Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (23 page)

We got to the dock, where Julie was helping Cindy tie off her rental skiff. It was one of Skeeter’s Mavericks
. Cindy looked to be in her early thirties, not much older than Julie. She had shoulder length brown hair, streaked by the sun. She was shorter than I thought she’d be somehow. About 5’-4” tall and 130 pounds.

She stepped to the dock and said, “You must be Jesse,” extending her hand.

“I am,” I said taking her firm grip. “This is Julie and Deuce. Another couple that live here will be joining us in a few minutes.”

“Alex emailed me and told me about this place, just before she
died. She said she looked forward to showing it to me one day.”

“We have a few minutes,” I said. “Come on up to the deck and I’ll give you the birds eye tour.”

We went up to the rear deck and I pointed out all the features that could be seen from there, which was pretty much the whole island.

“I didn’t expect a whole community,” Cindy said. “Alex said it was very secluded and you lived
here alone.”

“I did. After losing Alex,
I needed people around,” I lied.

The Trent
s came up the steps, with the kids, Tony, Dawson, and Pescador and I introduced them all to Cindy. Charlie told the kids to be good and help Mister Tony. They started down the back steps, holding hands. As we started to leave Pescador barked once.

“No,” I said. “You can go next time. Stay here and keep an eye on the kids.” He turned and trotted after the kids.

“Alex mentioned him in her emails, too. She said he was the smartest dog she’d ever encountered.”

“Sometimes I think he’s an alien from a far more advanced planet,” I said as we started down the front steps.

Five minutes later, all three boats idled out the channel and headed south. I led the way, piloting Cindy’s rental and turned west between the Water Keys, with Julie at the helm of Alex’s skiff and Trent following behind in my skiff. Before the north end of Raccoon Key, I turned south to avoid the shallows on the north end of the island and circled around it, into a natural channel and headed northwest. A few minutes later, we approached Crane Key and I slowed down. The channel spread out wide here and just ahead were the shallows known as Crane Key Mangrove.

I brought the skiff down off plane and s
hifted to neutral as the other two boats drifted up on either side. Cindy looked over the gunwale and said, “How deep is it here?”

Her boat didn’t have a depth sounder. “It’s probably ten feet,” I replied. “A few holes might be fifteen.”

“Really? I’ve never seen water so clear. I can make out every detail on the bottom.”

“We’ll spread out here,” I said. “To the north where those mangroves are is a shelf where
the bottom rises from seven or eight feet to less than a foot. There’ll be snapper, grunts, and a few grouper and snook.” Pointing toward the mangroves I added, “Up on those flats, Cindy, we might be able to put you on some bonefish. No good to eat, but a real challenge to catch.”

“We’ll go west to the channel markers,” Charlie said. “I got some good sized grouper there last week.”

I pointed to the northeast and said, “Over there’s another drop off, Julie, north and east of Crane Key there. You and Deuce can wade the sand bar between the two drop offs and you’re sure to get snapper and maybe even a snook or two.”

The other two boats started up and headed off in both directions. In the stillness, Cindy opened her fly rod case and said, “Alex told me about catching bonefish and how
difficult they were. She called them gray ghosts and said they were real easy to spook.”

“They are, but that’s not the challenging part. They have a bony palate, so a barbed hooks is useless. Once you hook one, you have to constantly keep pressure on them to keep them from throwing the hook out. Want to give it a shot?”

“Yeah, sounds like fun.”

“Go on up to the casting deck, I’ll pole us toward that little bay area ahead.
They scavenge on the bottom in just a few inches of water. You can usually see their dorsal and tail fins sticking out.”

I got the pole from under the starboard gunwale and stepped up to the poling platform above the outboard. A few pushes had us up on the shallows and I scanned the area ahead, but didn’t see anything.

I pushed a couple more times with the pole, heading deeper into the little bay. Cindy pointed toward the mangroves on the left and sure enough there were three bonefish tailing in the shadows.

I whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “Tease them with a couple of light rolls a few feet ahead of them.”

She stripped line from the real and started her cast. Her form reminded me of Alex. She’d tried several times to teach me her technique, but I never could get it. I’d practiced after she was killed and got better, but nowhere near as good as her. After a couple of casts, not letting the fly touch the water, she had the distance and gently let the fly fall into the water about three feet ahead of the lead bonefish. Before the line settled into the water, she whipped the rod back to her side, the line arcing behind her and then whipped it forward again, the fly touching the water less than a foot in front of the fish.

The
lead bonefish exploded on the fly and the fight was on. It didn’t last long, though. The fish charged to the left, stripping line, then turned and came straight toward the boat, spit out the hook and disappeared.

“Amazing,” Cindy whispered
, not the least bit disappointed. “Very strong and smart fish.” She reeled in her line and I poled slowly to the east, knowing that those three were long gone. I spotted another one near the other side of the bay and pointed toward it.

“He’s likely to do the same thing,” I whispered. “Be ready for the charge.”

Again, she stripped out line and started her cast. When the distance was right, she let the fly barely touch the water a foot ahead of the big fish, before whipping it back up again. She did the same thing again, teasing it. On the third cast, the bonefish took the fly just as it touched the water. This time, she was ready and when the fish charged, she stripped line furiously, while lifting the rod tip. It turned and charged the opposite way taking a good thirty feet of line, before turning toward the boat again. Cindy learned fast and within five minutes had tired the fish and brought it alongside.

“There’s a camera in my fly rod case. Would you mind?”

As she lifted the fish from the water, I got her camera out and took two pictures of her and her first bonefish. She got down on her knees and gently lowered the fish into the water. Holding it under the belly, she faced it into the light current to allow water into its mouth and across its gills. A moment later, with a shake of its tail it was gone.

Cindy stood u
p, wiped her hands on her pants and said, “I’m going to send that to my fiancé. He works overseas. Now I see why Alex loved this place. I just know a school here will be successful.”

“You knew her long?” I asked.

“We grew up together. She was a country girl and I was a city girl. We met one weekend when my parents took us camping on the Columbia River and hit it off right away even though she was a couple years older than me. She taught me to fish and just about everything I know about the outdoors, I learned a lot from her. I was sad to see her leave, but now I can see why.”

“Want to catch another one?” I asked.

“We’re supposed to be filling your freezer,” she replied. “What exactly is a grunt?”

I laughed and said, “I’ll let you figure that out yourself. They’re not very big and eat just about anything you throw in front of them. But, nothing’s better in a pan.”

For the next hour we fished for grunts and caught about thirty, along with three red snappers, a marbled grouper and a good sized pompano. She was amazed at the fight the pompano put up for its size. When Cindy landed the first grunt, it started making its usual grunting noise, grinding its teeth. She laughed and said, “Yeah, now I get it. Not much of a fighter, though.”

“That’s why we like ‘em. That and they’re really tasty.”

To the east, I heard the familiar sound of Alex’s skiff start up. She’d bought it a few days before we got married and it had a huge 300 horse Mercury outboard on it. I debated selling it, but decided to keep it and swapped the engine with the 250 horsepower Yamaha that was on the Grady White.

When I looked to the east, I saw the skiff leap up onto plane and come roaring toward us. A minute later, Julie pulled back on the throttle and turned broadside. Julie and Deuce both had anxious look
s on their faces.

“Chyrel called. We need to get back to the island,” Deuce said.

“What happened?”

“Smith disappeared,” he replied.

“Y’all go ahead. I’ll go over and let the Trents know we’re leaving.” Julie mashed the throttle and the little Maverick jumped up on plane again, heading south.

“Who is Smith?” Cindy asked.

“I’m sorry, Cindy. I can’t tell you that. And I’m doubly sorry that we have to cut this short.”

I sat down and started the outboard as she broke down her rod and put it in the case.
When she was seated I put the boat in gear, brought it up on plane and headed southwest, toward Cudjoe Channel, where the Trents were anchored up. I came up slowly and cut the engine before I got close.

“I have to get back, Carl,” I said when we were still twenty feet away. “Deuce and Julie already left. Something’s come up.”

Trent nodded and said, “We’ll stay a little longer unless you need me. The fish box is nearly full.”

“Nothing for you to do,” I said. “Head back when you’re ready.”
I let the skiff drift southward with the current until we were 50 yards away, then restarted the outboard and headed back.

“In Alex’s last email, she mentioned you were working with a government agency. Deuce too?”

I looked at her and said, “He’s kind of my boss, but I really shouldn’t say anything more.”

“I understand,” she said. “
My fiancé, Hans, works for the government and can’t talk about a lot of what he does, even though he’s only a low level clerk at an embassy in northern Africa. Thanks for bringing me out here. You were wrong about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“A good guide doesn’t necessarily have to be a good fly fisherman. You know the water and you know the fish. You’re a great flat’s guide.” I smiled and thanked her.

A few minutes later, we passed through the Water Keys into Harbor Channel and made the turn up to my house. I brought the skiff down off plane and idled up to the pier. Cindy tied off the bow line and I reached over and tied off the stern line.

“You’re welcome to stay for supper,” I said as we climbed out of the boat. “Charley is used to cooking for a lot of people.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “But the sun’s getting low. I should head back before it gets dark.”

“There’s plenty of room here if you want to stay the night. You can stay in the guest cabin of my boat. Plenty of fishing in the morning.” Why I wanted her to stay, I couldn’t say. Maybe it was just the connection to Alex.

“Well, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”

“Some of us might be a little busy, but by sunset things should cool down. There’s a shower and a washer and dryer aboard and I’m sure we can come up with some clean clothes.”

“
I always bring a change of clothes when I go out on a boat, along with anything else that I might need if I get stuck overnight.”

“Smart thing to do,” I said. “Just go through that door at the bottom of the steps. You’ll find the
Revenge
is pretty comfortable and it’s unlocked. Guest cabin is to port, through the salon and the head is across the companionway. I hate to be rude, but I need to check on some things. There’s two tables at the far side of the clearing. That’s where we usually congregate. See you shortly.”

I left her to get her gear out of the skiff and
trotted to the bunkhouse. I saw Tony and Pescador with the kids near the aquaculture tanks and stopped to tell him we had a guest. He said that Dawson went snorkeling for stone crab and slipper lobster. It’s not as common in the Keys as the spiny lobster, but there’s no season so they can be caught year round.

When I got to the bunkhouse, Deuce was in a video conference with both Kumar and Stockwell. Kumar was explaining that when they arrived in Djibouti, they went straight to the CIA station house, but the Agent on duty said that Smith had left at noon and didn’t come back. He was supposed to meet with two other field operatives and failed to cancel
the meet. His cell phone was on his desk. “From what the Assistant Station Chief said, he just vanished into thin air,” Kumar said.

“That’s not good,” Stockwell said. “Djibouti can be a dangerous place. But leaving his cell phone probably means he found out that his hit men failed and he’s running.”

“Deuce,” Chyrel said, sitting at another keyboard. “Sorry, but I just found something important. I placed a surveillance code on Smith’s Swiss account and just got a hit. But, it’s an hour old. He transferred $2.5 million.”

“Transferred it where?” Deuce and Stockwell asked at the same time.