Hot cops, p.21
Deadly Crossing (Max Kane Mystery Series Book 8), page 21
Deadly Crossing
Max Kane Mystery Series #8
by
Trevor Scott
Calabria Publishing
United States of America
Also by Trevor Scott
Max Kane Series
Truth or Justice (#1)
Stolen Honor (#2)
Relative Impact (#3)
Without Virtue (#4)
Sweet Home Betrayal (#5)
Powder Keg (#6)
No Retreat (#7)
Dystopian Novel
Liberty Lost
Karl Adams Espionage Thriller Series
The Man From Murmansk (#1)
Siberian Protocol (#2)
The Spy Within (#3)
Double Impact (#4)
Ratchet Up (#5)
Into the Darkness (#6)
Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series
Fatal Network (#1)
Extreme Faction (#2)
The Dolomite Solution (#3)
Vital Force (#4)
Rise of the Order (#5)
The Cold Edge (#6)
Without Options (#7)
The Stone of Archimedes (#8)
Lethal Force (#9)
Rising Tiger (#10)
Counter Caliphate (#11)
Gates of Dawn (#12)
Counter Terror (#13)
Covert Network (#14)
Shadow Warrior (#15)
Sedition (#16)
Choke Points (#17)
Deadly Cabal (#18)
Cold Enemies (#19)
Terminal Force (#20)
The Tony Caruso Mystery Series
Boom Town (#1)
Burst of Sound (#2)
Running Game (#3)
The Chad Hunter Espionage Thriller Series
Hypershot (#1)
Global Shot (#2)
Cyber Shot (#3)
The Keenan Fitzpatrick Mystery Series
Isolated (#1)
Burning Down the House (#2)
Witness to Murder (#3)
Other Mysteries and Thrillers
Cantina Valley
Edge of Delirium
Strong Conviction
Fractured State (A Novella)
The Nature of Man
Discernment
Way of the Sword
Drifting Back
The Dawn of Midnight
The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods
Duluthians: A Collection of Short Stories
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and not intended to represent real people or places. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
DEADLY CROSSING
Copyright © 2022 by Trevor Scott
Calabria Publishing
United States of America
trevorscott.com
Background cover image by Matt Palmer.
Image of man by Ysbrand Cosijn.
Contents
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1
Harpers Ferry, West Virginia
Max Kane had spent the last week in this tiny town at the apex of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers, tracking down a dirtbag who had left his six-month pregnant wife and three kids in a Richmond trailer park months ago. The police had said they couldn’t do anything for the woman, since her husband had disappeared. She had cried her story to Max’s sister, Robin, and she had agreed to help out. Right. But Robin had recently moved her law practice from Salt Lake City to the small town of Buffalo, Wyoming, where she had picked up a domestic violence case and was currently waiting for a verdict against the husband. The kicker? As the new kid on the block, Robin had been appointed to prosecute the case. Why? Turns out the wife beater was the mayor or Buffalo, with intimate relationships with every prosecutor in the county.
Now, midnight rolling in on this historic border town, with Maryland and Virginia across the rivers, Max had gotten a tip earlier in the day that his suspect was dealing drugs in the three-state area. He promptly set up a meeting to buy some fentanyl in a small park on the edge of the Potomac.
Max walked cautiously across the dewy grass toward the river, his eyes swiveling side to side. He wasn’t even sure if this man was the husband, but he had to make an approach nonetheless.
Instinctively, his right wrist swished past his 9mm handgun on his hip, under a black windbreaker that barely kept the late April breeze from chilling him. For easier access, he unzipped his jacket all the way and let the two sides flow in the slight wind.
Ahead he could see a lone figure against a metal railing, the river full of spring runoff nearly overflowing the bank.
Max was at a tactical disadvantage, with the lights from the city over his shoulders. He wouldn’t be able to see the man’s face until he was within spitting distance.
Deep inside Max’s bones, he didn’t feel right about this approach. He knew this could be a setup by local or federal law enforcement. Still, he walked toward the man.
Out of cautionary deference, Max hesitated slightly, so as not to appear too confident. He had learned this during his ten years with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. With OSI, he had made very few fake drug deals, though. Instead, he had been assigned running down weapons and working counter intelligence.
Steps away from the man, with only a partial view of his face, Max was certain now that he had his man.
“You look like a cop,” his subject said, shoving both hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Are you a cop?”
“Not hardly,” Max said with disdain. “A friend of mine is stage four cancer. He wanted to test the ballistics of one of his guns, but his wife said he needed to remember his faith.”
“Catholic?” the man said and nodded.
“Tragically,” Max said without true feeling, knowing his deadbeat father was also of that faith. “She wants an open casket and deep down thinks my friend can beat the Big C.”
“Nobody beats that,” he said.
“That’s what I said.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Max tried to see if the man was holding a gun within his pockets, but with the lighting that was hard to confirm.
Finally, the drug dealer asked, “How much you need?”
Shaking his head, Max said, “I don’t know. My friend is down to about a buck eighty. How much would kill him fast?”
The two of them went back and forth like this for a few rounds. Finally, they agreed to a price and amount. If Max had been a wired law enforcement officer, he would have had enough evidence to send this dirtbag away for a good while. Well, he was recording the conversation, but he did so for another reason.
The exchange was made and then Max didn’t leave right away.
“What are you waiting for?” the man asked. He swished his hand toward no place in particular behind Max. “Move along.”
Max swiveled his right hip, as if turning to leave, but in reality, he was making it impossible for the man to see him draw his Glock. Then he swiftly twisted around and pointed his gun at the man’s face.
The man started to reach for something.
“I wouldn’t,” Max said.
“Damn it. You’re a cop. I asked you and you’re supposed to tell me.”
“That’s only on TV,” Max said. “But I’m not a cop.”
“Right.”
Max moved in close and found a gun inside the back waistband of the guy’s belt. It was a fully-cocked Colt 1911. The man’s wife had warned Max that her husband had taken this with him. Without hesitation, Max threw the .45 automatic into the Potomac.
“Hey, that was a family gun,” the man complained.
“I’m glad you remember your family,” Max said. “A wife and four kids. . .”
“Susie hired you?”
Max said nothing as he continued his pat down of the man. Unexpectedly, the man tried to bolt, but Max tripped the guy and he crashed to the ground hard. Then Max shoved his gun back in the holster and pounced on the guy’s back, shoving his knee into the small of his back and his left hand into the man’s left shoulder.
“Get off me,” the man pled.
Suddenly, Max felt his phone buzz in his left from pocket. He considered ignoring it, but knew it had to be his sister calling. Max had been so busy this Friday that he had put off Robin’s calls for hours. Damn it! Max shoved his right hand to the back of the man’s neck, crushing his face into the wet grass. Then, with his left hand, he retrieved his phone from his pocket.
“Yeah,” Max said.
“Where the hell have you been?” Robin asked.
“I’m a little busy,” he said, as the guy tried to struggle beneath him.
“Did you find the deadbeat?” she asked.
“Unfortunately,” Max said. “Not sure he’s worth bringing back, tho
“Technically, I also work in Pennsylvania,” the man squeezed out of his mouth. “But I stay away from D.C.”
Robin said, “I won my case this afternoon.”
“Good for you,” Max said. “Sentencing?”
“Would have been next week,” Robin said. “But they pled out before the jury ruled. That’s not why I’m calling, though.”
“Quit struggling,” Max said sternly.
“What?” she asked.
“Not you,” Max said. “This dirtbag. Just a second.”
He switched the phone to his left hand and punched the man in the right kidney, bringing instant pain to the man and knocking the wind out of him.
Back to the phone, Max said, “What’s up?”
“Is he alright?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Anyway, do you remember a guy named Charles Steel?”
“Rusty?” Max asked. “Nobody called him Charles. It was either Chuck or Rusty, his call sign.”
Rusty had been a lieutenant commander in the Navy stationed in Afghanistan with Max. He had transitioned from a surface warfare officer to naval intelligence during the last five years of his Naval career.
“Of course, I know Rusty,” Max said. “Why?”
“He tried calling you, but couldn’t get through,” Robin said. “So, he called me and asked if you could help him out.”
“He retired Navy,” Max explained. “Why does he need me?”
“He refused to talk to me about it,” she said. “But he did have an interesting proposition for you. And me.”
The man struggled again. Max said, “Don’t make me punch you again.” The body went limp beneath him. Into the phone he said, “Continue.”
“He’s an operations officer on a cruise ship,” she said. “It has something to do with that, but he wouldn’t go into details with me.”
“Where and when?” Max asked.
“Tampa,” she said. “By noon on Sunday.”
“That’s. . .”
“Nearly a thousand miles,” she said. “You can make it fourteen hours total. Or fly.”
“I’m not leaving my truck in Bumfuck, West Virginia.”
“I’ll watch it for you,” the dirtbag said.
“Shut up,” Max yelled, shoving the man’s face deeper into the grass. Then, to his sister, he said, “What should I do with this loser?”
“She’s probably better off without him,” Robin said.
“Hey, I heard that,” the man squeezed out of grit teeth.
Max considered his options. Finally, he agreed to meet his sister in Tampa. She needed to call him with details in the morning. He shoved his phone back into his left pocket and thought about the man beneath him.
“Do you ever have any intention to go back to your family?” Max asked.
“I’d like to say yes,” he said. “But that would be a lie.”
“Your kids need to eat,” Max said. “Need clothes and shelter.”
The guy laughed. “Her parents are stinking rich.”
“Then why is she living in a trailer down by the river?” Max asked. Actually, the trailer was in a very nice little community of mostly double-wide units.
“She fed you a line. I’m a little surprised that they didn’t send you here to kill me. I found out her parents took out a huge life insurance policy on me. I’m worth more dead than alive to them. Why do you think I ran?”
Max had done his usual background check on the wife and the subject. Nothing indicated she had come from money. “I didn’t find any money in her family.”
The dirtbag laughed. “What name did she give you?”
Max told him, and the man shifted his head slightly.
“That ain’t her maiden name,” he said. “She’s a Beauregard. Old southern money. Pre-Civil War, if you know what I mean.”
Had Max been set up? What if he told the wife where to find her deadbeat husband and the family sent someone later to kill the guy. Max would have to have that on his conscience. One less drug dealer? Might have been worth it. But he didn’t like getting duped.
Max didn’t have time to play games with this guy. “Okay. I’m making a command decision. I have two options. Maybe three. One, I can haul your ass back to your family. Nobody makes out on that deal. Two, I can simply let you go.”
“I like that one,” the guy said.
“Three,” Max said. “I can bring you into the local cops. I recorded our exchange and have both the money and the fentanyl to turn over to them. Of course, I would lose my money for a while and would have to come back and testify against you. I’m not keen on that idea.”
“Me either.”
“Okay,” Max said. “I’ll let you go until I verify your story. But keep in mind that I found you once and could find you again in a heartbeat. I also have the audio of our exchange.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.
“I should just tap off a round in the back of your head and throw you in the river,” Max said.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
Max rolled the man over and immediately punched the guy in the face.
The man screamed and said, “Why’d you do that?”
“For being a deadbeat dad,” Max said, standing up.
“I didn’t. . .”
Max kicked the man in the chest, knocking him to his back in pain. Then Max simply walked back to his truck on the edge of the park where John Brown made his famous Civil War raid of the Harpers Ferry arsenal.
He punched Tampa into his phone GPS and started driving south.
2
Tampa Cruise Terminal
From the bridge of the cruise ship Seaside Pleasure, Chief Engineer Charles ‘Rusty’ Steel stood out on the portside wing with a view of operations along the pier. Normally, on changeover dates like this, the activity was hectic, with the onload of food and other provisions to last anywhere from one to two weeks for more than 2,000 passengers and 800 crew. But this wasn’t a normal cruise. Because of circumstances beyond the control of Seaside Cruise Lines, the Pleasure would be crossing the Atlantic with a near-skeleton crew and almost no paying passengers. Rusty still didn’t have a final count that would make the crossing, but he guessed the 400 crew members would be double the number of passengers. The cruise itself was officially cancelled at the last minute. Only influential passengers with enough clout to force Seaside into letting them aboard would be along for this journey. Rusty was somewhat relieved with this outcome. Officially they were scheduled to stop in Bermuda, the Azores, and a couple of Spanish ports before reaching Barcelona. But they had also cancelled all excursions in each port. So, this cruise would be mostly a trip across the Atlantic, without any perks.
He kept checking his cell phone for incoming messages from his old friend, Max Kane, but he had gotten nothing since the cryptic few words the day before, saying he was on his way.
Max was the best criminal investigator Rusty had ever met. He had a penchant for cutting through the noise and coming up with a solution. With all the strange things that had occurred during the last few cruises in the Caribbean, Rusty hoped that his old friend could discover why these things were happening. Engineering issues were not rare with an old ship like the Pleasure, which had seen near continuous service for the past two decades. Which was the main reason they were heading back to Europe. They normally spent the summer months cruising European ports and shifted to the Caribbean for the winter months. But this summer would be different. They were headed to dry dock refurbishment in Marseille, France for nearly forty days. Although they would lose a vital part of the Mediterranean season, they had no choice. The Pleasure was getting old and tired compared to the new super-sized cruise liners coming online recently. Whereas the Pleasure was less than 90,000 tons of displacement, those new ships were closer to 240,000 tons, with enough amenities to keep many of its passengers aboard the ship regardless of ports visited.
Rusty’s radio squawked and he hesitated briefly before asking for a status report from his deputy. “What’s up, Tonio?”
“Not sure, Boss. We ran up to normal levels. Everything was clicking fine, and then we heard a few hiccups.”
This, unfortunately, was becoming a normal event for the Pleasure, Rusty knew. But he didn’t like it one bit. Especially with the looming Atlantic crossing. As a young man out of the Philippines, Antonio Basa had worked his way up through the Deck Division for years before shifting over to Engineering for the past ten years. He had done so out of pure determination—taking online courses for years. Tonio had only recently become Rusty’s deputy after the retirement of his predecessor last December.
