Wood's Wall (14 page)

“This place needs a driveway,” Mel said.

Mac laughed. “Well it’s yours now, remodel at will.”

At that, she started tearing up. It was hard to see this place without thinking of her dad. This had been his home for close to twenty-five years, built on a hump of coral and sand, five miles from the rest of the world. She was in a bad place: tense from being shot at and sullen about seeing her dad’s place. Both of them had been anxious to get away from Mac’s house where the murders had apparently taken place. They’d agreed on the way back from the reef that this was the safest place. Taking only enough time at Mac’s to grab their phones, clothes and supplies, they’d locked up and headed under the Seven Mile Bridge toward the Gulf towards Wood’s island, where they hoped they’d be safe, at least for the time being.

Mel watched as Mac removed the scrub covering the path and started for the house. One hundred feet in, a clearing opened up, mangroves creeping in at the edges, and they saw the house. It was boarded up, plywood covering the windows and doors. Mac went for the shed and plugged a new battery into the cordless drill. He checked the charge, hoping the solar system — the only source of power here — was still operating. Satisfied, he headed up the stairs to the porch, Mel behind him.

“Thanks for boarding it up,” she murmured.

“We got that hurricane warning last fall. Figured I better. Wood had all the plywood cut, drilled, and stacked. Was pretty easy.” He started removing the screws from the 3/4” thick plywood sheet covering the front door. The wood removed, they entered the house. 

Mel nearly choked on the smell of the place. “It’s a sauna in here.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll get some of the windows opened up, get some air flow.”

It cooled quickly. The breeze hit the sweat on her body, instantly cooling her. The house breathed well. Wood had used a passive solar design to capture the consistent southerly breeze. The large eaves shielded the windows from the unrelenting sun.

Mac had gone, she assumed, to stow the plywood sheets. She pulled out her phone and connected with the world again. 

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she snapped. She’d been listening for a few minutes. Mac had come in and she’d given him the
go away
look.

“No,” Bradley Davies said. “We have a source in the NSA. Looks like your boyfriend is involved in some strange stuff. I’m just putting the pieces together. Now I know why he won’t testify.”

Mel snarled, seeing through the lie immediately. “That bastard Patel did this. What’s he after? I know he wants to use this case to get publicity for himself. This isn’t over. Just because the president comes out and says they won’t use drones on American soil doesn’t mean squat. If they exist, someone will use them. This needs to go in front of a court to get the word out. I want legislation to come out of this. Not some vague promise from a mealy-mouthed politician.”

“Mel, calm down,” Davies said. “You’re just going to have to put your ego on the bench and play with the team here.”

“It’s not my ego! It’s Patel. He’s been trying to push his own agenda since you opened the door and let him in.”

“You want out anyway. Why not just testify, and we can part ways? Sometimes you’ve got to know when it’s over.”

“After everything we’ve been through? Now you too! You’ve been like a father to me.”

“And you’re turning into your father, and that doesn’t fit with us anymore.”

“Do
not
call me my father. I’m not dropping this.” She hung up and started pacing.

***

“The NSA has everything. Phone records, recorded calls, emails — all of it. What are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Mac tried to sooth her.

“Whether I believe you or not, they have enough to discredit me and you as witnesses. They’ll tie us together and put a bow on it. I’m so deep in this drone thing that they’ll think I made it all up, and that’s the end of the case and my career. Davies has been warning me not to get personally involved. Maybe he was right.”

“I was there, Mel, I saw what happened. They can’t say it didn’t.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. If they can discredit you as a witness, they will. I want to know what’s in those emails.” Her face softened slightly, “I can help you.”

“There’s nothing there. I get all kinds of emails and calls from all kinds of people. They want me to dive for salvage for them. I do have a reputation here. That’s got to be all it is.”

“Why all the secrecy, then?”

“That’s the way they work. They all think they’re going to find the next Atocha or hit oil. Every one of them has an angle and they are not always on the up and up.” He looked hurt. “I guess you were right to be paranoid about someone reading emails.”

“Clear it up and testify, then. I can take over as lead council and throw that slime ball Patel out on his butt.”

He walked toward her, hoping to calm her down, but she resisted his touch. “We’ve been through this. I’m not going to do it. Screw them and whatever they think they have on me.”

“Sometime in your life you’re going to have to take a stand about something. You can’t fish a couple of days a week and think the what’s going on in the world is not going to effect you. That’s naive.”

“You sure you want to go there?”

“Yes.” She glared at him, her dander up. “Don’t you get it? Drones, NSA snooping. It’s death by a thousand pinpricks. Somewhere you have to draw the line and send them a message.” 

She was dug in now and he knew it but couldn’t stop. His frustration, built up over the last year came out. “You can’t make everything a pitched battle — too many casualties, and I’m afraid we’re becoming one. Please, this is the perfect chance for us. Just walk away. Davies will find another horse to ride and another knight to joust at his windmills. They always do. You’re just a cog in the machine.”

“Bastard. I thought you cared about what I do.”

“I do, just not who you do it for. Bradley Davies has been using you and you’re so involved in fighting the battles that you can’t see it. He’s winning the war. There are other lawyers.” He regretted that the minute it came out of his mouth.

“At least I’m involved in
something
.”

He tried to let that pass, but was too far gone. “The two of us can’t fix this. It’s bigger than us.” He regretted it the minute it came out of his mouth, but was too proud to back down.

“Damn right the two of us are done. I’ll do it myself.” She stormed out.

Mac stood, stunned. He thought about going after her, but knew better. If she was going to calm down and see this clearly, she needed to do it by herself. He went back to the boat and got the box of supplies they had brought, took them upstairs, and laid them out on the counter. She was still nowhere in sight, but she couldn’t have gone anywhere. He just needed to give her some time. There was no quick reconciliation for this one — she’d have to come around, one way or another, on her own. 

He tore a sheet of paper out of a notebook and started to write. 

When he was done, he left the note on the table and headed back to the boat. Maybe it was better to clean up the mess at home without her, anyway. She had her phone if she wanted to talk. He’d come back out in the morning and patch things up.

23

Cesar checked the weapons as he loaded them into his truck. Two rifles, a shotgun, and a couple of handguns slid under the back seat. Then, satisfied he was ready for anything, he called to Jose.

“What’s up?”

“Those gringos switched the stuff on us. Now those sand heads are all hot, and Diego needs to make them happy.
Es un loco mundo, amigo
.” Diego had been clear about working with Ibrahim. 

The terrorist limped out of the house as Cesar pulled to the curb. “You had better have a plan my friend.” 

“Let’s drop the ‘friend’ shit. We’re here to make our bosses happy. That’s it.” Cesar said. 

“My boss, as you say, is Allah. I will succeed.”

Silence prevailed as the truck made its way toward Marathon. Cesar was determined to end this tonight. While he was at it, he’d check and see whether the other gringo had come up with his money. He’d put that on the back burner after killing the hostages — pretty hard to make a trade when you had nothing to trade with. But if there was a chance he could get the hundred large, it would sure make the conversation with Diego easier.

They drove in silence, Cesar intentionally keeping Ibrahim in the dark. He liked to work alone and the thought of sharing his plans with an outsider angered him. The truck pulled into Mac’s driveway and stopped next to a pickup. 

“Stay here and watch the front.” Cesar told Ibrahim as he moved carefully around back with Jose. They took turns leading and covering each other, not knowing whose pickup was parked or what to expect. They reached the back and moved up the stairs to the deck outside Mac’s bedroom. He didn’t notice the reflection in the glass of an empty seawall as he picked the lock on the sliding glass door. He sent Jose in first, scanning the back area before entering himself. Once in he used the flashlight mounted on his AK-47 to search the area. It was empty. The men moved downstairs. Blood congealed in pools where the victims had fallen, smudge marks showing where he had dragged the bodies out toward the water. Satisfied the house was empty, he sent Jose to get Ibrahim and settled in to wait. He was a patient man when he was stalking prey. Sooner or later the occupant would return. All his instincts pointed to the material being here.

***

Trufante was restless. Sue had the night shift, leaving him alone in her apartment, and he was both tired and wired, the pain killers mellowing him at the same time as the antibiotics and pain set him on edge. Sue had told him this might happen, not having the selection of antibiotics she had wanted, but hadn’t told him what to do about it. He paced the apartment, flipping channels on the TV, and finally he gave up, showered, and left. She was going to be mad … if she found out. But the walls were seriously closing in on him. 

Hoping alcohol would set him right, he took his regular seat at the bar, doing his best to keep his bandaged finger out of sight. Annie came over with a beer, leaned down, and pecked his offered cheek. A long deep drag on the beer, and he began to feel better. The bar was busy, thankfully, and the lack of his usual conversation went unnoticed. Two beers later, he was starting to level off. Maybe even feeling good, the alcohol doing its dance with the pain killers. 

He hardly noticed when Heather entered.

She came right toward him, a tired-looking man following in her wake, with determination on his face. He knew her by sight, had spoken with her once or twice, but she was more the kind of friend you nodded and smiled at. He gave her his trademark smile and hoped she would move past him, not really sure how well words would come out of his mouth in his present state. But she didn’t veer away. Instead, she came right at him.

“Tru, I’ve got some questions for you. Could we go outside and have a chat?” She had no authority to question him, but was making herself friendly, obviously hoping that he’d play nice.

“Well sure, little lady,” he said, grateful his mouth could still produce words.

He signaled for Annie to put his tab on hold and moved toward the door. Heather had to grab his arm when he tripped on the foot rail. She tightened her grasp as he stumbled again, guiding him through the door. Once outside, she parked him on a bench and sat next to him, making it less confrontational. The guy stood within hearing range.

“You want to tell me what happened to your hand?” she started.

“Oh this?” He held up his hand. “Just a little accident. I’m all good.” Even in his present state he knew better than to tell the police anything.

“Well, we got a witness that puts you at a crime scene. A murder, actually. Can you tell me where you were last night?”

Trufante sobered slightly at that, and looked at the guy in the shadows. It took his scrambled brain a few seconds to realize that he knew the guy — one of the men from the house the night before. Shit. 

“Might have been in some trouble,” he answered slowly, shrugging. “I was kidnapped and dragged along. Been recuperating, else I would have come in and talked to y’all. I was planning on visiting tomorrow, telling you what I remember.”

“Well, why don’t we have that talk now.” She took a small recorder from her purse and he nodded, accepting it.

“How ‘bout we go back inside? I could use another beer. A lot more comfortable in there,” he noted quietly. “This ain’t gonna be a pretty story.”

***

Heather knew she had to walk a line between what she could request of him and what she could demand. She followed along and went inside. They found a table in a quiet corner and she ordered him a beer. Anything, as long as he talked. She watched him as he sipped his beer and smiled, but she didn’t have to look too closely to see him wobbling in his chair. Maybe a hospital would have been a better place to talk.