“Rise and shine!”
Deek blinked, turning over. Reflexively, he reached for his watch on the nightstand; his hand hit air. There was no nightstand along the side of the sofa—his watch was currently marking time in an Islamorada pawn shop. Deek rolled over and spotted his phone on the floor. He reached down to tap it, bringing the lock screen to life.
“Four-thirty? I set my alarm for five… the flight isn’t until seven.”
“Seven-ten,” AJ said, clanking about in the kitchen. “But I need my coffee and I hate rushing. I let you sleep while it brewed, so count yourself lucky.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Deek said, sitting up and yawning.
“Sofa bed treat you right?”
“Yeah. Comfy. Thanks.” He accepted a proffered mug of coffee and took an experimental sip. “Wow. That’s good.”
“Costa Rican. A guy in the Keys turned me on to it.”
“I thought you Brits liked tea.”
“It’ll do in a pinch, but coffee gets the job done faster. Grab a shower… you’re a bit whiffy, if you don’t mind me saying. I’ll suss out some breakfast. Reg’ll be along to pick us up in thirty.”
* * *
Four and a half hours later, AJ and Deek’s Cayman Airways flight descended into Miami International. After disembarking, they passed through immigration and headed down to baggage claim. Deek didn’t have any luggage, but AJ had a bag to collect, having brought some of her diving gear, in case she had a chance to do some diving. Her bag in hand, they slow-walked along the line to customs, before finally emerging near the exit to ground transportation.
“No location ping from Emily yet,” AJ said as they stepped from the air-conditioning into a warm, humid day. “Probably still in customs, but shouldn’t be long. I saw Providenciales on the baggage claim screen, so they’re probably right behind us.”
Deek fired up his own phone and found a single voicemail from his boss. Taking a deep breath, he played the message. Oddly… there wasn’t one. There was a nanosecond of rustling, then the message ended. Probably was just slow to hang up, when I didn’t answer, he thought.
“So… where did you park? Dolphin or Flamingo?”
“Hmm? Oh, the parking lot. Flamingo, I think.” Deek took out his wallet and confirmed the lot, then stared forlornly at his dwindling supply of cash. “Hope I’ve got enough for the parking,” he said.
AJ glanced up from her phone. “Oh, they take credit cards, no worries.”
“Umm…”
“There she is!” AJ held up the map on her phone and showed Deek the pulsing dot with the name Emily floating beside it. AJ’s phone dinged and an overlay of a text popped up. Deek squinted at it and saw: AJ! with an army of additional exclamation points, followed by Be there in a tick!
They waited only a minute before AJ laughed and pointed toward a large crowd approaching the exits. “There’s Boone. You can always spot his head above everyone else’s. Emily, not so much.”
Moments later, a piercing squeal split the humid air and a pint-size blonde burst from the pack and made a beeline for AJ, rolling a lime-green suitcase behind her, an enormous pair of pink sunglasses above a button nose and a dazzling grin. Apparently, the suitcase was slowing her down too much and she abandoned it in her headlong charge.
“AJ!” she cried, nearly bowling her friend over with an aggressive hug. “Been a long time, yeah?”
“Too long,” AJ agreed, hugging her back. “So good to see you, Emily.” She squinted at her. “What happened to your green shades?”
“Oh, yeah… lost my favorite sunnies when we lost the boat. Haven’t found the perfect pair, yet.”
“Pink suits you, too,” AJ said. She looked over the blonde’s head—quite easy to do, as she had several inches on her—and called out, “Hi, Boone!”
Boone waved as he paused to retrieve the stranded suitcase, then strolled up to them, dragging all of their luggage. He appeared to have both of their checked bags and a pair of carry-on backpacks, either in his hands or slung over his shoulders.
“Always the pack mule, eh Boone?” AJ said with a laugh.
Boone smiled and shrugged as much as his encumbrance would allow. “Good timing on the flights,” he commented. “You been here long?”
“No, just got here. Deek, this is Boone Fischer… and the one stuck to me like a remora is Emily Durand. And Boonemily…” she said, pronouncing the pair as one word, “this is Deek Morrison.”
“Deek! That’s a cool name,” Emily proclaimed. “Is it short for something?”
“Derek. But back in elementary school, a teacher left out the ‘R’ on her roll call sheet and, well… I’ve been going by Deek ever since.”
“Ace. I love Deek. Deek it is. Maybe Deeky if I’m feelin’ cheeky. I go by Em sometimes… if someone’s in a hurry, comes in handy.”
Deek smiled. Em’s thick British accent was quite different than AJ’s, and her enthusiasm was infectious. Boone, on the other hand, seemed extremely laid back. The two were an unusual pair, both in energy and appearance. While Emily looked like she was straining to attain five feet in height, Boone was quite a few inches over six feet tall, long arms and legs giving him a lanky appearance—although judging by the musculature under his T-shirt, he certainly wasn’t skinny.
“I hear you’re giving us a lift to the boat show,” Boone prompted, setting Emily’s suitcase down beside her and turning it so that the handle was ready for her to grab it. “We certainly appreciate the ride.”
“My pleasure,” Deek said. “AJ and her friends were very helpful on Grand Cayman, so it’s the least I can do. I’m parked over in the Flamingo Lot.”
“The national bird of the island of Bonaire,” Emily intoned like a professor. “Ooh, what kind of car does a secret agent drive? Will we all fit in an Aston Martin?”
“Pretty sure it’s a Hyundai.” Deek raised an eyebrow at AJ. “You told them I was a secret agent?”
AJ grinned. “Not exactly, but I may have exaggerated a smidge.”
While Deek explained his actual job, the group made their way into the parking lot and piled into the rental car. Nearing the exit, Deek spotted the fees for overnight parking. “Uh… I wonder if I could trouble any of you for a little help with the parking. My credit card has been having issues.”
* * *
Angler looked out the window as the pilot taxied off the runway at Page Field, a small general aviation airport in Fort Myers. The journey had been an interesting one: after Angler had come ashore in Negril, he had received notice from his contact that a plane wouldn’t be available at the nearby aerodrome until 10:00 a.m. At 9:57, a Learjet 36A had arrived.
Fortunately for Angler—and perhaps, too, for the pilot—the man in the cockpit for this flight was a consummate professional. A brief conversation with the Fixed Base Operator in Negril, followed by a quick handoff of an envelope, and they were back in the air in record time. Thanks to the pilot’s contacts—and an additional fee, paid by wire—they’d been able to secure a short-notice Cuban Overflight Permit, drastically reducing their flight time. It would have been even faster, but the pilot had opted for a quick stop in Key West to clear customs and immigration, rather than doing so at the Southwest Florida International Airport in Fort Myers; apparently because he “knew a guy” in Key West and “had an arrangement” here at Page.
The pilot brought them to a halt on the west ramp alongside the FBO, and Angler rose from his seat and retrieved his duffel. Unzipping it, he extracted two bundles of cash and held them out when the pilot stepped out of the cockpit.
“That’ll cover it,” the man said, after taking them and giving one of the bundles a cursory glance.
“You got Wi-Fi on this plane?”
“Of course.” The pilot gave Angler the password.
Angler quickly downloaded his preferred VPN app. The burner phone offered some protection, but he liked layers. Once it was installed, he nodded to the pilot. “Appreciate the lift. Much better experience than the last charter. Wouldn’t mind using you again sometime, Mister…?”
The pilot smiled. “No names.”
Angler chuckled. “Oh, I like you even better. ’Til next time, amigo.”
“You need ground transport?” the pilot asked as he engaged the cockpit door and stairs.
“Nah, I got it covered.” Angler stepped out into the blistering sun and made his way to the road. Squinting across Fowler Street, his stomach grumbled. Retrieving his phone, he sent a text to Grady Foster. Pick me up at the Steak ’n Shake by Page Field.
Ten minutes later, Angler set a take-out bag down in a corner booth. Reaching inside the bag, he extracted the double cheeseburger and set it on the table. It took all of his willpower to keep from tearing into it, but he took out the burner phone and typed in the number of the captain of the Beeracuda from memory. He texted: Ready to go fishing. You at the marina I told you about?
A moment later, a reply came. There now.
I’m still a few hours out. Meet you at Doc’s. Have a rum on me.
Angler set the phone down, took the empty take-out bag and stuffed it into the waterproof bag beside him. That done, he proceeded to murder the double cheeseburger.
* * *
Rolling along the flat expanses of the Everglades on I-75, Deek cut across Florida, explaining as best he could what he was doing here.
“So… you think this Wayne Daniels guy is Satan?” Emily poked her head between the seats, her raised voice competing with the music playlist she’d insisted on blasting from the rental’s speakers.
“Shay-tahn,” Deek replied, correcting her pronunciation. And no. I mean… yes. I did think that at first. But now I think this Daniels is an operative, working for Şeytan.”
“So… who’s Şeytan?” AJ asked.
A powerful billionaire with control over a fleet of oil tankers, Deek thought, but did not say. “Someone who might be untouchable,” he said instead. And after he said it, he realized it might well be true. Hildebrand had motive, and had paid the man going by the name of Wayne Daniels, but other than that… what other proof did Deek have?
Boone turned to him from the passenger seat. “And you think they’re trying to disrupt these peace talks?” Boone asked. “Possibly with a terrorist attack of some sort?”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure of the exact method that might be used.”
“I assume you’ve called the police, yeah?” Em said. “Or the FBI? Or your bosses at the Maritime whatsa-whosit?”
Deek sighed. “I’ve tried to convince them, but my boss hasn’t been particularly supportive.” His phone buzzed from the holder on the dash and he glanced at it. “Oh boy… there he is now.” He reached over and switched off the music.
“Right in the middle of Lady Gaga?” Emily protested. “Deek, you philistine.”
“My boss thinks I’m working the Maritime Administration booth at the convention,” Deek blurted quickly. “Handing out flyers and such.”
“Oh, so you need crowd noise!”
“No noise might be better.” He sent the call to the car speakers and answered it. “Deek Morrison!” he shouted, doing his best to approximate the sound of someone busy and harried.
“Morrison!” his boss shouted right back, but with an odd cheerfulness in his voice. “How are you? How’s the convention? As busy as it was yesterday?”
“Umm… yes sir! Surprising amount of interest.”
“Well, good! You there right now? I don’t hear much hustle and bustle…”
Deek saw Emily lean forward between the seats and start to open her mouth, but he quickly shook his head at her. “Uh, just getting back sir! Ran out of flyers so had to run across to the printers and make up some more.”
Emily gave Deek an enthusiastic thumbs-up and AJ snorted a laugh from the backseat. Deek’s phone suddenly chimed as another call came in.
“How are the flyers looking, Morrison?”
“Uh…” Deek was staring at the phone, trying to remember where that area code was from. Keys, he thought.
“Everything all right, Morrison?”
“Yes, sir… a call is coming in. I’ll let it go to voicemail.”
“No, no! You take that call! Could be important. I’ll wait on the line.”
“I… well, okay, sir.”
Boone, who had been listening quietly, reached over and tapped the incoming call button.
“Deek Morrison.”
“Deek, this is Kate.”
“Kate, yes, how are you?”
“All’s well on my end. You still in Grand Cayman?”
“Just got back.”
“I’ve got something for you. Well, my friend Michelle did the actual getting. The billionaire you were looking at… his super yacht is the La Fiamma Azzurra, right? If I didn’t mangle the, what is it… Italian?”
“Yes, that’s Hildebrand’s yacht. And you said it perfectly.”
“Michelle tracked down the blueprints for it. The builder had them behind an encryption wall. She thought that was odd, and looked at some of the other yachts under construction; none of the others had that layer of protection.”
“That’s odd, but not too surprising,” Deek said. Billionaires often have a dose of paranoia.”
Kate laughed. “Yeah, I was just reading an article on one that built a big bunker for when the poor rise up to go after the rich. Anyway, I thought you might like to take a look. The blueprints are a pretty big file, so I’ll send you a download link once I’m stopped. I’m on my way to that boat show you mentioned. You still planning on working a booth?”
“That’s the plan. I’m on my way now. Oh! Actually, I have to go… I’ve got someone on the other line.”
“Maybe see you there. Bye for now!”
Deek tapped the call waiting. “Mr. Powell? You there?”
“Yes, Morrison. I’m here. Important call, I take it?”
“Oh, not really. It was… a local I met, with excellent boating skills and knowledge of the waters around the Keys,” Deek said quickly, deciding on a little truth, before diving back into the lies. “She expressed some interest in the work that the Maritime Administration does. Might be a prospective hire. Listen, uh… I’m just getting back with the flyers so I probably ought to hustle.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful. You can let me know how it all goes, when I see you again. I can’t wait to hear about it all, face to face.” The call ended.
Deek frowned. Something had sounded “off” to him.
“What’s wrong?” Boone asked.
“He was nice.”
“So, Deeky,” Em began, “if you think there’s an attack coming… why are you going to a boat show?”
Deek sighed. “Because I don’t want to lose my job. But as I mentioned, I think Hildebrand’s super yacht is part of this, and it’s supposed to be at the boat show. And while I sit there, handing out flyers, I’ll have time to think… see if I can put a few pieces of the puzzle together.”
“Hey all, time-sensitive request,” AJ announced. “I realize we’re in the middle of a swamp-surrounded interstate, but do you think they have rest stops? I could really use the loo.”
“I saw a sign for one coming up,” Deek said.
Fifteen minutes later, after a brief respite at the Collier County Rest Area, Deek drove onto the entrance ramp to rejoin I-75, but slowed as flashing lights entered his peripheral vision. A police motorcycle drove by, followed by another, followed by a convoy of four black SUVs and a single police motorcycle bringing up the rear.
“Whoa!” Emily announced. “Make way for the fancy folks.”
“Diplomatic plates,” Deek observed.
“Wonder who it is?” Boone mused.
But Deek thought he knew who they were… and where they were going.
* * *
“They are on their way, sir.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Roux,” Hildebrand said. “Have you liaised with their respective security teams?”
“But of course,” his bodyguard replied. “They will arrive at the Edison Ford Marina in Fort Myers in one hour and twenty-two minutes.”
Hildebrand stifled a smirk. Barbeau Roux’s time in the French Foreign Legion had led to a regimented, precise way of doing things; it was part of the reason he’d hired him. He was surprised the Frenchman hadn’t given the ETA down to the second. “Charters ready?”
“They are. Two hand-picked crews, one boat for each delegation, positioned at different piers.”
“Good.” Hildebrand snorted. He’d placed their boats far apart to cut down on potential scuffles between the two groups. “Of course, one will probably complain about having to walk farther than the other.”
The Frenchman frowned. “I hadn’t considered that eventuality,” he said with some annoyance.
“It’s a joke, Barbeau. Just be sure to put the Azeris on the one without the full bar. I’m sure some of them don’t strictly adhere to their religion’s stipulations, but they’ll need to ask for a drink if they want one. Can’t risk insulting them. Far too much money riding on this.”
Laura cleared her throat. “Sir, with your permission, I’d like to make another pass through the two guest houses.”
“Yes, do that.”
“I should make another sweep as well,” Roux said. “I will accompany you.”
“That’s not necessary…”
But Roux was already exiting the room. “I need to pick up the multi-frequency finder from my security room,” he announced over his shoulder.
Laura watched him go, then turned to Hildebrand. “Well, I’m not waiting. Far too much to do.”
Hildebrand nodded as she left. “Indeed. So very much to do.”