No Rules, Ridge King [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

years and the final fruits that might’ve come from their continuing relationship. He sighed slightly and decided it was something he’d have to live with, for the good work he and Slanetti were undertaking, for the good of the country, even with Eric silently knowing. He’d lost a good friend because of his efforts to see Sam Houston St. Clair replace him.

When he thought about it objectively, he wasn’t losing as much as some others.

Norwalk looked up and realized Slanetti hadn’t left.

“Was there anything else, Mr. President?”

Norwalk reached out for an apple and tossed it to Slanetti.

“Yeah. You might as well take an apple—they’re paid for.”

Chapter 2

RIPPED OFF

Vlad and Derek spent most of the trip back to Key West comparing the half empty bundles they recovered from the Mirta with the photos Vlad’s divers took the day before when the money was still in the narco-sub.

“You said you had $20 million on this sub,” Vlad said.

“That’s right,” said Derek. “Duarte was crewing on the sub as part of his undercover DEA assignment. When they dropped their load of coke off north of Big Pine Key—I think they use that empty shoreline along Bahia Honda State Park—they loaded up with our money.”

“Maybe they loaded up with someone else’s money, too.”

“Well, why not? We’re not the only ones who want to get bulk cash offshore.”

“Comparing these pictures with what we have here in the boat, it looks like there was at least $50 million in the sub, don’t you think?”

“That’s what it looks like to me,” said Derek.

“Tell me about Duarte again.”

“The Mirta sinks—why I don’t know—and Duarte is the only survivor, but of course he didn’t tell me he survived, he told Flores, and that’s when they got together to fuck me out of my money.”

“And the other people’s money, too,” Vlad added.

“Yeah.”

“Definitely the Sinaloa Cartel’s money, the extra on board.”

“It figures,” said Derek.

“And that’s when you and Howard Rothman came to me and Napoleon to give you men to follow these guys, Flores and Duarte.”

“Exactly.”

Kucherov got up and stretched, looking ahead as Key West loomed on the horizon, its white houses and hotels sparkling in a turquoise sea beneath puffy white clouds. They’d be in port within the half hour.

“It looks like somebody was watching us while we were watching Flores and Duarte. How else can you explain the money disappearing like that, overnight?”

“There is no explanation. But if Duarte was the only survivor, who else could’ve known about the money, as well as where it was located?”

“Somebody had to follow us, or follow them. They had to,” said Kucherov. “What was it Flores was going to do for you?”

“Before you shot him?” Derek said with a sneer.

Kucherov walked over to Derek and leaned down, his hands on his knees, so he was face to face with Derek.

“If you remind me one more time that I shot these asshole Cubans, I might just decide you should join them. That would sadden me because we’d never get to work together again.”

Derek stood up, just to get a little air between him and Kucherov.

“He was going to help some friends of mine get $25 million over to the Bahamas next week.”

“For how much?”

“A substantial fee, shall we say?”

“We can discuss that deal later.”

When they returned to port, Vlad climbed out of the fishing boat.

“The trip wasn’t a total loss,” he said to Derek.

“No, we ended up with maybe $400,000, give or take. Still, it’s not $20 million.”

“Or $50 million,” said Vlad.

“Yeah,” said Derek.

“Gregor, come here,” Vlad called out.

The hulking Gregor moved closer, his shaved head revealing his Cossack ancestry.

“Yes, Vlad?”

Vlad put a hand on Gregor’s shoulder.

“I want you to go to a store and find an RF detector, all right?”

“OK.”

“Bring it to the marina where we rented the Cigarette boat we used yesterday. We’re going there now.”

Gregor nodded and was off.

“What’s an RF detector?” asked Derek.

“It’s a ‘radio frequency’ detector. I have a hunch.”

An hour later, when they were all at the marina, Vlad talked to the boat owner and got permission to go down to the boat.

“Gregor, scan it.”

“It took less than a minute for Gregor to find what Vlad was looking for. It was attached under the gunwale far forward. Gregor pulled it off and handed it to Vlad.

“What’s that?” asked Derek.

“That, my friend, is a GPS-RT1,” said Vlad, turning it over in his hand, “a self-contained waterproof magnetic-mounted tracker that sends an updated location every five seconds to a satellite and reports this information to whoever installed the device.”

“So that’s how they knew where the sub was.”

“Not exactly. That’s how they knew where we were,” said Vlad.

“They knew we were going after the sub, following Flores and Duarte,” said Derek, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yes, but these guys were not sitting in an office in Miami following our path. They had to be out on the water near the site at the same time we were because otherwise how could they have moved in so fast—and with the proper equipment—to get the money out of the sub and onto their boats?”

“That makes sense,” said Derek.

“We left the sub around noon. We didn’t have time to go back, bring out the fishing boats and haul the money up. They moved in when we came back to Key West. They had all afternoon, about six or seven hours of daylight, to do the work.”

“And we show up the next day bright and early,” said Derek.

“Yes,” said Vlad.

“And it’s all gone.”

“Exactly.”

“But who? Who could it be?” asked Derek.

“I don’t know,” said Vlad with a devilish smile, repetitively tossing the GPS device up in his hand