Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (22 page)

During the latter half of the eighteenth century, before the British
assumed control of Florida, a group of Creek Indians from Georgia and
Alabama began to drift south. They allied themselves with the local tribes
of North Florida, intermarried, and soon separated from the Creek
Nation and became known as the Seminoles.

Beginning in the middle of the seventeenth century, the Spanish encouraged slaves from the southern states to flee to Florida. Those who
were successful were considered free, and they set up their own communities. The Seminoles became their protectors, and there was intermarriage between the two groups.

The black former slaves, and a number of blacks that had been living
in Florida as free people for generations, known as Maroons, began to think of themselves as Seminoles, and, indeed, many of them had Seminole
blood.

History records few of the black Seminoles, but one who rose to
prominence was named Abraham. He was probably an escaped slave from
Pensacola, who had joined the Seminoles in North Florida in the early
nineteenth century. He married the part-black ex-wife of Billy Bowlegs,
the hereditary Seminole chief, and they had a daughter.

Abraham became the chief negotiator for the Seminoles in their dealings with the United States. When the Second Seminole War broke out in
1835, Abraham was found fighting with the band of Chief Osceola. Most
of the warriors in this famous force were black, and they were among the
fighters most feared by American soldiers.

Osceola himself was not a Seminole, but the son of an English trader
and a Red Stick Creek woman. History does not record how he came to
fight with the Seminoles, nor does it mention that Osceola took Abraham's
daughter as his mistress. A son was born of that union, and he was named
Abraham Osceola.

My companion had finished his history lesson. We were now far enough
from Blood Island that no one would hear or see us.

Abraham had been reciting as if he were in a trance. Now, his regular tone of voice returned. "I am descended from that son," he said, and
the Tequesta woman he married after the Seminoles retreated to the Everglades and absorbed the remaining Tequesta. Her father was the hereditary chief of the tribe. Later, at the end of the Second Seminole War, my
ancestors and many other black Seminoles fled to the Bahamas. They did
not want to be transported to Oklahoma. Who would?" He grinned.

"I'm happy to have learned something tonight," I said, "but how does
this help me?"

"I grew up on the stories that form the oral traditions of my people,
the Seminoles and the Tequesta. When I came to the States, I brought
those traditions with me. I worked the fishing boats for many years, and
now I'm retired. I'm almost eighty years old."

That was a shock. He could have passed for fifty. He was a powerful man, with no flab about his body. He was paddling a kayak on the open sea
at midnight. I nodded my head, signaling him to continue.

He said, "What you call Blood Island was once a sacred place for die
Tequesta. We called it by a different name, but even the name is sacred
and can only be spoken to others of the tribe. They buried their caciques,
or chiefs, there, and the warriors would often visit to commune with the
spirits of those gone before. When I retired, I searched the islands of the
Marquesas and Mule Keys. One day I found the burial grounds of my
ancestors on Blood Island.

"I visited regularly, to pray with my ancestors, and to feel their
spirits. One day, about three years ago, some rough men with rifles
escorted me off the island and told me I'd be shot if I returned.

"I had to find a way on and off the island that would not alert the
owners that I was there. The burial mound is on the northwest corner of
the island, and there is a way to get in there by boat if you know how. I can
show you."

"Why would you do this?"

"I heard you talking to the girl, Peggy."

"How?"

"I often wander the island in the night. I feel the spirits of the
Tequesta there and I know I'm among my kinsmen. Tonight, I saw you
sneaking around and followed. I couldn't imagine what a guy in a wet suit
was after. I was at the open window of the bathroom when you were talking to the girl. I've been suspicious for a long time that something bad goes
on there, but I've never been able to prove it. I would have gone to the
authorities if I had any proof. I think you are the man to get that proof."

"Why do you care?"

"Those are bad men, and they desecrate a land my people think of
as holy. Do you have a chart?"

I spread out the nautical chart of the area, and in the glow of a flashlight, Abraham showed me the exact spot where I could land my boat.

"See," lie said, pointing to the chart, "this shows very shallow water
all around this area. But, there's a tall Australian pine here at the tip of die
island. It stands above the others, so you should be able to spot it even at night. From the Boca Grande Channel, you want to line up at exactly
eighty degrees true to the tall tree. Head straight in. There's a deep-water
channel right up to the tree, but it's narrow. When you get close, you'll see
a cut in the undergrowth. There's a path that leads toward the houses, but
it peters out before it gets there. You'll be able to get far enough in to see
the generator building, and you can take it from there. I don't think they
know about that trail, because it's never guarded."

I penciled in the information I needed and charted an exact latitudelongitude position in die Boca Grande Channel from which I'd start my
approach to the island. I rolled up the chart.

"Thanks, Abraham. Where can I reach you?"

"You can't, my friend."

With that, he pulled his kayak to the boat, slipped into it, and paddled into the night. He never looked back.

I motored back to the Key West Bight in a drizzling rain. I'd changed
into my street clothes and put on a windbreaker I'd carried to the boat earlier. I belted the dive knife and scabbard to my arm under the jacket, and
put the pistol in the pocket. I stowed the dive gear under the tarp in the
bow. By the time I docked the boat, I was soaked, and it was nearing three
a.m. I'd call the kid from the dive shop in the morning and ask him to retrieve my equipment and store it. I started walking toward my rooming
house.

The light rain continued, leaving a thin sheen of water on the pavement. The streets were empty, the rain dampening the usual carousing on
Duval Street. The colored lights that adorned the windows of the bars
reflected off the wet streets, giving the appearance of many small rainbows.
The smell of the sea tickled my nose.

I stopped at the corner, two doors down from where my rooming
house loomed out of the darkness. I wanted to make sure there were no
bad guys watching for me. The street was quiet and deserted.

I climbed the stairs to my room, key in hand. I saw light coming
from under the door. I was sure I'd turned the lights off before I left that
morning.

I pulled the nine millimeter from the pocket of my windbreaker. I
eased up to the door, listening for any sound. I heard a thud, as if someone had kicked the wall, then quiet again. I tried the doorknob. It turned,
and I pushed quickly into the room, my Glock held in front of me.

"Don't shoot, podner," said a familiar voice. "I'm a friendly."

Jock Algren was splayed out on my bed. A muscle-bound man was trussed up in the corner, a gag in his mouth. He kicked the wall with his
bound knees, making the thud I'd heard from the hall.

"Who's your friend?" I said, lowering the gun.

"Says his name is Martin Holcomb."

"Is he telling the truth?"

"I think so. He wouldn't tell me at first, but with a little encouragement he fessed up."

Holcombe's little finger on his right hand was pointing at an odd
angle. "What happened to his finger?"

"I broke it."

"Ali, a little encouragement."

"Yeah. He's a sissy."

"Who is he?"

"He works for an outfit called The Circle. Told me he lives in a place
named Blood Island. I found him in your room when I came to visit."

I had met Jock Algren on the first day of eighth grade, and he became
my best friend. We'd stayed close during the intervening years. Jock was
an oil company executive, but unknown to most anybody, he moonlighted
as an operative of our country's most secretive spy agency.

"What're you doing here?" I said.

"Logan called me this afternoon. I was in Miami and caught a commuter flight down."

I was glad to see jock, but a little surprised that Logan had called
him. "What did Logan have to say?"

"He said you'd called and wanted him to bring your boat down and
to bring some weapons. He told me you were looking for Laura's stepdaughter. He wasn't sure what was going on, but asked if I could get out
of Houston in time to come with him. I told him I was in Miami and that
I'd check things out and get back to him."

I pointed to the man on the floor. "What're you going to do about
him?"

Jock winked at me. "I thought I'd kill him."

The man squirmed and mumbled something from behind the gag.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"It's not important,"Jock said. "Do you want to kill him here or wait
until we get outside?"

The mumbles became louder, the squirming more intense.

"Let's see what he has to say," I said, walking toward the trussed up
man.

I leaned down, holding my knife so that he could see it, and whispered into his ear. "If you do anything more than talk to us, I'm going to
gut you like a fish. Understand?"

The man nodded, and I removed the gag. I recognized him as the
man I'd seen drive Simmermon's boat away from the restaurant earlier in
the day.

He licked his lips and worked his jaw, tried to speak, and tried again.
This time a raspy voice came through. "Don't kill me."

"I can't see much reason for keeping you alive," I said. "Besides, you
were going to kill me."

"No, I wasn't. I was just going to take you back to the island. The
Rev wants to see you."

"Why?"

"I don't know He just does."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I showed your picture around, and the old lady who runs this place
told me you were here."

"Okay. Give me a good reason not to kill you and the old lady too."

"I don't care about the old lady, but I can give you some information
about what the Rev plans."

"Tell me."

"You won't get out of Key West alive. The Rev has people watching
the airport and car and boat rental places. U.S. One is the only road out,
and they've got men watching that."

"Okay, but that's not much. What kind of plans does Simmermon
have?"

"You won't kill me?"

"If you lie to me, and I'll know if you do, you're dead. Understood?"

"Yes," lie said. "The Rev is going to blow something up."

"What?"

"I don't know. He keeps talking about the big bang, and laughing.
Says it'll change the world."

"Why do you think that means he's going to blow something up?"

"He's been bringing a lot of explosives to the island. C-4 and some
dynamite. I've seen it, but I don't know what his plans are."

"You just told me you were going to tell me about his plans. Now
you're telling me you don't know what they are? I think you're a dead
man."

"No. Honestly. That's all I know. Man, I'm telling you everything I
know."

I looked at Jock, who nodded. I replaced the gag and pulled out my
cell phone. I dialed the number Mendosa had given me and left my name
and number with the machine. In less than ten seconds, my phone rang.

"Mr. Royal, I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Mendosa."

"Do you know who I am?" I asked.

"Yes. Cracker Dix's friend. What can I do for you?"

"I've got another man I need put on ice."

"Where are you?"

I gave him the address and hung up.

Jock was sitting on the side of the bed. "What's that all about?"

"A friend of a friend. I'll explain later."

I motioned jock to follow me out of the room. We stood in the hall,
and in a low voice I brought him up to date on what was going on, and
what I'd been up to in the two days I'd been in Key West.

"Laura's missing too?" he asked, when I'd finished.

"Yes. At least as of this morning, she was still gone. Her husband
would have called me if she'd turned up. I'm worried sick about her. I
think Peggy is okay, and with any luck we'll have her back home tomorrow.
But what the hell happened to Laura? She didn't just wander off."

I heard steps on the stairway, and the two men who'd come to
Michelle's house earlier appeared. I led them into the room, and they both
picked up the trussed man and left. Neither said a word.

"I've got to make a phone call," said Jock. "Why don't you get a
shower? You stink."