Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (33 page)

•      •      •

The Deliveryman smiled when he saw the boat. After stopping to pick up some supplies he had followed the directions Toby had supplied him and found the home with ease. A large Mediterranean-style three-story vacation home owned by a successful businessman from Connecticut, it sat in a secluded area separated by thick Florida vegetation from the prying eyes of the neighbors. Toby worked as a boat maintenance tech and had serviced the man’s boat many times. When he had described what kind of boat he needed, Toby had immediately thought of the house. He pulled the pickup into the driveway and exited the cab. He looked left and right as he walked casually to the house and punched in the security code. The garage door opened and he pulled the truck in and out of sight. As it was spring, the man and his family were back home up north and would not reappear until October. A quick walk through the home confirmed this and he focused his gaze out the large windows. Looking out through the lanai and over the pool he saw the boat moored off to one side, only partially blocking off the view of the bay. It was perfect. He moved to the kitchen were he found the keys hanging on the wall just where Toby had said they would be. The owner obviously put a lot of faith in his security system. He checked his watch and looked at the angle of the sun. It was late enough in the day for him to get started, he thought. He didn’t want to come early and chance running into the pool man or a yard maintenance crew. He dropped his duffle bags and backpack by the door and moved slowly down the walk to the boat, checking for nosy neighbors as he went. He was pleased to see the man had landscaped to prevent this.

After spending a few minutes removing canvas covers from the windows, he stored everything below and did a quick evaluation. The owner was obviously a no-nonsense captain, an ex-navy man Toby had said, and the boat was decked out with the finest gear that money could buy.

His seaman’s eye took in the boat and he cataloged the information he would need once he was underway. The boat was forty-one feet of white fiberglass with twin diesel engines, the owner preferring two strong engines as opposed to smaller straining ones. The flying bridge was fully equipped to handle rough weather and the safety equipment was new and plentiful. Despite its length, the boat only drew four and a half feet of water, which would enable him to enter most marinas. He stored his duffels below before returning to the house and scouring it for needed items. He assembled a box of food and filed a large cooler with ice. The man of the house was not his size in the pants department, but he found a few comfortable fishing shirts and some warmer clothes he would need later. A few CDs from the collection by the fireplace were added, as well as a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue that was just too good to pass up.

The sun was going down as he stored the final items aboard. He slipped the extra lines the owner had placed in the event of a hurricane, freeing the boat of all but two. Once the sun had disappeared he flipped on the bilge blowers, letting them blow for two minutes before he started the starboard-side engine. It rumbled to life and he checked the gauges before starting the port engine. Since the sound traveled well across the water he quickly slipped the remaining mooring lines and returned to the bridge to advance the throttles forward. He checked the tide and weather as he eased out into the bay, using the engines to steer as opposed to the wheel. After picking up a steady five knots he relaxed and fired up the GPS. As it synced with the satellite network, he pulled out the chart he had worked up that morning. He punched in the grease-penciled numbers he had written on the chart and smiled as the GPS digested the information and laid out the plot on the screen. He checked his position against a nearby marker and nodded approval as it confirmed that the GPS was correct. The radar came on next and was also thoroughly checked and determined to be functioning well. These two items would determine how much sleep he got over the next couple of days and he was relieved to see they were both functioning.

He was soon cruising past the channel markers and out of the manatee protection zone. He advanced the throttles more and the boat accelerated nicely, the trim tabs keeping her on a level plane. A cruise ship was departing the city and he soon caught up to its wake. The boat pitched up and down and he expertly maneuvered the boat to avoid the worst of it.

Once past the cruise ship he found the ocean to be agreeably flat and was able to keep the boat at an even sixteen knots. Altering his course north, he worked his way out into the Gulf Stream. He could have stuck to the intercoastal waterway, but it was much too slow and he was more likely to be spotted. Preferring to stay out in the blue water, avoid the shipping channels and the Coast Guard, and cutting across the curve of the east coast was the better plan. He should be in DC soon, as long as the weather held. He went below and stocked up on snacks and caffeine as the plan called for going straight through the night.

With the auto-helm engaged he settled in and let his mind wander a little. He tried not to think about it but the thought kept entering his head. What kind of boat would he buy with his twenty million dollars? Maybe he would just keep this one and go find a nice island somewhere. Find something young and soft to keep him company and forget about the life he’d had up till now. He had plenty to forget, that was for sure. Maybe getting lost in the Caribbean was just what he needed. But first he had to get the money. He forced himself to quit counting his chickens and concentrated instead on how to get what he wanted without getting caught.

Arctic ice melt opens Northwest Passage.
September 16, 2009—USA Today
 

—TWENTY-SEVEN—

T
he volume of information one could produce with a few phone calls never ceased to amaze Jack. If the call came from the President, the volume increased tenfold. Jack and his team where forced out of their usual working area, affectionately known as the Pit, and into a larger one at Homeland Security. The heads of every department attached to him spread out around the room. Phone lines had been added and the local takeout food vendors were doing a brisk business. Jack had an office behind glass, but found himself spending most of his time in a large conference room receiving briefing after briefing.

So far they had compiled the target’s history all the way back to grade school and once the information was confirmed, they started talking to every person he’d had contact with. Everyone from high school football teammates to old girlfriends to army buddies. They were all receiving quiet visits from the FBI or the Marshall’s office. Some were reluctant to talk and some just played dumb. Those were being tailed and observed, their phones were tapped and their histories being investigated. Some names hadn’t been found yet and a large part of the team was involved in the search for them. The IRS had even been tapped as a source and there were over ten people from that office alone digging into tax records. Jack viewed this as good solid police work, and, given enough time, it would bring results. The problem being that they didn’t have a lot of time. He had purposely kept his people out of the search for just that reason, although he did have Eric sorting through each report and pulling out the key information. He would consolidate it and was publishing a kind of investigative newsletter to everyone so no one involved got left out or got behind. The last thing they wanted was to have people working on the same stuff and not know about it. The department heads quickly caught on and now every report had a one-page summary on top. Jack wanted his own people focused on the future, trying to figure out what the target’s next move would be.

Jack stared at the report in his hand, but his mind was elsewhere. Where was the man going? How did he intend to do the exchange? What was his escape plan? He had all these questions and a million more.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Jack looked up to see Sydney standing in the door with two cups of coffee in her hands. She had the concerned girlfriend look on her face.

“I got two hours on the couch in my office.”

“You think that’s enough?” She came forward and set the coffee down in front of him. He quickly swapped the cold coffee in front of him for the fresh Starbucks.

“You went out for coffee?”

“I needed a break from the Mountain Dew. It’s just across the street.”

Jack sniffed his. “White chocolate mocha?”

“You think I forgot?” she grinned.

Jack just smiled and closed the lid before taking a careful sip.

“How about you, you sleep any?”

“I got about four hours down in my dungeon office. Did a sprint on the treadmill and took a shower. I feel like a new woman. You should try it.”

“I’ll sleep when this is over.”

“What if it kills you?”

“Then I’ll sleep then.”

Jack glanced toward the door before lowering his voice. “Anybody getting close?”

“To the truth? No. Not yet. When our guy disappeared, he really did a good job. I’ve talked to Kimball every few hours and they aren’t getting any hits on their radar. When they erased him they did a good job. I’ll stay on it, but we need to end this quick. Sooner or later, somebody’s going to get two pieces of information that go together. Only way to avoid that is to end it first.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Sydney fell silent for a moment and Jack turned to face her.

“What is it?”

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and sipped her coffee. Jack knew from experience he wasn’t going to like this.

“I don’t like lying to Larry and the others.”

Jack sat back in the chair and let it recline him. He should have seen this coming.

“I don’t either, Syd, but we made a deal and I think it was the right one.”

“I still don’t like it. Have you thought about what to do when this is all over?”

“Yes. I have some ideas.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll have to tell you later.” Jack was looking over her shoulder at someone approaching. Sydney twirled in her chair to see two men in uniform enter the room. Both were wearing body armor and packing sidearms in the open. The first stopped at a desk and questioned the occupant who then turned and pointed to Jack. The two men quickly closed the distance and entered the room. Sydney could now see a locked security bag handcuffed to the first man’s wrist. He approached while the other man stood in the doorway.

“Mr. Randall?”

“I’m Jack Randall.”

“Some ID please, sir?”

Jack removed his Homeland Security badge as well as his FBI credentials and laid them on the table. They were scrutinized by both men before the man asked the next question.

“This woman is cleared for this, sir?”

“Yes, she’s with me.”

Sydney watched the exchange in confusion as did some others through the glass. Jack signed a form twice before the man uncuffed himself and set the bag, cuffs, and keys on the table. Jack opened the bag and briefly looked inside before nodding and shaking the guard’s hand.

“Very good. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” The two men left as quickly as they had come.

Jack sat down and examined the papers in front of him. The crowd outside the glass, realizing that that was it, also went back to work. Sydney waited patiently for three whole seconds.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What’s in the bag?”

Jack shrugged. “Take a look.”

Sydney grabbed the bag and pulled it close to her, keeping the opening hidden from the prying eyes with her body. She looked inside to see a stack of what looked like diplomas to her. She had to read the top one to be sure of what she was looking at.

“Bearer Bonds?”

“Yup.”

“How many?”

“Twenty million dollars worth.”

“Holy shit!”

Jack sighed and echoed her response. “Holy shit.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman examined himself in the mirror. The hair was growing out from his usual short cut. He had been careful to avoid a military style cut for years, but it had actually become quite popular in the American civilian population so he wasn’t too worried about it right now. The beard was coming in, too, but needed another day or two before it would really change his features. He was close enough to shore that he was able to pick up some TV broadcast and was surprised to see that he wasn’t a part of the news cycle yet. While he couldn’t get cable on the boat, he was close enough to get internet on his laptop. He had visited all the news sites as well as a few government ones and not seen anything on him yet. There were some brief stories about roadblocks and checkpoints around the DC area, but it was being explained away as training exercises for the Department of Homeland Security. He would have to be careful.

He pulled away from the mirror and went back up on deck. He first examined the angle of the boat in relation to the sun. The wind had changed direction by a few degrees but so far there was no need for any adjustments. He checked on the two anchors he had set earlier that morning and was pleased to see that neither of them had dragged. The two fishing poles he had out with lines in the water were for show and had not moved. He gazed out over Chesapeake Bay and watched the boat traffic move back and forth. After the marathon run up from Miami, he was exhausted. Despite the auto-helm and the radar, he had not slept much. Catnaps in the bridge chair were the best he could manage due to the amount of traffic on the east coast. He had dodged cargo ships and oil tankers, as well as a small armada of warships leaving Norfolk harbor, all without attracting too much attention. Once he’d arrived in the Chesapeake he had quickly found a secluded anchorage and fell asleep to the rain pelting the deck. Now rested and fed, he was relaxing on deck while he figured out his next move and surfed the internet.