"I can see you are all awake and none the worse for wear. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, which I will likely not be willing to answer, so I'll keep it simple and tell you what you need to know. You will not be harmed as long as you cooperate. There's no use trying to escape since we are in the middle of the ocean and there is nowhere to go. I'm going to have my man here remove the duct tape from your mouths, and as long as you don't start screaming, I'll leave it off. We'll be at our destination in about four hours."
He looked at the guard and gave him a quick nod before exiting the room as abruptly as he had arrived. The guard came by each of them and removed the duct tape without much tenderness or apparent concern that gentleness in that procedure was desirable. As soon as Laura's tape was off, she began peppering the guard with questions.
"Where are we?" No answer. "Where are we being taken?" No answer. "What are you going to do with us?!" No answer.
Before she could ask question number four, the guard paused, picked up some earbuds that had been draped around his neck, and plugged them into his ears, smiling as he did so. He could not hear the obvious curses Laura was hurling in his direction, but he could tell by her reddened face that they were not very polite, and he chuckled out loud. Laura, seeing her attempts to gain information were futile, let out an audible sigh and slumped back against the hull of the ship.
Meanwhile, the guard produced three water bottles with straws and proceeded to go between each of them, letting them drink as much as they wanted before moving on to the next person. Having accomplished this task, he resumed his original position in the corner, continuing to listen to whatever music was playing through his earbuds. Seeing they were now apparently free to talk, James spoke up.
"Is everyone o.k.?"
"I'm just peachy," Laura replied with obvious sarcasm.
"What about you, J.T.?" James continued.
"I feel like I've been rode hard and put up wet, but besides that, I think I'll be o.k."
J.T. repositioned himself, stretching a bit and grimacing slightly at the soreness he felt from his poorly positioned night's repose on the floor of the ship.
"Does anyone have any idea what is going on?" Laura asked.
"Well," J.T. replied, "I'd be willing to bet that when we arrive at our destination, we're going to find one of my former business associates on the other end."
James and Laura both looked at J.T. in surprise.
"Why do you say that?" James asked.
"Back in my robber-baron days, I stole a great deal of money. Not all of it was recovered. My guess is, one of my former business partners thinks I still have some of it squirreled away somewhere."
"Do you?" Laura queried.
J.T. turned and looked at her straight in the eyes. "No, I do not. But he doesn't know that."
"Oh, crap," James responded.
"'Oh crap,' is right!" Laura chimed in. "You know exactly what's going to happen to us if this guy doesn't get what he wants. We'll all be fish food! What are we going to do?!"
"Now just calm down a minute," said J.T. "We don't know for sure it's who I think it is or that he (or they) want what I think they want. But if I'm right, you two better leave the talkin' to me when we get where we're going."
Chapter Fifteen
Silas came into the police precinct carrying the coffee that he had made at home just like he did every morning since he'd become a detective. He plodded up to his office and sat down at his computer to begin reading his email and reading over the news before the business of the day had him going in a hundred different directions.
When he saw one of the news headlines, he felt a knot form in his stomach. The tag line read, 'Notorious corporate embezzler J.T. Thornbacker and two others escape from Nevada prison'. He clicked on the link to read the whole story, but it was just a short blurb from one of the newswire services. He focused intently on the few lines and read them over and over again, trying to absorb any hint of additional details that might give him some relief from the weight of dread he felt pressing down upon him, but found none.
Three inmates escaped yesterday from the Nevada prison system. Two men and one woman believed to be traveling together have been identified as J.T. Thornbacker, James Marlowe, and Laura Bristo. Prison officials offered few additional details on the breakout, stating only that the three should be considered armed and dangerous. Officials have requested that individuals having information on the whereabouts of these convicts contact the FBI.
Silas slumped back in his chair, his mind racing. The day before, he had turned over information to Nick Bartonovich on the banking operations of a non-profit corporation based in the Cayman Islands named the Porfiry Group. The group was very secretive and only the law firm of Handle and McQueen was mentioned in most of the documents. He wasn't hired to read the legal documentation, just to track down where the money was coming from that Handle and McQueen had been funneling out to various individuals for the past two years. But he didn't feel good about the job, and so he had read through the bank documents to see if anything set off a red flag. Nothing did. It all seemed like legalese to him. But he had managed to find one person's name buried towards the end of the document: J.T. Thornbacker.
He clicked on the links at the end of the article to the FBI website where images of the three escaped convicts were posted. He studied them closely for a few minutes, then printed them out. He grabbed the printouts off of the color laser printer and headed back out the door he had just come in through a few minutes before.
Thirty minutes later, Silas was marching up the steps of Nick Bartonovich's brownstone. He knocked on the door and waited, but the speaker remained silent. He leaned over the side rail and looked into the windows. Fortunately for him, the drapes were not drawn. He saw no one milling about or lounging at the dining room table that was viewable from his perch. He went down and behind the stairs to the ground level entrance, peering through the windows to make certain no one was there, and then he put on a pair of rubber gloves before picking the lock.
He opened the door and quickly confirmed that it was wired to an alarm system by locating the tell-tale contact strip attached to the top of the door. After locking the door behind him, he took out his cell phone and dialed the precinct dispatch officer.
"Yeah, this is Silas. I just witnessed a break in on 3rd street, house number 1900. No, it's just some kid, probably looking to watch porn on the television while the owner's at work. Anyway, no need to send a patrol by. I'll take it and run him in. Yeah, you too. Bye."
Silas cautiously made his way up to the office on the top floor, just in case his earlier assessment proved wrong and there was anyone in the house. Once he entered the office, he crossed to the desk and sat down in the leather chair that Nick had been sitting in hours before. It was just as comfortable as it looked, he thought to himself as he opened the desk's one drawer and began going through its contents.
He lamented to himself that more and more people were keeping the information he needed as a detective on their electronic devices. It made it more difficult for an old-school detective like him to quickly find what he needed, particularly with someone as careful as Nick Bartonovich. He had apparently taken his laptop with him, so even if Silas had possessed the technical skills required to access the computer's data, they wouldn't have done him much good at the moment.
There were few items in the desk drawer. A herringbone letter opener, some writing pens, a pad of post-it notes, a few paperclips, and some other odds and ends. A small, black leather business card holder caught his eye. He opened it up and found several business cards for Nick Bartonovich, President of CES Enterprises. Nick's picture appeared in the corner. "Thank you, Mr. Bartonovich," Silas thought to himself.
Silas took out one of the cards and replaced the holder in the desk drawer. He put the card on the desk and took out his phone, taking a picture of the card and then a close-up of the
photograph in the corner. He put the card in his pocket and then dialed a number. After three rings, a man picked up on the other end. He was greeted with a hearty, "Hello?" in a thick island accent typical of the Cayman's.
"Marty, it's Silas," he began.
"Oh! Silaaaas! It is good to hear from you, my friend. What can I help you wit today?"
Silas could picture the tall islander with his colorful shirt and sandals. He had been very helpful tracking down the information Silas needed to get for Mr. Bartonovich before. He hoped he would be as helpful this time.
"I'm going to send you some pictures. I want you to go to the same bank as before and call me as soon as you see any of these people anywhere near the bank. Can you do that?"
"Ya mon, I can do it," came the reply. "You got sometin' for me now?"
"Yeah, same rate as before."
"O.k. mon, I am on it."
With that, Silas hung up the phone. He took out the three pictures he had printed off before and took pictures of each of them with his phone, sending them to Marty along with the photo of Nick Bartonovich. He couldn't risk sending them from his work computer, so this would have to do for now. He completed his search of the office without finding anything else of value, and left the brownstone the same way he had come in, making certain to lock the door on the way out.
Next, he called Darby Jones of the white-collar crimes division.
"Detective Jones," he answered.
"Hey Darby, I need to locate a plane."
"Hello to you, too, Silas. Who does it belong to?"
"Belongs to a guy named Nick Bartonovich. It may be registered under a company by the name of CES Enterprises."
"Hmmm? let me check."
Silas could hear Darby typing feverishly on a keyboard in the background. About a minute or so passed before Darby spoke next.
"Yeah, looks like he has a plane out at Newark International."
"Any chance you could tell me where that plane might be at the moment? He may have left town yesterday afternoon and I need to know where he's going."
More typing could be heard in the background.
"Well, I checked the public flight plan database and it's not there. Looks like he had his plane put on the BARR list, which means his flight plans won't be publicly accessible in this database. But I have a buddy who's been working on a program to pull the audio between the planes and the air traffic control towers. They run it through this program which translates the audio file data into text, saves it to a database, and posts it to this website he set up. You wouldn't believe it - there's this whole sub-culture that records this stuff for all the major airports and they share it online. He just downloads it and?"
"Darby," Silas interrupted. "I just need to know where the plane was headed."
"Yeah, o.k., just a minute," Darby replied, slightly disappointed that he hadn't been able to finish his monologue on the technical aspects of the process.
"O.k., yeah, it looks like he was headed for the Cayman Islands, Grand Cayman to be exact."
"Thanks a million, Darby, I owe you."
"No problem, that's why we're here, to serve and protect," Darby replied.
"Seriously, next time I see you at the bar, drinks are on me."
Silas disconnected the call. Everything was falling into place. Whatever the end-game was, it was going to happen soon and in the Cayman Islands. He was willing to bet his pension that it would be at the bank he had been researching and that J.T. Thornbacker was involved. He reviewed in his mind what he knew so far:
There was a bank account in the Cayman Islands with a large sum of money in it.
According to the documents he had obtained for Nick Bartonovich, only J.T. Thornbacker could withdraw or otherwise transfer funds from that account if the amount was more than twenty thousand dollars in a month.
J.T. Thornbacker had escaped from prison.
Nick Bartonovich's private jet had left from Newark International Airport bound for the Cayman Islands the night before.
Silas had a decision to make. He had used his position and resources as a police officer to perform work for Bartonovich, which was illegal. By doing that illegal work, he had likely (albeit unwittingly) contributed to the escape from prison of one J.T. Thornbacker. If he didn't do something to stop this train wreck, then he was likely helping a convicted felon withdraw enough money from a foreign bank to disappear forever. That was aiding and abetting a known criminal, which could get him jail time in addition to getting him fired.
The knot in his stomach, which had disappeared with all the activity of the past few hours, was returning with a vengeance. He couldn't tip off the FBI, even anonymously, without risking his own role being discovered. Should he do nothing and hope J.T. Thornbacker and Nick Bartonovich got away with it, and his role was never revealed? Should he intervene and try to bring J.T. Thornbacker back to prison, developing a cover story that would obscure his own involvement in the affair? He cursed under his breath as he considered his options - none of which were appealing. He had the distinct feeling that this was not going to end well for one Silas McGruder.
Chapter Sixteen
The leader of the commandos came in through the cabin door. The guard, who had been listening to his music, got up out of the chair he had been sitting in and pulled one earplug out so that he could hear any instructions that might be given.
"Listen up," said the man as he looked at his three captives. James, Laura, and J.T. all stared in his direction, each wondering what was going to happen next.
"We're going to move you to the top deck, where you will be transferred to a smaller boat and moved to another location. We're going to cut your foot restraints off so you can move about. Don't get any ideas about jumping ship and swimming anywhere. We're in the middle of the ocean and there's nowhere for you to go. If you do decide to try anything, you'll get a nasty shock from one of these." He pulled a Taser from a side holster that was strapped to his leg, adding emphasis to his threat. "This little beauty will light you up with 50,000 volts of electricity, after which you will still be going where I want you to go. So don't try anything."
After the leader's speech was concluded, both he and the guard came around and cut the foot restraints of all three unwilling passengers. They were led out of the cabin and up on deck, where they were greeted with a bright, sunny day, crystal blue water, and not a speck of land for as far as the eye could see in any direction.
James squinted at a small dot off in the distance and thought he could just make out another boat. The two commandos who had brought them up to the top deck helped them down into two awaiting inflatable boats. James and Laura were offloaded into one, where there were two other commandos waiting. J.T. was placed in the remaining boat, which the lead commando entered, along with their guard.
As the two boats sped away from the larger craft, they headed in the direction of the boat that James had thought he spotted when they had first come on deck. In a few minutes, they were approaching a one hundred foot long yacht. The first inflatable boat pulled up alongside of the boarding ladder and one of the commandos climbed up, then turned around to help bring J.T. aboard. Once the first inflatable was secured, the boat that James and Laura were in similarly unloaded their occupants.
After everyone was on deck, James, Laura, and J.T. were led to a seating area at the back of the boat where a table had been set with a lavish lunch. James' stomach rumbled as he was reminded that they hadn't eaten anything since being abducted the day before. The lead commando headed off into the interior of the boat, while the remaining three commandos positioned themselves around the deck and watched the three prisoners.
Moments later, Nick Bartonovich came through the sliding glass door leading on to the back of the boat, followed by Mia and the lead commando. Nick smiled devilishly as he saw J.T.
"Well, hello, J.T., it's been quite a long time."
"Hello Nick," J.T. responded f
latly. Turning to Mia, he added, "Hello Mia."
Mia nodded, with a slight smile. Nick turned to address the lead commando.
"Let's not leave our guests tied up; they won't be able to eat."
He crossed the deck and sat down at the head of the table along with Mia. The guards cut the hand restraints and they all began massaging their hands where the restraints had been hampering their circulation. Nick motioned to the table.
"Please, come sit down and enjoy some lunch. We have much to discuss."
Each of them took a seat. As Mia and their host began to eat, both Laura and James began serving their own plates, while J.T. looked warily at Nick.
"What do you want with us, Nick?" J.T. asked.
"In due time, my friend. Why don't you try some of this shark? It's delicious and fresh. I just caught it this morning." He motioned towards a plate in the middle of the table with his fork as he took another bite.
J.T. could tell Nick was enjoying himself and thought that there was no reason to deprive himself, considering the situation, so he began serving his own plate.
"I've thought about you often these past several years, J.T. Languishing in that prison all by your lonesome. I have to say, I appreciate that you didn't give me up to the prosecutor during the trial in exchange for a deal."
James and Laura eyed each other.
"But what I didn't exactly appreciate," Nick continued, "was that you took eighty percent of our hard-earned profits and stashed them away somewhere."
Nick watched J.T. closely for a reaction. He leaned forward, keeping his gaze fixed on J.T. as he spoke the next sentence. "I want it back, J.T." He broke his gaze and focused back on his plate, cutting another bite of shark and eating it.
"I don't have it," J.T. replied. "I had to give the feds something or they would never let me out of prison. I turned it over to them in exchange for a deal."
"J.T.," Nick feigned an offended expression as he spoke, "I'm hurt. After we spent so many years building up that little nest egg and leading others astray in the process, do you really think you can lie to me and I won't know it?" He took a sip of wine and sat back in his chair.