Seeds of Evidence (9781426770838) (41 page)

Kit frowned. “How small?”

“About big enough for two people.”

“Should we approach him by boat instead?” Kit asked, looking at Chris. “What do you think?”

“You got Coast Guard here?” he asked the chief.

“Sure.”

“No, wait.” Kit swallowed hard. Her gut was tight. “No Coast Guard.”Who knows what connections Rick Sellers had, or to whom he'd been talking? “How about the marine police?”

“I have my own unit,” the chief said.

“Can we use them?”

“Sure. I'll have them within range in 15 minutes.”

“So let's set it up both ways, Chris,” Kit said. “You and I will be in the dockmaster's office, and we'll have the marine police unit in the channel.”

Chris nodded. “I'd like to go take a look at this marina.”

“I'll come with you.” Kit looked at Gunner. “Could you please get your unit ready but ask them to stand by, well outside the marina, until we're ready?”

Gunner agreed.

“What about my live-aboards?” Foster asked. “Are they in danger?”

“How many are there? And where are they?”

“Right now, I got maybe half a dozen. Let's see, I know I got one here, here, here, and here.” He pointed to slips on the map.

Chris asked, “Is there any way to contact them?”

“We have their cell phone numbers. But they're at the office.”

Kit shook her head. “There's no time for that. No time. We're just going to have to trust they'll be smart enough to keep their heads down.”

The two agents drove to within a block of the marina, and covered the rest of the distance on foot. Staying behind the buildings on shore—the bathroom facilities, marina office, and restaurant—they crept onto the E Dock, staying low, using the docked boats for cover. The marina seemed full, a good thing. Silently, they watched for signs of life on Pleasant Dreams. The rumble of the boat's engine was the only sound. Then Chris touched her arm and pointed as a man appeared on the C Dock, carrying something which he placed on board. The other man emerged from the salon area and took the duffle bag, stowing it below. “They'll have really good vision from up there,” Chris whispered, pointing to the sedan bridge.

Kit nodded. She'd been on a boat like that once, and knew you could pilot it from up there. The extra eight feet or so in height gave anyone on the bridge a strategic advantage.

“Look,” Kit whispered. “What if we stage the police boats there,” she pointed toward the access channel to the ocean, “and we stay here and call them out?”

Chris nodded. “And bring the others up there, behind the office.” He glanced at Kit. “I'm still concerned about the people on these boats. We may need to evacuate them.”

“We don't have time!” Kit nudged him. “Look!”

A man emerged from
Pleasant Dreams
, moved swiftly down the dock to the main pier, and crossed to the parking lot. He took two duffle bags from the Suburban parked there, shut the door, and made his way back to the boat.

“That's Lopez,” Kit whispered. “He's shorter and older. And he limps.”

“It looks like they're packing a lot in that boat, like they're planning a long trip.”

“Let's go back. We can take a look at that Suburban on the way out.”

“All right!”

Crouching, the two agents ran back down the E Dock, dashed behind the bathrooms, and circled around to the far side where the Suburban was parked. Chris stayed, watching, as Kit ran up to the SUV and shined her flashlight into the interior. It was empty, but the blood in the back seat made her stomach turn. Catching movement again on the C Dock, she slipped back toward Chris.

Then the two agents saw Lopez moving back toward the parking lot. He got in the Suburban and started the engine. Then he drove back through the parking lot, and stopped.

“He's at the boat ramp!” Kit whispered, and then she and Chris watched in amazement as Lopez stepped out of the Suburban, which was still in gear, and let the car drive itself down the ramp and into the water.

He was a little boy, scared to death, hiding behind his bed while his stepfather raged. He could taste blood from a blow to his face, and feel the ache of his bruised arms and back. But he was used to pain—it was the screaming of his mother that most frightened him. The cruel anger in his stepfather's voice, the terror in hers,
gripped him. His world felt out of control and he wanted to fight . . . fight
.

David tried to move, felt the constriction of his bound hands, and fought to get free, but he felt drugged.

My son, get up!

He forced his eyes open. What? Where was he?

The room was pitch dark, except for a small strip of light creeping under the door.

My son, get up!

Who was that? Did he hear something?

He fought his way back to full consciousness. Then he heard another voice and his heart began racing. Kit! Kit's voice! Through a bullhorn . . .

“Carlos Cienfuegos, come out. This is the FBI . . .”

Kit! She was outside! David forced himself into a sitting position. Where was he? Where? Oh, yes, on a boat. He heard Kit's voice again. Emotion surged through him. His head began to clear. Kit! Kit!

Cienfuegos. Lopez. He had to get away. To keep them from getting to her. Or using him as a shield. He moved and felt the searing pain in his leg. He couldn't stand, not on that leg. He needed his hands to move but his hands were bound behind him.

So David began groping in the dark for something, anything, anything sharp. His hands touched the cabinet under the berth and he pulled open the door. But everything he felt in there was soft, like towels or something. He could hear Cienfuegos or Lopez shouting. He moved again, and that's when his hands felt the edge of the cabinet door itself. It was sharp. But sharp enough?

David began sawing the tape binding his hands against the edge. “God, help me!” he whispered. “Please help me!” Sweat began rolling down his temples and pouring out of his hair. He
sawed and sawed, changing angles and working, working until suddenly he felt a flood of relief as the tape gave and his hands were free. Free!

“Carlos, we want to talk. We know you have David Castillo with you and we want to negotiate. You're outnumbered, Carlos, talk to us.” Kit crouched behind the dockmaster's office on the E Dock, bullhorn in hand, with Chris right behind her. All of her attention was focused forward, on Carlos Cienfuegos. He stood on the sedan bridge of his boat, at the controls, and Lopez was on the starboard deck.

“Carlos has a rifle,” Chris whispered, pointing. “They probably both do.”

“Put down your gun, Carlos. Let's talk.”

The answer came back from the boat. “You let us leave. Then we give you Castillo.”

“No good, Carlos. You give us Castillo first, then we'll let you leave.”

“And the Coast Guard will be waiting, no? You think I am stupid?”

“No, Carlos, not stupid. But you are surrounded.” Kit thought quickly. “We've been talking to Consuela, Carlos. We know what you're up to. We know about Lopez and the meth. We're onto you, Carlos, and there's no way you're going to get out of this clean on your own. But you give us Castillo and we'll talk. We'll cut a deal, Carlos. Make things easier on you.”

Lopez shouted back, cursing in Spanish.

“C'mon, Carlos,” Kit said. “You're a reasonable man.”

“What do you say we get a phone to him?” Chris said. “Cut Lopez out of the decision-making?”

“David thinks Lopez is a psychopath.”

“So let's cut him out of the conversation.”

Kit nodded. She put the bullhorn up to her mouth. “Let's talk by phone Carlos. What do you say? Let us bring you a cell phone.”

But Carlos' response was to have Lopez move on deck. “He's disconnecting shore power,” Chris said. The boat went dark. “The next step is casting off.”

Through a port, David saw Lopez on the deck disconnecting shore power. He saw the lights go out, and felt the boat move. Were they casting off? Adrenaline coursed through him. He had to get off! No way was he going out to sea with these guys. Reaching out in the dark, he groped for the door handle, found it, and opened the door a crack.

Only a few battery powered interior lights were on. The salon was dim. To the right was the head. To the left he saw the galley and then the salon. The sliding door which led to the aft deck stood open. All he had to do was get through the salon, out to the aft deck, and over the rail without the men seeing him. The darkness gave him cover; now if only he could move.

The salon was empty. David could hear someone up on the bridge. Cienfuegos, probably.

That left Lopez, the more dangerous man, still on deck somewhere.

David closed the door again. He had to think. How could he get himself off of this boat? And how could he distract the men, and keep them away from Kit?

Chris would be with her. Chris and a bunch of others. She wasn't impulsive. She wouldn't have come to the marina alone. Still, David wanted to minimize her risk, if he could.

He reached up as high as he could, found a shelf of some sort, and grabbed it to pull himself up. But the shelf broke and he fell back to the floor, pain flashing through him.