Wyatt's Revenge: A Matt Royal Mystery (18 page)

A man came out of the door that led into the house. He was medium height, blue eyes, gray hair. He was wearing cargo shorts and a golf shirt with the logo of the River Wilderness County Club embroidered on the left breast. “You’re Jock Algren?”

“Yes. Orville sends his regards.”

“How is Orville?”

“Fat. And ornery as ever.”

“I’m Tom Hickey,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

Jock shook it, and introduced Jessica and me. “These are the ones in danger. I don’t think I’m on the bad guys’ radar, yet.”

Hickey led us into the house, through the kitchen and into the living room. A sixty-inch flat-screen TV with surround-sound speakers mounted in the ceiling dominated the space. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ve got beer in the fridge and I’ve ordered pizza. Should be here soon.” He left us alone.

“Who’s Orville?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” said Jock. “It’s just a recognition code we were given.”

“You cloak-and-dagger boys think of everything.”

“We try.”

“I need to call Marie. I’d like to hear exactly what happened last night.”

“Don’t let on that you’re here,” Jock said.

I dialed her number on my cell phone. “Marie, I heard about Logan. Can you tell me what happened last night?”

“We were eating dinner on the balcony about nine o’clock when somebody knocked on the door. I opened it and three men in ski masks carrying guns burst in. They pushed me out onto the balcony and told Logan they would kill us both if he resisted.”

“Did you notice any accent in their English?”

“Only one of them spoke to us. He seemed to be in charge. His English was accented, but not much. When they talked to each other they spoke in a foreign language.”

“Did you recognize the language?”

“I think it was Arabic, but it could have been any Middle Eastern language. Even Hebrew. I don’t think it was European, and from what I could see of them, I don’t think they were Asian.”

“Was anything said that would give you a hint as to what they were doing, or what their plans were?”

“No. The only thing said in English was what I just told you.”

“Were they wearing gloves?”

“Yes.”

“So the police aren’t going to find any fingerprints.”

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Matt. Just worried sick about Logan.”

“We’ll find him.”

I hung up and dialed Bill Lester. “How’re things stacking up, Bill?”

“You’re up late.” It was after midnight in Germany.

“I’m worried about Logan. What have you found out?”

“We don’t have much, Matt.”

“Did you find anything at Marie’s?”

“Nothing. As clean a crime scene as we’ve ever found. We did get a lead on their car, though. Turned out to be a dead end.”

“What happened?”

“They came through the security gate in a Lexus. Opened the gate from the car. They apparently stole one of the remote control devices that the residents use to open the gate. They waved at the guard as they went through, but he didn’t get a look at their faces. When they were leaving, the guard recognized Logan in the back seat. He checked the license plate, and it didn’t belong to anybody who lived there. He put it in a report for the day guard in case they came back.”

“Who owns the car?”

“A guy in Venice. It was reported stolen yesterday morning. We found it in the parking lot of the Super Wal-Mart on Cortez Road.”

“Any evidence in the car?”

“No, but a security camera at the store showed them dropping the car off. A van picked them up and they left. The tape clearly shows Logan
with his hands tied behind him. The van had a Missouri plate on it, but it turns out that the plate had been stolen off a pickup truck in Sarasota late yesterday.”

“What kind of van?”

“A Ford panel van. There’re a million of them on the road.”

“Dead end.”

“Afraid so. When are you coming back?”

“We’ve made reservations on a flight on Monday. It’ll get into Tampa late in the afternoon.”

“Who’s this other guy you’re with, Dr. Connor?”

“She’s not a guy. She’s a very attractive young lady. She’s a historian who works for the American Embassy in Paris. She’s been helping me with some research. I guess whoever wants me dead figures she knows what I know.”

“Matt, you know if you make that meeting, they’ll kill you.”

“I know. And if I don’t, they’ll kill Logan.”

We all knew that Logan was dead whether I showed up or not. They wouldn’t kill me and leave Logan alive. We had to find a way to get Logan before the time for the meeting. If he was still alive.

My phone rang. Marie.

“Matt, I just remembered something. When the man who seemed to be in charge was talking to the others in whatever language he was speaking, I heard him say something that sounded like ‘Gilley Creek.’”

“That’s odd. Any idea what he meant?”

“There’s a Gilley Creek out in East Manatee County. Could that be it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. It’s probably nothing, but if you remember anything else, let me know.”

The pizza arrived. Hickey brought it into the kitchen and we sat around the table eating and drinking cold beer. It was nearing nine o’clock, almost three a.m. in Frankfurt. It’d been a long day. Jessica looked as if she was about to fall asleep.

“Why don’t you go on to bed, Jess?” I asked. “We’re not going to accomplish anything else tonight.”

“I’m ready,” she said, getting up from the table. Hickey showed her to her room, and returned to finish his beer.

“Tom,” I said, “did you ever hear of a Gilley Creek in this area?”

“Sure. It’s not far from here. It runs into Lake Manatee.”

“What’s there?”

“Nothing. It’s part of a nature reserve. There’re still some working citrus groves out there, but that’s about it.”

“Does anybody live in the area?”

“I don’t think so. There’re a couple of abandoned houses fronting the creek near one of the groves, but that’s all.”

“You ever been out there?”

“Sure. My buddy Tim Wiley owns the groves. I go out there with him sometime just to get out of the house.”

“Do you know where the abandoned houses are?”

“I know the general area. You think those houses might be where they’re hiding your friend?”

“I don’t know, but Marie Phillips heard one of the kidnappers say something about Gilley Creek. He wasn’t speaking English, but she heard him say those words.”

Jock drained his beer. “Can you take us out there, Tom?”

“Sure, but I don’t think we’ll find much. And we sure can’t do it in the dark.”

“Can you find the abandoned houses?”

“I think so. We’ll have to take some old farm roads back into the area, but I know them well enough to get us there and back.”

“Jock,” I said, “we can’t be driving through there in that Suburban. Anybody with half a brain will figure out that it’s a government vehicle.”

Tom said, “I can borrow my friend’s old Jeep Wagoneer. That thing is more than twenty years old, and he just uses it in the groves. Even if somebody saw us out there, they’re probably used to seeing that thing driving around.”

“We can’t let anybody else know what we’re doing,” I said.

“I know where Tim keeps his keys. It won’t be a problem. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and he’s never out there on the weekends. He’ll be on a golf course somewhere.”

I lay awake for a long time, listening for the sound of Jess opening my door. It never came. I drifted off into a fitful sleep and dreamed of other women who were long absent from my life.

At daybreak on Saturday morning, Tom Hickey, Jock, and I left Lakewood Ranch in Tom’s two-year old Buick sedan. Jessica was sound asleep in her bed. I put coffee and water in the maker and left a note, telling her we’d be back in a few hours. She probably wouldn’t like that, but we thought three men in a grove on a Saturday morning wouldn’t raise any suspicions. Somebody might take notice of a pretty woman.

We left the Lakewood Ranch neighborhood through a back gate and drove about five miles north before turning east on a state highway. After a few miles we turned south and then east again onto a narrow dirt road running through groves of citrus trees. We turned onto an even smaller road, rutted with the weight of grove trucks used to haul citrus to the processing plants. In a few minutes we came to a dead end at a large well-maintained barn.

We got out of the car and Tom opened the barn door using a key hidden in a crevice under the barn’s concrete foundation. He disappeared inside and came out behind the wheel of a green Jeep Wagoneer. The old gal was dented and pocked from years of driving the groves. Her paint was rusted off in more places than I could count, but her tires looked new, and the engine sounded strong.

“Hop in,” said Tom.

We followed a trail for about a mile, and then drove directly through the grove, between the rows of trees. The Jeep was in four-wheel drive and took the sand without missing a beat. Soon we came to another road that ran along the edge of the grove. There were citrus trees to our right and pines, oaks, palms, and palmettos to our left.

Tom was concentrating on his driving, keeping the old Jeep at a conservative
speed. “The creek is just beyond that stand of trees. These woods run right down to it. In a minute we’ll come to a clearing where the creek bends out. There’s an old house there, but there’s not much left of it. If anybody’s there, they wouldn’t expect us to stop. I’ll keep driving. You two see what you think about the place.”

The house was in ruins. The tin roof had caved in and brought one wall down with it. Weeds had grown up in the clearing, encroaching on what remained of the house. The forest was reclaiming the land taken so many years ago by the farmers who’d homesteaded this part of Florida.

“Nothing,” said Jock. “Nobody’s been near that place in decades.”

“There’s another one about a mile farther,” said Tom.

We crossed another farm road that seemed to be the boundary of the grove we were driving by. On the other side was another grove, stretching as far as we could see down the dirt track.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Tom said. “It’s farther back from the road, and there’s a lot of foliage between the house and the road, so you won’t be able to see much.”

This house was in much better shape, but appeared abandoned as well. I could see the creek in front of the house, and the yard seemed relatively free of weeds. The woods between the road and the house were not as thick as those on either side, but my view was still restricted as we went by.

“I don’t think anybody’s there,” I said.

Jock shook his head. “Not so fast, podner. Did you see that glint in the woods to the right of the house?”

“Glint?”

“Yeah, like the sun reflecting off metal.”

“No, I missed it. What was it?”

“I’m not sure, but it could be a car. It was fairly big.”

“Want me to turn around?” asked Tom. “Go take another look?”

“No,” said Jock. “Let’s keep going. If somebody’s there, I don’t want them to get antsy. We’ll come back tonight.”

Jessica was not happy. When we got back to Tom’s house, she was sitting in the living room drinking coffee. The morning’s newspaper was on her lap, an angry look on her face. “What the hell did you mean by running off and leaving me here?”

“You needed your rest,” I said.

She ignored me. “Where have you been, and why didn’t you get me up?”

“Jess,” I said, “we went looking for a house out in the middle of nowhere. We thought three guys in an orange grove on a Saturday morning wouldn’t be suspicious. A pretty woman might make someone take notice of us.”

She wasn’t placated, but I had gotten her interest. “What house?”

I told her what Marie had said and how we’d found the house. “We think there may be a car parked in the woods next to one of the houses. It’s hidden pretty well, but Jock saw a reflection off something. We’re going back tonight to see if anybody’s there.”

“I’m going with you this time.”

“No you’re not,” I said. “Just Jock and me. We’re going in armed. This could be a dangerous situation, and you’re not trained for that.”

She chewed her lip, thinking. “I guess you’re right,” she said, finally. “But don’t go off again without telling me what you’re doing.”

Jock made a phone call and then left in the Suburban, telling us he’d be back in a couple of hours. When he returned he had several weapons in the car and camouflage clothes for him and me. I didn’t ask where he got them.

The old cracker house was dark, no lights anywhere. Its front porch ran the width of the structure on the side facing the creek. It sagged in the middle, but appeared sturdy enough. Concrete blocks served as front steps. A lone plastic chair took up space on the porch. I couldn’t see any power lines running to the structure, so I assumed there was no electricity.

The house sat alone on a wooded lot fronting Gilley Creek. Civilization had hardly touched this part of old Florida. There were no other houses for miles, a perfect place to hide. Thick stands of pine trees, palms, and palmetto surrounded the clearing in which the house sat. It had probably once been a farm, home to pioneers who came to this area of Florida before the Civil War. The little dirt farm road was lost in the darkness.

We’d parked the Suburban in the middle of the grove and walked in. Anyone coming down the road wouldn’t be able to see the vehicle, and we’d come in from the other side of the grove without lights, slow and easy.

Fog was rolling in off the slow-moving creek, wisps floating into the clearing. The humidity was higher than normal, and the fog was thickening. There was no sound, the animals quiet in the presence of humans. A dark green Nissan was parked nearby, camouflaged with branches, the source of the reflection Jock had seen that morning. We were hunkered down at the edge of the palmetto forest at the side of the house, our rifles ready, locked and loaded, safeties in the off position. We were carrying M-16s.