“Actually, you decided,” Sabrina said. “And you’ll never find it as quickly as I can.”
“It’s all set.” Another interruption. This time from the Mayor. “Eric, I got you the job. The only problem is they deliver to EchoEnergy tomorrow. You have to report to the Tallahassee distributorship at 7:00 a.m.”
“Tomorrow? We can’t do this tomorrow,” Eric told the old man.
“If not tomorrow they don’t deliver again until next week.”
“We can’t wait until next week,” Sabrina said. “They might have already started covering their tracks and deleting evidence.”
“And the energy summit begins on Friday morning,” the Mayor said. “Opens tomorrow evening with a big reception that Sidel and Johnny Q are probably hoping will be a celebration. They get that contract and all those accolades and recognition at the summit and nobody’s going to believe a disgruntled scientist trying to smear them.”
Eric glanced around the table. He had brought these people together to help him—his own covert group that had dug into their pasts and now offered to risk their own safe havens. He sighed and nodded reluctantly.
“Okay,” he said. “Tomorrow it is.”
93
Sabrina knew they were ending the evening early with the hopes of getting some sleep. She, however, simply wanted to end it before Eric changed his mind.
The Mayor gave her a salute as he said good-night. Howard watched Max give her a tentative hug, then took his turn, embracing her in a bear hug, all-encompassing but gentle with the wonderful scent of hickory from the grill and a subtle musk of cologne. Russ, however, stood back, suddenly quiet and shy.
When they got up to Eric’s apartment she expected a lecture or perhaps some big-brother words of caution. Instead, he said, “I think he has a crush on you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Russ. He’s got a little crush on you. Can’t you tell?”
“Let’s just say it’s not at the top of my list right now of things to be concerned about.” She plopped down on the squeaky futon. She realized she was still angry with him.
He dragged one of the chairs from the resin bistro set and sat down in front of her. He looked tired. He hadn’t shaved. Even his broad shoulders slumped a bit. Here comes the lecture, Sabrina thought. He would still try to boss her around.
“If we’re going to do this tomorrow I need one thing from you.”
Just one? She kept quiet. He was serious. More serious than she had ever seen him before.
“Okay,” she said.
“I need you to forgive me.”
Sabrina bit her lip and stared at him. She knew he meant it. He had never intended to hurt her. What was it he’d said yesterday? That she was an unfortunate casualty?
“I forgive you,” she said, “but you have to forgive Dad.”
In the silence that followed she prepared for a litany of why that couldn’t or wouldn’t happen. When he met her eyes again he sighed and said, “It’s a deal.”
He gave her a hug and with the release of tension Sabrina fell asleep while Eric watched the news.
Around midnight Sabrina woke up, almost as if an alarm had gone off, alerting her that she was alone in the apartment. The TV was off, a desk lamp left on. After a quick glance around the apartment, she knew Eric had gone out. She shut off the desk lamp and went to the window. Why in the world would he go at this time of night? And why not at least mention that he needed to go out? Or why not leave a note?
Her eyes searched the empty bistro tables, the boats and the boardwalk down below. Everything was quiet. There was no one around. Then suddenly she saw a flash of light on the beach side of the marina. Four men were walking along the water, two with flashlights, two with long, thin poles. Despite the distance and darkness she recognized her brother’s silhouette and his walk. The big guy she guessed was Howard. The other two she knew weren’t Russ or the Mayor.
She shook her head. What in the world had Eric gotten himself into this time?
94
“It’s called gigging,” Eric tried to explain to the one Howard introduced only as Manny, a thick-chested Cuban with a thin mustache that made him look like he was constantly smiling.
At least Manny pretended to be interested. The other guy who Howard called Porter—tall, thin with a marine-style crew cut and tattoo to match—nodded and agreed to carrying a flashlight, but kept saying things like, “I’d rather get my flounder hot off the grill.”
Eric had no clue why Howard had even suggested they go gigging for flounder. Maybe it was his way to loosen them up for the real business of the evening. Eric had to admit he was surprised. He expected some hard liquor, maybe a sample line of product. He had tried to prepare himself as best he could, especially hoping it wouldn’t influence his effectiveness the next day. Invading EchoEnergy would be tricky enough without a hangover and no sleep. He didn’t, however, prepare himself for a night of gigging for flounder.
“I thought this was something you did in the fall.” Eric didn’t want Howard to believe he was as easy as his two Miami buddies.
“They’re around at other times. October through December’s usually when they’re headed in masses out into the gulf.”
“Why at night?” Manny wanted to know. “We gettin’ them while they sleep? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, no.” Howard laughed. “You get them while they’re hiding just under the sand waiting to prey on other fish.”
“Always showing off what you know.” Porter laughed and slapped Howard on the back. Eric thought he saw Howard wince. “We know you’re this big, successful fisherman now. You don’t have to prove it.”
Eric found himself wanting to defend Howard. Hell, yes, he was a successful fisherman, a charter-boat captain with one of the most reputable deep-sea-fishing businesses on the gulf. He avoided glancing at Howard, afraid if he saw one more wince he’d blow this whole meeting.
“We can’t stay,” Porter said, not wasting time. He lit a cigarette and in the blue flame of the butane lighter, Eric thought his skin looked yellow. “We’re headed to Texas as soon as we’re finished here.”
“Sure,” Howard said and Eric thought he heard relief. “Why don’t you let Eric show you some gigging, and I’ll get what you need.”
They watched Howard head back to the shop. Eric tried his best. Manny still showed interest. Porter sucked on his cigarette and stared out at the water as if he couldn’t wait to get back on it.
In minutes Howard returned with a leather satchel he handed to Porter in exchange for a two-grip handshake from Porter, the only emotion, the only thank-you the man had shown.
Inside an hour they were gone, back on the water. Eric didn’t ask for any explanation. He and Howard walked to the shop in silence. Eric brought in the gigs, the prongs never meeting a flounder that night. Howard stowed the flashlights.
The shop was dark except for a small fluorescent light behind the counter. Eric might not have noticed the three model ships from Howard’s collection down on the counter with cracked hulls. His first guess was that they had fallen and needed repair. That is, until Howard picked up one of the pieces and started shoving a wad of rolled-up bills held together by a rubber band back into the hollow center of the broken ship.
He didn’t look away. Howard wanted him to see. Without glancing up at Eric, Howard said, “Porter saved my ass, pulled me from a burning helicopter just outside of Da Nang.”
“So what business is he in now?” Eric didn’t expect Howard to tell him even if it was cocaine or heroin.
“Business?” Howard laughed. “Hell, he has cancer. One of the bad ones. He just wants to live out what days he has left on the water. Maybe stop along the way and see some of his old friends. I’m glad I can help out. What’s the use of having any of this if you can’t help out your friends?” He waved his hand and at first Eric thought he meant the success of the shop and business. But then Eric realized that wasn’t it at all.
Eric’s e
yes followed along the shelves and what had to be over a hundred model ships, the collection Howard had just the other day told Eric he wanted him to have if something happened to him. And in his own way Howard was telling him, showing him, that the rumors were true. All the drug money the feds never found was stashed inside Howard’s collection of model ships, and it was here only to help out his friends.
95
Thursday, June 15
Somewhere over the Eastern U.S. en route to Florida
Jason hadn’t gotten any sleep. He’d showered and shaved, but that was about all. No breakfast. No newspapers. Earlier he had caught a reflection of himself. His swollen eyes and disheveled hair, along with the untucked shirt, faded blue jeans and worn Nikes gave him an uncharacteristic grunge look. It also gave him an unintentional disguise. After his run-in with Detective Christopher last night, he found himself looking over his shoulder as he walked through the airport, keeping his head down when he met up with anyone close enough to recognize him.
He had shut his cell phone off before he boarded his flight. Normally he was one of those guys still getting in one last call as the plane taxied to the runway and the flight attendant asked for any electronic devices to be turned off. Today he was in no mood to fix any last-minute problems or answer “urgent” questions. Luckily it was too early for any problems at the office. And everything had already been arranged for the energy summit’s reception. He’d check all the details himself when he got to Florida. In the meantime, his secretary and the senator knew he couldn’t be reached while he boarded and was in flight.
That no one could bother him for almost three hours ended up being a wonderful escape. He had a Bloody Mary, even eating the celery stick since he hadn’t had breakfast. He decided to stay off his laptop and started listening to the latest Jack Reacher novel on his iPod. By the time the plane landed in Tallahassee, he knew he’d be more relaxed than he had been in weeks.
He had arranged for early check-in at the hotel. Maybe he’d order brunch up to his room. He’d have all afternoon to check e-mail and see to the reception details. Senator Allen’s private jet would arrive at Tyndall Air Force Base late afternoon. Jason had a limo scheduled to pick him up. For himself, Jason had reserved a BMW Z4, a red convertible. Not a bad way to eliminate a bit of stress. He planned on a drive along Highway 98, which he understood included some amazing views of the gulf.
Jason nodded when the flight attendant asked if he’d like another Bloody Mary. He glanced at his watch. Not quite seven o’clock, but he figured he had reason to kick back. He deserved it. Later this morning the Appropriations Committee would award EchoEnergy the $140-million military contract. And Senator Allen would be the darling of the energy summit. He didn’t even care if the senator had to share the limelight with William Sidel.
In fact, Jason decided he wouldn’t stress out over the connection Sidel may have had with Zach Kensor. After this summit it wouldn’t matter—both Sidel and Senator Allen will have gotten what they wanted.
And Jason decided he wouldn’t worry about what Lindy may have told Senator Malone or Detective Christopher. By the time he got back to Washington that whole mess with Zach could be old news. He needed to sit back and enjoy the results of his hard work.
96
The Apalachicola River
Sabrina hated boats. Now, however, was probably not a good time to tell them.
She had gotten deathly ill on a whale-watching cruise six hours off Boston harbor. Her one-time venture from an academic conference had left her weak-kneed and drained after several hours of retching and vomiting and then dry retching over the railing when she could no longer wait in line for the boat’s bathrooms, already filled with other nauseated patrons.
She had caught only a glimpse of the whales that day, but actually met a handsome gentleman who brought her cool napkins for her forehead and a Coke to wash away the foul taste in her mouth. At the end of the cruise they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses, but it was difficult to maintain a long-distance relationship when the only thing they had in common was Sabrina’s marathon retching, something she’d rather forget. She should have remembered that about long-distance relationships, and if she ever made it back to her condo she’d deliver Daniel’s ring back to him. Easy to make promises when confronted with hit men and seasickness.
This boat was much smaller than the whale-cruiser. Yet Sabrina felt dizzy just looking at it. And all the while Howard pointed out the postage-sized amenities like they were luxurious showstoppers.
“Twin aft seats and twin helm seats.” He waved toward the two back corner seats and the cockpit seats like a game-show host showing them what they had won.
And all Sabrina could think about was how much room this big man would take up. He’d have to sit in one of those twin helm stools to fit in the wheelhouse. No way could he stand. Each time he disappeared down into the cabin to stow their equipment it reminded Sabrina of a magic trick, a round peg fitting into a square hole two sizes too small.
She kept telling herself the river would be much different from the Atlantic Ocean. This should be a piece of cake. But as soon as she boarded the small fishing boat she felt the rocking and immediately she had to fight back the nausea. She refused to let any of them know.
Eric had already relayed very clearly his belief that she was a liability when it came to matters that involved physical stealth and a degree of cunning. Attributes that came naturally to Eric and his odd group of friends.
Okay, so unlike them she’d never had to elude the IRS, the FBI or any other law enforcement agency…at least not until now. She was a late bloomer. Didn’t mean she couldn’t be a quick study.
“It’s best you and Russ sit portside,” Howard instructed. “I’ll balance our weights.”
Russ immediately took the other seat in the wheelhouse and started setting up his laptop and several electronic contraptions Sabrina didn’t recognize.
It made sense to Sabrina that Russ would be in the front under the protection of the wheelhouse roof and surrounded by the glass. She’d stay dry seated in the back corner where mere inches of railing were supposed to keep her from bouncing out of the boat. The rocking of the stationary boat made her nauseated, but that had been nothing compared to the Tilt-A-Whirl of the motorized boat.
The one good thing, Sabrina decided, was that by the time they reached their destination she’d want off the boat so badly she wouldn’t care if she faced security guards, guns or even tanks filled with chicken guts.
97
Outside Tallahassee, Florida
Eric heaved another case of Pepsi products onto the hand truck. It was only their first delivery of the day and his formerly crisp uniform shirt stuck to his skin. His cap no longer held back the tiny rivulets racing down his face. He discarded the gloves almost immediately because his hands felt on fire. And according to his partner, he owed his employer for five bottles of Aquafina. He hadn’t thought to bring his own kegger-sized water jug like his experienced partner, a young guy named Bubba who had an amazing talent of keeping his pants up despite them being fastened clear down under his bulging waistline. He did, however, manage to keep his shirttail tucked and could probably outhoist anyone.
Eric had never known anyone who asked, no insisted, he be called Bubba even after Eric asked his real name.
“My daddy started calling me Bubba when I was two and a half. I can’t see changing it now,” he told Eric.
At first Bubba didn’t talk much. Immediately he slipped in a cassette of the Rolling Stones. He blasted the volume, joining in on certain words like “can’t get no,” but leaving “satisfaction” to Mick.
Eric quickly realized he didn’t need to worry about his young partner being suspicious of the sudden substitution. He seemed to like showing new guys the ropes, especially since his showing included letting them do the lion’s share of the work while he explained things. But he wasn’t a slacker, which he’d shown every once in a while by hoisting two c
rates at a time. After the first delivery Bubba asked Eric, “So did you work for that bottled-water company that went out of business?”
“No, but that was something else, wasn’t it?”
“I heard it was some crazy bastard at their bottling plant playing Russian roulette by putting stuff in only a few bottles.”
“Really?” Eric was always amazed at the stories people came up with, as if the truth wasn’t bad enough.
“A shame we couldn’t have something like that happen with Coke, huh?” Bubba let off a squawk of a laugh.
“Hey, they have their own problems,” Eric said. “It’s called Coca-Cola BlaK. What were they thinking with that? Soda drinkers drink soda ’cause they hate coffee.”
When Bubba didn’t respond, Eric glanced over, afraid he’d broken some industry code that didn’t allow slamming the other’s innovations.
Bubba was nodding and when he finally said something it was with genuine appreciation. “You’re absolutely right, dude.”
And this time when he went to punch in the Rolling Stones cassette he stopped. “You like the Stones? ’Cause I’ve got the Doobie Brothers and the Boss, too.”
“Stones are good for me,” Eric said, and for the first time he thought they might actually pull this off, if they didn’t get shot or arrested.
98
The Apalachicola River
Although she could barely see through the thick under-growth, from the river EchoEnergy’s industrial park reminded Sabrina of a deserted city, something out of the The Twilight Zone where only machines existed. With the sun just coming up through the trees, she could hear the first tankers arriving, their air brakes hissing, along with the grinding of gears and rumbling conveyor belts.