“Are you planning to teach him to dive already?” I asked.
“That was Flo’s favorite,” she replied, picking up the fish ID book. “She memorized every fish in Paul Humann’s books on Florida and the Caribbean.”
She put the book back down. “We don’t have much in the way of reading material for little boys.”
I went to the kitchen and poured the last of the coffee from my Thermos into a clean mug, then pulled out one of the chairs. “Come and sit down a minute.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You have that look.”
“Look?”
“You’re upset about something. I can tell.”
We sat down and I told her about the phone call from Nancy Liddell the previous night and my conversations with Phil Tucker and Billy Rainwater.
“And he just agreed to do it?” she asked.
“Billy has a very strong sense of right and wrong,” I said. “If he can help someone out of a bad situation, like Nancy’s niece is in, he will.”
“It could be dangerous. I’ve heard that gang is quite ruthless.”
“So were the conquistadors,” I said. “And even with their more advanced weapons and armor, they steered clear of the Calusa people. Besides, Billy’s also a Marine. If anyone’s in danger, it’s the gang, should they go after the girl.”
“But that’s not all you wanted to tell me, is it?”
“Something Barney Fife said,” I began.
“His name’s Bradford.”
I grinned. “I bet all his cop buddies call him Barney,” I said, then got serious. “We know three things—Alberto Mar is an American kid, he was covered by a tarp made in Fort Myers, but the boat was most likely Cuban. Throw out the odd thing and Alberto’s from the Fort Myers area. I can’t explain how or why I know this. I just do. And you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“The Blancs are all gone,” she said. “Either dead, in jail, or hiding in the swamp.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “You and I jumped into the water to save a kid. He was covered by a tarp made in Fort Myers and he’d been beaten. The very next morning, I get a call from a woman who lives in that area, asking for help in protecting her niece.”
“And what? You think these two things are…connected somehow?”
“Call it an aligning of the planets,” I said, running the fingers of both hands through my hair, “or call it Rufus’s gods manipulating the strings of humanity, but yeah, I do think they’re connected somehow.”
Savannah stared at me. Her big blue eyes gave away nothing of what was going on behind them. She blinked twice. “Call Tank and Deuce. You’re not going up there alone.”
“You think you know me that well already?”
“You mean you weren’t planning to go ‘recon’ the area?”
I grinned. “No. That you’d think I’d go alone.”
“The dogs and I will be going with you, too.”
“Oh no—”
“Oh, very much yes,” she said, cutting me off. “And we’re not going to miss the boat on Friday.”
“What about Alberto?” I asked.
“He’ll come too.”
“No,” I said. “No way. Forget about it.”
“We’ll take two boats,” she insisted. “You, Tank, and whoever you can get from Deuce can go on Gaspar’s Revenge, and Chyrel and I will meet you there on Sea Biscuit with Alberto.”
“It could be dangerous,” I said. “There’s no way I’m taking a kid to where we’re going.”
“He’ll be perfectly safe, Jesse. Once we’re there, we won’t even have to acknowledge each other. Chyrel can run things from my boat and I can assist her.”
I had to admit, having Chyrel there would make things easier, as would having Tank and maybe Tony come along. I didn’t have any idea what I could do against the gang in just four days, but I was going to do something. Savannah and I both knew that.
Billy was likely already in place, providing protection to Callie and her family, should MS-13 make a move against them. We could discourage them from another angle.
“Okay, we’ll take both boats,” I conceded, digging my cell phone from my pocket. “But the dogs are staying with you.”
I called Tank first. He wasn’t in the best of health and he was in his seventies, but there wasn’t a better strategist on the planet. He’d been diagnosed with cancer several months ago and given less than a year to live, so he’d chosen to live it well and moved to the Keys. Chyrel had kept him on an extremely healthy diet and they exercised daily. For a seventy-year-old man with cancer, he was surprisingly fit.
“Whatever you have planned,” he said, answering the phone, “you can count us in. Marlin, snook, diving, flying…I’m ready.”
“What do you think about taking on one of the most ruthless gangs in the world?” I said bluntly.
There was a pause, and I could hear him whisper something, though I couldn’t make out what it was.
“When and where, Gunny?”
“Before dawn,” I said. “We’re going up to Fort Myers to look around.”
“Chyrel’s coming.”
“So is Savannah,” I said. “We’ll be taking two boats. And Tony, or one of Deuce’s other men will be coming along.”
“Have whoever it is come to our house,” Tank said. “You can pick us up here.”
I agreed and we ended the call. Then I called Deuce, to see who he had available.
“Tony and Paul are both here,” he said. “Drinking all my coffee and not making a fresh pot.”
“Have them both meet us at Tank and Chyrel’s place on Grassy Key at zero seven hundred.”
“Will do,” Deuce said. “DJ Martin stopped by yesterday. He’s up in Miami this week, going over the progress on a house he’s renovating in Coconut Grove.”
“Think he’s available?”
“Probably,” Deuce replied. “He seemed
