“And Sheffield? If he’s laid up, he’s not sending SWAT anywhere.”
Nicole set the phone aside. Put the index card back in her purse. She settled back against the pillow.
She considered it a minute more, then turned and looked at Claude, reaching out beneath the sheets and finding him. “Call Leslie, eliminate this guy,” she said quietly. “I’ll handle Frank.”
* * *
Sheffield was still at his desk, smiling to himself, when Marta cleared her throat in his doorway. She was holding her dime-store steno notebook.
“You got two calls while you were chatting.”
“Tell me you weren’t listening in, Marta.”
“I never press my ear to the wall. But if you want total privacy, you should consider soundproofing.”
Sheffield shook his head. He and Marta were hopelessly enmeshed. “And the calls?”
“I contacted Agent Sanford about the flyover of Prince Key. He called back to say he’ll do it later this afternoon if that’s okay. If you want him to shoot anything specific, you should ring him. He gave me his cell.”
“Call him back, Marta. I want shots of the island, surrounding waters. Boats, people, dwellings. Whatever’s down there. No more than two passes, nothing that would arouse suspicion on the ground.”
While she scribbled on her pad, she said, “The second call, that’s the intriguing one.”
“Okay.”
“From NCIS, Threat Management Unit. Special Agent Zach Magnuson. Said to tell you it was urgent. Call as soon as you’re off the phone. It’s Pauly Chee. The calls I made about him, I guess it rang someone’s alarm.”
“Well, well.”
“Yes,” Marta said. “This is heating up. No?”
Frank picked up the phone, smiled at Marta, and waited until she was out the door before he dialed.
Twenty minutes later, he hung up, rocked back in his chair, and stared at his yellow legal pad.
While the special agent was speaking, Frank had scribbled a list:
1. Paul Chee, E-6 Petty Officer First Class, SEAL team 2
2. Munitions specialist
3. Desertion and Possible Larceny of Government Property
4. Heptanitrocubane HpNC—most powerful non-nuclear explosive compound
5. Theft of 7 pounds, Naval Weapons Station Seal Beach, CA
6. Magnuson arrives Miami Saturday sixish.
7. Bringing NCIS team, meet Saturday 8PM at 4 Seasons
8. Set up SWAT for Sunday night—Prince Key takedown
“So?” Marta was standing in the doorway.
Frank said nothing, his eyes still fixed on the list.
Marta walked over to his desk. “I guess it must be exciting news.”
“Yeah?” He looked up. “How can you tell?”
“On your arms, the goose bumps.”
TWENTY-FOUR
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON, THE sun grazing the tops of the mangroves, golden arrows of sunlight firing through the dense foliage. Light wind from the east, new moon, tide coming in. Perfect fishing weather.
He’d convinced Leslie that after they finished their construction project, he should take the guys out, catch tonight’s dinner. Fresh fish instead of the fast-food shit the group was surviving on. Teach them how to cast the bait net, get some pilchards, threadfin herring, or minnows, then find a coral head or patch of turtle grass, snag some snappers.
Suspicious at first, Leslie finally relented. Gave him a sharp, cautionary look, then headed off in her flats boat on an errand she didn’t reveal. Cameron was gone, too. Shortly after a breakfast of cold pizza slices from the ice chest, he’d paddled away to work at the power plant’s biology lab. Staying with his routine, keeping up appearances.
At the moment just the four of them were on the island, and it seemed unlikely Thorn would have a better chance to make a break.
Only steps from where they stood, the pry bar was buried in the sand, but going for it, then taking on both Chee brothers hand to hand was too risky. Once they were out on the water, though, the balance of power would shift. The sea was Thorn’s second home. And he had a plan, nothing fancy, a way to stall the Chees long enough for him and Flynn to get a decent head start.
He knew he’d get one chance and only one. If he blew it, there’d be no democratic vote this time. And he had to brace himself for the prospect that Flynn might side with the others. If that was how it went down, Thorn was prepared to leave Flynn behind, return as fast as possible with backup.
While Pauly hauled the last of the four kayaks from the storage rack, his brother stood at the shore practicing with the cast net—trying to sail it out into the cove, but fumbling yet again.
At the waterline sat the slatted box they’d spent most of the day constructing. Thorn guided them through Leslie’s blueprint, making use of the handsaws she provided, the hammers and nails. It was a rectangular cage, so large it would be a tight squeeze in the bed of a pickup.