Fallen King: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 6) (20 page)

Carl Junior went to his dad and climbed onto his lap before Carl spoke. “I found Charlie on the floor and went to her, but then I just went black.”

Marty opened the door and leaned in. “Everyone’s waking up. Everything okay here?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Kim said.

“Yeah, we’re okay, Marty,” Carl said. “When’d you get here?”

“Captain Trent?” Marty stepped fully into the room. “I didn’t recognize you earlier. Kim and I just got back from supper.”

Carl looked confused for a moment, then seemed to shake it off and stood up. “The others?”

“Knocked out, like you.”

“Go ahead,” Charlie said. “We’re all fine. Give us a minute to get the kids back to bed and we’ll come out and help.”

Kim joined Marty and they went out to the clearing together. The little light escaping from the curtains did little to illuminate the area, but a full moon had just risen above the trees and it was lighter.

They saw Hinkle standing by the table talking to Travis and walked over to them as the others started coming out of the bunkhouses. As they walked up, Marty noticed what looked like a propane tank standing on the table.

“Fentanyl,” Travis said. “That explains it.”

“Ain’t that the stuff the Russians used a coupla years ago?” Hinkle said. “The Dubrovka Theater?”

“Yeah,” Travis replied as Kim and Marty stepped up to the table. “A hundred and thirty hostages and all forty terrorists were killed by it. Where’d you find this?”

“Floating on the bank next to the foot of the pier, Colonel.”

Travis stood up and wobbled a little, as the rest of the team gathered around them. “Heavier than air gas,” he said. “Must have been someone in scuba gear who released it on the north side, letting the breeze carry it over the whole island. Who was first to wake up?”

“The dog,” Marty replied. “Up on the deck.”

“Makes sense,” Bourke offered. “Had he been down here, he’d have been out longer. The rest of us were already asleep and didn’t even notice it. How long were you knocked out?”

Art checked his watch and said, “Tony and I just started our watch twenty-four minutes ago. I don’t remember anything after my first circuit out to the north pier and back to where Donnie found me, and I woke up just a few minutes ago.”

“So we were only out for fifteen or twenty minutes,” Travis said. “They can’t have gone far.”

“The dive boat!” Kim said.

“What dive boat?”

“When Marty and I turned into Harbor Channel, there was a dive boat running without lights out beyond the Contents. The water’s deeper out there and it was headed east.” She crossed her arms and looked from Travis to the others. Choking back a sob, she asked, “Where’s my dad?”

Travis got up and walked over to where Kim stood, gently guiding her to the bench and sitting her down. “We’ll find Jesse, Kim. You have my word on that.”

Charity sat down and put her arm around the girl. “We will.”

Travis looked at Chyrel. “Get Deuce on the horn.” Turning to Marty, he said, “Deputy, can you contact the sheriff? We need eyes in the sky. Did you see the dive boat as well?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll give dispatch a description and we’ll have choppers up out of Marathon, Key Largo, and Key West right away.”

Travis reached into his pocket and took out a business card, handing it to Marty. “Give the sheriff my number. Have him call me right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Marty replied, taking the card and running across the clearing.

Travis slowly turned around toward Bender. “They came early, Paul. And covertly.”

“They must have had a plan ahead of time. It’s only twenty-one-thirty. Lavolier and Horvac couldn’t possibly have moved that fast. In fact, they should only have arrived in Marathon by now.”

“Andrew,” Travis said, “Get on the horn to the Coast Guard. Let them know one of our agents has been kidnapped.”

“Linda!” Kim said. “Somebody has to call her.”

“Do you have her number?” Tony asked calmly, sitting next to Charity with a nod of his head toward the chopper. “We’ll call her together. Charity has to get up in the air.”

As Charity rose and headed toward the chopper, Tony helped Kim to her feet and started toward Chyrel’s office, which was now all lit up.

“Donnie, go with Andrew in the chopper,” Travis ordered and then turned to Bourke. “Andrew, coordinate with the Coast Guard and the sheriff’s birds from the air. Have the sheriff’s office pass the boat’s description to every law enforcement agency between here and Miami.”

“I’m here in Marathon now.” Deuce was talking to Chyrel using the video function on his sat-phone. “We just landed.”

Stockwell’s face appeared next to Chyrel sitting down at the desk. “Jesse’s been kidnapped, Deuce.”

“What? How? When?”

“We found an eighteen-liter tank of fentanyl by the north pier. They came ashore somehow and released the gas, letting the wind carry it across the island. It knocked everyone out.”

“Is anyone hurt? That’s dangerous stuff.”

On the tiny screen, Deuce could see Art step into the office behind Stockwell. “Colonel, we found the spot where they came ashore. Looks like three men in either canoes or kayaks. A pair of fins were stuffed in a nearby mangrove root where they beached two boats.”

“No,” Stockwell replied after a moment’s thought. “Nobody hurt and it doesn’t appear that anything else has been disturbed. Everyone here’s a little groggy, but alright. Canoes or kayaks would have been seen—way too much water to cross with no cover. My guess is a scuba diver or snorkeler carried the canister over and was picked up, along with Jesse, by the small boats. The effects of the gas only lasted about fifteen minutes.”

“That’s about how long it’d take to paddle ashore from deeper water. They must have had a larger boat out there.”

Stockwell described the dive boat Kim had seen, relaying the information as she sat on the bunk talking on Tony’s sat-phone. Outside, he could hear the Huey starting up.

“We have a Monroe Deputy out here, a friend of Jesse’s daughter. He’s relaying the information to the sheriff’s office and says they’ll have helos up out of Marathon, Key West, and Key Largo in minutes.”

“We’re still at the airport,” Deuce replied. “Heading out to the jet now. We’ll be in the air about the same time.”

“Wait, Deuce,” Stockwell said. “The sheriff’s chopper has to be taking off from there. The jet’s useless out here, except as command and control.”

“Roger that, Colonel. We’ll locate and join the sheriff’s chopper. It won’t have room for all of us, so I suggest we put the jet up with its long range radar. I can put two men aboard to coordinate the chopper search. We refueled when we landed, so they can stay aloft for hours.”

“Good idea,” Stockwell replied. “The rest of you join with the sheriff’s helo and head due north. Charity is lifting off now with Donnie and Andrew aboard and will be headed east. We find the boat and converge, force it to stop and board it from the birds.”

Within minutes, the G-5 was rolling down the taxiway with priority clearance. Deuce quickly found the sheriff’s chopper with the help of someone with the airport’s fixed-base operator. Identifying himself to the deputy on board, he soon got the okay from the sheriff’s office and the chopper was in the air.

Sitting in the copilot’s seat, Deuce adjusted the headset’s mic boom. “Head due north. We’re looking for a dive boat about thirty feet, with a full hard top, open on the sides.”

“Roger,” the pilot replied. “But you know that describes about half the hundred or more dive boats that operate out of this area.”

“How many of them will be out at this time?”

“A lot more than you’d think. Night diving is pretty popular in the backcountry. Still lobster season for another six weeks.”

His phone pinged a message. It was from Bourke, asking him the frequency the sheriff’s chopper was on. He glanced at the radio mounted in the dash and typed in the numbers, sending the message to both Bourke and Kumar Sayef aboard the Gulfstream. A moment later, Bourke’s baritone voice boomed through the headset, “CCC Air Two to sheriff’s helo.”

Expecting it, Deuce grabbed the mic before the pilot could. “Andrew, this is Deuce. Where are you?”

“Just lifted off the island, bearing zero niner zero at one thousand feet.”

“We’re headed due north,” Deuce responded. “Should intercept you in four minutes.”

“CCC Air One, we’re aloft,” Kumar’s voice came over the headset from the Gulfstream. “We’ll begin circling counterclockwise at ten thousand feet, searching by radar. Deuce, Goodman can already see a half dozen small craft on the bay.”

Kumar Sayef was a Delta Force First Sergeant, before being hired by DHS for his linguistic skills. With him was Ralph Goodman, a former Maritime Enforcement Specialist Petty Officer with the Coast Guard and airborne electronics technician.

“Deuce, this is Ralph,” Goodman’s voice interrupted. “We now have twenty-one possible bogeys, most all of them in the size range you described. If you take a heading of three four zero you’ll be over the first one in two minutes. Andrew, turn to a heading of zero seven niner two miles out—you’ll see the second nearest one. We’ll just have to eliminate them one by one.”

That’s a lot of boats
, Deuce thought. Knowing the search could take all night, he called Director Stockwell. “A lot of boats out here, Colonel. Do you have any better description?”

In the background he heard Kim’s voice. “It had a white top that ran all the way to the stern and it was running without lights. Big bow flares like the
Revenge
.”

“Dive boat dead ahead,” the pilot said.

Looking out through the windshield, Deuce soon saw the boat. It was anchored, with lots of lights on. Seconds later, they came to a hover ahead of the boat. It had a white top that only covered the bridge and half of the deck.

“I know that boat,” the pilot said. “It’s Jeff Rockport, he’s a fisherman. Runs a charter boat out of Crawl Key.”

“That’s not it,” Deuce said and keyed the mic. “No joy, Ralph. Open cockpit fisherman. He’s anchored up.”

Goodman gave him a new heading and the chopper turned, flying off toward the next boat. For the next two hours, the two choppers, augmented by two more from Key West and Key Largo, painstakingly checked boat after another, all taking direction from the men in the Gulfstream.

“Agent Livingston?” the pilot said.

Deuce knew what he was about to say. He’d been watching the fuel gauge and knew they were running low. “Head back to the airport,” he told the pilot. “We’ll refuel and get back out here.”

Taking his sat-phone from his pocket, he called Stockwell with the news. “We’re bingo fuel, Colonel. Returning to Marathon.”

“Roger that, Deuce. Charity is headed there in a few minutes. They’re checking one more boat first. The other two choppers will have to pull off in a few minutes as well. The Coast Guard and sheriff have three patrol boats in the area, with more coming. The patrol boats are intercepting three more boats that Kumar identified as possible bogeys. It’s been three hours, Deuce. They could be anywhere.”

“How’s Kim?”

“As expected. Nervous. But she’s pulled the UHF radio from one of the boats and is hooking it up here. We’ll be on in just a minute. Agent Rosales is en route, arriving at Marathon airport in minutes. Charity is picking her up and bringing her here.”

“The sun will be up in four hours, Colonel. There’ll be a lot more boats out there before then. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack out here.”

Linda Rosales pulled into the entrance to Marathon airport, the tires on the department’s big sedan protesting with an audible screech. She didn’t bother with finding a parking spot and sped past the main parking area into the passenger pickup and cab stand area. She came to a sudden stop behind two taxis, Cheapo and Keys Hopper. Placing an FDLE placard under the wiper blade, she hurried through the first terminal entrance and looked around.

The airport was small, with only a single departure and arrival gate, manned by a sleepy-looking TSA agent. She flashed her badge and asked where the sheriff’s helicopter would be refueling. He gave her directions and she hurried through the security area and out onto the tarmac. Turning left, she could hear a helicopter starting up and picked up her pace.

Approaching the FBO under the yellow lights that illuminated the parking apron, a sheriff’s helicopter lifted off and turned toward the taxiway. Just beyond where it had taken off from, she saw a black helicopter with dark windows and hurried toward it.

When she got there, the fuel truck operator was just finishing fueling. She’d only met a few people connected with Deuce’s counterterrorism team, but these were obviously part of it. Two very serious-looking men, one who looked like a blond bear and another man dressed in full black, were talking with a tall, short-haired woman a few years younger than herself.
Charity Styles
, Linda thought, remembering meeting her briefly a few months earlier on Elbow Cay.

As she approached, the big man turned to her and spoke with a deep voice, like he was in a barrel. “I’m Andrew Bourke,” the man said, extending his hand and shaking hers. “You’ve met our pilot, Charity Styles, and this is Donnie Hinkle. We’ll take you to the island before resuming the search.”

“I haven’t talked to anyone since Kim called me, two hours ago.”

“Climb aboard, Linda,” Charity said, shaking Linda’s hand. “We’re ready to go. Tony’s with her and we’ll fill you in on the way out there.”

Linda climbed in back of the Huey and turned to the other man. “Have you heard anything more?” As Charity started the engine, he pointed to the headset he was wearing and another on the bulkhead in front of her. She put on the headset and repeated the question.

“A lot of boats out there,” the man named Hinkle explained in a lyrical Australian accent. “But don’t worry, love. We’ll find him.”

The big helicopter rose into the air, the nose dropping as soon as they were airborne. It moved quickly along the short taxiway, gaining speed. Charity made a climbing turn over the runway and then flew out over the water, turning northwest.

Linda could just make out the sheriff’s chopper heading northeast with its spotlight piercing the black sky creating a circle of light on the water below. The moon was past its zenith and starting down toward the western horizon, where she could see a bright star just about to fade into the sea.

Is that Neptune?
she thought.
No, too late in the night.
She remembered Rusty telling them, while they were on Cape Sable, that the King of the Sea fell into the ocean just a few hours after sunset this time of year.

She couldn’t help but think that if Jesse were here, he’d know what star it was. In the darkness of the chopper she shed a quiet tear born of fear. Wiping her eyes with a handkerchief from her purse, she sat forward in the seat, looking ahead with anticipation.

Charity quickly gave her the details of the previous evening and the search up to now. Linda had met quite a few men over the years, but none that she thought were as tough as Jesse. Not tough in a valiant, or violent sort of way. He had an inner strength that had borne him through a lot of tough things in his life.
This one isn’t any different
, she assured herself.

The flight to Jesse’s island only took a few minutes. The little mangrove-covered key stood out against the dark islands and black sea surrounding it, like a ship floating on the water. Lights emanated from all four structures, filling the center of the island with enough light to see the ground. Torches were burning on the four corners of the island, marking the inside edge of the dense mangroves that surrounded the fringe.

As they descended toward it, she could easily make out Jesse’s flags flying on the flagpole, illuminated by a solar-powered light mounted on top of the pole. She’d never seen it from the air, only from the boats. On the water’s surface it was nearly impossible to tell it from the dozens of others scattered over hundreds of square miles. From the air, however, it was hard to miss. Seeing the flags, Charity adjusted course to approach the island into the north wind.

Looking down as they flew over the side of the house, Linda could see someone on the deck, headed down the front steps and wondered who it was and how many people were here.

“We’ll only be on the ground for a second, Linda,” a voice said over the headphones she wore. Andrew turned in the front seat and faced her. “We’ll find him. You have my word.”