Fallen Hunter (Jesse McDermitt Series) (11 page)

Little beads of sweat were starting to form on his brow from the sudden knowledge that he had no sway over a man holding a gun on him.

“Podemos hablar en privado, el Capitan?”

“After you,” I said, motioning toward the wheel house.

I had to credit the man, he recovered quickly. He walked straight and tall along the port rail to the wheel house, as I followed. Only when we were inside, did I put the Sig back into my waistband.

“I know 225 kilos of grass has a street value of about half a million bucks, Santiago,” I said. “You've been paying Trent only five grand. That ain't enough. You want me to haul it, it's gonna cost you four times that. That's twenty grand. Paid on delivery. Not negotiable.”

“Raphael said three times as much,” he said.

I smiled, knowing that I already had him back peddling. “That was before you boarded my vessel without permission and tried to undermine my authority in front of my crew. Take it or leave it. Either way, you're off this boat, most riki tik.”

“I like you, Capitan McDermitt,” he said. “I think we might have a future together.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes, I will pay you the twenty thousand. When your job for Capitan Trent is finished, perhaps you might consider working for me? I can use a man that can't be threatened.”

His eyes were slightly red, no doubt from the night’s partying at the Blue Parrot. His clothes were a little rumpled, probably from having to come down here in a hurry. Still, I could tell they were top of the line. He had a thin scar on the side of his face, just below the hairline. Hardly noticeable, except when he smiled. He was smiling now.

“I'll consider it,” I said. “But, I ain't cheap.”

“I can make it worth your while, Capitan. Do you know Miami?”

“I hate Miami,” I said. “I know my way around well enough though. Why?”

“Conoces la Habana? Have you ever been across the Straights?”

“A few times. Again, why?”

“I usually travel with a body guard,” he said. “He got himself killed in Little Havana just last week. Asesinado, for the money in his pocket. I need someone of your, let's say, stature and demeanor to take his place. I travel to Cuba once a month.”

“Have a number in mind, when I get back,” I said, with as menacing a grin as I could muster. “We'll talk.”

“Si, Capitan. Tengan un bien viaje.” He handed me a piece of paper and added, “The time and coordinates for your pickup. The boat will be the
Salty Parrot
and he will come alongside to barter beer for your by-catch.”

As he turned to walk out of the wheel house, I looked at the paper and said, “This looks to be east of where I plan to fish, Santiago. Tell your pickup man he can find me on Rebecca Shoals, same day and time.”

“That’s a lot further west, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Fewer people around.” He nodded and left the pilot house.

I waited until I was sure he was off the boat, then went out on deck. Two crewmen were lowering the hatch over the hold and Doc turned and said, “Ready to get underway, Captain.”

“Get the crew together in the galley,” I said as I turned and went down the ladder well. I took a seat at the far end of the large dining table, as the crew filed in. I waited until they were all inside and stopped fidgeting, while I measured each one with a hard eye. I'd been a Gunnery Sergeant in the Corps, in charge of a whole company of Infantry, at one time. I knew how to measure men. I easily picked out the two that Doc had said were against hauling pot for Santiago by their body language.

I stood up and said, “My name's Captain Jesse McDermitt. Captain Trent was in a diving accident yesterday and he hired me to run the boat in his stead. I just renegotiated Trent's take on his little side business with Santiago, tripling it. That's a guarantee of $1600 to each of you, $2000 to Mister Talbot and $5000 to Captain Trent, on top of our weeks catch. Be warned, I don't condone drug use on board. I catch anyone lighting up a spliff, you'll swim back to Key West. Also, I demand instant obedience to any and all orders. I won't be trifled with. Do I make myself clear?”

Each man nodded, including the two on Doc's side. Then I pointed to the man on the far left, who was the one in Santiago's pocket and said, “Sound off with your name and primary job.”

“John Lupori, deckhand,” said Santiago's man.

“Paul Laudenslager, cook,” said the second man. “Phil McWhorter, deckhand.”

“David Williams, engineer.”

“Jan Sims, navigator.”

“Bob Talbot, First Mate.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let's get under way. Any questions?”

“Yes sir,” McWhorter said. “I overheard you tell Bob, we were going straight to Rebecca Shoals. We always start at New Ground. Just wondering why.”

“Because, McWhorter, that's where every other boat in the Key West fleet starts. We're going further west and working our way back. Now, if there's no more questions, let's rock and roll.” The men all filed out, except for Doc, Williams and Sims.

“Captain,” Williams said. “We're not comfortable with running drugs.” I looked at Doc and got an almost imperceptible nod, meaning he vouched for these two men.

“Close the hatch, Doc,” I said. When he'd closed it, I continued. “Everything that just happened in this last half hour was for Lupori. I'm not comfortable with it either, and am aware that he’s also working for Santiago. I'm here to get Santiago off your back. With any luck, maybe off the backs of everyone in Key West, too. Doc vouches for you two and if he trusts you, I do too.”

“I thought I recognized that tattoo,” Williams said noting that I’d called the First Mate, Doc. “My kid's in the Corps. Afghanistan. My eldest recently left the Corps.”

“I have a daughter in the Guard,” said Sims.

“Can I count on you guys to help us out?” I asked. “All I can tell you is we're not alone. I can't tell you who’s going to be helping us, but they cast a big shadow.”

Just then, Laudenslager knocked on the hatch and opened it. “Skipper,” he said. “There's a lady at the dock wants to see you.”

“I'll be right there,” I said and he closed the hatch. “Well?” I said.

“I'm in, Skipper,” said Sims.

“Me too,” said Williams.

“Okay then,” I said. “Let's get this boat moving. Mister Williams, how’s the engine?”

“All set, Skipper,” he said. “Ran a complete diagnostics early this morning. Anytime you’re ready, you can fire her up.”

“Good, I'll be right back.” I went through the hatch, expecting to see Tina on the dock, but was surprised to see it was Julie. I looked around the docks and on the street, to see if Santiago or Raphael were still in the area and didn't see either of them.

Julie was holding a briefcase and was dressed like some kind of secretary, in black slacks and a dark blue blouse. I walked down the gangplank and said, “What are you doing here?”

“The office sent me, Captain. I have some papers for you to look over.” Then under her breath she added, “That'd be Russell. Take this case. There's a satellite phone inside.”

I took the briefcase and said, “Anything else?”

“That's it,” she said louder, obviously enjoying the secret agent game. “Just look those papers over and get back to the board members when you can.” Then she turned and walked away. I watched her all the way to the corner of Simonton Street, where she got in Alex's yellow Jeep and drove away.

I walked back up the gangplank and went to my cabin, behind the pilot house. I left the briefcase with my sea bag and went forward, into the pilot house. Trent’s boat was a 66 foot custom trawler, built by St. Augustine Marine Center in 1978. Trent had taken good care of her, it looked like. I turned the key and the engine immediately fired up.

Doc came in through the hatch and said, “We’re all set, Jesse.”

“Tell the crew to cast off,” I said. This was going to be my first test. Depending on how I maneuvered out of port, the crew would either accept me as the skipper, or not.

Doc gave the orders over the loudspeaker and the crew wrestled the large hawsers aboard. When we were free of the pier, Doc nodded his head and I checked the wheel to ensure the rudder was amidships and put the
Charlie
in forward. I nudged the throttle, to start the big boat moving then brought it back to idle.

It had been a while since I’d piloted a boat this big, but I guess it’s like riding a bike. We cleared the docks and I managed to get her around the pier and into Key West Bight, heading west, without incident or running over anything.

“Radar’s clear, Captain,” Doc said. “No cruise ships in the channel. We’re clear to enter.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I said. “Maneuvering with twin engines is a lot easier.”

“You made it look pretty easy, Jesse,” he said. Then he gave me a lopsided grin and added, “Now, just stay between the big green and red markers.”

I maneuvered the big boat around and into the channel, heading southwest between Tank Island and the cruise ship docks. When we were off the southwest tip of Key West, I started a slow turn to the north and entered Northwest Channel. As soon as we were through the narrows, I bumped the throttle up to 1800 rpm and the big boat slowly accelerated to ten knots. Being already familiar with it, I knew the big Cat engine would get its best fuel economy at that 1600 rpm, but I wanted to get out ahead of the other boats, before we made New Ground.

There were two other shrimp boats ahead of us and another just coming out of the harbor. Doc reached up and turned on the UHF radio. Then he keyed the mic and spoke into it, “Gang way, fellas.
Miss Charlie’s
coming into the channel with a new Skipper at the helm.”

A voice came over the radio, “Morning, Bob. Where’s Carl?”

“That’s Charlie Hofbauer,” Doc told me. “He’s the Skipper of
Morning Mist
, just ahead of us.”

Keying the mic he said, “Morning Charlie. Carl had a little scuba diving accident yesterday and will be in the chamber up in Key Largo for a day or so.”

“Sorry to hear that,” came the voice over the radio. “Who you got taking his place?”

“Captain McDermitt,” Doc said. “He runs a fishing boat out of Marathon.”

Another voice came over the radio, “Jesse, this is Al Fader, on the
Night Moves
. Thought I recognized you at the dock. Sorry to hear about Alex. Went out on the flats with her about two years ago. Nice lady.”

I took the mic and said, “Thanks Al. Haven’t seen you around the
Anchor
in a while.”

“Got married last year,” he said. “The old lady won’t let me out from under her thumb. Maybe we can get together out on New Ground and have a beer in the morning.”

“We’re going on out to Rebecca Shoal today,” I said. “Should be back on New Ground by Wednesday. Save me a Carib.”

“You got it, man,” Al said.

We motored on northward, slowly gaining on, then passing the other two shrimp boats. I was playing a hunch. I know fish, but don't know much about shrimp, except that fish like to eat them. Certain fish in particular, like Spanish mackerel. The night before, I studied the fishing forecast, past years fishing reports, weather forecast, and water conditions in the shrimping grounds north and west of Key West. From a fisherman's point of view, everything I read said that Spanish mackerel fishing would be good on Rebecca Shoals early this week. Since fish go where the food is, and Spanish mackerel feed primarily on shrimp, the past fishing reports pointed to an abundance of them, and therefore shrimp, further west.

Two hours later, we were passing New Ground and Doc came into the pilot house. Turning to him, I gave him the paper Santiago had given me and said, “This is nearby, isn’t it?”

Doc took the paper and looked at it, then said, “Yeah, on the western edge, though. Another two miles, but it's only about thirty feet of water. Is this where Santiago said to make the pickup?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “But, I told him Rebecca Shoals, same day and time. After the pickup, the boat making the delivery is going to disappear. Senor Santiago is going to need a new transporter. That’s how I plan to get on the inside.”

“How do you know it’s going to disappear?” he asked. “Or is that a question I shouldn’t ask.”

I eyed Doc closely. My first instinct when I met him was that he was a good man. That hadn’t diminished since then. If anything, I felt even stronger that my initial instinct was right.

“Doc,” I said. “I work as a private contractor for DHS. Santiago has come up on their radar and that’s part of the reason I’m here. Once the exchange is made, a go-fast boat will intercept the carrier and take them into custody.” I hoped I was right, at least. I still needed to contact Deuce and arrange it to happen.

“You’re a fed?” he asked incredulously.

“More of a merc, than a fed,” I said grinning. “I don’t carry a badge, or anything. They just pay me to do odd jobs. Take the wheel, I need to make a phone call.”

I took the piece of paper back from him as he took the wheel and he said, “You won't get a signal out here. Nobody does.”

I went into the cabin and opened the briefcase Julie had given me. Inside were several file folders and a satellite phone. The new kind, with a big screen you can see pictures on. Maybe even do a video call with. I set it aside and looked at the file folders. The top one was a dossier on Santiago. I set it aside also and looked at the others. They were complete workups on every man in the crew. I pulled the one out for Doc and opened it. I scanned through it, but didn't see any red flags, which would have surprised me.