“That building wasn’t part of the taskforce’s briefing,” King said.
“From what the Stoklers told us, I think this is the building that was leased out to the school of mortuary science—possibly our killer’s home.
“It’s a secondary target that has nothing to do with the raid.”
She closed the laptop and started to walk out of the room.
“Sin, I’m serious. This is bullshit,” Jack protested. “You need us on this.”
Stopping short, she waved the others on. “Go get ready, Jack and I will be right behind you.”
As the door closed, she stared up at Jack and attempted to offer a gaze that bore a hole through him.
“Sin,” Jack seemed to be breathing heavy from frustration, but tried to keep his voice calm, “you need me on this,” he said. “I want to go in with you.”
Sin leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You have a family. I’m not putting you in harm’s way without good reason.”
Jack grabbed her hand. “What you’re planning goes against protocol. This isn’t the agent you want to be.”
Sin pointed at herself. “This is who I am. This is the agent Frank asked to come back. You need to trust me on this one.”
Turning away, she heard Jack mumble, “Who are you?”
Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, “La Perla Ángel de la Muerte.”
40
Sin and her team knew a frontal attack wasn’t an option. They also knew that the taskforce was planning on entering by way of the south side of the campus by the elementary school near the construction entrance. That left her with only one choice for gaining entry. The water.
“What is it with you,” Garcia complained. “Every time we get together, I get wet.”
“You must be the only Cuban I know who doesn’t like the ocean,” Fletcher laughed.
Garcia looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “How many Cubans do you know?”
“Just one.” Fletcher eyed Sin and smirked. “One and a half, actually.”
Sin rolled her eyes and shook her head. “We don’t have a lot of time to finalize this plan, so listen up.”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Sorry to bother you, but the equipment you asked for arrived,” Evelyn said.
“Everything?” Sin asked.
“I believe so.”
“Thank you. Have Gonzales check the supplies and bring the dry bags in here. We’ll check our dive gear before we have him load everything into the back of Fletcher’s jeep.”
“Consider it done,” Evelyn said.
“I need you to do one more thing for me.”
“Just say it.”
Sin handed Evelyn the composite drawing of Joel as well as the list of names she had plugged into the computer earlier that evening. “Beg borrow or steal,” she said, “but I need you to find someone with beyond top secret clearance to run these photos and every combination of these names and see if anything shows up in the military data bases.”
“Looks like we’re all in for a long night,” Evelyn said, reaching the documents.
It was one a.m. when Sin and her team crossed the bridge onto Key Biscayne and drove onto Crandon Boulevard. Two miles down the road, they saw the old elementary school.
“We just passed our target,” Sin said, “keep driving until you pass the construction site on your right.”
“Passed our target? I didn’t even see it,” Garcia called out from the back seat.
“Water’s Edge Academy sits way back off the road behind that six foot stone wall we just drove past. Once we pass the elementary school and construction entrance,” she nudged Fletcher who was driving, “I want you to kill your lights and park down by the entrance to Bill Baggs Park.”
Fletch kept driving at normal speed until he passed by the school. He barely slowed down when he killed the lights and drove the jeep off the road onto a dirt path. He stopped fast, barely missing the chain that blocked any further movement.
Garcia jumped out of the back, picked the lock, and moved the chain to the side. Fletch drove through, allowing Garcia to reset the chain and padlock. Moving ahead at idle speed through the wooded area, the tight path began to open up.
“Stop here,” Sin said. “The beach is right in front of us. I checked the tides and currents before we left HQ and they should be in our favor; low tide and a fast moving northerly current.”
The five of them unloaded their dry bags and placed their weapons and radios inside. “With the current moving as fast as it is, SCUBA gear will only slow us down,” Sin said looking out at the moon-lit water. “Masks, fins, secondary air supplies, and weight belts only—no tanks or buoyancy compensators.”
No one questioned Sin’s orders. They just did as they were told.
“We’ll enter the water here and swim out about one hundred feet. You’ll know when you hit your mark because the current will start to pull you north and toward land. Everyone stay at a depth of at least twenty feet. We can’t risk anyone seeing or hearing us kick or paddle. The makeshift pier will come up fast, so brace yourselves for impact. I’ll take the lead. When I hit the twenty foot descent, I’ll signal you with the luminescence of my dive watch. Stay on my heels. We surface under the pier, ditch our dive gear, and make our move.” Remembering Frank’s words, she added, “This is not a kill mission . . . unless it needs to be.”
Sin checked her watch and sent Jack a text letting him know it was on.
“Gear up, let’s move.”
41
Sin’s plan was on point, and her team surfaced under the pier between the large floats. She removed her mask, squeezed her nostrils shut and blew, popping her ears. Fletcher and Garcia followed suit along with Metcalf and King. They held onto the floats, remaining perfectly still. Voices and footsteps were heard above from the makeshift dock.
Fletcher used his feet under the surface to tap out the number
