Fallen Angel: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 9) (21 page)

We split up. Chyrel and Sheena headed to the general’s bedroom, Art, Andrew, and the DEA guys left through the back door, and I went back to the garish pony room as Craig went up to his room. When I entered the bedroom, Finn lifted his head from a towel I’d spread on the floor at the foot of the bed. He’d rearranged it into a pillow of sorts to rest his chin on.

“Go back to sleep,” I told him and stretched out on the bed. Alone.

In my head, I went back over the setting at the docks. In the Corps, I’d always had a knack for remembering the terrain on a training field or battlefield. With the
Revenge
tied up at the east end of the tee dock in the marina, Chyrel and her camera would have an unobstructed view of the spot where the takedown would take place. On her computer at the settee, she could also see out the large aft porthole, to watch the dock itself for anyone approaching the boat from that direction.

One by one, I ticked off the approaches to where the arrest would be made. There were quite a few. I’d have an even better view of the dock area than Chyrel’s camera, being closer. I’d also have an unobstructed view of nearly every boat in the marina. The few rooftops and other locations that might provide a shooter a good sightline of the
Revenge
would also be in my field of view. And easily within range.

About half an hour later, with everything settled in my head, I was just drifting off to sleep when I noticed a shadow pass in front of the light spilling through the crack under the door. The doorknob turned quietly and the hinges creaked a little as the door slowly opened. I didn’t bother reaching for my Sig on the nightstand.

T
he sound of voices speaking softly from the next room woke me. Lying on my side, with my shoulder against the wall, I could see out the far window that it was still dark outside. I could also see that I didn’t need to be cramped into half a small bed. The other half was empty.

Did I dream it?
I wondered.

Finn had moved to the far corner of the room and was asleep by the closet door. I rose from the bed, naked. My boxers were laying on the deck, where Sheena had tossed them. No, it hadn’t been a dream.

I dressed quickly and joined the others in the kitchen. Sheena was dressed in what I could only describe as business casual. Gray slacks and a lightweight gray jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, with a few tendrils hanging down on either side of a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Her overall appearance was one of a teacher or librarian.

“I found you a spotter,” Chyrel said, looking up at me as I stared at Sheena. Chyrel glanced at her, then back at me, as Sheena smiled over a mug of coffee.

I stepped past her in the tight confines of the kitchen and poured myself a cup. It was nowhere near as good as the bean Rusty gets from the Hacienda la Minita farm, but it was passable. I made a mental note to tell the general about his poor choice of brew.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Gunnery Sergeant Manuel Ortiz. He was a spotter about the time you retired. Now he’s the company NCOIC in Weapons and Field Training Battalion.”

“He was one of my platoon sergeants,” I said. “Had my last active-duty meal with him and a couple other noncoms. Think Travis can get the depot commander to shake him loose for the day?”

“Already done,” Chyrel replied with a grin. “He’ll be here in an hour. Deuce had to contact the sheriff early, to arrange a drop-off. An unmarked car will drop the two of you off at the ladder in two hours, along with a senior deputy. You’ll have to sit up there a long time, but it’s unlikely you’ll be seen. The sun should rise right beyond the bridge. The car will pick you up here in ninety minutes.”

I recalled the setting in my mind again. From the marina or along the waterfront, anyone looking would have the sun in their eyes, looking toward the bridge. And I’d have it at my back.

“Wish I’d actually thought of that,” I told Chyrel as Sheena reached past me for the coffeepot, her breast lightly brushing my arm through her jacket. Chyrel looked from one of us to the other, grinning just a little.

“I’d better go down and get my equipment.”

Finn followed me down to the
Revenge
, where the others were already up and about. Andrew was in the galley, cleaning up. Pat and Chrissy were sitting at the settee, drinking coffee. I said hi and went straight to the master stateroom, where I knelt and punched in the code to raise the bunk.

I quickly retrieved a fly rod case and a Penn Reel box and returned to the salon, placing both on the counter in the galley. Standing next to Andrew, I poured myself a much better cup of coffee.

“Tell them?” I whispered, with my back to Pat and Chrissy.

“Some,” he whispered back.

“You gonna eat that?” I asked, pointing to a sausage biscuit on a plate.

Andrew shoved it toward me and nodded toward the settee. “Was saving that for you.”

I understood the nod and joined Pat and Chrissy at the settee. “Andrew told you a little,” I began. “We can’t make you do this, but I’m sure Nick is going to want to know you’re alive before he hands over the money. It could be dangerous.”

“Will it help put him behind bars?” Pat asked coldly.

I glanced at Chrissy. She looked so vulnerable and beaten down. I couldn’t imagine the pain of knowing that her own father wanted her dead.

“Tony will get your father to say out loud what he wants Tony to do,” I began. “You’ll hear his words, and when he sees you and still hands the money to Tony, will you believe it then?”

Her eyes moistened and she nodded. “If he does that, he’s dead to me.”

“What do you want us to do?” Pat asked.

“We feel pretty strongly that he’ll have someone watching the boat and the dock area. You two will be in the forward stateroom, with the overhead hatch open. When Chyrel gives you the word, stand up in the hatch one at a time. But for no more than one second, you understand?” They both nodded. “I’ll be in the bridgetender’s house. From there, I can see everything going on. If I think there’s even the slightest hint of danger, I’ll call it off.”

“How will you see everything from up there?” Pat asked. “It’s a quarter mile away.”

I opened the Penn Reel case and took out the spotting scope that Ortiz would be using. “I’ll have an old friend with me, someone I’d trust with my own life. He’ll be my spotter, using this.” I opened the fly rod case, and the two stared at my M40 sniper rifle. “I’ll be watching with this.”

“Ahoy the boat!” I heard a voice from outside. “Permission to board?”

I went aft and opened the hatch, stepping down into the cockpit. Under the dock lights, Manuel Ortiz stood beside the rail. “I’m Marine Gunnery Sergeant Manuel Ortiz,” he said, apparently not recognizing me with my hair longer and a few weeks’ beard on my face. “I was ordered to report to a Special Agent Andrew Bourke. They said at the house I’d find you down here.”

“I’m not Bourke, Manny,” I said, grinning. “But welcome aboard.”

His mouth fell open a little and he stood staring for a moment. “Gunny McDermitt? Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here?”

As the others came out of the salon, Manny stepped over the gunwale beside me. We shook hands, pulling close and slapping one another on the back.

Turning to Andrew, I said, “This is Gunny Ortiz. One of the best spotters Force Recon ever produced. Manny, this is AIC Andrew Bourke.”

The wind hadn’t picked up yet and the bugs were fierce. So we went inside the salon, where I quickly introduced Manny to the others.

A few minutes later, Manny joined Andrew and me as we walked back up to the house and filled him in on what we were doing and what his role would be. “I thought you’d retired to the Keys and were living the good life,” Manny said. “You’re telling me you’re with DHS now?”

“It’s a really long story,” I replied. “We’ll have a few hours to catch up when we get to our hide.”

Inside, Andrew handed out earwigs to everyone, and we checked that the comm was working and the locators were pinging through Chyrel’s laptop. Each device had a tracking beacon that allowed her to see in real time where everyone was located.

The doorbell rang and I went to see who it was. Outside, a white Dodge sedan was parked in the driveway, the engine running. The man standing in front of me wore a uniform with sergeant’s stripes on the short sleeves.

“Are you the DHS agent I’m supposed to escort?”

“Jesse McDermitt,” I replied.

“May I see some identification, sir?”

Reaching in my hip pocket, I took out my new badge and ID and showed it to the sergeant.

“Sergeant Will Benton,” he said, handing my case back. “The sheriff himself called me, but said he didn’t know anything more than there would be a federal arrest at some time today.”

“I hope he also told you that even that information was confidential,” I said, stepping aside and waving him in.

“Yes, sir. He did. Will I know anything more than that?”

“The arrest will take place at noon on the dock at Waterfront Park. The subject is an important man, with many contacts and connections within the community. He’ll be delivering cash to pay for a murder. My spotter and I need access to the bridgetender’s house, and you’ll provide clearance for the bridgetender.”

“A spotter?” he asked as we walked toward the living room. “As in a sniper spotter?”

“We have reason to believe the subject might have an accomplice watching, possibly armed. It’ll be my job to locate him and ensure that there’s no interference.”

In the living room, I introduced Sergeant Benton to the others, then we said our goodbyes. “Be careful,” I told them all, but I was looking at Sheena when I said it.

Almost imperceptibly, she winked. Tony and Andrew walked to the door with us. Tony had shaved his face, except for the mustache and a little spot under his lip. He was a little darker-skinned than Whyte, and his eyes were much darker. But otherwise, he was the same size and now had the same basic look and mannerisms.

I handed the fly rod case to Manny. “I’ll be there in just a sec,” I told him and the deputy before turning to my two friends.

“I know,” Tony said. “I break it, I buy it.”

“It’s just a boat,” I told them both. “Be careful with Pat and Chrissy. If Chyrel or I see anything hinky, we’ll pull the plug and go after him from a different tack. Keep them completely hidden until Cross asks for proof of life. He might not, but something tells me he’s not a total dumbass.”

I shook hands with the two of them and went out to the waiting car. Climbing in the backseat, Manny handed the fly rod case to me. “Good to be working with you again, Gunny.”

“Same here,” I said.

“The older woman and the girl?” Benton asked. “You didn’t introduce them, but I know I’ve seen the woman somewhere before.”

“They’re the intended victims,” I said. “The man we’ll be arresting tried to put a contract on them, but it didn’t work out. At noon, he’ll be meeting one of our undercover agents to order another hit.”

“Who are the victims to the suspect?”

“The girl is his daughter,” I replied as the driver backed out of the driveway. “The woman, his late wife’s mother.”

“His own kid?” Manny asked incredulously. “What the hell kind of lowlife is this guy?”

“The lowest they come,” I replied. “A politician.”

T
he alarm on the upturned milk crate next to Swimp’s bed went off. The big man sluggishly got up and turned it off, ignoring the protestations of his wife.

“Get up and go fix some food,” he told the woman as he got dressed. “Me and the boys are leaving at first light.”

“Fix your own breakfast, asshole,” the woman said, rolling over and covering her head with a pillow.

She was Swimp’s second wife, the first having died mysteriously several years ago. A small woman, she was a few years younger than her husband and had arrived in the Lowcountry, broke and destitute, the same month that Swimp’s first wife died. In fact, the two of them had met only days before she died, and Swimp had moved her in the day after the funeral.

Grabbing her leg, Swimp hoisted her off the bed and deposited her headfirst on the hardwood floor. He kicked her hard in the ass with his bare foot and roared, “Now, bitch!”