Storm Season (8 page)

Kesnick reached around her, looping and securing the harness. He positioned the quick strop over her shoulders, showing her – reminding her – how to work it and where to hold on. She snapped the goggles into place. Then she tested her gloved hands on the cable and realized she must be completely out of her mind.

She looked directly into Kesnick’s eyes and saw his intensity. He leaned into her and yelled, “Let me do all the heavy lifting. You just hang on. I’ll get you down.”

But they both knew she wouldn’t be coming back up.

He tapped her on the chest, two fingers right below her collarbone, just like he had with Bailey. The universal signal for “ready.” She gave him a thumbs-up and slid herself out of the helicopter door.

Almost immediately Maggie went into a spin, a dizzy, wild ride. She tucked her chin and dug her heels together so the cable wouldn’t wrap around her neck. The wind was heartless and only accelerated the spinning. Rain pelted her. The
thump-thump
of the rotors continued to compete with her heart. Thunder roared above. Or at least she thought it was thunder. It was difficult to distinguish.

Her goggles clouded with the spray of rain. It didn’t matter. She had her eyes squeezed tight. She knew if she opened them it would only add to the dizziness. She waited for the spinning to stop but even as Kesnick lowered her, it continued.

After what seemed like an eternity, her heels connected with something more solid than air. Maggie opened her eyes. Through the blur of her goggles she saw the upper deck of the houseboat. She pushed off and swung herself to the lower deck, sliding past the railing.

She felt Bailey’s hands before she really saw the woman. Bailey pulled her down and helped disconnect her. She seemed in a hurry. The noise of the helicopter, the storm and the waves hitting the boat filled Maggie’s ears and even when Bailey’s mouth moved, Maggie couldn’t make out the words. But she looked worried and frantic.

Maggie yanked the goggles down in time to see the cable – their only connection to the outside world – zip back up to the helicopter. Bailey was gesturing to them. The same signals, one after another. Telling them to back away, followed by “I’m alright” then immediately contradicting herself with the signal for “emergency, in trouble.”

Maggie tried to understand, tried to catch Bailey’s eyes. As she glanced away for an answer she suddenly saw a man underneath the deck’s awning, hidden from view of the helicopter. He was on the far end of the houseboat but Maggie could still see what he held on his shoulder. Even in the blur of wind and rain she knew exactly what it was. He was aiming an RPG right at the helicopter.

 TULLY CHECKED HIS MESSAGES. He had texted Sheriff Langley about Maggie’s Coast Guard crew. Surely there had been some word radioed in from them. But the latest response from the sheriff was annoyingly short: NOTHING.

How could there be nothing? That was bullshit!

Tully waited in his rental. He sat facing the Gulf, shifting his eyes from the black rolling mass of clouds that flickered with electricity to watching in his rearview mirror as the Senator talked to her personal men-in-black. The clouds had turned day into night.

He tried calling Sheriff Langley for a second time, but the call went directly to voice mail. The sheriff would be pissed if he discovered Senator Delanor-Ramos had passed on even a courtesy meeting with him. Was he pissed enough to withhold information? And why didn’t she understand this? Wouldn’t she want every possible law enforcement officer working to help? Or was it more important to keep the truth from getting out? Everything was political, either an asset or liability. Was the truth a liability in this case?

Something had obviously happened to her family. Maybe their houseboat simply broke down along with the radio. Could that happen with a half-million dollar boat? But she didn’t believe it was that simple. She’d said as much.

He ran a hand through his hair. Now he could see the sheet of white under the clouds. In minutes that sheet of rain would be on top of them. He sent another text to Maggie. None had been answered. He didn’t expect this one to be either, but he had to keep trying.

The passenger door opened and Senator Delanor-Ramos hopped up and into the seat. She shoved an oversized tote onto the floor mat beside her feet and buckled herself in, getting comfortable like she was going to spend an afternoon sightseeing. Tully craned his neck to see what her bodyguards were doing. If he wasn’t mistaken, the black Escalade wasn’t waiting on them.

She saw him looking in the rearview mirror and before he could ask, she said, “They would have only gotten in the way.” Already she looked relieved.

And suddenly Tully realized that this was more serious than he thought. She was narrowing down her liabilities to just him. The fewer people who knew, the better.

What the hell was going on? 

If his family were missing out at sea, he would be calling in the cavalry, wanting all available personnel helping. Instead, the Senator was counting on two FBI agents and one Coast Guard aircrew.

“You never answered my question,” Tully said. “What exactly do you suspect has happened?”

“Agent Tully . . . Tully,” she corrected herself even as she lightened her tone. After all, she was stuck with only him. “If I knew what happened to my family I wouldn’t need the FBI, would I?”

“You obviously have some idea or you’d simply let the Coast Guard handle it.”

He glanced over, but her face was turned to the window.

“I fear there’s nothing simple about this.”

He noticed her hands. While the rest of her body looked calm and under control, the fingers of right hand twisted and turned her wedding ring, tugging it up over her knuckle only to shove it back down and start again.

MAGGIE RIPPED AT THE FLIGHT SUIT’S zipper. Without being told, she knew the man with the rocket launcher on his shoulder was not the only terrorist on board. She needed to disarm herself before they did it for her. Bailey immediately saw what Maggie was doing and moved her body, but she wasn’t just trying to block Maggie from the view of the man on deck. Bailey was also trying to stand in front of the window.

So someone else was there, watching. Of course they were.

They’d needed to stay out of sight until the helicopter left. And Bailey’s hand signals were supposed to accomplish that. No wonder the woman was so determined to get them to back off. The choice presented to her must have been to make the helicopter disappear or they would do it with a rocket. But they weren’t versed in Coast Guard hand signals. They had no idea that while Bailey had told her aircrew to back off and that all was fine, she had also told them there was an emergency and that she was in trouble.

Maggie caught Bailey’s eyes. They darted toward the boat and the window behind her. Then she blinked once, twice, three times. So there were three of them.

Maggie glanced over Bailey’s shoulder to the man with the rocket then back at Bailey. She didn’t know how to ask if he was included in the three. Before she could figure it out, Bailey gave a slight nod. Then her eyes darted down to the deck floor at Maggie’s feet.

It looked like an oversized tackle box attached to the deck with metal brackets. A bungee cord kept it shut. Maggie tucked her hands inside her flight suit though she had unzipped it to her waist. Her fingers tugged her shoulder holster free but like her hands, she held it hidden inside the suit.

When the next set of waves crashed up over the deck, the boat tipped and Maggie went down to her knees, pretending to lose her balance. Bailey teetered in front of her, arms outstretched as she grabbed the railing on one side and the wall with the other. She provided the perfect barricade.

Maggie grabbed at the bungee cord. She pulled up and slid the holster with the revolver into the tackle box in one quick motion, letting it slam shut. There was no relief watching her only control, her only hope of defense, disappear out of sight. Before she stood back up another wave knocked her back to her knees. She looked up at Bailey and saw the young woman’s eyes trying to get her attention as she tapped her chest. When Maggie didn’t understand, Bailey pricked at the emblem on her dive suit and pointed with her chin at Maggie, then at the tackle box.

Her FBI badge. Of course. Bailey wanted her to dump it in the box. Maggie’s fingers fished back into her flight suit, found the wallet and shoved it in under the lid.

The thunderclouds had been roaring overhead with lightning streaks that seemed to crackle. Waves swished and rain pelted the aluminum sides of the boat, making it sound like a tin can being used as target practice for an AK-47. But the sound that drew Maggie’s attention and sent her pulse into a panic was the helicopter leaving. The sound of the rotor wash lifted. The engine noise reduced to a hum, fading fast. And then it was swallowed up in the reverberation of the storm.

Their lifeline. Gone.

TULLY TRIED TO PAY ATTENTION to the street signs – at least the ones he could make out through the downpour – even though he followed Senator Delanor-Ramos’s directions. They had gone over two long bridges in blinding rain while the water churned below. Traffic had slowed down to twenty miles per hour. Tully tight-fisted the SUV’s steering wheel, fighting against the wind gusts. They were on Scenic Highway now, a long winding two-lane that ran parallel to one of the bays.

“This associate,” Tully said, “we couldn’t just call him?” He had to raise his voice over the accelerated squeak-and-slash of the windshield wipers. The rain pelted the vehicle’s roof.

“I tried. It went directly to voice mail.”

In the streetlights and headlights Tully could see water rushing over the highway. Red taillights winked up ahead and he pumped the brakes slowly to avoid locking them up. It looked like there were broken branches covering one lane of traffic. Huge live oaks grew on the bluffs, the area between the highway and the water. Branches overhung the road in places.

“Tell me about this business associate,” Tully said. He felt like he was yelling over the pounding of rain.

“They used to be partners.”

“Building boats?”

“Yes. But Ricardo isn’t a builder. Or a designer. I doubt that he could build a doghouse.”

She was wringing her hands again. Glanced at her wristwatch and checked her cell phone. Just the reminder of Ricardo’s incompetence – or maybe it was only the debris in the road – seemed to make her restless.

He could tell she was trying to decide how much to tell him.

“He helped with the financing.” Another pause. “Building boats is expensive – materials, labor. Sometimes clients pay at different stages of completion. Sometimes they pay upon delivery.”

There was something about the way she talked about her husband’s business, and not just Ricardo, that made Tully realize she didn’t approve.

“So Ricardo is rich?” he asked.

The Senator burst out laughing. She had to wipe tears from her eyes and shook her head as if it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

“No,” she finally managed. “Ricardo is not rich. He’s a big talker. He missed his calling. Ricardo should have been a politician.”

“You don’t sound like you approved of their partnership.”

“No, I didn’t. They grew up together in the slums of Bogotá. Ricardo’s not even family, but George is constantly looking after him. Bailing him out. Whenever there’s trouble I know where to look, because it usually has something to do with Ricardo.”

It was their turn to use the single lane, and Tully eased the SUV around the debris. The branch had taken some electrical lines with it. Water was running across the highway, almost to the chassis of the sedan in front of him. He was grateful he’d insisted on an SUV. Still, it was crazy to be out visiting old partners. He wanted to be back at the air station waiting for word on Maggie and her crew. Maybe they had already found the houseboat. How far out could a boat like that go in weather like this?

“How much farther is it?” he asked her, not bothering to keep his impatience from his voice.

“Not far. About another mile and then a left on Creighton. It’s just a few blocks up from there.”

The bungalow sat back from the street. The detached garage was obviously added, almost as large as the house. Up and down the street Tully could see house lights on, families staying inside and taking shelter from the storm. The storm drains couldn’t keep up with the rain that still came down in sheets. Water gushed over the curbs, flooding lawns and driveways.

Tully pulled the SUV as close to the house as possible, but there was already a Jeep parked in front of the garage. It would still be a jog to the front door. By the time he got under the small awning he’d be drenched. Senator Delanor-Ramos must have been thinking the same thing. She was pulling out an umbrella from her tote bag. When she reached for the door handle he realized she expected to go with him.

“Wait. Why don’t you stay here? I’ll see if he’s even home.”

She looked back at the house and seemed to consider this. Electrical lines danced above and tree branches creaked. Tully could see a faint light behind the tightly drawn blinds. But that was it.

He didn’t wait for a response. He wanted to get this over with. He opened the SUV’s door and leapt out, slamming the door as he took off in a sprint. The water ran ankle deep in places, covering the front lawn. If there was a sidewalk, Tully couldn’t see it.

Thunder rumbled overhead and in the flashes of lightning he thought he saw someone standing in the trees alongside the house. It was enough for him to grab inside his windbreaker for his Glock. But when he finally made it under the front door’s awning he couldn’t see anyone.

Were the wind and rain playing tricks on his eyesight? He wiped a hand over his face and his head swiveled around, trying to take in the yard and street and the narrow passage between the house and garage.

But there was no one. No pedestrians, no cars. Not even further up the street.

Tully knocked on the door just as the thunder clashed. He waited and knocked again, harder. He tried the doorknob and to his surprise it turned. He eased the door open with one hand and gripped his weapon in the other.