Chasing the Son (32 page)

“Why are you wasting our time?” Doc Cleary asked. “Where are we going?”

“Daufuskie Island,” Preston said. “Your father should be there, Harry. You’ll get to say hello and thank him for killing your mother. Should be quite interesting.”

“Screw you,” Harry said. “Doc did tell me about my father while we were at sea. I think you’ve gotten in too deep this time, Preston. I think you have no idea what you’re up against. You act the big shot when you have the system working for you. When you can haze rats, or your father’s political power behind you. What’s coming for you now is—“

Preston cut in. “A man who can’t even be a father.” He stood up. “We’re almost there. And by the way, Harry. Maybe I’m not the person you should be worried about. We’re meeting Mrs. Jenrette there.”

Doc and Harry exchanged a glance.

“Feeling a smidge of pain?” Preston asked. “Fear?”

“We’ll tell her the truth,” Doc said. “That you killed her grandson.”

“She’s had a while believing the story everyone else told,” Preston said. “I don’t think you’re going be able to change her mind.”

* * *

“It’s the truth,” Dillon said.

Mrs. Jenrette was very still. She was seated in the seat next to the captain’s chair She hadn’t said a word since Dillon began relating events since he was last with her in Charleston.

Finally, she spoke. “Thomas?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you believe him?”

Thomas looked to Tear. “What say you?”

Tear was also seated on a bench to one side, hand folded on his beard covering his belly. “I know Merchant Fabrou is dead. His son is dead. Word is heart attack and suicide. Word under the word is dark deeds. This Farrelli. He is dead too. Heart attack. There, the word under the word is murder. All points to Gregory boy. But no one will face him down.”

“They’re afraid of his father,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

“They’re afraid of
him
,” Dillon corrected. “I think he’s more dangerous than his father.”

“If he killed Greer . . .” Mrs. Jenrette didn’t finish the sentence.

“And Mister Rigney has disappeared,” Thomas added.

“That man has no spine,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “You were right about him, Thomas. You were right about many things. And I’ve been very wrong. My grief has clouded my mind.”

“Pain does that,” Tear said. “You and I. We know that.”

“We met many years ago,” Mrs. Jenrette said to him.

“I remember,” Tear said. “You showed me kindness when I was in pain for a long time. Sunk deep in my own grief. As did you, Thomas.”

Mrs. Jenrette turned to Thomas. “Have you spoken to Tear, to anyone, about my plan?”

“No, ma’am. You know I would never speak outside of us, especially about Sea Breeze.”

Mrs. Jenrette was lost in thought for a few moments. “So Harry Brannigan and Doc Cleary will be on Daufuskie.”

“Most likely,” Dillon said. He then proceeded to tell her the best summation they’d come up with concerning Preston Gregory’s plan for the day.

When he was done, Mrs. Jenrette nodded. “And I assume your friends, Misters Riley and Chase have a plan of their own?”

* * *

Preston’s yacht eased up to an old pier, just west of Bloody Point, that was in a secluded inlet. They were an hour and a half early. By design. A half dozen of Poppano’s men deployed, running a perimeter sweep, weapons at the ready, around the dock and the abandoned golf course that lay just inland.

Once they were certain the area was clear, four of them spread out, establishing a perimeter. That left Preston with four guards, including Poppano, to handle the meeting.

Preston Gregory went up to the bridge of his yacht and sat down in the captain’s chair. Poppano stood behind him, listening to the reports from his security.

“We’re secure, sir,” he reported.

* * *

“Let’s go,” the sniper ordered and the Little Bird lifted off from Hunter Army airfield.

* * *

Mrs. Jenrette had experienced much in her ninety plus years. She’d witnessed lynchings as a young girl, both in the city and out in the countryside, where crowds cheered and jeered and only a handful of people turned away in disgust. Many fought to take part in it, both before and after, literally cutting ‘souvenirs’ off the corpses. After seeing something like that, she’d learned never to underestimate the cruelty and evil humans were capable of.

She’d also come of age during the lawlessness of prohibition, where many currently wealthy families had earned their first fortune breaking the law. She knew that capitalism dictated a reality much different than the mirage of democracy; and she also knew that the United States had never been a democracy. A republic at best in its early days, it had begun the slide into something very different in just decades; a similar slide which had taken Rome centuries. But the end results would be the same. Now she wasn’t sure where things stood and she feared for the future, because despite her disdain for the Stars and Stripes over Fort Sumter, she believed in her country.

She’d known Senator Gregory for decades and while he wasn’t the most ethical (she wasn’t sure any politician could be), he was nowhere near the depth of depravity and danger of his son now that she finally understood.

“Thomas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was looking forward, drawing a long arc around the shallow sandbars off of Hilton Head’s beaches.

“I fear this boy is evil. Rigney said Preston would sell his half to me for the right amount. I fear that was a lie.”

“Most likely,” Thomas agreed.

“He has done very bad things,” Tear said.

Dillon had left the boat before they came in sight of Hilton Head and was with Kono, waiting, just over the horizon. Thomas turned the wheel and they headed landward.

“He’s here already,” Thomas said.

“I can still see,” Mrs. Jenrette said, which she knew wasn’t fair. But today had been a day of revelations and she was feeling her years.

Thomas ignored her. “And he has soldiers.”

“Of course. He never intended to negotiate or share.”

Mrs. Jenrette’s yacht pulled into position on the other side of the old pier from Preston Gregory’s. He held the higher ground from the open bridge of his boat. They were only fifteen feet apart, the width of the pier separating them.

“Welcome, Mrs. Jenrette,” Preston called out. “It is nice to finally meet face to face. I mean, we have met, but only briefly, and you were always too busy to speak with me.”

“Does that hurt your feelings?” Mrs. Jenrette called out in a surprisingly clear voice.

“My feelings don’t get hurt,” Preston said. “I’m a professional.”

“Professional what?” Mrs. Jenrette asked.

But Preston was looking past her. “Who is the old man with you?”

“A friend,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

“Which do you want first?” Preston called out. “The deal for Sea Breeze or your son’s killer?”

“That’s not what we agreed on,” Mrs. Jenrettesaid.

“Things change,” Preston said. He gestured and Pappano and one of his men pushed Doc Cleary and Harry Brannigan out of a hatch and onto the bridge next to him.

“I believe all we need now is to get the paperwork for Bloody Point—“ he gestured out toward the gold course, which had seen better days. The greens were over-grown with weeds, the sand traps littered with leaves and other debris. Preston checked his watch. “I suspect our visitors who are bringing it will be punctual.”

“Where is Charles Rigney?” Mrs. Preston asked.

Preston shrugged. “No idea.” He looked to the right. “Here comes the last piece.”

* * *

“I think we’re seeing wealth inequality in action,” Riley said as he steered his zodiac toward the old pier where the two yachts were docked.

But Chase was looking through binoculars. “Harry.”

“Keep it together, Chase,” Riley said as he pulled back on the throttle, slowing them down as they came to the end of the pier. “The clock is ticking.”

* * *

Gator peered at his watch. Getting to be that time. He reached up and undid the snap link that connected the rope around his legs to a stanchion on the bottom of the six-foot wide swim platform, allowing his feet to swing free into the water. He shook the short piece of rope off, letting it sink down.

Then he released the snap link attached to the rope around his chest, while keeping a tight grip with his other hand on a stanchion. He lowered himself into the water.

His body was a bit battered because Preston’s boat’s wake had churned the two-foot gap between the bottom of the teak platform and the water’s surface considerably during the journey from Pinckney Island to the south end of Daufuskie.

But that simply fit in with Gator’s philosophy that ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’.

And now Gator was getting ready to do some pain dealing. He opened up the waterproof sack and retrieved his submachinegun.

* * *

“We’re docking,” Riley reported over the radio to the team.

He pulled up to the end of the pier and Chase jumped off, tying off the zodiac. Riley grabbed Sarah Briggs’ leather satchel and took it with him as he joined Chase on the pier.

“Focus,” Riley said to Chase as they walked down the pier until they were between Preston and his captives and Mrs. Jenrette, who had only Thomas and Tear at her side. Two men with automatic rifles were tracking Riley and Chase from Preston’s boat. One had his gun pointed at Mrs. Jenrette. And another was behind Harry and Doc, holding a gun on them.

Riley held up the satchel, showing it to both Preston and Mrs. Jenrette. “Bloody Point golf course. The deed is signed by the owner. We just have to fill in the name of the buyer.”

Chase was staring up at his son. “I’m Horace,” he called out.

“Your father,” Doc Cleary said to Harry.

“The family reunion can wait,” Preston said. “Give me the deed and you get your son.” He looked up at Mrs. Jenrette. “Or you can pay for Bloody Point, and then sign over your part of Sea Breeze and Bloody Point to me and I give you your son’s killer.”

“I believe you over-estimate yourself,” Mrs. Jenrette said. She gestured at Tear. “My old friend here knows everything that goes on in the Low Country.”

“I doubt that,” Preston said. But he spotted something in the distance: the
Fina
racing in toward them. “I told you no interference!”

“You’re surrounded,” Chase said. “Give up my son and Doc and you’ll live to see the end of this day.”

“Then your son dies,” Preston said.

“Action!” Riley ordered over the radio.

From the sand trap closest to the pier, Sarah Briggs and Kate Westland burst up from beneath the sand. They got to their feet, weapons at the ready, Sarah pointing hers toward Preston’s yacht while Westland went back to back with her, aiming outward.

Gator swung himself up on the swim deck, then climbed up into the ship, rushing toward the bridge, submachinegun tight to his shoulder.

Sarah Briggs fired. The round hit Pappano on the side of his head, blowing brains, blood and bone out the other side. He dropped like a stone.

Preston reacted surprisingly fast. He grabbed Harry, pressing his own pistol into the base of his skull, and backing up into the safety of the small alcove leading to the hatchway behind him.

“I’ll kill him!”

* * *

Hearing the shot fired behind them, the four perimeter guards turned and began running back toward the pier.

Kate Westland had a ‘heavy’ SCAR (Special Operations Combat Assault Rifle), chambered for 7.62, to her shoulder. She killed the perimeter guard to the west, as she spoke over her phone. “Take the closest.”

* * *

The sniper hit the guard to the east, shifting to the next one even before the first had hit the ground. She fired, a head shot, killing the second as Kate Westland took out the last one. Westland whirled about, shoulder to shoulder with Sarah Briggs.

The sniper leaned into her harness and shifted her target to Briggs. “Ready to Sanction.”

“Hold,” Westland said.

* * *

Riley didn’t believe in the proverbial “Mexican” stand off, but at the moment, with Presto Gregory shielded by the entrance to the hatch, and his gun pressed against the back of Harry Brannigan’s head, everything was in a pause.

The three guards on the deck of Preston’s ship were trying to regroup, one pointing his weapon toward the sand trap where Westland and Briggs were, another still aiming at Riley and Chase, and the last aiming toward Mrs. Jenrette, Thomas and Tear.

That didn’t last long.

Gator came up the stairs onto the main deck, firing, double-tapping. One guard down, two, but then the third wheeled, firing on full automatic, hitting Gator in the chest with two rounds, sending him tumbling back down the stairs.

* * *

“Preston!” Chase called out. “You’ve got nowhere to go. You’ve got no one covering your ass any more. Give up. We’ll let you walk away.”

Preston shoved the gun harder into the back of Harry’s head, causing Chase’s son to cry out in pain.

“I’ll kill him.”

Doc Cleary turned toward the two, hands still ziptied behind his back. “I’ll take his place. I can pilot this boat out of here. You’ll be free to go.”

“Bullshit,” Preston said. “You’re not worth it. Brannigan’s the only collateral I have.” He looked across to the other yacht. “Mrs. Jenrette! Call these people off and you get the man who killed your grandson and I’ll give you Sea Breeze!”

“I’m not in charge of these people,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

Kate Westland and Sarah Briggs, sand sliding off their clothes, were walking forward to the pier, weapons at the ready. Riley and Chase had their hands up. Gator was motionless at the base of the stairs.

Preston’s head was on a swivel, taking in the suddenly changed tableau. He had one man left.

“Get us out of here,” he ordered the surviving guard.

“How?” the guy responded. “I—“ and then his head exploded as a round from the sniper’s rifle hit in the right temple and blew most of it to shreds.