U.S. Navy would be available to them. The ultimate objective was to seize the cocaine, which would be used later in an independent investigation by DEA, CIA, and Coast Guard.

Jorge Blanco had the most experience and was, therefore, the leader of the unit. The other men had worked with him in Afghanistan and Syria. They had experimental training on a regular basis, taking them to all corners of the earth.

Blanco stood. “You shitheads think you can pull this off without screwing it up?”

Simpson muttered, “Get bent. If anyone’s going to jack this up, it’d be you.”

The other men laughed. Then Kemp asked, “You think this is a setup?”

Blanco answered, “Relax. I’m sure this is another training mission. The serious shit you signed up for will come soon enough.”

Timms asked, “When are we supposed to start the festivities?”

Blanco glanced at his watch. “We leave at zero six hundred in three days. We’re on standby status until then, meaning the big bosses could send us earlier. Keep your cell phones on and handy so I can update you if needed. When I get the call, I’ll contact you.”

One by one the men got up from their seats, grabbed their duffel bags and other gear, and left the briefing room. Blanco stayed behind to develop a game plan and contact Jim Calhoun.
Sooner or later they’re going to have to give us a real mission. These training ones are getting old.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE