“He have any close friends he might go to?”
“Naw. He did call one fella a lot, and the guy called him, too. He came by the house a coupla times.”
“What’s his name?”
“Never heard it. He was from up north. New York or Boston. Talked real fast, and funny, but always dressed nice, like he was a banker or a lawyer.”
Tasker thought of one more thing as she said, “Turn here.”
He slowed and pulled off the paved road onto a soft, muddy road that cut between two long strips of Brazilian peppers. Some people called them Florida Holly, but they definitely weren’t native plants. The thin long branches of the low trees crept out toward the two-lane asphalt road. Tasker turned off 344th onto the uneven, winding trail. Several times the Cherokee almost bogged down, feeling like it might get stuck in the soft sand.
Once he had a grip on the vehicle’s handling, he asked Alicia, “Why was Daniel learning to drive a big rig?”
“He just wanted to learn. I asked him if that meant he’d be gone truckin’, ’cause I didn’t want to stay alone with them kids. He said he wouldn’t be leavin’. But he kept going to that school.”
Tasker nodded. He slowed the car when he saw the narrow canal with the lime-green water. The patchwork of canals here were used to cool the power plant. The fresh water was pumped in and out of the plant, keeping this marsh area off-limits to developers. As a result, it was also one of the largest habitats for crocodiles in the Northern Hemisphere. Over the years, Tasker would occasionally see one on a bank or in the water, but never up close. Their reputation for being more aggressive than alligators made him keep his distance. This little dirt road was about as close as you could get without trespassing on Florida Power and Light land.
Alicia said, “This was his place. He came out here all the time.”
“Any idea where the box is buried?”
She shook her head.
Sutter said, “Can’t be that hard to find. Look for disturbed dirt.”
The problem was that with the dirt-bike tire tracks and the soft dirt, it was a giant upturned sandbox.
Tasker said, “Let’s look at it like a crime scene. Figure where he would stand to fish and how far he could see.” He had Alicia point out the tree Wells usually sat under. Tasker took his place and turned to survey the field. Almost immediately, he saw the square patch of upturned dirt near the edge of the brush line where they had entered.
Tasker said, “Jackpot.”
Jimmy Lail was frustrated by the way Camy had been acting. The girl’s attitude was downright disrespectful. He could handle a lot but not being disrespected by his bitch.
He dialed her cell phone again. When her message came on instead of her, he pushed the “off ” button so hard the phone casing cracked.
Between the way Tasker had treated him and now Camy, he was losing his cool.
He’d show them. When he got the good spot at the Bureau, they could all kiss his ass.
…
It was time for Daniel Wells to gather the last pieces of his plan together. He probably had enough TATP left to do the job, but wanted to get the rest from his box in case he needed it later. A run out there to clean out the box, and then off to borrow one of the Big Rig Academy’s teaching units. He even had a place to stash it for a day until he needed it. He was still a little worried about backing up to a tanker unassisted, but decided that for a one-time shot he could do it.
He barreled down East Palm until he saw the Homestead speedway, when he remembered the vigilant cop who had stopped him a while back. He backed off the gas and slowed to fifty-five. It was a nice afternoon and he wished he’d had a fishing pole, since he was headed to his favorite spot, but he knew he’d never be able to concentrate on fishing with his plan so close. His body had tingled all over for the last three days as the time drew closer. This would be big, but nothing compared to what he intended next. He already knew his target. He had grabbed a book from the library about how to do it. He would make this feeling last and last.
He slowed as he approached his turnoff.
It didn’t take much to uncover the lid to the box, buried about eight inches under the soft sand. Tasker and Sutter focused hard on the box, to give Alicia a few minutes to handle private business. Even though they offered to drive her to a restroom, she said she had used the bushes plenty of times and headed into the thick brush.
Sutter reached down into the box. “Looky here.” He held up a glass container. “Don’t need no lab tests to tell me what this is.”
Tasker nodded. “What else is in there?”
Sutter leaned back down, setting the bottle gently on the soft dirt next to the box. “Let’s see. A box of fuses, some cash.” He sat up again and ran his fingers against the tightly bound twenties. “Bet it’s close to a thousand.”
Tasker nodded his head.
Sutter said, “No, really. I bet you. If it’s within fifty bucks off a thousand, I get to keep it. If not, then it’s yours.” He flashed his smile.
Tasker said, “Funny.” He snatched the money from Sutter’s hand before he could count it and crammed it in his front pocket. He looked at his friend. “Evidence.”
“Man, you are paranoid.” He leaned back into the box. “Whoa, now here’s some evidence.” He pulled up a small Smith & Wesson.38-caliber revolver, his two fingers holding it by the trigger guard. “What would an engineer need with this?”
Tasker took the gun, also by the trigger guard, and added, “Why would he hide it out here?”
Sutter grabbed the last item, examined it briefly and said, “A map of the county.” Then he looked in the box and added, “And a roll of duct tape.”
Tasker stood up and said, “He’s done if we ever find him.”
Sutter said, “We’ll find him in time.”
“But do we have any time?”
Wells whistled a Rush tune, “Free Will,” as his Ford Ranger bumped over the entrance to his fishing hole. He was hardly paying attention until he saw the gold Jeep Cherokee. It took him a second to notice the two men near his box, then another second to recognize the state cop, Bill Tasker, and that Miami cop named Sutter.
“How on earth did they find this?” he said out loud as he spun the wheel. The Ranger turned slowly in the soft sand. He saw the men spring up from the box and turn his way. For a second, he thought they might not recognize him. Then he heard Tasker yell, “Daniel, wait!”
Wells hit the gas, spraying dirt back onto the men. The only problem was that the sudden spinning of his wheels sunk them into the soft sand. He heard some pops as his side mirror shattered. Someone was shooting at him. He ducked instinctively and steered for the break in the tree line.
Tasker was running in his direction just as the wheels finally caught on harder ground. The truck lurched up out of the soft spot, and Wells yelped with relief-until he saw that Tasker had jumped onto the rear of the truck, then tumbled into the bed of the pickup.
“Oh shit,” said Daniel, as he saw the paved road. He hammered the gas pedal and turned the wheel hard when he hit the pavement, both to get some speed and in hopes of tossing the persistent cop out of the truck.
As he headed west on 344th, he looked in his rearview and was relieved to see an empty bed.
Tasker heard the vehicle coming down the dirt path and didn’t give it a second thought. “Fishermen,” he said to Sutter. Neither man recognized the old blue pickup, but it only took a second to recognize the driver. Without thinking, Tasker shouted, “Daniel, wait.” Like he was trying to catch up to an old friend at a ball game.
Sutter didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his right knee and pulled his backup Beretta.25 from an ankle holster. He brought the tiny, nonregulation semiautomatic pistol up in both hands like it was his full-sized Glock and started to pop away at the truck as it spun wildly and sprayed them with dirt. The small-caliber bullets had little effect, and in a few moments the truck’s tires caught on firmer ground.