A sharp orange glow stretched across the window, chasing the midnight blue out the top of the frame when Deek peeled his eyelids open. He tugged the blanket tighter around his bare shoulders against the chill. Winter in Florida was a damn sight better than winter in DC, but it still wasn’t shirtless weather when you didn’t have heat.
He climbed out of the bunk, strapped his watch on, then stumbled forward in search of a toothbrush and coffee, not necessarily in that order. The guy from the yellow house—what was his name? Chad? Chet? No…—had shown him around the little camper the night before. He kept three trailers set up as temporary rentals, and he said Deek could find everything he would at a hotel, plus a sunrise to blow his mind.
Coffee cup in hand, Deek pushed the camper door open and stepped out into the cool morning.
Wow.
The man had not lied. Twenty feet behind the small Airstream, a low hedge lined the rocky shore. Beyond it, soft mist rose from water still as a mirror, reflecting the vibrant color in a sky that seemed so close Deek might be able to touch it if he just stretched a little.
In the few minutes it had taken to make coffee and brush his teeth, the colors had changed. Brightened. Deek wiped the dew from a sturdy Adirondack chair and allowed himself five minutes of indulgence to watch nature’s light show. Then, as Sol peeked above the horizon and a light breeze rippled the surface of the Gulf, Deek peeled himself from the chair and headed to the outdoor restaurant at the north point of the island.
As he climbed the steps to the wide deck, a huge German shepherd trotted over to him, tail wagging and tongue lolling out in what could only be described as a grin. The dog gave Deek’s hand a cursory sniff, then it sat and ducked its nose under his hand, demanding pets.
“Well, you’re a friendly thing. How could I refuse you?” Deek laughed as he scratched the dog’s neck and realized he hadn’t felt this light in a few days. Then the heavy feeling crept back into the center of his chest.
This was not a vacation.
“Whiskey, come. Give the man some space.” A blond woman in a gray hoodie, cargo pants, and flip-flops rose from a table along the railing then snapped her fingers at the dog. He shot up, spun, and returned to his owner in a single fluid motion.
“He’s okay, really. I love dogs.”
“Well, he clearly loves humans. Especially ones that will pet him,” the woman laughed. “That’s Whiskey. I’m Kate. You’re new.”
He met her halfway across the deck and took the hand she offered. Despite her small size, her handshake was firm and quick.
“I’m Deek. Got in late last night.”
Kate nodded to the other woman sitting at her table. “That’s Michelle. Would you like to join us for some coffee? The kitchen will be opening for breakfast in a little bit and this place’ll start to get busy.”
He settled at their table, his fingers wrapped around a cup of the best coffee he’d tasted in a while. Then he braced for the inevitable question.
“So, Deek, what bring you to the Keys?” Michelle’s voice sounded like the coffee in his cup. Warm and dark and soft like a fuzzy blanket on a cold morning.
“I’m looking for a guy.”
The comment surprised him as much as it did the women at the table. “I mean, not like—wait, not that there’s anything wrong with—oh, let me start over.” He felt flustered, almost like these women were sirens, calling him from his path and leading him to crash his ship into the rocks. But he also couldn’t stop himself from spilling it all.
“I’m an agent with the Department of Transportation. Maritime Administration. I’m looking for a man who might be involved in planning something… not good.” He’d started strong, but the longer the sentence got, the dumber it sounded. At least the two women weren’t laughing. Yet. He pushed his fingers through his mop of hair and tried to get his story back on track. “Until yesterday, everything I had was circumstantial. Lots of hints pointing the same direction, nothing concrete. But yesterday, I chased him across Pine Island Sound and he escaped in a seaplane, which I tracked to a little island just east of here.”
He paused for a gulp of coffee, waiting for them to dismiss him as a lunatic. But they traded a glance, and Deek thought he detected a subtle shrug from the blonde, Kate, as her friend’s lips tightened. He felt the breeze against his eyeballs as he waited, unblinking, for their response. Finally, Michelle broke the silence.
“Pine Island. That’s up off Fort Myers. We moored up there to wait out a storm last time we went up north.” She turned back to Kate. “The boat show is this weekend, isn’t it? William and Tony are supposed to meet up there before they head back home.”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. But wait, a seaplane? Was it an Otter with blue striping? Pilot a graying guy maybe late fifties?”
Deek’s cup slipped to the table with a thud.
“That’s my guy. But he’s not the pilot.”
Kate’s head tilted. “Only one guy was on that plane.”
“How do you—”
“It came in really shaky right before sunset… the wind was pretty strong yesterday. Put it down just past that island over there. Chuck ran out in the skiff to help, and… Hey, Chuck! Ears burning?”
The man who’d checked him in last night limped up to the table with a carafe of coffee. “You talking about our seaplane friend?”
Deek nodded. “He’s the reason I’m here. I’m with the Maritime Administration and I have a few questions for him.”
Yeah. That sounded official. Legit.
“I dropped him off at the ER in town last night. He had a pretty good knot on his head, but I don’t think it was a concussion, so I doubt they kept him. What’s he into?”
“Well, first problem, there were two men on the plane when it left Fort Myers.”
Chuck grimaced. “He was the only guy I saw, but I didn’t search the plane. Didn’t see a reason, just tried to help a pilot in distress.”
Kate blanched. “Justin said he saw something fall out of the plane when we saw it comin’ across the reef. Something big. I blew him off.” She grabbed her phone and began to pace the deck, the device pressed to her ear.
A moment later she returned to the table. “This guy is on Fish’s radar, too. His words: ‘Pretty plane. Ugly pilot.’ He’ll be here in five.”
Chuck rubbed the back of his neck, then pointed to Kate. “I’ll get the skiff ready, but my back can’t take the flats today, so Fish can have the honors. You prep the Hopper. I think we’ll all be going out for a dive when they get back.”
* * *
“Both homes are comparably equipped and stocked. Familiarize yourselves with what you have on hand.” Laura Smythe led the two young women into the kitchen. “You’ll be responsible to attend to their requests, and you’re expected to maintain order and cleanliness at all times.”
The rapid tapping of her lacquered fingernails on the counter echoed through the open space. While the concierges peeked into cabinets and drawers, Laura ticked through her own task list. A meeting like this succeeded or failed on the details.
Planning, down to the smallest detail, was in her blood. And planning those details for Harold Hildebrand was her mission.
She’d carefully chosen her role as his executive assistant—as the right-hand woman to a power broker positioned to change the world. She’d cultivated the right connections and made herself into the perfect candidate. And when the position opened up a few months earlier, she had provided him with unassailable references, though she doubted he’d called even one. The names had been enough for even a man like him, who called CEOs and MPs, to think twice about picking up the phone.
Despite the little hiccup from the day before, Laura Smythe was living her dream. Planning for all the details of such a momentous event came naturally to her—much more so than trusting the people hired to execute those same details.
She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers above her head.
The two young women jerked their heads out of a cabinet and snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I cannot repeat often enough how important it is that these delegates be comfortable. The nature of the meetings is confidential. I am not at liberty to even tell you their names or nationalities. Those details are irrelevant to you. But you must understand the importance of this summit.
“These men hold the future of your homelands in their hands. If they succeed, your families will have gas to heat their homes and cook their meals. They’ll have grain to make their bread and feed their livestock. They’ll drive cars to factories that are not shuttered for lack of electricity.
“If they fail, your families will go hungry. Your men will be unemployed. Your markets will be empty. The fate of your countrymen and many, many others are in the hands of these men. And the attitudes of these men are in your hands. Make your work count.”
The young blond woman, Katya or Kata or something like that, stared with rapt attention. The brunette—Elenna? Amina?—picked at her cuticle.
Laura settled her gaze where Amina’s eyes should have been and waited. When the girl finally looked up, she found herself trapped in Laura’s cold stare.
“Is this information boring to you? Have you something more engaging to do? I—”
Laura broke off at the distinctive ding from her phone. She’d have disregarded any other notification, but regardless of one’s current occupation, Harold Hildebrand was never ignored.
She held a single finger up to the women, then used it to swipe open the secure text app.
I’ve just left Teterboro. I expect everything to be in order when we arrive this afternoon.
She allowed herself one deep breath, releasing it slowly through her pursed lips before she typed her reply:
Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’m briefing the concierges now, sir.
The app informed her that Harold Hildebrand was typing a reply.
And when Harold Hildebrand was typing, she waited as long as it took. Finally, the bubble appeared on her screen.
Be certain to explain the stakes to them.
She began to type a reply. She erased it and started over.
Yes, sir. Everything will be ready for you.
She tapped the send button and dropped her phone back into her pocket. It hadn’t taken very long working for Hildebrand to learn his attention span was short with The Help, even those at her level. As soon as he saw her begin typing, he’d assume compliance and move on. Once, she’d timed it. It had taken him ninety-three minutes to come back around and read her reply.
But another time, he’d pinged while she was in the loo. She’d waited until she’d washed her hands. Three minutes, tops.
“I’d fire you this instant if I could,” had been his response.
But she was living the dream. There was too much riding on this summit. And she wasn’t about to let pet peeves stand between her and the mission.
Laura turned back to the helpers and resumed the briefing.
* * *
Angler jolted awake at the sound of a TV blaring. He rolled off the couch, landing on crusty shag carpet the color of a baby’s diaper. The single-wide trailer and its primary occupant had both seen better days, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was a roof that cost him nothing more than a little attention and the price of a condom.
But it sounded like he’d outstayed his welcome.
The bump on his head throbbed in time with the screaming trash on the television. He’d missed the intro, but in the few lines he’d picked up between the screeching and bitch-slapping, it appeared that a mother and a daughter were both pregnant by the same meth dealer.
Angler glanced around the trailer again and counted his blessings. Then he tugged his pants on and ambled out the door and up Maloney Avenue without so much as a goodbye.
He’d seen the neighborhood last night through the orange sodium lights and it held true in the full color of daylight. Key West was the ideal destination for vacationers and snowbirds, where money could buy happiness in the form of a flamingo pink golf cart. Stock Island was where joy went to die.
Maloney Avenue was lined with ramshackle single-wides that were too mean to die in one of the many hurricanes that had passed across the string of islands. The park owners were old-timers too stubborn to give up their paid-off postage stamp of rental income to the greedy developers who were undoubtedly salivating to turn this little clump of rock into Key West East a quarter of an acre at a time.
He made his way up the sidewalk, dodging clumps of dead palm fronds and pine needles, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the trees and the rumble of work trucks hauling debris to the transfer station a few blocks down. He’d been here once before and it clearly hadn’t changed. He grinned, knowing he’d find exactly what he needed here.
When he reached Highway 1, he passed the tidy, new CVS and made his way on to Dion’s for a coffee, three new burner phones, and a backup plan. He nodded to a shriveled man sitting beside the door in a sliver of shade, lips folded in over his gums where his teeth should have been. Angler bought an airplane bottle of rum and an extra cup of coffee and handed them to the man as he crouched in the shade beside him, his gaze fixed on the four lanes of vehicles creeping up and down the pavement.
“Know where a guy might find a boat around these parts?”
From the corner of his eye, Angler saw the man nod and take a sip of the coffee.
“Lots o’ boats ’round here.” Another sip. “Anything in particular you looking for?”
“Fast. Long range. Crew that keeps to themselves.”
The man held a gnarled brown hand out. Angler dropped one of the burner phones into it.
Ten minutes later, three calls made and the SIM separated from the phone, Angler ambled halfway across the Cow Key bridge and flung the pieces over the railing.