The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) (15 page)

"Bobby-Ray, it's so good to see you," she said. It was always Bobby-Ray, never Bob, Rob or Bobby.

"It's good to see you too, sugar," he said.

"So what brings you to this part of town?"

"Your hair, your eyes, your nose and everything below that," said Bobby-Ray.

"Sure. It's been what, five months, and you're thinking of me all of a sudden."

"You betcha, sugar," he replied, "but I do need a itty-bitty favor."

"What a surprise," she said, eyes dancing, mouth grinning, "wouldn't have guessed it for the world."

He pulled the amulet he'd removed from the dead man in the swamp, from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I need this X-rayed, can you squeak that in for me?" he asked.

She looked over the amulet and turned to Bobby-Ray.

"What's the matter? Some jealous sweet thang gave you that and you're afraid it'll blow up when you put it on, take your fool head right off?"

"Now don't be ornery, sugar. It ain't nothing like that," he replied. "I just got me a little mystery to solve and that big medallion could answer some questions."

"Sure, I'll do it," she said, "but nothing's free in life Bobby-Ray. I'll have it done by the time I get off in about an hour. I get awful hungry right about then. Dinner's on you."

"Deal."

* * *

Richard Daniels got to the marina and parked the Camry with the keys in it. Billy would take care of it. It was there, on the outside wharf, that
Albatross
, the Beech Craft twin engine Seabee 1411 was docked. He'd kept the big seaplane after the operation in Mexico. He untied the mooring lines and pushed it away from the dock. As it slowly drifted down the canal with the current, Daniels did a quick pre-flight check, started the engines and taxied down the canal while they warmed up. Five minutes later he turned the plane around and accelerated down the canal taking off into the dark sky.

He followed the instruments fixed on the radio direction finder from his base somewhere in the China ink dark of the Everglades below him. When the instruments told him he had reached the right spot, he toggled the switch that sent the radio control command to the blackness below.

As he banked, he saw two rows of lights suddenly come on, ten lights on each row, separated by twenty-five yards, a total landing strip of two hundred and fifty yards, just right for water landings and take offs. He waited for the flashing red strobe light to stop, indicating the blocking artificial islands had rolled out of the way on their underwater tracks. He turned on the belly lights and landed the seaplane, taxiing until he reached the jutting dock under the massive overhanging woven vegetation. Carlos was waiting and when Daniels jumped off the plane, he clicked the remote that would rotate the artificial islands back to a blocking position. Even from the air on a clear day, it would appear to be three somewhat rectangular ponds separated by three islands among a world of mud and mangrove and sawdust islands. Only a close ground examination could reveal the tracks on which the islands moved to form a clear water landing strip.

* * *

Later that night, about twenty miles from Everglades City, into the Big Cypress swamp, a single light burned inside an island of thick Red Mangroves. The light came from the solitary window of a nearly invisible cabin built among the big trunks rising out of the water. No utility lines reached the little cabin and Bobby-Ray's airboat was a murky shadow, tied outside, in the circle of dim light. A small muffled Honda generator hummed and powered the electric light above the table as he worked.

The amulet was held fast in a small vice while Bobby-Ray guided a modeling saw about as big as a large fountain pen with a dime-size blade rotating at ultra high speed. The whining noise from the tiny saw abruptly ended as he finished cutting a quarter inch edge from the amulet.

The X-ray had shown the hardened plastic amulet was hollow with a barely visible shadow holding precise circular edges too regular to be plastic explosives. He removed it from the vice and noted the slight opening revealed by the cut away edge. He wedged a thin screwdriver inside and twisted. The upper part of the amulet came off with a little popping noise, exposing the object inside. He removed it and turned it over, slow and careful.

It was a Compact Disc, the new kind, about the size of a quarter and not much thicker than a hair, so thin it was almost translucent.

Bobby-Ray had never been much for school. He'd had enough to get him by and didn't want any more, thank you. But he did grow up in the age of Radio Shack, electronic gadgets and computers. That was one thing he'd taken to very well and provided the only incongruous part of his cluttered remote bachelor pad: The latest, state of the art, most powerful computer and peripherals that Dell manufactured, all hooked up to wireless internet.

He went to the computer, inserted the small CD in the drive and turned on the machine.

* * *

Daniels was up early the next morning and spent the day catching up on business via the internet and his satellite up links. There were overseas accounts and investments and contacts to check for whatever assignments he would choose to accept next. He ran a series of continuous demanding projects that gobbled up money like a hungry giant.

Carlos caught up on the numerous maintenance chores that continuously popped up in the corrosive atmosphere of the Everglades. As the evening drew near, both men stopped working while Carlos prepared dinner. Afterward, they went out on the makeshift patio to await nightfall.

Chapter 20

His name was Spirit Wolf and he came into Daniel's base moments before the deep shadows of twilight changed to blackness. He must have glided in between the big mangroves, and didn't set off the motion detectors. He appeared like a leaf riding a breeze. Daniels could never figure out how he did that. Lots of things you couldn't figure out when it came to Spirit Wolf. It was said he was part Calusa, the original tribe inhabiting the Everglades, long ago killed off by the Spaniards and English, and part Seminole. Tall with ropy muscles like strands of twisted steel, people feared him like they feared shadows in the night. He sat on Daniels' porch, the lines in his brown face dancing in the flickering light of the Coleman lantern.

Daniels sat next to him amid the croaking chirping noises of the swamp. Something splashed nearby and a screech sounded just a little further. The nightly dance of predator and prey had begun. Carlos appeared with a bottle of Jim Beam. He sat on a carved log across from Daniels and Spirit Wolf, tucking his short legs under him. He took a swig from the Jim Beam, exhaled with a whistling sound and passed the bottle to Daniels. When it was passed to Spirit Wolf, he seemed to contemplate it like a priest about to use it for a benediction. He took a swallow and let a long moment pass before he spoke.

"There is a rhythm, a heartbeat to the woods and the water," he paused, then continued, his voice rough as gravel in a cement mixer. "Something is out there that doesn't belong."

Spirit Wolf had once told Daniels the power of Elohino, Mother Earth, was channeled in places like the Everglades. If you opened yourself, you could feel its wild pulse and begin to understand the raw energy of its soul.

It is said that a man can only hope to know one thing well. But to know it completely and intimately like a lover without secrets. Spirit Wolf knew the Everglades. Daniels felt the hair on the nape of his neck tremble. It was as if an absolutely trustworthy source had told him his house was haunted.

"Es verdad,"
its true, said Carlos, "the last few days, like I feel something, something different out there."

Amidst the chattering crickets and tree frogs, something burst into flight from the darkness of the mangrove branches. Spirit Wolf turned his face to Daniels, the eyes impassive and glittering.

"Deeno did not come back," said Spirit Wolf. "They arrested him in Everglades City."

Daniels was stunned. As he held Spirit Wolf's gaze, untold questions passed between them. How could Deeno be arrested? Afflicted with Down Syndrome, nature had compensated the young man. Deeno was the gentlest soul Daniels had ever met. His spirit touched everyone like a clean white light. Daniels knew why Spirit Wolf had come, the Indian would handle whatever he thought was prowling the great swamp. But he, Daniels, would have to help Deeno.

As Carlos listened in silence, the usual smile had gone from his broad face. He seemed to look at a distant point in the night as he spoke.

"Whoever the
Maricone
was who arrested Deeno, he must be one truly evil bastard."

"Lots of evil bastards out there Carlos," replied Daniels. "We'll get him back first thing tomorrow morning."

Chapter 21

Carlos and Richard Daniels left the next morning before sunrise in Daniels' seaplane. It was just past eight when
Albatross
landed on the canal behind Billy's Marina in Everglades City. Daniels tied the plane to a pontoon, lashing it tight against the rising breeze, the muscles of his arms wiry and taunt against the tanned skin.

He rented a shed at the Marina where he kept his specially equipped Camry and a Jeep. He'd previously sent Carlos to ask around, get as much information as possible on Deeno's arrest.

Everglades City boasts its own small police force: One Chief Constable and six deputies. It was just nine and already the heat rose in curling waves from the pavement when Richard Daniels parked the Camry and walked into the small police station.

An old air conditioning unit emitted blasts of cold air along with wheezing and clunking noises ignored by the sole deputy sitting at the low front desk. The place smelled of motor oil and dust. The deputy looked up from the Hustler magazine held in his beefy hands. He was big with muscles that would soon turn to fat and small eyes topped by a severe crew cut.

"Well, well, if it ain't the hero, just what the hell would you want around here?" said the deputy.

"I want to know who the asshole is who arrested Deeno, and why?"

"You mean your little retard friend?"

Daniels placed both hands flat on the desk, leaning forward until his head was level with the deputy. A bead of sweat appeared on the officer's lip in the cool air of the room. Something passed from Daniels' eyes, something cold, hard and primeval.

"Hey don't get your skirts in an uproar," said the deputy. "We didn't do nothing with the retard, he was...."

Deputy Schmus' voice trailed off under the granite-steady gaze. Daniels placed both hands flat on the desk and leaned forward until his eyes were a few inches away. The deputy could read death in those eyes and he stuttered slightly as Daniels looked at him like he was a steaming turd covered with flies on a summer day.

"Godamn it Richard, what the hell are you doing to my deputy," said Chief Constable Donald "Hent" Hentley, his voice loud as he entered the stillness of the room.

"Oh not much, Hent," said Daniels, "we were just going to have a discussion on sensitivity and how a police officer should address the handicapped. Isn't that right Deputy Schmus?"

Schmus shook his head as if he was coming out of a trance. He pushed the chair back from the desk and it caught the edge of the carpet and almost tipped over as the deputy stood to keep from falling.