Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (20 page)

I placed the three boxes on the table and opened the first one. I removed my Pulsar Edge night vision optics headset and handed it to Tony
. Then I opened the other two boxes and passed out three Sig Sauer P226 nine millimeter semi-automatic pistols, and three magazines loaded with Parabellums to Tony, Jeremy, and Deuce, keeping the fourth for myself. Being standard issue for SEAL’s I knew Tony and Deuce would be more than familiar with them. Dawson being Coast Guard was more used to the Beretta M9, I figured.

“You familiar with the Sig, Jeremy?” I asked.

“Very much so. I own two.”

“What about me?” Julie asked.

“Deuce told me you’ve been practicing with the rifle. If anything happens, I want you up on the roof. My M-40A3 sniper rifle is on the table in the house. There’s a ladder next to the cistern and a small platform in the center of the roof. From there, you can see the whole island and every approach through the night optics on it.”

“Why not Russell? He is a SEAL sniper.”

“Deuce is also about twice your weight. Nothing personal, Deuce. But my roof is all that keeps the rain off me.”

“None taken,” he said. “Jesse’s right. You can get up there a lot quicker than me and if something happens during my watch, you could get there that much faster.”

I checked my watch and saw that it was after 2200. “Alright,” I said. “Everyone turn in, it’s late.”

As Julie and Deuce headed for the house, Dawson
went to the western bunkhouse. Trent had finished the wall with only one side paneled and Dawson helped him muscle it through the door at the west end. A few minutes later, they had it in place and Trent nailed it to the exterior walls. He said he’d put the paneling on the other side tomorrow.

“You think he’ll try something here tonight?” Tony asked as I rolled my bedroll out on the ground
by the table.

“I doubt it. But forewarned is forearmed.”

As he started toward the tree line he said, “See you in the morning.” It’d been a long day and I was asleep before my head hit the bedroll, Pescador already asleep lying next to me.

The smell of coffee woke me. Deuce was kneeling beside me with two cups and extended one to me as I sat up. “Thanks,” I said. I took a swallow and looked around. It was
dark and very quiet. Pescador looked at me, ears up.

“Go ahead,” I said to the dog. He ran silently between the bunkhouses and lifted his leg on a rock by the pier.

“Nothing,” Deuce said. “But we’ll keep a watch at night until he’s found anyway.”

“You don’t like waiting any more than me, do you?”

“No, proactive is my nature.”

“
Me too,” I said as I rolled my bedroll and blanket then sat down at the table. Deuce sat down across from me. “You’re not going back to bed?”

“Nah, sun’ll be up in an hour. Besides, I snoozed a little on the way here yesterday.”

We both heard a twig snap and were instantly down behind the table, guns drawn. Pescador had returned and was on full alert, the hair on his neck sticking up. He instinctively never made a sound, knowing that we’d heard the noise, also. Deuce pulled the Pulsar night optics down in front of his eyes and scanned the area to the east where the sound had come from.

My eyes were accustomed to the dark, but I still couldn’t see what he could. He held up one finger
and then two fingers down wiggling them and pointing right to left, letting me know it was one person on foot and they were headed toward the north end of the island.

He pointed to me and then to the gap between the bunkhouses, made a gun firing signal with his left hand and moved his hand in a pushing motion
, pointing toward the east side of the island.

I nodded and moved quickly toward the gap,
Pescador trotting silently beside me. I knew that Deuce would be able to cross the clearing unobserved with the night vision. He would then be in position to intercept whoever it was, after I got around ahead of him and started shooting, driving him back the way he came, toward Deuce.

I made it between the bunkhouses and moved quickly between the pier and the casuarinas
that surrounded this end of the island. From there I moved more cautiously, staying low and taking advantage of the cover. Pescador followed closely behind me, like a dark, silent shadow.

From where we heard the sound to where I was now moving, was about a hundred yards. I figured if he was moving stealthily, he’d be at least fifty yards in front of me
now. But, I had no idea if he was equipped with night vision or not. I trusted that Pescador would alert me if he heard him getting too close.

I moved another ten yards to a gumbo limbo tree with some low, thick branches. By now Deuce would be in position, so I
motioned Pescador to stop, aimed toward the edge of the tree line along the water and started firing. I fired four shots in quick succession and heard someone crashing through the brush at the water line just twenty yards ahead of me. I came out from behind the tree and fired twice more, rushing forward as noisily as I could. Pescador ran just ahead of me, barking twice. His voice is a deep, menacing sound and carried through the darkness well. Whoever the guy was, he now knew he had an armed pursuer and a big dog chasing him.

It was all on Deuce now. Shouts were coming from the bunkhouse
, responding to the gunshots. I heard a door slam in the direction of the main house. Then I heard a loud thump and a moan.

“Tango down!” I heard Deuce yell. I pulled a powerful penlight from my pocket and started toward him. More flashlights were sweeping the area.

Not wanting to be taken for an intruder, I shouted loud enough to be heard at the main house, “Tango down! Hold your fire! Deuce has him down on the east side of the island!”

By the time I got to Deuce, Dawson
and Pescador were already there. The guy was on the ground facedown and Deuce had him pinned at the back of his neck with one knee, while the other was across his right forearm. Pescador had him by the sleeve of his left hand and it was stretched out away from his body. A scoped hunting rifle lay next to him, which I picked up. A moment later, Tony came running up with a length of quarter inch twisted sisal rope. He dropped down on the opposite side of the guy, next to Pescador and tied his left hand. Pescador released his sleeve and moved to the guy’s head, his rumbling, hot breath inches from the guy’s face. Tony brought his left hand up to the small of his back and when he grabbed the guy’s right wrist, Deuce lifted his knee. Tony quickly brought it up to his other hand and tied them together. Only then did Deuce stand up, still wearing the night vision goggles.

Julie, Chyrel, and Trent came running up adding more flashlights to the scene, so Deuce removed his night vision.
Tony and Dawson each grabbed the guy by the upper arms and lifted him to his feet. He had a gash on the side of his head and blood was running down his left cheek. But, there was no mistaking that it was Kyle Parker.

“Jules, get the lamp lit,” I said. “
Bring him over to the table.” Julie ran ahead of Tony and Dawson, half dragging Parker.

“What the hell happened?” Trent asked. “Who is that guy?”

“He’s a hired killer,” I replied. “But, he’s out of business now.”

“I don’t get it. What’s he doing here? Did you guys know he was coming here?”

Deuce turned to Trent and said, “Calm down Carl. We only figured out what was going on late last night.” As we walked toward the now lit area around the table, Deuce continued in a calming voice. “Yesterday morning, someone tried to kill Jesse and me, but he ended up being the one getting killed. Late last night, we found out he had an accomplice so we kept watch all night in case he tried again. Everything’s okay now. Think you and Chyrel can rustle up some breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” he said looking confused. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Pancakes okay?”

“That’d be great. Thanks. And don’t worry, there were only two of them.”

Trent headed off to the western bunkhouse and Chyrel followed, trying to keep him calm and answer his questions as best she could.

“Sit him on the bench, facing away from the table,” Deuce ordered. “Near the end and tie his hands and feet to the legs of the bench and table. It’s time to get some information from our guest.”

Tony pulled another length of quarter inch
twisted sisal rope from the pocket of his cargo pants and removed Parkers shoes and socks, before tying his feet together and pulling them back to the legs of the bench. He did the same thing with the tailing of the first rope, tying his hands to the legs of the table. He wasn’t gentle. Sisal rope is made from the fiber of the agave plant and is widely used in baling hay and marine uses. It’s a very coarse, rough fiber and when used to tie someone’s hands, it’s extremely uncomfortable.

After securing him to the table, Tony went through his pockets, prod
ucing a throwaway cell phone and keys apparently to a rental boat, but nothing more.

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Parker spat out.

“Sure you will, Parker,” Deuce growled. “But, not until after we eat.” Parker jerked his head up, surprised that Deuce knew who he was. “Oh yeah, we know who and what you are. And we know you were working with Stolski. What we don’t know,” and he kind of trailed off there. “Well, what we don’t know, we have ways of finding out, don’t we Gunny.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “But you’re right. No hurry. Stolski’s dead and this turd fondler will
pray to join him soon enough. You want another cup of java, Commander?”

Julie caught on quick and said, “Come on, Gunny. Can’t we just slap him around a little before chow?”

“You’ll get your chance, Petty Officer,” I said. “But let’s have some coffee and pancakes first.”

“Alright,” she hissed. “I’ll get it. But don’t start without me.”

She headed toward the main house and I looked over at Deuce and whispered, “Better not leave her alone with this guy. You remember last time?”

“The Cuban?” Deuce asked. “Or the Iraqi?”

“The Iraqi,” I winced as we walked over to the other table. “Poor sonofabitch had to eat his own pecker.”

Tony stood there staring at Parker, his arms crossed and his feet apart.
Pescador stood next to him with the hair on his neck and back standing up, a low, menacing rumble coming from deep in his chest. Tony was in bare feet, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts, the muscles in his chest and abdomen flexing with every slight move and his dark, ebony skin glistening with sweat. Apparently, he and Deuce had played this game before. He shouted unintelligible gibberish that sounded like some strange African dialect with clicking sounds, never taking his eyes from Parker. Parker looked up at the strange sounds with a look of fear and dread.

“No,”
Dawson shouted as he turned around. Then very slowly, as if speaking to a child he added, “You may not eat him.”

Tony’s face became even harder
if that were possible, his nostrils flaring as he bent his head slightly, looking at Parker with dark, hooded eyes and mumbling more gibberish.

Deuce, Dawson and I sat down at the far end of the other table. Soon Julie joined us with three mugs, a thermos and two
large bottles of water. She whistled and tossed one to Tony. He caught it backhanded, never taking his eyes off Parker. He opened it and took a couple of swallows then pulled a towel from one of his cargo pockets and set the towel and the water bottle next to Parker on the table. The former CIA agent knew full well the meaning of the towel and water. Tony left him sitting there and joined us.

A few minutes later, Chyrel brought a plate full of pancakes out, stacked on top of several more plates and set them on the table, with a bottle of syrup and several forks. Apparently she was privy to the game, too. She never said a word
, just took the throwaway phone Deuce picked up from the table and went back to the bunkhouse. I passed out the plates and forks and we all dug into the pancakes.

After a minute, Deuce whispered to Julie in a voice low enough that Parker couldn’t hear, “Maybe you should join Chyrel.”

Julie surprised me with the sternness in her whispered voice. “The other one tried to kill us. This one came here to kill you and Jesse. I’m okay with whatever you plan to do, so long as you don’t actually kill him.”

Deuce
poured another cup of coffee, picked up the file on Parker and walked around to stand directly behind him. He tried to crane his neck around, but finally gave up. “You won’t get anything out of me,” Parker said. “I’ve been waterboarded before.” But his voice belied his bravado.

Deuce set the heavy mug down on the table, causing Parker to involuntarily jump. Again, he tried to twist around to see what Deuce was doing. Deuce opened the file and started to read some of the highlights of Parkers short career with the CIA out loud.

The look on Parker’s face said it all. Most of what was in the file should have been redacted and he knew it. “Not much of a career,” Deuce said. “And no reference to having been captured or undergone waterboard training. The Gunny here has, though, haven’t you Gunny.”

“Yes sir, many times. Died twice, had to have CPR to bring me back.”

“Care to show our guest here what it’s like?”