Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) (16 page)

Rusty then added, “Vaya con Dios, mi hermano.”

As Deuce lifted the urn and leaned over the stern rail, the doleful sound of a bugle split the air. Jimmy, up on the bridge, playing a recording of “Taps”. His way of honoring a fellow Vet he never knew. Deuce slowly poured the ashes and small bits of bone into the water. It slowly spread on the surface behind us, drifting down onto the reef that Russ and I had first dived so long ago. The four of us stood rigidly at attention as the last notes of “Taps” mournfully blew out across the water. As Deuce placed the now empty urn on the stern railing, I heard him whisper, “If it was by the hand of another, I’ll avenge you dad.”

“Hoist anchor, Jimmy,” I called up to the bridge. The rattling of the anchor chain interrupted the quiet and pulled the
Revenge
slowly south, away from the reef. The three of us climbed up to the bridge in silence and took our places. When I heard the windlass starting to strain with the weight of the anchor, I started the engines, tapped them both into forward, and adjusted the sonar forward, to pick up the gap in the reef.

“Thanks for that, Jimmy,” Deuce said as he replaced the urn in his bag.

“De nada, hermano,” Jimmy said. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

We passed through the gap in the reef, each of us silent in our own thoughts. Deuce was right. If Russ had been killed by someone, that person would pay and pay dearly. Once clear of the reef, I pushed the throttles, brought the Revenge up on plane, and continued south for a few minutes, to deeper water. Once we passed fifty feet, I turned northeast and reengaged the autopilot, entering the Key Biscayne Yacht Club. I knew that Rusty felt the same way I did, but Jimmy was the wild card. I decided now was the time to say what needed to be said.

“Jimmy,” I said, “I don’t want you to feel like you were roped into this and I don’t want you to be a part of what might happen if things turn out like I think they’re going to, if you don’t want to.”

“Skipper,” Jimmy said, “you always been a straight shooter, man. I know you like a brother. You and Rusty, both. I only met Deuce here a couple times and never met his dad. I can add pretty good, though. I’m guessing all y’all think these hombres had something to do with Deuce’s dad dying, right?” I nodded and he continued, “You know I was a Machinists Mate, but I don’t think I ever told you what ship I served on, though.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t recall you ever did.”

“I served on the USS Wasp, out of Norfolk” he said, “from ‘93 to ‘97, Somalia and Kuwait.” The Wasp was one of the first amphibious landing crafts built for the Navy, kind of a mini aircraft carrier, designed to move Marines into areas where they’d be needed.

Jimmy continued, “Actually met Colin Powell, when he landed aboard, off of Mogadishu. He was still Chairman of the Joint Chiefs then. We had about a thousand Sailors aboard, officers and enlisted, and more than two thousand Marines. Always liked you Jarheads, for some reason, man. My guess is that if these guys had anything to do with Deuce’s dad’s death, they won’t ever be seen again. The way I look at it, you step on one Marine’s toe, they all go ‘ouch’, man. Goes for Sailors, too.”

Jimmy turned to check the radar, switching it to a five-mile radius and said, “The lights of those two pleasure craft should be visible, just off the port bow now.” Then he laughed and added, “That is, unless they’re fishing for square grouper.” That settled that. Jimmy was in.

“Square grouper?” Deuce asked.

“Bales of marijuana,” I explained. “Lots of drug trafficking goes on around these waters, especially at night.” I glanced at the radar, then looked out to the horizon and saw the anchor lights of the two boats. “Just fishermen,” I said.

“Sunrise will be in about three hours,” I said. “We should make Biscayne Bay about then.”

Saturday morning, October 29, 2005

Sonny Beech was sitting in his downtown office at eight o’clock in the morning, an unusual time for him. Actually, this office was in a strip mall in Lake Worth, about a block from the interstate, but he preferred to call it his ‘Palm Beach’ office. Across his desk sat a man wearing a fine silk suit, named Hafez al Madani. He was a Miami businessman of Pakistani descent. He’d come up to Palm Beach to meet with Sonny, mostly because of Sonny’s reputation of taking on any kind of job without asking too many questions. Also, because Sonny owned a large enough boat for his needs.

“Let me get this straight, Mister Madani,” Sonny said. “You want me to have one of my guys take my boat to Brown’s Cay and pick up four people and bring them into Miami?”

“For your trouble, Mister Beech, I will pay you twenty thousand dollars,” al Madani replied.

“And you want me to take the chance of not going through U.S. Customs with these four people, right?”

“That is correct,” al Madani answered. “There can be no interaction with American authorities.”

“That’s a big risk you’re asking me to take. Bigger than twenty grand.”

“I’ll pay you twenty thousand up front and another twenty thousand once they’re ashore, without incident.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Sonny said. “But your people will have to bring one hundred gallons of gas to Brown’s Cay, to refuel the boat. That’s about the limit to its range.” Easiest money he’d make all year, he thought. Can’t be any harder than his monthly cocaine run for a local dealer and it pays nearly double.

The two men rose and shook hands, and then al Madani said, “Yes, they can bring the gas. I’d like to see the boat this morning, if I could. To be sure that it is suitable.”

“That can be arranged. It’s in Miami right now. When did you want this pickup made? My boat’s currently on assignment.”

“It will have to be early this Tuesday morning. I would expect delivery no later than seven o’clock that evening.”

Sonny thought it over. He’d hoped the guys would have this McDermitt guy at the junkyard by now. Hopefully, he’d arrive today or tomorrow. If not, he’d just have to pull them off and do this job, then start looking all over again.

“The job it’s on should easily be wrapped up by Sunday,” Sonny said. “I can have Captain Rodriguez leave Monday morning and be on Brown’s Cay before sunset. If your people are ready, they can board before sunrise and be in Miami by four o’clock.”

“When could you arrange to let me inspect your boat?” al Madani asked.

“I don’t have anything pressing right now,” Sonny replied. “Like I said, it’s in Miami. If you can meet me at Rickenbacker Marina in about ninety minutes, we can make sure it fits your needs.”

Outside, parked on the far side of the parking lot, sat a nondescript Chevy van, with dark windows. Four men were inside the van, one in the driver’s seat and the other three in back at a console where a lot of sophisticated video and listening equipment was mounted. Two of the men, one black and one white, were younger than the driver and the fourth man in the back.

The three men in back were all wearing headphones and listening intently. The older man, Jim Franklin turned to the two younger men and said, “We’ve had this guy under surveillance for two months. He’s suspected of funneling money through several of his business dealings to al Qaeda in Afghanistan. Sounds like he’s trying to bring in some other cell members. You two are lucky to be in on this. It was only supposed to be a routine surveillance training exercise. Find anything on this Sonny Beech?”

Art Newman looked up from the laptop and replied, “Real name’s Elijah Beech. He’s a local loan shark and is suspected of drug smuggling. Been arrested a number of times, mostly small stuff and never did any time. He has a boat registered in his name, a thirty-two foot Carver, named
One-Eyed Jack.
”

Tony Jacobs said, “We should call Deuce. He’s down in the Keys. He can get up here in just a few hours. I know he’d like to be in on this.”

Franklin said, “Not just yet. He told Associate Deputy Director Smith he’d only be a couple days down there.”

“Yeah,” Art said, “he’s scattering his dad’s ashes, probably about now. I know he’d like to be in on this, though.”

“He will be,” the senior agent said. “The whole Caribbean will be our assignment. Right now, I’m just supposed to be showing you boys the finer points in surveillance without being seen. This’s gotta be boring for a couple SEALS like yourselves, though. Don’t worry, there’ll be more than enough action to keep your skills honed with this new team. Mister Smith tells me a lot of our team will come from your ranks, since we have a lot of water to cover.”

“They’re coming out,” said the driver, watching the office in his side mirror.

“Okay,” Franklin said. “We know where they’re going. It’s only an hour’s drive and we have ninety minutes to get there and get set up. Wait until they both leave the parking lot, then head to the Rickenbacker. Mister Jacobs, if you’d like to call Mister Livingston and bring him up to speed, that’ll be alright. I need to email Associate Deputy Director Smith the recordings and let him know we’ll continue the surveillance in Miami.”

Saturday morning, October 29, 2005

We’d been anchored about four hundred yards northwest of the docks since before the sun came up. There were a couple of sailboats between the docks, and us but we could easily see over their decks, from the bridge. We’d been lucky. Lester was on the bridge of the Carver, on watch. Before we’d arrived, I went down to my stateroom, lifted the bunk, opened the large chest, and retrieved my Night Spirit XT-3 night vision monocular, manufactured by American Technologies Network. It’s a really nice three power spotting scope, that also has infrared capability, but there was plenty of light on the Carver, so the IR wasn’t needed.

Deuce was impressed, “A Gunny, huh?” he’d asked.

“Hey, even retired Jarheads have to have their toys,” I’d replied.

By now it was late morning and Lester was still on the bridge. I’d called Alex and told her it might be a while. We wanted to wait until Lester finished his watch. She said they were fine. They’d go into the marina for breakfast, but could be at the boat ramp within a few minutes of my call. The Hispanic guy boarded with breakfast and coffee about 0630 and went below, leaving something for Lester to eat. We’d eaten sandwiches and some really good chowder that Jimmy had whipped up in the galley. Deuce’s phone chirped and he answered it. “Hey Tony, how’s the training going?” After listening for a couple of minutes, he said, “You’re kidding. Actually, I can be there faster than you can. We’re sitting just a few hundred meters from the docks.” He listened another couple of seconds and said, “Yeah, the docks at Rickenbacker Marina.” After a few more seconds he said, “Okay, keep me posted.”

Rusty and Jimmy were down in the galley. Deuce had a puzzled look on his face when he said, “That was Tony. He and Art were doing some surveillance training up near Palm Beach for our new employer. Their target is coming here. What are the odds of that?”

“Pretty slim,” I said, watching through the binoculars as two new men boarded the boat. One was an older, slim man, dressed in a golf shirt and brown slacks. The other looked Middle Eastern and was wearing a nice suit. Earlier, I’d noticed a white van pull in and roll slowly through the parking lot, finally parking near the end. I’d only noticed it because it was in my line of sight, while I was watching the Carver. It struck me as odd that nobody got out of it. “Call Tony back. Ask him if he’s in a white van.”

“What’s up?” Deuce asked.

“Here, take a look,” I replied. “Two more guys just joined Lester on the Carver. Look just beyond the Carver, in the parking lot. See that white Chevy van? It pulled in before those two guys arrived. Nobody got out of the van.”

Deuce pulled out his phone and dialed Tony back. “Tony, are you in a white Chevrolet van, with dark windows?” he asked. I could hear the response, but couldn’t make out what he said.

“I’m looking right at you, Tony. Which of the two guys that just boarded is the target?” After a few seconds, Deuce said, “Okay, let me talk to Franklin. Franklin, yeah, I’m on the fishing boat, just beyond the two sailboats.” After a minute he replied, “Yeah, he’s the one Smith told you about. He’s good. Never mind why we’re here. Email me the recording.” Then he hung up.

Turning to me, he said, “Tony and Art are on a surveillance training exercise and their target is a suspected al Qaeda sympathizer. He’s sending me the recording of the meeting between him and the older guy.”

Just then, Deuce’s phone chirped and he opened it. After punching a few buttons, he looked down toward the cockpit and said, “This goes no further than this bridge.”

I touched the intercom button and said, “Rusty, you guys stay in the salon for a few minutes, okay.”

“No problem,” came the reply over the speaker.

Deuce punched a button on his cell phone and we could hear the fuzzy recording of the conversation that Tony had sent. After it ended, I looked at Deuce and said, “Sounds like this Beech guy is Lester and Baldy’s boss and he’s going to smuggle some terrorists into the country for the Arab guy. I thought Baldy was the boss.”

“This puts a different light on things, Jesse.”

“Yeah, it sure does. How do you want to play it?”

“I need to call my new boss. He’s already on board with you getting some information about what we’re doing. I’ll need to tell him what we’re doing, our suspicions about Lester, and let him decide if we can continue what we have planned. I want Lester, but this has national security implications now. Rusty and Jimmy can’t know about this.”

He made another call and gave Jason Smith the whole story. It took a good ten minutes of back and forth conversation. Finally, he ended the call and said, “Like it or not Jesse, you’re a part of the team for the time being. Mister Smith is going to set up an account in your name at the Bank of America in Marathon and deposit twenty thousand dollars into it.” He grinned and added, “You’ve been shanghaied.”

“Whoa, slow down, Deuce. I never said I was going to hire on. In fact, I said just the opposite. Twice!”

“You’re being compensated as a private contractor for this one job. You’ve been on the payroll retroactively since 0400 today. Your contract ends when I say and you’ll need to sign a federal nondisclosure contract. I have some in my briefcase, below. You can’t say no at this point, Jesse.” Then he chuckled and added, “Or I’ll have to kill you.” I rolled my eyes and he continued, “I’ve been instructed to use my discretion on bringing Jimmy and Rusty on board. Like I told you when we first met, I’m a crazy good judge of men, so I’m going to give them most of the details. You’re to split the twenty thousand with them, half to you and a quarter to each of them.”

“Just when I was having fun,” I said. “Back under Uncle Sam’s thumb.”

“We really don’t have any choice, man,” Deuce said. “Mister Smith said to go ahead with our plan and get them down to Marathon. He’s working on a plan to round up the whole bunch of them, when they return from Brown’s Cay, Tuesday night. Until then, we can try to find out what we can about dad’s death.”

“Can you at least tell me which bunch of alphabets I’ve been shanghaied into?” I asked.

“All I can say is that our team is a division of Homeland Security and Jason Smith is an Associate Deputy Director of that agency.”

“Unbelievable,” I said. Then it occurred to me that I’d been using that word a lot about another member of our ‘team’. “What about he dog? He getting paid, too?”

Deuce laughed and said, “Go ahead and get the guys up here, so we can read them in. Have Jimmy bring my briefcase, too.”

I called them up and when we were all together on the bridge, Deuce opened his briefcase, took out three sheets of paper, and passed them to each of us. He said, “Sign these.”

“What is it,” Jimmy asked, reading it over.

“Never mind, Jimmy,” I said. “Just sign it, you’ve been shanghaied again.”

“DHS?” Rusty asked when he saw the letterhead. “What the fuck?”

“Just sign it Rusty,” Deuce said. “I’ll give you all the details once you do. It’ll be simple and worth your while.”

After they’d signed the contracts, Deuce outlined what was going on, withholding only a few details. He changed the plan slightly, saying that Jimmy and Rusty would go ashore and ride back with Alex and Julie. He’d need to personally make sure the boat followed us back to Marathon and didn’t want them in any danger. Both men argued that point, but it was Deuce’s call to make. “Besides,” he’d said, “I think I’m qualified to be the mate.”

Jimmy was watching the boat through the binoculars and said, “The older guy and the Arab are leaving.”

We looked through the windscreen and saw them walking along the dock. We’d been on station since 0700 and it was nearly noon now. Jimmy handed me the binoculars and said, “There’s activity on the Carver, man.”

I trained the binoculars on the boat and saw that a new guy I hadn’t seen before was on the bridge and Lester was walking down the dock, behind the older man and the Arab. He got in the blue sedan and drove off. I was hoping it was just a food run. The new guy was a shaved-headed black guy and he took a seat at the helm. He actually looked more at home there than Lester did, as he was dressed in boating attire, unlike the Italian.

“Looks like the boat meets Madani’s approval,” I said as I watched the two men shake hands, get in separate cars, and drive away. “Deuce, give Tony a call and see if he heard what they said.”

Deuce made a one minute call and said, “Yeah, they struck a deal. It’s on.”

“Call your boss,” I said. “Since this is now your show, maybe it’d be a good idea to have Tony and Art join us, after Rusty and Jimmy depart. Make out as if we’re dropping one charter and picking up another. If he gives the okay, call Tony back and have them walk out to the pier at the boat ramp and wait there for us. Maybe they can kill some time by walking out to the end of the dock.”

Deuce caught on instantly, “Do a little recon, huh? Great idea.” He called Smith and gave him our updated plan. Without saying anything more, he disconnected and made another call.

“Tony, how are you guys dressed?” he asked. After a few seconds, he said, “That’s perfect. You’re our next charter. In a few minutes, we’ll be at the pier by the boat ramp. Rusty and Jimmy will get off there. We’ve already arranged a ride back for them. Walk out to the end of the dock where the Carver is. Stop there, see what you can, and talk about your plans for the fishing trip. Drop Jesse’s name and the boat’s name, if you can. See how they respond. When you see us coming, head back to the pier and come aboard. We want to drop them and pick you up in a matter of seconds, and then head back out. It’ll happen just after the blue Ford that the Italian looking guy left in returns.” He listened for another few seconds and closed the phone.

Minutes later Lester pulled back into the parking lot, got out and boarded the Carver. Tony and Art were just behind him, talking animatedly as they neared the pier. Lester stopped in his tracks and turned around. He talked with them for a minute, then started toward the Carver at an increased pace, juggling the bag from McDonalds in his hands as he fumbled with his cell phone.

“Hoist anchor, Jimmy,” I said. “All three of you, head down to the cockpit. Deuce, don’t forget to thank them for the charter and shake hands. Whoop it up, as we move along the docks.”

When I heard the windlass start to strain, I started the engines and let them idle until I heard the anchor seat itself. Then I nudged both throttles into gear and idled around the sailboats, headed toward the docks. I could see Lester boarding the Carver and pointing our way. He then disappeared below deck.

I called Alex and said, “There’s been a change of plans, babe. Rusty and Jimmy will be riding back with you. Can’t explain right now, but we’re heading for the docks. Get over there to pick them up, okay.”

“Okay, we’re on our way. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said and disconnected. Although I hadn’t said those words in a lot of years, it felt right.

Deuce was just climbing down the ladder and overheard me. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Really. Now get your ass down there, mate.”

As we idled along the south side of the southern dock, Rusty and Jimmy were talking loudly about the fish they’d caught and promising Deuce they’d charter us again. Normally, I like to back into a dock, but it was a long pier, open on the port side. I wanted a quick turnaround, so I nosed in forward. Tony and Art were at the end of the pier and boarded just after Rusty and Jimmy climbed up and headed toward Alex’s car, which had just pulled up. I had on my fishing cap, pulled low with side and back flaps covering my face and a pair of polarized, wraparound fisherman’s sunglasses. I was sure that Lester and Baldy couldn’t recognize me at this distance.

At the end of the pier, I could see all four men climbing out of the Carver and headed our way at a pretty quick pace. Before they were even half way, I was backing away from the pier. When I pushed the throttles into forward and turned back toward the southern canal, all four men turned around and ran back to the Carver. Idling along the southern pier, I watched three of them as they clumsily untied the Carver, while the black guy went to the bridge and started the engines. Blue smoke belched from the exhausts. This was going to be easier than I thought.

Deuce invited our new ‘clients’ to join me on the bridge and all three men came up. “Welcome aboard, guys,” I said, as we cleared the end of the docks.

“Good to see you again, Captain,” Tony said and gripped my hand firmly.

“Nice to be back aboard this fine vessel,” Art said.

They sat on the bench seat to port and Deuce sat down in the mate’s chair. He dutifully checked the gauges and turned on the sonar and radar. Having watched Jimmy earlier, he was familiar with them.

“Bottom is fourteen feet below the keel, Captain. Only those two anchored sailboats on the radar, within a mile.” Looking back, he added, “Carver’s leaving the slip with all four aboard.”

“Saturday night, rock and roll!” I shouted.

“Huh?” Art said.

“Flashback to Grenada,” I said. “When we were ready to jump from the chopper into the bay, Deuce’s dad gave the order, ‘Line of departure, lock and load.’ But, somehow, I heard, ‘Saturday night, rock and roll’.” With that, I turned on the stereo loud enough for the men on the Carver to hear. Jimmy always had a classic rock CD in the player and sure enough, “Born to be Wild” came out of the speakers.