He drove to Tampa Road and headed west, then headed south on Alternate US 19, and pulled off into a fast-food joint so he was directly situated between the Ozona marina and RichJo Lane in Palm Harbor. He didn’t want to be accidentally spotted by the FBI, and he parked on the side of the building. It was three a.m., and the streets were bare.
He opened the Arlo app on his cell phone. Arlo was a security company whose products could be purchased in any Best Buy or off the internet, a supply of which he kept in the trunk of his car. Their gadgets weren’t expensive, which was part of their appeal. Many times, he’d left them behind after a job, as he was planning to do now.
A few hours ago, he’d gone to Earl’s BBQ, and mounted four wireless security cameras to the gutters. Each camera had a crystal-clear picture, and allowed him to monitor the parking lot, as well as the road that led to the restaurant. No one was going to come onto that property without him seeing it. The system also had audio, and he now listened to the noisy frogs and crickets that lived in the bushes by the restaurant.
There was a drawback. The cameras had to be connected to a router to send their signal to the cloud. To solve that problem, he’d placed a Wi-Fi hotspot into an oak tree. Leaving the hotspot behind was a risk, since he paid a monthly fee to use it, and it could be traced back to him. Hopefully, the FBI wouldn’t do any climbing after the bust.
He switched apps, and stared at the purple dot. It was still out in the gulf. Dexter and the broker had spent a night on the boat. When the sun came up, they’d return to land, and drive down to Earl’s to pay off the gang. Once that happened, he’d put his plan into motion, and put Dexter out of his misery.
A tapping sound awakened her. Early-morning sunlight streamed through the camper window, and Daniels hopped out of bed, fearing she’d overslept. Opening the door, she found Baldini on the other side.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“The purple dot is moving. Dexter is coming ashore,” he said.
“Has there been any activity outside the BBQ joint?”
“No, it’s been quiet.”
“Give me a minute.”
Sixty seconds later, she came out of the bedroom, and went straight to the bank of computers where the other agents had gathered. Each screen showed a map of the gulf with the purple dot moving in a southeasterly direction. The dot came to shore, and stopped at a spot on the map that said Ozona. Dexter and the broker were about to tie up at the marina that she’d visited the day before. She considered sending a team to arrest them as they disembarked, but decided it was a bad idea. If Dexter alerted his gang with his cell phone, they’d vanish in the wind.
She couldn’t let anyone escape. It was her moral duty to bust every member of the gang, and to put them away. Men who trafficked were just as bad as murderers, and ruined just as many lives. The dot did not stay long at the marina, and soon was traveling north on Alternate US 19, the two men now in a car.
“They’re going to be here soon,” she said. “If they don’t turn down RichJo Lane, we’ll have to run them down.”
“We’re prepared for that,” Baldini said.
Baldini was keeping his distance. He would be nice to her from now on, but would he change? In her experience, guys like him never learned their lesson.
She went outside, and stood in the camper’s shadow, where she had a clear view of Alternate US 19, and could see every vehicle driving past. Baldini soon joined her. In his hand was a pack of smokes. He banged two out, and gave her one.
“Stick this in your mouth,” he said.
“No thanks,” she said.
“People come outside to smoke cigarettes. It will make you look normal.”
“I don’t look normal?”
“Come on, you know what I mean.”
He was playing nice, and she let him light her cigarette. A black pickup came into view, slowed, and put its blinker on. It had two passengers, both male. As it turned down RichJo Lane, she spotted the driver. Pushing fifty, with a droopy mustache and sideburns. Dexter and the broker had arrived.
“They’re here,” she said.
“I think we should nail them,” he said. “Just to be safe.”
“We need to wait. His friends will be arriving soon.”
“How can you be so certain his friends will come?”
A deafening roar interrupted her thoughts. A pair of Harleys driven by two guys decked out in black leather came down Alternate US 19 and turned down RichJo Lane. They were immediately followed by a line of cars and another motorbike, all of which made the turn. She gave Baldini a look.
“Need any more convincing?” she asked.
“You were right. Sorry,” he said.
“Let’s go put our body armor on, shall we?”
Fifteen minutes earlier, Lancaster had gotten a call from Trent.
“We’ve got some activity,” Trent said. “There’s a dinghy tied up to the boat with the victims. Two men just got on, and are heading north toward the marina.”
“Did you get a look at them?” he asked.
“You bet. The first guy was dressed all in black. His buddy was Hispanic, and wore shades and a lot of gold jewelry. He looked like a pimp.”
Dexter and the broker were heading to shore. It was time to put his plan into action, and he said, “Is your team ready to board the boat, and rescue the victims?”
“We’re all suited up. Just say when.”
“When.”
“Gotcha. Just to reconfirm, if one of these jokers gives us trouble, you want us to dispose of him, correct?”
“That’s right. My only regret is that I won’t be there to see you do it.”
“Well put. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
The line went dead. He put the phone away, and stared at the oncoming traffic. Rush hour was underway, and traffic was picking up. A black pickup appeared. It was moving slow, the driver’s window rolled down. Dexter was at the wheel, talking with the broker in the passenger seat. The vehicle was moving so slow that he could have run them down, and put a bullet in Dexter’s head.
He fought off the urge, and watched them pass.
The pickup was followed by two Harleys, their drivers a pair of mean-looking hombres. A stream of cars then followed. Most were commuters, as evidenced by the Starbucks cups in their hands. But several drivers didn’t fit that profile, and wore the chiseled features of men who’d spent a portion of their lives behind bars. A lone Harley brought up the rear, the driver’s hair blowing in the breeze.
The meeting at Earl’s was about to go down.
He opened the Arlo app on his cell phone. The four surveillance cameras were recording, and he watched Dexter and the broker pull in. The broker grabbed a briefcase off the back seat before following Dexter inside.
The Harleys appeared, and parked by the front door. The drivers hopped off their bikes, and also headed inside. Eleven cars followed, and their drivers shuffled into the building. Finally, the last Harley appeared.
Three Harleys and eleven cars equaled fourteen vehicles. There were fourteen victims including Rachel Baye and the stripper Lexi, and he realized that each of the kidnappers was accounted for, except for his brother, Logan, who couldn’t be there to claim his money.
He switched feeds. One of the cameras had a clear shot of the road outside the restaurant. Soon, the FBI would drive their armored vehicles down that road, and make the bust. It would be a military-style operation, and every agent involved would have sweaty palms. He’d worked with the FBI before, and seen how they reacted to high-stress situations. They were not people you wanted to provoke. When backed into a corner, they had no reservations about opening fire on their suspects.