The Assassin's Case (23 page)

Turning to watch behind them, Grant thumbed cartridges into the rifle. Until they made it further from shore they were easy targets.

The boat moved slowly but surely through the mangrove forest, the only sounds the call of birds, the water lapping against the hull, and the splash of the pole slicing the water.

Ignoring the sweat building on his brow Grant focused, searching for signs of pursuit. Eventually the shore vanished and they seemed, at least for the moment, to be clear of danger. He scanned the forbidding swamp. Well, at least safe from Cane’s men. This appeared to be a place ripe with wildlife. A sanctuary for reptilians.

Grant engaged the Remington’s safety, lay it in the boat’s bottom next to him, and positioned the forty-five on his lap for quick retrieval.

He faced Jaime and they huddled together, filling each other in on the events of the last two days.

“I hope this was just a mistake. That Cane hasn’t had a chance to contact his men.” Jaime said. “I’m certain Dr. Morgan has given him the message.”

“He either didn’t get it, or doesn’t care,” Grant said. Something large, very large, splashed in the water near them and Grant’s hand darted toward his pistol. Not twenty feet from them a set of nostrils and eyes protruded from the water, the outline of a large head and back visible just beneath the surface. The snout markedly pointed, with teeth protruding from the lips. The eyes seemed to stare, following their progress. The sides of the boat suddenly seemed awfully low to the water.

“
Crocodylus acutus,
” Evans said. “Better known as the American Crocodile.”

“Wonderful,” Grant said.

“Don’t worry—”

Before Evans could finish Grant interrupted. “I know, I know. It’s more scared of us than we are of it.”

“That’s right,” Evans said. “I would be more worried about one of those dropping into the boat.”

Evans finger pointed upward into the trees. All eyes in the boat followed the path of the finger. About fifteen feet up, wrapped around a branch, was a large snake. Grant couldn’t tell what variety it was from this distance, but he didn’t really care. He shivered. This was shaping up to be a grand day after all. 

TWENTY-SIX

Everyone in the group was tired, sweaty, and thirsty, their exposed skin covered in bites from relentless swarms of mosquitoes. They were floating on a winding river, one of the many tributaries of the Rio Grande de Santiago which fed the swamp. What little current there was flowed generally south toward the ocean.

              The flat-bottomed skiff drifted beneath trees arching overhead like a living tunnel. Grant leaned against the barge pole, staring at the mirror image floating beneath them, holding their position easily in the windless waterway. He tried to bite back the waves of worry, regret, and guilt. If Cane still intended to hunt them down he would probably use Charlotte and Steve. They were all the family Grant had and Cane would know that by now. But would the colonel just watch them, or take more overt action. It seemed Grant had more than likely placed his sister in danger, again, along with one of the few friends he had left. The thought sent a chill through Grant. He glanced at Jaime, situated between Evans and Tedesco, leaning against the low sides of the boat. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her shirt clinging to her from sweat, and her blazer serving as a pillow for her back. Her presence here and the current situation was also his fault. She should have been on a plane home.

The tapping of Evans’s stylus against the screen of a palm GPS seemed profane in the sanctuary-like atmosphere.

              Tedesco lounged in the front of the boat, using his hands to swat at mosquitoes. He had said little since they entered the swamp.

              The large Mercworx blade sheathed horizontal to the back of Grant’s belt, the CQC-7 in his pocket, the forty-five in his waistband, and the Remington near his feet didn’t give him any comfort. He scanned the languid water, the tree-lined bank, the skies, eyes darting, alert for dangers both of nature and man. Birds chortled. A group of sea bass darted just beneath the surface after some invisible prey, an iguana soaked up the sun on a sodden log, and a pair of immense turtles, their shells the size of serving platters, basked on an algae covered rock.

              Since their journey into the swamp began they had seen numerous snakes and crocodiles. Although there hadn’t been any signs of pursuit they had heard boat motors humming in the distance.

              Tapping the stylus a last time Evans handed over the GPS. The screen showed their position in the wetlands. “What do you think?” Evans said.

              Grant studied the map. A road dissected the swamp to their east, angling northwest toward Mazatlan. A small village north and east of San Blas appeared to be within reach. The expanse of the Pacific Ocean to the west. They were surrounded by miles and miles of swamp land, fed by the river. They could make it to the road. Then what? They had no car. It would be possible to thumb a ride, but they would be sitting ducks for anyone searching for them. The village would also be a likely spot for searchers to wait. “I’m not sure.”

              One thing was certain, they couldn’t just hide here. They didn’t have proper supplies. If they stayed much longer they would be forced to take their chances and drink the water they floated in. And it was certain to be bacteria filled.

              Grant passed the GPS unit forward. “What about you guys?”

              Jaime stared at the small screen while Tedesco peeked over her shoulder.

“May I see it?” Tedesco said.

Jaime nodded and handed it over.

“What about this?” Tedesco clicked the screen and turned it toward them. “La Tovara Springs.”

“La Tovara Springs?” Grant said.

“Yes. I read about it in a travel guide while we were in Puerto Vallarta. It’s a tourist spot. We can get food and water. And maybe borrow a boat. Or at least a ride.”

“The question is,” Evans said, “is whether or not the guys chasing us will be looking for us there.” He turned to Grant. “What do you think?”

“Unless anybody has a better idea, it sounds like the best option,” Grant said. He gripped the pole. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Evans studied the GPS screen and pointed southwest.

Grant dug the pole into the bottom and urged the boat ahead. At least they were going with the current. He stared at Tedesco. “Jimmy. I know you weren’t suggesting we steal a boat?”

Tedesco blinked his eyes. “Of course not. I said borrow.” He grabbed a makeshift barge pole they had fashioned by cutting down a slender tree and stood to help Grant propel the skiff. “If the owner isn’t around, well, we’ll just have to leave a note.”

* * * * *

Colonel Ethan Cane strolled the perimeter of the old copper mine, the walking stick dangled in his left hand. His eyes roved over the recent improvements to the façade, insurance, just in case Alfred Morgan and company had misled him. A new sign proudly announced the presence of Biodyne Technologies. The locals had been cautiously curious about their operation anyway. And hiding in plain sight would make it easier to move people and supplies.

              Cane nodded to one of the men patrolling the newly erected fence. The man nodded in return, a salute could blow their cover, if the right, or wrong, person witnessed the action. The man was, as were all the soldiers on the base, dressed in a light gray security guard’s uniform with the Biodyne logo on the left pocket.

              Hands clasped behind him Cane continued his stroll through the whitewashed buildings of the once thriving copper mine. Even with the improvements to the mining town, you could feel and hear the history, the echoes of the past reverberated throughout the compound. He could identify with the grit and resolve of the former residents, which so many of those Cane worked to protect lacked. He was the soldier on the wall, the horseman charging the hill, the marshal on the dusty street. His job, his duty, was to protect his country from the wolves nipping at her heals. The public furor would be tremendous if they knew about this operation and the distasteful but necessary actions he had been forced to take. But without men like him they wouldn’t have the freedom to cry foul. In an era of political correctness gone mad, if men like him failed to keep their resolve more of the howling masses would die. They just didn’t realize the extent of the danger, or the dogged determination of their enemies.

When Cane would admit it to himself he almost wished another successful attack would take place here. Almost. Then they would realize how very real and dangerous their foes were, how single-minded of purpose. The humor was that those that cried the loudest about the “atrocities” committed by their country would be the first killed by the enemy.

              Cane smiled and shook off such morbid ideas. Let them scream. His job was to keep them free to do so.

              He tugged at the collar of his leather jacket as a chill wind blew across the desert, hinting at the cold night to come. Though still daylight, Saturn blazed like a star in the sky to the west, rising to trumpet night’s reveille. Heeding the call of the coming night, a coyote howled in the distance.

              The phone in his pocket disturbed his peace, its shrill ring a blasphemy to nature. Cane grabbed the device and glared at the screen for a moment before jabbing it with a finger. Before he could say hello the DEP SECDEF began talking.

              “Enlighten me, Colonel. What the hell is going on?”

              “The good doctor contacted me.” Cane repeated the story Morgan told him, about his family, and what he had to do to get them back.

              “Do you believe him?”

              “Of course,” Cane said. “He is a man of his word. I trust him.”

              “That, of course makes no difference at this point.”

              “No. Unfortunately it doesn’t.”

              “You have a plan, I assume.”  

              “Yes. I’ve pulled my men out of Mexico.”

              “You what?” The deputy secretary’s carefully cultivated veneer of sophistication and poise slipped for a moment, his question nearly a yell, his voice cracking.

              Cane let the man dangle for a moment, savoring the affect of his words. “We severely underestimated our opposition. It won’t happen again. I’ve been using a hammer when I needed a scalpel.”

              “So, you just stopped pursuit. Cane, so help me I’ll have you removed from command—”

              “With all due respect, be careful threatening me.” Cane's grip tightened on the phone. “I assure you. I have the situation in hand. I’ve lost men. Good men. I won’t let that pass.”

              “What do you need?”

              “For now, I have it covered.”

              “We’ve got to make this problem go away, Colonel.”

              Cane drew in a cleansing breath of the cool desert air. “Just so we’re clear and there’s no misunderstandings later. You are authorizing me to take the lives of civilians. Women? Children? Law enforcement agents? Hmm?”

              No response came.

              Cane pressed. “I realize you want to keep your hands and your conscious clean. But this time, you can’t. I want to hear you say it. Tell me they have to be killed. Tell me!” He needed the man to at least think about the cost of their hard fought freedom. From the comfort of his office, instructing his betters to take drastic measures of which he cared not to know just how drastic. Let him take this to bed with him, to the golf course. Let him swallow this with his aged bourbon, inhale it with his expensive cigars. Think of it when he sat his grandkids on his lap. To once in his pampered life count the cost.

              “Do what you have to do, colonel.”

“You mean kill them. Say it.”

              “Yes. Kill them.”

              “Okay then. Don’t worry. The problem will soon be removed.” Cane poked the end key and stuffed the phone in the pocket of his jacket. Another cool gust drifted over his face and he gripped the walking stick in both hands. This time, he would see to it personally.

* * * * *

Tedesco leaned on the barge pole. He held the boat in place beneath the branches of an overhanging tree. Everyone on board stared toward the restaurant. It was in the midst of a clear and deep freshwater spring, surrounded by trees filled with birds. A fence surrounded a swimming area. According to the sign the area behind the fence was free of crocodiles. The fenced in area was filled with laughing and splashing tourists. Boats lined a stone and concrete wharf. The restaurant sat on a raised stone foundation about four feet above the waterline. It was constructed of whitewashed adobe with red, blue, green, and yellow trim. Covered porches on the front and sides held tables.

              “What do you think?” Tedesco said. He could smell the food wafting over the water from the La Tovara Springs restaurant. Taste the cold Corona advertised on a sign by the front door. If he had any spit left his mouth would have been watering.

              “Let’s go,” Grant said.

              Evans and Jaime agreed. They pushed the boat with the poles until the water became too deep. They crossed the spring by using their hands to paddle and pulled up to the concrete wharf. A couple of feet from the pier Tedesco jumped out so he could secure the skiff. As his right foot touched ground he noticed a gargantuan figure basking in the sun just two paces away.

An eight-foot crocodile.

              Tedesco moved fast. Too fast. He jumped back, tripped, and fell back into the boat. Water splashed up from the skiff’s sides. Grant’s hand darted out to grab the wharf before the boat floated away from it.

              The patrons dining on the front porch all turned to stare at the disturbance. Chuckles issued from behind him in the boat. Tedesco tried to calm his beating heart. He pointed toward the croc. He stammered. “A… a … crocodile.”

One of the establishment’s employees rushed out to help him out of the boat. He explained in broken English that the beast was tame and would do him no harm.

              A tame crocodile. Sure. Until it got hungry enough.

Even with the assurances of the apologetic worker the group gave the creature a wide berth when they stepped from the boat and walked past.

The restaurant employee kept a hand on Tedesco’s shoulder for reassurance and led the group to a table. Even after Tedesco was seated, the worker remained, patting him on the back until the waiter came to take their order.

Their drinks arrived and Tedesco greedily gulped a bottle of water, the liquid soothing the parched tissues of his throat. Their table was surrounded by amiable tourists, many in various states of inebriation. Many of them nodded toward Tedesco and raised their glasses, smiles on their faces. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be anyone here with a desire to end their journey with a bullet.

              Grant drained his bottle dry, set it down, and propped his elbows on the table. He leaned forward. “You okay, Jimmy? You still look a little pale.” A sardonic smile beamed from his face.