Authors: Leonard B Scott
"I'll show you. It's a new spinner. Here, take the stringer."
Mike took the stringer of fish from the man's hand and set them on the deck. He then offered his hand to the fisherman.
"I'll help you up."
Smiling, the man grasped Mike's hand and swung himself up on deck just as the senator walked forward with a pair of pliers. Still smiling, the fisherman took the bag off his shoulder. "These new spinners make the fish go nuts. . . ."
He reached in the bag, grasped a small Tech-9 machine pistol, and fired through the material. The burst of three rounds hit Mike in the chest, knocking him off the bow into the water. Turning, the killer shot Stephen Goodnight in the face with another burst. The back of the senator's head exploded outward, showering the Fiberglas deck with blood, brains, and skull fragments.
In the bass boat the other fisherman raised a Tech-9 and pointed it at Chad, who was frozen in horror. When he realized the weapon was aimed at him, Chad lunged for the throttle, but was suddenly thrown back as the gunman shot him in the neck. Blood gushed out of his wound as he staggered back toward the two women on the lower deck.
Screaming, Mary stood and was showered with her oldest son's blood.
Sue saw the blond-haired killer running toward them and dove overboard just as he fired. Too afraid to move, Mary jerked spasmodically as bullets stitched her from crotch to neck. The killer looked over the side to finish the younger woman, but his companion was already shooting.
As soon as she surfaced, the water churned around Sue as if she were being pursued by piranha. Seconds later she floated facedown, her light brown hair billowing in the water as though caught in watery wind.
Stepping over Chad, who lay on the deck shaking in his final death throes, the blond man kicked in the hatchway door and stepped down into the cabin. Swinging his machine pistol left then right with his gaze, he saw no one, but sensed the presence of another. He leaned over, looked under the table, then began to rise. He heard a noise coming from the closet beside him, spun, and fired a burst into the door.
The first bullet missed, but the second creased Janice Ayers's forehead. The third entered the back of her head and exited above her left ear.
The blond man swung the door back, ready to fire again, but one look at the limp, bloody body told him the job was done. Lowering his weapon, he walked to the refrigerator and took out a beer.
As she knelt in the closet with her head resting against the interior wall, Janice Ayers understood what was going on.
She had heard men talking as they dragged things into the cabin that had made soft thuds on the hatchway steps.
Someone had even poked at her, but that had happened minutes ago or maybe hours, she wasn't sure as she tried to sit up. She felt so strange, almost as if she were floating underwater. She knew she was moving the way her mind had commanded, but it seemed as if her body was in slow motion and in a cloud. She was standing now in the cabin but couldn't remember how she got there. Something warm rolled over feet. Wiping the blood from her eyes, she saw it was water and it was already to her ankles. It was such a strange color, she thought, reddish like. . . . Slowly, she rolled her head and saw them lying stacked on top of one another on the cruiser's cabin floor. It took several long seconds before it registered it was really people and not pale mannequins. Yes, there's Mike, she thought. I picked out those Nike shorts for him . . . and Mary, she was wearing that blouse . . . and the senator, he was wearing tennis shorts, wasn't he? Oh, there's poor Sue, and Chad . . . they should have at least put them together. So sad . . . so .. . sad. Turning, Janice waded toward the cabin hatchway but saw that it was blocked by a mattress. "They don't want the bodies to float out," she said in a whisper. "I suppose I should die with them . . . yes . . . I should. I really should."
Janice touched her forehead then stared at the blood on her fingers. Her footing was becoming more difficult. The stern is sinking, she said to herself. The boat is sinking and I can't get out. No, I don't want to die here. I want to live. I want to live. Must get this mattress out of the way first . . . there. Now try the door . . . good, it opens. Wait, Janice. WAIT! They may be out there watching. Think now, think. Stay by the door, and when the water comes up, push out and stay by the seat cushions that will float. Keep yourself submerged and just keep your nose and mouth above water, close to the cushions, so they won't see you. I can do this . . . I can do this.
It was almost midnight, and the full moon cast a pale glow on the slow-moving river as an old ski boat made its way up the channel. Mounted on the bow of the boat, a spotlight shined close to the near bank. Seated behind the steering wheel on a plastic bucket, Tucker held a .22 rifle across his lap. He spat brown tobacco juice over the side, which partly splattered the dead, nine-foot alligator tied to the port cleats. "Nat, ya reckon we oughta start headin' back?"
Nat spoke over his shoulder as he shined the light farther upriver, looking for the telltale glow of an alligator's eyes.
"Head toward that small island. We'll swing around it and check the other bank, then check out the mouth of Dead Lake . . . always gators hangin round them banks. Get us just one more an' we'll be sittin' purty. Hand me some chaw, will-- What the . . . ya see that?"
Tucker followed the beam of light that shone toward the island and gasped. "Oh, Lord." He throttled forward and steered toward the island, where the beam was shining on a partially nude white woman standing on the bank as if in a stupor.
Nat kept his light focused on the woman. "Ya reckon she's one of them crazies escaped outta that nuthouse upriver?"
"Could be . . . oh, Jesus, look at her face. She's dead and don't know it."
Chapter 6.
Sunday, Columbus, Georgia.
Special Agent Ashley Sutton slapped twice at the ringing phone before finding the handset. Rising slightly from her pillow, she looked at the digital clock on the nightstand and moaned. It was only a little past five A. M.. She spoke sleepily. "Ms. Sutton."
"Morning, Sutton, this is Tanner. We--"
"Eli! You're back!" she blurted in surprise as she sat up in bed. "How come you--"
"We've got a situation. Get dressed and get down here," he said. "I'm at Lawson Army Air Field at Fort Benning.
The SAC has ordered us to chopper down to a small town in northern Florida to conduct a search for Senator Stephen Goodnight and his family. It's backwater country, so dress accordingly. I'll fill you in when you get here. Move it, Sutton; we're waitin'!"
Ashley began to respond but a click told her he'd hung up. Her face reddened in anger.
She threw back the sheet, got up, and hurried for the bathroom.
Fort Benning, Lawson Army Air Field, Flight Operations Captain Alsop stood outside flight ops with his copilot, who motioned toward the parking lot. "That must be her, Tony. The agent said she was small."
Tony Alsop frowned as the short strawberry blonde stepped out of a Jeep Renegade that had just pulled into a parking space. Ahh, hell, she's a wannabe for sure, Alsop said to himself in disgust. The FBI baseball cap pulled over her short hair was the first indication, and the big black Casio on her wrist was the second. Jesus, what a waste, he thought. He knew the kind all too well: the Jeep, man's watch, man's clothes, absence of jewelry and makeup, and the walk were the signs. She was definitely a wannabe: she wanted to be a man. The Army was full of such women, lady jocks who thought they could do anything a man could do and were always looking for a way to prove it.
Eyes hidden behind his aviator sunglasses, Alsop studied the woman as she strode toward him. Jesus, all she had to do was lose the hat, unbutton a few buttons, use some makeup to highlight her cheeks, wear some earrings, slow the walk, swing her butt a little, put on a smile, and presto, you had Miss Foxy Federal Agent instead of Miss G-man wannabe.
Who goes out with her type? he wondered. Hell, nobody, that's who. I'd be afraid to. Jesus, she'd probably wanna arm wrestle or talk about guns or crimes or whatever they talk about in the FBI. Oh, man, what a waste.
"You must be Special Agent Sutton?" Alsop said, wearing his most innocent smile when Ashley stood before him.
She didn't return even a hint of a smile as she responded.
"Yes. Is Special Agent Tanner here?"
Alsop maintained his smile despite her obvious attempt at being the cool professional. "Yes, ma'am, he's on the phone to your people in Atlanta. The others are in the waiting MOM."
Ashley canted her head with a look of surprise. "Others?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sergeant Major Murphy and a gentleman named Hilbert are waiting for you inside. I'll escort you to them, then Jim and I will wait in the aircraft. We'll be ready to depart as soon as you all are on board."
Ashley's face tightened as she followed the two pilots inside the building. In the waiting area she saw the camouflage-fatigued form of Dan Murphy sitting at a table, his massive hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She marched straight for him. "What the hell is going on, Dan?"
Murphy lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Nice to see you again, too, Agent Sutton."
"Where is he?"
Dan raised his hand. "Hey, give me a break, will ya? He called and said he needed me here, so I'm here. I saw him for just a sec when he came in, and you coulda cooked eggs on him--he was hot. Your boss in Atlanta screwed things up, and he's tryin' to unscrew them."
Ashley lost her scowl and stepped closer, patting the soldier on the shoulder apologetically. "Sorry, Dan, it just surprised me when he called this morning. I didn't expect him back from recovery leave for another week. I haven't heard from him for over a month and he--"
"Welcome to the club," the thin sergeant major said as he stood. He gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder. "He didn't call me, either. He's been in town two days, been stayin' with Jerome and Millie, leepin' a low profile,' he says to me. Personally, I don't think he's recovered worth a damn--he looks like hell."
Ashley's eyes narrowed in renewed shock and anger.
"Two days? He's been back two days?"
A middle-aged man wearing a dark suit stepped up and tapped Ashley's shoulder. "Are you Agent Sutton?"
Ashley turned and eyed the pale-faced man whose eyes were filled with worry. "Yes, are you Mr. Hilbert?"
Hilbert extended his hand. "A pleasure, Agent Sutton.
Yes, I'm Gary Hilbert, Senator Goodnight's chief staff assistant. I was briefing the agent in the other room as he was on the phone. He asked me to tell you and the sergeant major that we should go on out to the helicopter. He'll be right out. I certainly hope we can clear this up quickly. I'm sure the senator has probably just run aground on some sandbar and--"
Ashley tuned Hilbert out as she stared at the door he had obviously come through. She took a step toward the portal but Murphy grasped her arm. "We'd better do what he says.
You can light into him later, and leave a little for me, too.
Can't believe he didn't call you either."
Ashley allowed herself to be escorted out the back entrance along with Hilbert only because she wanted some time to get her thoughts together. What had she done to deserve the silent treatment from Tanner? Why hadn't he called? It wasn't her fault they had made her leave Washington after the case was closed. She had wanted to stay with him at the hospital, but they wouldn't allow anyone to see him. Damn him, two days? He'd been back two days?
The helicopter crew chief met them halfway down the sloping sidewalk leading to the tarmac, where a large Blackhawk helicopter sat, huge rotor blades slowly turning. The crew chief spoke loudly, to be heard over the whine of the engines. "Folks, I'm required to give you a safety briefing prior to boarding. The aircraft is equipped with . . ."
Ashley turned and looked back toward the building. A dark figure was striding toward her. Although he was backlit by the sun and she couldn't make out his face, she knew it was Tanner. Sensing the onset of tears, she sniffed them back and told herself he was a bastard for not contacting her.
No possible excuse justified shutting her out so completely.
Trembling, she brought her hand up to block the glare. Dan was wrong, she thought; Eli Tanner looked wonderful to her. The damn fool had almost gotten himself killed a month before trying to free her when she'd been held hostage. The red and purple bullet scar that ran into his hairline, and the small scar on his left arm, were obvious reminders of what he had endured to save her.
Despite being angry with Tanner, Ashley stepped out to greet him; she couldn't help herself. He stopped a few feet away and dipped his head. Able to see him clearly, she sensed something was wrong; the mischievous glint in his eyes was gone.
"Good morning, Agent Sutton. Nice to see you again," Eli said softly. Without waiting for a response, he continued past her and, smiling, clasped Dan Murphy's shoulder.
"Dan, my man, it's goin' to be like the old days gettin' on that bird. Ya ready?"
Upset and disappointed that he had saved his infectious smile for his Army buddy rather than her, Ashley turned and faced him. "All I get is a 'Good morning,' Tanner? What the hell is going on?" she blurted.
Eli's indifferent look froze her in place. He motioned everyone toward the chopper. "Let's load up. Mr. Hilbert, have you ridden on one of these before?"