Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series) Read online

  “Yeah,” Doc said. “Ten grand is Captain Trent’s target. Some weeks its five days, some weeks it's seven days out.”

  We left the pilot house and joined the rest of the crew in the galley. Paul was about to start supper and said, “Skipper, you mentioned blackened hogfish. We got plenty, but I don't know how to do that. Would regular fried be okay?”

  “Plain old fried hogfish?” I said with a laugh. “Are you out of your mind? Show me your seasoning cabinet.”

  He opened a cabinet and pulled out a rack of seasonings. He had a good assortment. I grabbed thyme, onion powder, oregano, chili powder, paprika, white and black pepper, and salt.

  “Where's your flour?” I asked.

  He opened another cabinet and pulled out an economy sized, twenty pound canister and set it on the counter. The rest of the crew were drinking beer and watching, as I measured out the right amounts for the fourteen big fillets and put it all in a huge freezer bag, with the fish.

  “Okay, heat up a couple of large skillets with a half stick of butter in each,” I said. I showed him what to do and together we cooked up the fish, while two pots steamed corn on the cob and rice.

  By the time the sun was fully up, the crew was fat and happy, commenting on how good the fish was. Paul had written everything down on a note card as I mixed the seasonings. He stored the card in a small file box on the counter.

  “Thanks, Skipper,” Paul said with a smile. “I always wanted to try that, but never had a recipe.”

  “Boat approaching,” Jan Sims said, looking out a porthole. “Big center console.”

  “Lupori, McWhorter” I said. “You're with me.”

  Together, we went out to the work deck as the boat approached. It was a beauty, with a deep vee and wide Carolina flairs. It looked to be a thirty footer, with a big center console, set far aft. I'd seen one like it before, built by a guy named Tim Winter, near Raleigh, North Carolina. There were two Hispanic guys aboard, but they didn't look like fisherman.

  “Permission to come alongside, Capitan?” the man at the helm asked. He was a tall, skinny man, about thirty, with hair down to his shoulders.

  “Que quieres?” I asked.

  “Greetings from Senor Santiago, mi amigo,” the second man said. He was shorter and younger, maybe twenty-five, with close cropped hair and a muscular physique.

  “Yeah, come alongside and tie off,” I said. “You got something for me?”

  “Si senor,” the younger man said. He seemed to be in charge. He went to the bow of the sleek looking boat and started pulling tightly wrapped canvas packages from the fish box in the forward deck area. He handed each of them up to Lupori, who handed them to McWhorter. He started to carry them into the cabin, but I stopped him.

  “Stack 'em on the scale,” I said. The younger Cuban stopped and looked up at me.

  “You no trust me, senor?” he asked.

  “I don't know you,” I replied.

  He continued to hand up the packages until they were all on the scale, twenty-five of them. The scale read 490 pounds.

  “I was told I'd be picking up 500 pounds,” I said.

  The man at the helm said, “We were told to deliver twenty-five packages. We did. Vaya con Dios.”

  With that, the younger man threw off the lines and the older man put the boat in gear and pushed the throttle to the stops. The boat's inboard diesel engine roared and they were up on plane, moving away fast.

  “Stow those wherever it is you usually do,” I said. Noting the angle of the sun, now high in the morning sky, I added. “Then get to your bunks.”

  Doc was in the pilot house, when I went forward. I said, “Go get some rest, Doc. I'll take the first watch. Tell Sims I'll wake him in two hours, then he's to wake Williams and Williams will wake you. You wake me at sunset and with a little luck, we can make our goal in four days.”

  “Aye aye, Skipper,” he said and left the pilot house.

  I was wrong. The second night of trawling was better than the first, adding another thousand pounds to the hold. By the end of the third night's trawling, we had just shy of three thousand pounds in the hold.

  Once the sorting was done on the third day, I asked the crew if they wanted to rest up before heading in, or start back to Key West immediately. To a man, they voted to head in. So shortly after sunrise, we ate supper, hoisted anchor and started back.

  I was in the pilot house when Lupori walked by with a broom, headed to the bow. I asked Doc what he was up to. “The broom signifies that we swept up,” he said.

  Lupori tied the broom in place, with the business end high above the bow. I walked out of the pilot house and said to Lupori, “Take that down until we pass New Ground, okay. Bad form to show off in front of the other boats, don't you think?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you're right. But that Morning Mist crew is always giving us a hard time because of our small hold.”

  “You can put it back up, once we clear New Ground,” I said.

  I returned to the pilot house and told Doc he could take a break and catch a nap, if he wanted. He said, “There was a chirping noise from your cabin a few minutes ago. Sounded like a cricket.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I'll check it out.”

  Doc left the pilot house and I waited until he went below, then went back to the cabin. I retrieved the satellite phone and saw that I had a video message. When I played it, I saw immediately that it was from none other than Jason Smith. He's Deuce's boss. His title is Assistant Deputy Director, Department of Homeland Security, Caribbean Command. He reports to the Deputy Director, who reports to the Secretary of Homeland Security. I guess the Secretary reports to the President.

  In his video message he congratulated me, somewhat prematurely, for getting tight with Santiago. He also said that the two men in the boat that delivered the grass to us were apprehended and ten pounds of marijuana was confiscated, along with the boat itself. They would be held at least a week, with no contact from anyone on suspicion of terrorism. He also said that Deuce had told him about the barracks I'd built and wanted to know how soon he could have the team there for a meet and greet.

  I closed the video and dialed Deuce's number. He picked up on the first ring. “We got the delivery boat with ten pounds on board. They're not going anywhere for a while. How'd you manage that?”

  “Not even a hi?” I said. He laughed and I went on, “I didn't have anything to do with it. He just chose the wrong time to try to skim from his employer.”

  “Well, it worked out good,” he said. “Cuban nationals in American waters. We're sitting on them for a while, but they won't see the outside for at least five years. Nobody knows where they are.”

  “Okay, so you guys can take Santiago down, when I deliver the other 490 pounds, right.”

  “We could,” he said. “But with his money, lawyers, and who knows how many judges in his pocket, he'd be out in less than five hours.”

  “Then what the hell was all this for?” I asked.

  “We need to get him on the gun running charges, Jesse. That'll put him away for a long time. Maybe even Gitmo.”

  “Guns, huh,” I said. “I think I might be able to make something happen. With his courier out of the picture, he's going to need a new boat. Maybe I can plant a seed in his mind, that he needs someone more reliable. Can you let it leak that his guys were popped?”

  “I thought you didn't want that known,” he said.

  “Santiago needs to know they were arrested with ten pounds,” I said. “When I get back in, I'll let him know the guy skimmed it, but our original deal still goes. If I work it right, I might be his new courier for both the grass and the guns.”

  “You're reaching, Jesse,” he said. “The Director will never go for it.”

  “So don't tell him,” I said once more.

  “Call me after you meet with him,” he said.

  “I'll call you in the morning,” I said. “I'm gonna rack out, once we get back in.”

  “Okay, J
esse,” he said. “Be careful.” I ended the call and put the phone back in the briefcase. An hour later, we were nearing New Ground and I could see the other shrimp boats at anchor in deep water north of the shoal. Just then, I heard Al Fader's voice over the radio.

  “Night Moves to Miss Charlie,” he said. “You at the helm, Jesse?”

  “Morning, Al,” I said into the mic.

  “How'd you do out there? We had a bad blow here, thanks for the warning.”

  “We did alright, Al,” I said. “Any damage?”

  “No, we all did as you suggested and hid behind the shoal. Come alongside, I owe you a beer.”

  “Have to take a rain check, Al,” I said. “We're going on back home.”

  “Did alright, huh?” he said. “Trent'll be pissed if you go back in, without a full hold.”

  “He won't be pissed,” I said. “Catch up with me Saturday night at Blue Heaven. You buy the beer, I'll buy supper.”

  “You got it, man,” he said. “Night Moves out.”

  Three hours later, we were entering Northwest Channel. I switched over to PA, picked up the mic and said, “All hands on deck, we're twenty minutes from the dock. Time to unload and see what we made.”

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon when the crew finally got the shrimp unloaded and weighed in. We had 3080 pounds of shrimp and they were big. The wholesaler had to be called to come out, not expecting any of the boats back on Wednesday. He calculated the size to be 15/20 count and offered me $2.85 a pound. I looked over at Doc, who barely shook his head, his arms across his chest. He slightly moved three fingers on his left hand.

  “I'm thinking more like $3.20 a pound,” I said. “A lot of this landing is bigger than 15/20.”

  He countered with an offer of $3.10 a pound and I agreed, shaking his hand. He counted out $9550 cash and handed it to me. Doc and I went back to the boat to pay the crew. We still had to wait around to offload our other cargo. A few minutes later, a garbage truck backed up to the dock, followed by a Chevy sedan. The sedan parked a couple spots away from the garbage truck.

  “Lupori has already put the cargo in a pair of drums,” Doc said. “The garbage truck will bring empty trash barrels aboard and take them, along with the boats garbage.”

  “Tell Lupori and McWhorter to meet me in the galley,” I said. “And don't let the garbage man board until I tell you.”

  Santiago got out of the Chevy and walked past the garbage collector, toward the gangplank. He stopped short of it, looked up at me and said, “You're back early, Capitan. Permission to board?”

  “Come aboard,” I said. “We need to talk. In private.” I led him to the galley, where the two crewmen waited nervously.

  “Pense que dijiste en privado, Capitan,” he said.

  “Yeah, just the four of us,” I said. “Your deliveryman shorted us. When I told him I was hired to pick up 500 pounds, he said he was hired to deliver twenty-five packages. They totaled 490 pounds, as both these men witnessed. Our scales are accurate.”

  “I apologize, Capitan,” he said. “Yes, they ripped me off. However, they were apprehended at sea and charged with possession of ten pounds, with intent.”

  The three of us looked at Santiago in surprise. Lupori and McWhorter, because they didn't know. I nodded at the two crewmen and they left the galley.

  “That doesn't change our agreement, senor,” I said. “It's still twenty grand. You eat the loss for hiring disreputable people to work for you. If it were me, the charges would be the least of their worries.”

  He thought it over for a minute then said, “Si. Is good business to deal reputably with reputable people.” He handed me a large envelope, which I opened to find two bundles of $100 bills, each banded with a bank band marked $10,000. I closed the envelope and stuck it in my back pocket.

  “You're not going to count it?” he asked.

  “It's good business to deal reputably with reputable people,” I parroted, with a grin. “Besides, we both know what could happen if one of us screwed the other over.”

  “I understand you have a large, fast boat,” he said. “I seem to be in need of a courier, all of a sudden,” he said.

  How did he know about the Revenge? Or did he? “I have a small fishing boat,” I lied. “With an oversized outboard.”

  “I'm talking about your Rampage, senor,” he said.

  “Just how do you know about this?” I asked.

  “I have people that tell me things,” he replied. “Would you be interested in a job?”

  “You offered a security job, if I remember right,” I said. “Not sure if I want to risk a delivery job.”

  “The security position has been filled. I'll pay you twice what you just put in your pocket, for a single run every month,” he said. “I don't want to risk losing any more product to derelicts like Manny and Jose. From now on, I will personally make the pickups. I just need a man with a fast boat to pick me up with the cargo.”

  “You'll have to let me think that over, Santiago,” I said. “Let me have your number and I'll call you in a day or two.”

  He handed me a business card and said, “Don't wait long, Capitan. My offer has an expiration date, two days from now.”

  “You'll have to give me more information,” I said. “Like where do I pick you up and where do I take you?”

  “If you accept, you'll pick me up across the straights in a small bay on the western tip of Cuba. Then bring me here to Cayo Hueso. It is about 520 miles round trip. How long will that take in your boat?”

  “Cuba?” I said. “No deal. My boat's fast, but the Cuban patrol boats have cannons.”

  “There isn't a patrol boat for eighty miles of this bay,” he said. “It's a simple fishing village.”

  “I'll think it over,” I said. “But, to answer your question, that trip would take thirteen hours, not counting the stop time.”

  “That fast?” he said. “That will be good. I expect your call before this time on Friday. Adios, Capitan.”

  He left then and I waited until he was off the boat, then stepped out of the galley and nodded at Doc. He motioned the garbage man to come aboard. The crew helped swap out the garbage cans and then assembled in the galley. I'd removed the bands from the two bundles and pocketed five grand for my own trouble. Smith said his team could keep anything they came across of value, when on a mission and I was part of the team. Sort of.

  When all the crew was assembled, I set the cash from the wholesaler and Santiago on the table in two separate stacks and said, “We were paid $9550 for the shrimp and $15,000 for the other cargo. I'll let Mister Talbot settle up the shrimp pay, since I don't even know what your agreement is with Captain Trent.”

  As Doc split the smaller stack into several smaller stacks based on each man’s take, I did the same with the larger stack, based on what I'd told them the day we left. Each crewman left the galley with over $2000 in his pocket. Doc, Williams, and Sims stayed behind until the men were walking down the gangplank, ready to blow their money in town.

  I said, “I think I may have gotten Trent off the hook with Santiago. His deliveryman shorted us ten pounds and just happened to get busted with it. Santiago has offered me the job of picking him and his cargo up, since he's going to ride it personally from now on, and bring him back here. If I accept, it will be with the stipulation that he never lures a shrimper into his business again.”

  “You don't really think he'll just keep his word on that, do you?” Sims asked.

  “No, I don't,” I said. “But, I intend to make sure that he does.”

  After the other two men left I told Doc to hang out for a few minutes, while I gathered up my gear and called a taxi.

  “No need for that, Jesse. Nikki will be here in a minute and we'll give you a ride to the marina.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I'd appreciate that. Give me a minute to grab my gear and call Trent.”

  My gear was already packed, I just had to grab it from the cabin. I called Trent and told him that we w
ere back already and how the trip went.

  “You filled the hold in just three days?” he asked.

  “We got lucky,” I said. I then told him about my plan to get Santiago off their backs. I said I'd be up there in the morning and asked if they needed anything. He put Charlie on the phone and I wrote down a list of a few items they could use, then ended the call.

  I then called the Blue Heaven and asked to speak to Tina. I got her on the phone and told her we were back early and would she be able to go up to the Content Keys a couple days early. She said she'd ask a co-worker and said to drop by if I could. I smiled at the thought of seeing her again and even though I'd been up for over twenty-four hours, was looking forward to it.

  I went back out to the work deck to find Doc and Nikki loading his gear into the back of their Dodge pickup. I walked down the gangplank and Nikki smiled and said, “Thanks for getting him home early and in one piece, Gunny.”

  “I appreciate y'all giving me a lift,” I said.

  “Bob doesn't need much of an excuse to go look at a nice boat,” she said. “He was telling me about yours.”

  We climbed in the cab of the pickup and left the marina. Ten minutes later, we pulled up at the private dock at Oceanside Marina and I invited them aboard for a beer. It was fully dark as we boarded the Revenge and Orion was already high in the night sky. I showed them the salon and grabbed a six pack of Red Stripe from the galley, noting the three boxes sitting on the counter. We climbed up to the bridge and I put three of the beers in the small refrigerator up there and passed one to each of them.

  “This is a very cool boat, Jesse,” Doc said.

  “I'll say,” Nikki added. “Do you live on it?”

  “No,” I said. “I have a house on a little island north of Big Pine.”

  “Gunny,” Nikki said, “Bob told me about your plan to get him and the crew out of the problem they're in. I just want to thank you. You're taking quite a chance, aren't you?”

  “Chance favors the prepared mind,” I said. It was a quote often used by my old friend, Russ, when he was my Platoon Sergeant in Okinawa and later during the invasion of Grenada. “I'll be fine.”