Chapter 19

I dug into my wallet for the cards I had received and called the state department guy who had come down to meet me when I got back from the ill-fated trip to the Bahamas.

“Meir.” A gruff voice answered the call with only a name.

“Mister Meir, Jack McCoy. We met a while back about some freed slaves?”

“Of course, I remember you, Jack. What’s up? Find more damsels in distress?” His voice warmed considerably and the humor in his tone was clear.

“Actually, the same ladies may be in big trouble. I had two hitmen attack us on my boat recently. The FBI says they may be Jordanian and the French knew of them. They were spotted going into the Embassy in Paris, then taking a train to Lyon, where Camille Raimond was from. From there, they came straight here to try and kill us. My thought is, what about the other girls? I don’t know how the Jordanians are involved, but if they want Cam dead, she either knows something or it is because she is a witness to something. Then what about the others?”

“Good thinking, Jack. You hang tight, keep your head on a swivel. I am going right now to contact the others, make sure they have some protection just in case. Thanks for the heads up, Jack.”

Well, if it wasn’t already too late, then maybe he could head off trouble. I wondered if Cam was still in contact with them? Just in case, I went to find her, tracking her down in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea.

“Looking for me, my Jacques?” she asked with a smile, giving me a warm kiss.

“Actually, yes. Are you still in contact with Rosa, Amelia and Estrellita?”

“Certainly! We talk about once every two weeks or so, and we email all the time. I even face time them so we can video chat. Why, Jacques, is something wrong?”

I debated telling her, but she was strong and she would not appreciate me keeping her in the dark.

“The men that were killed? They flew here from Lyon. I don’t know for certain, but I think they were after you. You might have seen someone, or they think you know something, and want to silence you. If you know, what of the others? Can you call them, find out if they are okay and tell them what we think? The State Department is going to go through their governments, but this would be faster.”

“Of course! Come, we will do this together. The big screen in the salon has a camera for video conferencing! I found it while playing with the menus and used it the other day. It is tres bon!”

We hurried out of the kitchen and into the big salon area where I watched as she fired up the television, switching to Skype on the smart TV. How cool was that? First came Estrellita. I had no idea what time it was over there, it was eight thirty in the morning here!

“Cammie! How are you? I didn’t expect you to call until next week. Is everything okay?”

Estrellita’s face appeared with a blue sky in the background, the image bobbing a bit like she was talking on her phone as she walked.

“Ita, where are you? Are your parents near? I need to talk to them too.” Cam said, waving at the young girl.

“Si, Cammie, we are going to lunch at my Tia’s restaurant. What is wrong, Cammie, why do you need my papa?”

“Ita, this is very important. I will explain everything, I promise, but it is about the slavers, baby girl.” Estrellita looked frightened, but she nodded.

“Papa, Papa! No, this is very important; it is Cammie and Jack, the man who saved me! You have to talk to them.” The image changed and I could see the man and woman I met in DC, both of them looking alarmed.

I quickly told him what had happened and that I called right away when we discovered where they had come from, wanting him to know so he could protect his daughter.

“You are a good man, senor. They will not get to my baby, you may count on that.” He looked fierce, and very angry, not someone that I would want to cross.

“That is all we wanted to hear. Take care, and please keep in touch, let us know you are all okay.”

We signed off and called Rosa next, catching her at lunch as well, but with some of her friends. Her parents were not around, but she had a bodyguard these days and as soon as we informed him what was going on, he thanked us and we heard a yelp of surprise. The image swayed wildly and Cam laughed when we heard, “I am not a bag of flour to be tossed over your shoulder, Rodrigo!” from Rosa. He was taking this seriously and getting her to safety!

The last call was to England and Amelia. Either we had the luck of the gods or some cosmic chain of coincidences had all three girls going to lunch at the same time, but Amelia was with her family.

“Cam! Sweetheart, we are almost to Lord Hadley-Nelson’s estate so I can’t talk long. He’s father’s employer and invited us for lunch. It’s all very exciting!” Amelia said, a big smile on her face. I could see her mother and father over her shoulder, both grinning and waving.

When we explained why we were calling, those smiles disappeared quickly and I felt bad, but relieved we had called in any case. Mister Palmer, Amelia’s father, leaned forward to pass on what we had said to someone in the front seat and, when he got a reply, he looked scared.

“There is someone following us? For how long? Why didn’t you tel...” that was all we got before he was interrupted. There was a shouted command from somewhere off camera, and the family looked frightened. Amelia’s father pushed his wife down to the floor of the car and grabbed Amelia too.

The brave girl, she had already gone through a lot, but she raised her hand with the phone in it and was using the picture in picture to both scan around and show us her surroundings! We could see a black sedan behind and to one side, a man hanging out the window with a gun in hand, obviously shooting at their car. There was a clear view for only a second before a round hit the rear window and spiderweb cracks obscured the view.

We could hear more shots, Amelia’s mother crying, a curse from inside the car and the screeching of metal on metal. The image in the phone shook but it never went out. There was more shaking, more metal on metal until there was a huge bang and the image stabilized

The image was quiet for several minutes and then an indistinct voice from in the car said that they were clear.

It took a while to get a coherent story, but evidently the driver and a security man, both working for Lord Hadley-Nelson, had spotted a car that looked as though it was tailing them. When Mister Palmer passed on what I had told them, the security guy had turned to get a closer look at the car behind them and, it appears, tipped them off that they had been spotted.

The car following had two men in it, one of them opened fire and tried to blast out the windows. The car was at least partially hardened, with thicker safety glass and steel armor inserts, so the men in the following car tried to ram them off the road.

The Lord’s driver was no pushover and had managed to turn the tables on them, shoving their car off the road instead and right into a fieldstone wall! They had not, of course, stopped to check on the bad guys, they wanted their charges safe at the estate!

Mister Palmer was effusive with his praise for our timely phone call, insisting that if the men who were after his daughter had caught them at a time of their own choosing, things would have been much worse. The security man with them seemed to agree, but we were just glad that no one had died. No one on our side, anyway.

By this point, with the shouting and shooting, the car crashes and the noise, Dean, Deb and Kathy were all in the salon as well.

Cam and I filled them all in and when I told them I was going to get fuel and get the hell out of town, heading back home, they were all in agreement.

Three hours later we were in the gulf, heading in a straight line at thirty-five knots. No passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars, we were going home!

Once we were underway and the cruise was set, I set up the long distance at fifty miles, the medium at twenty-five and the short range at ten. Then, feeling silly, but taking no chances, I set the perimeter at five hundred, the max usable distance.

That done, Dean, Deb and I broke out rifles for all of us except Cam, who wasn’t familiar with the AR and wanted a shotgun. We weren’t carrying them around, but we cleaned them, loaded them back up and kept them handy, just in case. Dean broke out the fifty too, showing me the Incendiary rounds he had found.

They were only good for about five hundred yards, not being very well balanced, but they were basically huge hollow points, half the round being soft lead filled with magnesium and phosphorus that was lit by the primer when the round fired.

If they hit a solid, or even semi solid object, they splattered, sending out some burning shrapnel that water wouldn’t extinguish easily and whose flames burned unbelievably hot.

We really needed explosive rounds but didn’t need the prison terms if we got caught with them. Dean said he thought he could get away with it, but I wanted more than ‘I thought’ to ease my mind! Maybe I would call the judge and ask when this was all over.

That thought triggered another in me, one that gave me chills. I was fucking seventeen. Seventeen! I should be chasing girls, driving too fast, sneaking a beer. I should be looking forward to my senior year of high school and, after that, college! College, that magical place where the girls are all pretty and horny, where liquor flowed like water from the fountains and where companies came and vied for your skills when you graduate.

Okay, so that was a bit of a stretch, but I shouldn’t be here, on a fucking yacht, running from, or maybe to, trouble. International intrigue, hired killers, mob contracts, tons of gold, sex slavers. This was shit out of Hollywood!

When I felt Cam’s arms slide around my waist and her soft cheek against my back, I let out a big sigh, the tension bleeding away and love warming me from the inside out. She was ... something else. Whenever I started to stress about all the bullshit, she was there. I just had to look at her and I knew I would go through all of this all over again if it could turn out as good the second time.

I turned in her arms and tilted her chin up.

“Any regrets, beautiful?”

“Oui. One. That I was so patient working with you, soothing you, tempting you. I regret that I did not slip into your bed sooner. Come with me, Jacques, let me show you something new.” Her smile was pure evil as she led me to our cabin. And I loved it!

We had a bit of a greeting party when we arrived back at the yacht club in Key West. There on the dock, waiting to catch our lines, were my local security consisting of Luis Labrada and Tomas LaGrenade, the Marines and James Yancy, the Ex-SF trooper. Next to them, just out of arms reach, was Shimon Neveh, the Israeli Mossad guy who had contacted me a while back.

Also present were Sid Meir from the State Department, Edward Riggins and Elizabeth Randall from the FBI and, surprise, surprise, Burt Dowdy was standing there with them. Last, but certainly not least, were Jim Barker, deputy marshal from Jacksonville and Tim Fontana from Pensacola.

Tomas and Jim Yancy grabbed the lines that Dean and Deb tossed, tying us up to the dock. We had already gone through and made sure everything we didn’t want folks touching or seeing was secure. The yacht club service folks would give the boat a good cleaning, inside and out, empty the fridge and gray water, fuel the boat up and then lock her down, so all we had to do was get off the boat.

Instead, it seemed like everyone wanted to get on the boat! I guess it was time to play tour guide. It was patently obvious that several of the groups wanted to talk to me, and wanted to do so in private, but I insisted that we do the tour all together and get it out of the way.

Tomas took up a sentry spot between the main helm on the first deck, standing between the controls and my office door. Yancy and Dean went out on the main deck, keeping any eye on things, especially the docks and surrounds.

Deb stayed with Cam, never more than a step away, and glared at anyone who got close. Good girl.

Once everyone new to the boat had the basic tour and all the questions had been answered, I got their attention in the big salon on the main deck.

“Okay, look, it is obvious that several things are going on at once and not everyone is comfortable with everyone else. Why don’t we do this. Mister Meir, Agent Riggins, Burt, why not introduce everyone in your groups to everyone else. I think most of you are probably here for the same thing. I am going to step upstairs to the small salon with Mister Neveh for a moment and I will be right back.”

Once we were upstairs and seated in the salon, Shimon Neveh seemed to relax a little bit. Just a little though, as he perched on the front edge of the cushion.

“It is good to see you, Mister McCoy, and I am glad you are healthy. I heard you had a bit of a scare?”

It was obvious to me that he already knew, so I shrugged.

“Jack, remember? Unless I have done something to offend you? Anyway, it wasn’t a scare, really. It was tense for a moment, but quickly resolved. What does a Jordanian hitman, two of them, actually, have to do with the Israeli embassy and their cultural attaché?” I asked, grinning at the thin fiction of his official cover.

He cocked his head, tapping his lower lip with one index finger. “Nothing, actually or, at least, we don’t believe so. I am here about a Ukrainian gentleman you know. Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say you knew him.”

“So, you think the Jordanians were after Cam?”

“I did not say that.” he said, shaking his head. “I am not read in on your situation with Ms. Raimond, other than the very basics.”

I accepted that at face value and circled back to his earlier comment. “So, why would this Ukrainian gentleman be a past acquaintance rather than a current one?”

“Ah yes. Well, it seems that he did something foolish. You see, there was an outbreak of violence in Palestinian held territory east of Jerusalem, in an area called Abu Dis. Rockets launched last week from this area into Jerusalem killed seven civilians including two children. The Israeli Defense Forces counter battery effort and sorties by the Israeli Air Force pinpointed the rocket’s launcher and destroyed the building it was being housed in.”

“Good. I have always despised their cowardly tactic of firing rockets into civilian areas.” I said, nodding my head.

He cocked an eyebrow at me but continued without commenting. “Our forces moved quickly to quarantine the area and get photographic evidence of the launcher. While there, they did some search and rescue, pulling any survivors from the rubble, trying to recover any bodies for the families and so on. Standard stuff. Until they recovered the bodies of four men who were not Palestinian.”

“It is, of course, a matter of great interest to our government when we find people from outside the conflict getting involved. The outsiders in this case were quickly identified. One of them was a wealthy man and the other three were his bodyguards. They were found with two hundred cases of Russian military rockets, of the kind used in the helicopter rocket pods.”

“And?” I asked, almost certain what he was going to say, but wanting to be sure.

“Vladislav Simonov was killed when the building collapsed. He suffered massive cranial damage but we were able to identify him through medical records and fingerprints. A DNA test is being done to be absolutely positive, it will be compared with test results of the brother, on file with your government, just to be sure.”

“This all seems so ... incredibly convenient. Why was this Ukrainian mobster selling Russian rockets to the Palestinians, and why was he there, in person, making the delivery at exactly the right time to be caught in a retaliatory attack and killed. Doesn’t that sound like highly improbable bullshit to you, my friend? I know I am young, but I learned a long time ago that Santa doesn’t exist.”

Shimon shrugged his shoulders but his face never changed. “I am simply reporting to you what my superiors have reported to me.” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something there, something he knew but couldn’t say, but wanted me to know was there anyway. Ah...

There would be a bill to be paid, someday.

“So, in your opinion, does this mean my feud with him is done? There are no other missing brothers to take up the cause?”

Shimon shrugged. “We cannot say what others will do, but we think not. He was feared and maybe even respected, but not well liked even within the Bratva he started. It is more likely that there will be a brief, but bloody, war of succession and business will go on as usual.”

I figured it was worth pushing on a little bit, one more try anyway. “I appreciate you coming to tell me this, Shimon. My only question is why? Why go out of your way to let some nobody in the US know about this?”

“Jack, you are hardly a nobody. Yes, you are young but you have some very interesting friends and allies. You have been the talk of governments throughout Europe. While my government would not, hmmm, handle the issue out of hand, as it were, all is well that ends well and we hope that, perhaps, you think of us as friends. Who knows what the future holds?”

“Who knows.” I agreed, then reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you. And my thanks to your superiors for letting you come to tell me. It is a great relief to hear that I have one fewer problem on my plate. If you should happen to hear anything about the Jordanians...” I left that hanging, asking, but not asking.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “As my grandfather would say, who knows what may happen in the fullness of time? Of course, he usually said that when we asked for ice cream, but it still seems appropriate somehow. Take care, Jack. I need to slip out before Sid Meir asks me any more uncomfortable questions.” Shimon said with a grin and a wink, choosing the external stairs to the main deck.

Back down in the big salon on the main deck, the US Government groups seemed to have relaxed a bit and were all seated, talking earnestly.

When I came down the stairs, Jim Barker and Tim Fontana had Dean aside, not quite blocking the door to the salon and they were all talking about something that didn’t make Dean all that happy, based on his expression. I’d have to get the scuttlebutt from him later.

Sid Meir got to his feet and shook my hand, pulling me over to sit down among the FBI contingent.

“Jack, good to see you again. You know everyone here? Good, good. Listen, maybe you can convince this wonderful young lady that we are not the enemy and she can tell us about what happened up in the panhandle.” he said with humor evident in his voice. Cam was sitting there, serene and quiet.

I chose a seat next to her and was rewarded by her burrowing up under one arm.

“Were they trying to interrogate you?” I asked her, teasing a bit.

“Mister Meir was very much the gentlemen, as was Agent Dowdy.” Cam said, not mentioning the other two. Elizabeth Randall’s face turned red and her lips were pressed in a tight line, her anger clear. Agent Riggins just rolled his eyes and sat back, as if to say this was none of his doing.

“So, what questions do you have, Sid?”

“Jack, those Jordanians you had a run in with left from Lyon. You don’t think it was a coincidence, I am certain. We need to have some experienced interrogators spend time with Camille. Not ‘Gitmo water-boarding’ kind, but intelligent, experienced people who know how to find things that you might not even know that you know, kind of people.”

“There has to be something that the slavers want to cover up. They are frightened enough to kill over the possibility that Cam and her fellow victims saw something, or heard something, or even read something they shouldn’t have. I have no idea what the secret is, but we need to find out before they get lucky.”

“Burt, what’s your take on this?”

He ran his hand over his chin, his graying whiskers making a loud sound like crackling newspaper. “Jack, I think Sid is right. I think she knows something. Or if not Cam, then one of them knows and they are all in danger until we can figure it out.”

“Cam, are you willing to spend some time with these folks?”

“If you say it is okay, Jacques, then yes. But what if it is not me? What if it is Amelia, or Rosa or even little Estrellita? How long will they interrogate me until they are certain it is not me? And who? I do not know these two.” she said, gesturing with her head towards the younger FBI Agents. “She has been very rude since we first met her. I do not want to spend more time with her than it would take me to show her the door.”

“Listen to me, you little...” Agent Randall started in, a snarl on her face.

“AGENT RANDALL!” Thundered Burt Dowdy, his voice causing every conversation on the boat to stop and every head to turn his way.

“Stand down. One more word from you and I will see you doing background checks on illegals in Brownsville until you either quit or retire.” Burt continued, furious and showing it.

“Fuck you, old man, you are a washed-up old has been. You can’t dictate to me and when I turn in my report on how you coddled these spoiled children, you will be lucky to draw a pension.” She yelled back, standing up and balling her fists.

“Elizabeth, who did you think would take your word over Burt’s?” A new voice said from the door out onto the main deck. Dean was standing there with his arms folded, looking on with amusement at the older man who had obviously just arrived. There was a second man behind the first, his posture and alertness screaming bodyguard.

“Dad ... um ... Director Stancil, you need to hear my full report on how this man has been overlooking illegal acts for this kid!” Agent Randall stuttered, her face now pale and her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.

The older man looked tired, shaking his head. He turned to look at Burt, then at Sid, finally looking at me. “Gentlemen, Ms. Raimond, please accept my apologies. I have no idea what happened to cause this ... schism between agents, but I assure you I will get to the bottom of it. Elizabeth, go back to your hotel and wait until I contact you. Agent Riggins, you will do the same, please, and I want both of you to write down your actions since you were assigned to this case. Everything you have done, everything you have learned, every interaction you have had with Ms. Raimond and Mister McCoy. Do not contact anyone in any way. No email, no phone calls, no smoke signals. Do not discuss it between yourselves.”

Agent Riggins looked a little pale himself but nodded and immediately got up to leave. Agent Randall, however, seemed to think she could still win.

“Daddy, you have to listen to me. These people...”

“ELIZABETH! For god’s sake, shut your damn mouth and do as I say. I don’t think I can salvage your career at this point, but I will try for your mothers’ sake. Having said that, if you say one more thing or fail to follow my orders, I will relieve you of your badge and gun and send you back to DC in handcuffs. Now go back to your hotel, do what I told you to do.”

When Elizabeth Randall reached into her jacket, she was shocked to see no fewer than six guns pointed at her. Moving slowly, she pulled out her badge folio and threw it at her father’s feet. Moving even slower, she pulled her handgun, a baby Glock, from her belt and tossed it, holster and all, on the coffee table.

Not a word was said when she walked out until she walked off the boat.

“Burt...” Director Stancil started to say, but Burt was waving his hand.

“Leave it be, David. I can’t say I would have done anything differently, you know me too well to buy that, but I didn’t know who she was. I should have, she looks like a younger version of your Ex.” Burt said with a sigh.

“She said she wanted to make it on her own, even used her mother’s third husband’s name to apply! Any idea what set her off? Why was she so combative?” Stancil asked.

“She took an instant dislike to Jack here. No idea why. From what I heard from the Deputies and from Riggins, she was all over him like flies on, well, she was combative from the first moment she met him upstate.”

“Well. I owe you for calling me, telling me you were joining her down here today.” he said, then shook his head as if clearing it.

“Mister McCoy, Ms. Raimond, please accept my apologies and that of the Agency. Unprofessional behavior cannot be excused. Please don’t let it color all of your interactions with the FBI.”

“Agent Dowdy has been a gentleman as long as we have known him, Mister Director.” Cam said, grinning at Burt.

“Burt, why is it that Elizabeth and her partner are even involved if you have taken an interest in this case?” Stancil asked, turning back to Agent Dowdy.

Burt actually blushed.

“Conflict of interest, David. Jack here is loaded and gives a lot of money to various charities. Somehow, we got talking about Tim. Well, he did this thing where, well, how do I even describe it? Let me show you.” Burt reached in his jacket and pulled out a well-worn color pamphlet. On the front was “The Timothy Burton Dowdy Juvenile Leukemia Trust.”

Director Stancil read over the front, his forefinger almost stroking the name of Burt’s son. He turned to me, his eyes looking for something in my face, then nodded.

“So, you did this?” he asked quietly.

I nodded once, then shrugged.

“He was a happy kid. Always smiling, always in a good mood, even when he had lost all his hair and was sick from Chemo. He would crack a joke and try to get the other kids to smile. You never knew him?”

I shook my head and he nodded, as if it confirmed what he had already known.

He handed the pamphlet back to Burt and clapped him on the shoulder. Cam, ever the perfect hostess, brought both men a squat tumbler with amber liquid inside, handing a third to me.

“To absent companions.” Stancil said, raising his glass and touching it to Burt’s, then to mine. We all took a sip, then took a seat.

“So, Burt, what are we doing here today anyway?” Director Stancil asked, changing the subject. I could almost hear the tension slowly start to bleed away.

We spent an hour going over everything with the Director, all the way back to the beginning and finishing with my phone calls to the girls overseas, and the attack on Amelia in England. Then we discussed Cam’s willingness to talk with investigators, but not forever. The other three would have to be questioned as well.

“We should get together. I think we would remember more, if we could do it together, Jacques. There were things I put out of my mind, things I didn’t want to remember. I am sure it is true with them as well, no? Together, we can remind each other of those things we wished forgotten at the time.”

“That’s actually a really good idea, Ms. Raimond.” Director Stancil said thoughtfully. “We should contact the other ladies.”

Sid had been sitting quietly, almost forgotten, listening to everything that had happened since I came down from talking to my Israeli friend.

“The British want Jack to come over in any case, so we could hide this under his official visit.” Sid tossed a conversational grenade into the proceedings.

“They what? Damn, sorry for ignoring you, Sid.” The Director said, shaking his head.

“Don’t be, David, it was fascinating theater.” he replied with a grin. “The Brits didn’t say officially, but I was told out of school that Amelia Palmer is Malcolm Palmer’s granddaughter. While he is something like twenty-seventh in line for the throne and so hardly a force at court, he is rather closer to the Queen than his lineage would suggest. I doubt the Queen could pick the girl out of a lineup but they are pretty stiff necked about family over there.”

“Anyway, they wanted him over after Jack freed her from the slavers and now, after the attempted kidnapping or assassination, they asked again. This time the request is official since it involved staff of Lord Hadley-Nelson, the Chancellor and Under-Treasurer of Her Majesty’s Exchequer. Of course, Ms. Raimond would accompany her dear friend Jack on his visit and it would be a good cover for getting the four girls together and combing through their memories.” Sid finished, sitting back with a smile on his face.

Everyone turned to look at me.

“Wait ... I have a choice here?” I asked sarcastically, scowling at Sid. Then I turned to Cam.

“Sweetheart, do you want to do this? If not, just say the word and I will toss them all off my boat.” I told her with a grin. She just smiled at me and gave me a soft kiss.

“As long as I am with you, Jacques. Besides, I would like to see the girls again, and it could help put more of those bastards behind bars or in the ground.” Her voice started soft and loving but, by the end, was as cold and implacable as the grave.

No one there doubted her resolve on this.

Okay. So. Get on a plane and fly to London, right? Might have to hang out a bit until the others get there, but we can sight-see, no? Maybe Cam would like to go to Lyon, show me where she grew up?