The Water Keeper(58)

We closed to within a half mile and I heard singing. I killed the engine and the lights, and we continued on foot. Careful to walk the middle line between the two canals. We closed within two hundred yards of the cabin. Given the amount of money these guys were spending, the clientele they catered to, and the proficiency with which they did so, I was pretty sure they’d station armed guards, even in a place like this. Thirty seconds later, my ears told me I was correct.





Chapter 25


The moon wasn’t overly bright, but it wasn’t pitch black either. I could see well enough. Summer squatted behind me, one hand clutching my shirt. An alligator bellowed off to our right, only to be answered by one on our left. Her hand tightened and her arm stiffened, but she had yet to stand atop my shoulders.

Footsteps advanced, crunching limestone and grass. He was quiet. Purposeful. He’d done this before. Chances were good he’d seen the motorcycle. Or at the least the headlamp. I had to assume he was looking for us the same way we were looking for him. He approached within ten feet and I heard someone speak through his earpiece. I couldn’t hear what they said. He responded in a professional whisper, saying no more than was needed as he continued his walk along the perimeter. The only camouflage we had was the grass, of which there was plenty. Chest high, it formed a sea, and we were crouched beneath the level of it. The guy would need night vision or thermals to detect us. I was hoping he had neither.

When he stopped within five feet, I felt Summer’s hand trembling behind me. He took another step, and I launched from my perch. When I returned some ten seconds later, Summer’s entire body was shaking. I shined the light on myself and held out my hand, and she pressed her fingertips to mine. Then locked her fingers inside mine. In the distance, I heard the crank of an engine and then the signature sound of helicopter blades beginning to whip the air.

We moved more quickly. I counted ten people dancing around a bonfire a hundred fifty yards in the distance. Summer pointed at a lone figure dancing by herself. Hands in the air. Lit by firelight. She was swaying. Stumbling. I judged the distance. Between us and them stood another man. Looked like another block of granite. He was speaking into a microphone. If he was armed, and I was certain he was, I’d never make it. He spoke again into the mic. This time louder. Given that I was currently wearing the earpiece and carrying the radio, I heard him loud and clear. Not getting the response he wanted, he herded the group into the helicopter.

A minute later, at 3:00 a.m., one helicopter lifted off the ground, hovered, and then shot up and east toward the coast. Followed closely by a second I had not seen or heard given the noise from the first. We watched in silence, knowing full well that Angel was on one of those birds. And that we’d missed our chance.

We were late. Again.

The sound of the helicopters faded, silence returned, and we stood alone in the darkness. I grabbed the bike and returned to the end of the road and the cabin. The bonfire still burned. The power grid doesn’t reach this far, so we circled the cabin on the bike to use its lights. In the Everglades, little islands or rises in the limestone emerge above the surface of the grass. Sometimes a foot. Sometimes two. They rise enough to form dry land given normal water levels. Indians used to call this home, which explained the presence of citrus trees.

Whoever had built this cabin had done so on a small island. Maybe a hundred yards square. An island in a sea of grass. My kind of place.

I found the generator, still hot from use. Which meant they’d been here long enough to need it. Fifteen feet away, a water hole shimmered in the moonlight. Summer began walking toward the water when I gently grabbed her arm, clicked on my flashlight, and exposed a ten-to eleven-foot alligator floating inches from the water’s edge. Summer covered her mouth and backed up slowly.

The cabin wasn’t locked, but it was well-appointed. I wanted a look inside for any sign, any clue. True to form, this cabin had housed a party in much the same fashion as the yachts. Empty bottles. Furniture scattered about. Articles of clothing. Darts thrown at a dartboard. In comparison to others I’d witnessed, this scene was relatively tame. And given that we saw only two helicopters leave, rather than a long line of cars, this party must have involved few in number. More exclusive. Invite only.

I swore beneath my breath. We had missed her by two, three minutes max.

Finding nothing, I swung one leg over the bike, Summer did likewise, and I cranked the engine. Taking one last look over my shoulder, I pushed the gearshift down and into first gear. In that momentary pause, I saw it. A small red light coming from a fruit tree nearby. I said nothing, pretended not to see it, and eased off the clutch, circling around and behind the cabin. Then, leaving the bike running, I motioned to Summer to follow and pressed a single finger to my lips. She did, and when I pointed to the item duct-taped to the branch of a lemon tree, the space between her eyes narrowed. Followed by a wrinkle. I again pressed my finger to my lips and shook my head. We backed up quietly, climbed on the bike, and eased down the road that led back to civilization. A mile away, I stopped and turned, and even with the helmet on and face mask down, I could see Summer’s fear.

She lifted the face mask. Her voice cracked. “Was that an iPhone?”

“Yes.”

“Why was it in the tree?”

“Someone was watching us. An instant video feed.”

“Do you think they saw us?”

“Yes.”