Mac travis adventures bo.., p.28
Mac Travis Adventures BoxSet, page 28
part #4 of Mac Travis Series
“What do we do if they get on a boat?” Ironhead asked. The fact that there were no pharmacies on the water didn’t escape him.
Wallace was on the phone and held up a finger. He gave the address and name of the shop to whoever was on the other end and waited.
“Alicia Phon!” Trufante hugged the woman. “Goddamn if you ain’t lookin’ good. See that? I hook you up with TJ and—damn, look at you.” He released her and turned to Pamela. “Hey, babe, this here’s Alicia. We go way back.”
“Yeah, way back to last summer,” Alicia said, and they shared a laugh. “Mac said you had something for me to take a look at?”
Trufante dug in his pocket for the thumb drive and handed it to her. He paused and reached back in, extracting the coin. “He told you about the drive, but he wanted you to have a look at this too.”
She spun the coin in the light. “Interesting. Which first?”
“I’d do the coin myself, but Mac wants you to look at the drive,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll get on it,” she said and turned to the man with the dreadlocks. “Can you do without me on the afternoon charter? I’d really like to get into this now.”
“Shoot. I’ll fill in for you,” Trufante said before he could answer. “Me and TJ got this for you.”
“What about me?” Pamela asked.
“You ain’t been to the Keys until you snorkeled the reef. Hold on to your hat, babe, this is going to be awesome.”
She smiled and they walked downstairs. TJ asked them to stay by the boat while he rounded up the passengers and brought them around back. Trufante helped the eager tourists onto the boat and loaded gear while TJ gave the safety briefing. He looked over at Pamela, sitting with the other tourists, and wondered what her real story was. She looked like she belonged more with them than with him.
“Well, what now?” Ironhead asked as the boat pulled away from the dock.
Wallace stared after the boat. “Keep an eye out, I’m going to check out the upstairs.”
“Like hell. You watch the damn place,” Ironhead said. If there was a search to be done, he was going to do it. The upstairs looked like an apartment—and apartments had medicine cabinets. He didn’t wait for an answer.
He climbed the stairs two at a time and arrived on the landing, where he opened the door to the apartment. The kitchen was on his left, and he quickly crossed to the bar-height counter, where he scanned the papers and keys strewn across it. Not finding the drive, he moved to the living room, which held nothing either. The bathroom caught his eye, and he crossed the room, passing a pair of doors that he assumed were for a closet on his way to the hallway. A bedroom was to either side, but they could wait. His first stop was the medicine cabinet, which revealed little other than a man and a woman’s toiletries. Getting anxious, he pulled the vanity drawers out one at a time, rifling the contents in the process. In the right-side drawer, he found what he was after.
Two prescription bottles stared at him, and he picked the largest up first. The drug was foreign to him, obviously not one of the opiate family he knew by heart. He set it down and lifted the other: industrial-grade Tylenol. He took half a dozen of the large white pills, hoping the horse-sized dose might help him through a rough spot, and looked at the container. The name meant nothing, but he memorized it anyway, repeating it over and over in his head as he checked the bedrooms and left the apartment.
“Alicia Phon—with a P-H,” Wallace repeated the name. “Maybe we ought to let the boss know. See if that rings a bell anywhere,” he said, hoping the name would salvage the mission.
11
Alicia plugged the thumb drive into an empty USB slot in her computer and waited for the files to load. One at a time, they populated the screen. She browsed through the pictures, trying to sort through the different angles, finally settling on four that represented the group. Pursing her lips, she applied some filters to even out the images. The photography was amateurish, even though she knew it had been done quickly under less-than-ideal conditions.
Next she cropped the pictures, placed them side by side on one of the large screens mounted on the wall in front of her, and stared at them. Ensconced in TJ’s war room, she studied the patterns. What had once been the gamer’s paradise was now their joint command center. His half of the room, with a captain’s chair in the center, resembled the flight deck of the USS Enterprise. Her side was more utilitarian. The black-painted walls and grey ceiling lent a theater-like atmosphere. The small ductless air conditioner kicked on, providing a gentle stream of cool air on the back of her neck, but she hardly noticed. The low hum of the other electronics in the room was just background noise as well.
She stared at the photos, trying to follow the intricate patterns that were rumored to hold the secret location of a treasure cached somewhere in the Middle Keys. The tattoos passed down from generation to generation of the local Indians somehow held the key to the riddle—if only someone could decipher them. Like so many other treasures, each generation knew less and less, and now, they couldn’t put the clues together. On the thumb drive were the only images of the deceased Teqea and Diego’s bodies. Mac had almost lost his life inadvertently putting the collection together and had spent hour upon hour trying to figure out their meaning, but had run into a wall every time.
A thought occurred to her as she sipped from her water bottle. The patterns were unique—much like fingerprints. If she could find a database to run them against, the images might match something, somewhere. Opening another window, she opened the portal to the FBI and, using a friend’s credentials, logged in. The original images on the left remained static while those on the right whirled past, seeking some kind of match.
Her concentration was broken by a noise from the living room. TJ was out on the charter and not expected back for another hour or so. If someone from the shop wanted her, they would text. With her heart pounding in her chest, she listened and heard it again—the footfalls of a large man. Leaving the program running, she got up, went to the door, and placed her ear against it. She held her breath and listened, but there was nothing now. Carefully she cracked the door and peered out. Squinting as the bright light hit her, she scanned the room, starting with the kitchen and moving through the dining room. Nothing was there, but a movement from the hallway by the bathroom caught her eye.
The man rifling through the drawers was frightening. She quickly shut the door and stood with her back against it, trying to calm herself down. A loud chime made her cringe and she glanced at the screen. The program had acquired a match.
She picked up the phone and hit the recent calls screen and then the top name, hoping he would answer.
“Where is she?” Hawk screamed into the phone. “That’s why they’re there—not for the snorkeling, you idiot. Travis had them take the drive to her.” He set the coffee down on the table before he spilled it. It was hard to find good help down here, but these two guys took the cake. Mike could dive, and Wallace knew his way around the shadier side of the law, but even with their skills they were bumbling idiots. “Find her,” he muttered and hung up.
Then the door to the house opened and Hawk’s day went from bad to level nine in Hell. The house belonged to his ex, who, as his last resort when his house had been confiscated, had been open to a cash payment for letting him dock the boat here. He’d made a deal with the Devil when he did it, and he knew that, but there were no other options. After he’d been accused of selling Florida’s history to China, most of his friends had shunned him, even before the latest incident. The commercial marinas spurned him, leaving her as the only one willing to accommodate him—for a price. But that didn’t mean he had to like her.
“What the hell happened last night?” she screeched across the backyard.
“If you weren’t in some kind of a wine-induced coma, you might have seen it. Some idiot came flying through here and crashed his boat into the bridge.” He had no problem lying to her.
“And you had nothing to do with it?” she asked accusingly. “And you still owe me alimony.”
He’d had enough of her bloodsucking bitterness and turned away, trying to think of who would fence enough of the coins he had stashed last night to give him some cash. He was cash-poor, but treasure-rich. The salvage business had always been a free-for-all, from the original wreckers in the eighteenth century to the first divers not too long ago. With the improvements in detection equipment and diving technology occurring at the same time, the long-lost Spanish wrecks had started to reappear. When the state had gotten involved in the ’80s, the honeymoon was over. Now the government not only wanted a piece of the action, but insisted on sending archaeological experts to look over your shoulder. It had been speculative at best, even back then, but now with the state taking more than their fair share, it was impossible to even cover your costs.
He’d known when Wood and Mac had found the piece of the Mayan wreck back in the ’90s that they were off the rails. The Mayans were known to have traveled much of the Caribbean and transported fortunes in gold. It had already been documented that they’d established trading routes through the Keys and up the southwest coast of Florida. But there was no need to haul along a fortune in gold to trade with the backwoods Florida Indians, or at least that’s what he’d believed. The American indigenous people had a long history of being taken advantage of, and there was no reason the Mayans would part with their gold if they didn’t need to.
No, he suspected that the notion of the tattoos of the old Toltec Indians containing some secret to an ancient treasure was wrong. But until Travis showed up with the drive, there was not enough evidence to figure out what the body art really meant.
The decision to send the men to follow Trufante to Key Largo had been an easy one after he’d checked Alicia Phon’s background. A quick search had confirmed that the drive was heading to one of the top data analysts in the world. Alicia Phon—even her name sounded like a wonk, but if she could figure out the riddle, he needed her.
He picked up the phone and hit the button marked Wallace. The disbarred attorney answered on the second ring. “Get the girl and bring her and that damn drive back here.”
“Got it, boss,” Wallace said.
His blood was starting to boil at having to trust these two to do anything. “And don’t screw it up,” he screamed into the phone before disconnecting.
He cringed when the house door opened again. It had been just long enough for her to down another glass of wine. “Can you keep it down? I don’t need the neighbors to know your dirty laundry,” his ex yelled.
Startled by the ring, Mac grabbed the phone off the shelf. Surprised by the call, he disconnected the charging cord and looked at the display. To avoid the noise of the generator, he walked away from the shed.
“Hey,” he said, not recognizing the number.
“I think we need to have a conversation,” Hawk’s voice came through the receiver.
Mac took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Placing it back, he said, “You want me, you know where I live, and I don’t know how much of a conversation it’ll be.” He was about to hang up when another call displayed. “Wait,” he said.
He was ready to disconnect and pick up the other call when Hawk said, “Alicia Phon.”
Not acknowledging, he cursed his lack of techno anything and pushed the button that said swap calls. “Alicia?” Mac asked, not trusting the display.
“Mac—wow, you answered. I think I found something,” she said.
“Never mind that. Hide the data and get out of there,” he said. “Where’s Tru and TJ?”
“On a charter,” she answered. “Out snorkeling. There was somebody up here snooping around. I don’t think he saw me, though.”
“Just go. Get somewhere safe and call me.” He disconnected and tried to return to the other call, but the line was dead. He knew staying here was not going to help anyone. If she had found something, it could solve his problems, but if Hawk got to her first, they would multiply.
He ran to the beach and into the water. Untying the line, he pushed the bow forward to spin it and jumped over the gunwale. The engine started and he cruised out of the channel, pausing where the man-made excavation ended. The rock guarding the northern approach was exposed now that the tide was moving back out, and he looked down at the old cable lying in the water. Wood had rigged it to act as a boom, an old naval trick to stop boats from entering a harbor. When it was raised to just below the waterline, any approaching boat would either be holed or have its lower unit torn off.
With Hawk threatening him, he contemplated rerigging it. The equipment was still there, but he doubted that the cable was still in one piece after so many years in the salt water. Adding it to his list of things to do, he reversed into deeper water and pushed down the throttles.
The boat planed out quickly, and without the weight of the T-top, he didn’t even need the trim tabs. The display on the fuel gauge was showing the consumption per hour was down as well. All things to consider before replacing it. He cruised past the flat where the boat had grounded and spun the wheel. It would only take a minute, and he knew if he waited, the guns would be lost to the shifting sands after a couple more tide changes. Slowly he approached the flat, easing the bow forward until he felt the slightest resistance. He cut the engine, checked the current, and decided that if he was quick, there would be no need to anchor.
Stripping off his shirt, he grabbed a mask from under one of the seats and hopped over the gunwale. Within a few minutes he located a Glock 9mm. The other gun was more elusive, and after a few passes, he gave up. Back aboard, he lay the pistol on the seat next to him and took off for Marathon.
Alicia shut down the screens and pocketed the drive, intending to put it in the dive shop’s safe. She looked at her phone, knowing TJ wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. There was no answer on his cell phone, but she knew the reception at the reef was hit-and-miss. Once downstairs, she could try to reach him from the VHF base station in the shop. Grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter, she went for the door, but it opened before she could reach it. The body in the frame blocked the light, and she recognized the man who had been prowling around earlier.
She screamed and he was on her. He was fast for his size, and right behind him came the other, smaller man. The larger man ratcheted her arm behind her back, forcing her to her feet by twisting her arm up. She tried to step on his foot and elbow him, but her blows were ineffective against his bulk. Unless she could somehow hit his groin, she had nowhere to go.
“Scream and you’re done,” the voice said, increasing the pressure on her arm.
She searched for a way out, but the dock was empty. The smaller man pulled a knife and showed her the blade. Calling out for help might only endanger the employees in the shop, and that was not an option. Mac knew they were after her. He would help. “Okay. I’ll go,” she said.
They escorted her to the sedan. The larger man pushed her into the backseat and crammed his bulk in next to her. She slid across to the other side, away from the man. The smaller man climbed in the driver’s seat and backed out of the space. He pulled onto the road and followed it to the intersection with US-1, where he put on his left blinker. At least he’s heading the right way, she thought.
The larger man was looking at his phone. “Pull over in two blocks. You should see a strip mall with a blue metal roof overhang.”
“Hawk said to bring her right back,” the driver said.
“This’ll only take a second,” he said, staring out the window at the passing buildings.
Alicia watched and waited. If there was unrest between the men, it might give her the chance she needed to make a break for it.
“There,” the larger man called out, pointing his finger at the approaching building. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Department of Veterans Affairs? I didn’t know you were a vet.”
“Neither do they,” the man said and opened the door just as the driver parked. “Keep her running.”
12
Alicia’s mind ran wild. The only redeeming factor was that they were heading toward Marathon, though she had no idea if that would be the final destination. The large man was subdued now, almost smiling. She had to assume it was drugs after seeing him emerge from the VA clinic with a small bag, and his new attitude as much as confirmed it. Filing the information away for later, she thought about her present circumstances.
The pattern recognition program had pulled up a match, but of what she didn’t know. It might reveal the significance of the tattoos or just add another layer of questions to the puzzle. Now, away from her lifeline, with no phone or Internet hookup, she was starting to panic.
They passed Islamorada and followed the chain of keys toward Key West. Marathon was only forty minutes away, and she needed some kind of a plan before they got there. A restroom stop and a run for it might work, but that would be her only chance, and the odds were thin at it succeeding. Assuming that they had weapons, and with flip-flops on her feet, it could end badly. Additionally, whatever trust she had gained by not resisting would evaporate.
Her training had taught her to observe and record if she was unable to take action, and she watched the two men, listening to their sporadic conversation. Bored, her mind started to drift back to the images on her computer screen at home. Mac had contacted her about the data on the drive, so it had to be important. Now, with these goons involved, whatever was revealed by the tattoos had a danger factor. She looked at her watch. Three o’clock—TJ should be getting back from the charter soon. He would see her phone lying on the desk and start to wonder. She was confident that with the help of Tru, he would try to contact Mac, but where did this leave her?
