Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (10 page)

Jackie stepped away from the bar
and started toward the Missing Man table. I followed her and came up beside her in front of the arrangement. “I’ve heard of this, but have never seen one. I assume everything has some significance?”

My First Mate, Doc, his wife Nikki and a
few others stood around the table with us and they all looked to me for an explanation. I’d explained the meaning at many Marine Corps functions in the past and remembered it all. I slowly raised my glass in salute and tossed down another shot.

“The table is round,
” I began, “to show our never ending concern for our fallen comrades. The tablecloth is white, symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering the call to duty. The single red rose in the vase reminds us of the life of each of them, and the loved ones and friends who keep the faith. The vase is tied with a red ribbon, a symbol of our continued determination to remember them. A slice of lemon, or in this case a Key lime, on the bread plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those who will never return. A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears endured by the families of those who have given the last full measure of devotion. The Bible represents the strength, gained through faith, to sustain those lost. The glass is upside down, they can’t toast with us. The chair is empty because they are no longer with us.”

She turned toward me, reached up and wiped a single tear from the corner of my eye. “Damned eyeball sweat,” I said. “Come on, let’s get some of those stone crab claws.”

We partied well into the night. I caught up to Doc about midnight and explained our charter on Sunday. A guy I didn’t recognize seemed to be trying to listen in so I didn’t give any details other than we had a VIP charter. “Do you have a serviceable uniform?” I asked.

“What the hell for?” he asked, choking on his beer.

“The client’s a Navy man, likes to see uniforms.”

“You don’t
think that’s kinda weird?”

“I prefer eccentric,” I said. “Hey, it’s a good paying charter and you know me, anything
to please the client.”

Doc quickly picked up that I was being evasive for a reason. He’s been out with me enough to know I really didn’t like clients and left that completely up to him.

“Got a Charlie, wrapped in plastic. Should still fit.”

“Perfect,” I said. “I
won’t be the only one in green. I’ll be at the marina on the west side of NAS Boca Chica tomorrow night. The clients arrive at 0600, so I’ll need you aboard no later than 0530.”

Deuce joined us at the bar and said, “When are you heading out tomorrow?”

The guy that was eavesdropping seemed to listen just a bit more intently, but he was trying hard not to show it. He was sitting on the stool behind me, but I could see him in the mirror over the bar. With my left hand I reached up and tugged on my ear. Being a former SEAL and current spook, Deuce was instantly aware and glanced over my shoulder at the guy.

“I’m gonna leave early,” I said. “
About 0700. Want to stop by the house and check on some things.”

“We’
ll be ready at 0645,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and walked over to the end of the bar where Jackie, Julie and Rusty sat. Minutes later the eavesdropper left the bar, without finishing even half his beer.

Doc said he and Nikki had to get back down to Key West, she had to work in the morning. We said goodbye
and I walked over to where Deuce and Julie were sitting. “Rusty and Julie said they never saw the guy before. You?”

“Me neither. He seemed a little too interested in our itinerary on Sunday”

“You didn’t say anything to tip anyone off?” I looked at him with an arched brow. “No, I didn’t think so. This charter is so hush hush, even the client’s wives don’t know anything about it. What do you make of the guy?”

“Might just be someone interested in fishing, I really don’t know. Let’s just keep our eyes and ears open.”

He thought that over for a moment and said, “Yeah, that’s probably all it is.”

“So Jules,” I said, “
you like your new place?”

“
It’s just freaking awesome! Deuce told me you helped crew it back here from Bimini.”

“Yeah, for a Sailor, he’s not much of a sailor. Somebody had to go along to show him the difference between standing rigging and running rigging.”

“He’s taking me to the Antilles, for our honeymoon.”

Jackie walked up then and caught what Julie said. “You’ll love it there. Some of the most beautiful islands in the Caribbean.”

Later, since we’d had so much to drink, I invited Jackie to stay aboard the
Revenge
. “Are you asking me to spend the night with you? Because it sure sounds like you’re asking me to spend the night with you.”

“I’m just saying it would be a bad idea to drive back to Key West after four shots of rum and three beers. U
seless-1 has been known to put people to sleep late at night. You’ll find the guest cabin in my boat to be very comfortable.”

“Guest cabin?” she pouted.

“Guest cabin.”

The bar was nearly empty
at as we said good night to everyone an hour later. When I glanced back from the door, Rusty and Deuce both gave me a sly wink. I just rolled my eyes at them.

I woke up early Saturday morning to rain beating down on the cabin roof. I grabbed a quick shower, put on a pair of fisherman’s shorts and a tee-shirt and went up to the galley, where the smell of fresh coffee was coming from. I’d set the timer for 0600. A quick glance out the starboard porthole told me all I needed to know. The rain was coming down in sheets and the palm trees on the west side of the canal were whipping their fronds in what looked to be a 20 knot southwest wind.

Before heading down to Boca Chica w
e needed to go up to my island to pick up our other boat, a 30 foot Winter center console called
El Cazador
. It had been confiscated last winter in a drug bust and as is Deuce’s team’s custom, they added it to our growing fleet to use against the bad guys. The former ADD didn’t want to pay to dock it up in Homestead where the team’s based, so we brought it down to my island.

I opened my laptop to check the weather radar, when I heard the guest cabin door open and close. Jackie came up into the salon wearing one of my tee-shirts
, her lion’s mane of hair disheveled from sleep. On her it looked good.

“I need to keep an emergency bag in my car,” she said. “My teeth feel nasty.”

“Guest head, across from your cabin, top drawer to the left of the sink. Should be four or five new toothbrushes and several kinds of toothpaste.”

“Is that coffee I smell and rain I hear?”

“Go brush, I’ll have a mug ready when you get back.”

“Mmpf.”

Either she wasn’t a morning person or didn’t drink much, I thought. Or maybe both. A minute later, I heard the shower come on, so held off on pouring her coffee and checked the weather on the laptop.

The radar image showed a slow moving band of heavy rain, stretching from north to south and moving east. I switched on the NOAA weather radio, which confirmed that and said that seas on the ocean side were
six to ten feet, with three to five in the Gulf. Checking the laptop for tomorrow, it predicted sunny skies and calm seas, again confirmed by the monotone mechanical voice on NOAA. Getting from the
Anchor
to Moser Channel and under the Seven Mile Bridge was going to be a wet ride, with quartering seas at first and full abeam before the turn under the bridge. Nothing the
Revenge
couldn’t handle and as far as getting wet went, as Russ always used to say, “If it ain’t rainin’, you ain’t trainin’.” I learned early on that unless you stood on your head, the human body was water proof. I wasn’t too sure about my guest, though.

Just then, she came up into the salon, with a huge towel wrapped around her head and another around her body. Oh shit, I thought. You’re in trouble now, McDermitt.
I handed her a mug of steaming coffee, which she gratefully took in both hands and didn’t bother with the sugar and cream I had set out on the settee.

“I don’t suppose you have a blow dryer aboard, do you?”

“Equipped for anything and everything,” I replied. “Middle drawer of the dresser in the guest cabin. You’ll find some clothes in the hanging closet that should fit you. I need to head up to my island today and check on things, before going down to Boca Chica. Thought maybe you’d like to tag along. We’ll be back here before sunset on Sunday.”

“You’re taking the boat out in this storm?”

“It’s not that bad. We’ve been through a lot worse.”

“Okay,” she said without hesitation. “What time will we get to the base?”

“Midafternoon, easy. Plenty of time to starch your uniform before meeting the President in the morning.”

“Oh my! I’d almost forgotten that.”
She finished her coffee, set the mug in the sink and headed down to the cabin. I heard the blow dryer and started making breakfast.

“Omelet’s okay with you?” I shouted.

“White’s only, if you can,” she shouted back.

How do you separate the yolk from the white, I wondered. I put two small pans on the stove and cracked two eggs in each. Using the shell, I managed to keep the yolks out of the pan and rather than toss away good food,
I added them to the other pan. I chopped some onion and green pepper, sliced some tomato, added some chives and cheddar cheese then turned on the two burners.

Jackie came up to the salon wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a short sleeved denim shirt a girlfriend had left aboard last winter. She had the
tail of the shirt pulled up and tied in front.

“I like the Daisy Duke look on you, Doctor Burdick.”

“These aren’t new, are they?”

“No, but they’re clean. Washer and dryer in the forward stateroom.”

“Belong to your girlfriend?”

“You know I don’t have a girlfriend. A charter passenger left them,” I lied.
I’ve learned over time that women can be particular about wearing an old girlfriend’s clothes.

“Your boat is really beautiful, Jesse. I thought you said it was a work boat?”

“Out that hatch,” I said pointing astern, “and up on the bridge, it’s all business. In here, well, even the most diehard fisherman wants to relax in style.”

“Hello, the boat!” came a shout from the dock, which gave Jackie a start.

I got up and opened the hatch. Deuce and Julie came rushing in, wearing yellow slickers. “We’re just finishing breakfast,” I said. “You want me to whip you up an omelet?”

“We
’ve had breakfast, thanks,” Julie said. “I brought your uniform. Dad said he checked it over and everything’s there and all squared away.”

“Thanks, Jules.” It was
inside a weather proof suit hanger, still wrapped in plastic from a dry cleaner in Jacksonville, North Carolina. I took it and hung it up in the hanging locker by the hatch. Jackie and I ate quickly and I cleaned up, while Julie and Jackie talked excitedly about meeting the President. I went back over to the hanging closet by the hatch and pulled out my rain slicker. “When y’all are ready, there’s a thermos in the top right cabinet. How about filling that and bring a couple mugs up to the bridge. We’re going out to start the engines and cast off.”

Deuce and
I stepped quickly through the hatch. While I climbed up to the bridge, he went up on the dock and untied the lines. Both engines sprang to life instantly and settled into a low rumble. The wind held us stationary against the fenders until I was ready to pull away, so Deuce climbed up to join me.

“I told Stockwell about the guy listening in last night.”

“What’d he have to say?” I asked.

“Pretty much the same as you. As long as nobody here has said anything, and I assured him nobody had, he figures it was either someone just interested in fishing, or maybe a
charter competitor, looking to pick up some local intel.”

Jackie
and Julie came through the hatch and handed up the mugs and thermos. Jackie was wearing a slicker, with the hood pulled up over her head, but Julie was just wearing a slicker top with no hood. She’d weathered her share of rainy weather on the water and was used to it. The bridge isn’t fully enclosed, it was open astern. I always unroll the clear side curtains when I leave the boat, because rain comes up quick here. With the wind blowing off the starboard bow, it was dry. For now.

Jackie started
to take her slicker off and I said, “We probably won’t stay dry. In about ten minutes, we’ll be turning north and the wind will come from behind us.”

“I’ll keep it on, then
. Is it supposed to rain all day?” she said as she sat in the second seat next to me and Deuce and Julie sat on the bench seat to port, Deuce to the rear.

I switched on the radar, sonar, UHF
, and NOAA radio and said, “Forecast says it’ll move through in an hour or two and should be sunny and calming by 1500.”

Another boat had taken up residence in front of me in the last day or two and he’d docked a little too close. I nudged the starboard engine into reverse and gunned it for a second
, swinging the bow away from the dock. Then I shifted the port engine into forward as the bow cleared the other boat. I shifted the starboard engine to forward and idled down the long canal to the open ocean.

The
Rusty Anchor
is on the ocean side of US-1, sitting between two residential areas. Rusty’s family had owned the land for over a century. His dad had built the bar and dredged a shallow canal in the ‘60’s. In the last two years, Rusty had improved the bar, dredged the canal deeper, built docks and dredged a wide turning basin at the end of the canal. He was well on his way to running a full-fledged marina, complete with a fueling dock.

“Better find something to hang on to,” I said as we neared the end of the canal. I could already see white caps in the shallows and big rollers further out.

“Are you sure this boat can handle that?” Jackie asked.

“Just watch and see,” I replied. Passing the end of the jetty, I knew without looking we had over ten feet of water under the kee
l, so I pushed the throttles forward to 1300 rpm and the
Revenge
dropped down at the stern as the big, four bladed props displaced the water under her. The bow rose slightly and she surged up on plane, just as the first waves started to smack the wide Carolina flare of the bow. The second wave sent up a spray that flew back and over the foredeck. I switched on the windshield wipers.

Within a minute, we were out of the choppy water of the shallows. I turned into the wind, heading southwest and pushed the throttles a bit further. Williams had done some work on the engines, mostly computer stuff
and bumped the horsepower up from 1015 to over 1030. I had a top speed of 48 knots, in calm seas with a tail wind. At 1400 rpm, we were making about 25 knots, plowing head on into the oncoming waves. The bow was knocking the tops off and we were coming down off the crest a little too hard, so I backed it down to 1300 rpm.

In my opinion, there’s a time and place for speed. Too many boaters will run wide open everywhere they go, just for the adrenalin rush of velocity, I guess. Jet skis are the worst. Built for no other reason than to go fast, I have no attraction to them at all. More than once, I’ve had idiots jumping my wake on the damn things. Never being in any kind of hurry, I’d simply drop down off plane and idle along until they left.

“Those are some really big waves,” Jackie said.

“You should have been aboard during Hurricane Wilma,” Deuce said and from the look on his face I could tell he regretted it. It was the day my late wife, Alex, returned to the Keys. A whirlwind romance culminated in our getting married days after the storm and she was murdered that night.

“You were out on the boat during a hurricane?” Jackie asked.

“Just moved it from Dockside to the
Anchor.
Before the storm actually hit.” Changing the subject, I added, “Would you pour me another cup of coffee, Jackie? Just a half cup, or it’ll be all over me.”

She poured the cup and handed it to me. I drank it down quickly and
started a slow turn that would take us across Pigeon Key Banks, toward Moser Channel. “It’s gonna get rough ahead,” I said. “Pigeon Key Banks coming up. Find something to hang onto.”

Coming down off the last wave before the shallows, I pushed the throttles up to 1600 rpm and the
Revenge
surged forward into the choppy water. The waves were only about 4 feet, but they were coming at all angles to the bow, so spray and foam were flying in all directions. We entered the channel and I turned due north, toward the high span of the Seven Mile Bridge.

Clear of the Banks, we had a following sea and the rollers were moving pretty fast. We were barely outrunning the wind, so I pushed the throttles further to 1800 rpm, the knot meter bouncing around
35 knots. We climbed the big rollers in the channel and came down gently over the crests, gaining speed as we surfed down the far side. Minutes later we passed under the bridge and between the pilings of the old bridge.

In the lee of the bridges, the sea calmed a little, but it was still pretty heavy, by Gulf standards. I dropped the throttles back to 1400 rpm to reduce the pounding. We were barely outrunning t
he wind now as we headed north. I turned slightly west, picking up the markers for East Bahia Honda Channel.

“That was kind of exciting,” Jackie said. “More coffee anyone?”

I nodded as Deuce handed his mug across and Julie shook her head. “None for me thanks.”

Jackie filled our mugs and handed them back. “Want to take her for a while, Petty Officer
Jules?” I asked.

Julie looked at me surprised. “Sure.”

We swapped seats and she said, “Monkey to Bullfrog to Turtlecrawl, right?”

“Works for me,” I replied.

“What’s all that mean?” Jackie asked, puzzled.

“
Place names,” Julie replied. “Monkey Banks is straight ahead about ten miles, then we’ll turn west toward the light at Bullfrog Banks and straight ahead to the light at Turtlecrawl Banks. There we’ll turn a little left into Harbor Channel to Jesse’s house. It’s a lot shorter in a flats skiff.”

A chirping sound came from between me and Deuce. I said, “Must be you, I don’t even know where mine is.”