There was a good deal of laughter and Carl laughed with the rest. But he noticed that Sean didn’t laugh, in fact he was staring at Ryan intently.
“What did you say?” Sean asked.
“I said she could neutralise the security systems and we could then initiate the attack.”
“No, before that?”
“We simply get a double, and…”
“That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen her. No, not her, but someone who looks almost like her, prettier, but they could be sisters. Here, in Miami, there’s this girl doing an act, as a mimic, and she’s absolutely brilliant. She can do a thousand women; singers, actresses, hell, she even did a perfect impression of the First lady.”
Sean patted his pockets and produced the leaflet he had taken from the club. It was slightly crumpled, as he had put his wallet in on top of it several times. He smoothed it out and passed it over to his chief.
Carl looked at the attractive girl smiling up at him from the leaflet, and then he stared at Sean.
“Do you mean to tell me that you think this crackpot idea has a chance?”
“Sir, what the hell have we got to lose? We know that Luis keeps most of his cocaine on that island, he has an army of guns and cash stashed there, so even when he leaves, he is so well guarded, we haven’t a chance. He only lets a few of his men off at a time and in fast jets or launches that can get away from nearly everything we’ve got. We need to get on the island and we have never attempted it when he wasn’t there. There was never any point, as we want him, but this could be the answer. So, why not?”
Carl looked at the picture on the screen and then at Sean.
“Okay, Sean, you get your head together with Mr Hobbs and complete a feasibility study. Before I make any decision, I need to know all our options and the risks involved.”
Sean returned to his office where Jenny was waiting for him with a load of paperwork.
“The reports from the last operation need your signature,” she said.
He took them from her,
“I’m so sorry about Chuck. I called Patsy earlier and she’s taken it bad.”
“Yeah, don’t I know it? Shit Jenny, where’s the friggin’ justice?”
Ryan Hobbs walked in at that moment.
He was a tall man of about twenty-five, with short-cropped sandy hair and looked quite fit. He walked with a pronounced limp.
“Mr Ellis, sir?”
“Come in, Ryan. Do you know Jenny Harris?”
“Agent Harris. Nice to meet you,” he said.
“That’s Jenny, good to meet you too,” she said.
“What happened to your leg?” Sean asked, as Jenny left.
Ryan reddened slightly, but grinned.
“Got shot, sir.”
“Shot?”
“I was a cop. Buffalo, New York. I walked into an armed robbery, and took a shotgun blast to my knee. I took out two of the perps, but I landed a desk job. I worked with Crime analysts for a while and then had to leave, as I just got bored outa my brain.
“I got an analyst’s job with the DEA in Buffalo and then asked for a posting down here, as my then girlfriend was moving here.”
“Then girlfriend?”
“She found a pro football player who gets paid ten times my salary, so I’m on my own again.”
“Tough break.”
“Yeah. Story of my life,” Ryan said. Sean liked the man.
“How long were you a cop?”
“Five years. I’m twenty-seven now.”
“Can’t they do anything with the leg?”
“I hope so, eventually. There are still some pellets in there and so I have to go back to the quack in a couple of months.”
“What’s your ultimate ambition, to get back on the force?”
“Uh, no sir. If my leg gets fixed, I either want to move to operational DEA or the FBI. I’ve been studying at night school, criminal law and psychology. I still go to the gym and with the exception of my knee; I guess I’m pretty fit.”
Sean nodded.
“Okay, let's see what we can come up with.”
They were at it all day. With aerial photographs, detailed list of the boats and aircraft and their schedules to and from the Island. Details of all Nadia’s trips and as full an itinerary as possible for each of Luis’s forays into the outside world.
Halfway through the afternoon, information that Nadia had left in a boat for the Keys came through and an agent was immediately sent to tail her.
“Okay, Ryan, you come with me,” Sean said, as an idea came to him.
“Where are we going?”
“You mentioned using a double, well; I think I know someone who would do the job.”
The pair of them drove to the Mangrove Swamp. The club was closed, but Sean managed to get into the manager’s office, by claiming to be an agent on the look out for new acts.
“Mr Reilly, I am Sean Ellis, I work with the theatrical agents who have a contract with some of the cruise lines. We are looking for versatile acts that would suit our clients. Now, I heard that you had a class act here, one Mamselle Michelle la Mimic?”
Grant looked at the two men in his office. ‘Theatrical agents my ass,’ he thought. He guessed that they were either Immigration or Treasury agents.
“She’s booked with us for another few weeks yet,” he said.
“We would very much like to get in touch with her. Can you tell me where she lives?”
Grant smiled.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t give that kind of information to anyone. If you want to speak to her, you’ll have to come by the club later.”
Sean and Ryan left, they could see that they were not getting anywhere with this man.
“Find out as much as you can on our Michelle and also on Mr Reilly. You never know, we may just find something that we can use as a lever,” Sean told Ryan.
Back in the office, they continued to look at the feasibility study and Sean actually thought that it was possible. The last all went wrong because the intelligence was fed to them by an informant. This time, as long as the fewer people knew as possible, there should be no way that the enemy would get any idea as to what was going down.
Ryan came in to see Sean; it was nearly six pm.
“What?”
“Sir, you ain’t gonna like this.”
“Go on.”
“This Michelle, I thought I’d try through the performers union, but she isn’t registered. Most performers have a website or at least their name somewhere for bookings. But nothing. Unless I get more details, she’s as unknown as Nadia.”
“Maybe they’re sisters,” Sean said, at a poor attempt at humour.
“I did get something on Mr Grant Reilly.”
“Really, what?”
“Well, it seems he’s done time. He ran a night club in New Jersey ten years ago, some said it was a front for the mob, but he got hit by the Treasury and IRS for a couple of million. It was being used for prostitution and money laundering. He did three years.”
“Go on.”
“Well, he came out with hardly a bean and got a job here instantly. Has a nice house and suddenly things look good for him.”
“So, he went to jail and his paymasters look after their own. No wonder he was less than friendly; he probably made us as soon as we walked in,” Sean said.
“So, how do we play this?”
“You were a cop, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Detective or uniform?”
“Both, ended up a detective, why?
“Suppose this Michelle has something to hide, maybe she is an illegal, or maybe she is running from something, what do you reckon Mr Grant Reilly would do, if he thought the feds were sniffing after her?”