Chasing the Son (31 page)

“Based on Gregory’s actions so far,” Chase said, “he has to wipe the slate clean so he can move forward.”

“And,” Riley added, “I have no doubt that whoever comes out standing won’t stay standing much longer.”

“Except I know where Harry and Doc are,” Chase said. “Kono, call Zelda and get the exact location of Preston’s boat. She says she has the transponder active.”

“Find out where Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht is too,” Dillon suggested.

“Roger that.” Kono stepped out into the back with his cell phone.

“Whoa,” Riley said. “Hold on. Let’s think this through. We move too fast, bad things could happen.”

“We get my kid,” Chase said.

“It aint that simple,” Riley said.

“Why not?” Chase demanded.

“Because Preston Gregory isn’t going to let it be that simple,” Riley said.

“He’s right,” Sarah said. “He’s been planning this for a long time and he’s ruthless. Even if we get your son away from him, then what? There’s still the matter of Greer Jenrette’s death. The stakes have gotten too high all around.”

“We’ve got Chad—“ Chase began, but even he realized the foolishness of that.

Kono came back in. “I’ve got Gregory’s boat. West side of Pinckney. And Mrs. Jenrette yacht has just departed Charleston and is heading south.”

Riley shook his head. “We’re not going to be able to approach Preston’s boat and get them. We know a hostage rescue is the hardest op and from what we saw on Daufuskie, Preston has some people who know how to use guns. We don’t have time to do anything fancy. We need to think for a moment and make the best plan we can with the time we have left.”

“All right,” Chase said. “Suggestions?”

“We make a clean sweep of it,” Sarah said. “We have to follow what Preston said: the two of you make the meet.”

“And the rest of us?” Dillon asked.

“First,” Chase said. “Are you all in? If anyone wants to walk, now is the time.”

“I’ve been in,” Riley said.

“I’m with you,” Gator said, since he’d be in with anything that promised mayhem and gunfire and explosions.

“Yah,” Kono said. “No more playing around.”

“I’m in,” Dillon said. “As long as I can tell Mrs. Jenrette the truth.”

Riley turned to Westland. “What say the Cellar?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Westland said.

“And you?” Riley asked Sarah. “As far as Preston is concerned, you’re dead. You can walk away clear and free.”

“I could,” Sarah said. But she didn’t move.

“All right.” Riley said. “I know the spot where the meeting is going to take place. Here’s the plan.”

Chapter Fifteen

Gator cradled his gear in a waterproof case, made sure the 12 foot tow line was attached to it, and then pushed himself off the dive platform on the rear of the
Fina
as the boat kept moving up the waterway between the mainland and Pinckney Island. He was tossed about in the boat’s wake, before the water settled.

Gator peered through the dark and island and spotted a small glow through the trees in a lagoon. Bad light discipline.

He rolled onto his back and began finning toward the light, his gear being pulled along behind him on the line.

He was in a good mood because action was pending.

* * *

Sarah Briggs and Kate Westland slid over the side of Riley’s zodiac into the dark water off the south end of Daufuskie Island with their gear in waterproof bags. They bobbed in the water, both gave him a thumbs up, then began swimming toward the beach.

* * *

Preston Gregory sat in the back of the Town Car. There was a black Range Rover leading the convoy and one behind his car. Each held four men, part of Pappano’s crew of former agents, soldiers and criminals.

Technically, given the things they’d already done, they were all criminals now, but Preston didn’t see it that way. He’d studied history and power and had come to the conclusion that laws were for the masses; not the elite. Rules were made to be broken.

Pappano sat across from him, a little white ear-piece in place, the crackle of updates from the other two cars and the boat occasionally breaking the silence.

He almost felt like he was back in the Service, part of the Presidential motorcade. And there was a part of him, deep inside, that had a feeling that one day Preston Gregory might be riding in such.

They were heading off Hilton Head on Route 278. But not to the mainland. They passed over the Intracoastal and while the bridge headed over another arm of water to the mainland, they too an exit onto the island that was between the northern part of Hilton Head and the mainland: Pinckney Island.

As they circled underneath the bridge, they passed a small, empty parking area and came to a metal gate. One of the men hopped out of the lead Range Rover and unlocked the gate. The three vehicles passed through, and then halted, while the trail man locked the gate behind them. They were now in the National Wildlife Refuge.

It was still dark out, dawn still a half hour away.

“How far is the boat?” Preston asked, eager for the day to get underway.

“Not far,” Pappano said. “It’s secure in a lagoon. And once we get underway, it won’t take long to get to Daufuskie.”

“The prisoners?”

“Secure.” Pappano hesitated, but then asked: “Sir. What is your ultimate plan for them? They’re going to recognize you, unless you’d like me to have them blindfolded before we arrive? But after that?”

“You’re worried they can identify you and your men,” Preston said as they drove on the dirt track deeper into the Wildlife Refuge.

“Partly. The reality is—“ once more he stopped.

“The reality is,” Preston said, “that we’re better off with them dead. And so they shall be. Today we close out this chapter and open a new one with the board clear.”

* * *

Kono was talking into the radio, speaking in Gullah, which Dillon could only partially translate. Someone replied in the same, and then Kono turned the wheel, heading the
Fina
west.

“What are you doing?” Dillon asked. “Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht will be coming down the coast.”

“We have to pick someone up first,” Kono said.

The dark mass of the shoreline was directly ahead. It was completely dark, indicating no houses or docks; no sign of civilization at all. Until a small light flashed.

“There is our friend,” Kono said.

Dillon didn’t ask any more questions, knowing he was along for the ride and at the discretion of Kono. He was still trying to sort through this mess, but it always looped back to Preston Gregory and his insane desire for power.

Or perhaps not so insane, given he’d gotten, and kept, the upper hand so far.

Kono slowed the patrol boat down as they came up on the source of the light: an old man with a long white beard, sitting in a row boat, holding a flashlight.

“Help,” Kono simply said as he throttled down and then went to the side where the row boat was. Together, he and Dillon helped the old man on board, then Kono used a small winch to lift up and secure the rowboat on the fantail.

“Dillon, this is Tear.”

The old man stuck out his hand and Dillon shook it, feeling the calluses of decades of hard work.

Without another word, Kono climbed back to the cockpit, with Dillon and Tear following. Kono pointed down at the small, glowing screen. “This here,” he said, tapping a triangular red dot, “will be Mrs. Jenrette.”

And then he opened up the engines, heading in that direction.

* * *

The sniper was waiting on the Little Bird helicopter at Hunter Army Airfield, having been alerted by Westland twenty minutes ago. She was a bit irritated the crew wasn’t here yet, but then again, they were Army and even in Special Ops, an alert before dawn on a weekend took a little tie to respond to.

A truck pulled up and the pilot and co-pilot exited. They nodded at her, having learned not to ask any questions or even say hello.

This was business and while they had little clue why they were flying a woman with a sniper rifle around the Low Country, the two grizzled warrant officers had flown enough mission with Task Force 160, the Nightstalkers, in enough strange places around the world, to accept it was what it was.

The sniper made sure her monkey harness was secure, checked that the sling to her rifle was firmly attached to harness (what was commonly known in Ranger School as a ‘dummy cord’) and then settled down.

“Where to?”

“How long will it take us to get to Bloody Point on Daufuskie?” she asked.

Interestingly, since Savannah was several miles up river from the coast, Daufuskie lay almost due east as the bird, and the helicopter, flies.

“Six minutes.”

“Good enough,” the sniper said. “How long from a cold start?”

“Not much longer if we don’t make it a cold start,” the pilot said. “We can crank the engine every so often and keep it ready. Save fuel by shutting down in between.”

“That’s the plan for now.”

* * *

Hannah looked at the text message from Westland and sat up in bed. She swung her feet over, touching the tile floor, collecting her thoughts. She had a lot more going on than events in the Low Country but she had the capability to compartmentalize and right now, this is what needed to be dealt with. She quickly threw on some clothes and left her small living area and went into her office.

For a moment, but only a moment, it struck her how silent and austere the place was. How the only light came from the overheads. No windows. Not even a plant to throw a little color into things.

Then she dismissed the thought.

She sat at her desk and looked at the two files Doctor Golden had left with her. Sitting side by side. Sarah Briggs and Preston Gregory. One person whose trajectory had already burned out. The other thinking they could reach the highest possible positions of power.

Hannah picked up a file in each hand. As if weighing them against each other.

Chapter Sixteen

As far as she knew, Mrs. Jenrette was heading to a business meeting, not showdown, but she didn’t trust Preston Gregory as far as she could run, and since she could barely walk these days, that wasn’t very far.

“We have company,” she said, peering out of the glass of the wheelhouse.

“Kono’s boat,” Thomas said. He’d earned a captain’s license many, many years ago, working on the shrimping boats. And he took Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht out every so often; he liked to say for maintenance, but he was truly at peace on the water and sailing through the waterways of the Low Country. He knew this area almost as well as Kono did. His family had lived here for generations, indeed as long as Mrs. Jenrette’s.

“What do you make of this, Thomas?” Mrs. Jenrette asked.

“I think things are going to become very difficult. We should have brought more men.”

Mrs. Jenrette hadn’t wanted anyone but Thomas with her. “This is between you and me,” she said.

“Not any more,” Thomas said.

Dawn was breaking over the ocean as Kono gently pulled the
Fina
alongside her yacht. The shoreline was about two miles away, the white sand brightly lit from the sun’s rays, the lush greenery a sharp contrast just behind the beach.

“It’s a glorious morning,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “I am going to miss this most of all.”

Thomas was looking down at the patrol boat.

“Mister Dillon is with him. And our old friend, Tear.”

“I hope Mister Dillon has some answers.”

Thomas leaned over from the wheelhouse and waved them aboard, greeting the old man in Gullah. Dillon followed up the stairs. Kono pulled his boat away a safe distance.

“Welcome,” Thomas said. Then he nodded at the patrol boat a hundred yards off their port side. “Hard man,” he said to Tear.

The old Gullah nodded. “Hard, but has a good heart.” He turned toward Mrs. Jenrette. “We must talk to you about your grandson and what waits at Bloody Point.”

* * *

Preston Gregory sipped a cup of coffee as he considered Harry Brannigan and Doc Cleary. Both were seated on a couch across from him. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs and two guards flanked Preston, weapons at the ready. The boat’s engines were rumbling and they were heading south, crossing underneath the Route 278 bridge which connects Hilton Head Island to the mainland.

“Your father has been looking for you,” Gregory said to Harry. He shifted his gaze to Doc Cleary. “Have you told him about his father?”

“I have.”

“Does it bother you, Harry,” Preston said, “that your father was never in your life?”

“He was never in my life,” Harry said, “because he didn’t know I existed until recently.”

Preston frowned. “But, Doc, you knew about Horace Chase all these years.”

“I didn’t know he was Harry’s father until two years ago,” Doc said. “When Harry came to the island. And I only found about because his grandmother, Lilly, told me. She’d known all along.”

Preston chuckled. “Family intrigue. So Horace’s own mother didn’t connect father to son.”

“She had her reasons,” Doc said. “And I trusted her.”

“And now,” Preston said, “here we are. Heading for a family reunion of sorts.” He acted like a thought had just struck him. “Oh. Perhaps Lilly was right, since your mother is dead, Harry. Shot by an associate of your father. Quite the mess.”

Harry said nothing, absorbing that news without expression.

Preston laughed. “I see your short time as a rat did teach you a few things. Very nice and stoic.”

Doc Cleary peered at him over his rimless glasses. “
’The pleasure of those who injure you lies in your pain. Therefore they will suffer if you take away their pleasure by not feeling pain
’.”

“Did you make that up, old man?” Preston asked.

Harry spoke. “Tertullian. A Carthaginian author.”

“So the two of you weren’t just staring at the sea gulls while you were sailing around,” Preston said. “Impressive. I imagine you could rattle off a bunch of brilliant sayings. But my take on it? Make up your own shit. Don’t use the words of others. Be original.”