Brigands Key Read online

  “Didn’t waste time, did they?”

  “Nope. And then one day my grandfather and great-grandfather were out on a fishing trip and just never came back.”

  “Were they caught in a storm?”

  “No. Perfect weather. And they were old salts by then and had worked in gale-force winds without a hitch. But neither they nor the boat were ever seen again.”

  “Well, your grandfather was murdered,” Hammond said.

  Sanborn scratched the stubble on his chin. “Any theories circulated back then?”

  “Of course. Lots. It’s a small town. Nothing official was ever decided, other than fishing mishap, but no one bought it. There was talk that Andy hated his new role as husband and father and people figured he would just up and leave one day. He threatened to. Andy never got on too well with his father after he washed out of the Army. Daniel was real old school and figured something was wrong with the kid. Really wrong, and he let him know it. The rift grew. The rumor went around that Andy went a little crazy and killed his own father and then took off in the boat. To Cuba, maybe.”

  Sanborn faced Julie, forcing himself to speak softly. “Is there a chance Daniel killed Andy?”

  Julie’s eyes burned him with the sudden guarded heat of family secrets. “No. I don’t know. Families murder the ones they love first, don’t they?”

  * * *

  The lull that followed the first squall line was short and temperamental and soon vanished. As dusk gathered, a second squall raced in, a train of charcoal clouds slicking the streets. Gusts buffeted Sanborn’s Jeep as he drove Julie back to her house. She was quiet on the way. When they arrived, he swung out of the vehicle and hurried to her side and put his arm around her, shielding her against the rain. She didn’t resist and leaned into him. His body felt warm and strong. A port in a storm.

  “What we talked about earlier,” he said. “Will you do it?”

  She hesitated. “Lead an insurrection? Get shot to pieces?” She turned to look him in the eyes. In the failing light, they were points of gold, full of passion. She suddenly knew. “My family has a history here,” she said in a small, calm voice. “I’m the good Denton, the good girl from the questionable family, the good girl that keeps her nose clean, does her job, stays out of trouble. I think it’s about damned time all that changed.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Darkness fell hard and early Friday in the shadow of the approaching hurricane. Lieutenant Louis Fisk leaned against the Humvee, sheltering against the breeze and a light rainfall, trying to light a cigarette. At last, the tip glowed red and he puffed it into life.

  His initial unit of seven Humvees was up to ten, with ten more fanned out along the mainland coast, watching for any movement off the island. At the bridge, barricades now barred the roadway, with half a dozen klieg lights lighting the area like day, powered by a pair of roaring generators. Two more floodlights swept the channel in both directions. The troops were in full combat gear, body armor and all.

  And gas masks. His men all had gas masks dangling from their necks. They hadn’t even used the masks when he was in Iraq.

  What a screwed-up mess this was.

  He’d lived his whole life in Florida and had seen some bone-rattling weather, but this monster had him worried like no other. You got out of the way when a hurricane came, even a run-of-the-mill one. You don’t sit there in the path of a Big Nasty, hoping for the best, hoping it turns aside.

  Sergeant Jennifer Stokes climbed down out of the cab and came to join him. “Not good news, Lieutenant,” Stokes said. “Brigands Key looks more and more like the bull’s-eye for Celeste.”

  “Damn it. Okay, get Captain Garcia on the radio. I want directions.”

  “But we heard from him only two hours ago.”

  “Just do it, Stokes! Two hours is forever in this situation.”

  Stokes trundled off unhappily.

  Fisk took another drag off his cigarette.

  That hick cop was a jack-off, but he was right. Fisk was standing guard over doomsday. He and his men had turned away folks ever since they took on this rotten post. Three-dozen families at least. The first were meek and compliant. They turned with little argument and slunk back home. Since then, they’d been more and more frequent, more and more belligerent. Anger and desperation were stewing.

  His stint in Iraq had shown him that kind of mix. Frustration had a knack for festering. After Iraq, he’d had enough of the Guard. Finish out his stint, no more re-ups. Yet here he was, with an M4 and a gas mask.

  A pickup approached over the bridge, its headlights arcing up and lowering as it topped the crest of the bridge. At a hundred yards, it slowed to a crawl. Fisk tossed his cigarette and crushed it beneath his heel. “Stokes, you get hold of Garcia yet?”

  “Yes, sir, his secretary is patching us now.”

  “Give me the radio. I want you down here. Swing the search beam onto that pickup. In their eyes.”

  Stokes brought him the radio and angled a searchlight toward the pickup. Its beam pierced the darkness, the slanting rain glowing bright within it like meteors. The pickup was one of the big, super-cab ones. A monster Chevy. A real dick-compensator. Great. All they needed right now.

  The beam bathed the interior of the truck in white. Inside, squinting and shielding their eyes, were a young man, a pretty young woman, and a little boy standing in the seat between them.

  Fisk kept his eyes on the pickup and squeezed the transmit switch on the radio. “Captain Garcia, this is Lieutenant Fisk. Request a status update, sir.”

  Static crackled on the radio. “Lieutenant, the status has not changed. Stay with your post.”

  “Sir, people are getting real antsy out here.”

  “No doubt. But no one gets by you. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Seems a little extreme, is all. The Guard usually helps people when hurricanes come.”

  “Extreme? Fisk, listen to me. There is some serious shit going on. This is not Governor Crawford’s doing. This is national. The Florida National Guard has been federalized by President Rawlings.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “It’s a national emergency, Fisk. That bug gets off the island and we got the apocalypse loose among us. No one, do you hear, no one is to get off the island. No matter what the weather does.”

  Easy for you to say, Fisk thought.

  The pickup crept forward slowly, cautiously. At twenty yards, Sergeant Stokes signaled it to stop.

  The driver complied.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Fisk said, “we’ve got another family to turn back. I’ll stay on the line.” Fisk waved at his troops. “Masks on, people. Stokes, keep the lamp on them. Ferguson, come with me.” He pulled his own mask back over his face and breathed in the stale air.

  They approached the pickup carefully, Fisk with his hand raised high. He motioned the driver to lower his window. The man complied, scowling.

  “Sir, you’re going to have to turn the vehicle around and return to the island.”

  “Like hell,” the young man said.

  “Sir, this is not a request. Turn the vehicle around.”

  The man shook his head angrily. “Look, I got a little boy and a pregnant wife here. You got to let us off the island. You got to.”

  Fisk hesitated. A pregnant wife. Wouldn’t you just know it? He became aware of the quickening of his own breathing, ominous in the gas mask. He glanced at Ferguson. The soldier’s eyes were watching him intently, judging his leadership. Why was nothing ever easy? He steeled his nerve, drew himself up. “I’m sorry, sir. Orders are orders, and these are from the highest level. Turn your vehicle around.”

  “No, you don’t understand—”

  “Turn the goddamned truck, sir! Now!”

  The young guy muttered something under his breath, his eyes burning into Fisk’s. He put the pickup in reverse and backed at an angle and turned the truck around. The truck moved slowly back up the bridge to Brigands Key and disappeared over the crest.
/>   Fisk pulled his mask off and blew a sigh of relief. The seal of the mask was moist; he’d been sweating heavily. He nodded to Ferguson and they plodded glumly back to the roadblock. Fisk picked up the radio. Garcia was still there. “Captain, this is frankly an unworkable situation.”

  “Maybe so. But that’s not for you to worry about, now is it? You’ll carry out your orders to the best of your ability or I’ll have you court-martialed. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m just expressing my concern for my men.”

  “We’ve got regular Army moving down from Pensacola, Lieutenant. A whole battalion. I don’t want them shoving us aside because we can’t handle a job. I—”

  Garcia’s lecture was drowned out by the roar of a gunned engine. Fisk spun about, looked out at the bridge.

  The pickup, its headlights switched off, had turned and was speeding over the bridge straight for them.

  Stokes swung the searchlight back onto the pickup. In the cab the young driver squinted into the light, his face clenched with fury. His wife and son stared ahead with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

  “Crap,” Fisk shouted. “Ferguson, fire a warning shot!”

  Ferguson fired a short burst into the air. The truck raced ahead, ignoring the gunfire. Fisk pounded on the lead Humvee. “Everyone out! Positions!”

  Three Guardsmen poured out of the Humvee and deployed to the side.

  The pickup accelerated. Its headlights flashed suddenly on, high beams. Fisk squinted against the sudden bright glare.

  The pickup couldn’t possibly squeeze between the Humvees, couldn’t blast them out of the way without destroying itself. Fisk glanced at the ends of the bridge. There was only one way past, a narrow gap between the lead Humvee and the guardrail on the south lane of the bridge. The driver planned on crashing through the guardrail at that point and banging off the front of the Humvee onto the shoulder of the road. A massive truck with four-wheel drive might just be able to pull it off. There was no time to shift the Humvees and close the gap.

  “Ferguson, disable the vehicle. Shoot out the tires.”

  Ferguson shook his head, lowered his weapon.

  The Chevy bore down, gaining speed. There was no time to spare. Fisk raised his M4 and fired.

  Bullets struck the pavement below the Chevy. Sparks flew off the concrete. He drew careful aim, fired again.

  The pickup’s front tire exploded, rubber flailing out and away from the vehicle. The truck swerved crazily, first one way, then another. It slammed into the concrete guardrail, shattering it, throwing chunks of concrete spinning into the air. The truck broke through the guardrail and plunged over the side.

  And then it was gone.

  The sound of a great splash reached them. Fisk ran to the shattered rail and peered over.

  The tailgate of the pickup was all that was visible. With a hiss of bubbles, it slipped under the water. Red taillights glowed and sank.

  Oh God oh God oh God…

  “Ferguson, Stokes, get down here!” The Guardsmen stripped off their masks, jackets, and shirts, cast aside their weapons, and plunged into the water, headed for the truck.

  Fisk swam to the foaming bubbles that marked the point of the truck’s descent. In the dark water the lights still glowed.

  He drew a deep breath, steeled his nerves, looked under…

  Below, through the rear window of the cab, the little boy stared upward, screaming in silence, his eyes wide with terror. Eyes that sank like knives into Fisk’s soul.

  His stomach lurched and he vomited.

  * * *

  Kyoko stabbed the buttons on her phone and waited impatiently through the ringing of the phone at the other end. She glanced at the clock. It was late, but with a national crisis on their hands, Greer had damned sure better be at work.

  His secretary answered. “I’m sorry, Dr. Greer is in a very important meeting at the moment.”

  “Interrupt it. I don’t care who he’s with.”

  “Dr. Greer flew to Washington and got there an hour ago. He’s meeting with the Secretary and the President as we speak. It’s of the utmost importance.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’m caught in the middle of the thing and I’ve got the inside view they need. Get him on the line, Roberta. Now.”

  Roberta hesitated. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Kyoko tapped her foot anxiously. She heard a door open and turned to see Grant and Hammond enter. She motioned them to take a seat.

  Roberta spoke again. “Go ahead, Dr. Nakamura.”

  Greer’s voice came on the line. “How are you, Kyoko?”

  “I want to know what the plan is.”

  Greer snorted. “Very well. The quarantine will go forward.”

  “You can’t do this to us!”

  “Calm down, Kyoko. I might add that I’m with the President and you’re on speaker phone.”

  “Good. He should hear this. You’re making a huge mistake. This town is exploding. Three more have died, fifteen minutes ago.”

  “We understand. That’s why we’re containing the problem. The virus cannot be allowed to reach the mainland. Our computer models…”

  “These three were a young family. A fisherman, his pregnant wife, and their little boy. They died when their truck went off the bridge. When the National Guard shot at them.”

  “Oh Jesus.” It was the President’s voice. “Are you sure?”

  “You’ll see it on CNN any minute now. Julie Denton is leading a march across the bridge, with cameras rolling, as we speak.”

  “Oh Jesus. Okay. Ron, get to work on that. Pre-emptive press release. Regrettable loss of life, difficult job, accidents under stress, that sort of thing.”

  “Already on it, sir,” Ron said.

  “Dr. Nakamura,” the President said, “thanks for the heads-up. These things have a way of biting you in the ass. Well done.”

  They don’t get it at all, Kyoko thought. “When are you going get us out of here, Mr. President?”

  There was a pause, a murmur of voices. Greer spoke. “Dr. Nakamura, you know the situation. The threat to the nation is real. No one leaves the island.”

  “We’re all going to drown!”

  “Doctor… Kyoko, listen to us. We might be dealing with a Biosafety Level 4 virus. The worst of the worst, and as yet unidentified. Our computer model shows a viral plague this infective, once it crashes into the human population, could leave twenty million Americans dead within a month. If the mortality rate is only 10%. So far, we have no real idea what the rate is. Suppose it’s 50%? Then we could be looking at 150 million dead in the U.S. alone, and a total collapse of society. And there’s no way of knowing if it’ll run its course or just keep spreading and killing. Weigh that against a thousand dead on Brigands Key. Do you want the deaths of 150-million on your head?”

  “Paul! Listen to me! It’s not viral. It’s environmental.”

  “And you base that conclusion on what?”

  Kyoko hesitated. She didn’t have a good answer, but she knew she had the right one. “Instinct, sir. This isn’t behaving like a virus.”

  “Nor like a poisoning, which is what you want to believe.”

  “Doctor,” the President said, “you can appreciate the gravity of the situation. My experts tell me the chance of Celeste hitting you is less than fifty-fifty. She’ll make landfall about forty miles north. You’ll get some nasty weather but nothing you can’t get through. I’ve directed FEMA to move units into place on the mainland. Bio-containment is our first priority. CDC and USAMRIID are mobilizing field hospitals and labs, and a Navy hospital ship is being deployed from Key West. As soon as the storm passes they’ll be moving in to assist.”

  “There won’t be anyone left to assist.”

  “The decision’s been made, Doctor.”

  “The decision is wrong. Governor Crawford is on his way here to say so himself.”

  “Ron, what the hell is she talking about?”

  “I—I don’t know, sir…”


  “Guess Crawford didn’t let you know,” Kyoko said. “He’s going to re-commandeer the Florida National Guard and abandon the quarantine. He’s going on CNN to tell the nation that you’ve usurped states’ rights.”

  “Like hell he will,” bellowed the President. “He can’t de-federalize the Guard. That’s executive privilege. Ron, get that son of a bitch on the phone.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Damn, Tom,” Kyoko said. “You’ve got a full-blown constitutional crisis on your hands. Bet you didn’t count on that. Paul, are you sure you want to be tied to this sinking ship?”

  “Careful, Doctor,” Greer said.

  “Have it your way, Paul. Mr. President, I sensed something was wrong down here and I had to sneak in to be allowed to investigate. Now that we know something is wrong, Greer is overreaching. He bungled Taos and I took the blame. He’s bungling this and I’m taking the blame. He’s a panicked little man and we’re being sacrificed to his stubbornness.”

  “Young lady,” Rawlings said, “I didn’t get where I am by second-guessing. You are an officer of the United States government. You have a job to do and you’ll do it to the best of your abilities. Do I make myself clear?”