Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (28 page)

“At least these aren’t any trouble,
nice and quiet. Not like that other one,” the taller of the two said.

“I’m glad we got rid of her,” the
shorter one said. “
Señor
Sergio can have her.”

“I’m gunna take a piss,” he
replied. “Make another pot of coffee, will ‘ya.”

The taller guy disappeared into the
head, while the smaller of the two picked up the cups and headed my way. There
was a coffee pot on a camp stove in front of me. It was now or never. I hoped I
could take him quietly. It would be messy if I couldn’t. He walked toward me.
The man was fifteen feet from me, then ten feet, then eight, then five. When he
was next to the desk, only an arm’s length away, I came down on the side of his
neck with the Beretta. The cold steel dropped him like a bag of yesterday’s
garbage. I aimed at the door to the john and closed the distance. I flung open
the bathroom door as the guy was zipping up.

“Make a sound and I’ll blow you
into next week. Get ‘em up.”

I sighted on the center of the
guy’s chest. He put his hands behind his neck.

“Where are they? I demanded through
clinched teeth.

He nodded toward the door he’d just
come through. “In there,” he said.

“Anyone else in there?” I demanded.

He shook his head.

I looked him directly in the eyes.
He was lying. “Turn around and step out here,” I said.

His hands still on his head, the
man turned around and backed out of the bathroom. I took his gun with my left
hand and dropped it on the floor.

“OK, show me who’s in there. You
lead the way.”

He opened the door and turned on
the light. The sight sickened me. There were dozens of filthy mattresses laid
out in rows. Nine nearly women were in the row nearest the door. Lia wasn’t
among them.

“On your knees, tough guy,” I said.
I put my Beretta against his head behind his right ear. “If I pull this trigger
you won’t even hear the sound. Get me?”

He nodded carefully.

“There was a redhead here. She’s
about twenty, 5’ 10’, green eyes. You picked her up Friday night.
Where…is…she?” I emphasized each of the last three words with a bump from the
Beretta’s muzzle against the guy’s head.

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m pissed off and I’m not patient
man,” I warned. “Tell me now or I’ll ask one of the other guys-after I’ve blown
you all over the room.”

“Sebastian-he took her,” he
stuttered.

“Where-where did he take her?” I
asked.

“To his boat-he took her to his
boat. Melbourne I think, maybe Canaveral. I don’t know,” the man said. “He left
an hour ago. She was trouble, always fighting, refusing to eat. He said he
wanted to play with her before he got rid of her.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You get to
live.” He relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. I felt a sneer cross my lips
as I struck him in the cervical plexus. He was out cold, but alive.
Now,
what do I do about the other two guys?
Then it came to me. I pulled out my
radio and said, “Get Stan and EMS out here ASAP. There’s going to be some
noise, so stay put.”

The radio came alive, but I ignored
it. I fired off two quick shots. The front window exploded, effectively marking
my location. I took cover and waited. The shouts of alarm from two rooms away
were immediate. A moment after that, two men came barreling through the door
each with a piece in his hand. I fired from my hiding place beneath the
unconscious guard. I dropped each of them with double taps to the chest.
Two
dead, two out cold
-
I really hadn’t lost my touch.

I emerged from beneath the
cold-cocked guard. There was no need to check the two I’d shot. I knelt next to
the woman closest to me who lay on her back, her arms and legs spread. She was
about twenty with short dark hair, a slim waist, and full breasts. Her ripped
blouse was soaked with sweat and her panties were torn.

I shook her shoulder and said,
“Hey, wake up. You’re safe.”

She moaned, turned toward me then
her head lolled to the side, and she checked out again.
Drugged, they’ve all
been drugged.
I put two fingers to her carotid. Her heartbeat was slow but
steady.
I hope she’ll be able to tell the cops what happened.
I was
checking on a second unconscious woman, I heard a car pull up outside.

“Mac, Mac, are you are you OK?” Ben
yelled as he burst through the broken window, glass crunching under his feet.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “You were a
Medic. Check out these women.”

Ben headed for another woman when
he spotted the bodies in the doorway. “For God’s sake, Mac, did you leave anyone
alive?”

“These women are alive, but just
barely. As for the scumbags, I’m two for two,” I replied. “Did you call Stan?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “the Sheriff’s
Office should be here any minute.”

“I have to get going then,” I said.

“What? Get going-you can’t go,” he
said.

“Sebastian took Lia,” I said. “The
cops will be questioning us for hours. I’ve got to go before they get here. You
guys will have to explain to the cops.”

“We can handle it,” Marco said as
he stepped through the broken window. Roscoe was right behind him, his .45 in
his hand. I could see the joy evaporate from his face when he didn’t see Lia.

“She’s not here, Roscoe,” I said.
“Sebastian took her.”

“Damn! Are we going after him?”
Roscoe said.

“I am, you’re going to stay here to
take the heat,” I said. “Are you OK with that?”

“Do I have a choice?” he said.

“At least we know she was alive an
hour ago. I have to get going. You,” I pointed at Roscoe, “secure that piece.
The cops are going to go batshit over this mess. If they see you with that,
they’ll shoot first and not even ask questions.”

A sudden noise killed all
conversation. I put my finger to my lips and pointed to the door to my right.
Checking on the captive women had distracted me from clearing the last room. It
was a rookie mistake. I motioned for Ben and Marco to take cover. Roscoe went
to the left side of the door while I moved to the right. When we were in place,
I nodded to Roscoe. He reached across, opened the door, and threw it open.

Five rapid-fire shots came from the
dark opening. I could see the flashes about ten feet into the room, centered on
the doorway. When the firing stopped I called out, “The cops are on the way.
Give yourself up.”

The person in the room cranked off
two more rounds from the same spot. I dove diagonally through the door, rolled
to the left, and fired twice at where I’d seen the flashes. I heard a stifled
cry and a gasp. I’d hit my target. I fished the flashlight out of my pocket.
When I touched the switch, the beam fell on a body not five feet in front of me.
I crouched next to the door, covering the room. There was no movement or sound,
just the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder.

I flipped on the light. I cleared
the rest of the room and when I was sure it was safe I called out, “It’s clear.
Watch your step.”

My three buddies met me at the feet
of our assailant. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“It’s a girl!” Roscoe exclaimed.

“And a damn pretty one too, at
least she was,” Ben said.

“Yeah, she’d be a damn sight
prettier without those two holes in her chest,” Roscoe said.

Marco, hands folded, was saying a
prayer. If he was giving thanks for our survival or for the soul of the girl
lying in a pool of her own blood, I couldn’t be say.

“Do you know who she is?” Roscoe
asked.

“It’s Hannah London,” I replied. “I
talked to her last week. She was a student at UCF and the one that went to
Nassau with my missing girl, Jennifer Summers.”

“I think I’ve see her before,”
Roscoe said.

“What’s she doing here?” Ben asked.

“And shooting at us,” Roscoe added.

“She’s dead-that’s what she’s doing,”
I said. “Who the hell knows what it means.”

Despite my words, I had a pretty
damn good idea what it meant. Hannah was the woman I’d seen arguing with Randi
the night of the Sheriff’s Award Program. I pushed past my buddies, headed
toward my Honda.

“You’ll need these,” Ben said as he
tossed me the Honda keys. “If they don’t lock us all up, we’ll leave the car at
your place.”

“Thanks,” I said. My buddies
followed me to the car. “Keep them focused on those women in there. It’ll keep
them busy. When Stan gets here, he’ll sort it out.”

“What do you want us to tell him?”
Roscoe said.

“Tell him Sebastian has Lia and a
head start. He’ll understand,” I said.

“He’ll be pissed,” Roscoe replied.

“If Sebastian gets away on that yacht,
he’ll feed Lia to the fish,” I said.

“We’ve got you covered, brother,”
Roscoe said.

“You better get going,” Ben said.

“Thanks guys,” I replied.

I jumped behind the wheel of the
Honda and drove across the street. A moment later, I peeled out in the Camaro.
I could see red and blue lights in the distance so I got off Orange Blossom
Trail and headed north to pick up the Beeline expressway toward the coast. I
needed time to think. Melbourne or Canaveral-both cities were on the water.
Canaveral had the cruise ship port too.
Sebastian wouldn’t go to Melbourne.
It’s not ritzy enough.
An idea hit me. I dialed Agent Hilton hoping he’d
answer at the crack of dawn.

“Hilton,” he said.

“Agent Hilton, Mac Everett. Any
news?” I asked.

“Nothing yet,” he said. He sounded
as though he hadn’t been to bed. “They’re hitting the place just before first
light,” he said.

“That’s not long,” I said, looking
at my watch. It was five AM. “I located nine women here in Orlando.”

“Oh great,” he said. “How’s your
friend?”

“She wasn’t there,” I said. “Sergio
Sebastian took her about an hour before I got there. He’s the one behind this.”

“Damn,” Hilton said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “He’s
taking her to his yacht, but I don’t know where to look. I wondered…”

“Maybe I can help with that,” he
said. “What’s the vessel’s name?”

“
Wind Chaser
,” I said.

“A lot of the high end vessels use
passive GPS tracking systems,” He said. “It’s Lojack for boats. I’m logging
into my computer now.”

“What? “ I said. “You’re at your
office?”

“I’ve been waiting for word on the
raid. There,” he said. “I have accounts with a dozen tracking companies. This
is a big yacht, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s big,” I said.

“I’ll check the high end suppliers
first,” he said.

I heard him typing and muttering to
himself.

“It’s not Blue Point,” he said.
“Gold Cloud, that’s an expensive service.”

“How does it work?” I asked.

“The owner installs a GPS
transponder and registers it with the manufacturer. The GPS signal becomes a
locator for a stolen vessel. There’s nowhere to hide from a satellite.”

“Damn-the wonders of technology,” I
said.

“It’s not Garmin either,” he said.

“How many companies are there?” I
asked.

“Hold on,” he said. “I think this
is it, motor yacht W
ind Chaser
, overall length-151 feet, beam-30 feet,
maximum cruising speed-13 knots, and a crew of ten. Does that sound like the
right one?”

“Does it list the owner?” I asked.

I heard the clicking of keys.

“Colombian Packing, say…Sebastian’s
from Colombia, isn’t he?” Hilton asked.

“He is and that’s one of his companies,”
I said. “Where’s…”

“She’s at the Space Coast Marina in
Cocoa Beach off the West Cocoa Beach Causeway.”

“How would they get to the ocean
from there?” I asked.

“They’d go through Port Canaveral.
It’s about ten miles north.”

“Call me if…?”

“If she moves I’ll call,” he said.

“You’ve been a big help,” I said.
“Thanks.”

The beeping on my phone meant I had
another call. I didn’t need three guesses figure out who it was.

“Hilton, I’ve got to go. Stay in
touch,” I said.

I fumbled with the phone and
connected the second call.

“Hey, Stan,” I said.

“Who the hell do you think you
are,” Stan screamed. “I’m filing felony murder warrants for all four of you
Bozos. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“You’re doing all the talking,” I
said. “I’ve got one chance to get Lia back alive.”

“So you’ve gone all noble now, have
you?” he shouted. “I’ve got three bodies to account for and no one in custody.
One of them is a UCF coed, for God’s sake.”

“That’s Hannah London. She’s the
one who supposedly disappeared with Jennifer Summers and Sergio Sebastian on
the
Wind Dancer
,” I replied. “Officially, she was already dead.”

“I suppose you think that’s funny.
How’s she tied up in this,” he demanded, “What’s Randi Massey got to do with
this? Her office is next to a damn holding cell for kidnap victims. She had to
know about it. Oh crap, you and I were in her office on Saturday.”

The fact he and I had been feet
from a group of abducted women hadn’t escaped me.

“And we didn’t suspect a thing, did
we? I don’t have the answers yet, but Lia is my first priority,” I said. “Can
you check s with the LA County Sheriff’s Office about Randi for me?”

“You drop shit around for me to
clean up and then ask for favors?” You’re a real piece of work, Everett, a real
piece of work. How about this, why don’t you turn yourself in to the nearest
police station? Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m on the way to get Lia or die
trying,” I said. “You’re a good friend Stan. I’m sorry to do you this way, but
that’s just the way it has to…”

“Don’t give me that,” he roared.
“This is about you being a cowboy. Well, this time…”

I hit end and cut him off. I didn’t
blame Stan for being pissed, but the road to a clear head didn’t include
arguing with Stan.

The first rays of orange appeared
over the ocean as I started across the Banana River on the West Cocoa Beach
Causeway.
A new day and one last chance to save Lia’s life
. According to
the GPS, I was minutes from the Space Coast Marina when Agent Hilton called
again.

“Everett, the
Wind Chaser
has left the dock,” Hilton said. “This is real time information so I should be
able to see her direction soon.”

“Is there any way to stop them?” I
asked.

“Not without probable cause.
They’re in US waters,” he said.

“Hilton, work with me. What if say
you had an anonymous tip there are drugs or terrorists on board.”

“The information has to be
creditable and…”

“There’s no time for that,” I
snapped. “We just raided a place with nine abducted woman. Sergio escaped with
my friend and he’s going to kill her.”

The phone went silent for a moment
and then he said, “I’ll see what I can do. Oh Everett…the Bahamians rescued a
dozen women on Eleuthera. No casualties.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be in
touch.”

The marina was on the east end of
the causeway on the right. I slowed, went right onto a service road and then
right again into the marina parking lot. I sped past a franticly waving
security guard, and came to a stop at the end of a pier. The security guard’s
golf cart flew up next to me and he started beating on the window. He was a
chunky older guy, a frown etched into the corners of his mouth. The pocket of
his rumpled blue uniform shirt was embroidered, BOB. I rolled down the window
ready for his barrage.

“You can’t be here,” he shouted.
“This area is only for owners. You can watch from the bridge, but you can’t be
here. It’s private.”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I wanted
to say good-bye to my friends on the
Wind Chaser
.”

“If they’re your friends, I’m calling
the cops,” he said. “They just sailed off without paying their bill, $2,800
worth of marine diesel,
and
their dockage fee. That’s them, there.”

He pointed at a huge white yacht
leaving the marina basin.

“They were in an all fired hurry to
leave for some reason,” he said.

I could see the
Wind Chaser
slowly
entering the Banana River. I was too late. As I watched hope sail away, I beat
on the steering wheel, “Damn,” I shouted.

Then it came to me. “Did you say
bridge?”

“Yeah, the causeway bridge, over there,”
he pointed in the direction I’d just come. “People stop to watch the big ones
all the time,” he said. “The road’s wide enough to pull over and get a good
look.”

“You
should
call the cops,”
I said. “Maybe the Coast Guard too. Those guys are crooks. You can’t let them
rip you off like that. I gotta go.”

“Yeah, who do they think they
are…?”

The rest of what he said was lost
as I gunned the Camaro kicking up sand and gravel as I sped back across the
parking lot. I made a left onto the causeway and punched it. The Camaro’s 450
slammed me against the seat. I hadn’t paid attention earlier but the roadway
soared to allow boats to pass without a drawbridge. When I got to the top, I
pulled over. Looking south, I could see the
Wind Chaser
approaching. I
glanced down at the water. It was a long way.

The yacht was picking up speed as
it approached the causeway. White foam was starting to froth at her bow. I
could see the yacht through the roadway’s steel lattice as it passed under the
bridge span. The damn thing was huge, three decks soaring forty or fifty feet
above the water. Radars and antennas cluttered a raised bridge in the center of
the topmost level. Open areas, some covered by colorful sunshades, were in
front and behind the towering electronics array. I could see tables and chairs,
a spa and maybe a bar. It was going to be tight. I pulled myself onto the
concrete abutment and waited. I’ve fast roped out of helos and jumped out of
perfectly good airplanes. I didn’t like either experience. As the
Wind
Chaser
passed maybe thirty feet beneath the bridge, I jumped.

I sailed downward, the wind
whistling in my ears. Panic caught in my throat as I fell for an eternity. I
tore through one of the sunshades, crashed onto a table, splintering it and then
rolled like a bowling ball making a strike among the deck chairs. My battered
ribs sent a searing reminder straight through me stealing my breath. Stars
danced in my head. I panted as I pulled myself together. Shouts somewhere below
me banished any thought of licking my wounds. I shook my head to clear the
cobwebs and drew my Beretta.

I took cover by the side of the
Jacuzzi to get my bearings. I was in the midst of a gaggle of scattered chairs.
I’d landed on the back section of the upper most deck. There was no one in
sight. As I wondered what to do next, the sound of running feet made the
decision for me. I hunkered down behind the Jacuzzi.

Two barefoot guys in khaki shorts
and black polo shirts appeared at the top of some stairs to my right. The one in
the lead was nervous. The second one was holding a .38 and urging his buddy
ahead.

“See, something fell off the
bridge. I told you,” the first one said. “It fell through the awning and onto
the table.”

“Well, where is it then? The second
one asked, still cowering on the stairs.

“How the hell do I know?” the first
guy said. “Maybe it went over the side.”

“There’s a first time for
everything, I guess,” the other replied. “See how much damage there is,” he
said from the head of the stairs.

Then a voice crackled on the radio.
“What’s going on up there, Rick?” the voice said.

“It looks like something fell off
the bridge, Captain,” Rick, the one with the gun said. “The aft table is
smashed, one of the awnings is ripped, and the chairs are scattered.”

“What was it?” the captain asked.

“I can’t tell,” Rick replied. “It
must have fallen off the bridge and gone over the side.”

“All right,” the captain said.
“I’ll send Gunter up to check it out later. Clean up as best you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Rick replied. “Come
on,” he said to his companion. “Let’s get to work.”

I crept around behind them as the
two cut down the damaged awning. They started picking up the debris and
shifting the wood chairs. The one with the radio and the gun was letting the
other guy do most of the work. He was my target.

The sound of two guys rearranged
the deck chairs covered my approach. The leader turned toward the Jacuzzi to
pluck something out. In a New York minute, I grabbed a handful of hair, pulled
his head back, and slammed it forward. His face exploded in red on the side of
the Jacuzzi. He crumpled to the deck, unconscious.

The second guy looked up to find
himself staring down the barrel of my Beretta. He couldn’t take his eyes off
the barrel of my gun. His hands instinctively shot over his head.

“Want to live?” I asked.

He nodded.

I picked up Rick’s gun and radio. I
tucked the radio into my back pocket and tossed the .38 over the side.

“He slipped,” I said. “How many
crew on this tub?” I demanded.

“Four, me and him,” he nodded at
the unconscious man, “the Captain and Gunter the Engineer,” he stuttered. “We
have a skeleton crew this trip.”

“Well, you’re down one more now,” I
said. “Any of them are armed?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

His eyes darted down and right. It
was a lie.

“Passengers-how many passengers?
Are any of them armed?” I asked.

“Five guests,” he said, “two men
and three women. One of the women is…”

“Spit it out, one of them is what?”

“She’s…in the engine room,” he
said. “The owner…Mr. Sebastian, brought her on board this morning.”

His eyes were shifty, no eye
contact. He was lying about something, but I needed him.

“Is she a redhead, about twenty?” I
asked.

“Might be,” he replied. “I heard
yelling and came to look. Mr. Munoz ordered…”