Rising Force Read online

  Published by DOWN ISLAND PRESS, LLC, 2018

  Beaufort, SC

  Copyright © 2018 by Wayne Stinnett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Library of Congress cataloging-in-publication Data

  Stinnett, Wayne

  Rising Force/Wayne Stinnett

  p. cm. - (A Jesse McDermitt novel)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7322360-1-1

  ISBN-10: 1-7322360-1-1

  Cover photograph by Richmatts

  Graphics by Wicked Good Book Covers

  Edited by Larks & Katydids

  Final Proofreading by Donna Rich

  Interior Design by WDR Book Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Most of the locations herein are also fictional, or are used fictitiously. However, I take great pains to depict the location and description of the many well-known islands, locales, beaches, reefs, bars, and restaurants throughout the Florida Keys and the Caribbean, to the best of my ability.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Dedication

  More By Wayne Stinnett

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Rising Charity Preview

  Preview: Chapter One

  More Jesse

  Well, I finally did it. Since writing the first novel in the Jesse McDermitt series, I’ve wanted to move Jesse to sail. But, the crusty old curmudgeon wouldn’t budge from his over-powered fishing toy. I even tried to bow it up. He just bought another one. In this story, I forced Jesse over the deep end, aboard a ketch, delving into a different lifestyle than the rigid one he’s lived all his life. Since the breakup of the Caribbean Counterterrorism Command, Jesse has been like a ship without a rudder; wandering aimlessly with no direction in life. In this story, Jesse will be trying things that, to this point, his usual stoic moral compass would not allow. But, rest assured, a new mission in life is coming soon. I hope you enjoy it.

  As with all my other books, my wife has provided great support with this effort. Thanks, Greta, for always being there for me to bounce ideas around.

  I call the people who first read my work beta readers, for lack of a better name. But they are much more than that. Collectively, these individuals hold a wealth of knowledge, which they freely give. Without their input, much of the little, but realistic details of my work, would never come to light. Many thanks to Debbie Kocol, Dan Horn, Drew Mutch, David Parsons, Mike Ramsey, John Trainer, Dana Vihlen, Tom Crisp, Ron Ramey, Alan Fader, Marcus Lowe, and Charles Hofbauer. And a special thanks to Katy McKnight and Gary Cox, who provided not just wonderful negative feedback on certain situations, but the plot idea for the next several books. Thank you all for your insights.

  Once again, I need to thank musician and songwriter, Eric Stone, for allowing me to use him as a character with his second appearance in my books. Eric used to own Dockside in Marathon, but now tours the country bringing his music to local marinas, bars, and beaches all over the country. In fact, all over the world. Just last month, he played at Bloody Mary’s on the island of Bora Bora, in the South Pacific. To download his music, check his tour schedule, or book a gig, check out www.islanderic.com. In the timeline of this story, early 2009, Eric was playing in the BVI. That should give you some foresight as to where this story is heading.

  Much appreciation is owed to Captain Dan Horn and all the crew at Pyrate Radio. Ever since Eric Stone first told me about this new startup broadcasting venture, I’ve had nothing but fun and met some really terrific people. You can listen to Pyrate Radio on my website, or head over to their website, www.pyrateradio.com, or search for it on Tune-In. But don’t be surprised if you start picking it up on FM stations near the coast. You should especially mark your calendar to listen in on Saturday, November 17, 2018, from 2:00 to 4:00 PM, when Eric will be playing at my 60th birthday celebration. Portions of it may or may not be broadcast live.

  I’d also like to mention Lady’s Island Marina, all the folks who work in the offices above the marina and below my own, and the many sailors and cruisers who make this place their home or just a great community to spend a week or two with. Thanks for making me feel at home.

  As of this writing I’m working on a new novel, Rising Charity. The title alone should tell you some things. I hope to have it published by the end of 2018 or early in January, 2019. You will find the first Chapter at the end of this story.

  Dedicated to the memory of Bill Stinnett, our late chow mix. Bill was abandoned in our yard when he was five-weeks old and we of course took him in. He grew to be a giant in many ways. A tall man didn’t have to bend over to scratch his ears. Our other dogs could walk under him, and he weighed a hundred pounds. He also took up a lot of space in our hearts. Due to his size, we had to keep him segregated when people came over. Some were afraid of our gentle giant. Bill didn’t like this but took it in stride.

  When I was still an over-the-road trucker, gone for weeks at a time, it was comforting to know he was there with my wife and daughter, whom he loved dearly. In my mind, there was zero doubt about their safety when Bill was with them. He never had to prove this, but I somehow knew that he would protect them, if called upon. A more faithful and loyal, though sometimes stubborn companion, is rarely found in this life. When I came off the road, I told Bill he was retired. He didn’t quite understand his new role as a retiree, though. He’d lie on the floor in front of the bathroom when Greta was showering, check the yard for intruders when we pulled into the driveway, and just watch out for us in so many ways.

  He came to my wife in a dream the other night, yowling at a cat. In her dream, we all agreed that Bill still didn’t like cats, even though he was dead. I feel sure we’ll adopt another dog again. Who’d want a hundred-pound chow haunting them for adopting a cat?

  During the writing of this book, Bill injured himself and couldn’t walk. The vet made a house call and said it was doubtful that he’d survive, due to his size, and the surgery would likely kill him. He’d already far surpassed the normal life expectancy of such a large dog.

  We’d known the day was coming. My wife and I, along with our seventeen-year-old daughter made the hard call. If one must die, we agreed it would be best to do so while surrounded by those you’d given all thirteen years of your life to and who loved you. The pictures below are of Bill’s first and last days with us. As you can see, he was far too proud to show that he was injured. If dogs can feel emotion, I think we saw embarrassment in his eyes. Rest in peace, Boudreaux, and thanks for all the love and joy you gave us.

  “Dogs die. But dogs live, too. Right up until they die, they live.

  They live brave, beautiful lives. They protect their families. And love us. And make our lives a l
ittle brighter. And they don’t waste time being afraid of tomorrow.”

  – Dan Gemeinhart

  If you’d like to receive my newsletter, please sign up on my website:

  www.waynestinnett.com.

  Every two weeks, I’ll bring you insights into my private life and writing habits, with updates on what I’m working on, special deals I hear about, and new books by other authors that I’m reading.

  The Charity Styles

  Caribbean Thriller Series

  Merciless Charity

  Ruthless Charity

  Reckless Charity

  Enduring Charity

  The Jesse McDermitt Caribbean Adventure Series

  Fallen Out

  Fallen Palm

  Fallen Hunter

  Fallen Pride

  Fallen Mangrove

  Fallen King

  Fallen Honor

  Fallen Tide

  Fallen Angel

  Fallen Hero

  Rising Storm

  Rising Fury

  Rising Force

  The Gaspar’s Revenge Ship’s Store is now open. There,

  you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books.

  www.gaspars-revenge.com

  The Berry Islands of the Northern Bahamas

  The Caribbean Sea and Bahamas

  I yawned; couldn’t help it. The sun was well into its downward arc to meet the sea once more, the angle creating a bit of glare off the port side. The water in that direction sparkled with a million winking ripples of reflected light. There were a few scattered clouds off to the southwest and a high haze, so the odds of a beautiful sunset were dicey at best. But it was still several hours before darkness would fall. We were heading west-northwest at thirty knots, so maybe we’d pass beyond the clouds’ shadow by the time it went down.

  The water was calm, almost flat, with only the slightest ripples from the nearly nonexistent easterly breeze. The twin diesels droned monotonously, laying down a deep bass line to the constant swish of the bow wave. These things, combined with the calming influence of the cobalt sea all around us, were threatening to put me to sleep. My face sagged, and my entire body felt like it was wilted as well. I stared through dark sunglasses toward the oncoming horizon, my eyes half-closed and shoulders slumped forward.

  The run wasn’t a long one, but Tony and I were both running on just adrenaline and caffeine, neither of which were working like they had when I was a younger man. We’d made the turn at the southern tip of Eleuthera, into Exuma Sound, nearly an hour earlier. There was still a little over an hour to go to reach our next stop, the customs office at the foot of the cruise ship pier in Nassau. We’d have to slow soon, as the sound gave way to the shallower waters and coral heads south of Nassau, where this whole crazy journey had started.

  “Got it,” Tony said, putting his sat-phone away. “Last flight out to Miami leaves Nassau at nineteen-hundred and arrives less than an hour later.”

  His statement brought me out of my stupor. “Will Tasha be picking you up at the airport?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be home an hour after that.”

  “Tell her it’s my fault,” I said. “You weren’t expecting to be gone two whole days.”

  Tony turned toward me in his seat. “She understands, man. I told her everything that was going on.”

  I pointed with my chin toward the foredeck. “Yeah, well, did you tell her about them?”

  To be honest the view was spectacular. Not the clouds, sun, or sea, but the two young women lying on the foredeck. Charity had brought them out of a seriously bad situation involving murder, torture, and robbery. The girls were psychologically broken, of that I had no doubt. But outwardly, they were in the prime of life and magnificent specimens of young female adulthood.

  Tony and I were taking the girls to meet up with Charity at Bond’s Cay. We’d dropped her off at Arthur’s Town Airport only two hours earlier, so she could retrieve her helicopter and take it back to Andros Island.

  The two women on the foredeck were half my age, but far from innocent girls. Still, it had made me a bit uneasy when they’d asked if they could get some sun on the foredeck.

  “Call it a lie of omission,” Tony replied, yawning, “or punch-drunk from lack of sleep. Anyway, I told her everything about us helping Charity catch the people who killed Victor. She gets it.”

  “Probably a good idea to never bring those girls up to her.”

  Tony glanced at the radar, pointing out an echo several miles off to the north. Standing, I trained my binoculars in that direction.

  “Think she has any chance?” Tony asked.

  “Setting those two on the right course?” I scanned the horizon. “Who knows? If anyone can, it’d be Charity.”

  I continued to look through the binos, in the general direction of the echo on the radar screen. Finally, I spotted the boat. The large aft cabin and classic lines of an old motoryacht were unmistakable as it slowly headed north. I sat and watched the echo on the screen for a second, to make sure the echo was the boat I’d just seen. There was nothing else on the screen.

  “Just a motoryacht headed north,” I said, when Tony gave me a questioning glance.

  “What are you gonna do after you drop them off?” he asked.

  I thought about that for a moment. Whatever a person is doing on New Year’s Day is supposed to be the activity they’ll be most involved in for the coming year. That’s why couples kiss at the stroke of midnight, though most don’t even know there’s a reason. If the adage was true, I was going to need to buy stock in a fuel company. I’d been crisscrossing the Bahamas for these first three days of the year, burning over a thousand gallons of diesel. Who was I kidding? It was what I’d been doing for several weeks now. Maybe that canceled out the New Year’s maxim.

  The current ordeal was nearly over. Having dropped Charity off at the pier on Cat Island, all that we had left to do was a leisurely cruise back toward Nassau so Tony could catch his flight home. Charity had flown her bird to Andros Island, where she had a storage lease. She’d texted Tony thirty minutes ago; Henry had been waiting for her and they were shoving off immediately to cross the TOTO to Nassau, so she could get her boat.

  She was likely already under sail; she was due to meet us at Bond’s Cay at sunset. After everything the two girls had been through, we’d decided early on to not put them in a situation where they might be recognized. Hence the out of the way rendezvous. Charity was good at staying off anyone’s radar. At Bond’s, I could finally discharge my passengers and continue my search for Savannah.

  “I don’t know,” I finally muttered, glancing over at him.

  The smirk on Tony’s face told me he wasn’t buying my cavalier attitude. “Yeah, right. You’ve been gone nearly a month, man. And you didn’t tell anyone at the office where you were going. Even a blind man could see you took off looking for Savannah.”

  I hadn’t actually made it a secret. I’d had Chyrel do some online snooping for me, which yielded nothing. I hadn’t told her to keep it under her hat. And, of course, Jimmy knew.

  They say that in the Middle Florida Keys there are two ways of getting something known throughout the island chain in a hurry: telephone, and tell Jimmy.

  I took a shot. “How’s Jimmy?”

  “He’s taking good care of things at your place, I stopped up there last weekend. Saw Kim, too. My phone’s been blowing up since you called Deuce the other day, everyone telling me to tell you to turn yours on. He might have mentioned it to someone.”

  “I wasn’t exactly thinking when I took off,” I offered.

  “The heart doesn’t think, man. The heart only wants. And if that desire is strong enough, it’ll override the brain and make a man do things that some might find foolish. I don’t think any of us think that. We’re just worried. Had any leads?”

  �
�Nothing,” I replied resignedly.

  “Only way to find someone among all these islands is from someone who’s seen them recently.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, a bit too sarcastically. “Sorry, I’m on edge. Truth is, nobody I’ve talked to has seen her—or none have told me anything.”

  Tony chuckled. “Well, you do look like some sort of wild man from Borneo, roaring in with this overpowered drug smuggler’s special. I’d be surprised if anyone would even give you directions to a Tiki bar.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Man, you’ve gotten a long way from your roots.” Tony shook his head. “Before I first met you, Hinkle, Germ, and Scott had painted a picture of you that was bigger than life. Even Deuce said there wasn’t anyone better at infiltrating the enemy. This boat ain’t the best ghillie suit for the mission, man. Just sayin’.”

  Something Charity had mentioned had been eating at me. She’d said that I’d never find Savannah with the Revenge. I’d figured that with the advantage in speed, the search would be easier. How many places can you hide a forty-six-foot, slow-moving trawler? But, the speed advantage wasn’t the benefit I thought it would be. Most of the people I’d encountered in the dozens of anchorages and ports I’d visited had been tight-lipped. Was it the Revenge? Cruisers were a close-knit bunch, and a high-speed sport fishing machine like my boat wasn’t exactly the traditional cruising yacht.

  “You should take her up on it,” Tony said.

  “Take who up on what?”

  “Victor’s boat,” he replied, leaning back in the second seat. “No, it’s not as fast as the Revenge, but you’re not hunting an agile, elusive quarry. You need to infiltrate.”

  “She told you?”

  “It’d sure blend in better.” He didn’t really answer the obvious question. Of course Charity had told him.

  “You might have a point,” I said, “but a dead man’s boat?”

  Tony shrugged. “He didn’t die on board. And under good wind, that ketch can match just about any trawler.”