Chasing the Son (6 page)

“I can’t afford the luxury of chance,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “Maybe it was just bad luck and cruel fate. But I don’t have the time to believe that. I must act as if there was, and is, a plan afoot and poor Greer’s death was part of it. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“And the timing of these inquiries via Farrelli. Just days before Sea Drift is to close. That cannot be coincidence after a year of nothing.”

“It is odd timing,” Thomas said. “But the connection is not apparent.”

“That is what we must uncover in the next few days,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Something is on your mind?”

“I do not believe Mister Rigney is trustworthy.”

“My husband trusted him. He graduated the Institute with Mister Rigney’s father, who handled my husband’s affairs and then his son, Charles, handled my son’s affairs. They developed the Sea Drift plan together. My son worked together with him for four decades.”

“I know,” Thomas said. “But you are not your husband or your son. I sense Mister Rigney resents having to answer to you. And he resents you are not a man. Or an Institute graduate as he and your son and husband and his father and every man of importance in this city.”

“Of course he resents me,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “But he is the horse I must ride to the end of this race. It’s too late in the course to switch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Jenrette gave a low laugh. “That’s your disapproving ‘yes, ma’am, Thomas.”

“Sea Drift is very important. I suppose my anxiety is showing through.”

“I understand.” She switched topics. “Your network of information, as usual, seems to be proficient. This Dillon character seems capable. I appreciate the recommendation.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now that you’ve seen him, what do
you
think of him?”

“I believe he might surprise you,” Thomas said.

Mrs. Jenrette’s head snapped to look at him. “How so?”

“A feeling. There is a depth to him. And he has seen some terrible things.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen terrible things,” Thomas simply said.

“Hmm,” was all she had to say on that. “As Mister Rigney said, we are at a delicate time for Sea Drift. I feel adrift, Thomas.”

“It has been a hard road these past few years,” Thomas said.

“We need to make it through Saturday,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “And we need to find young Mister Brannigan. When those are complete, then I can rest.”

Chapter Three

Wednesday Evening

“You killed the mother of my son,” Horace Chase said, without the anger, recrimination or what might pass for normal emotion attached to such an inflammatory statement.

But the situation was anything but normal. Chase had just climbed up the ladder on board the
Fina
, a converted river patrol boat to join his comrades: Dave Riley, Kono, and Gator and Chase’s dog Chelsea. It was Gator who’d fired the fatal shot at Erin Brannigan, the impetus for Chase’s statement, back on the island in the Caribbean off their port bow, a dark silhouette in the night.

“What?” Gator was startled. “Erin?”

“Erin?” Dave Riley echoed, holding the rope attached to the zodiac Gator had just driven up in. “Our Erin?”

Chase had a submachinegun slung over his shoulder, water dripping off his combat fatigues. He dumped the fins on the deck. Chase was a tad under six feet tall. His hair was turning gray and cut tight to his skull. As he peeled off the wet shirt, he revealed a dozen various sized pockmark scars on the right side of his body, the result of a Taliban grenade. There was also a bullet mark on his stomach, left of center.

The fourth member of the team, Kono, was up above them, in the cockpit of the patrol boat, silent, as he usually was. But he moved forward, leaning over the bulletproof glass lining the cockpit, listening.

“I had to shoot her,” Gator explained to Riley. “She drew a gun on Chase.”

“I’m still at Erin being there,” Riley said. “How was she connected to Sarah Briggs? And you
didn’t
shoot Briggs?” he said, indicating Gator.

The huge ex-Ranger shrugged. “She didn’t have a gun. Actually, she didn’t have much. No top. Not my type.” He added with a hard look at Chase who’d made her his type for a disastrous couple of days.

“Explain,” Riley said to Chase. Dave Riley had retired from Special Forces years ago. After working security for several gigs, he’d tossed it in and moved to Daufuskie Island, taking over his Uncle Xavier’s small-time bookie operation. Raised by his Puerto Rican mother after his Irish father skipped out, Riley was a long way from the Bronx where he’d grown up. He was a slight man with dark skin, sporting an inevitable slight beer belly, and his once-thick hair was thinning and greying.

“I have a son,” Chase began. Then he quickly relayed what had transpired between himself, Erin and Sarah. When he finished, Kono made his first contribution.

“Should have suspected Erin,” the Gullah said. “She said Briggs was dead after checking her right here on the deck of this boat. Then we find out Briggs not dead. She lied.”

“Yeah, obvious now,” Riley acknowledged. “We should have made some sort of connection there. But we missed a lot of things.” He shook that off. “Erin say anything more about your son other than he was named Horace?”

Chase sat down, running his hand through Chelsea’s mane as he tried to collect this thoughts. A Shepherd-Chow mix, dark-colored, Chelsea was a gift from his landlord when he’d lived in Boulder, Colorado and worked as a F.L.I.: Federal Liaison Investigator. That job seemed long ago and far away.

“No,” Chase said. “Just that Erin had to leave Hilton Head when she was pregnant and go to her mother’s in Oklahoma. He’d be—“ Chase did the math—“around nineteen now. Give or take a few months.”

“If you’re the daddy,” Gator pointed out.

“I’m the father,” Chase said.

“If there’s a child,” Gator persisted.

Chase started to get up, toward Gator, which would prove futile given Gator’s bulk and quick temper.

“Hold on,” Riley said. “Gator’s right. How do you know she wasn’t just fucking with you? This whole thing has been a mindfuck from the start.”

“Then why would Erin have gone in on the scam with Briggs?” Chase asked.

“Money,” Kono said.

“No.” Chase pointed at Gator. “You knew her.”

“Not that well,” Gator said. “We chatted a few times. I thought she was cute. But she didn’t, you know, respond.”

“She said she had a partner,” Chase said. “A woman?”

Gator shook his head. “Not that I knew of.” He seemed happier. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t respond to me.”

“Another lie,” Riley said.

“What?” Gator was off a beat on the conversation.

“Why didn’t you ask Briggs?” Riley asked Chase ignoring Gator’s wounded manhood. “She knew, right?”

Chase nodded. “Yeah. She brought it up.”

“Then she knows something,” Riley said. “Why didn’t you question her?”

“Time,” Chase said. “We had the op timed.”

“We had it timed because we thought she’d have security,” Riley said. “Think clearly. Did Briggs know about the child
before
Erin said anything?”

Chase had to focus, realizing he’d lost his professional anchor and was making bad decisions.

“Yes.”

“So the two of them discussed it,” Riley said. “Then it’s likely Sarah Briggs knows more about your son.”

“Shit,” Chase said. He’d been caught between revenge and surprise and the shock of Erin’s death right after finding out they’d had a child together. Well, not exactly together other than the conception.

“There was no security?” Riley directed the question to Gator.

“I didn’t see any,” Gator said, “and there was no reaction to my shot.”

“All right then,” Riley said. “That changes things. Then let’s go back and ask her again.”

“What?” Chase said.

“We go back,” Riley explained. “Talk to Sarah Briggs. Find out what she knows about Erin and your son. She was counting on secrecy to protect her, not guards. It didn’t work.” He wasn’t waiting. Riley pointed to Kono. “Hold the boat here.” To Gator. “You come with us and bring the big gun. We’ll take the zodiac. We’ll do commo checks every thirty minutes. We miss two, Kono, you can head home.”

“Not,” was Kono’s response to that and the others knew better than to argue with the Gullah. A descendant of the former slaves and freedmen who populated the coastal barrier islands off of Florida, Georgia and South Carolina, Kono was part of a unique culture that had its own traditions and language. He was much a part of the Low Country as any person could be. A solidly built black man, Kono sported a shaved head with unblemished chocolate skin. He was barefoot, his feet more sure of the deck than any man-made shoes. He wore jeans that had seen better days and an untucked Hawaiian shirt. On his left hip was a machete.

Riley went over the side, into the zodiac Gator had used to transport himself into his sniping position on the island. Chase clambered over the side behind him. Gator climbed back into the rubber boat, the big .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle cradled in his arms.

Without another word, Riley cast off and they roared toward the beach.

As they neared the shoreline, Riley leaned close to Chase, speaking loud enough to be heard over the outboard engine, but low enough that Gator couldn’t hear. “Get you head out of your fourth point of contact, Horace. This woman wrapped you around her finger and tossed you. Then Erin dumped her thing on you. You don’t do well with women.”

No shit
, Chase thought. A divorce, losing Sylvie back in Boulder, then Sarah conning him, and on top of her Erin lying dead ahead of him and lurking long ago in his past. He was coming full circle, and it wasn’t a pretty one, more like a whirlpool.

Riley was watching the surf. At just the right distance, he cut the engine and pulled it up. Their momentum carried them onto the beach. Riley jumped overboard with a stake on a rope. He slammed it into the beach as Gator hopped off and headed to the left to assume his overwatch position.

“We take the stairs,” Riley said.

Chase followed him and they took the creaking wooden boards two at a time. Riley had an MP-5 at the ready and Chase was backing him with the same.

They made it up the cliff to the plateau holding the mansion.

Erin’s body lay where it had fallen, blood congealing. Her body had not been covered. Sarah Briggs was nowhere to be seen.

They double-timed past the body and into the house. They moved fast, but tactically, the odds were likely that Sarah had already getten out of there as quickly as possible.

They were wrong.

They came upon her standing a balcony overlooking the cliff and the ocean, a cell phone in her hands, talking forcefully.

She saw them and switched off the phone, then tossed it in an arc. It landed in the pool.

“Calling the cavalry?” Riley asked.

“If I have, perhaps you should go back to where you came from.”

“Perhaps not,” Chase said.

“Forget something, Horace?” she asked as they joined her. Her tone was casual but her body was tense. At least she’d put a robe on.

“Tell us everything about Erin and her son with Chase,” Riley said.

Sarah laughed, a low sultry sound, regaining her balance. “You left in a rush, Horace. All pumped up about being a daddy. And threatening me, thinking you destroyed my life. Must have felt good to get those last digs in. Did you toss that USB drive?”

“I tossed it,” Chase said.

“And I tossed my phone, so we’re even.”

“Who were you talking to?” Riley asked.

“Like you said. Arranging transportation out of here before bad people come to do me in. Am I too late? Are you bad people?”

“Why’d you toss it?” Riley demanded.

“I don’t want you two showing up at my next place,” Sarah said. “Hell, I didn’t expect you to show back up here. That money from SAS is gone?”

“It’s gone as far as you’re concerned,” Chase said.

Riley cut in. “Was Erin lying?”

Sarah deigned to look at Riley. “How are the nerves, Dave? You a little shaky?” She picked up a flute of champagne. “Need something to steady things out?”

“I’m fine,” Riley said.

“Sure, sure. Pills help? All you vets get happy pills, right? VA passes them out for free so you’re willing to stand in line while dying, right?”

“Was she lying?” Riley repeated.

“Why would Erin lie?” Sarah said. “I admit she is, was, very good at it. Better than me, and I’ve been told I’m among the best. But lying about having a son? None of what happened would have played out the way it did if that little tidbit wasn’t true. I didn’t figure it out until too late. After we were here. And she started talking just a little bit. She finally let me in on the big secret about a week or so ago. I didn’t think much of it, although it did explain some of her actions since she never seemed into the money. But I never thought you’d find us, Horace. I did start getting worried Erin would leak our location somehow to get you here since she’d obviously never let it go and people who can’t let things go always want to dig that knife in deeper and then end up falling on it themselves, as she did. Honestly, since you want honesty, I was planning on getting away from her shortly. She was a liability and unraveling. I appreciate your help in that matter, although it was more extreme than what I had in mind.”

Chase stepped up next to Riley. “You’re done.”

“Oh, Horace, Horace.” She shook her head. “You are
still
so naïve. Yes, you got
a lot
of the money. By the way, do you mind if I ask where it went? To your account perhaps?”

“No,” Chase said, but nothing more.

“Of course not. Honest Horace wouldn’t do that. One then assumes your secret friend in the dark world who tracked me down for you. Spooks. They play people. Today your friend gives me up. Tomorrow he’ll give you up if it suits his needs. We’re just pieces on the board, moved about and sacrificed without a second thought.”

“We’ve been around,” Riley said. “We know how the game is played.”

“Oh yes,” Sarah said, “you have. And look where
you
ended up, Dave Riley, former Green Beret. Running small-time book on Daufuskie Island. Taking over your Uncle Xavier’s nickel and dime operation. I made more off one regular season football game than you could make in a lifetime running that gig. Drawing your pension from the government for decades of service and giving up your physical and mental health. How much do you get a month for all that traveling around the world getting shot at?”