Authors: Wayne Batson
I kept my eyes on the shadows as we rounded the gatehouse. If Smiling Jack and his murderous partner had been using this marina for some time, they would have attracted Shades. And maybe worse things. In fact, it was near a certainty that one or both of the killers had already been Taken or perhaps even Seared. I switched momentarily to Netherview and was surprised to find the gatehouse clear of supernatural evil. But there were two guards.
Both male.
I switched back to Earthveil. Unfortunately, they weren’t rent-a-cops. The taller of the two sported red hair, buzzed high and tight, and a jowly bull-dog face. He had a coiled “Don’t tread on me” snake tattooed on his forearm and a Marine Corps eagle and anchor ring on a finger of his right hand. He wasn’t bulky, but the edgy muscle he did carry made him look hard enough to break a board on just about any part of him.
On tip-toe, the other guard wouldn’t be as tall as the Marine’s shoulder. He had dark, shifty eyes and black, slicked back hair. He was clean-shaven and had olive skin like a first generation Italian with weeks of tan on top of that. Everything about him looked smooth. He seemed like the sort of man who could duck behind you in an instant and put blade between your ribs.
But, I repeat: they were men.
Agent Rezvani changed the way she walked as she approached the booth, and I was immediately glad that I let her handle this part. Hollywood itself couldn’t have conjured up a more perfect breeze off the water, just enough to ripple the sheer dress and delicately toss the burnished curls of her hair on her slender neck and toned shoulders. She smiled sweetly at the guards, and they moved closer to the sliding window and smiled back. She dangled a tiny plum-colored purse from one wrist and made a big show of fingering through it. That purse might as well have been a hypnotist’s watch swinging on a chain.
“Hey, there, miss,” Mr. Smooth said, his hand gliding to a pen while simultaneously opening a thin blue notebook. “What can Four Seasons Marina do for you this fine summer evening?”
“Yeah,” Red-buzz said, “what can we do for you?”
Not too original, that Red-buzz.
Agent Rezvani tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, and I’m certain, I saw both guards rock backward on their heels.
“It
is
a fine summer evening,” Rez replied, her voice velvety-Southern.
Where did that come from?
“My
friend
and I”—she emphasized ‘friend’ and waved over her shoulder at me—“have a private dinner cruise with our good friends the Adderlys. Only been here once before, but I’ve forgotten the berth. I know I wrote it down, but I think I put the card in my black purse.”
She was a damsel in distress. The
perfect
damsel in distress. I’m reasonably sure, if she asked the two men to fight with aluminum baseball bats for the chance to help her out, that they would instantly beat each other senseless.
“Adderlys’ berth, eh?” said Mr. Smooth. “I think we can find that for you.”
Rez reached over and touched Mr. Smooth’s hand as she said, “I cannot thank you enough.”
Mr. Smooth didn’t look so smooth anymore. He paled a bit and swallowed. “It’s really no trouble.”
“Yeah, no trouble,” Red-buzz said.
Rez lifted her hand, leaned forward, and cast a blinding smile at each man in turn. “Honestly, some places these days forget all about the common kindnesses that mean so much.”
“Uh, Applebees—I mean, Adderlys, got ‘em right here,” Mr. Smooth said, tapping a finger on the notebook page. “Berth 22A.” He pointed out over the jetties. “Just take the left side, go past the covered berths. It’s about a hundred yards out.”
“Again, my thanks,” Rez said. She turned with a wink to me.
When we were far enough away, I asked, “How’d you know about the Adderlys?”
“I am FBI,” she said. “I have sources. Their berth is pretty close to the one rented by Dyreson Industries.”
I handed her the Glock I’d held for her under my sports coat. “Thanks,” she said. “Kinda hard to hide that under a dress.”
“G didn’t say what time this Mr. Gray takes the women out,” I said. “We should hurry.”
Rez looked me up and down. “What about a weapon? You have something in your case?”
I smiled. “I have what I need.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
“I feel good,” Erica said as Jack helped her from the dock onto the yacht. “But I also feel strange.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Dr. Gary said, stepping lightly over and taking her arm. “You can rest when we get you down below.” He looked up to Jack. “Cast off as soon as you can. Once we’re out in the Gulf, make for Pensacola. We’ll need to start filming right away. I don’t know how much longer…”
“Are we making a movie?” Erica asked. “I like movies.”
“Yes, we are,” Jack replied. “And, Erica, it’s your turn to be the star.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
Berth 22A, the Adderlys’ berth, was just a few yachts away from the berth owned by Dyreson Industries. But the Sun Odyssey was gone. Smiling Jack had already left port. The Adderly’s yacht,
The Sirocco
, however, bobbed gently on the Gulf.
“Ahoy!” a pencil thin man called from the cabin. “Can I help?” A much younger woman emerged at his elbow. She was blonde and curvaceous, wearing a bikini top and cargo shorts—and sunglasses, even though it was dark.
She wobbled a little, held onto his shoulder, and said, “You look all dressed up and nowhere to go.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked. Then I played a hunch. “We were late for a party cruise with Mr. Gray here, berth 22D. Didn’t think he’d leave without us.”
“He left all right,” the man said. “Maybe half hour ago. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“You didn’t happen to hear where he was heading?”
“Nope, sorry,” he said.
“Hey, Paul,” the blond said, tugging on the man’s shirt. Her speech was a little slurred. “I thought I heard them say something about Pensacola. They walked right by me.”
“Thanks, Darcy,” he said. He looked at us and shrugged. “Well, there you go.”
Rez raised an eyebrow. “Miss, did the Gray’s have any women with them?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Three or four.”
“Probably real lookers too,” Paul said. “Don’t know how he does it. New babes all the time.”
“Paul!” Darcy slapped his arm playfully.
Rez looked at me. “Badge?” I was already getting it out of my coat pocket.
“Are you Mr. Adderly?” she asked.
“That’s me,” he said, hopping gallantly up onto the pier. A blonde like that at his elbow, and still he literally leaped to Rez’s call.
Amazing.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Rez replied. She held out her badge. “Mr. Adderly, I am Special Agent Deanna Rezvani of the FBI.” She held out her badge.
“Wow,” he said, staring at the ID. He turned back to Darcy. “Babe, this is real.”
“The FBI parties!” she hooted, pumping a fist.
“Well, that’s not exactly why we’re here,” Rez explained. “We never were invited to a party cruise with Mr. Gray. We’re actually investigating him. He could be involved in some very dangerous business.”
“What sort of business?” Adderly asked.
“We can’t go into specifics, you understand,” she said. “But Gray’s wanted for questioning in at least one murder investigation. We got a tip that he berths here. But we missed him.”
“Never liked the arrogant jerk,” Adderly grumbled. Then, he frowned, seemingly chewing on an idea. His eyes went wide and he grinned, an industrial strength light bulb appearing above his head. “You want us to take you out on the
Sirocco
and catch the bum?”
Rez and I exchanged glanced. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we would.”
“Climb aboard, Special Agents,” Adderly said. “The
Sirocco
is a JMV hull, custom built in Cherbourg, France. With my regatta team, we took her to 40 knots.” He paused and looked at the sky. “We won’t get near that with these winds, but we won’t need it to catch up to Gray’s
little
boat.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
Adderly could flat out sail. In just a few minutes, we were way out in the Gulf. I didn’t know the Gulf of Mexico as well as some other bodies of water, but Adderly apparently did.
“Keep a northwesterly track from here and we’ll run right into Pensacola,” he crowed. “If that’s where he’s headed, we’ll catch ’em.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for his lights, love,” Darcy said, sauntering towards the foredeck. “He’s got more red lights than most.”
“Red lights,” I muttered to Rez. “Mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about ships.” She turned to Adderly at the wheel. “Mr. Adderly, do you know why Gray might have extra red lights?”
“He’s supposed to have four lights,” Adderly said. “A red and a green at the bow; a white at midship and at the stern. Darcy, where are his extra red lights?”
“Up on the mast,” she called, her voice stuttering with hiccups. “He’s got two ex—two extra—red lights. One of th—them—at the top; one half way. Middle one’s not always on though. Both were t—tonight.”
“Mean anything to you?” I asked Adderly.
“Not regulation,” he replied. “But…if you wanted to signal someone without calling too much attention to yourself, you might use red.”
I looked at Rez and met her thoughtful gaze. We were likely both wondering the same thing: who might Smiling Jack be signaling?
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
“Erica, you need to stay awake for a little longer,” Jack said, brushing silky black hair out of her eyes. “Just a little longer.”
“But…I…mmmmm, so tired.” Her head swayed.
Dr. Gary moved away from the camera and looked beneath the table. Blood pooled at Erica’s feet. “We’d better do this now,” he said.
Jack nodded. “Erica, sit up, darling. It’s time to make your movie.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
We’d been blessed with a bright, nearly full moon. And with the
Sirocco’s
speed, we’d managed to intercept one shy of a half-dozen yachts on the way to Pensacola. But drunk and disorderly was the worst of the crimes we encountered on those ships, and we hadn’t caught the Sun Odyssey.
“This is a needle in a haystack,” Rez whispered to me at the port rail. “Gulf’s a big body of water. They could be anywhere.”
“I’m used to long odds,” I said. “If he’s out here, we’ll find him.”
Rez stared at me. “You’re not just being cocky, are you?”
“Not in the least.”
“Maybe we should go back to the marina, back to the berth, and wait. He’s gotta come back to port.”
That made sense, but I wasn’t ready to go to plan B. “Thing is about waiting…another young woman could die.”
“There’s a sail!” Adderly called from the wheel.
The boom was in the way. I ducked under and stared over the undulating, moon-dappled water. It was hard to tell from the sails. Seemed like too many sails for a boat that size.
“Two red lights on the mast!” Darcy called.
Yes,
I thought.
Yes, there are.
The hull profile was right too. Then, I saw the windows. Porthole windows. “That’s it!” I called out. “That’s Gray’s ship.”
“I think you’re right!” Adderly yelled back. “But there’s another boat there.”
I looked again. There was another ship directly behind Gray’s. I couldn’t tell the make because the Sun Odyssey was between us, the two ships moored side-by-side. “Can we cut all our lights?” I asked. “And bring us in slow to about 100 yards.”
“Will do,” Adderly replied. Every light on the
Sirocco
went dark.
“Darcy, do you have any clothes aboard?” Rez asked. “This dress isn’t going to cut it.”
She lifted her shades at last and frowned. “Mostly just beachwear. Oh, but we’ve got some scuba stuff. Wetsuits. You’d fit in mine.”
“Even better,” Rez replied, disappearing with Darcy below deck.
Adderly looked me up and down. He said, “No way you’ll fit in mine.”
He was right. I’d have to manage swimming in what I had on. I tossed the sports coat onto the forecastle. The real problem was my silver case. It’s airtight, and it would float. But it would slow my swimming. And it would be too reflective in the moon’s light.
I went below deck, passed a closed door, and found the restroom. Inside, I opened my silver case. Light from several sources within illuminated the tiny room. Only God knew what I’d find on that ship…human and otherwise. I lifted one tray out of my case. There was a compact handgun recessed into the second tray. The stock was a little bulbous and a little longer than a standard 9 mm. That’s because this weapon didn’t hold bullets. Not the traditional kind anyway.
This pistol held pulses of particle nether, concentrated in vapor-locked capsules within titanium casings. The Particle Nether Pistol, PNP, could hold three-shot clips, and each shot would absolutely ruin a man, ruin in such a way that no hollow-point .45 handgun or even a big-bore rifle shell ever could. Along with the PNP, I selected a slender silver tube. It was only a foot long, but with the push of a button, it would telescope into a very lethal weapon. It had a long, complicated name, but I simply call it the
Edge
.
I closed the case. And went back topside. Rez, black from neck to ankle with neoprene, waited for me at the rail. Adderly had maneuvered us close, a little more than a hundred yards, I thought. Better safe than sorry.
“Right ship?” Rez asked.