'Thanks Deb. I don't know what all that means, but I appreciate your getting it for me.'
'You owe me, loverboy,' she said, and hung up.
That was interesting information, but my first order of business was to get to my boat and Logan. I wasn't sure how we were going to get to Marathon. If I went back to the rental boat, somebody would probably be watching it. I'd rented it before my photo was broadcast around town, but they'd be watching all the rentals now. Jock could rent a car using one of the bogus IDs he always carried, but I'd have to ride in the trunk to be safe. That was probably our best bet.
Jock returned, and I told him what I was thinking.
'I don't know,' he said. 'Yesterday, when I came in, I asked the old woman who runs this place what your room number was. She's already ratted you out once, and now she knows what I look like. It wouldn't take much for Simmermon's men to put us together.'
'I've got an idea. Let's get out of here.'
I was dressed in typical tourist clothes, cargo shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and Reeboks. I put on the sunglasses and pulled the ball cap low on my forehead. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I led the way down the stairs and out the door. Thankfully, the old lady wasn't in sight.
Jock stood six feet and was lean and fit. He had a Houston Astros ball cap covering his bald head. The fringe of black hair that still clung to life was getting streaks of gray. He wore slacks, loafers, and a designer T-shirt. He was carrying a small suitcase that sported the logo of a Hawaiian Country Club. He looked a little too elegant to be with me, but people would probably think I was his valet or something.
'Where are we going?' Jock asked.
'Breakfast at the Hyatt.'
'Isn't that a little conspicuous?'
'Not at all. I don't think Simmermon's people would be looking for us at a tourist hotel. Besides, we need to see somebody.'
The hotel sat near the foot of Duval Street, next to the water. The superb views commanded a superb price from the guests, but the place was always booked.
We entered the lobby and went through to the restaurant. I saw a big table surrounded by senior citizens. Austin Dwyer sat among them, facing the dining room.
I asked the hostess to seat us at the table next to them. Austin looked up as we were escorted to the table and given menus. As soon as the hostess left, he came over.
'Ben,' he said. 'Nice to see you again.'
I introduced him to Jock, who was sitting with a bemused look on his face, wondering, I thought, whether the old man was dotty or if I'd given a false name.
'Please sit down, Austin. I have a favor to ask.'
He sat. 'I owe you big time. What can I do for you?'
'I have a very delicate situation, and I need your complete confidence. Can you give me that?'
'Certainly. Mum's the word.'
'First, my name isn't Ben Joyce. It's Matt Royal. I'm a lawyer from Longboat Key, and I've been doing some undercover work, trying to find a young woman who has been kidnapped. Jock here is an old friend who's lending a hand.'
'Can't say I'm surprised, Matt. I thought you were too well spoken to be a transient. How can I help?'
'Jock and I need to get to Marathon this morning, and for reasons I can't go into, we can't rent a car. I was wondering if you might have room on your bus.'
'We do. I'll make it right with the tour director. Get your breakfast. We're leaving as soon as everybody gets through eating. Our bags are already loaded.'
I thanked him, and he went back to his table to finish his meal.
'Who is this guy?' Jock asked.
I explained how we met, and told him about the altercation two nights before. 'We can trust him,' I said. 'And the bad guys aren't going to be looking for us on a senior citizen's tour bus.'
'If you say so.'
'Bring me up to speed on your agency's connection to Simmermon.'
'Another agency, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms was tracking some C-4 and other explosives that were stolen from a National Guard Armory in Macon, Georgia. Turns out that Simmermon was running a revival in the area at the time the stuff disappeared. Apparently, this wasn't the first time that weapons disappeared when he was in the area.
'It also looked as if Simmermon had ties to some pretty bad folks. He was connected to a bunch of right-wing nuts who want to overthrow the government, and maybe some Muslim groups with the same idea.
'My agency tried to put a man into Simmermon's organization. I don't know what went wrong, but somebody must have figured it out, because our agent ended up as buzzard food.'
'Do you know who killed your guy?'
'We're pretty sure it was the jerk you shot at Hutch's.'
'I don't get it. How did I get caught up in this?'
'You went looking for Peggy and turned over the hornet's nest. We think that when Simmermon's people heard that you had discovered our agent's body at Pelican Man's, they decided that you were one of us. They had to take you out.'
Austin came back to the table. 'You ready to go?'
We were.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The fifty-mile ride to Marathon was uneventful. Jock and I sat near the back of the bus. Austin sat in a facing seat. I explained to jock that Austin had been a history professor and had once lived in Key West. I told Austin about my meeting with Abraham Osceola, and asked him if any of that made sense.
'Actually,' he said, 'it does. The Tequesta ruled the Keys for many generations, and we think they paid tribute to the Calusa, who substantially outnumbered them. The blacks who were part of the Seminole tribe were called Seminole Negroes by the whites in the area. Abraham is a historical character, and was part of every treaty effected between the Seminoles and the American government during the years between the First and Second Seminole Wars.'
'What about the Tequesta connection?' I asked.
'Your friend has his history right. The remnants of the Tequesta intermarried with the Seminoles and became part of their tribe. The Tequesta, as a tribe, had ceased to exist by the middle of the nineteenth century. But their blood runs through a lot of Seminole veins today.'
'The Abraham I met is a Bahamian. How did that happen?'
'Like he told you, at the end of the Second Seminole War, a large number of the black Seminoles migrated in dugout canoes to Andros Island in the Bahamas. Over the years, they became indistinguishable from the islanders in speech and looks, but they maintained their Indian culture and their Seminole names. They always, to this day, refer to themselves as Seminoles.'
Florida is full of historical oddities, I thought. Maybe I'll turn out to be one of them.
At noon, we crossed the Seven Mile Bridge onto Vaca Key, the island that held the town of Marathon. The bus dropped us off at the Faro Blanco Resort. I gave Austin one of my business cards and invited him to visit Longboat Key. He said he would.
Jock and I walked past the restaurant to the marina. I saw Logan at the fuel dock looking out over Florida Bay as he filled my boat with gas. The boat was a Grady-White twenty-eight foot walkaround. It was made for fishing, with a large cockpit and wide gunwales, made so that the fisherman could easily walk around the cabin trunk to the bow if he had a fish on the line. It sported twin 250-horsepower Yamaha outboards that would push it through the water at almost fifty miles per hour. I had not scrimped on electronics, and it was equipped with the latest radar, chart plotter, fish finder, and radios. She was my love, and her name was Recess.
