Storm Season (10 page)

“We had some interesting friends.” He took a sip of the liquor. To the Senator he said, “If these old acquaintances have been coming around to me, they might be bothering George, too.”

“He hasn’t said anything.” She caught herself and added, “But of course, he wouldn’t say anything to me.”

Tully rolled his eyes. She had been talking in carefully measured phrases all day. He wasn’t going to sit here and listen to them water down the details and talk around the facts.

“So you and George ran drugs,” Tully said bluntly and both of them stared at him as though he had walked into a cocktail party naked. “Let me guess. A Columbian cartel.”

Still, neither responded.

“Which means, probably cocaine, right?” Tully continued, pretending he knew the facts as he guessed.

Did they think he was stupid? The Senator had been screwing with him all afternoon, doling out information ounce by ounce. That was fine until a dead guy showed up.

“No disrespect intended, Senator Delanor-Ramos,” he tamped down his impatience. “Whether you want to admit it or not, your husband is involved in something. And it looks like it’s going to be messy for you politically.”

She was staring at him. Her jaw clamped tight, her lipstick long gone. She had peeled out of her soaking-wet jacket but the rest of her clothing was also damp. Hair dripping and yet her hand dashed up to swipe back a disheveled strand. She didn’t look any closer to budging on the truth.

Tully had never understood what he referred to as “the political class,” and in the past he was grateful his dealings with them were few and far between. In Tully’s opinion, they lived by an obscene creed that defied logic. A creed that raised ideologies and self-preservation above common sense. But his new boss, Assistant Director Raymond Kunze, had carved out a career by doing favors – or, as Tully believed, by sucking up to select congressmen and Senators. Tully and Maggie had spent over a year trying to function by Kunze’s ridiculous criteria.

“Are you willing to sacrifice your children for your husband?” Tully asked. This seemed to get her attention. “Are you willing to sacrifice all of them for your political career?”

“You have no right to judge me,” she snapped.

“Ellie,” Howard said, putting a hand over hers and making it disappear but with the gentlest of touches. “Agent Tully’s trying to help. And he’s right. This is serious.” Then he looked up at Tully. “What would you like to know?”

“You and George. What was it? Twenty-five years ago? Thirty? Florida was a major trafficking route.”

“It’s starting to be, again,” Howard said. “A couple of the cartels are reclaiming old trafficking channels. The Sinaloa and the Zetas are warring over the routes through Juarez and Tijuana. A tremendous amount of resources have been focused on the Mexican border.” Howard shrugged. “Suddenly the Gulf of Mexico and the Florida coastline are looking very good once again.”

“And your old cartel?” Tully asked.

“They’re calling themselves
Choque Azul
now. Let’s just say improvisation was always one of their greatest assets. Did you see in the news, somewhere off the coast of Columbia a submarine was found?”

“Yeah, I remember reading something about that.”

“The U.S. military almost immediately suspected the Russians. Maybe Chavez.” Howard shook his head and smiled. “I’m pretty certain it was my old cartel. They’ve been looking for new vessels, new transports. Three or four months ago DEA confiscated a fishing boat off the shore of Puerto Rico. Nine hundred twenty-five pounds of cocaine was seized. They found the bags under a boatload of mahi-mahi. That doesn’t stop them. It’s big business.

“A kilo of cocaine in the highlands of Columbia or Peru is worth about two thousand dollars. In Mexico that same kilo goes to ten thousand. Jump the border to the U.S. and it’s suddenly worth thirty thousand. By the time it’s broken down into grams to distribute for retail, that same kilo is now one hundred thousand dollars.

“That much money involved, it’s a whole lot easier to keep finding ways to fool the DEA and the Coast Guard than to battle the Zetas and Sinaloa. The Zetas . . .” Howard stopped and studied Senator Delanor-Ramos. “Well, you know from your congressional panels that it’s nasty business these days.”

But her eyes had wandered out to the storm. Her fingers of both hands wrapped around the glass, but Tully hadn’t seen her take a sip.

“The Zetas,” Howard continued. “A bunch of them got their start in this business as bodyguards for the Gulf cartels. Our bodyguards.” He laughed. “They’re a bunch of thugs is what they are. Years ago people got in the way, they just disappeared. Used to be rumors that all the drug cartels had vats of lye. They were discreet about their kills. But this new bunch?”

He glanced at the Senator again. She hadn’t moved.

“They pride themselves,” Howard said, “in using bloodshed to send their messages. Beheadings, dismemberments . . . anything to shock and awe, not only to warn their enemies but also the civilian populations in the areas where they hide in plain sight.”

“Taking my family,” Senator Delanor-Ramos suddenly said. “Taking George and the houseboat. Do you suppose it’s some sort of revenge or punishment for him not giving in to them?”

Tully wanted to ask why she thought George hadn’t given in to them. But of course, he already knew why. He was her husband. However, it made perfect sense to Tully now that the situation might be quite the opposite. Not revenge. Not punishment. Was it possible that George Ramos was allowing his old drug cartel friends to use his houseboat?

He remembered the stories Howard was referring to. Tully had read about the speedboats coming into the Gulf and dumping crates and containers of drugs into the water. Then they bribed fisherman to pick them up. He hadn’t thought about submarines. And actually it was a brilliant idea to use a family’s houseboat. Even more brilliant in a storm like this?

The Coast Guard’s response would be limited. If they did come across the houseboat their first concern would be that the family had gotten caught in the storm. A cutter would make sure they were returned safely, never suspecting that below deck there might be hundreds of pounds of cocaine stashed from a delivery in the middle of the Gulf.

That’s when his cell phone finally rang. It startled him after being quiet all afternoon.

“R.J. Tully.”

“Agent Tully, this is Commander Wilson.” His voice sounded clipped and mechanical.

“You’re back.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t heard from Agent O’Dell yet. How did it go?”

The Coast Guard pilot went silent.

“Commander Wilson?”

“Agent O’Dell didn’t return with us.”

“YOUR WIFE SENT US looking for you, Mr. Ramos,” Maggie had told the man after his son had left the steering house.

George had sent the boy back to his cabin with the promise that he would buy him his own X-box to have all to himself. Before the boy left, George said, “Just don’t tell your mom.” And the boy grinned like it was a familiar game. Maggie wondered how many other things the boy wasn’t supposed to tell his mother.

Now he said to Maggie, “Ellie worries too much.” Then to Felipe he said, “She worries about everything. What people think of her. What they say about her.”

Felipe wasn’t interested. Instead, he pointed to something on one of the instrument panels. Maggie couldn’t see from her seat on the bench. George nodded at him and calmly said, “Probably ten to twenty minutes at the most.”

“Aren’t you worried at all about your children?” Liz joined in.

“You want I should shut them up?” Felipe asked.

“No, it’s okay. They don’t have much time left.”

The way he said it made Maggie break out in a cold sweat. Her pulse started to race and she checked her wristwatch. They had ten to twenty minutes before they ended up like the crew of this houseboat.

“To answer your question, my kids grew up on boats. This . . .” He gestured out at the storm and for first time it appeared to be letting up. “This is a minor inconvenience because they can’t be up on deck.”

Maggie had thought – they had all believed – that George Ramos and his children had been abducted, their boat taken by force. These men certainly had a cache of serious weapons. A United States Senator’s husband and children would be a hefty ransom. Or it would exact a terrible blow of revenge. But George Ramos didn’t look like he had his boat taken or commandeered by force. Instead, he appeared to be the one in charge.

“You’re making a pickup, aren’t you?” Liz asked. “Is that what this is all about?”

That drew a smile from Felipe.

“You’ve got it all figured out,” George said, but he was focused on the panel of instruments again. He clicked buttons and twisted the steering wheel. Maggie could feel the vibration as the engine revved up a notch. They were going faster. And they were turning.

“You’re meeting a drug boat,” Liz said, not bothering to hide her anger. “That’s why you’re out here in the middle of a storm.” She shook her head, disgusted.

Maggie looked over at her. The woman was a rescue swimmer but as part of the Coast Guard she was a trained guardsman. Was there any way they could overpower all three men? Diego and Felipe hadn’t bothered to tie their hands or restrain them. Which only told Maggie that they would not hesitate at all to shoot them if they even dared to make a wrong move.

All she could think about was that her gun was clear on the other side of boat.

“How can you do this in front of your children?” Liz asked.

This time George Ramos looked at her, but he was smiling. All he said was, “Fifteen more minutes.”

Maggie thought about what Liz had said. But if they were meeting a drug boat, why was he speeding up? She could hear the engine hum, almost a groan, as it struggled to accelerate against the choppy water. Then all of a sudden the lights flickered. Not lightning but the electrical lights, even those on the instrument panel. Another flicker and everything went black.

“What the hell?”

Maggie grabbed Liz’s wrist and pulled the woman to her feet. It took no more prodding than that. George and Felipe exchanged curses as Maggie and Liz felt their way back down the wood-paneled hallway.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you left Agent O’Dell on the houseboat?” Tully yelled into his phone. “How the hell did she get from your helicopter down onto the houseboat?”

“Oh, my God. They found the boat,” Senator Delanor-Ramos said when she overheard him. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

He waved her off. He was having a difficult enough time trying to hear what Wilson was telling him.

“A cutter is on its way,” the commander explained. “We couldn’t stay in the air or we’d be knocked out of the sky.”

“You still didn’t tell me how Agent O’Dell ended up on the boat.”

“She left the helicopter without my consent. She disregarded my order.”

Okay, Tully thought, so that did sound like Maggie, but only if she believed something serious was going down.

“What exactly do you think happened to the boat?”

“We couldn’t see anyone on board. But RS Bailey was giving us mixed signals.”

“What about George and the kids? Are they okay?” The Senator grew impatient.

“Hold on, Commander,” Tully said. To the Senator he explained, “They couldn’t see anyone on board. A cutter’s on its way.”

“Oh, my God.” Her fingers were back to twisting her wedding ring.

“Commander, won’t it take forever in this storm for a cutter to find the houseboat?”

“They’ve been tracking it on radar ever since we gave them its position. Their turbo engines should put them on location any time now.”

“Listen,” Tully said, trying to figure out if anything he could tell the Coast Guard would even make a difference. “We have reason to believe members of a drug cartel took over the boat.”

“Wait a minute, how do you know that? We haven’t received anything.”

Tully ignored the Senator’s pained look. “I have nothing official, okay? But you need to warn that cutter. There are most likely armed men aboard.”

MAGGIE THOUGHT SHE COULD hear another noise. Not a helicopter but a loud hum approaching. If Liz was right about them picking up a drug delivery then there was another boat close by. Right now all she could think about was getting through the pitch-black hallway. Liz stayed quiet. She kept her hand on Maggie’s shoulder and followed. She knew exactly where Maggie was headed.

They could already hear Felipe stumbling to find them back in the steering house. George wouldn’t be able to leave as long as the boat’s engine was engaged. Though she didn’t know that for sure. Boats probably had auto-pilot, but could it be used in a storm? 

Felipe was yelling to Diego in Spanish. And for a second Maggie worried that they might run right into the man. Had he finished flinging the dead crew members over the railing? Or was he back here in the laundry room retrieving the last one?

She held her breath, trying to listen. But she didn’t slow down her pace. The engine still chugged, vibrating the floorboards. Certainly Diego would be cursing in the dark if he had been in the laundry room or even the hallway when the lights went out.

Her hip ran into a kitchen counter. She bit down on her lip but felt relief more than pain. If they’d made it to the kitchen they had passed the laundry room. The only window was farther down, past the living room, past another hallway of floor to ceiling cherry wood paneling and bookcases. Not that windows mattered. It was too dark. Still, Maggie could see a flicker of lightning at the end of the tunnel.

“Two more doors,” Liz whispered and Maggie realized that the rescue swimmer had counted them when they had been hostages.

At the other end of the hallway behind them she could hear Felipe slamming through the door from the steering house. It wouldn’t take him any time at all to make his way through in the dark. Everything was bolted down. Maggie couldn’t even shove anything in his path to slow him down.

Then the engine sputtered and went silent. George had turned it off. And now there were three men to worry about.