I motored back to the Key West Bight in a drizzling rain. I'd changed into my street clothes and put on a windbreaker I'd carried to the boat earlier. I belted the dive knife and scabbard to my arm under the jacket, and put the pistol in the pocket. I stowed the dive gear under the tarp in the bow. By the time I docked the boat, I was soaked, and it was nearing three a.m. I'd call the kid from the dive shop in the morning and ask him to retrieve my equipment and store it. I started walking toward my rooming house.
The light rain continued, leaving a thin sheen of water on the pavement. The streets were empty, the rain dampening the usual carousing on Duval Street. The colored lights that adorned the windows of the bars reflected off the wet streets, giving the appearance of many small rainbows. The smell of the sea tickled my nose.
I stopped at the corner, two doors down from where my rooming house loomed out of the darkness. I wanted to make sure there were no bad guys watching for me. The street was quiet and deserted.
I climbed the stairs to my room, key in hand. I saw light coming from under the door. I was sure I'd turned the lights off before I left that morning.
I pulled the nine millimeter from the pocket of my windbreaker. I eased up to the door, listening for any sound. I heard a thud, as if someone had kicked the wall, then quiet again. I tried the doorknob. It turned, and I pushed quickly into the room, my Glock held in front of me.
"Don't shoot, podner," said a familiar voice. "I'm a friendly."
Jock Algren was splayed out on my bed. A muscle-bound man was trussed up in the corner, a gag in his mouth. He kicked the wall with his bound knees, making the thud I'd heard from the hall.
"Who's your friend?" I said, lowering the gun.
"Says his name is Martin Holcomb."
"Is he telling the truth?"
"I think so. He wouldn't tell me at first, but with a little encouragement he fessed up."
Holcombe's little finger on his right hand was pointing at an odd angle. "What happened to his finger?"
"I broke it."
"Ali, a little encouragement."
"Yeah. He's a sissy."
"Who is he?"
"He works for an outfit called The Circle. Told me he lives in a place named Blood Island. I found him in your room when I came to visit."
I had met Jock Algren on the first day of eighth grade, and he became my best friend. We'd stayed close during the intervening years. Jock was an oil company executive, but unknown to most anybody, he moonlighted as an operative of our country's most secretive spy agency.
"What're you doing here?" I said.
"Logan called me this afternoon. I was in Miami and caught a commuter flight down."
I was glad to see jock, but a little surprised that Logan had called him. "What did Logan have to say?"
"He said you'd called and wanted him to bring your boat down and to bring some weapons. He told me you were looking for Laura's stepdaughter. He wasn't sure what was going on, but asked if I could get out of Houston in time to come with him. I told him I was in Miami and that I'd check things out and get back to him."
I pointed to the man on the floor. "What're you going to do about him?"
Jock winked at me. "I thought I'd kill him."
The man squirmed and mumbled something from behind the gag.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"It's not important,"Jock said. "Do you want to kill him here or wait until we get outside?"
The mumbles became louder, the squirming more intense.
"Let's see what he has to say," I said, walking toward the trussed up man.
I leaned down, holding my knife so that he could see it, and whispered into his ear. "If you do anything more than talk to us, I'm going to gut you like a fish. Understand?"
The man nodded, and I removed the gag. I recognized him as the man I'd seen drive Simmermon's boat away from the restaurant earlier in the day.
He licked his lips and worked his jaw, tried to speak, and tried again. This time a raspy voice came through. "Don't kill me."
"I can't see much reason for keeping you alive," I said. "Besides, you were going to kill me."
"No, I wasn't. I was just going to take you back to the island. The Rev wants to see you."
"Why?"
"I don't know He just does."
"How did you know where to find me?"
"I showed your picture around, and the old lady who runs this place told me you were here."
"Okay. Give me a good reason not to kill you and the old lady too."
"I don't care about the old lady, but I can give you some information about what the Rev plans."
"Tell me."
"You won't get out of Key West alive. The Rev has people watching the airport and car and boat rental places. U.S. One is the only road out, and they've got men watching that."
"Okay, but that's not much. What kind of plans does Simmermon have?"
"You won't kill me?"
"If you lie to me, and I'll know if you do, you're dead. Understood?"
"Yes," lie said. "The Rev is going to blow something up."
"What?"
"I don't know. He keeps talking about the big bang, and laughing. Says it'll change the world."
"Why do you think that means he's going to blow something up?"
"He's been bringing a lot of explosives to the island. C-4 and some dynamite. I've seen it, but I don't know what his plans are."
"You just told me you were going to tell me about his plans. Now you're telling me you don't know what they are? I think you're a dead man."
"No. Honestly. That's all I know. Man, I'm telling you everything I know."
I looked at Jock, who nodded. I replaced the gag and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed the number Mendosa had given me and left my name and number with the machine. In less than ten seconds, my phone rang.
"Mr. Royal, I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Mendosa."
"Do you know who I am?" I asked.
"Yes. Cracker Dix's friend. What can I do for you?"
"I've got another man I need put on ice."
"Where are you?"
I gave him the address and hung up.
Jock was sitting on the side of the bed. "What's that all about?"
"A friend of a friend. I'll explain later."
I motioned jock to follow me out of the room. We stood in the hall, and in a low voice I brought him up to date on what was going on, and what I'd been up to in the two days I'd been in Key West.
"Laura's missing too?" he asked, when I'd finished.
"Yes. At least as of this morning, she was still gone. Her husband would have called me if she'd turned up. I'm worried sick about her. I think Peggy is okay, and with any luck we'll have her back home tomorrow. But what the hell happened to Laura? She didn't just wander off."
I heard steps on the stairway, and the two men who'd come to Michelle's house earlier appeared. I led them into the room, and they both picked up the trussed man and left. Neither said a word.
"I've got to make a phone call," said Jock. "Why don't you get a shower? You stink."
When I returned from the bathroom, Jock was sitting in the only chair in the room. "You look beat," he said. "Get a couple of hours of shut-eye. I'll watch the place."
"Are you going to stick around for tomorrow night's festivities?"
"Wouldn't miss it. I made a couple of calls. Logan is going to meet one of my colleagues at the dock at Moore's Stone Crab Restaurant at first light. He'll load the boat with some more firepower in case we need it. Logan will shove off as soon as the weapons are aboard. He said he should be at Faro Blanco by noon."
"I thought you'd retired from all this."
"I did, but I was called back on a special mission. One of our guys was killed in Sarasota. The agency found me playing golf in Australia, and told me to get to Miami. They've got some leads."
"Why you?"
"Because of you."
"I don't get it."
"You found our guy's body. My boss knows we're friends, so here I am."
"The man in the vulture pit?"
"Yes."
"You know where the body is?"
"Buried in his family plot in Iowa."
"The Sarasota cops know about this?"
"No," he said. "We take care of our own."
"So, that's the reason his fingerprints weren't on file."
"Yes. But when the local cops ran the prints, we were notified. We took it from there."
"What's in Miami?"
"Probably nothing. I was supposed to meet one of our agents tomorrow and get completely briefed. Until today, I didn't know what our man was doing in Sarasota, or what kind of case he was working on."
"Do you need to get back to Miami?"
"No. I needed to talk to you anyway."
"I really don't know anything, Jock. I just found the body."
"When I called to get Logan set up, I was told that you might have stumbled into something that's related to what our agent was looking into."
"What?"
"The Reverend Robert William Simmermon. Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."
I looked at my watch. Almost four a.m. "We can count on a two-hour drive to Marathon," I said. "The traffic is always terrible on U.S. One. Wake me up in a couple of hours."
He nodded his agreement.
"I'm glad you're here, old friend," I said, and fell onto the bed and into a deep sleep.