Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (17 page)

“The DHS snooping on me again?” I asked.

“Nope,” Chyrel replied, unperturbed. “I’m on my home computer, my own connection. With some people, I keep an instant message box open, and it tells me when they’re online. What’s the interest in the Pittsburgh coke dealer?”

“Deuce tell you to monitor my Internet activity?”

“No, Jesse. In fact he told everyone on the team that, until you and he iron out the problem you’re having, we’re not supposed to have any professional contact with you.”

“So why are you snooping on what I’m looking at?”

“You’re my friend, Jesse. I look out for my friends. And I wasn’t actually snooping. Well, yeah, I guess I was, but only if you used certain search words that might get you in trouble.”

Exasperated, I realized that it was well past midnight. “What are you doing up this late, anyway?”

“Late? It’s not even one o’clock. I never go to bed before three. So, is this Bradley guy a threat to national security? I can’t help you if he is. That’d be breaking Deuce’s rules.”

“Purely PerSec,” I replied, meaning it had to do with personal security, which it did. In a way.

“In that case, I wouldn’t be violating Deuce’s rules. Can I help you with something? This poor football player ruffle someone’s feathers in the Keys?”

“What do you mean
poor
football player?”

“He’s on your radar, right? That can’t be good for his health.”

A plan started formulating in my mind. Chyrel could run circles around most computer hackers and was leaps and bounds ahead of me. “Maybe there is something you can help me with.”

“Just name it,” Chyrel eagerly responded, hunching forward over the keyboard.

“Can you create a fake background for me?” Chyrel cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow. “Never mind, of course you can.”

“Who do you want to be?” she asked.

“Stretch Buchannan. Make me a big-time cocaine importer, with ties to a Cuban cartel. Throw in a few arrests, trafficking, attempted murder, that kind of stuff.”

Her fingers were already flying on the keyboard. “I’ll have it in a couple of hours. It won’t withstand scrutiny by the CIA or FBI, but I can make it deep enough to fool local LEOs and any bad guys that look you up on the web—some postdated news reports, stuff like that.”

“That’ll be a big help. Thanks.”

“I’ll email you the dossier. You’ll have it before sunrise.” She stopped typing for a minute and looked at the screen. “Deuce isn’t involved, Jesse.”

Trying to look unconcerned, I asked, “Involved in what?”

Chyrel grinned. “You and I need to play poker someday. I’d like living on that big, fancy boat of yours.”

I was starting to feel tired and sighed. “Where’s he at with the investigation into Charity’s disappearance?”

“I’d be breaking the rules if I could answer that question. But, since there is no ongoing investigation, I can’t.”

“That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

She stopped typing again and leaned in closer to the screen, as if worried someone would hear. “Deuce is the
acting
deputy director, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“His name hasn’t been submitted to Congress for approval to take over as the formal deputy director, nor has anyone else’s.”

“You mean…”

“I don’t mean anything. We’re not even having this discussion. But I’ll tell you this. There are things only a deputy director can do, and some of those things, an
acting
deputy director can’t do. As far as no ongoing investigation striking me as odd goes, keep in mind who I used to work for. I’m very good at ignoring stuff that’s above my paygrade.”

I sat back in my seat, searching her face for a clue.
Damn, I hate this spy-versus-spy crap
, I thought. Then it hit me. “Stockwell’s still in control?”

“I’ll send you the file shortly, Jesse. Oh, and I already located Bradley. He just used an Amex card and checked into the Hyatt in Key West. It was good talking to you. Bye.”

The screen went blank and I was left staring at the image of Bradley, his driver and his accountant. I’d recognized the face of the accountant instantly. With so many government alphabet agencies looking for him, I thought it was odd that Chase Conner had let his picture be taken by a reporter.

Sitting back once more, I closed the laptop and ran this new revelation around in my head. Stockwell had retired just a few days after Charity disappeared this past spring. He’d come to work for me soon after that and it’d worked out pretty good for the most part. We didn’t charter very much, but with neither of us needing the money, we didn’t need to.

It occurred to me that he hadn’t talked much about leaving the job with Charity’s disappearance hanging over him. I know that after a lifetime of service, with all his accomplishments, something like that had to be bothersome. There’s no way I could just up and walk away from it.

Then there’s the fact that Deuce wasn’t even pursuing an investigation. That, coupled with what Chyrel had intimated about Deuce not actually being in control, meant that he had been ordered to look the other way. Deuce is the kind of guy that follows orders. Especially those with national security implications. He’d put the mission above all else, even friendship.

Was Chyrel really reaching out to me on her own
? I wondered.
Or is this Deuce’s way of extending an olive branch?

I switched off the lights in the salon and made my way down to my stateroom, just as the generator kicked on. Lying on my bunk, I thought about the more immediate concern. I’d told the psychic lady that I’d meet with her at noon tomorrow. She’d given me an address just off the middle of Duval Street in Key West.

If Bradley was at the Hyatt, I could dock there, or if they were full, Key West Bight had plenty of dock space. I decided I’d leave at the first rays of dawn and maybe do some recon around the Hyatt. I had to figure out a way to get Bradley to think I might be his ticket to a big import contract and hopefully get him to bring his accountant down here.

Chase Conner used to work for Florida Department of Revenue. He had been on hand, representing the state in the sale of a bunch of gold bars recovered from a Confederate blockade runner. The bars were being sold to the Florida History Museum, and Conner was to ensure a proper accounting for taxes. The sale went off without a hitch, but he’d planted a bug on my boat in the hopes of getting a tip on other treasures.

I’m not a treasure hunter. Deuce’s dad, Russ was and Rusty’s a licensed salvor. A few opportunities had presented themselves over the years and we’d found treasure. It’s out there. Conner had learned about the most recent find and enlisted the help of a Croatian crime boss in Miami. My son-in-law and his father handled legal matters for the Croat and they’d become involved, sending mercenaries to take the treasure. Several people had died and Doc had taken a bullet meant for me. Then there was the matter of my boat being blown out of the water. Yeah, I needed to talk to Chase Conner.

Stretching out across my bunk, I reached over and switched off the bedside light, when the generator shut down. With only the A/C running, the batteries would hold a charge for about three hours before it came back on. I stored that information in my mind so it wouldn’t wake me when it did, and within minutes I was fast asleep.

E
rik shoved Byers through the hotel room door at the Hyatt, causing him to stumble and fall to the floor. “Get your stinking ass in there and get cleaned up. You smell like shit.”

The Hyatt wasn’t just the nearest hotel to where they’d found the little man, but one of the best on the island. It reflected GT’s personality. Only the best.

Byers scrambled up from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. Erik turned to his boss. “His clothes gotta go, GT. I swear he smells like he’s been sleeping in them in a cesspool for a month. It’s gonna take me hours to get the smell outta the car.”

GT pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and gave Erik a hundred bucks. “I saw a T-shirt shop over near that restaurant. Go see what you can scrounge up.”

Erik stuffed the bills in his pocket and strode to the door. “I’ll get what I can, and when I get back, I’ll go see if I can find a carwash with a vacuum. Maybe an air freshener. Man, that guy really stinks.”

GT sat heavily in a recliner. “Yeah, he shit his pants back there in the alley.”

Closing the door, Erik smiled.
Maybe I’ll go over to that restaurant after I get the car cleaned
, he thought.

Sitting back in the comfortable recliner, GT mentally calculated what this foray had cost him already. They’d spent nearly five thousand in bribes, gas, food, and hotel rooms. If Grabowski was here in town, he knew he had to find him and fast, before he sold off all the coke.
Find him and kill his ass slow
, GT thought.
Then we can get the hell off this rock baking in the tropical heat.

In the bathroom, Byers stripped out of his soiled clothes, dumping his feces in the toilet. He turned on the shower and stepped in to clean himself and his clothes for the second time in one day.

He knew something the two black guys didn’t know. He’d seen the coke dealer, Grabowski, coming out of
Irish Kevin’s
bar earlier. After leaving the pier, he’d spotted the guy again, in the same restaurant he and the hooker had eaten at. Hurrying past, he’d circled the place, hiding in the shadows, where he could watch him without being seen. When Grabowski had left, he’d quickly returned to the parking lot to follow them and run into these two guys.

How they’d missed seeing Grabowski he couldn’t figure out, unless they were just too busy checking out the girl with dreadlocks in the little yellow dress. He’d decided she wasn’t a hooker after all. She was Grabowski’s girlfriend.
And these two guys don’t seem to know anything about her
, he thought.
I’ll just hang on to that bit of information. Might need it for a bargaining chip.

After scrubbing his clothes, Byers hung them over the shower’s curtain rod to dry a little. Five minutes later, as he was just getting out of the shower, his captor banged hard on the door.

“Toss those nasty-ass clothes in the trash and get your ass out here,” GT growled.

Byers shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d given up his ass to save his ass. If these guys were gay, he could play the part well enough to get free. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d hang on to that one bargaining chip for when he needed it.

It hadn’t taken Erik long to find clothes. As GT turned away from the bathroom door, Erik walked in. “Had to buy clothes in the boy’s section, boss. Nothing in the men’s clothes would fit that little twerp.”

“Whatever,” GT replied, pacing the floor. “Get him out here and give him the clothes.”

Just then, Byers opened the bathroom door and stepped out, completely naked and resigned to his fate. He just hoped the rumors about black guys weren’t true.

Erik looked at him and couldn’t help a chuckle. “No wonder the hooker was laughing at him.” He tossed the bag at the little man, and it hit him in the chest and almost knocked him over. “Get back in there and put those on, asshole. We don’t wanna see that pathetic excuse for a dick.”

After Byers went back into the bathroom, GT sat down in the corner at the small table. “We gotta find Grabowski and fast, Erik. That clown knows something. If I have to, I’ll beat it out of him.”

“If he’s here in town, we’ll find him. Just a matter of time, boss. Ya know, we didn’t even think of asking that waitress if she’d seen him. Waitresses and bartenders see everyone. Too bad we don’t have a picture. We coulda been showing it around to all the waitresses and bartenders.”

“Go get the car cleaned up, Erik. Then stop by that restaurant the little guy ate at. That waitress likes you. Maybe if she saw the guy, she’ll open up to you. If not, we can ask around a few places tomorrow.”

“What about the little prick?” Erik whispered, nodding toward the bathroom and grinning at his own joke.

GT reached into his pocket and handed Erik several hundred-dollar bills. “Can you camp out tonight? Me and that little turd fondler are gonna get acquainted.”