The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(41)

The inflatable closed the gap between us.

I stood at the stern and held the coin up high, out over the water, the outline of the square plastic sleeve clear and distinctive, even in the dim light.

“Lower the rifle,” I hollered.

There was hesitation, so I made it clear, “You want me to drop it? You can shoot me, but I’m still going to drop it. Good luck finding it in this water, in the dark.”

These were acolytes. Hired help. If Valdez himself had been here I’d probably have to rethink this ploy. But with these guys their number one job was to please the boss. So far today they hadn’t had much success—they’d already lost the files. I could hear Valdez now. Don’t come back without my coin.

And I was right.

The rifle lowered.

The inflatable kept closing, its motor now in idle.

Thirty yards away.

“Hit the throttle and go like crazy when I tell you to,” I whispered to Coleen, keeping my lips still.

“Just say the word.”

Twenty yards.

“I give you the coin and you go away,” I yelled to the shadows in the inflatable.

“Sí, senor. You give the coin. We let you leave.”

Right. They came all the way out here, after being tipped off by a group of retired feds, just to get the coin? Sure, that’s what these guys wanted. But the people who’d supplied all of that intel wanted us dead, and the files we had either back in Cuba or at the bottom of the ocean. Otherwise they’d never make it out of American territorial waters.

I stood still, Oliver’s gun held tight in my hand, masked by my right thigh. All attention was on the coin. I felt like a magician working an illusion with misdirection.

Ten yards.

“Come and get it,” I said.

The inflatable hooked left, now leading with its long side, the idea to gently bump against our boat.

I braced myself and whispered to Coleen, “Now.”

She gunned the throttle.

The outboard sprang to life from idle.

Water churned up from the props.

The guys in the inflatable were momentarily surprised and I used that instance to raise my gun and send four rounds into their craft, making sure to puncture holes in the bow, midsection, and stern. Those things were tough and versatile, but not invincible.

The men scattered with each round.

Our boat bolted away.

I watched as they tried to give chase, but they were having trouble staying high in the water.

No way to catch us now.

Eventually, the thing would flounder.

Sure, they had their main vessel.

But we’d be long gone in the dark before they could ever give chase.





Chapter Twenty-five


We cruised northward for over an hour. The night loomed clear, warm, and cloudless with a great wash of stars. Thankfully, the boat came with full gas tanks. Maybe the idea had been to set it ablaze with our corpses and the files on board, the thought of which sent a chill down my spine.

I was navigating by dead reckoning, in the dark, and figured we were now at or near Jupiter Island. No sense going any farther, as I was unsure of the cruising range. So I turned west and passed through an inlet into the St. Lucie River, following its twisting path to what was labeled a municipal dock operated by the city of Stuart. The time was approaching 10:00 p.m. Day one as a special agent for the Justice Department was drawing to a close. There’d been ups and downs, but I was in one piece and still had the coin and the files, which had to count for something.

We left the boat and walked from the waterfront into town, which seemed a colorful collection of clapboard and shingled buildings. Only eateries were open. I carried the waterproof case, the coin safe in my jean pocket, the gun tucked at my spine beneath my shirt. A bar and grill, Rick’s Oyster Dock, was doing a brisk business.

“Let’s eat something,” I said.

Coleen didn’t argue.

We stepped inside and found a table that fronted one of the sides open to the night, overlooking the river.

“Order some food. I like oysters, fish, shrimp. Don’t care. Just get lots of it and some sweet tea to drink.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to make a call.”

And I took the case with me.

I doubted she was going anywhere without those files, so I was fairly certain she’d be there when I returned. On the walk over from the dock I’d noticed a pay phone outside the entrance to a motel next door to the restaurant. I used it to call Stephanie Nelle.

Collect.

She answered like she’d been waiting for me. I explained everything that had happened since a few hours ago, omitting only, for the moment, my exact location and the little I’d read in the files.

“I want you to stay put,” she said. “I’m sending people to get you.”

“No,” I told her.

“Cotton, this is just like the military. I give the orders, you obey them.”

“You have a problem,” I said. “It apparently involves both former and current members of the FBI. I’ve managed to attract the attention of at least half your problem. Let’s play this out and see where it leads.”

I was truly embracing my new role as bait.

“I can take Oliver and Jansen into custody,” she said. “Your testimony alone is enough to convict them of kidnapping and aggravated assault.”