Finding Faith
A Novel
By Randy Robison
Second Draft
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Chapter 1
Wednesday, March 4
5:42pm
It was just another work day. Andrew was finishing up the day's business. As he closed down his
spreadsheet, happy with the analysis and projections for the next month, the e-mail came in.
The tone alerted him to the presence of a new message - nothing new, just another e-mail. But
the subject line on this one was a little different.
“I Just Got My Pics Back From The Party!”
What pictures? What party? It was identified as coming from “Shandra”. Of course, this should
have been his first clue that it was “spam,” an unwanted, unsolicited piece of electronic junk mail;
but it had been a long day and he didn't spot it immediately.
Wondering who Shandra was, he opened the e-mail.
I know you'll like these. I couldn't believe how well they turned out!
www.geocities.com/shandra88/pics.htm
Andrew still didn't pick up on it. Perhaps someone sent him the wrong message. Or maybe his
memory was just slipping. Either way, he didn't know who Shandra was -- there was a Sandra in
the filing department and it could have been a typo -- but he didn't know what party he'd missed.
So he clicked the link.
Before he could even stop it, up came the photos. It was unbelievable. It was vile. It was the kind
of stuff that could get a company man fired. Andrew closed the window immediately, feeling a
little disgusted and ashamed for not picking up on the pornographic e-mail sooner. Granted, it
was well disguised, but their e-mail spam filter should have blocked it.
Then came another window, and another, and another. Soon, his monitor was filled with a dozen
windows, each one overlaying the other. Andrew clicked the top one closed.
“Lusty Lesbians!” it screamed, complete with photos to back up its claim. “Blondes Having Fun!
Free Tour!” the next window proclaimed, also with photos illustrating its purpose, just in case you
were wondering. He closed that window. And the next. And the next. He even closed one
featuring “Barnyard Chicks”.
Did I just see what I thought I saw? he thought as the window closed down. Not wanting to go
back, he just continued closing windows. Click, click, click…
Then, with just a couple of windows left, he saw it.
“Oh my God,” Andrew said out loud. He stopped his clicking frenzy and read the verbiage on the
site.
“Fresh Lolita TGP,” it said, whatever that meant. “Barely Legal,” one caption read. “Dads &
Daughters,” went another. But it was the image of one particular girl that made his heart race.
“Too Young For Some,” the caption read. Despite the inherent risks of viewing such material at
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work, Andrew clicked the photo. Another window popped up featuring the same young girl, this
time with part of a naked man in the photo.
“Young and Tender!” the text screamed. Andrew leaned in, studying the face. She appeared to be
underage, which was disturbing enough, but the most shocking fact was that the face was
familiar.
“Oh my God,” he uttered again as a bead of sweat formed on his forehead.
Thursday, March 4
7:35pm
A couple of hours later, Andrew was back in his condo, frozen dinner in the microwave, laptop
plugged into the wall. He had scribbled the address of the website on the back of some
salesperson's business card so he could come back to the pictures at home, safe from the
potential legal landmines of looking at porn in the office.
Porn. Porno. Pornography. Even the word itself felt dirty, distasteful. Despite rumors to the
contrary, many men find such material to be a turn off, and Andrew was one such man. Sure, he
enjoyed the beauty of a woman as much as the next guy, but the stuff on these websites was just
plain nasty.
He had an interest here, but it wasn't the naked women. It wasn't the sexually charged pictures
and words. And it certainly wasn't the weird stuff. It was that face. The face, and, yes, even the
body of that young girl who appeared to be about fifteen, sixteen years old. She stood fully
exposed with the sun at her side and blue-green water behind her as far as the camera's eye
could see. The wind blew her hair to one side and her body shimmered with sweat or water or
both. But his eyes were drawn to her face.
This was a face Andrew knew.
The microwave beeped, signaling that his “gourmet” meal was ready, so he grabbed a cola to
wash down the enchiladas, rice and re-heated refried beans, and sat down in front of his laptop
again. He clicked through the “Free Preview” section looking for more pictures of the same girl
and found two more. One from behind as she bent forward, looking back toward the camera,
offered a decent view of her face, though her wet hair clung to her cheeks and chin, hiding some
of the detail. The other showed her profile as a man hovered over her, fully exposed to the
camera. Her hands held a wooden rail behind her head, apparently that of a boat. Again, the
ocean glistened behind her.
But there was one important difference between the photos of this young girl and many of the
other photos. These fit the “amateur” category - the ones with natural lighting, as opposed to
studio lighting, with a rough, unpolished look to them. These photos did not look completely
posed, like most of the others. They were more like candid shots. This fact made them even more
disturbing.
Andrew saved the three pictures to his hard drive, clicked through links for another hour, then
finally went to bed. Morning would come early, but sleep would barely come at all.
Chapter 2
Thursday, March 4
6:15am
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Andrew half expected to have troubled dreams that night. Dreams where the girl in the photos
looked at him and said something dreadful. “It's your fault,” she might say. “Save me.” And then
he would wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. But in order to dream, one must sleep and
Andrew felt like he had been awake most of the night. In fact, he had. Old, familiar thoughts
awakened inside his head. Ideas he had buried long ago. Old ideas crawling with new life.
Ghosts arose out of the mist of suppressed memories to torment Andrew once more. Old wounds
seared with time, but never really healed, split open again. But instead of allowing the past to
suck the life out of him, leaving him in hopelessness and despair, Andrew took control of his
thoughts and forced his unanswered questions to fuel his quest for the truth.
When the alarm clock went off, Andrew dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. As he
washed away the morning grime, most of the scattered, buggy thoughts that danced in his head
all night went away. Only one clear thought remained. He must call Janie.
Thursday, March 4
10:00am
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“Much better, actually,” he replied, meaning every word of it.
“Still at Farnsworth?” she asked, referring to Farnsworth & Associates, the accounting firm where
he had worked for the last four years.
“Yeah, I am. They even made me a Senior Accountant.”
“Wow! Good for you,” Janie said. “I'm glad to hear that. I mean it, Andy, I'm really proud of you.”
“So how's the family?”
“Good. In fact, we just celebrated Stanley's third birthday. He's getting really big.”
Stanley. What kind of name is 'Stanley' for a kid anyway? he thought. Sounds like he's already
CEO of some stuffy corporation… like the one I work for.
“So what's on your mind, Andy,” she asked, getting down to business. “To what do I owe this
pleasure?”
He was not quite sure how to make the transition. He could have kept up the small talk for a
while, but he knew what he had to do. He also knew it wouldn't be easy.
“I've got some photos I'd like you to take a look at,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, they are, uh, a little uncanny in a way, I mean, they look familiar somehow,” he said.
“What are you talking about, Andy?”
That's Janie for you. Just get to the point. Come on out with it. Don't mess around, just say what
you mean. For so long, that had been one of the things he'd loved about her. But then it became
one of the things he'd hated about her.
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“I'm saying I ran across some pictures that,” he hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to state
it tactfully, “that look like you.”
“Where?” she asked. “And what do you mean, 'look like me?' Are they pictures of me or are you
suggesting something else?”
Not quite sure which question to answer first, he answered all of them at once.
“I ran across some photos on the internet that look like you when we first met, but they're not
pictures of you.”
A long, heavy pause. Then the exhale. The “I don't believe this is happening again” exhale.
“Andy,” she finally said, “I thought you were over this. I mean, I know we'll never be 'over' it, but I
thought you had moved on a bit.”
Ah, yes, 'moved on'. Sure it happened, but forget about it. Wait, don't forget about it, just put it out
of your mind. Just act like life goes on, because it does. Not for some people, but for everyone
else, life goes on. Where is it going? Well, we don't know, but as long as it's going, everything will
be fine.
“Janie, I'm not going back there. I've dealt with it. It's still with me every day, but I've learned to
cope. All I'm saying is that I'd really appreciate it if you would meet me for lunch and look at three
pictures. If you say I'm crazy, then fine: I'm crazy. It wouldn't be the first time. But please give me
a little credit for the last four years. Just do me a favor and look.”
He could feel her weighing it, the way she measured everything in her mind. He also felt like he
had a pretty good chance of winning her over on this one. He had done it so many times; he
figured he could do it again.
“Alright,” she said, “I'll meet you for lunch. Tomorrow or next week?”
“Tomorrow would be great,” he said. “I'd rather not wait the whole weekend.”
“Fine. Meet me near the mall? Mi Cocina? Donatelli's?”
“Mi Cocina is always good,” he said, knowing she was being considerate of his taste in food. “Can
you make it by 11:30? Beat the crowd?”
“Sure,” she said. “I'll meet you there. Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Promise me you won't start all over again. I won't be a part of that. I can't.”
“I promise,” he said. “Just take a look, tell me what you think, and I'm out of your life again.”
“Alright,” she replied. “I'll see you there.”
Andrew could still remember the day he met Janie. She transferred mid-semester to his high
school in the small Texas town of Athens during their junior year. They wasted six weeks avoiding
serious conversation until the end-of-the-year dance came around and Andy, as he was called
back then, couldn't imagine going to the dance with anyone else but her.
-5-
It took him all week to work up the courage to ask her, but he finally did it. She accepted right
away. He was a likeable boy and there really wasn't anyone else she wanted to accompany. After
that amazing night talking, gyrating ridiculously on the dance floor, and just being together, Andy
had made up his mind. They dated all summer, went “steady” all of their senior year and, after
Andy received a partial scholarship to Texas Christian University, Janie followed him to Fort
Worth as they both pursued higher education. Sure, it was a respected school and Janie's
parents had sufficiently pounded into her head the importance of getting a college degree, but
everyone knew the real reason she had gone to TCU - to be with Andy.
After two years of dorm life and an unacceptable level of separation, Andy and Janie got married
and moved into an apartment. They both worked -- Janie waiting tables at Toadie's, a popular
TCU pizza joint, Andy as a paid intern at an accounting firm downtown -- and completed their
education. After school, Andy went full time with the accounting firm and they soon became
pregnant. Faith Ann Mason was born on a typical, warm September day in the Methodist hospital
downtown. Both Andy's and Janie's parents were there, having made the two-hour drive from
Athens to witness the birth of their first grandchild. It was the glorious beginning of an AllAmerican family. It was just the way things should be. Six years later, almost to the day, it all went
to hell.
Chapter 3
Friday, March 5
11:15am
Andrew arrived at the restaurant first. He wasn't sure whether to get a table or wait, but after a
couple of minutes it became apparent that if he didn't get a table, they would surely have to wait a
while.
He had just sat down when she walked in. Janie looked good. Really good. Right after the divorce
she had joined a health club and started working out, as divorcees typically do. In the last few
years, she had managed to have another child and still stay physically fit. It was paying off, he
thought, as she made her way to the table.
He stood up, “You look great,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said and sat down.
“I went ahead and got a table so we wouldn't have to wait,” he said, opening what would surely
be an uncomfortable conversation.
“That's fine,” she said. “So do you like it at Farnsworth?”
Small talk. That's a good sign, he thought.
“Yeah, you know, it's good just to be working with Richard again,” he replied. Richard Jacobs was
Andrew's old manager from the accounting firm he had worked for straight out of TCU, who had
subsequently taken a Vice President's job at Farnsworth & Associates and hired Andrew back
again.
“So you just had a birthday party,” Andrew said.
“Yes, we did,” Janie replied, “we took them all to the King's Castle downtown. We saw knights in
armor, jousting, sword fighting, that kind of stuff.”
That cost quite a penny, Andrew thought, but merely pennies for Mr. North Dallas Business Man.
-6-
“That's nice,” he said.
There was a long pause in which Andrew tried to find some casual, common conversation
between the two of them. But after this long, there was nothing left to discuss, so he finally got on
with business.
“Listen, I know this is somewhat strange, but will you look at a them?” he asked.
“I said I would.”
Andrew pulled out a manila folder, opened it, and dumped out a sheet of photo-quality paper with
the three images printed out on his color HP printer. He slid it across the table for Janie to look at.
“What kind of pictures are these,” she immediately asked. Perhaps it was the lack of clothing in
the shots, or maybe it was the black spots where Andrew had cropped out the objectionable
content, just leaving the face to view.
“They are from a porn site on the internet,” he answered, not seeing any point in lying. “Notice
anything?”
"Why are you looking at this kind of..."
"I accidentally opened some junk mail at work in her picture popped up."
She studied them for a moment, looking from one to the other, then back again. Finally, she said,
“Look, if you're trying to say that it looks like me when I was a teenager…”
“Janie, they look exactly like you! I know that it's not you, you never posed for such things and
they look like more recent photos, but there aren't that many redheads in the world…”
“I know what you're thinking,” she said, “but there's no way. You're just looking for things again.”
“No, I'm not doing that again. I don’t go online to search for girls that look like you. I just ran
across it and it caught my eye unlike anything I've ever seen. And when I found the other two
shots, with a different perspective … she's even built just like you.”
“You think that this is Faith somewhere, all grown up?”
“I don't know,” he said. “I know it probably isn't… but I can't help wonder… what if it is?”
Janie slid the photos across the table and looked him straight in the eye.
“She's gone. You're making a another mistake.”
Andrew just sat there for a moment, his eyes on the table, his heart in the gutter.
“Andy,” she said, “please don't start again. You're finally doing well. Don't go backwards.”
She was right, he knew. She always was. But it was a rotten situation. The girl really did look like
Janie, even she didn't deny that point, and that left open the remote possibility…
Chapter 4
-7-
If the devil walked the earth in flesh and blood, he wouldn't be selling drugs on the street corner.
He wouldn't be robbing people while they slept or randomly shooting commuters on the subway.
Sure, he'd have his minions doing such things, but he himself would be kidnapping children.
Stealing the innocent ones from the safety of their homes; torturing their parents for the rest of
their lives.
Losing a child is always painful, but not knowing where they are, who they are with, whether or
not they are alive, why they are gone…. The questions are endless and the answers empty.
Faith was barely six years old. Andy and Janie loved her as much as any parents could. After
Janie miscarried, denying Faith that sibling close in age, they cherished their only child even
more. Their whole world revolved around their little family of three.
When she disappeared, the world stopped moving. It consumed every moment - every day, every
hour, every minute, every second - of Andrew's life for the next two years and brought nothing but
more questions, more confusion, and more pain. There was no way to stop the pain. Alcohol
soothed it a little for a short time, all the while stealing his career and eventually his marriage, but
nothing brought back his daughter. Without her, nothing mattered. At the end of four years (time
was now measured from the point she disappeared), Andrew had nothing. No money, no job, no
family, no marriage, no sanity.
Had it not been for his brother, Andrew probably would have died. Not that he cared; in fact, it
would have been a welcome relief.
Chapter 5
Friday, March 5
9:30pm
Friday night afforded Andrew guilt-free, late-night internet surfing. With no work on Saturday,
there was nothing to keep him from sleeping in late, which he routinely did. Usually, he would
stay up late on the weekend, catching a late movie or playing games with the guys from the
office. He rarely dated. At 39, the whole scene was completely different from the high-school
dating game.
But tonight, Andrew had a lot more on his mind than blind dates or card games. He was looking
for something.
“Teen Flesh” one site boasted. It made his skin crawl. Any man with a teenager would cringe at
this garbage. Girls sold in cyberspace for pennies. It was at once amazing and disgusting,
titillating and nauseating. But this was where the photos were… and perhaps more existed. If they
were there, Andrew was determined to find them.
He surfed through hundreds of photos, even putting $4.95 on a credit card to gain access to more
images. Several times he found photos that could've been the same girl, though it was too hard to
tell, since her face was covered or cropped out. But he never found any other useful images of
the same girl. He kept the three “good” photos out, to compare the face or the background, but
nothing matched.
Finally, just as he was about to give up for the night, Andrew noticed something on one of his
photos. There, in the bottom right-hand corner, was a word or something. Andrew pulled the
digital photo into an image editor and magnified it four hundred percent.
“Loganz Girlz” it said, in a sort of 70's psychedelic lettering. He opened a search engine and
typed in the words. Bingo! Up came a list of porn sites. He sifted through them, looking for photos
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of the girl, but he found no more. However, he did find one thing. The same logo appeared over
and over and all of “Loganz” photos had the same, amateurish quality to them. Now he was onto
something. Obviously, this was someone's logo, someone's brand of porn. If he could find the
owners of this brand, perhaps he could find the girl. But how do you find this sort of thing? You
couldn't just open up the phone book and look under “porn”. There had to be a way. But right
now, Andrew was stuck.
Chapter 6
Friday, March 5
Midnight
Monty's cell phone rang, but he couldn't hear it. He could, however, feel it vibrating on his belt. He
unclipped it and answered it.
“This is Monty,” he said.
“Monty, Andrew. Where are you?”
“I'm at a club, what's up?”
“I just have some questions about some things, but I can call back tomorrow.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I'm trying to find some things on the Internet and I need a little help.”
“What kind of things?”
“Oh, you know, just some stuff. No big deal. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“No big deal? You're calling me at midnight on a Friday night to look up something on the Internet
and it's no big deal? What are you looking for?”
“It's a long story. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I'm busy. But I was just leaving here, you want me to come by on my way home?”
“Don't worry about it. Just... I'm up, so whatever.”
“Hey, this band sucks anyway. I'll see you in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 7
Saturday, March 6
12:15am
Monty was still a kid. Sure, he was in his thirties, but he was still a kid. Never married, total “geek”
and making six figures. He had a Porsche Boxter, a jet ski, a time-share in Reno, and every
computer gadget imaginable. If anyone could track down something online, it was Monty.
He rang the doorbell at 12:15 and Andrew let him in.
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“What's up?” he shouted, a result of either the loud music at the club or the drinks he'd most likely
had, or probably both.
Andrew led him to the computer and showed him the photos.
“Nice,” he said. Then Andrew gave him a modified version of the truth. He left out the facts
related to his daughter and just told him that he thought he knew her family and wanted to find out
if that was really her. He showed him the “Loganz Girls” logo and told him that he'd found
numerous photos with the same insignia.
“Probably a series,” Monty noted.
“A what?”
“A series. Guys make a series of photos with the same theme and sell them as a group.”
“Themes like, 'Barely Legal' and stuff like that?”
“Yeah, stuff like that. These are obviously amateur stuff.”
“So how do we find them?” Andrew asked.
“Find who, the girls? Or the people who put out the photos?”
“Both. Or either. I don't know.”
“Why is someone like you looking for someone like this? Nice cover story and all, but I'm not
buying it. You into mail-order teens? A little ' who's your daddy?'”
“That's not funny,” Andrew said.
“Sorry, dude. I'm just messing with you. Let's start with the logo, what was it?”
For someone as net-savvy as Monty, “Loganz Girlz” was not hard to find. Within an hour, Monty
had found the website of Logan Enterprises, run a “whois” lookup and located the host of the
website in Miami, Florida. He also found a post office box in Miami listed on the website
registration as well. Whoever this Logan was, he apparently operated out of Miami. They dug
around a little more, but could not find a street address or telephone number. Nor could they find
any full names associated with Logan Enterprises. The best place to start, Monty suggested, was
with the host in Miami. They would be paid for their hosting services, which meant that they would
have to know more information about the company. Andrew wrote down the contact information
for the company, an outfit called Pair-a-Dice Hosting. A listing of their clients showed that they
operated mainly as a go-between for offshore gambling websites throughout the Caribbean. The
administrative contact for “pair-a-dice-hosting.com” was listed as Harry Poly and the technical
contact was listed as Jack Beckman.
Andrew thanked Monty, promised to return the favor somehow and saw him to the door. Then he
went back to his computer and started checking the travel sites for the best airfare from D/FW to
Miami.
Chapter 8
Over the next week, Andrew spent a lot of his free time at home on the internet, looking for more
clues about “Loganz Girlz” and Pair-A-Dice Hosting. He found a few more photos in the series,
but none with the familiar face he sought. Of course, many of them didn't have faces in the
photos, so they were no help.
- 10 -
He gathered all of the ones with faces and catalogued them. The entire series appeared to be
comprised of three girls and one man. The man's face was not very distinguishable and it was
hard to guess his age and ethnicity. Andrew estimated his height at around six feet, but again it
was hard to tell. His greasy black hair was pulled into a ponytail and he sported a black goatee.
His tan skin made it hard to determine whether he was Hispanic, Italian, Greek, or simply just
another Caucasian browned by the Florida sunshine. Andrew always figured that anyone involved
in cheap porn was also involved in drugs and this guy looked like the type. The thought of it - and
the deep fear that his daughter may have fallen into the hands of such a devil - caused him much
distress, not to mention a noticeable amount of sleep.
As for the three girls, there was the standard array of types: the slender redhead, the voluptuous
blonde and the long-legged brunette. He cropped out the nudity, enlarged the photos as much as
possible and printed them out. On one sheet, he arranged the three clear shots of Amber. On the
other sheet, he put the best poses of the other two girls and the man. He printed five copies of
each sheet and put the sheets in a folder in his briefcase.
He also printed out all of the information he could find on the hosting service: address, phone
number, map to the office, hosting clients and even the names of the owner and the tech
manager. By the time Thursday rolled around, Andrew had a complete file on his “targets”, as he
now thought of them.
Chapter 9
Thursday, March 11
8:00am
Thursday was a total waste at work. Andrew couldn't focus on anything. He stumbled through his
work, accomplishing only the very necessary tasks. His mind was on his “mini-vacation,” as he
called it around the office. He fabricated a story about a free stay at a Miami resort just to
appease the curiosity of his co-workers. Who wouldn't take a free vacation?
He left for the airport an hour and a half before his workday was officially over. Security wasn't too
bad and he arrived at the gate a full two hours before departure. While he waited, he went
through his files and thought about his approach. He had decided against calling Pair-A-Dice
Hosting prior to his visit. He wanted to check the place out before tipping them off to his
presence. His imagination ran a little wild when considering the possibilities. Could the business
be tied into gambling? Could it be owned by organized crime? Could it be a front for laundering
drug money?
He wanted to do a little first-hand investigation before determining his course of action. If the
place looked legit, he could then call and ask to talk to someone. If not, he could ask around. He
thought about talking to the local police, but in a big city like Miami, they may not have time to
deal with an online porn complaint. They may not even like the fact that some self-appointed
Magnum P.I. was snooping around their town.
So he would scout it out, then figure it out. All he really wanted was information about the “Loganz
Girlz” series. He just needed a tip: a name, a place, a direction to look.
His flight touched down at 9:48 pm. By the time he claimed his one piece of luggage, secured his
rental car, and checked into his hotel, it was close to midnight. He went straight to bed so he
could get an early start. He was so tired that he actually fell asleep within a few minutes, but his
mind was as active as ever.
Chapter 10
- 11 -
Thursday, March 11
Dreaming Hours
In his dreams, it's always a black van. Not a mini-van, but an old, windowless full-size van. It pulls
up to the service entrance of the Dallas Zoo and waits. Then the children come by. There are
dozens of them, running, skipping, chasing, playing. The leaves are just starting to turn, as
autumn comes late in Texas. The entire kindergarten, both morning and afternoon classes, are
on their very first field trip.
As the group travels from the lion cage to the monkey house in a teeming, disorganized pack,
one little girl lags behind. Faith is fascinated by the big cats and lingers for one last look as the
teachers and parental chaperones move on to the next attraction. She casually skips to follow the
group, which she can see just a few yards ahead of her. Then she hears a voice.
“Hey, look over here,” he says.
Faith turns and sees a man standing at a gated entrance. He's wearing a grey, one-piece work
suit, like the people she saw feeding the giant turtles and cleaning out the rhinoceros' pen.
“Want to see some really cool animals?” the man asks.
Faith nods her head. The man waves her over. She walks over to the gate, which has a chain on
it.
“What kind of animals do you like?” he asks as she nears the gate.
“Lions,” Faith says.
“Well I've got a real special lion right here in this van. Want to see it?”
Faith nods excitedly.
“Squeeze through here and I'll show you the prettiest lion you've ever seen!” the man says as he
pulls the gate open as far as it will go with the loose chain around it. It's plenty of room for a
kindergartener.
Faith slips through and follows the man to the side of the van. He puts his hand on the door
handle and turns to her.
“Don't be scared, okay?”
Faith nods and the man opens the door.
Andrew -- one of the chaperones in his dreams -- turns from the group of children just in time to
see a little girl standing outside the gate to the zoo, next to a man in groundskeeper clothing and
a big black van. He realizes that the little girl is his own child just as the man opens the door to
the van. The teachers and other adults don't even notice him as he starts toward the gate. Before
he can get three steps in that direction, the man grabs his daughter and throws her violently into
the van. Andrew breaks into a sprint. The man looks back at him for a brief second, then jumps
into the driver's seat. Andrew yells, but nobody hears him. The van takes off and makes the
corner just as Andrew reaches the gate. He shakes the gate, yelling at the van to stop as it
disappears. His only child is gone. Andrew screams at the top of his lungs, a blood-curdling
scream from a grown man. Then he wakes up.
- 12 -
Chapter 12
Friday, March 12
7:00am
As Andrew ate his complimentary buffet breakfast, he reflected on his recurring nightmare. Was
that really the way it had happened? Nobody really knew for sure. Police suspected it, but since
there were no witnesses, nothing could be proven. They did think that Faith disappeared
somewhere between the lion cage and the monkey house. The teacher remembered seeing her
at the lion cage, remembered how her green eyes grew large when she saw the magnificent
beasts, remembered how the other kids quickly lost interest, but Faith couldn't get enough.
Then one of the parents counted the kids on the way out of the monkey house and came up
short. She counted again. Then she asked one of the teachers how many kids there really were,
just to make sure she was counting toward the correct number. They both counted again. Then
they retraced their steps through the monkey house and back to the lion cage. Then they
panicked. An hour later, the police were there. At first, they feared that Faith had somehow gotten
into the lion cage, but after isolating the animals in their indoor cages and inspecting the entire
faux-African environment, they found nothing. The zoo people assured them that if, God forbid,
that had happened, there would be evidence somewhere in the pen.
Then they called Andrew and Janie. When they arrived, the police were just finishing their
questioning of the zoo personnel. Background checks were simultaneously ran and nothing
urgent came up - no sex offenders or violent criminals in the group. Basically, Faith disappeared
into thin air. The only easy exit point was the gate between the lions and monkeys, so that's
where they focused. Again, no real evidence existed - no hair caught on the gate, no shoes or
personal articles on the ground. Nothing. No facts, no clues, no answers. Over the weeks, there
were no developments, no ransom notes or calls, no sleep, no peace, no reasons. For eleven
years now, there was nothing but unanswered questions.
Chapter 13
Friday, March 12
9:15am
Pair-A-Dice Hosting conducted business in a downtown corporate suite that shared common
facilities, including a switchboard operator. The lone, pony-tailed secretary answered the phones
with a personal greeting for each suite tenant and greeted visitors who came into the fifth-floor
office. It looked legitimate enough that Andrew decided on the direct approach. She hung up the
telephone and acknowledged him.
“May I help you?” she asked as the phone rang again. “B and C Creative,” she spoke into the
receiver. “One moment,” she said, then forwarded the call. She looked back up at Andrew.
“Is Harry or Jack available at Pair-A-Dice Hosting?” he asked, using the names of the both
contacts on the domain registration records.
She wrinkled her brow and asked, “Do you have an appointment?”
“Um, no, I was just looking for some hosting services,” he lied.
“Hang on,” she said as the phone rang again.
“Beachfront Productions,” she said into the phone this time. “Ken's out on shoot all day, can I take
a message or put you through to voice mail?”
- 13 -
Just then a young man - more like a kid, Andrew thought - walked into the office. He looked like
he'd slept on the beach last night, with baggy khaki pants, a wrinkled, black button-up shirt and
sandals.
“Hey, Amy,” he said to the secretary and flashed a flirtatious smile.
“Hi, Jack,” she said. At the name, Andrew turned back to Amy. Her eyes darted to him, then
quickly down. She punched a button on the switchboard and answered another call.
“Trudy Atkin's office,” she said. “One moment,” then the transfer.
“Was that Jack Beckman?” Andrew asked her.
“Uh… hang on and let me call someone for you,” she said and punched up a number on her
phone. “Hi, are you taking visitors?” A pause. “A possible client?”
She glanced up at Andrew and smiled nervously. “Yes,” she said to the person on the other end
of the phone and looked back down at her notepad. She twirled her pen in her free hand. Clearly,
Andrew made her uncomfortable. “Okay,” she said and hung up the phone.
“They are not taking new clients,” she said.
“Do they normally refuse new business or is it just today?” Andrew smiled to hide his irritation.
“I'm sorry, sir,” she said with phony politeness. “Maybe you can e-mail them another day?”
Andrew suddenly felt very unwelcome. He didn't want to press his luck with a paid doorstop, so
he blew it off.
“Alright,” he said and smiled, “thanks for your help, Amy.”
He went outside into the warm, sunny day and walked to his rental car. Something was odd here,
but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He sat in the car for a few minutes, going over the
encounter. The scraggly kid had to have been Jack Beckman, the technical contact listed for
“pair-a-dice-hosting.com”. The secretary had reflexively responded to him and then realized her
mistake in identifying him in front of a stranger. This kid fit the bill for a sleazy website computer
geek; an irresponsible college flunky babysitting a server, making good money and turning a blind
eye.
Why the discomfort with a potential client? Why the refusal to accept new business? Why the lack
of protocol for such an incident? Perhaps it had never happened before this morning. Perhaps
nobody had ever walked in and offered their business to this company. If that was the case, then
that would explain their behavior and also point to another possibility. Perhaps the sales occurred
elsewhere. Or perhaps there were no sales. Perhaps this company simply handled website
hosting for one single entity.
Andrew was sitting in his car in the parking lot, looking at the cover of his files in his lap as he
formulated his theories when suddenly someone knocked on his window, startling him quite a bit.
He rolled down his window about two inches.
“Who are you,” a big man in street clothes asked.
“What do you mean?” Andrew replied, genuinely confused.
“Why are you asking about hosting services?” he demanded.
- 14 -
“I need a place to host my website,” Andrew lied, though it felt unconvincing even to himself.
The guy stared at him and seemed to read the lack of honesty on Andrew's face. But what he
couldn't read was Andrew's real reason for being here. The guy shook his head and let out a sigh
of disgust.
“Take your rental car outta here and don't ever come back, you hear me?”
Is it that obvious? Andrew thought. “Whatever,” he said with no conviction at all. He rolled the
window up and put the car in reverse. The big guy slammed his fist into the hood of the car
causing Andrew to step on the accelerator too heavily. The tires squealed as he flew backwards.
He hit the brakes and glanced back at the big guy, who crossed his arms theatrically and watched
Andrew back out, turn around, and drive off.
Two blocks away, Andrew pulled over again just to gain control of himself. His heart pounded, his
palms perspired and his head spun. He realized just how frightened he was and it unnerved him
even more.
“This is bad,” he mumbled. “This is a bad situation.”
He spent the next hour driving aimlessly around downtown, careful to avoid the area around the
corporate suite's building, and finally pulled into an ocean-side restaurant for an early lunch. He
wasn't all that hungry, but he needed time to sit still and think. He needed to figure out his next
step.
Chapter 13
Friday, March 12
11:00am
The catch of the day was grilled, yellow-fin tuna over wild rice, but the excellence of the meal was
lost in Andrew's predicament. He figured that they knew he was digging around where he
shouldn't be digging, but he didn't know who “they” were and didn't fully understand why he
shouldn't be digging!
Naturally, child-porn operators were bad people, but how bad? The guy in the garage acted like
he'd just stepped out of The Sopranos, but how deep did this thing run? If he ticked them off,
what would they do? Could this weekend excursion find him deep-sea diving without any
equipment?
Once he ran out of questions with no answers, he started focusing on what he did know, rather
than what he did not. First, he was in the right place. Pair-A-Dice Hosting had the photos on their
servers. A kid named Jack Beckman worked there. Amy, the suite secretary, knew Jack. One of
them had to have tipped off the big guy (Harry Poly?) in the parking garage, who did not like
Andrew's presence.
By the time Andrew paid for lunch, he'd made up his mind. He had come too far to turn back, but
he needed to be careful. He didn't have much time, so he had to be aggressive. His best hope for
information appeared to be the girl, but he couldn't risk walking back into the corporate suite.
Plus, they knew what his rental car looked like.
So Andrew drove back to the rental car place at the airport and made up a reason to exchange
cars, this time switching from a white car to a dark green one, and drove back downtown.
Fortunately, all of the rental cars came with tinted windows. Plus, he had a Texas Rangers ball
- 15 -
cap in his bag, so he pulled it out and put it on. It was no great disguise, but perhaps enough to
not catch anyone's attention. He circled the office building of the corporate suites two times,
looking for nearby parking lots and underground garages. Of course, Miami has no underground
anything, so the downtown workers have to park in one of the lots or high-rise garages
sporadically located around the city. Satisfied that the front door was the most likely place for
Amy to leave, he found a curbside spot across the street and just around the corner from the front
door and parked.
At about 4:30, people started exiting the office building in larger numbers. He worried that he
might miss the girl. She was a natural brunette with blonde highlights, hair just below her
shoulders, and she was wearing a red button-up shirt. She appeared to be average in weight, but
behind the desk it was hard to tell. He had no idea how tall she was. And really, Andrew had not
tried to size her up. While in the office, his interest was elsewhere. The more he sat there waiting,
the more unsure of his plan he became.
Then an idea hit him. He mentally replayed those few minutes inside, then remembered one
name. He picked up his cell phone and dialed information.
“Miami,” he told the automated system. “BNC Creative.”
After a pause, a real person came on. “What listing, please?”
“BNC Creative in downtown Miami.”
“Is that B and C or BNC?” the voice asked.
“Well, I'm not really sure. It's on, uh…” Andrew leaned over to see the sign at the intersection,
“Biscayne Boulevard.”
The operator typed on a keyboard and then said, “Here it is, please hold for the number.”
An automated system spit out the number as Andrew wrote it down on the back of the rental car
contract. He dialed the number to B and C Creative while watching the front door of the office.
Sure enough, Amy answered.
He couldn't help dropping his voice as he spoke - it seemed like the right thing to do. “Hello, I'm
looking for some creative work on a project and someone gave me your number as a reference.
What exactly do you specialize in?”
“Just a moment, let me put you in touch with someone. What company are you with?” she asked.
“Farnsworth Advertising.”
“Hold, please.”
Another voice came on the line. “Morgan Burnbaum, how can I help you?” the female voice said.
“Hi, this is Jack Farnsworth at Farnsworth Advertising. A buddy of mine referred you guys to me
for some creative work, but I can't remember exactly which project we were talking about. What
exactly do you guys specialize in?”
“We mainly do corporate photography and graphic design, but we've been known to assist in a
few other ways. What is it you're looking for?” Ms. Burnbaum said.
- 16 -
“Ah, I know what it was,” Andrew/Jack said. “It was the catalog shoot we're doing next month.
Can I send you the last catalog we did, then maybe schedule a time to meet and talk about
ideas?”
“I suppose,” she said. “What kind of photography are we talking about here, product shots or
models or what?”
“It's all sorts of things,” he lied. “Let me just send last year's catalog. That will give you a real good
idea of what we need. Should I send it to Amy?”
“Who?”
“Amy, your assistant? The one who answered the phone?”
“Oh, her. No, just send it here to me. Just put 'Attention: Morgan' on it,” she said.
“Is that Amy Watson? I thought I recognized her voice.”
“I'm sorry, I really don't know,” Ms. Burnbaum said. “We share a receptionist with a few other
tenants here and I don't know the people who answer the phones.”
“Oh, okay, no big deal. I'll get that catalog out and get in touch with you. Thanks!”
Andrew hung up quickly. That didn't work, he thought. He felt a twinge of guilt about misleading
the poor Ms. Burnbaum for nothing. He glanced at his watch. Five 'til the hour, it said. Then
another idea hit him and he hit 'redial' on his cell phone.
Amy answered again.
“Hi, I just got off the phone with Morgan Burnbaum and she wanted me to send a catalog over to
you and I didn't get the full name of the person she wanted me to send it to. Amy something?”
After a few seconds of silent hesitation, she replied, “You can just send it over to Ms. Burnbaum's
attention.”
“She said that she would be out all day and the package will need to be signed for, so she said to
send it to an 'Amy' at the front desk. Does that make sense?” he feigned confusion.
“Yes, that makes sense, I guess. Amy Blackmon, with an M-O-N,” she said, emphasizing the 'O'.
“Great,” Andrew said. “I'll send it over first thing tomorrow.”
He hung up and continued watching the office door. If Miss Blackmon didn't walk through it in the
next hour or so, he'd look her up in the phone book.
Ten minutes later, she walked out. Along with a dozen other workers, she crossed Biscayne
Boulevard a few yards in front of Andrew's rental car. She entered a parking lot that sat behind a
single-story law office. From where he sat, Andrew couldn't see her any more, so he got out of his
car and walked quickly down the sidewalk across the street from the parking lot. He caught sight
of Amy just as she climbed into a sporty Jeep. It was red with a black ragtop, he noted as she
backed out of her parking spot and pulled toward the street. Andrew ducked his head down,
hiding his face under the bill of the cap, and walked casually back to his car. She passed him, but
caught the red light, giving him time to get back into his car and pull out several cars behind her.
She made one right turn and Andrew followed. Then she turned south onto I-95 and Andrew
tagged along, maintaining a two or three car buffer for the next four miles.
- 17 -
As I-95 merged into the more congested Highway 1, Andrew tried to keep up, but when she ran a
yellow light and the car in front of him braked, he lost her. When the light turned green again, he
continued on for a few miles, but never saw her. Too many cars had come between them and, in
the afternoon rush, there was no chance of finding her again.
He pulled into a 7-Eleven, bought a fountain drink and a bag of pretzels, and borrowed their
phone book. Under “Blackmon” he found no listings for “Amy”, but three for the letter “A”. One
had a South Miami Heights address, one was in Opa-locka and the last was in Hialeah Gardens.
Andrew wrote them all down, then checked the map. South Miami Heights lay directly in the path
of Highway 1, so he looked up that address and sketched out the directions from his current
location.
The address led him to an art-deco apartment complex two blocks from the beach. A quick spin
through the parking lot found Amy's Jeep, but made it difficult to locate her actual apartment.
Andrew parked in an empty spot and thought about the situation. He could easily knock on doors
until he found someone who knew where Amy lived. Or he could stumble upon her dwelling,
which would probably frighten her. Luckily, he didn't have to choose his next move. Amy emerged
from between buildings. Her hair was down and her short skirt and tight tee shirt suggested a
party.
She hopped into her Jeep and zipped out of the parking lot. Andrew tailed her more carefully this
time, keeping some distance but not allowing another vehicle to position itself between them for
long. They arrived at a club along the beach a few minutes later. Amy parked and went in.
Andrew gathered his “files” and followed her inside.
Chapter 14
Friday, March 12
7:00pm
The club was typical south-Florida fare. A cabana-style bar in the center separated two dance
floors. Chairs and tables lined the walls and a stage with a live band dominated one end. A
couple of side bars helped service a full club and they were both staffed tonight. A cover band
played loud pop music as the happy hour crowd kicked off the evening's festivities.
Amy sat at the center bar, sipping a fruit drink and looking around the club. Andrew approached
her from slightly behind her, ordered a drink, and sat on the stool next to her.
“Waiting for Jack?” he asked.
She turned and looked at him quizzically. “Do I know you?”
She doesn't recognize me, he thought with some amusement. Surely the ball cap isn't that great
of a disguise!
“Not really,” he said. “But we have some mutual acquaintances. Can we talk for a minute? I have
some pretty important questions.”
“Are you a cop?” she asked. Andrew laughed.
“No. Just a guy looking for a girl.”
“I have a boyfriend,” she said curtly and turned away from him.
“I don't mean it like that. I mean I'm looking for my daughter.”
- 18 -
She turned back around, but Andrew read the mistrust in her expression.
“Look, my daughter disappeared several years ago and I think she might be in this area. I think
she might also be in trouble.”
“Yeah, so what about it?”
“I think you can help me, if you don't mind.”
“How so?”
“Look at these pictures.” Andrew handed her the three, censored print-outs. Amy set her drink
down and shuffled through them.
“I don't know her,” she said. “She looks kinda young, anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. Too young to be in these kinds of photos, don't you think?”
“None of my business.”
“You're right. It isn't your business. It's another business. It's called Pair-A-Dice Hosting.”
This got her attention. Then the alarm bells went off in her head.
“You're the guy from the office this morning?”
Andrew nodded.
“Here's the thing,” he said, trying to get to the point before she bolted for the door or, even worse,
for the security guard. “Pair-A-Dice hosts child porn.”
The shock on Amy's face was obvious. “How do you know?” she challenged.
“That's where I got these,” he said, indicating the pictures she had just examined. “But that's not
the reason I'm here.”
She picked up her drink and started into it more aggressively.
“I'm lost,” she said between gulps.
“I'm not after Pair-A-Dice. I'm after the guy who made these underage photos. They are from a
series called 'Loganz Girlz'. The thing is, I need to find this 'Logan Enterprises' and the best link I
have to them is through Pair-A-Dice.”
She gazed downward as she steadily sipped her drink.
“Look,” Andrew said, “I just want to talk to my daughter again. I want to know that she's alright.
And I want her to know that I still love her.”
Amy thought about this for a minute, then asked, “So what do you want from me?”
“You know Jack Beckman, right?”
“Yeah.”
- 19 -
“What does he do for Pair-A-Dice?”
“He's their computer guy. I don't understand everything he does. He just keeps things running.”
“What about Harry Poly?”
“Who?”
“Harry Poly - he's listed as the administrator of Pair-A-Dice.”
Amy thought about it and finished off her drink. Andrew motioned to the bartender to bring
another.
“There's one other guy that comes in, but his name isn't Harry,” she finally said.
“What's his name?” he asked.
“I don't remember. I call him 'Guido', but that's not his real name. But I know it's not Harry.”
“Big guy, dark hair, about four inches taller than me?” he asked.
“That's him. He was there today when you came up.”
“Yeah, I met him… sort of. You sure that's not Harry?”
She nodded, “I'm sure. I'm blanking on the guy's name right now, but it's not 'Harry'.”
The bartender brought another fruit drink and Andrew handed it to Amy. She took it without
hesitation.
“Look, here's what I really need,” Andrew said. “I need to know how to find someone at Logan
Enterprises. A name, an address, a phone number, whatever.”
Amy considered it for a moment. “How am I supposed to get that?” she asked.
“Any way you want,” he answered. “Go to Jack, if you think that will work.”
“I don't know about that,” she said.
“Well then do what you gotta do. Go through files or invoiced or phone books… just find it.”
She shook her head slightly.
“Look at it this way, I get the information about Logan Enterprises I need, I'm out of here. If not, I
walk into the nearest police station and start showing them things on the computer. Things that
are hosted on Jack's servers.”
She looked up at him, her brow wrinkled in worry. “Jack's not a part of that. He's not like that, I
know him!”
“Then get him to help,” Andrew said. “Do you think he would understand? Do you think he would
give us that information?”
“I don't know,” she said as her eyes wandered over Andrew's shoulder. “Why don't you ask him
yourself?”
- 20 -
Andrew sensed someone standing behind him.
“Hey, Jack,” Amy said.
Chapter 15
Friday, March 12
7:20pm
“Hey, babe,” Jack Beckman said. “Who's your friend?”
“You know, I didn't catch his name,” she said, turning to Andrew.
“Hi,” Andrew said to Jack, “I'm Rick. Rick Raider.”
Andrew extended his hand to Jack, who shook it strictly out of courtesy.
Amy carried the conversation. “Rick here is into computers,” she said.
“Yeah?” Jack interjected.
“Yeah, he builds websites,” she said.
“Really?” Jack asked. “What kind?”
Andrew tried to come up with something good, but couldn't see where Amy was going with this
story.
“The 'adult' kind,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” Jack said. “So why's he talking to you?”
Amy laughed. “Looking for models, you think?”
Jack didn't like the joke.
“No, not that,” Andrew said. “Just looking for some business contacts, you know.”
Jack nodded warily.
“What are you drinking?” Andrew offered.
“Gin and tonic.”
Andrew waved the bartender over and ordered Jack a drink. He turned back to the couple.
“Amy said you host some adult sites at your company.”
Jack looked at Amy in surprise. Amy didn't like “Rick” volunteering this bit of information. She
picked up her drink, took a sip, and laughed nervously.
“I may have said something about that,” she admitted. To Jack: “I thought maybe you could work
together. Rick here is looking for a consultant. He's willing to pay.”
- 21 -
“Really?” Jack asked. The bartender brought his drink and Andrew paid for it. Jack thanked him,
then Andrew continued with the story.
“We're trying to tighten up security around our website,” Andrew said. “We've had some hackers
messing things up. You know, crashing the site or changing the pages… that sort of thing.”
Jack appeared to be buying it.
“Amy thought you might want to do some consulting for a few hours. I'd love to see how you're
securing your sites for your clients.”
“I don't know, I'm not really supposed to…”
“I'll pay you in cash,” Andrew said.
Jack considered it as he took a sip.
“How much?”
“Oh, let's say seventy-five bucks an hour? About two hours?”
Jack's eyes lit up. The amount seemed to be just right.
“But I need to do it this weekend,” Andrew stipulated. “I've got to go out of town next week and we
need to take care of this thing.”
“This weekend is fine,” Jack said.
“Tomorrow afternoon?” Andrew pushed.
“Sure,” Jack agreed. “Just for a couple of hours.”
“Perfect.”
Andrew wrote down Jack's cell number, traded a few more polite comments, then left the two to
themselves. As he drove back to his hotel, he prayed that Amy would not change her mind and
betray him. If he could get in tomorrow, he might find the information he needed. But if Amy set
him up, then anything, or anyone, could await him the next day.
Chapter 16
Saturday, March 13
Noon
Andrew called Jack's cell phone just after noon. He answered it and confirmed their one o'clock
meeting at Jack's office.
“Your office is on Biscayne Boulevard?” Andrew asked, even though he knew exactly where the
office was.
Jack gave him the address and intersection and they hung up. Everything sounded fine, Andrew
thought. Then he picked up his phone and dialed his home number. His answering machine
picked it up on the second ring, indicating the he had other messages waiting for him once he
returned - if he returned.
- 22 -
“Hi, this is Andrew calling my answering machine because… uh, well, if something happens to
me, I want someone to hear this.” He could hardly believe his own paranoia, but assuming that
nothing went wrong, nobody would ever hear it.
“I'm about to go into Pair-A-Dice Hosting on Biscayne Boulevard in downtown Miami to meet with
a guy named Jack Beckman. It was set up by the receptionist at the building… a girl named Amy
Blackmon. Anyway, there's this other guy that Amy calls 'Guido' who sort of threatened me
yesterday and this business is kind of shady. Um, they host child porn and I'm… well, uh… I'm
trying to get some information from them and they may not like it, so if I don't come home,
whoever listens to this will know where to look. So… that's it. Good-bye.”
He hung up and laughed nervously. He hoped to be laughing again in a little more than 24 hours
when he listened to his own message, safe and sound in his condo.
After picking up a quick sandwich for lunch, Andrew, now under the assumed name of “Rick”,
pulled up at the corporate suites housing Pair-A-Dice Hosting. He parked on the street, grabbed a
notepad and pen, and walked up to the front door, where Jack smoked a cigarette as he waited.
He took one last drag, dropped the butt and stepped on it. Then he punched the electronic
keypad and opened the door. They walked in, went to the elevator and took it up to the fifth floor.
When they arrived at their floor, Andrew heard music coming from one of the suites. Elsewhere, a
vacuum cleaner ran. The sounds of other people comforted him somewhat. At least someone will
hear the gunshots, he thought.
Jack led him through a series of locked doors until they arrived in a room that hummed with the
sounds of computers running. The lighting was bright and artificial. The air was stale and cool.
Metal racks held columns of servers - Andrew guessed there were at least a dozen on each of
the six racks - and each had a power back-up unit, a router, a load balancer, and a few more
gadgets that Andrew did not recognize. All in all, it was pretty impressive.
“Eight-two servers,” Jack said. “Segmented off into six different DMZ's, stacked on the same
class-C block, but each with it's own IP.”
For the next twenty minutes, Andrew listened attentively as Jack talked right over his head. He
understood maybe half of the terms, but couldn't tie them together to grasp many of the concepts.
But he faked it, nodding at the appropriate times and writing down key points. Jack transitioned to
the lone desk on the wall adjacent to the server rack and logged into the master computer. He
showed Andrew the firewall configuration, the intruder detection software, and several other
things related to network security. Again, Andrew acted interested. He even asked a few
questions to clarify things. By the time an hour-and-a-half has passed, Andrew had actually
learned a few things.
“Do you have a soda machine around here?” Andrew asked at a break point.
“Yeah, there's one down the hall in the kitchen. But if you go out, you can't get back in.”
“Oh,” Andrew thought for a second. Then he pulled out his wallet and held up a couple of dollars.
“You thirsty?”
“Sure,” Jack replied and stood up. “Follow me.”
“Actually, I need to make a quick call,” Andrew said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. "No
signal."
"You won't get one in here. You have use that phone," Jack pointed to a landline phone sitting on
the desk.
- 23 -
“I need to confirm my flight time before I'm 24 hours out.” Andrew looked at his watch. “Yeah, I've
got to do this in the next few minutes. Can I use this phone while you grab the drinks?” Andrew
held out the cash to Jack.
“I guess,” Jack said, taking the bills from Andrew. “What do you want?”
“You have Diet Pepsi?”
“Sure. Be right back.”
Take your time, Andrew thought as he dialed a phony number on the phone and put it up against
his ear. Jack walked out and Andrew went to work immediately.
He pulled up the search function on the computer and typed in “Logan”. Sure enough, several
files popped up. Andrew clicked the first one and a text file came up with a bunch of numbers and
computer code. No help there. He skimmed down the file type list of the remaining items and
selected the one that was a text file, as opposed to some computer-type file. He double-clicked it
and it opened. Bingo! Right at the top was the information he needed.
Larry Logan
954.116.2787
PO Box 8115
Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33301
Below it were a dozen domain names in alphabetical order, including “loganzgirlz.com”. Andrew
grabbed his notepad and started writing. He got down the eighth domain listed, “nasty-n-wet.net”,
when he heard the security pad being punched right outside the door to the server room. He
closed two open windows as quick as he could, but was still turning his chair around when Jack
walked in.
Jack paused, staring at the computer screen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was, uh, going to check the airline's webpage, but then, uh, I… I thought maybe I shouldn't be
on your computer,” Andrew stammered.
“You're right, you shouldn't be on my computer,” Jack said angrily. “Don't mess with this system.”
“I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking,” Andrew said.
“No, you weren't,” Jack said, moving to the computer. Andrew rolled his chair away from the desk
as Jack pulled up a console with columns of numbers and computer jargon. He scrolled through
several pages, stopping here and there to check a few numbers.
“Alright,” he finally said. “Everything's alright.”
“Sorry,” Andrew said again.
Jack handed Andrew his Diet Pepsi, which he had absent-mindedly set on the other side of the
desk.
“Thanks,” Andrew said and popped the top.
“What else do you want to know?” Jack asked, his demeanor noticeably agitated.
- 24 -
Andrew asked a few more questions, just to keep up the ruse, and received terse answers.
“That's it,” he finally said. “I sure appreciate your time and expertise.”
He stood up, pulled out his wallet again and extracted three fifty-dollar bills.
“Thanks again,” he said.
“No problem,” Jack replied and opened the door. He escorted Andrew out of the office, onto the
elevator and out the front door.
“I've got some more work to do,” Jack said as he held the door open.
“Well, nice to meet you,” Andrew said, extending his hand. Jack shook it.
“See ya,” Jack said. Andrew walked to his car and Jack went back into the building. As Andrew
pulled away he couldn't help watching his rear-view mirror for a tail, but saw none. His palms
were sweaty with a mixture of fear and excitement. He patted his pocket just to make sure the
notepad was still there. It was. Andrew had his information. He pulled the rental car onto I-95 and
headed north. The sign indicated 27 miles to Fort Lauderdale.
Chapter 17
Saturday, March 13
2:20pm
On the drive up, Andrew mentally sorted his options. He could call the phone number listed and
try to extract information through some elaborate lie. He could watch the post office box to see
who picked up the mail, then follow them somewhere for some unknown reason. He could try to
trace the phone number to an address and see if it was a home or an office. But how would any
of this help him? What he really needed was direct information from Larry Logan or someone
close to him.
By the time he exited the first Fort Lauderdale ramp, he had decided to take the most direct
approach. He pulled into a gas station parking lot to use the pay phone. He dialed the phone
number he had gotten from Pair-A-Dice Hosting and got an answering machine. “I’m not
available. Leave a message,” the voice said.
Andrew hung up. He wasn’t about to leave a message (Hi, I’m in town looking for my kidnapped
daughter and I think you may have taken pornographic pictures of her. Can we meet for coffee?).
But he was close. A lot closer than he thought he’d get on this little weekend jaunt.
He decided to locate the post office box, just to get even closer. He picked a post office at
random, called them and asked them which post office used 33301 as their zip code. The lady on
the phone told him that it was the Colee Hammock branch. Five minutes later, he was there. The
service window was closed, but the boxes were accessible and Andrew located Mr. Logan’s box
easily. If will power alone could force something to happen, Larry himself would have walked in
and checked his mail. But even though Andrew was close, he knew he was still a long way from
the answers he needed. He had to make contact. He had to talk to Larry.
Andrew formulated another plan as he stood looking at the 8115 engraved on the metal box door.
He went to the payphone in the post office lobby and dialed the number again. This time,
somebody answered.
- 25 -
“Hello,” a male voice said. The background noise and static gave away the fact that it was a cell
phone.
“Is this Larry?” Andrew asked.
“Who’s this?”
“I have some pictures you might be interested in. Want to see them?”
A pause, then, “Who is this?” more forcefully this time.
“My name is Rick Raider. I’m a friend of Harry Poly. He said you might be interested in using
some photos for your website,” Andrew said, hoping that the name would register with Larry.
There was an uncomfortably long pause before Larry finally asked, “You know where Pizza-bythe-Sea is?”
“Yeah,” Andrew lied.
“Meet me there at five o’clock.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. Larry hung up. He exhaled deeply as his heart raced.
Chris and Janie seldom saw each other or spoke to one another. They were not on bad terms. In
fact, they had always been quite fond of each other. But since the divorce, there was no reason to
stay in touch. So when Janie called Chris at home, he couldn't hide his surprise. After a brief
round of cordial conversation, she came to the point.
"I'm calling because I'm worried about Andrew," she said. She gave a detailed account of their
conversation and lunch meeting. Chris understood her concern at once.
"I don't know what to do about it, but I thought you might be able to talk to him," Janie said. "I've
tried calling several times today, but I haven't been able to get ahold of him."
"Thanks for calling, Janie," Chris said. "Let me think about this and I will follow up with Andrew."
She hung up the phone, hopeful that she had done the right thing. She knew that if anyone could
help Andrew, it was his brother.
“Donnie?”
“Yeah, boss?”
"I think that guy just called me!"
"How'd he get your number?"
"I don't know, but I don't like it. I'm meeting him in a couple of hours. What did he look like?"
- 26 -
"White guy, brown hair, kinda skinny, maybe 6 feet tall... I'm not sure about that, he was sitting in
his car."
"And describe the car."
"White four-door. Ford, I think. Rental car."
"Did you talk to the receptionist at the office?"
"Yeah, she didn't get a name. Said he just ask about hosting."
"So he didn't flash a badge or anything?"
"Nah, nuthin'."
"Alright, call Jack and tell him I said to clean up the servers. He will know what that means. You
know that joint down by the beach, Pizza-by-the-Sea?"
"Of course."
"I meeting him down there and five. Get there early and park by the street. Call my cell phone
when you get in place."
"Yes sir."
Chapter 18
Saturday, March 13
4:30pm
Pizza-by-the-Sea was a hole-in-the-wall eatery on the main strip of Fort Lauderdale Beach. It sat
right across the coastal byway from the ocean. Andrew drove by it and parked down the street.
He could see why a porn pusher would like this area. On the beach, bikini-clad girls flirted with
tattooed boys. A body-piercing place flanked the pizzeria on one side and a T-shirt shop
advertising “3 shirts for $10” on the other. Cigarette butts littered the sidewalk. Empty beer cans
filled the mesh trashcans. Convertibles loaded with Spring Breakers cruised slowly, passed by
low-riders blaring hip-hop. A few tricked out compact cars zipped in and out of traffic. For most of
the month of March, it was a non-stop party -- the perfect place to scout for “models” who needed
cash and would do anything to get it.
Andrew bought a newspaper at a kiosk and picked a bench on the beach to pass the next hour.
He flipped through the various sections, scanning headlines and buzzing through the text, but he
couldn’t focus on the news. He finally tossed it into a trashcan and stared out at the Atlantic. He
mentally walked through the upcoming conversation, trying to anticipate the possible questions
and calm his nerves.
Would Larry buy his story? Would he actually divulge any information? Would he come alone?
This last question frightened Andrew. What if he was gathering up his game of the outlaw porn
peddlers, coming to get Andrew and carry him off to some God-forsaken torture chamber? He put
these wild imaginations out of his mind and watched a cargo ship disappear over the horizon. By
the time five o’clock arrived, he was as ready as he could be.
- 27 -
He walked back to his car, put a few more quarters in the parking meter, and retrieved his folder
with the girls’ pictures. Before he entered Pizza-by-the-Sea, he checked his watch. It was three
minutes after the hour. Larry may or may not be here yet.
He entered the restaurant. It was small, informal and almost empty. Four teenagers sat on one
side. An older woman sat on the other. No Larry.
Andrew, or rather “Rick Raider”, ordered a diet cola and sat down at a table facing the door. A
moment later, Larry walked in. He sported the same black goatee and greasy ponytail as in the
photos. He wore a red silk shirt and black leather pants. Each ear glistened with a diamond stud.
A silver rope necklace hung down in his chest hair, which was far too visible between the
unbuttoned half of his shirt. If you’re trying to shatter a stereotype, you’re doing a lousy job,
Andrew thought.
Larry lowered his sunglasses and looked at Andrew. He nodded in acknowledgement and Larry
walked over to his table.
“Have a seat,” Andrew invited. Larry sat down without a word.
“So, I take it you’re Larry,” he said. Larry just nodded.
“I guess you’ll want to know what I’ve got, huh?”
“Sure,” Larry said.
“I’ve got everything… blondes, brunettes, couples, barely legal, you know…” Andrew waited for a
reaction, but got none. He fidgeted with his folder, wondering why this guy wouldn’t respond. He
opened the folder and pulled out the first photo. This should get a response!
“Before I show you all of my stuff, I was wondering if you’d help me out with something. I only do
exclusive stuff, you know, girls who haven’t been photographed before.” He slid the photo across
the table. “This girl here,” he pointed to the redhead. “You know her name? She sure looks like a
girl in my pictures.”
Larry leaned up and looked at the photo. Again, no visible reaction. He sat back and cocked his
head to one side.
“You a cop?” he asked.
Andrew hadn’t expected this response. He actually laughed a little.
“No, of course not! This is all good and legal,” he said.
“You Customs?” Larry asked.
“What?” Andrew asked, genuinely confused.
“FBI or any other law enforcement?”
“No, really, I’m just…” Andrew searched for the right response. “It’s legal to sell this stuff in this
county, isn’t it?”
Then it hit him. Of course it’s legal, he thought, unless the girls are underage!
A shudder went down his spine. He was on to something. This guy had to be guilty or he wouldn’t
be asking these questions.
- 28 -
“Who are you?” Larry asked, still calm and composed.
“I’m Rick Raider,” Andrew replied, trying to convince both of them. “I’m just a photographyer trying
to make a living.”
“How’d you get my name?”
“From Pair-A-Dice Hosting, like I said.”
“From who?”
“From Harry Poly.”
“You’re lying,” Larry said matter-of-factly.
Uh-oh, Andrew thought. He called Mr. Poly before he met me here. I should have thought of that!
“Alright,” he said, as if the game was up. “I didn’t actually talk to Harry about you.”
Larry just stared at him behind his shades.
“I got your information from the tech guy there. Jack’s his name, but he said he didn’t know you
personally, so I dropped Harry’s name on you. He said Harry knew you pretty well.”
He decided to steer the conversation back toward the topic at hand.
“Look, I’m just trying to make a buck here, okay? I heard you liked these kinds of photos and
thought you might be interested. But if I’ve got photos of your girl here, I’m outta luck. And I sure
don’t want to be selling something that you might have an exclusive on, so I need to know if you
know this girl or not.”
Again, Larry was unimpressed.
“You’re full of crap,” he finally said. “You got some information, that’s for sure, but you’re lying out
your ass.”
“I’m telling you the truth!”
Larry leaned forward. “Harry Poly doesn’t exist,” he said. “And the guys at Pair-A-Dice know that.
So whoever you are and whatever you want, it needs to end right here, right now, got it?”
Andrew was numb. But his determination was not yet gone.
“Who’s the girl?”
Larry looked down at the photo again. Then he smiled a greasy, arrogant little smile -- his first
real expression of the day. He looked up at Andrew.
“Is that what this is about? You the ex-boyfriend or something?” He laughed out loud. “Wait, at
your age you could be the daddy, huh?” He laughed again. Andrew felt anger rise up, waiting to
burst out through his fists.
“Where is she?” he asked between clinched teeth.
- 29 -
“Man, I have no idea!” Larry (or whoever he was) said. “Do you know how many girls I’ve been
through since her? She’s just another set of tits!”
Rage shot through Andrew’s legs like lightening and he stood straight up. He would have
knocked the table over if “Larry” hadn’t have caught it in the thighs as he stood up. Andrew’s drink
hit the floor and the restaurant went quiet, all eyes on the two men. “Larry” backed up a few steps
and said, “I’d better not ever see your face again,” then pivoted and walked out the door. Andrew
stepped over the spilt cola and followed. As he stepped into the sunshine, he saw “Larry” shut the
door on his car. It was a recent model, lipstick red Porsche. Andrew walked toward the car to get
the license plate when suddenly the door flew open on the SUV parked in front of the Porsche
and a man stood up in Andrew’s path. He was tall. And wide, too.
Andrew stopped and looked up to see the guy from the downtown parking garage. Before another
thought crossed his mind, he saw a bright flash of light as the big guy’s fist smashed into his face.
He felt his legs go limp, then everything turned to black.
Donnie’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Nice job. I don't think he's a cop, but we'd better lay low for a few days anyway."
"Okay. What'd he say to you?"
"Said he was a photographer, trying to sell some pictures. He asked about a girl in one of my
photographs. I get the feeling he's just looking for her. Could be a family member or old
boyfriend."
"Who's the girl?"
"I don't know. Not one of the regulars. Probably one we picked up in a group. Cancel all the
shoots for the next few days and watch your back. See if you can spot anybody following you or
watching your apartment. Don't call me unless you have to. I'll call you."
"Yes sir."
Chapter 19
Saturday, March 13
5:16pm
“Oh my gawd, is he dead?” he heard the girl ask.
Andrew opened one eye and saw one of the teenage boys from inside the pizzeria. Over his
shoulder stood the other boy and the two girls.
“No,” the boy said, “he’ll be alright. But he’ll have a nice shiner, that’s for sure.”
Andrew sat up and touched his left cheek. It bled just below the eye socket and his whole head
throbbed. He felt the back of his head for blood, but there was none. His right shoulder hurt, too.
He must have hit the pavement on his side.
- 30 -
“Here you go,” one teenage boy said, extending his hand. Andrew took it and the boy heaved him
upright. “Thanks,” Andrew said. The pounding in his head doubled when he stood.
He looked around for any sign of “Larry” or his friend. He didn’t see anyone, so he walked
carefully back into the pizzeria. The owner of the place took one look at him, mumbled some
Italian exclamation, and made an icepack out of a cleaning rag. Andrew took it, thanked him, and
walked to the restroom to survey the damage.
He had a small cut on his left cheekbone. The big guy was obviously right-handed. The bleeding
had stopped, but the swelling had not. He washed his face with cold water and pressed the
icepack on the bruise. He stood there looking into the mirror for a few minutes, trying to give the
ice time to work and trying to figure out his next move. Whatever it was, it involved getting out of
Fort Lauderdale. Andrew had experienced enough for one weekend. He was close, but close to
what? If this was just a wild chase, it was becoming a painful one. What had seemed like a good
idea from the comfort of his home in Texas looked completely different while standing inside a
dumpy restroom in the armpit of Florida.
It was time to go home. But Andrew had one more stop to make before leaving Florida. By the
time he reached Miami, two things were clear in his mind. First, he could not go back to Fort
Lauderdale searching for this mysterious “Larry”. Second, he had come too far to just give up. So
he did the only sensible thing to do. He pulled out the telephone book in his hotel and started
making phone calls.
He leafed through the yellow pages and found, to his surprise, an entire section devoted to
“Investigation Specialists”. A couple of them actually had large ads, boasting the company’s
number of years in service, quality of their investigators and guaranteed results. He called a half
dozen, left messages on all of their answering machines using his “Rick Raider” alias, and went
out to grab a quick dinner at a Cuban sandwich place.
On his way back to the hotel, his cell phone rang.
“Rick, this is J.D. with Hallenbeck and Associates, you called earlier?” a voice stated flatly.
“Yeah, uh, I need some help, I guess,” Andrew stammered.
“What kind of work do you need?”
Andrew tried to think of a diplomatic way to put it, but came up with nothing. So he just laid it out.
“I need to you follow somebody and give me as much information about him as you can.”
“Here in Miami?” J.D. asked.
“Mainly up in Fort Lauderdale, I think.”
“Alright, what can you tell me?”
Andrew was getting uncomfortable with the conversation. It seemed odd and impersonal to be
setting up such a deal while sitting in a rental car in the parking lot of a budget hotel.
“Should we meet to talk about it?” Andrew asked.
“Sure, we can do that, when would you like to meet?” J.D. replied.
“Well, I’m only in town until about four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, but anytime between now and
then is fine.”
- 31 -
“Is it too late tonight? I just had a client cancel a surveillance job.”
“No, it’s not too late. I’m staying at the Beach Plaza downtown. There’s a bar just off the lobby
that’s not too loud.”
“Let’s do it.”
Twenty minutes later, the two men were sitting in a booth in the back of the hotel bar. A couple of
businessmen sat at the bar flirting with the female bartender, but other than that, the place was
empty.
J.D. appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. He was nothing like the private eyes in most
movies. He had a professional demeanor about him and conversed as if they were discussing
something as ordinary and dull as a landscaping job.
As J.D. gave a brief background of Hallenback and Associates, emphasizing their reputation for
fast, efficient work and laying out what sounded like a corporate mission statement, Andrew
detected a flinty foundation beneath his polite mannerisms. J.D. offered references, which, due to
time constraints, Andrew declined. He then gave his personal background – a retired police
detective from Cincinnati; two years with Hallenback; working privately instead of publicly
because the hours and pay were better; he’d been shot in the back in Ohio and opted for the
early retirement package the department offered; moved to Miami because the cold weather
made his back ache and he’d always wanted to live near the beach. When he talked about his
past, his eyes revealed a steely hardness from years on the streets.
This yin-yang confluence of polished professionalism and jaded experience invoked an equally
bipolar response in Andrew. He felt frightened by this man of mysterious means and equally
comforted that he was capable of the job.
Andrew laid out the situation, gave him a photo of “Larry” and, as best as he could remember, a
description of the big guy that decked him. J.D. interjected a few questions to clarify the
descriptions and events. Andrew gave him the post office box number and postal branch location,
and told him about the connection to Pair-A-Dice Hosting.
“So let me get this straight,” J.D. recapped. “This guy Larry, or whatever his name is, has a PO
box in Lauderdale and you just need to know his real address, real name, and any other basic
information I can find?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Andrew said.
“Piece of cake.”
They discussed J.D.’s rate – a hundred bucks an hour plus expenses with five hundred up front –
and the meeting was over. J.D. promised to come by the hotel in the morning to have some
paperwork signed and collect the cash retainer. Andrew had no doubt he would keep that
promise.
Chapter 20
Sunday, March 14
8:20am
- 32 -
After taking advantage of the hotel breakfast bar again, Andrew drove to a nearby bank and
withdrew five hundred dollars from the ATM. As he was checking out of the hotel, J.D. arrived.
Andrew signed a couple of legal forms authorizing Hallenbeck and Associates to do the work.
J.D. counted the cash and provided a written receipt. It all seemed much more professional than
Andrew had imagined. But then again, his only prior experience with private investigators had
come from watching bad dramas on network television. He just hoped that the real P.I.’s could
find people as easily as the actors on TV.
Eight hours later, Andrew walked into his apartment, exhausted from the weekend, but more
anxious than ever. He had gotten much further than he had imagined possible, yet still had no
real answers. Once the airplane touched down at D/FW, he decided to try and put it out of his
mind for a few days. Let the investigator do his work, spend the week working as usual, and reevaluate at the end of the week. Unfortunately, that plan didn’t last through the evening.
As he unpacked his bag, Andrew listened to the messages on the speaker of his answering
machine.
“Andy, it’s Janie. Give me a call. Home or work, whatever…”
That got Andrew’s attention. Janie never called. He wasn’t even sure that he had her home
number!
Next came his own voice. He smiled, thinking he sounded nervous and kind of wimpy! He’d have
to work on his tough guy persona. With a somber sense of thankfulness, he pushed the button to
delete his own message. Then came the second message from Janie.
“Andy, it’s Saturday afternoon and I’m at home. Call me, please. 496-0886.”
Now he was terribly curious and a little uneasy. Her tone was not frantic, but the fact that she had
called twice and given him her home number meant something serious. After two hang-ups in a
row, he heard his brother’s voice.
“Andy, it’s Chris. I hope everything’s alright... Janie’s a little worried about you. Please give me a
call when you get a chance. See ya, bro.”
Andrew stood in the middle of his bedroom holding a dirty pair of socks as the answering
machine clicked off. He walked over and pressed the time/date button.
“Sunday, March 20, 3:38 PM,” the electronic voice droned.
Although the two seldom talked now, it was natural for Janie to go to Chris with her concerns.
Andrew’s only sibling, three years older, was the only person in the world who could really talk to
him. For years, Chris had been the only voice of sanity in his life. Everyone else offered platitudes
and canned responses to Andrew’s questions.
“We live in a fallen world,” their pastor said.
“But if God watches the sparrow, surely he watches children,” Andrew replied.
“God’s ways are higher than man’s ways,” another pastor offered.
“Is it God’s way to allow children to be kidnapped, abused, or even murdered?” Andrew asked.
“Without faith, it’s impossible to please God,” the counselor told him.
“How can I have faith in a God who let this happen!” Andrew demanded.
- 33 -
“I don’t understand,” his brother admitted. “It tests my faith. I ask ‘why?’, but I get no answers.”
Chris truly listened to Andrew when the church people tried to do all the talking. Chris quietly
endured Andrew’s outbursts when counselors condemned his anger. Chris loved him through his
drunken depression when Janie could take no more. Chris understood Andrew, yet never
wavered in his trust in God.
It was his older brother who spent endless hours and countless dollars printing flyers, talking to
the local news media, calling the various law enforcement agencies and helping out in any other
way necessary. After the case went cold and the file was pushed to the back of the “missing
persons” cabinet, it was Chris who never gave up in the possibility that Faith was still alive,
somewhere, somehow.
A few years later, when Andrew needed a place to stay after Janie kicked his drunk, angry butt
out of the house, it was Chris’ door that opened up at 3:00 in the morning. He tried his best to
help keep Andrew and Janie’s marriage together, but he could not stop the inevitable. Eventually,
it was Chris, along with the support of his wife, Nicole, and their two children, Caeden and
Cheyenne, who let Andrew stay at their house for two months until he cleaned up and got his feet
back on the ground.
When Andrew finally declared God to be dead – at least to him – Chris never flinched. He still
listened, still understood and still offered whatever support Andrew needed. All these years later,
there was nothing Andrew needed, so he seldom talked to Chris. Yet, he always appreciated,
respected, and loved his older brother.
Andrew sat down on the bed and debated whom to call first. Then he picked up the phone and
dialed Chris’ number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Chris, it’s Andrew, I just got your message.”
“Hey, bro. How’s everything?”
“Fine, you know, just taking care of business.”
“Good, good…”
“Everything alright on your end?”
“Oh, sure. Nicki’s back at work now, part-time at the church. Caedan’s majoring in business
management and applying for some upper-classmen scholarships for next year. Cheyenne’s
about to graduate, but I don’t know if she’s going to college. She’s actually talking about going on
missions for six to twelve months!”
Andrew laughed and marveled at how fast the children grew up. They were still just a couple of
kids the last time he’d seen them. He felt a twinge of guilt at the distance he’d kept. Yet thinking
of them only reminded him of their cousin. Andrew never wished anything but the best for his
nephew and niece, but it didn’t seem fair that they could grow up so happy while his own
daughter was gone. Chris’ family was everything Andrew wanted for himself. And while he didn’t
begrudge them, it was emotionally difficult to be around them.
“Tell them I said, ‘Hello’,” he said with genuine warmth.
“Yeah, I will…” Chris replied.
- 34 -
“So…” Andrew offered, wondering when Chris would get to the meat of the conversation.
“So…” Chris hesitated. Andrew let the silence hang out there, forcing Chris to the point.
“Janie called me yesterday,” he finally said.
“Yeah, I gathered that.”
“She seemed kind of concerned, you know.”
“Okay,” Andrew said, wondering what she had told him, if anything.
“Were you out of town this weekend?” Chris asked.
Andrew considered lying in fine “Rick Raider” fashion, but couldn’t bring himself to deceive his
brother.
“Yeah, I went down to Miami for a couple of days,” he admitted.
“Business?”
“No… just a little break from the routine,” he said and brushed his hand unconsciously over his
bruised cheek.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
He knows something’s up, Andrew thought.
“What exactly did Janie tell you,” Andrew asked.
Chris exhaled audibly. “Well, Andy, she told me quite a story. Um… she told me about your lunch
conversation, and the pictures you showed her… and your theory about them.”
Yep, that’s everything, Andrew thought. Thanks a lot, Janie.
“Hmmm,” Andrew uttered. He wasn’t in the mood to defend his actions or detail his weekend. But
since the story was out, he figured he could use a third opinion.
“Want to see the pictures?” he asked. “I can e-mail them to you right now.”
“It’s not that, Andy. It’s just that we don’t want things to… you know, go backwards or anything.”
“No, really, I’d like your opinion,” Andrew said, taking control of the conversation. I’ll be damned if
I’m going to let Janie paint me into a corner on this one, he thought. “Just look. You remember
Janie when she was a teenager. You tell me if I’m nuts on this one. If I am, I’ll leave it alone.
Really.”
Maybe I’ll leave it alone… but probably not, he thought.
“If you want me to, sure,” Chris said. “But we just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I understand. And really, I’m fine,” he said. Bruised, but not broken. “What’s your e-mail?”
Chris gave him his e-mail address, then they made a little more small talk while Andrew booted
up his laptop, logged onto the internet, and e-mailed the three photos with the indecent parts
- 35 -
blacked out. Andrew heard the e-mail tone on Chris’ computer announce the arrival of a new
message, then the double-click of a mouse as Chris opened up the first picture.
“Oh, wow,” he said, genuinely struck.
“Uncanny, huh?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Check out the other two,” Andrew said.
The mouse clicked, then clicked again.
“Remember that time Janie and I met you and Nicole up at the lake the summer before we went
to college?” Andrew asked.
“Sure, I remember that.”
“Still have those photos?”
“Probably. Somewhere in a scrapbook, I think.”
“Well see if you can find them. Especially the ones of Janie in that bikini. Then compare them –
face, body, everything. Let me know what you think.”
“Okay. But you know, it’s entirely possible for two completely unrelated people to look a lot alike.”
“I know,” Andrew admitted openly. “But it’s pretty amazing. And kind of eerie.”
“Yeah, I can see your point. Just don’t go nuts over this, okay? Promise me that.”
“Sure, I promise,” Andrew said. Unless you count bluffing your way into a computer room,
meeting a porn peddler in a run-down pizza joint, and hiring a private eye as ‘nuts’.
“You mind if I get Nicki’s opinion on this?” Chris asked.
“Go ahead,” Andrew said, knowing full well that the question was simply a matter of decorum.
Chris shared everything with Nicole and vice versa. He was planning on showing her the photos
already, but it was nice of him to ask permission.
“Thanks. We’ll dig up those old pictures and call you tomorrow, if that’s alright.”
“Sounds good,” Andrew said. They hung up and despite his initial concern, he was kind of glad
his brother had called. He had always been the reasonable one. Maybe now he would look at
what Janie refused to see.
He picked up the phone again and dialed Janie’s home number. He was relieved to get her
answering machine.
“Hey, it’s Andrew returning your call. I’ve been out of town. I talked to Chris just now and
everything’s fine. Talk to you later.”
After a quick dinner, Andrew showered and caught up on the news while lying in bed. Sleep came
easily and this night his luck held out – he did not dream.
- 36 -
Chapter 21
Monday, March 15
11:45am
Monty dropped by Andrew’s office on his way out to lunch.
“Hey, I wanted to… Whoa! What happened to you?”
This made five people who had asked him so far today, so Andrew was prepared.
“Batting cages. Barely tipped a fastball, caught it right in the cheek,” he lied with all of the
conviction of a late night infomercial host. He had played on the company softball team for three
years straight and the season was starting again in a few weeks, so it was as believable as
anything.
“Ouch!” Monty sympathized. “Anyway, I was kicking around the ‘net this weekend and I found a
couple of things you might be interested in.”
“Oh yeah?” Andrew put down the spreadsheet he had been studying.
“Yeah, check this out…”
“Why don’t you shut the door,” Andrew suggested.
Monty closed the door and continued. “So, I’m looking around for variations of ‘Loganz Girlz’ and
guess what I find?” He paused for dramatic effect. “‘Loganz Boyz!’”
“No way!”
“Waaay!” Monty intoned, a la “Wayne’s World.”
“Same guy in the photos?” Andrew asked.
“No guy, just boys. Seriously underage boys.”
“That’s sick. Can’t you get in trouble for looking at that?”
“Possibly. But I won’t. I never paid for anything and I know how to purge my computer, so I’m not
worried. And I won’t be a repeat visitor, so it won’t ever be a problem.”
“If it is a problem, you’re on your own! I’ll deny everything!” Andrew laughed nervously.
“Ha! Well, anyway, here’s the thing. I run down this crap to a server in Hong Kong, which is not so
strange for that part of the world, except that since the Chinese took it over, they don’t like that
stuff very much. Usually, it’s in Thailand, Japan, or somewhere else around there. So I run a
bunch of traceroutes and find a couple patterns.”
“You did what?” Andrew interrupted.
“A traceroute. When you look at a website, you’re never really connected directly to that server.
You’re bouncing through your provider and any number of relaying nodes or mirrors in between.
So a traceroute shows all the places in between you and the host.”
“If you say so,” Andrew said, halfway following Monty’s explanation.
- 37 -
“Here’s the thing: All of these sites went through a server in the Bahamas before going to Hong
Kong. I think they are spoofing the Hong Kong server in order to throw people off. I mean, if the
FBI or whoever sees something they think is in Hong Kong, what are they going to do? Nothing!”
“That’s interesting.”
“Yeah, but it gets even better. I had run a traceroute Saturday afternoon on the site you showed
me and it pointed to Miami. But when I found this other stuff later that night, I decided to compare
those routes with the girl sites’ routes. But this time it doesn’t point to Miami. It points to Hong
Kong, through the same node in the Bahamas. It looked like somebody moved it Saturday for
some reason!”
Yeah, some reason, Andrew thought. I bet poor Jack got a very unpleasant phone call Saturday
afternoon and put in a little weekend overtime.
“I checked it again last night and it’s still pointing to Hong Kong. Very odd.”
“Yeah, that’s strange,” Andrew agreed. “So you think the actual host is in the Bahamas?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Any way to confirm it?”
“I’m not sure. That’s a little over my head, but I know a guy who could probably do it.”
“Can you pinpoint the location? The Bahamas has like a dozen islands or something.”
“I don’t know. I can ask him. He owes me a few favors. I got him his job interview where he
works.”
“Is he local? I’d buy him lunch or something.”
“Nah, he’s in Austin. But he’ll do it. I’ll e-mail him this afternoon.”
“Awesome. I’ll have to buy you lunch!”
“Sounds good!”
Monty left and Andrew tried to get back to the spreadsheet. It didn’t work. He simply could not
focus on numbers. So he clicked onto a search engine and entered “Bahamas”. After two pages
of travel agency sites, he found what he was looking for. He printed it out and took it with him to
lunch.
Chapter 21
Monday, March 15
12:38pm
The Bahamas actually consists of over 700 islands, but most are uninhabited. They start just 55
miles off the coast of Florida and stretch almost to Cuba, spread out across 100,000 square miles
of the Atlantic and Caribbean. In ages past, the islands were notorious for pirates, privateers and
buccaneers. Characters like Blackbeard, Captain Morgan and Calico Jack dot the history of
Nassau, the capital city and island. Now, of course, the Bahamas rely mostly on tourism. The
beaches and water sports provide some of the best vacation spots in North America. Their close
proximity to the U.S. and Canada make the bigger islands easy to reach by boat or air.
- 38 -
As Andrew explored the history and geography of the Bahamas, he tried to guess where one
would place an internet server for illicit and illegal material. Then again, he was not completely
sure that such material really was illegal in the Bahamas. Of course, with the United States right
next door, providing most of the residents with a means of living, it would stand to reason that
such a thing would be outlawed at least to keep Uncle Sam happy. If it was not illegal, it would be
a haven for such activity, similar to Thailand in the Far East. Andrew made a note to look that up
later.
Nassau and Freeport appeared to be the most obvious places to put a server. But then again, if
you were hiding something illegal, why not use one of the hundreds of small, unpopulated
islands? Or even one of the larger, sparsely populated ones like Andros? Or perhaps South
Bimini, which has little activity, but sits the closest to the U.S. mainland?
After an hour of useless speculation, but a decent education, Andrew headed back to the office to
make a more successful attempt at work. He filed the Bahamian information in his briefcase and
forced himself to leave it there the rest of the day.
That night, Andrew decided to do something to get his mind off of “the case”, as he now thought
of it. So instead of going home, he ran a few errands, picking up more deodorant, toilet paper and
a few other things at Wal-Mart and checking out all of the latest gadgets at Electric Avenue. The
discount DVD section got him thinking about movies, so he dropped by the local multiplex to see
what was playing. The latest Edward Norton flick was about to start, so he bought a ticket, paid
entirely too much for a drink and popcorn, and enjoyed the show. It had nothing to do with the
internet, pornography or kidnapping. It was just what Andrew needed.
The movie ended after ten o’clock. By the time Andrew drove home, unloaded his groceries and
got ready for bed, it was almost eleven. That’s when he noticed his answering machine light
blinking.
“Hey, bro, it’s Chris,” the recorded voice said. “Just following up with you from yesterday. Give me
a call when you get in… if it’s not too late. I’ll be at the office tomorrow, so you can call me there if
you like. See ya.”
Eleven o’clock was definitely in the realm of “too late” to the couple with schoolchildren, so
Andrew made a mental note to call his brother the next day.
Chapter 22
Tuesday, March 16
10:12am
Andrew waited until mid-morning to call his brother. Chris picked up the line personally.
“Hey, it’s me. Got your message kind of late last night – went out to a movie.”
“Yeah, how was it?”
“Pretty good. The new Ed Norton movie, you know, the guy from Fight Club and Rounders?”
“Sorry bro… didn’t see either of those.”
“Decent flick. Anyway…”
- 39 -
“Yeah, well, Nicki and I looked at the pictures and compared them with some old photos we
found.”
“And?”
“Well… we can see the similarities…” Chris finished, leaving an unsaid “but” in the air.
“But what?” Andrew prompted.
“Didn’t Faith have a birthmark on the back of one of her legs?”
Andrew thought for a moment.
“Yeah, she did,” he admitted. It was something he hadn’t thought about in years. “I had forgotten.”
“Me, too. Nicki remembered it, actually. She thinks it was her left leg, just above the back of the
knee. It was clearly visible.”
“Yeah, it was,” Andrew said, past details coming back like the memories of a dream. “It was
pinkish-brown. And rough, like coarse sandpaper.”
“That’s right. And in the one photo… um, the one from behind,” Chris said, his discomfort
apparent, “you can see the backs of both legs and there’s clearly no birthmark.”
Andrew felt an invisible dagger pierce his stomach. His brother was absolutely right.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he finally said.
Then Chris, without intention to harm, gave the dagger a twist.
“And Nicki says that Janie asked the doctor about it and he said that it might fade, but would
never go away.”
Andrew remembered. Nicole was exactly right. He wondered for a second why Janie hadn’t
thought of that little detail over lunch last week. If ever there was a way to tell their little girl, it was
the birthmark on the back of her leg. About the size of a silver dollar, it couldn’t be missed. In fact,
it was one of the things listed on the police fact sheet under “distinguishing characteristics”. It had
said, “Light brown, raised birthmark behind left knee. Approximately 1.5 inches in diameter.”
Andrew grabbed his briefcase and pulled out “the file”. He flipped to the photo Chris was referring
to and sure enough, there was no birthmark. No shadow, no wrinkle, no discoloration at all.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “You’re right about that.”
“Plus, the odds are highly improbable. I mean, your missing daughter turns up ten years later in
some dirty photos on the internet and you happen to stumble across them? It’s a bit of a reach.”
Then he quickly added, “But we can see how you’d see the resemblance. It’s really uncanny.”
Andrew smiled in spite of the knot in his stomach. Chris was always the encourager. Honest, but
encouraging.
“Well, I appreciate you keeping an open mind about it,” Andrew said. “I mean, Janie kind of
flipped out about it and I guess I can’t blame her. I just… I don’t know. I needed someone else to
at least look at them. Just to find out if I was crazy.”
- 40 -
“You’re not crazy, bro. Of course you’re going to want some hope, even after all these years.
Who wouldn’t?”
“Well… get back to work, I guess. And thanks for listening. Like always.”
“No problem. Just try not to let this get to you, okay?”
“Alright. I won’t.”
"One more thing, Andy..."
There was an awkward pause on the other end of the line. Andrew knew something serious was
coming, but there was no way to prepare for what Chris was about to say.
"I don't know if it means anything, but I had a really strange, yet powerful, dream last night.
Maybe my dinner was too spicy, but I can't let it go without mentioning it."
"Tell me what happened," Andrew said, both frightened and intrigued.
"You were standing on a beach and I was standing on the sidewalk. You weren't looking at me -it was like you didn't know I was there -- but I was watching you. You were just watching people
on the beach, but behind you the waves were getting bigger and bigger. I started yelling for you to
get away, but you couldn't hear me. You just kept watching the people. Then the ocean rose up
and this giant wave was coming right at you. I couldn't move, but I was yelling the whole time.
The wind picked up like a hurricane and blew sand in my face and this wave was coming at you
and I couldn't do anything. I don't know what happened -- if the wave hit you or not. The last thing
I remember is the sand in my face and I'm yelling and this wave is just coming at you."
Andrew listened, stunned and silent. Chris was not the type to make up something like this to
scare him. He didn’t try to spiritualize or interpret the dream; he just told it as he remembered it.
But the significance was not lost on Andrew. He had embarked on a dangerous journey and there
was not much anyone else could do about it. If the “wave” blindsided him and engulfed him, so be
it.
"It's not hurricane season, if that makes you feel any better," Andrew attempted to hide the knot in
his stomach with some humor, but it didn’t work for either of them.
"Yeah, I now... It's just one of those things that bothered me all day, so I figured I had to mention
it. I'll pray and you try to be careful."
“I will. Talk to you later.”
“Love ya, bro.”
“See ya,” Andrew said and hung up. He was glad to have talked to his older brother, even if he
brought disappointing news and a disturbing vision. Andrew stared at the photo of the girl – “his”
girl, as he had started thinking of her – then shoved it back into the folder, into his briefcase, and
temporarily out of his mind.
Chapter 22
Tuesday, March 16
7:45pm
- 41 -
Andrew was kicked back on the couch watching a hockey game on television, his empty dinner
plate sitting on the coffee table, when the phone rang. He picked up the cordless receiver.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Mason, this is J.D. with Hallenbeck and Associates,” the voice on the other end of the line
said.
“Oh, yeah, how’s the job going?” Andrew asked.
“Good. Piece of cake. Got your information.”
“Really? That fast?” Andrew asked as he pulled himself off of the couch in order to take notes.
“Sure. Like I said, piece of cake. Ready to write?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“The guy – Harry, Larry, or whatever -- his real name is Michael René Alvarez,” J.D. spelled it out.
“His residence is listed on a boat at the Three Palms Marina near Fort Lauderdale.”
J.D. gave him the full address at the marina and Andrew wrote it down halfheartedly. It was
information he didn’t think he would ever use, but he was paying for it, so he jotted it down.
Besides, somewhere in the back of his mind, he hadn’t completely let go.
“I don’t got any information on the big guy that clocked you, but I’m sure it wouldn’t take too long
to track him down, now that I know where Mr. Alvarez lives. You want me to follow him for a few
days?”
“No, that’s alright,” Andrew said. “That’s all I’ll need for now. Just send me an invoice.”
“Will do,” J.D. replied. “Unless you object, a summary of this information will be included with the
final invoice.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” Andrew said.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mason, and I’m here at your service should
you need anything else.”
They hung up and Andrew chuckled to himself. I never knew hiring a Private Investigator could be
so much like having the oil changed in your car, he thought with some amusement. He reread his
information. Mike Alvarez, scum of the earth, he thought. Andrew suspected that the photos were
shot at sea, based on the color of the water in the background and the parts of a boat in several
of the images. Others in the “Loganz Girlz” series were clearly in tropical locations. The set-up
made sense… pick up girls, take them out to sea or to a deserted island, give them liquor or
drugs, then take advantage of them and photograph it. All in a day’s work for a perverted little
punk like Michael René Alvarez, Andrew thought.
He felt a flash of anger rise up in him, like a gas stove igniting that small flame that never goes
out, even when the knob is turned to zero. In his mind, a scenario unfolded within seconds. He
was back in Pizza-by-the-Sea with Alvarez, but this time as he stood up and knocked the table
over, it wasn't his cola that hit the floor, it was Alvarez' dead body, bloody from the gunshots
spewed forth from the weapons in Andrew's hands. It was as if Quentin Tarantino was directing a
gratuitously violent movie scene in Andrew's head. And like the audiences that watch such films
with glee, Andrew felt satisfaction as his rage released upon his target.
- 42 -
Such eruptions of imaginary vengeance were not new to Andrew, but never in the past did he
have an actual person to place in his gruesome fantasies. He did not believe that Alvarez was
the kidnapper, but he was close enough. For the moment, he embodied the shadow of evil that
had wronged Andrew.
He breathed deeply and suppressed the fury. The heat that had physically flushed his body
abated. Then, with resignation, he put away the file and went back to the couch to watch the rest
of the hockey game.
Chapter 23
Wednesday, March 17
11:24am
Monty popped into Andrew’s office again the next day, just before lunch.
“So when are you going to tell me why I’m helping track down porn servers in the Bahamas?”
Monty asked.
Andrew was caught off guard and only managed a “Huh?”
“We found it. The server you’re looking for. But you’ve never told me why we’re looking for it!”
Monty’s chipper mood contrasted with Andrew’s melancholy. He had slept fitfully the night before,
dragged himself out of bed and trudged through the morning, purposely not dwelling on Alvarez
or "his girl," but feeling the moodiness that came with the burying his emotions.
“Well, I was looking for somebody – one of the girls. I thought maybe it was someone I once knew
and I was concerned about her. It was a long shot, but now I’m pretty sure it’s not her.”
“Yeah?” Monty was even more interested now. “Ex-girlfriend?”
A humorless chuckle escaped Andrew. “No, not hardly. It was, uh… a friend of mine’s daughter.”
“Oh, I see. So how do you know it’s not her?”
“I had forgotten, or uh, didn’t realize that she had a birthmark on the back of her leg and in one of
the photos, you can clearly see there’s no birthmark.”
“Well duh! They airbrush stuff like that out of porn. Ever seen cellulite on a centerfold?”
“I’m not really into that stuff, Monty.”
“Well trust me, there’s none. Just look at the cover of any rag at the grocery store checkout stand.
Airbrushed. All of ‘em.”
Inside, that spark of hope flamed. He had not considered that the photo could be altered.
“I thought they were amateur photos,” Andrew countered.
“So! They still airbrush most of them! Especially if they are in the business. And trust me, these
guys are definitely in the business!”
- 43 -
Monty’s certainty convinced Andrew that it was not only possible, but likely that a noticeable
birthmark would have been digitally removed.
“So you want to know where the actual server is sitting?” Monty asked.
“Sure!” Andrew replied, his excitement returning.
“We’re about 90 percent sure that it’s an island in the Bahamas called ‘Catt Island’, but it’s a little
hard to peg.” Andrew remembered the name from his geographical exploration, but had not read
anything on it. It was large enough to register on the list, but nothing grabbed his attention about
it.
“Here’s the deal,” Monty continued. “There’s a break in the connection that is most likely a
wireless jump. It’s probably cellular or microwave. It’s too short to be satellite and there’s not
much else that can make the kind of hop that this thing is making.”
While Monty explained it, Andrew pulled up a map of the Bahamas on his computer. He turned
the monitor toward Monty and pointed toward an island on the eastern side of the island chain -what they referred to as an "Out Island." Monty leaned in and pointed.
“Here’s Nassau, the capital. They’ve got a major hub on the internet, so everything pretty much
goes through there. The signal goes through Nassau, then over to a node that’s registered to a
resort called ‘Brigadoon Bay Resort’ on the island of Eleuthera, sixty miles east.” Monty pointed to
another snakelike island to the right of Nassau.
“The hotel sits on the south end of the island, right here,” Monty pointed to the bottom of the long
island, “and that’s where it appears to end.”
Monty stood back up, away from the computer monitor, to make his point. “But here’s the thing:
that’s not the end of it.”
Monty spoke like a lawyer wrapping up the closing argument of a court case, with Andrew as the
rapt juror.
“When you ping the server at Brigadoon Bay, you get a consistent response time. But when you
hit the servers with those porn sites, the ones that look like they are on a server in Hong Kong,
there’s a delay. It’s long enough that it’s not another server at the same location, but it’s not long
enough to be bouncing all the way around the world. Plus, it’s not consistent. The range of
variance is beyond the normal range for most connections, which points to a wireless signal.
Down in the islands, it’s real hard to get a wireless signal like that to go more than fifteen or
twenty miles. It’s so flat that you lose your line of sight over the horizon pretty quickly.”
“Why wouldn’t you bounce the signal off of a satellite?” Andrew asked.
“Good question. Two reasons: first, it’s expensive. Satellites are jammed with TV signals, radio
signals, cell phones, and other stuff. Getting a band just for that short hop would cost a lot of
money. But there’s an even better reason to avoid satellites in this case.”
“What’s that?”
“You can trace it. And if you’re serving up kiddie porn, you would be stupid to upload it to a
satellite every time someone looks at it. Not that you’re not stupid for doing it anyway, but you
know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think so,” Andrew said as he pieced it together. “So it goes to this resort hotel in
Eleuthera, then what? Wireless to Catt Island?”
- 44 -
“Bingo. It’s only about twenty miles from the south end of Eleuthera over to Catt Island. Of
course, there’s a dozen other small islands out there, but nothing that’s inhabited. The closest
place with people and buildings is Catt Island. And here’s the really interesting thing: it’s the
island with the highest elevation in the Bahamas!”
Andrew didn’t get the significance immediately. Monty could tell by his blank expression.
“Hello! Wireless, line-of-sight connection? This place has an old monastery on top of a 200-foot
hill. That’s perfect for a microwave or cellular dish. And the Brigadoon Bay Hotel is six stories
high, which is going to be at least fifty, sixty feet. And in between, there’s nothing but clear ocean
air. It’s perfect!”
“You think they’re using a monastery to host child pornography?” Andrew shuddered at the
thought of a once-sacred place being used for such sickness.
“Maybe, maybe not. They could just be using it for the wireless tower. A hard wire could carry it
anywhere on the island after that.”
“I see. Pretty clever,” Andrew admitted. But there was one piece of the puzzle that still did not
make sense. “So what’s the Hong Kong connection have to do with it?”
“That’s the really interesting thing,” Monty said. “All IP addresses, the actual number associated
with a website or server, are assigned in blocs. If you want to have your own IP address, you buy
a bloc with numbers in order, like 200 through 260. So the last set of numbers are all in a row.
The IP address on the server on Catt Island is in the middle of a group of addresses that are
actually sitting in Hong Kong. We verified several of them and they really are in China.”
“How can they do that?”
“The only way the could do that is if they configured the server in Hong Kong, set it up as if it was
going to be in a group of servers over there, then they just pulled it out and shipped it to the
Bahamas and didn’t tell anyone. The people that oversee the IP addresses don’t like it when
people start fragmenting the blocs like that.”
“Why go through the trouble?”
“So people can’t find you. If someone goes to the Bahamas, they will look on Eleuthera at the
Brigadoon Bay, but they won’t find anything. No kiddie porn there, I would imagine. And if they
look in Hong Kong, they will never find that IP address because the server that has it is halfway
around the world. Besides, when the FBI or somebody starts busting people, they aren’t going to
bother with someone they think is in China. And if the Chinese go looking for it, they won’t find it
there. All in all, it’s a pretty smart setup.”
Andrew soaked it in. In a strange way, it made perfect sense. But if they didn’t want to be found,
why was it so easy to find Michael René Alvarez and Pair-A-Dice Hosting?
“So what’s the connection to the host in Miami? I mean, if the porn is out on Catt Island, why did
we find Pair-A-Dice Hosting?”
“I wondered about that for a while. But here’s the thing,” Monty sat down in the armchair across
from Andrew’s desk. “Most of the porn hosted in Miami is clearly not child porn. Sure, some of it’s
labeled ‘barely legal’ and stuff like that, but the girls – and boys – look like they are close to legal
age. They could be getting eighteen-year-olds who just look like they are fifteen or sixteen,
okay?”
- 45 -
“Alright…”
“But the stuff in the Bahamas is obviously underage porn. Some of the boys’ photos looked like
they were barely in double digits!”
“That’s sick.”
“Yeah, bad stuff. But all a part of the ‘Loganz’ brand.”
Andrew flashed back to his meeting in the pizzeria as the smug man behind the sunglasses
sneered at him. If Andrew had known then what he knew now…
“It looks to me like he hosts a bunch of his legal stuff in Miami, but keeps the illegal stuff out in the
Bahamas. But this idiot’s so proud of his work he labels it all the same!”
“Pride goes before a fall…” Andrew mumbled.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Andrew said, hardly believing that a Bible reference had just passed through his lips
after so many years.
“So,” Monty stood up. “I don’t know what you’re going to do with all this, but there you go.”
“I don’t know,” Andrew said, standing up as well. “But thanks, you guys are awesome. I owe you
and your friend lunch or something.”
“I’ll take you up on that, but don’t worry about him. Like I said, he owes me a few favors.”
“How about lunch Friday?”
“Done deal! But you gotta promise me one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s trip to the Bahamas, I get to go!”
Andrew laughed. Monty thought he was joking, but Andrew knew better.
“Don’t pack your bags too soon,” Andrew said. “And by the way, there’s one more question.”
“What’s that?”
“If these guys are so smart and the FBI or whoever can’t find them, how did you and your friend
figure all of this out?”
Monty grinned his Cheshire Catt smile.
“Well, let’s just say that the FBI has things that they can and can’t do.”
“And those rules don’t apply to you?”
“Mmmm… not if we don’t get caught!”
Andrew shook his head. “I think that’s all I want to know.”
- 46 -
“It’s probably best that way,” Monty concurred.
Chapter 24
Wednesday, March 17
2:00pm
Arthur Catt, a famous English sea caption to some, a notorious pirate to others, had once used
this boot-shaped strip of sand as a base. In 1783, British Loyalists escaping the newly
independent United States settled on this fertile Out Island and established large cotton
plantations with slaves as labor. Then known as “San Salvador”, the island prospered for
decades, until the slaves were finally freed. The ruins of this bygone era can still be seen beneath
the flourishing tropical foliage.
In the early 1900’s, the people of Watlings Island, a nearby island also named after a famous
pirate, forsook its namesake and adopted “San Salvador” for itself. The alternate name of Catt
Island was then revived. But many locals still know the place as “Obeah Island,” a reference to
the local form of witchcraft still practiced by those who wish to place curses, spells and fixes on
others.
Perhaps in an attempt to enlighten the minds of the locals and dispel decades of spiritual
darkness, Father Jerome, a Catholic priest well-known amongst islanders, built “The Hermitage”
atop Mount Alvernia, the highest point in the entire island chain. A hand-hewn rock staircase
leads up to the monastery, just over 200 feet above sea level.
It was here, Monty suspected, that a relay tower stood. One that would transmit its unholy images
over the blue waters to the island of Eleuthera, then to the world.
Andrew printed out the Catt Island information and put it in his file, then turned his attention to the
Brigadoon Bay Resort on Eleuthera. Deriving its name from the Greek for “freedom”, the pilgrims
that originally landed here must have thought they had found Eden after fleeing their religious
persecution in Europe. Today, acres of pineapple plantations cover hills that descend into miles
of pink and white coral beaches. The moderate ocean breeze helps maintain average
temperatures between 60 and 80 year-round. Much more developed than Catt Island, there are
over a dozen large resorts up and down the island. Diving, snorkeling, kayaking, fishing and other
sand and sea activities draw tens of thousands of tourists every year.
At the southern tip of the island stands the Brigadoon Bay Resort, perhaps the most impressive of
all the resorts. It boasts over a mile of beachfront, the largest saltwater pool in the Bahamas,
more rooms than any other Out Island resort, and the biggest casino in the Caribbean. Buried in
the list of amenities, Andrew found what he was really looking for: high-speed internet access. He
browsed through the rest of the resort’s website, but the beauty of the beach, the sea life, and the
hotel itself was tainted by the ugliness that lived there, lurking beneath the Garden like an
electronic serpent.
Just as Andrew wrapped up his research, he clicked the last remaining unvisited link, “Meet the
Staff.” There, another discovery awaited him. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The key
players at the Brigadoon Bay Resort – Jimmy, the owner; Michelle, the general manager; Joey,
the assistant director; and Lynn, the financial director – all bore the same last name: Chiang.
Chapter 25
Wednesday, March 17
2:30pm
- 47 -
Wednesday afternoon, J.D. found himself back in Fort Lauderdale on another job. A Miami
businessman’s wife had put J.D. on a routine adultery case. He had followed the businessman
from his office to a “lunch appointment” up in Lauderdale. Funny, J.D. thought while sitting in the
parking lot of a cheap motel, I didn’t realize this kind of place had room service. He had snapped
several photos of Mr. About-To-Be-Divorced going into the motel room. It was only a matter of
time until the woman emerged.
Wishing he could order a pizza to his car, J.D. snacked on some potato chips he kept stashed in
his car for just this type of occasion. As an Investigation Specialist, one often found oneself stuck
in one’s car for long periods of time without the luxury of a five-minute break. He knew one guy
who’d actually had an airplane style toilet installed in the back of his SUV. But J.D. hadn’t gone
quit that far. He had, on numerous occasions, relieved himself in an alley or other not-so-private
place. It was a fact of life, so he dealt with it.
As he munched on the salt and vinegar chips, sparingly drinking his bottled water, the
businessman exited the motel room, sunglasses on, scanning the parking lot for a familiar
vehicle, of which J.D.’s did not qualify. The digital Nikon camera focused quickly and snapped off
frames almost as fast as moving video. J.D. could plug it into his laptop, select the best frames
and e-mail them from a local StarBucks before the man ever got home. If his wife had a printer,
she could confront her cheating husband with 8x10 color photos the second he walked in the
door.
“Technology is both wonderful and terrible, depending on your point of view,” J.D. often told his
clients.
Ten minutes after the man left, his fate was sealed when the woman, or more accurately the girl,
exited the same room. The Nikon went to work as she bounced across the parking lot to her black
sports car. J.D. wondered if she was doing this for hire or just for fun. Either way, his job was
essentially done. Now it would be up to the lawyers.
J.D. considered following the girl to her apartment, dormitory, strip club, or wherever she was
going, but in this case it really didn’t matter. The wife just wanted something for her lawyer to drop
in front of the judge and this would do. It would get her at least half of her soon-to-be exhusband’s net worth.
After checking the photos and copying them to his laptop, J.D. decided to do a little follow-up on
his own. The guy from Texas had dropped the case for now, but experience told J.D. that he
would call again. And as a highly professional investigator, J.D. tried to stay a step ahead of his
clients.
Since he was in the area with his camera, he figured he’d do some sightseeing at the Three
Palms Marina. The weather was nice and he had the time.
After grabbing a burger and fries at a fast food drive-through, J.D. headed down to the marina.
Despite Hollywood’s portrayal of private investigators lurking in the bushes with a camera, a
direct approach typically worked better in real life. J.D. walked into the marina, camera hanging
around his neck, to find the manager on duty.
An old, retired, overweight white guy sat behind the counter of the marina shop, reading a
paperback novel and sweating like a penguin in the desert.
“Good afternoon!” J.D. greeted.
“How ya’ doin?” the man replied with such an accent that he might as well have worn a T-shirt
with “I  NY” written on it. Of course, in Florida, New Yorkers are as common as Floridians.
- 48 -
“Not bad, not bad,” J.D. replied. “Thinkin’ about chartering a fishing boat this weekend. You got
anything here?”
“Oh, sure, we got lotsa boats. How many people?”
“Probably four of us.”
The transplanted retiree, who actually called himself “Pops”, elaborated on the various options for
deep-sea fishing excursions. J.D. politely listened, feigning interest and asking the right questions
at the right time. Then came the reason he was here.
“Can I see some of the boats?”
“Oh, sure,” Pops replied, lifting his mass out of the chair. He walked out to the piers, explaining
that some of the boats were out, but that mid-week was slower than the weekends, so several
were docked. As they walked, J.D. noted the numbers on the slips, like the numbers painted in a
downtown parking garage, designating each owner’s docking space. Each pier was marked with
a letter, while the individual slips were numbered. They were on “B”, but J.D. was looking for 17E,
three piers over.
“Skipper, you there?” Pops shouted at one of the boats. A thin Hispanic man emerged from below
deck. “Hi there. Is the skipper around?” Pops asked again.
“No, no,” the man said, shaking his head. “Town,” he said, pointing toward the land.
“Yeah?” Pops said. “He in town getting supplies?”
“Sí,” the man replied.
Pops turned to J.D. “The guy who owns this boat here, his name is Charlie. He’s one of the best.
Always comes in with a good catch. Nice guy, too. I’ll check and see how busy he is this
weekend.”
“Thank you,” J.D. said. “Okay if I snap a picture?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
The first mate had returned below deck, so J.D. photographed the empty boat.
“Great, thanks,” he said. “Any more?”
“Yeah, one more guy who I know is here today,” Pops said, walking back up pier “B”.
At the end, they turned to the left. Pops led him past “C”, then past “D”, then to “E”. When Pops
kept walking, J.D. said, “What about that boat?” and pointed down the pier.
Pops looked back. “Nah, dem’s all party boats and yachts. No fishin’ boats. Next one over.”
Pops turned around and kept walking, but before following him, J.D. snapped another picture
down the length of the pier. He quickly caught up to the old man, who was now sweating
profusely, and turned down the next pier. He noted the numbers, even on the left, odd on the
right. When they walked between 16F and 17F, J.D. looked across the water to pier “E”. There, a
boat sat docked with no apparent activity onboard. He made a mental note of the boat’s name
Nauti Gull. J.D. laughed to himself at the double entendre, thinking, Now that’s a name I won’t
forget!
- 49 -
Near the end of the pier, Pops found his man. As they chatted about fishing, the weather, and the
weekend schedule, J.D. positioned himself where he could look over Pops’ shoulder and see the
Nauti Gull. If anyone moved, he wanted to see them.
When they finished, J.D. asked to take another picture. The owner agreed, then said, “Wait!”
before J.D. could get the camera up. He ran around to the back of the boat, lifted the lid on a
container, and hefted out a large, silvery fish. Walking back to the front of the boat, he said,
“Alright, go ahead!”
The smiling skipper held up the large fish and J.D.’s camera beeped as it recorded the image.
J.D. and Pops thanked the skipper and turned to walk back up the pier. J.D. kept his camera
pointed straight out, holding it about waist high. As the slip numbers descended, he panned to the
right and snapped off a dozen photos. Between them, he would have a good view of the Nauti
Gull.
The two of them – marina caretaker and tourist – rounded the corner of the pier at the shoreline
and headed back toward the shop. At the same time, a group of five young women stepped onto
the pier, led by one large, muscular, dark-haired guy. The girls giggled amongst themselves as
the big man led them down the pier towards J.D. and Pops, who stopped walking as the crowd
approached.
“Hi there!” Pops greeted them.
“Hey,” the big man said as a couple of the girls smiled politely. They all seemed pretty content to
ignore the old man and his friend as they turned to walk down pier “E”. I wonder…, J.D. thought.
Although he was still holding his camera, it felt too obvious to photograph the group while facing
them, especially with Pops blocking most of the shot. Mr. Mason described a big guy that
assaulted him, J.D. remembered.
When they all made the turn, J.D. snapped several photographs of them walking down the pier
toward the boats. Counting to himself, J.D. quickly did the math to figure out how far down 17E
would sit.
“Looks like a party,” he said to Pops.
“Oh yeah, this place is Grand Central for parties,” he agreed.
J.D. watched the group stop in front of the ninth slip and board the Nauti Gull. As Pops started
walking again, J.D. held his camera up high enough to see over the other boats and clicked off
two dozen shots at high-speed.
Back at the marina shop, J.D. picked up a brochure and business card, promised to call Pops
back if they decided to charter a boat and thanked him for his courtesy and time. As he exited, he
tried to locate the Nauti Gull, but there were too many boats in the way. He paused, considering
whether or not to stroll back down pier “E”, but decided against it. Better to not look familiar
should he need to return on official business.
Chapter 26
Wednesday, March 17
5:30pm
After forcing himself through a good two hours of work, Andrew called it a day and headed home.
The short research project had turned into an afternoon of reading about Bahamian resorts and
- 50 -
history, ending with his discovery of a Chinese family in charge of the Brigadoon Bay. If anyone at
work was monitoring his internet activity at work, they just might accuse him of planning a trip to
the Out Islands. That, of course, was quickly becoming a real possibility. But first he had to figure
out his next move. After all, he could go through the trouble of busting up a child porn ring and not
accomplish much of anything - at least as it related to his primary motivation.
As he drove home, he worked through the Chinese connection. Certainly, things lined up with the
server's Hong Kong IP addresses and the Chinese family running the Brigadoon. They obviously
had connections back home to get them set up. But how deep did it run? Was it just one
opportunistic techie setting up an off-shore cash cow? Or was it something more complicated,
more entangled, and more sinister?
The phone rang while Andrew cooked a pre-pressed hamburger patty on his George Foreman
Grill. He answered.
"Mr. Mason?" a vaguely familiar voice inquired.
"Yes?"
"This is J.D. with Hallenbeck and Associates. I hope you don't mind me calling."
"Oh, no, of course not," Andrew said, unable to hide his surprise.
"I'm calling because I happened to be up in Lauderdale on another job and I swung by the Three
Palms Marina just to scope out the place for myself. While I was there, I got a photo I thought
maybe you should take a look at."
Still caught off guard by this unexpected twist, Andrew asked, "Is it René Alvarez?"
"No, it's not him. I know what he looks like. This guy is bigger. May be the guy that assaulted you
outside the pizza joint. I was wonderin' if you'd wanna take a look at it."
"Sure, yeah, you want to mail it or something?"
"I took it on my digital. If you want, I can e-mail it to you."
Andrew gave J.D. his e-mail address and promised some feedback after looking at the picture.
He hung up, flipped his burger, and powered up his laptop. While it booted, he finished putting his
burger together, then returned to log in to his e-mail.
There was not just one photo, but four. One showed a boat in the marina -- the Nauti Gull.
Andrew shook his head in dismay. This guy Alvarez is arrogant AND showy, he thought. The next
showed a group of young women dressed in bikinis, some wearing cover-ups, walking down a
pier. A man, presumably the "big guy" led them. They all faced away from the camera, so no
identification was possible. The third showed them stopped in front of a boat. This time, the guy
had turned around. Andrew enlarged the photo to get a better look at his face. It's possible, he
thought, but with the sunglasses, it was hard to tell. The last picture showed the guy helping one
of the girls step into the boat. His face was slightly profiled, so the features were more
distinguishable, but again, positive identification was impossible.
He replied to J.D.'s e-mail with his feedback:
Thanks for taking the time to check this out and contact me with it. I'm not sure I could identify
this guy positively, even if the photos were closer up. I really wasn't looking at him when we
"met" and I got a better look at his fist than his face! I am assuming that the Nauti Gull is Alvarez'
- 51 -
yacht. What an appropriately sick name for his boat! Were all of those bikini-clad girls getting on
his boat? Do you have any idea what they were doing?
- Andrew
As he finished off his burger, he analyzed his situation. To be sure, he had stumbled on to a porn
ring with some pretty nasty individuals. How tight Alvarez was with the Chinese, he couldn't know.
One thing was certain: If it really was Faith in the photos, Alvarez was his best link to her.
Just then, his e-mail program beeped to signal a new, incoming message:
Odds are, it's your guy. I'm guessing he was taking those girls for a late afternoon cruise. He didn't
seem to really know any of them - they chatted among themselves, but not really with him. He
appeared to be leading them to the yacht, and that's about it. I think we can both imagine the set-up
there.
One more detail – I compared the photos of the boat with your photos of the girls and it looks like
the same boat. Same wooden rail, deck space and general layout.
Let me know if you want me to pursue that any more. I will await your instruction.
- J.D.
Andrew closed the e-mail. The images in the photos had illustrated the set-up alright. And J.D.'s
reading of the situation confirmed it. It appeared that the "big guy" was not just a bodyguard, but a
recruiter as well. And that meant that Alvarez may not be the only one who could help Andrew. If
this guy had escorted the girl in the photos to the yacht, then he may be very helpful - if he would
talk.
Back to the computer, Andrew started shopping airfare again. If he could track this guy down,
there just might be a way to get him to cooperate.
Chapter 27
Thursday, March 18
8:25am
Andrew e-mailed Monty and asked to buy his lunch. He gladly accepted. At 11:30, he dropped by
Andrew’s office.
“So where are we eating?” Monty asked.
“I don’t care, you pick it,” Andrew replied.
“Walk to the Wok?”
“Let’s do it.”
Andrew and Monty walked two city blocks to the Tianjin Wok, a popular lunch destination in the
downtown business district. Neither of them recognized the occupants of any nearby tables, plus
the constant noise of the crowd drowned out most conversations, so Andrew felt comfortable
laying out his proposition.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” Andrew asked.
- 52 -
“Well, let’s see… party, party and, uh, oh yeah, party!”
Andrew laughed at his joke, even though it was probably more truth than humor.
“Wanna go to Florida?” Andrew offered.
“Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“What happened to the Bahamas?” he asked.
Andrew smiled. “That’s phase two of the operation – if we get that far. Here’s the deal…”
Andrew explained the situation -- who he was looking for, what he had learned so far, what had
happened last weekend (“So that wasn’t from a fastball after all, huh?” Monty pointed to his black
eye), and the photos that J.D. had sent. Monty consumed his General Tso’s Chicken in stunned
silence, for the most part.
When Andrew finished, Monty asked, “What in the world would make you think that this ‘big guy’
would tell you anything?”
“Good question. And the answer is… nothing.”
Monty puzzled over this answer for a moment, then said, “Why do I get the feeling that you are
considering something… uh, drastic?”
Andrew sucked down some noodles and said, “Because I am.”
“Like what?”
“Like coercive measures.”
Monty leveled his stare at Andrew and said, “You are an accountant. You are not an Army
Ranger or James Bond.”
“I realize that. But he doesn’t know that. All he’ll know is that a complete stranger wants some
answers to some questions or…”
“Or what?”
“Or something bad may happen!”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like… He’ll be scared so much that he won’t want to find out! These guys are
cowards anyway. Once he realizes how serious we are, he’ll talk. We just have to be convincing.”
“That’s some sound logic,” Monty said sarcastically.
“Well what do you propose?” Andrew asked. “I’m at a dead end here. The only two people that
could provide some clues are these two guys. And the way I see it, the ‘big guy’ has less to lose
than Alvarez. Plus, his guard may still be up from my visit last weekend. I think I spooked him a
little. He thinks I’m a cop.”
“I don’t know…”
- 53 -
“Hey, J.D. will be with us anyway. I called him this morning and he’ll be waiting for us tomorrow
night. I just need someone like you – you know, young, touristy, spring break type – who could
hang out at the beach or the marina or somewhere and not stick out like me and J.D. I’m not
asking you to do anything dangerous or anything. Just go and help if we need you.”
Monty cracked open his fortune cookie. “Maybe this will give me my answer,” he said, slipping out
the strip of paper from between the broken pieces.
“‘Never wear your best pants when you go to fight for freedom,’” he read. “What the heck does
that mean?”
Andrew said, “It means ‘pack shorts for warm weather,’” and they both laughed.
On the walk back to the office, Monty decided. “Count me in”.
“Good,” Andrew said. “I put our tickets on hold last night. I’ll confirm them this afternoon. We can
leave straight from the office tomorrow, if that’s alright with you.”
“Rock and roll.”
Chapter 28
Friday, March 19
8:00am
Friday morning, Andrew and Monty were both packed and ready to go. They busied themselves
with routine tasks, biding their time until their 6:30 flight for Miami. At 4:00 they would call it a day
and make a beeline for the airport.
Mid-morning Andrew received an unexpected call from his brother.
“You busy this weekend?” Chris asked. Surprised and feeling like a teenager caught trying to
sneak out of the house at night, Andrew hesitated.
“Uh… yeah, what’s up?”
“I’ve got Stars tickets, center ice, twelve rows up.”
Andrew was a hockey fan and Chris knew it. He rarely passed up the chance to go. To top it off,
Chris added, “And it’s the Red Wings in town!”
That was it. Nobody could pass up good seats at that game. Unless, of course, that person was
going out of town to hunt down porn pushers and the thugs that work for them.
“Man, I’d love to go. But I have to go out of town again.” Then, in a moment of truthful deception,
he added, “Me and one of the tech guys from work leave this afternoon.”
If that bit of well-placed misdirection was supposed to work on Chris, it failed miserably.
“You aren’t going to Florida, are you?” he asked.
“Um…”
- 54 -
“Andrew, I thought you agreed that it couldn’t be her, with the birthmark and all.” There was no
anger in his voice, no outward disapproval, although disappointment was buried in there
somewhere. Instead, it came across as genuine bewilderment.
“It could have been airbrushed,” Andrew offered with all of the conviction of public defender
assigned to a parole hearing for Charles Manson. “They do that, you know. They go in
electronically and fix things… the imperfections and stuff.”
Chris exhaled into the phone, absorbing this bit of information. Like Janie, Chris knew all too well
how close to self-destruction Andrew had come. He also knew that he could never fully
understand his brother's torment, but the thought of returning to the hell through which they had
all suffered concerned him greatly. Walking the line between enabling false hope and supporting
his brother posed a minefield of difficulties. If he came across as close-minded, he risked
alienating Andrew, who would then cut him off and pursue his wild ideas without him. On the
other hand, if his brother was plunging headlong into another break down, or possibly into
physical danger, Chris could not sit back and allow it to happen unchallenged. His only legitimate
role, he decided, was to listen compassionately, dialogue rationally, and pray intently.
“So what exactly are you doing down there, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I am meeting with a guy who may have been there when the pictures were taken,” Andrew said,
as if they were doing the breakfast buffet at the local Shoney’s.
“How did you find this guy?” Chris asked.
“The computer techie guy here at work,” Andrew explained. “That’s why he’s going with me. Sort
of payment for helping me, I guess you could say.”
“Why couldn’t he just talk to you over the phone? I mean, that’s a long way to go just for a
meeting.”
Oops. Now he was stuck.
“Um, well… he, uh, I…”
Chris interrupted, “Is this guy aware of your meeting?”
Andrew couldn’t lie. Not to his brother.
“Not exactly.”
“Andrew, good lord! This could be dangerous, you know. These guys are probably not nice guys
and who knows what else they could be into… drugs, prostitution… who knows?”
Andrew realized how stupid he must look at this point. The only way to prevent Chris from being
too alarmed was to come out with more information. Not everything, just enough to allay his fears.
“I know, Chris. Look, I already met with the guy that runs the operation down there and tried to
get information from him, but he wouldn’t talk. So I hired an Investigation Specialist out of Miami –
an ex-cop – and had him check up on these guys. He found the main guy’s right hand man, so
we’re going to talk to him – me, my tech guy, and the investigator. I’ve got to try to get an answer
about this so I can put it to rest, one way or another.”
- 55 -
Chris realized that Andrew was going regardless of any protests from him, so he didn’t challenge
him on it. That was part of the reason Andrew got along with his brother so well. He knew when to
press and when to let it go.
“Let me know how it goes, okay?”
“I will,” Andrew promised.
“And if you get into any trouble, call me! I don’t care what time it is, just call me and I’ll help, if it
comes to that.”
“We’ll be fine. Don’t worry!”
They hung up and Andrew went back to work. His body was in downtown Fort Worth, but his
mind was already on the East Coast.
Chapter 29
Friday, March 19
6:50pm
The 727 from Dallas to Miami was about halfway full. Andrew and Miami sat together in the
middle of the plane. After takeoff, Monty unpacked his laptop.
“I ran a bunch of searches on the name ‘Chiang’. There’s a few million of them, mainly in China,
but also throughout Hong Kong, England and California. A few in places like New York, Chicago
and Vancouver. One guy up in North Dakota.” Monty read through his research notes on his
computer.
“Of course, we don’t know their real names. Most Asians, especially Chinese, adopt an American
name to go with their family names. Did you know that Jackie Chan’s real name is Chan Yuan
Lung?”
Andrew laughed. “No, I suppose I did not know that!”
“Well, there you have it. So when I looked up the names we have, Jimmy, Joey and Lynn all
turned up exclusively at the Brigadoon. If you spell Lynn, L-I-N, you get a lot more, but nothing
that seems to be related. Jimmy turned up a bunch. Evidently it’s one of the more popular
adopted names. But again the only one that’s associated with the Bahamas, the Brigadoon, or
even Florida, for that matter, is the one we know about. The guy up in North Dakota is ‘Jimmy
Chiang’, but he runs the only Asian restaurant in Bismarck. I also looked at several Jimmy
Chiangs in California, Singapore, Hong Kong and Taiwan, but I can’t find anything that looks like
it could be related to our guy on Eleuthera.”
“So basically, we know nothing about them,” Andrew said.
“Pretty much. In fact, they could be using completely fake names. They could be family, or maybe
not.”
“Oh well,” Andrew dismissed them. “I doubt we will ever meet them. I’m more interested in the
guy who took the cheap shot at me last weekend.”
“You’re eye looks pretty good, by the way. The discoloration is almost all gone.”
- 56 -
“Gee, thanks.”
The flight attendant, or “waitress in the sky,” as Monty called her, brought Andrew a soda and
Monty a beer to go with their pretzels.
“So have you figured out how we’re going to get this guy to talk?” Monty asked.
“I’m kind of hoping that J.D. will have a good idea,” Andrew replied.
“Did you two talk about it at all?”
“Yeah, I mentioned it to him on the phone. Said that he might be our best chance at getting some
information. He agreed, but we didn’t discuss exactly how we would get him to cooperate. But
you’ve got to figure that he’s done this a few times in his life.”
“I hope so,” Monty said.
Their plane touched down around 10:00pm local time. By the time they got their rental car and
checked into their hotel, it was after 11:00. Andrew called J.D.’s cell phone and left him a
message confirming that they had arrived. Then he showered while Monty went down to the hotel
bar. He wasn’t concerned with Monty’s schedule, but he wanted to get as much rest as possible
before meeting J.D. for breakfast the next morning.
Chapter 30
Saturday, March 20
7:00am
Andrew heard Monty stumble in at some point, but quickly went back to sleep. The wake-up call
came at 7:00am. Monty didn’t seem to hear it, so Andrew dressed and left him sleeping while he
went down to meet J.D.
The Investigation Specialist arrived on time, ever the professional. Andrew shook his hand and
they went through the buffet line in the hotel restaurant. J.D.’s mannerisms did not follow a movie
script for private eyes, but his appetite did. He piled on the biscuits, gravy, sausage and
pancakes. Andrew stuck with the fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and bacon.
The first half of their meal was accompanied by small talk. But halfway through, J.D. got down to
business.
“So when were you going to tell me the truth about this slimeball Alvarez?”
Andrew, caught completely off guard, hesitated.
“I did a little digging on my own,” J.D. said. “That little crew getting on the boat at the Three Palms
tipped me off a bit. Then I found the magazines and the websites.”
“Magazines?” Andrew stammered. “I mean… I know about the websites, but…”
- 57 -
“It’s not a very big operation. Just across southern Florida and in the Bahamas. But enough to
pay for the car and the yacht and a decent apartment. Maybe the websites are where he’s
making his money.”
“Maybe…”
“So what’s the story here?”
Andrew sat silent for a moment, like a schoolboy just scolded by his headmaster.
“Look,” J.D. said, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m
not a cop any more. Granted, there are things I can and cannot do – at least not without risking
my license – but don’t worry. I’m on your side.”
For the first time, Andrew heard an edge in J.D.’s voice. Something breaking through his
sanitized professionalism. This is more like the movies, Andrew thought, holding back a smile.
“Plus, there’s something you don’t know,” J.D. said.
“What’s that?”
J.D. shoved almost half of a pancake in his mouth and chewed it while he framed his response.
Then he gulped half a glass of milk, wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and continued.
“My sister.”
Andrew waited in silence for the rest of the story as J.D. chomped on a piece of oozing sausage,
losing himself momentarily in purposely neglected memories of long ago.
“We weren’t that close – she was eleven years younger than me. But when she was only
seventeen, she hooked up with some bad dudes. Ended up posing for some photos that were
then sold to a smalltime rag – like the one Alvarez makes – and, well, you can imagine.”
J.D. stabbed another piece of sausage and crammed it in his mouth. They suffered several
seconds of heavy silence.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew offered. "I hope she's okay now."
"She's fine. She grew up, got her head on straight,” J.D. said with renewed optimism. “but it's
always out there. One bad decision haunts you for life."
"That's true."
"I took some of the dirty rags to a detective in the precinct where these guys had their offices and
we were able to bust them on some technicalities -- loosely defined indecency laws -- but they
walked. All the law can do really is hassle them and throw some fines their way. Unless, of
course, they're using kids. That's a whole different thing.
“Anyway, those bastards get no sympathy from me. I can tell you’re not in their business or
anything, so I suspect it’s got something else to do with it. Maybe personal, but whatever… I’ll do
what I can to help out.”
Andrew considered his situation. J.D. had been a lot of help so far; perhaps he could be even
more than Andrew had imagined.
- 58 -
“More milk?” Andrew asked as he stood up with his empty juice glass.
“Sure,” J.D. replied, handing the glass to him.
Andrew took his time filling up the two glasses, trying to decide whether to tell him everything. At
this point in the game, holding back did not make much sense. He was sitting with an ex-cop who
had been personally burned by porn pushers. If anything, the whole truth should server only to
help bring J.D. on board with Andrew’s mission. As he strolled back to the table, he decided to lay
it all out.
“Alright, I’ll tell you everything,” he said. And over the next fifteen minutes, he did.
If J.D. was surprised or otherwise impressed by the story, he didn’t show it. He stoically took it in,
nodding his head and grunting a few “uh-huhs” and “mmm’s” in the appropriate places.
When Andrew finished, he sat quietly for a few minutes, wheels turning in his head. The waitress,
or whatever they are in a buffet, came to their table to drop off the check and take their empty
plates. Finally, J.D. spoke.
“This Monty kid pretty reliable?”
“For the most part, yeah.”
“Tell me what you think about this idea.” J.D. laid out his plan. It was pretty smart. They worked
through a few possible scenarios and polished it out. Andrew had hoped that J.D. would take
control of this operation, so he was excited to follow his lead. He liked the plan; hopefully Monty
would, too.
Chapter 31
Saturday, March 20
2:45pm
After a couple of hours waiting, he showed up. The nameless thug that dropped Andrew with one
unexpected punch pulled into the marina parking lot in a sleek, black stretch limo and got out of
the driver’s seat. He was not dressed in a special uniform. He simply wore the standard white
cotton shirt, khaki pants and sandals. Although J.D. and Andrew could not see in the darkened
windows of the limo, there did not appear to be anyone in the back. Instead of opening any other
doors or tending to a passenger, the big guy casually walked toward the docks. At the marina
gate, Monty met him.
“Hi, I’m investigator Albert Watson,” Monty said, stepping in front of the beefy gentleman and
flashing the badge that J.D. had supplied him. “Can I ask you a few questions about Mr. Michael
René Alvarez?”
This had the effect that J.D. had predicted. The big guy stopped dead in his tracks, disconcerted
by the badge and the use of Alvarez’ full name.
“What’s your name, sir?” Monty asked quickly, pulling out a steno pad and pen.
“Uh… Donnie,” the big guy stammered.
“Is that short for ‘Donald’,” Monty asked, following J.D.’s script like a pro.
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“Yeah, what’s this about?” Donnie asked, starting to sweat from the heat, both literally and
figuratively.
“You work for Mr. Michael René Alvarez?”
Donnie uttered a few unintelligible noises as his slow mind tried to formulate the best response.
J.D. had predicted two: denial or confrontation. Donnie went with the first.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Monty picked up on the denial and went with the next planned question.
“You heading out to a boat in this marina?”
This had the desired effect on Donnie, which was to turn him back to the parking lot after
confirming who he was.
“No, I was just… I, uh… I got lost… I gotta go.”
With that eloquent exit, Donnie turned back the way he came and headed toward the limo. J.D.
stepped out of Andrew’s rented minivan and strolled across the parking lot toward the driver’s
side of the big black luxury car. He met Donnie near the front of the car.
“Cool car, man!” J.D. said, admiring the wax coat on the hood. “You drive this thing? This is
great!”
“Yeah,” Donnie grunted, dismissing him as another gawker. He walked right past J.D. without
giving him a second thought. As he paused to open the door, J.D. hit him with the 625,000-volt
stun gun. Donnie’s body quivered for a couple of seconds, then went limp. He didn’t even hear
the minivan’s engine crank up as he went down in a heap. By the time J.D. got Donnie’s meaty
hands cuffed behind him, Andrew was beside them with the van’s side door open. Monty jogged
up and the three heaved Donnie’s mass into the vehicle.
Five minutes later, when Donnie came to his senses, they were already to Highway 595, heading
west toward the everglades.
“Hello, Donnie,” Andrew said, looking back from the passenger’s seat. Donnie lay in the floor
space where the middle bench usually sat. They had taken it out and left it in the hotel’s parking
garage. Monty sat on the bench seat in the third row with the stun gun in hand. J.D. drove in the
middle lane of the highway, not too fast, but not too slow.
“Remember me?” Andrew asked. Donnie cocked his head, trying to get it level to see Andrew’s
face.
“No. Who are you?”
Half a dozen angry retorts shot through Andrew's mind and he felt a raging heat radiate through
his limbs. But instead of erupting, he simply turned back to the front.
“Hey!” Donnie shouted. “What the hell’s going on here?” He writhed on the floorboard, trying to sit
up, but failing. Getting agitated, he started kicking Andrew’s seat and cursing.
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“Cut it out!” Andrew yelled back. “You want him to use that thing on you again?” Andrew asked,
referring to Monty in the back seat, who now held up the stun gun, looking quite eager to test it
out. Donnie looked back, noticing Monty for the first time.
“Hey, you’re no cop,” he growled.
“Never said I was a cop,” Monty smiled. “Just an investigator.”
“Here’s the deal,” Andrew said. Donnie turned back toward the front. “I have a few questions. If
you answer them, we drop you off. The longer it takes you to get the truth out, the further into the
everglades we drive. The further we drive, the further you have to walk out. The way I figure it,
you’ve got four, maybe five hours of daylight. I would not recommend trying to walk outta here in
the dark, so let’s start talking.”
Donnie glared at Andrew, not sure whether to be angry or afraid or both.
“How long have you recruited girls for Alvarez’ photo sessions on his yacht?” Andrew demanded.
“I don’t know what…”
”Cut the crap!” Andrew shouted, cutting him off. “We all know what you do, so quit wasting our
time!”
Andrew’s anger boiled up again, like a distempered beast rattling its cage. It was not just for
show. It was the old rage coming back – back from years of no answers. Now he had someone in
front of him who might be able to provide some answers and he was not going to leave without
them.
“You go out and recruit girls, then you take them to Alvarez’ boat and go on a little cruise. Once at
sea, he takes pictures of them nude and publishes them in his dirty little magazines and websites.
We all know this, okay?”
“If you say so,” Donnie answered.
“Here’s the deal. I am interested in a girl. A friend of mine’s daughter,” Andrew lied. “She’s
screwed up her life a bit and Daddy wants to get her out, clean her up, and give her a second
chance. Get it?”
Leery, but wanting to believe it was that simple, Donnie nodded. Andrew pulled out Amber’s
photo sheet. He held one up. “Remember her?”
“Uhh…not really.”
“You’d better start remembering something real soon.”
“Show him the other sheet,” J.D. suggested. Andrew held it up and Donnie took a look.
“I know you know Alvarez, there.”
“Wait,” Donnie said, studying one photo. “I remember that girl, the one on the top right.”
Andrew looked at the photo. Donnie was talking about the dark-haired girl.
“Yeah, I sure remember her!” Donnie said. “We, uh… spent a little time together that night.”
Despite being cuffed and thrown on the floor of a minivan, Donnie managed a dirty smile. Andrew
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clinched his fists and trembled. Another Hollywood scene flashed through his mind. This time it
was Martin Scorsese directing a mob picture with Andrew beating Donnie to a bloody pulp with a
baseball bat, then dumping his body from a moving van.
“Who is she?” Andrew asked through clinched teeth.
“She was a dancer down at the Gator Tail,” Donnie said. “That’s a strip club off the main drag.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t remember… if I ever knew it.”
J.D. asked Donnie, “How long ago were those photos taken?”
“Oh, ’bout a year ago.”
“She still working at this place – the Gator Tail?”
“I dunno. Haven’t been there in a while.”
Andrew turned to J.D. “What should we do?”
“I suppose we could show the photo around at the club, see who knows her name, find out if
she’s still around.”
“What do we do with him?” Andrew asked, motioning to Donnie.
J.D. thought about it for a moment. “If he’s lying, we’ll need to talk to him again.”
“I’m tellin’ you da truth!” Donnie interrupted.
“If it’s true, we should know soon enough.”
Just then, an opening in the thick, scrubby brush of the outer glades opened up to reveal a tourist
trap complete with a gas station, a souvenir shop, a run-down shack featuring “Live Gators!” and
“The World’s Largest TWO Headed Snake!” and, as if a sign from above, a cheap motel.
J.D. swerved into the parking lot and headed for the most distant space, far from the other people
getting gas, food, or a gander at the swamp freaks.
“We don’t need him running around while we’re trying to work,” J.D. said. “Wait here.”
J.D. jumped out of the van and disappeared in the combination motel lobby and souvenir shop. A
few minutes he emerged with a key attached to an oversized faux alligator skin fob. Without a
word, he started the van up and pulled around back, parking in front of two doors marked “16”
and “18”.
“We’re in 18,” he said. To Donnie, “We’re going inside. You can scream and yell all you want, but
anybody comes running, I show ‘em my badge and tell ‘em your in my custody. Then they go
away and do nothing but tell their friends that they saw a real live criminal at the motel.”
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J.D. opened the driver’s door, then turned back to Donnie, “Besides, you look like the guys on
‘COPS’ anyway.”
Donnie muttered some obscenities as Donnie rounded the van and Andrew exited. Monty
chuckled in the back seat. The two opened the van door. J.D. tossed the key to Monty.
“Get the door to the motel, if you don’t mind.” To Donnie, “We’re just going to watch a little TV for
a while. And if you’re good, we might bring you something to eat.”
Monty stepped around Donnie and got out of the van. As Andrew and J.D. helped Donnie into a
sitting position, then out of the van, Monty opened the motel room door.
Donnie stood up, looked around at the bleak surroundings, then sighed in resignation. Sweat
dripped down his puffy, reddened face as he tried to adjust his arms and shoulders while still
handcuffed. He looked down his nose at Andrew.
“Your face still hurt?”
“Don’t tempt me to return the favor while you’re cuffed,” Andrew replied. Rage welled up inside
him and he wanted to take it out on this arrogant child predator.
“Inside,” J.D. ordered, tugging on Donnie’s elbow.
“You know,” Donnie said, “people are gonna start wonderin’ about me.”
Monty shut the door behind them.
“I suppose you’ve never missed an appointment in your life, huh?” Andrew said.
“I doubt this place is high on their list of places to check,” J.D. said, surveying the dusty, outdated
décor of the cheap room. Two single beds filled most of the room, with a single chair and table
crammed between one bed and the window. Andrew cranked up the window unit air conditioner
to stir the stale air left behind by smokers a few nights prior. Monty looked for a remote control to
the television, expecting to find it bolted or chained to the nightstand. But this model preceded
infrared technology and demanded the human touch to turn the dial. Monty turned it on and
flipped through thirteen channels of cable TV. He stopped on ESPN. “Could be worse,” he said.
J.D. handed Monty the key to the handcuffs and pushed Donnie into a seated position on the
bed. “Unlock his left hand and clamp the cuff down on the thick part of the metal there,” he
pointed to the iron headboard.
Chapter 32
Saturday, March 20
9:30pm
Andrew, Monty and J.D. pulled the minivan into the parking lot of the Gator Tail. After killing a few
hours eating greasy cheeseburgers and fries and watching cycles of ESPN and CNN Headline
News, the three decided to leave Donnie cuffed to the bed for the evening. They realized that
they risked him escaping somehow, but assumed they would have enough time to get to the club
and check up on the girl. Plus, there was no way Donnie would go to the police – not with what
they had on him and Alvarez. So they cruised back to Fort Lauderdale to survey the Gator Tail
strip club.
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As planned, they entered the club together, paid the cover, then split up to walk the floor. They
met at the back, near the restroom.
“Don’t see either of the girls,” J.D. said. Monty and Andrew didn’t see them either, so they went to
plan B. J.D. went to the bartender and asked for the manager. Andrew and Monty split up and
kept an eye on the crowd. The place held maybe 100 people at full capacity, but this early in the
evening only about 20 people – mainly overweight, middle-aged men – sat around at tables and
booths drinking beer and watching the dancer on the stage. The Gator Tail certainly was not an
elite Las Vegas showroom, but it wasn’t as bad as some places. The girls had all of their teeth
and the patrons were required to wear shirts and shoes.
A minute after J.D. spoke with the bartender, a man came out of the back room and approached
J.D. cautiously. J.D. politely, but firmly, told the man why he was there and showed him the
photos. The man glanced around the room, then invited J.D. to the back. Monty and Andrew
exchanged nervous glances, as if they suspected the manager was plotting some heinous crime
in his office. Andrew walked to the table closest to the office door and sat down, even though he
could see nothing and hear nothing over the loud country music.
A few minutes passed, then J.D. exited the office with the manager in tow. They shook hands,
J.D. bowed slightly and said something as the manager nodded and smiled.
J.D. glanced around the room, caught the eyes of Andrew and Monty, then strode directly to the
exit. After a few seconds, they followed and met him at the minivan in the parking lot.
All three of them got in and J.D. handed Andrew’s photos back to him. J.D. started up the van
and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Well?” Andrew said.
"The brunette is Maria Wells. Your girl," he looked at Andrew, "goes by 'Ruby Dee' onstage but
her real name, according to the records on file here, is Amber Dodd."
“Where is she?”
“He says neither of the girls have worked here in over a year.”
“That lying son-of-a…” Andrew muttered.
“But he knows where they went,” J.D. interjected. “And I think he’s telling the truth.”
“Where?” Andrew and Monty said at the same time.
“Some place in the Bahamas… a resort,” J.D. said.
Monty and Andrew exchanged startled looks. “Not the Brigadoon Bay Resort?” Andrew asked.
Surprised, J.D. said, “Yeah, how did you know?”
Andrew filled J.D. in on the Bahamas connection with Monty adding the occasional bit of
information. When they finished, J.D. asked, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
“I don’t think so,” Andrew said, looking at Monty.
“That’s it,” Monty confirmed.
“I didn’t mention it before because I thought it was irrelevant,” Andrew said.
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“Well, it’s relevant now,” J.D. said, spinning the steering wheel and making a U-turn in the middle
of the street.
“Where are we going now?” Monty asked.
“We’re gonna need a boat,” J.D. said, accelerating the van toward the Atlantic.
Despite the late hour, there was activity at the marina. Sunset cruises were returning and private
yacht parties abounding. Andrew and Monty waited in the van while J.D. walked into the marina
office, where the same semi-retired Yankee sat behind the desk.
“Hey, how’s it going tonight?” J.D. asked, chipper as a typical tourist.
“Good, how you doin’?” the man replied, not remembering J.D.
“Not bad. Hey, I was in here a few days ago asking about boats and I know I promised to call
ahead, but me and my buddies were wondering if there’s anyone available for a late night cruise.”
“Hello again,” the old man said, feigning a memory that had long ago slipped, “I remember you.
All the boats are pretty well in for the night.”
“Is there anyone that will go out?”
“Well, there’s a moonlight dinner cruise that comes outta the Bahia Mar docks.”
“No, I need someone to take us out to the Bahamas.”
“Oh… well…” the old man rubbed the stubble on his cheek and thought about it. “That’s going to
be a decent sized boat and there’s only a few guys ‘round here that go that far. Lemme see if any
of ‘em are here.”
“Great,” J.D. said. “I’ll wait.”
The old man left the office and ambled down the pier. J.D. waited as patiently as possible. After
several minutes, the old man came back.
“Nope. Can’t go tonight,” he said.
“Is there anyone here with a boat that size?” J.D. pressed.
“Dominic’s here, but he just got back and he can’t go right away. Most guys won’t go this time of
night anyway, even in this good weather.”
“Can I talk to him,” J.D. asked, pulling out his wallet. “Maybe negotiate a little?”
The old man smiled at J.D.’s persistence. “Sure, follow me.”
They walked midway down pier 3 where a thin man was cleaning off the back deck of his boat.
Hearing their footsteps on the wooden pier, he looked up.
“Dominic, this is the fella that was asking about your boat,” the old man said.
“Allo,” Dominic replied.
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“Me and two buddies need to get out to the Bahamas pretty quick. Anyway you could take us out
tonight? We can pay.”
“I wish I could,” Dominic said, “but I don’t have de right navigational equipment to sail dat far at
night. Gotta stay in sight of land, you know?”
“Most boats this size don’t have night gear,” Pops said.
J.D. nodded. “So what’s the earliest we could go in the morning?”
“We go ‘bout an hour before sunrise,” Dominic said. “By de time we get out of sight of land, it be
light enough out dere.”
“What time you want us here?” J.D. asked.
“’Bout five,” the captain answered.
“Alright. Let me check with my buddies,” J.D. said. Then, to the old man, “I book it with you?”
“Yeah,” he said, turning back toward the boathouse.
“Hey, how far we going?” Dominic asked. “Freeport?”
“Eleuthera,” J.D. said.
“Really?” Dominic seemed surprised.
“That okay?”
“Yeah, but dat’s four, five hundred kilometers,” he said.
“How long will that take?”
“Seven, eight hours. We’ll have to stop in Nassau for fuel.”
“We’ll let you know in a coupla minutes,” J.D. said.
J.D. told Andrew and Monty the situation. They discussed flying out to Nassau and catching a
boat over to Eleuthera, but after a couple of calls to airlines they determined that most flights
didn’t leave until late morning or early afternoon since most hotels didn’t allow check-in until
3:00pm. A five o’clock boat departure would put them in Nassau before noon and they wouldn’t
have to worry about competing with tourists for a boat over to Eleuthera.
“You are officially booked on the Crazy Baldhead,” Pops said as he took J.D.’s deposit on the
charter. “See you guys in the morning.”
They decided it would be best to return to the motel where they had left Donnie cuffed to the bed.
He’d probably have to use the restroom by now. On the drive back through the Everglades, they
discussed what to do with Donnie. Andrew wanted to take him out in the glades and cuff him to a
tree for the night, but they knew that wasn’t a legitimate option.
They couldn’t very well sleep in the bed with him and they realized that if they could get Donnie to
sleep, he’d be easier to handle than if he was up all night or stuck in an uncomfortable chair. So
they decided to take shifts sleeping in the one bed, two at a time, with the third person up,
keeping an eye on Donnie in the other bed. The next day, they would leave early, cuff him to the
bed again, with enough food to get him through the day, put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the
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outside of the door, and leave him for the maid or manager to eventually find. That way, they’d
get a head start and not have to deal with the liability of harming another person.
Donnie wouldn’t go to the police, and he wouldn’t know where they were going, so he’d most
likely not be a problem again. At least, that was the best they could hope for.
They stopped by a fast-food chicken place and picked up chicken strips and fries for everyone.
They ordered extra for Donnie.
By the time they made it back to the one-star lodge in the swamp, night was well upon them.
“I bet he’s hungry by now,” Monty said.
“I just hope he hasn’t pissed in the bed or on the floor or anything,” J.D. said.
“If he did,” Andrew said, “he will be the one sleeping in it.”
“Yeah, but the whole room will stink,” J.D. said.
“We will soon find out,” Andrew said as he pulled into a space right in front of their door.
“Light’s off,” J.D. observed. “So’s the TV. We left ‘em both on, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Monty confirmed. “I left it on ESPN to try to pacify him.”
J.D. exited the van, then leaned back into it before closing the door. “Keep back, just in case he’s
booby trapped the door or something.”
Andrew and Monty held back nervously while J.D. went up to the door, inserted the metal key and
turned the knob. He crouched low and cautiously pushed the door open. Nothing moved but the
oversized alligator key fob swinging back and forth as it hung in the door. Reaching up, he flipped
on the light switch. He disappeared into the room for a moment, then emerged once again, his
hand in his jacket. Andrew and Monty had their doors open, standing half-in and half-out of the
van.
“He’s gone,” J.D. said, sweeping the parking lot with his eyes while he talked. “The bed’s
overturned, frame’s in pieces. I checked the bathroom and any possible hiding places.”
“How’d he get away?” Monty asked.
“Must have worked the cuffs off of the bed somehow. They’re gone, too. We better get outta
here.”
“You think he’s watching us?” Andrew asked.
“I dunno,” J.D. replied. “But one thing’s for sure. We can’t stay here tonight.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this on the phone?” Alvarez shouted at Donnie.
“I dunno, boss. I just thought…”
“I could’ve been waiting at the Gator Tail, you idiot!”
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“I just wanted to get outta there before they got back.”
“Next time, you walk!”
Alvarez pushed the Porsche up to 80 mph as they headed towards Fort Lauderdale.
“You sure they weren’t coming back to the motel?” Alvarez asked.
“Like I told you, the last thing the old guy said was, ‘Get some sleep and the maid’ll let you out in
the morning.’ They’re at the club looking for the girl.”
“I don’t remember her, do you?”
“No,” Donnie said. “Just her friend.”
Half an hour later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Gator Tail.
“Wait here and watch for them. I’ll go see if Jody’s bartending tonight.”
Alvarez went inside the club while Donnie watched the parking lot for the rental van. Ten minutes
later, he came back to the car.
“We just missed them, no thanks to you,” Alvarez said.
“Sorry.”
“Well, you’re going to get your chance to make up for it.”
“How?”
“The girls are working for Chiang now.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Please don’t make me…”
“You’re going on the first flight to Eleuthera.”
“I don’t like it…”
“I don’t care WHAT you like! You screwed this up and I’m sure as hell not calling Mr. Chiang and
telling him what’s going on. You’re going over there tomorrow to watch for these guys.”
“What do I tell Mr. Chiang?”
“He’s probably not even there. Just talk to Joey and tell him that we’ve been watching these guys
and need to keep an eye on them. Make it look like we’re doing him a favor by tracking them
down instead of leading them to the Brigadoon. Trust me… they get one look at you on that
island with Chiang’s security guys backing you up, they’re not going to mess with us any more.
Just get ahold of them, threaten them, maybe break a few fingers or something. They’ll get the
message.”
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Chapter 33
Sunday, March 21
4:30am
Sleep came fitfully and the morning early, but nobody was yawning. They had returned to the Fort
Lauderdale area, stopping along the way to look for someone tailing them and driving around in a
few circles, then finally checked in to one of the dozens of low-budget motels lining the freeway
into town, making sure to park the van away from their room and out of view from any road.
They raided the cereal buffet the next morning. Before leaving for the marina, Monty pocketed
some fruit while Andrew and J.D. poured coffee to go.
“You don’t think Donnie will be there waiting for us, do you?” Andrew asked.
“Nah,” J.D. said. “I don’t think he knows that the girl is now working at the Brigadoon.”
“Yeah, but if he tells Alvarez, he may know.”
“True.” J.D. thought about it for a moment as they exited the freeway and turned east toward the
marina. “We’ll hafta be on guard.”
“I guess so,” Andrew said, rubbing his still-tender cheek.
J.D. looked over at Andrew in the passenger’s seat and, with a reassuring coldness, said, “I’m
licensed to carry.”
It took a few seconds for his meaning to dawn on Andrew. “You mean you’ve got a gun?”
J.D. just nodded.
“Right now?” Andrew asked.
J.D. patted an area below his left armpit, right over his ribs.
“You don’t think it will come to that, do you?” Andrew asked, starting to feel more concern with his
expedition.
“Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst,” J.D. said.
Andrew turned to Monty, who was slouched in the back bench seat. “You hearing this
conversation?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should take the van and go back to the hotel.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Seriously. I brought you down here to help with the computer stuff, not anything dangerous.”
“I know. But I’m not worried. Plus, this is way more exciting than hanging around the office.”
"This isn't some kinda game," J.D. said. He wasn't being harsh about it, but he wanted this "kid,"
as J.D. thought of him, to realize the possible danger they faced. "These guys aren't foolin'
around and it could get nasty."
- 69 -
"I know that," Monty said soberly. "But I also know you need me and I'm not about to flake out on
Andrew now. I'm in all the way."
J.D. looked over at Andrew. He shrugged in acceptance.
“Are you going to call in sick tomorrow, or do you need me to call in for you,” Andrew asked.
“I e-mailed my manager already. Told him I’m stuck out of town with a friend in distress. Told him
I’d keep up with my e-mail and work on the project on my laptop. He’ll be cool with that.”
“Good,” Andrew said as they pulled into the marina parking lot. There were already several cars
there, but Donnie’s limo and Alvarez’ Porsche were not among them.
Dominic was already on board, finishing up the preparations to sail. He greeted the three as they
boarded and reported favorable winds for the trip. Once at sea, they would actually use the sails,
which could take them up to 30 knots -- about as much as the small outboard motor would do.
Dominic seemed quite pleased with the conditions and his enthusiasm helped the others feel
better about their trip.
As the first light crept over the horizon, the Crazy Baldhead set out into the dark waters. Lighted
buoys guided their way out of the shallow waters and into the open sea. After nearly half an hour
of half-speed motoring, the sun broke over the water to the east and Dominic let out the sails to
catch the morning winds. The sails bloomed in the wind and the captain shut off the engine,
trimming it up to keep it from dragging in the water.
As the sun rose above the water, Dominic opened up a cooler and offered everyone some fresh
fruit and a drink. Monty had already started an apple that he’d pilfered from the hotel, but took
some juice to wash it down. Andrew chose a fresh Florida orange.
“Got any coffee?” J.D. asked.
“Sorry, no,” Dominic said. “Water, juice and beer. Red Stripe, from my country!”
“So you’re Jamaican,” Monty said.
“Jah, but born in Florida.”
“I’ll go with some water,” J.D. said. Dominic passed him a bottle of water and opened a red-hued
juice bottle for himself.
“What we doing on Eluethera?” he asked.
Andrew and J.D. exchanged a “who’s going to answer that one” glance before Andrew started.
“Just going to a resort out there. The Brigadoon Bay. Ever heard of it?”
“I’ve heard of it. Going to gamble or maybe see de ladies?”
Andrew smiled amicably. “Yeah, you know… whatever interests us.”
“You know about the ladies?” J.D. followed up.
“You know…” Dominic said vaguely, “dere’s ladies all over de Bahamas!”
Andrew and J.D. nodded in agreement, as if they all shared some unspoken secret.
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“Come back tomorrow or Tuesday?” Dominic asked.
“Hopefully tomorrow,” Andrew said. “You stay here on the boat until we’re ready to return?”
“Jah, jah, you just say da word and Dominic take you home!” he said, smiling his broad Jamaican
smile.
“And what if we want to go to another island for a while, you can take us anywhere, right?” J.D.
asked.
“Sure, sure,” Dominic nodded. “Dominic take you anywhere you want to go! You want to go to
Paradise Island? Nice big casino there. And golf and beaches…”
“How about Catt Island?” Andrew asked. “It’s real close to Eleuthera, right?”
Dominic’s smile disappeared as if he’d been slapped. His eyes became dark. He tried to keep
some levity in his voice, but his face betrayed his emotions. “Catt Island? Why you want to go
dere?”
Andrew saw the change come over Dominic and tried to pick the conversation back up. “I hear
there’s an old monastery there and I’m a bit of a religious history buff,” he lied, hoping that
Dominic was not able to press him on that bit of untruth.
“Oh dere’s religion on dat island,” he said, his Jamaican accent thickening as he spoke of the
place. “You know da story of dat island?”
“Um, no, I guess not,” Andrew said, this time truthfully. “Other than what’s in the travel brochures,
you know… lots of wild cats at one point. Then the monk who built the monastery.”
“Ah, ha ha ha…” Dominic laughed humorlessly. “Dat’s what dey tell you, huh. Well, you want to
know da truth ‘bout Obeah Island?”
“What did you call it?”
“Obeah Island… dat’s what we know it as. Obeah is an old voodoo religion. I tell you da truth
‘bout dat place.”
“Alright, go ahead,” Andrew said, feeling both curious and uneasy. J.D. leaned in a little and
Monty got up from his chair and moved to their side of the boat to hear this story.
“Well, first of all, dat bit about dem wild cats is jus’ legend. Deh island got it’s name from Arthur
Catt, de famous English pirate dat used to hide out dere. He liked dat place because dat hill went
up higher than any other island, so he could see Spanish ships way off. Dat and it sits right out on
de edge of de Out Islands, where boats sailed from de mainland around to other islands in de
Caribbean. So most any ship dat went from one place to de other went close enough to Catt
Island to be seen. And if it went close enough to be seen, it was close enough for Arthur Catt’s
frigates to run ‘em down, cause his ships were faster den dem cargo ships. Before dey got two
hours away, he’d have dem caught, murdered de crew, and sailing dere cargo back to his island
hideout. Then he’d trade de goods or use dem himself.”
Dominic finished off his juice with one long swig.
“So it’s a big pirate hideout?” J.D. said with a bit of “that’s all there is too it?” in his tone.
- 71 -
“Yeah, it was,” the captain said. “But dat’s only half de story,” he said with a devilish gleam in his
eye.
“Da real story started when Catt’s crew captured a slave ship.”
“Oh yeah?” J.D. said, with rising interest.
“Oh yeah,” Dominic said. “You see de Spanish and Dutch and English would typically run dere
slave ships down from Europe, loaded with goods, to de coast of Africa. Dere, dey’d trade
European goods, like tools and gin, across de ports of West Africa and pick up spices, diamonds,
and slaves. Den dey’d sail across de ocean to de Caribbean, stopping in de eastern islands like
Antigua and Martinique where dey’d drop off slaves to buyers from de States, who’d take ‘em up
to Georgia or other places on de east coast. In de Caribbean, dey load up dem ships with sugar
cane, pineapples, rum and other t’ings from de islands, den sail up de East Coast of the U.S. and
sell dem, den load up with cotton and t’ings from the U.S. and go back to Europe, making money
deh whole way ‘round.”
Andrew, Monty and J.D. soaked in the back-story, fascinated by the way this man, most likely a
descendent of slaves, presented his history.
“So when ships came by Catt Island,” he continued, “dey was loaded mainly with goods from de
islands, and sometimes t’ings from Europe. And always with silver and gold. So deh pirates, dey
loved to raid dem ships – few men, weary from de long trip, and usually drunk on rum for t’ree or
four days in port in de islands.”
“But dere was dis one time, when de slave market was down ‘cause dey took too many slaves
too fast, and dis French ship was loaded with slaves dat didn’t sell in de Caribbean. Dey was
going to try to sell dem directly in de States. So when Catt’s men caught dem, instead of his gold
and rum and food, he got a boat full of Africans. Well, his men dey brought de ship into harbor,
after t’rowing de crew to de sharks, and asked Catt what to do wit’ dem. Sell dem, maybe? Use
dem for labor, maybe? ‘No,’ says Catt. ‘Take dem back out to sea,’ he says, ‘and feed dem to de
sharks,’ but not before taking de young women for pleasure and killing a few of de men for sport.
So dem pirates had a big party on shore, ferryin’ de younger women in and havin’ dere way wit’
‘em, shootin’ de men who tried to stop dem, and leavin’ de rest on de ship in de harbor where dey
could hear women screamin’ and cryin’.”
Andrew shook his head in disgust, understanding their anguish for their kidnapped loved ones.
“But while dey were havin’ dere party, a few slaves got loose from dere chains, and dey freed
more, until soon de whole boat was full of freed slaves. One of dem was what you call a priest in
African arts -- black magic -- and he had a ceremony on de ship, spilling blood of chickens dat
was on board, and putting a curse on de pirates. Well, when dem pirates came back dat night in
dere rowboat to get more women, dey found demselves surrounded by a lot of angry men. Dey
killed dem pirates in a kind of voodoo ritual, cutting out dere hearts in sacrifice to de spirits. Den
dey took de pirates’ rowboat back de island, back and forth and back and forth, until all of de men
who could fight was on shore, den dey waited until de pirates went to sleep, sneaked into de
camp and killed ‘em all, beating ‘em wit’ rocks and strangling ‘em until dere was none left.”
“For many years, dey lived free, even though dey was slaves to dat island, practicing dere black
magic to keep de white men away. When slaves from de States started escaping and flooding
into de islands, dey stayed away from Obeah Island, ‘cause dey knew ‘bout dat place. Dey say a
few people still livin’ on dat island are descended from dat ship. Some people move away, but
nobody moves dere. Least not no black folk. Dat place is evil, still.”
Dominic sat back in his chair, surveyed the horizon for a few minutes. Then he stood up without a
word and went to the captain’s quarters.
- 72 -
“Quite a story,” J.D. said.
“Yeah, I guess we’d better wear a garlic necklace or something,” Monty said in mock seriousness.
“Isn’t that for vampires?” J.D. asked.
“And ghost pirates,” Monty said.
“Very funny,” Andrew said. “You don’t think he’d have a problem going there, do you?”
“Who, Dominic?” J.D. asked.
“Yeah, I mean if he’s superstitious about going there and we have to go, would he refuse?”
“Good question,” J.D. said. “Maybe we’d better ask.” To the captain, “Hey, Dominic, if we need to
go to Catt Island, you’ll take us there, right?”
Dominic came back out to the deck. “I take you dere. But I won’t sleep at night on dat island.”
“Seriously?”
“For sure. I sleep here in de boat most of deh time anyway.”
“Fine,” J.D. said. “As long as you’ll take us and pick us up, where you sleep is your own
business.”
“Oh, dere’s one more t’ing,” Dominic said.
“What’s that?”
“Drug runners.”
“What?” they all three said in unison.
“Dey say dere’s a lot of drug runners on Catt Island. Columbians flying in so boats can take de
coke and ganja to other islands and de mainland.”
“That’s all we need,” J.D. said as Dominic went back to the steering wheel.
“You don’t think they’re tied in to Alvarez and the porn, do you?” Monty asked.
Andrew and J.D. exchanged worried looks. “We’d better hope not,” J.D. said.
Back in Texas, Chris and his family arrived home from church.
"You haven't said a word since we left the service," Nicol observed. "Is everything okay?"
"I don't know," Chris replied. "I can't really explain it, but I'm worried about Andrew."
"Why don't you give him a call?"
"Yeah, I think I might. But first I'm going to go upstairs in the study for a few minutes and pray."
- 73 -
Andrew’s cell phone rang in his briefcase. He had dozed off, so it took him a few seconds to
orient himself.
“You gonna answer that?” J.D. asked.
Andrew located his briefcase on the floorboard and picked it up. The cell phone had quit ringing
after just one ring, so by the time he dug it out of his bag, he’d missed the call. He checked the
caller ID.
“My brother,” he said. “How am I getting a signal out here?”
He looked around and saw a large island to the south.
“Dat’s Andros, de largest of de islands,” Dominic said from his captain’s post. “Plenty of phone
service dere.”
Andrew looked back at his phone. “Signal’s not very good. I’ll call him back when I get the
chance.”
“How far to Nassau?” J.D. asked.
“About an hour,” Dominic replied.
J.D. leaned over to Andrew, “We need to talk at lunch, away from him,” he motioned to the
captain. “And when sleeping beauty there wakes up.”
Andrew smiled when he looked back at Monty, sound asleep on the back bench, mouth wide
open and ballcap pulled over his eyes.
Sunday, March 21
Noon
Dominic refueled the Crazy Baldhead in Nassau while the other three searched for a place to eat.
Dominic had recommended fried conch from the locals on the pier, but they had declined, instead
searching for something recognizable from the mainland. The Burger King suited their taste.
“What are we going to do about dinner?” Monty asked as he popped another french fry in his
mouth.
“Good question,” Andrew said.
“How long you planning on staying on Eleuthera?” J.D. asked.
“Not long,” Andrew said. “I figure we’re there by three, take a couple of hours to try to track down
this girl or someone who knows her, then get outta Dodge. We could be spending the night right
here in Nassau, if we’re lucky.”
“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to shack up at the Brigadoon.”
“No kidding. But if we do get in a bind, there are other resorts at the north end of the island,”
Andrew said.
“If we need more time to look and nobody’s on to us, that’s an option.”
- 74 -
“You think they’ll be looking for us?” Monty asked.
“I kinda doubt it,” J.D. said. “Even if Donnie’s talked to Alvarez by now, they probably don’t know
where we’re going. Plus, they would’ve had to contact somebody out here – the Chiangs or
somebody – and told them the whole story, which wouldn’t make them look too good. I figure the
odds of someone waiting on us are pretty slim.”
“But if they are looking for us…” Andrew said.
“If they are, we’d better be ready.”
“So what’s the plan?” Monty asked.
“I think we’d better go at it separately. We enter the place from three different locations, scout it
out, then meet up somewhere, like a restroom or something. Some place outta sight. Then we
figure out how we’re going to ask around, plan a time and place to rendezvous. Thing is, if we go
in the three of us, asking questions, and anyone’s looking out for us, they’ll spot us easy. So let’s
not make it easy.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Andrew said. “What happens if one of us gets spotted or, God forbid,
picked up.”
“Not much we can do about that. If you think someone’s coming for you, my best advice is to get
out as quick as possible. Run back to the boat. If one of us doesn’t make it to the final
rendezvous, then the other two will have to approach the pier carefully, in case the runner’s
followed. If you’re running and you have to take the boat, then take it. We can always find a boat
off the island, so if you have to take this boat, take it all the way back. Worse case scenario, get
back to Florida, call each other and, if we have to, go to the police if one of us is missing.”
Andrew and Monty agreed and finished their meals in silence, thinking through the possible
scenarios, worrying.
“I wonder what time it gets dark out here.”
“Better ask the voodoo cap’n how late’s too late to leave Eleuthera,” J.D. said.
“I’m ordering food to go,” Monty said. “Anyone else want any?”
They ordered a large stash of chicken nuggets to go, topped off their sodas, then headed back to
the pier. Dominic sat waiting on the dock, sipping something out of a coconut shell.
“Ready to go?” Dominic asked.
“Let’s do it,” Andrew said. “What’s in the coconut?”
“Conch soup! De best in de whole world!”
They all laughed, then climbed on board. It took less than a minute to clear the port and, once
again, cruise the open waters.
“You notice the name of this boat?” Monty asked Andrew and J.D.
“The Crazy Bald Guy?” J.D. said.
“Bald head,” Monty corrected him. “The Crazy Baldhead.” He pointed to Dominic up in the
captain’s perch. “He’s got plenty of hair!”
- 75 -
“So what are you sayin’, it’s not his boat?”
“I just don’t get it. I’ll have to ask him about it.”
“Only sixty miles to de south of Eleuthera,” Dominic announced as he unfurled the sail once
again. “Be dere in a coupla hours.”
“What’s the latest we can leave Eleuthera and make it back to Nassau before dark?” Andrew
asked.
“No later den five.”
“Will you be with the boat the whole time we’re gone?”
“I can be. Up to you, boss!”
“That would be best. We may decide to leave, uh… at any time. Even if we decide to stay, we’ll
come tell you in person, okay?”
“I’ll stay within sight of de boat ‘til you come back, how’s dat?”
“Perfect.”
Before they set out, Andrew checked his voice mail. There was a voice message from Chris.
“Hey, bro, hope everything’s alright. I um… I was thinking about you during church this morning. I
don’t really know why, but I felt led to pray for you… pray for safety and wisdom. While I was
praying, I remembered this place down there that you should know about. Our church sponsored
it for a while until a big network TV show did a story on it and they got a bunch of underwriting
from some wealthy individuals. Anyway, Micky Green used to go to our church and now runs a
kind of halfway house in Belle Glade, near Lake Okeechobee -- not too far from Miami. A lot of
strippers, drug addicts, porn models and such go to this place to start over. It’s called the ‘John 8
House.’ The number is 561-251-6874. Micky might know someone who can identify the girls in
your photos. I know it’s a long shot, but you never know… Talk to you later, bro.”
Andrew saved the message for later. Right now, he had another place to look before chasing any
other leads.
Chapter 34
Sunday, March 21
2:40pm
They passed two hours gazing at the various islands dotting the sea, watching the colors in the
water shift through shades of blue and green, and catching sight of the occasional flying fish.
Andrew took out the photo sheets and cut the pictures into individuals – three different poses of
Amber and one each of Alvarez, the brunette and the blond. He gave J.D. and Monty their own
sets and pocketed his own. An hour and a half into the ride, they spotted the island.
“Dat’s Powell Point,” Dominic said, pointing to a palm-covered landmass jutting out into the
glistening sea. “Just a short way ‘round to Big Bluff Point, where de Brigadoon is.”
As they passed the points and beaches of the island, a mixed sense of excitement and fear
consumed their thoughts.
- 76 -
J.D. worried about the Chiangs, Alvarez and Donnie. If they were connected to a large
organization trafficking in drugs and porn, including child porn, they could be very dangerous. He
would have to assess those dangers as much as anything during their first walkthrough. He didn’t
want to frighten the other two, and he didn’t believe that they were walking into any kind of trap,
but as long as the possibility existed, he would be wary.
Monty felt excitement more than anything. He was skeptical that they would find the girl, and even
more skeptical that it would turn out to be Andrew’s long-lost daughter. At the end of the day, this
wasn’t his mission, so he had no vested interest in its outcome. He hoped for Andrew that it
would at least provide some answers, but the adventure felt more like one of his many roleplaying video games more than anything.
Andrew stood, facing the wind and wondering about the girl. Odds are, he told himself, it’s not
her. He had to be prepared for that. Yet, a part of him still believed there was a chance;
otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. He tried to figure out the best approach, assuming they did find
the girl. He couldn’t just walk up and say, “Hi, I’m Andrew. Were you abducted as a child?” If she
were his daughter, she probably wouldn’t know it. One detective had pointed out that people who
abducted children with the intention to keep them always came up with a cover story to explain
the change in scenery to the kids: Mom and dad were killed in a car crash and they were the
closest relatives (usually an aunt or uncle) able to care for them. It was stressful for the children
for a while, but they always adapted, never knowing the truth.
So Andrew wondered how to approach her. He thought it likely that a girl working a tropical resort
would be wearing shorts, so he could check for a birthmark on her left leg, just above the back of
knee. The thought of it fading crossed his mind, as did the remote possibility that it had been
surgically removed, but he would deal with that at the time. He could just ask, as strange as it
may sound to her, but at least he would know one way or the other. Unconsciously, his hand
came up to his shirt pocket where he kept the cropped photos. They were there, ready to be
shown to anyone that might be able, and willing, to help identify her.
Dominic headed toward a pier that made a backwards “L” just up the beach from a large hotel –
the Brigadoon Bay Resort.
“Dere’s a big reef out here,” he motioned to the water near the shore north of the pier, “but it
breaks up before de pier. Dis is as close as I can get to de hotel. Jus walk south down de beach.”
Dominic pulled in the mainsail and fired up the engine. He cruised slowly to the pier, then shut the
engine down as it coasted toward a spot with tires lining the side. When they got within a couple
of feet, he jumped off the front of the boat, tie rope in hand, and eased the boat into position.
Then he tied the rope onto a post and walked to the back of the boat.
“Toss me dat rope in de back,” he called out.
Andrew walked to the stern, picked up the rope and threw it to Dominic. He wrangled the back of
the boat up to the pier and tied it off.
“Welcome to Eleuthera!”
The group of three walked a hundred yards or so down the fine white beach toward the resort. A
tropical forest of palms led up to the wide beach. A few sunbathers lounged about, escaping the
more crowded sand directly in front of the Brigadoon. A few kayaks and two-man sailboats drifted
in the gentle surf.
“I want to get a look at the roof of this place,” Monty said.
- 77 -
“What for?” asked J.D.
“Microwave dishes pointed south. That’ll just about confirm my theory on the servers.”
They came to a path that led through a patch of palm trees from the beach to the side parking lot
of the hotel.
“Let’s meet right here in twenty minutes,” J.D. said, checking his watch. Andrew and Monty
checked theirs as well. “Monty, you check out the south side. Cut through the pool area and look
for young women working the decks, bars, and cabanas. Then check for your internet stuff. There
may be more pool areas that we can’t see from here, so check around the back side, then loop
back here. Take your time, like you’re enjoying your vacation. Keep your sunglasses on.”
“Got it.”
“Andrew, you check inside: restaurants, bars, clubs, indoor pool, workout area, that sort of thing.
Anybody asks anything, tell them you’re about to check in, but needed a drink first. Order one if
you have to. They seem suspicious, get out and come back here. Just make sure nobody’s
following you. Loop around the parking lot, the pool, whatever. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m checking the lobby, the doors, and every place else for security cameras, personnel and so
on. You can learn a lot about the security of a place by walking through the casino, so I’ll check
that out, too. Alright?”
Andrew and Monty nodded in agreement.
“Twenty minutes,” J.D. said. They all checked their watches again and split up.
“You should come to the island more often,” the driver said to Donnie as he got in the
passenger’s seat of the sedan.
“You know I don’t like it here. I can’t believe you’ve lasted this long out here.”
Johnny K, as they called him, was barely six feet tall – not big for a security guy – but he was
tough. His mother had moved to Florida when Johnny was an infant, leaving his father back in
New York City, but he kept up a tough guy swagger that was more Hollywood than the Bronx.
Johnny K was smarter than most guys in his business, but dumb enough to continue working for
disreputable employers. He had been a bouncer at one of the larger, more rambunctious dance
clubs on the main Lauderdale strip several years ago and had hired Donnie before the two of
them moved on to private security. They maintained camaraderie based on their similar positions
in life – and their mutual mistrust for their bosses.
“Those Asians scare me,” Donnie said.
“Ah, they’re alright. As long as you do your job and keep your mouth shut, they’re pretty loyal.
The pay’s good and you can’t beat the benefits, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah… I’ll stick with the mainland.”
They pulled out of the airport and headed towards the resort, just a few miles away.
- 78 -
“So Joey says some guys are looking for one of our girls?”
“Something like that.”
“They cops?”
“I don’t think so. One might be a private dick, but we don’t think they’re cops.”
“Joey’s worried they might stumble into some other stuff, you know?”
“Yeah, I thought about that. That’s why we wanted to follow up ourselves. We barely missed ‘em
in Lauderdale, but figured out they were headed here, based on one of our guys. You got a guy in
the airport? I didn’t see anyone.”
“We’re there. Three guys show up fitting your descriptions, we’ll know about it. Joey also told
some of the staff to let him know if anyone started asking about Ruby or Maria.”
“Good.” Above the trees Donnie could see the top of the Brigadoon Bay Resort as they neared it.
His stomach belched with acid, so he popped a couple of antacids to calm it down. He longed for
something to calm his nerves, too.
“Did Joey tell the girls about this?”
“No,” Johnny K said. “He didn’t want them to know. In fact, he made sure neither of them were
working today.”
Monty continued straight down the beach, which veered slightly to the left as it approached the
south end of the island. At the point where it rounded east, then back north, a rocky bluff marked
the end of the beach as lava formations scattered out into the ocean. People lay around the
beach as the wait staff, both male and female, strolled around with trays full drinks in coconut
shells and carved pineapples with umbrellas protruding from the straws. Monty didn’t see a girl
who remotely resembled the one they sought, but made a mental note that the beach held some
possibilities.
Before reaching the bluff, Monty took a wooden staircase up and over a row of sand dunes
covered with thick ivy, which led him to a vast area of winding pools, sun decks, cabanas and
bars. There was no shortage of staff, again mixed company, but no good-looking redheads. Not
even a strawberry-blonde.
He wound around to a walkway that led toward the bluff. Several couples strolled along the
walkway; more occupied benches and hammocks. At the end, a cement deck with high steel
safety rails walled deck overlooked the ocean high above the water. Looking back, Monty could
clearly see the rooftop of the Brigadoon Bay Resort. Several satellite dishes pointed almost
straight up, tilted slightly south toward the equator – television dishes aimed at the various “birds”
beaming down CNN, HBO and all of the other standard hotel fare – and a few larger dishes
pointed more to the west, most likely for telephone service and other communications. And then
he saw the distinct shape of several microwave dishes mounted on a small tower. Three of them,
all pointed straight toward the southern horizon. Microwave. No doubt about it.
Monty looked across the water in the direction they pointed, but couldn’t see anything across the
misty horizon. Catt Island lay out there, less than 10 miles, but he couldn’t make it out.
J.D. entered the front door of the hotel, passing the valets and check-in desk. No obvious security
personnel were in sight, but they had to be close by. Any resort would have security near the front
- 79 -
door, but they didn’t always make it obvious, especially in a vacation destination – no need to
make the visitors nervous.
He could hear the ding ding ding of a winning slot machine off to his left, but decided to save the
casino until last. He walked into the gift shop and bought a copy of the Miami Herald. Then he
picked a spot at the far end of the lobby and sat down to survey the lobby across the top of the
paper.
Andrew trailed behind Monty to the first pathway into the back of the hotel, then turned left on it
and went in a side door. He passed several banquet and meeting rooms, then a dance club
marked “Disco” at the entrance. Only in the Caribbean do they still call it a ‘disco,’ he thought and
smiled. A little further down, where the hallway gave in to the lobby, he found a restaurant. He
walked in and looked at a menu mounted in a glass case.
“Can I get you a table?”
Andrew turned to see the hostess (an attractive young black woman, clearly not “his” girl)
standing behind a podium.
“Just checking out the menu,” Andrew said. “How many restaurants are there here?”
“We have five,” she replied. “This is Del Mar here in the west wing, there’s DiAngelo’s Italian
restaurant in the east wing, Harry’s Polynesian Bar and Grill downstairs, the Sun Spot outside by
the pool, and the Crow’s Nest on the top floor.”
“Guess I’ll have to try them all this week!”
The hostess smiled politely and waited for Andrew’s decision.
“I think I’ll start with a drink out by the pool.”
He smiled at her and walked back into the hallway. A few steps later he was in the lobby. He
walked to the elevator bank and stepped in. As the doors closed, he noticed J.D. sitting in a chair
in the lobby and thought for a second that he was just reading the newspaper. He smiled as the
doors closed and the elevator whisked him up to the top floor.
Inside the elevator, a gold plaque told him what he wanted to know. The hotel was six stories tall,
with suites and the Crow’s Nest on the top. The other restaurants were noted, as were the “disco”
and a sports bar. Both were on the ground floor, along with a health spa and gym. There was no
indoor pool, which made sense in a place with warm weather all year.
The elevator reached the top and Andrew got out. He walked across the anteroom to the
restaurant entrance and, again, studied the menu in the glass case. The glass doors that marked
the entrance were closed and, etched in the glass, were the words, “Open 4:00pm to 2:00am.”
Andrew went back to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby. On the way down, he checked
his watch: twelve minutes already. He exited on the ground level and walked in the direction of
the gym and spa.
Monty looped back around the pool area, checking the cabanas and bars for a redhead. He saw
plenty of young, attractive women, but still none that fit Amber’s description. In a couple of
minutes, he came full circle around the pool area. He ordered a soda from one of the bars and
walked to a spot where he could see a large part of the deck and part of the beach. He sat down
and glanced at his watch: fourteen minutes. He watched the staff as they moved around, picking
- 80 -
up towels, delivering drinks and performing basic resort staff duties. Nothing seemed out of the
ordinary. It seemed, on the surface, to be the perfect picture of tranquility. But underneath, Monty
knew, something was terribly wrong.
J.D. watched the lobby for a few minutes, saw Andrew go by and get on the elevator, then
casually walked around the hallways immediately off of the main lobby. He found an office center,
where businessmen on vacation could fax, copy, and e-mail their work. He found a daycare filled
with kids too young to be left alone at the pool or beach. He found the administrative offices
where the business of the resort took place. No girls fit Amber’s description, but he really didn’t
expect to find her buried in some side office. Not a girl that good-looking. Not a girl who’d been in
those types of photos. If she wasn’t outside in a skimpy outfit, she’d be in the casino.
Unless, of course, this is the type of resort where much of the female staff spends the day
entertaining customers in their rooms, J.D. thought as he entered the casino. He decided to keep
that thought to himself.
The gym and spa shared space at the far east end of the hotel. Andrew walked into the
anteroom, where a young blonde stood behind a desk.
“Hello, sir,” she said.
“Hi. I was just wondering what kind of facilities are here… I just checked in.”
She cheerfully walked gave him a quick tour without leaving the anteroom. Through glass walls
he could see the entire workout area, which consisted of a few treadmills, stair climbers, weight
machines and a rack of free weights. Apparently, nobody came to the Bahamas to work out
indoors. The place was empty.
The spa area had a beauty salon with half a dozen chairs laid out for hair styling, manicures,
pedicures, facials, and a few other treatments Andrew had never heard of. Behind one door was
a room for the masseuse, behind another the sauna. Again, it was empty. These services
required a reservation and apparently nobody had one at the moment.
“May I book you for any of our specialty services?” she asked.
For a brief second, Andrew wondered if she meant the pedicure or something else. He couldn’t
help wonder if anything more went on here with the cloud of suspicion that the porn activity cast
over this place.
“Not today, but I’ll let you know,” he said, squelching the impulse to dig deeper. “Thanks for the
tour.”
“My pleasure. Have a nice day!”
Andrew went back out into the hallway and checked his watch. It was time to meet Monty and
J.D., so he made a line for the west exit.
Monty reached the designated rendezvous point first. The soda was served in a plastic cup, so he
had carried it with him. He sat down on the beach in the shade of a palm tree and munched on
the ice. A few minutes later, he saw Andrew coming down the beach. Before he arrived, J.D.
walked up behind him from the path through the trees.
- 81 -
“Enjoying your vacation?” J.D. asked.
Monty turned around and stood up. “Andrew’s coming,” he said, motioning down the beach. They
waited for him to arrive.
“What did you find?” J.D. asked Andrew.
“Lots of restaurants with few people, and an empty gym and spa. There’s a bar downstairs that I
didn’t get to, but it may not even be open this early. No sign of Amber anywhere, but plenty of
places for her to work.”
“Yeah, there’s lots of opportunity here,” J.D. agreed. To Monty: “What did you see?”
“Beach is packed, pool area’s packed, people everywhere. A lot of young girls working the bars
and cabanas, but none that fit Amber’s description. Of course, with me walking around and the
staff moving around, I could have easily missed her.”
“Yeah, she could be on break or off work today and we’d never know,” J.D. said. “Security doesn’t
seem to be out of line for this kind of place. I didn’t see much around the main lobby, but they’re
there. Cameras everywhere. More security in the casino, but again, nothing out of the ordinary.
The casino was fairly busy. Several girls walking the floor and tending the bar, but no redheads. If
she’s around, we haven’t spotted her yet.”
J.D. looked at his watch again, figuring how much time they had left.
“Oh, I got a good view of the roof,” Monty said. “Definitely microwave signals headed in and out of
here. Dishes pointed due south.”
Andrew shook his head in disgust. J.D. said, “Looks like we’re getting close. Either of you feel like
you were followed or watched?”
Neither did. “One thing I thought was kind of funny, maybe you noticed it, too.”
“What’s that?” Andrew asked.
“For a place owned by a Chinese family, I sure thought I might see one of them working, or at
least another Asian on staff, but no. Not even in the back office.”
“I didn’t either,” Andrew said. “Not that I was looking, but now that you mention it…”
“Me neither,” said Monty.
“Probably nothing,” J.D. said.
“You guys got your photos?” Andrew asked.
They all glanced through their photos: three poses of Amber and single shots of Alvarez, Maria,
and the unidentified blond.
“Let’s do this quick. Once we start asking around, we draw attention to ourselves. We gotta do
this before someone realizes there are three guys asking about the same girl. So once we leave,
we’ve gotta be back in fifteen, okay?”
Andrew and Monty nodded in assent.
- 82 -
“Alright, Andrew, you hit the two ground floor restaurants. Those people most likely alternate
between restaurants, so they’ll know everyone in that rotation. Start with the one furthest from
your exit and work your way back out. Monty, you hit the places around the pools. That group will
know everyone in those areas. Talk to a bartender, an activities coordinator, and someone like a
towel boy. I’ll hit the main lobby, casino and gift shop. Got it?”
“Got it,” they said.
“And ask both guys and girls, especially younger ones. Girls will know the other girls and the guys
will surely know a cute redhead. Drop both names, Amber and Ruby, and make sure they look at
both photos. If they show any recognition, push them hard. If they don’t, move on. Most of all, if
anyone seems alarmed or picks up a radio or phone, take off. Got it?”
“Fifteen minutes, right back here.” They all checked their watches again.
“One last thing,” J.D. said. “If you’re leaving in a hurry and happen to see another one of us,
make eye contact and rub both of your hands on your head. That will be our signal to rendezvous
immediately. No words, no loud looks, just rub your head, got it?”
“Okay.”
“Yep.”
“Let’s do it.”
They split up the same way the went the first time: J.D. back through the palms and parking lot to
the front entrance, Andrew down the beach to the side path, and Monty all the way down the
beach. J.D. had been in this type of tense situation many times before, but each time it brought
an adrenaline rush that had a bit of a narcotic effect. It was one that J.D. enjoyed and perhaps, he
thought, the real reason he stayed in this line of work.
For Monty and Andrew, it was a feeling neither had encountered. Andrew felt the nervous
excitement of being close to danger, but the overriding idea that he might actually be getting
close to the end of what felt like a lifelong quest for an answer gripped him with a tension that
tested his nerve. He felt like an astronaut on his first trip into space; he had hoped and dreamed
about this moment for a long time, but now that it approached, he feared the journey.
As he entered the side door of the hotel again, he noticed an elevator that hadn’t grabbed his
attention the first time. It was simply marked, “Service.” The arrow on the only call button pointed
down, which could only mean one thing: this elevator went downstairs, which was where Harry’s
Polynesian Bar and Grill was located. On impulse, he punched the call button and the elevator
door opened. He stepped in and rode down one level.
Harry’s Polynesian… Andrew thought. Why does that sound familiar? He puzzled over that as
the elevator slowly descended. The lift came to a halt and the arrival tone sounded as if a light
went on in Andrew’s head. Harry Poly… Now I get it!
The door opened to reveal a dull gray hallway running underneath the resort. I sure hope I don’t
run into Alvarez or Donnie down here, he thought as he alertly walked down the hallway, the
cheap off-white tile a marked contrast to the colorful tile and carpet that lined the hallways
upstairs. Baker’s racks lined one wall with plates, glasses and other utensils stacked on wire
shelves. He passed a set of swinging doors marked “Kitchen” and heard the sounds of industrial
machines inside, probably dishwashers, and some voices chattering in Spanish. A couple of
seconds after passing the double doors, he heard someone emerge from the kitchen and
- 83 -
reflexively turned around. A short, stocky man in all white clothes and a dirty apron walked away
from him without looking back. Andrew turned and kept walking, nervous only because he knew
he didn’t belong in the staff areas.
Andrew paused where the hallway ended in a “T.” To his left, the hallway stretched out for a bit
before disappearing behind another set of swinging doors. To his right, the hallway ended
abruptly into several side doors. A muffled Bob Marley tune could be heard, so Andrew turned
right, hoping to dump out into Harry’s. At the first door, he peered around the corner – nothing but
an empty office. Then he heard something. At first it sounded like someone suffering from severe
allergies: that loud intake of air through a stopped up nose. Then he heard the pained exhale,
part moan and part cry.
He turned around, stepped across the hall, and gently pushed open the door. The rectangular
room looked like a backstage makeup room with several sinks on one wall, a long mirror
stretching across them, and chairs spaced between the sinks. At the third sink a dark-haired girl
sat hunched over, apparently crying. Andrew hesitated, unsure what to do. Then the girl bent over
the basin and sniffed hard, her head moving upwards as she did so. She exhaled hard and threw
herself back in the chair. That’s when Andrew saw the remains of the white powder dusting the
basin. She just did two lines of coke! his mind screamed.
He was just about to slowly shut the door and continue on his way when she let out a long moan.
He froze as her shoulders started working up and down as she sobbed. She put her elbows up on
the basin, her head in her hands and wept freely. Andrew wanted to leave, told himself to just get
out, but couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t obey his brain, and neither would his mouth.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She jumped as if electrocuted. “Oh, geez!” she yelped, then turned in her chair to face him.
Now it was Andrew’s turn to feel the shock. He recognized her, but it wasn’t Amber. It was the
brunette from the photos.
Monty strode down the beach feeling all the excitement of a television drama. In his mind, he
understood the potential danger, but so far nothing really bad had happened. Perhaps the
successful nabbing of Donnie emboldened him too much. Whatever it was, it made him reckless.
He walked up to the first waitress he saw. Noticing his eye contact, she said, “Can I get you
something to drink?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you knew this girl,” he said, flashing one of the photos.
She looked at the photos, looked at Monty’s smiling, sunglassed face, looked at the photos again,
and said, “Sure, I know Ruby.”
“Really! Where is she?”
“Follow me,” she said and turned to go up the walkway to the pool deck. Monty followed her to
the main bar, where she got the attention of the bartender.
“This guy’s looking for Ruby,” she told him.
“Who?” the bartender asked.
“Ruby Dee -- the redhead.”
- 84 -
“Oh, her,” he said. Then something else clicked in his head and he repeated himself, “Oh… her!”
He looked at Monty and smiled. “Come with me, if you don’t mind,” he invited.
Monty smiled and followed him inside the hotel. Monty relished the thought that he would be the
one to find Amber. They crossed the lobby and entered the casino. They approached a large man
in a suit and the bartender said, “This guy’s looking for Ruby Dee.”
The suit guy nodded, glanced around the casino floor, and motioned to another guy in a suit.
“How do you know Ruby Dee?” the suit guy asked Monty.
“From a friend. I hear she’s got a lot of personality,” he said and smiled.
The suit guy nodded as the other suit guy walked up and stood behind Monty.
Across the room, J.D. sat at the bar, cola in hand. He had surveyed the casino and picked out a
young guy who looked like he’d been working the bar long enough to know his way around. He
ordered a cola from him and made some small talk, trying to feel out his disposition. The kid
glanced over J.D.’s shoulder to watch something and J.D. turned around to see Monty being
surrounded by a couple of security guys and a third guy in the same shirt as his bartender. One of
the suits was talking into a radio.
This doesn’t look good, J.D. thought.
“Who are you?” the brunette asked.
“I’m, uh… Rick,” Andrew went with his cover name. “I was \ walking by and I heard you crying. I
just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She smiled. “That’s sweet.” Her eyes lost focus of him as the narcotic kicked in and Andrew
decided to seize the opportunity at hand before she got too high to think straight.
“Are you Maria?” he asked.
“Yeah… do I know you?”
“No, you don’t. But I think we have a mutual friend. Do you know Amber Dodd?”
“Amber?” she perked up.
“Here, look,” he said, taking the photos out of his pocket. “She also goes by the name ‘Ruby
Dee’.”
“Ruby Dee!” she giggled. “I know Ruby!”
“You do!”
“Sure. We go waaay back. What did you call her the first time?”
Andrew’s pulse quickened. “Where is she? Is she here?”
“Hmmm…” she slumped back in her chair, closed her eyes and thought for several long seconds.
Andrew thought he was losing her to the drug.
- 85 -
“Hey, can you hear me?”
“Yeah…”
“What’s your name?”
“Maria.”
“Nice to meet you, Maria. You were about to tell me where I could find Ruby Dee, remember?”
“What’s today?”
“Today? It’s Sunday, March…”
“Sunday?” she opened her eyes slightly and peered at Andrew. “She’s not back yet.”
“What is your room number, sir?” the suit guy asked Monty politely enough that he didn’t know to
worry yet.
“Um… 305,” he said. The suit guy nodded again, as if he agreed that Monty really was in room
305. Monty felt the presence of someone behind him, but didn’t turn around.
“We don’t have a room 305 here,” the suit guy said as Monty felt a hand come down on his
shoulder from behind. Now he was worried.
Donnie rushed into the security room where all of the video cameras were displayed on monitors
like a director’s suite. Joey Chiang, standing at the head of a group of security agents, pointed to
one of the cameras in the casino.
“Right there,” he said.
Donnie looked at the image of Monty and the two security guys. “That’s one of ‘em.”
“Let’s go,” Joey said.
J.D. saw one of the security guys put a hand on Monty’s shoulder and took it as his cue. He
jumped off the barstool, drink in hand, and said in a loud, drunken voice, “Where’s the Caribbean
Stud table?” Both security guys, the poolside bartender and Monty all turned and looked at him at
the same time.
“I’m in the middle of the Caribbean, but I cannot find a game of Caribbean Stud anywhere!” he
said inappropriately loud, walking toward Monty’s little meeting in a slight zigzag stumble. The
security guard behind Monty instinctively took a few steps toward J.D. and that was the only
break Monty needed. He bolted for the door, running right past J.D.
“Hey, wait!” the first security guard yelled, which caused the second suit guy to stop and glance
back around. The first guard started after Monty and J.D. stepped rudely in his path.
“You gotta have a Caribbean Stud table…” J.D. started, but the guard put a hand on J.D.’s chest
and stepped around him. He jogged to the doorway and looked out. He stopped, took his radio
out of his pocket and talked into it. The other security guard and the poolside bartender both
stood in their places, slightly dumbfounded.
- 86 -
“I gotta pee,” J.D. said to nobody in particular and stumbled off toward the restroom – and the
side exit.
“Maria, can you hear me?”
Her eyes were closed and she was becoming more lethargic.
“Sorry… I’m floating.”
“You’re floating? You mean the cocaine?”
“South Beach Snow…”
Andrew knew she was fading fast. He knelt down beside Maria’s chair and put his hand on her
shoulder, shaking her gently. “Maria, tell me where I can find Ruby Dee.”
“Shoot…”
“Where is Ruby? Maria!”
“Shoot!” she said with as much force as she could muster. ‘Shoot?’ Andrew wondered. ‘Shoot’ as
an exclamation? ‘Shoot’ as in drugs? Then it hit him.
“Is she on a photo shoot?” Andrew asked.
Maria nodded slightly.
“Is she on the boat on a photo shoot or is she here at the resort?”
She mumbled something unintelligible and appeared to shake her head slightly. Andrew started
to panic. He didn’t know how long she would be out like this and knew he needed to get back to
their rendezvous point.
“Maria,” he said sharply. “Where is Ruby?”
She rolled her eyes forward and tried to focus on him. With some agitation in her voice, she
slurred, “The Plantation… Catt Island.”
Monty struggled to regain his breath where the palm tree path met the beach until J.D. came
walking through the trees. After finishing his drunk act, J.D. had doubled back through the parking
lot a couple of times, pausing behind vehicles to look for someone following him. Nobody was, so
he made his way to the path through the palms.
“What was that about?” he asked Monty, not hiding his irritation.
“The first waitress I asked recognized her, took me to the bartender, who took me to that guy in
the casino!”
“Yeah, security.”
“He asked what room I was in and I gave him a room number. But he said they didn’t have a
room with that number and the other guy put his hand on my shoulder and… well, you know the
rest.”
- 87 -
“Yeah, they nabbed you pretty quick. Good thing you took off when you did.”
“Thanks for the help.”
“Anyone follow you that you could tell?”
“I don’t think so. I jogged through the pool area, looking over my shoulder, then hit the beach and
sprinted down here. Nobody else has come down the beach.”
“Alright. Go find Dominic at the dock and wait there. Stay near the tree line while you walk. I’ll wait
for Andrew.” He looked at his watch. “Should be back any minute.”
Monty took off down the beach again, away from the resort. J.D. stood at the junction of the tree
path and the beach, glancing back and forth between the two routes.
“Come on, Andrew,” he muttered to himself. “Get back here.”
Back in Texas, Chris and Nicole were working in the backyard of their home, planting spring
flowers in a flowerbed, when Chris suddenly felt off balance. He walked to a bench that sat under
a shade tree.
“Are you okay?” Nicole asked.
“Yeah, I think… I don’t know.”
“You need some water?”
“No, it’s not that… it’s just…”
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked, starting to worry.
“I don’t know,” Chris said. “I started thinking about Andy and I started sweating… it’s weird… I
feel like I’m trying to stand against waves in the ocean.”
“That’s odd. Maybe you should take a break.”
“No, it’s not that,” he said, feeling an urgency that became more clear. “It’s Andy…”
“What, Chris?”
Chris looked up at Nicole. “We need to pray, Nikki. We need to pray right now.”
Twenty minutes had passed and J.D. was about to head back to the boat when he spotted
Andrew on the beach. He was walking at a steady pace, but not in any apparent hurry. J.D.
stepped out onto the beach and motioned for Andrew to speed up. Andrew hustled the rest of the
way.
“We gotta go,” J.D. said and turned down the beach. Andrew trotted up beside him.
“What happened? Where’s Monty?”
“He’s back at the dock, hopefully with Dominic in the boat.”
- 88 -
“Something wrong?”
“Sort of. They started to pick up Monty, but I caused a little ruckus and he got away. They’re
probably looking for us – or at least him. You find out anything?”
“Yeah, I did. She still works here, but she’s not here at the moment.”
“Oh yeah? Where is she?”
“She’s at a photo shoot… on Catt Island.”
J.D. and Andrew jumped in the boat as Dominic untied the last rope. The engine idled as the
captain hopped in and said, “Dat was fast. Where to now?”
“Catt Island,” Andrew said without hesitation.
“Somehow, I knew dat was in de stars.”
Dominic revved up the engine and headed south, right alongside the Brigadoon’s beach.
“Any way you can take this thing out a little further from the land?” J.D. asked.
“We’re t’irty-five feet deep here, no reef here, no worries.”
“Yeah, well… it’s not the reef I’m worried about. Just take it out a little further, if you don’t mind.”
The boat rapidly approached the resort beach as the captain lazily maneuvered it out a little
further from the shore.
“Get down,” J.D. said to Monty, who had been staring at the beach. He did as he was told while
Dominic looked back curiously.
“Aw, great,” J.D. mumbled.
“What is it?” Andrew said, turning in the direction of the shoreline where J.D. was watching.
“Don’t turn around!”
Andrew looked back at J.D. “Someone there?”
“Hotel security. I don’t know if he saw Monty or not.”
J.D. squinted through his sunglasses to see the figure on the beach.
“Looks like he’s on a radio.”
Just then, a speedboat rounded the south end of the point and turned directly toward the Crazy
Baldhead.
“Uh oh…”
Andrew walked to the front of the boat as he heard the high-pitched whine of the speedboat’s
engine. “You think they’re coming for us?”
- 89 -
“I don’t want to find out!” J.D. said, then turned to Dominic: “Hey, captain, I think it would be a
good idea to turn this thing around.”
Dominic looked back at him with confusion. “What’s going on here?”
“I’ll explain in a minute, just get away from that speedboat!”
The captain cranked the wheel and throttled up.
“Dis boat cannot outrun dat boat.”
“Do your best,” J.D. said. Andrew returned to the back of the boat as they turned away from the
speedboat and started going faster.
“What do you think…” Andrew didn’t finish his sentence, because the windshield in front of the
captain’s steering wheel exploded. Dominic yelled out in surprise and ducked down. “Somebody’s
shootin’ at us!”
“Get down!” J.D. instinctively yelled. They all ducked down, including Dominic.
The spider-web pattern of shattered glass emanated from a clean bullet hole in the windshield.
Glass shards fell out as the wind and waves jarred sections loose.
“Why dey shootin’ at us?” Dominic demanded.
“I think we upset them,” J.D. said, drawing his pistol out of its holster. “Now can you get us outta
here?”
“I said I cannot outrun dat boat!”
J.D. looked back as Andrew and Monty lay flat on the floorboard. The speedboat was maybe 100
yards behind them now, and gaining fast. J.D. stood up in plain view, pointed the pistol at the
oncoming boat and squeezed off two quick rounds. The driver of the speedboat swerved in
reaction to the return fire. Dominic jammed the boat into full throttle, almost throwing J.D. down to
the floor.
“How far’s that reef?” J.D. yelled.
“Other side of da pier,” he replied, still crouching as he half-blind guided the boat up the coastline.
“How deep is it?”
“Shallow in some places. I know what your t’inkin’ and forget it.”
They heard the “pop” of the gun this time and both flinched downward. J.D. looked back. Maybe
seventy-five yards now. They passed the pier.
“We don’t have much of a choice! You know any channels through it?”
“Yeah, but if he knows dem, too, he’s got us cornered.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Hey!” Andrew shouted, peering back at the speedboat from behind a fishing chair. “I think that’s
Donnie in that boat!”
- 90 -
“Oh no,” Monty said, never moving from his prone position on the floor. “He’s going to be ticked!”
Another “pop,” this time louder.
“Do something, Dominic!” J.D. yelled.
Moaning and trembling, Dominic stood up from his crouched position and grabbed the steering
wheel tight in one hand, the throttle in the other. He weaved the boat to the left, away from the
shore, and studied the land for a second. J.D. popped his head up to look again. Fifty yards and
closing faster. He squeezed off two more rounds, just to send a message, knowing that he
probably wouldn’t hit anything.
That’ll make him think about sticking his head out to take aim at us, he thought.
Dominic cranked the wheel to the right, dumping J.D. over on his side, and pointed the boat
directly toward the beach. After six or seven seconds, he cranked it hard right again, heading
south down the shoreline again. The speedboat took the bait. Instead of following around the
boat’s path, the driver cut the corner, heading directly into the barely-submerged reef.
They all heard a tremendous grinding sound and looked up to see the speedboat’s nose going up
in the air, twisting in a clockwise motion. The boat skipped into the air, the engine letting out a
scream as it came out of the water, and continued its rotation.
The four of them, as well as a few people on the beach and the pier, watched in horror as the
boat spun halfway over and crashed down into the water, the reef just a few feet below. The
engine abruptly stopped as pieces of the craft broke off and spilled across the waves.
Dominic throttled down his boat. The all watched, stunned, to see if anyone emerged from the
water. Nobody did.
“We best be leaving now,” Dominic said, turning the wheel and pushing the boat to a slow, but
steady, pace. They cruised back by the accident scene as flotsam from the wreckage drifted
toward the shore, carried in by the surf. Still, no bodies appeared, dead or alive.
“Can we just leave the scene like this?” Andrew asked.
“I don’ t’ink you want to stick around,” Dominic replied.
“Me neither,” J.D. said. “Just remember, they were the ones shootin’ at us.”
“I t’ink we go back to Nassau now.”
“Yeah, maybe we should,” Andrew agreed. Neither Monty nor J.D. objected. “At least for the
night.”
Dominic navigated out of the reef and pushed the engine to full throttle in the open water,
glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was following.
“You sure you still wanna press this thing?” J.D. asked Andrew. “We left two bodies back there.”
“I’ve come this far,” Andrew replied. “If there’s any chance that’s my daughter on that island, I’m
not turning back now.”
Joey Chiang cursed in Chinese as one of his grunts dialed the telephone. The grunt’s radio
crackled and a voice came on, “We pulled them out.”
- 91 -
Joey grabbed the radio out of the grunt’s hand. “Are they dead?” he barked into the mic.
“Yes, both of them,” the voice answered. “Johnny K and that guy from the mainland.”
He scanned across the video monitors, but none of the cameras were pointed toward that part of
the beach. “Take care of it,” Joey ordered.
“Mr. Chiang,” the grunt on the telephone said, “I’ve got Mr. Alvarez on the line.”
Joey traded the radio for the telephone. “Rene?”
“Yes, Mr. Chiang,” Alvarez said on the other end of the line.
“You’re guy’s dead.”
“What? Donnie?”
“Yes. Him and one of my best guys!”
“What happened?”
“Boat accident. Now I want to know exactly what is going on here!” Joey’s anger grew with each
sentence. “These guys were walking through my hotel questioning my employees. Gunshots
were fired right off the beach where my guests bathe in the sun! Who are these guys and what do
they want!”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure…” Alvarez stammered.
“Are they FBI? Border patrol? Who are they!”
“I don’t think they’re G-men. I think one of ‘em’s maybe a P.I. They’re looking for those girls.
Maybe family or something.”
As if on cue, a Cuban security agent with a bad scar across his left eye escorted Maria into the
security room. He sat her down in a chair and she slumped back, her eyes unable to focus.
“You get over here right now,” Joey yelled into the telephone. “Go find a plane and get here
quickly!”
He slammed the phone down and turned to the Cuban.
“She’s high,” Joey observed.
“Yes, sir. I practically carry her in,” he said with his thick Havana accent.
“Where’s the other one?”
“We can’t find her. Somebody say she’s at the plantation.”
Joey cursed again in Chinese. “Go make sure,” he said, dismissing the Cuban.
He bent down over Maria. “Maria, can you hear me?”
She moaned her response. Joey slapped her smartly across the left cheek. “Wake up!”
- 92 -
Maria moaned and opened her eyes wider, but could not focus on Joey. He stood upright and
paced the room.
“Should I call the plantation?” the grunt asked.
“No!” Joey shouted at him. “I’ll take care of this.”
Chapter 35
Sunday, March 21
4:20pm
On the ride back to Nassau, the three huddled together to discuss the things that had happened
and what they had learned. They were definitely close, but they were just as surely being
watched. If Donnie and the driver of the speedboat had been injured, or even killed, then
somebody would be coming for them. Certainly the Chiang/Alvarez gang would be interested in
finding them. The Bahamian authorities would be looking into the speedboat wreck, but since no
other boat was directly involved, they may or may not know the connection to Dominic’s crew.
Eyewitnesses could be a concern, but they would have to link the Crazy Baldhead to the
accident, which required them to remember the boat’s name and be willing to talk about it – two
unlikely prospects that played in their favor. Regardless, it made going back to Eleuthera a bad
idea. Going to Catt Island wasn’t much better, but they knew that if they were going to complete
their mission, they had no choice.
“My bet is that Dominic dumps us in Nassau and bolts as quickly as possible,” J.D. speculated.
“We’ll know as soon as we get there.”
“How so?” Monty asked.
“If he asks for payment, he’s gone. Otherwise, he’d wait until we got back to Florida.”
They decided that it would be easier on all of them if they parted ways with Dominic and his boat,
just in case someone did identify the boat. When the arrived back at Nassau, Andrew made the
first move.
“Dominic, you’ve been very helpful. We’re sure sorry about that ruckus back there. How much do
we owe you for your services… and for the windshield?”
Relieved to be offloading his hazardous cargo, Dominic smiled and named his price. It was a little
padded for “all de fuel and de fright,” but Andrew didn’t argue. He paid him in cash and added an
extra $100 hoping to make Dominic happy enough to keep his mouth shut.
“Hey, cap’n, where should we stay tonight?” J.D. asked.
“Oh, dere’s plenty o’ places. Deh Paradise Inn is not too expensive, but plenty nice.”
“Yeah? Where’s it at?”
“Just catch a cab, he’ll take you dere.”
“Perfect. Let’s go to the Paradise Inn!” J.D. said to Monty and Andrew.
They disembarked and left Dominic to tend to his damaged watercraft.
- 93 -
“I forgot to ask him about the name of his boat,” Monty said.
“That’s a shame,” J.D. replied. “Let’s catch some dinner and figure the rest of this thing out.”
“Should we check in to the Paradise Inn first?” Andrew asked.
“Nope. We can stay wherever you want, but not there.”
Andrew and Monty exchanged confused looks.
“If he gets scared and goes to the cops or if someone presses him for our location, we want him
to have an answer that he believes. But not the right answer, that’s for sure,” J.D. explained.
They caught a cab and took it to the tourist district, where souvenir shops and restaurants lined
several streets on the interior of the island. Over a “surf and turf” dinner, they talked through their
options.
“We’ve got to move quickly,” Andrew pointed out. “Maria said that since it was still Sunday,
Amber wasn’t back yet. I don’t know how long she’ll be there, but if we wait too long, we could
miss her. And I don’t want to have to go back to the Brigadoon any time soon.”
“What exactly did she say goes on there?” Monty asked.
“Photos like the ones we found on the internet. Videos, too.”
“Where do they shoot, just on the boat?”
“She called it ‘The Plantation.’ Chiang owns some land right on the beach. They all stay there in
what she called ‘The Big House’ or in bungalows. They shoot in the house, around the property,
and on the beach.”
“She tell you where the house was?”
“She didn’t know exactly where on the island it is. She did say that it has its own pier where the
boat parks.”
“That narrows it down,” Monty quipped.
“Somebody on the island will know,” J.D. said. “If they’re doing that kind of stuff out in the open,
word will have gotten around. What else did she tell you?”
“That’s all I could get out of her. She was fading fast on the coke.”
“That’s odd,” J.D. said. “You sure it was cocaine?”
“It was a white powder. She snorted it off the desk through a straw…”
“Coke makes you jittery and hyper. She should’ve become more talkative, not less.”
“I think she called it ‘South Beach Snow.’”
“Oh yeah? Well that would explain it,” J.D. said. “That’s not cocaine; that’s heroin!”
“I thought you shot up heroin,” Monty motioned an injection into his arm. “Through a needle.”
- 94 -
“You sure it was white and not kind of brown?” J.D. asked Andrew.
“It was white. I saw some of it still on the desk.”
“That’s pure stuff. Hits you hard and hooks you quick,” J.D. shook his head in disgust. “That also
explains why she was fading so fast. These guys are really sick. Pure heroin powder makes
these girls addicts fast – and they care more about the drug than they do about themselves,
which, for their purposes, is perfect. You get a girl hooked, she’ll do anything for more…
anything.”
The waiter brought their food and they ate for several minutes in silence, each of them thinking
through their situation further. J.D. noticed that Andrew’s face had darkened. The thought that
Amber could be his daughter and that his little girl could be a drug addict, too, visibly affected
him. “Maria say whether Amber does drugs?” he asked.
“I didn’t ask, she didn’t say.”
“You didn’t happen to ask Maria if she wanted to get out of the whole drug/porn business, did
you?” Monty asked.
The question hit Andrew like a tidal wave. “No, she dropped off too quickly and I knew I had to get
back to meet you guys. Plus, I don’t know what I’d do with her…” He felt guilty and stupid all at
once. His myopic focus on Amber prevented him from considering Maria’s situation. Ashamed, he
exclaimed, “Actually, I know exactly what I’d do with her. God, I am so dumb!”
“Why?” J.D. asked.
“I should’ve given her the chance to come with us, to get out of there, and go to this place.
There’s this girls’ rehab place that my brother’s been talking to me about… I could have at least
asked! We could have easily taken Maria out of there, given her a chance to clean up, spend
some time at the rehab place…”
Andrew put his hands over his face.
“It’s alright,” J.D. said. “We’re here for one reason and we’re all focused on that.”
“And what would you have done, carried her out?” Monty said. “She was stoned, we were in a
hostile environment, and we had no plan for her.”
“I know… but I should have at least tried!”
“How do you know she would have wanted to leave?” J.D. asked. “She didn’t ask for help, did
she?”
“No, but she didn’t know… she thought I was just another guy trying to score with a certain girl.
She had no idea.”
“Well, don’t blame yourself. Odds are, she wouldn’t have wanted to leave, you know?”
This line of conversation made J.D. realize something else – something he didn’t want to bring
up, but knew he would eventually have to discuss.
“I saw several other boats like Dominic’s out there on the pier,” J.D. said. “I say we book one of
‘em tonight and get ‘em to take us to Catt Island in the morning. Hopefully we can get there
before they leave.”
- 95 -
Andrew and Monty nodded in agreement.
“But this time when we survey the place, we stick together. They’ve shot at us already, so we’re
not taking any chances. Once we see the layout of the island and see if we can get a fix on the
plantation, we’ll figure out what to do.”
“How are we going to get on the plantation?” Monty asked. “We can’t just walk up and knock on
the front door and say, ‘Can Amber come out and play?’”
“I dunno. That’s the hard part. And assuming we can find her, what do we do, ask her if she
remembers anything unusual from her childhood?”
“I dare say that any girl doing porn in the Bahamas may have had something a little ‘unusual’ in
her childhood,” Monty said.
“The birthmark,” Andrew said. “Just ask about the birthmark.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Where’s it at?”
“Back of the left leg, just above the back of the knee. About this big.” Andrew held up his hand,
making a silver dollar sized circle with his thumb and forefinger.
“Just ask if she has one, or ever had one growing up.”
“And if she says, ‘no’?” J.D. asked.
Andrew threw up his hands. “I don’t know.”
“Ask her if she wants a free ride to rehab?” Monty asked.
“That would be nice,” J.D. said, “but the reality is that we need to get in and out as quick as
possible. Assuming we get close enough to ask, and it’s not her, we should probably just leave.
We start trying to steal the merchandise, the owners may get a little testy. And we know that
when they get testy, they start shootin’.”
Andrew and Monty agreed.
“The bigger question is: what do we do if it is her?”
“Get her out of there,” Andrew replied without hesitation.
Now the hardest part, J.D. thought, then asked, “What if she doesn’t want to leave?”
Andrew put his fork down and swallowed his bite. He sat for a moment, thinking about the
question. It was one he’d asked himself, but never answered. Now, with the way things had
progressed, it was time to find an answer.
“If it’s her, we have to get her off that island,” he said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Get
her away, get her sober or whatever, and talk to her. Give her a real chance.”
J.D. thought about it. He figured that would be Andrew’s answer, in one form or another, but the
practical implementation of such a course proved tricky.
“We could drag her out of there screaming, but I don’t think we’d get far,” he said.
“Or we could trick her,” Andrew said.
- 96 -
“How so?”
“One other thing Maria told me… I asked if she knew how old Amber was. She guessed, but she
didn’t know. But she told me that her birthday was this Thursday.”
“Whose, Amber’s?
“No, Maria’s. This week Maria turns 21. She made a joke about finally being able to drink legally,
like age made any difference for her.”
“How does that tie in?”
“What if we find Amber, tell her that Maria’s on the boat waiting for her to go celebrate her
birthday a couple of days early. Take her to the boat and… well, just take off. Once we’re out in
the water, where’s she going to go?”
“Alright,” J.D. said, mulling it over. “Not a bad start.”
They talked through the possible scenarios and potential obstacles as they finished their dinner.
There were several small hotels off the tourist district, so they found a place with vacancies and
checked in. J.D. inquired about chartering a boat and the hotel clerk pointed him to a street-side
excursion booking service within walking distance. Monty went to the room while Andrew and J.D.
went to charter a boat. It turned out that a different marina, closer to the tourist district, offered
plenty of boats that could reach Catt Island. Under the guise of sightseeing at the old monastery,
they booked a boat for early the next morning. The booking agent offered rentals and sales for
video cameras, still cameras and other sightseeing gear. J.D. took him up on a pair of binoculars
and Andrew paid.
Back at the hotel, Andrew stepped onto the balcony to call Chris while J.D. showered and Monty
watched an old Steve McQueen movie on the television.
“Hey, Chris, I got your message.”
"Where are you at? You sound like you are talking in a barrel."
"Well, I guess that's the interesting thing. I'm actually in Nassau."
"The Bahamas?" Chris couldn't hide his surprise. "What's going on, Andy. I'm worried about you.
I've been praying for you ever since our last conversation."
Andrew gave him a sanitized version of the events -- they had located the girl working at a resort
in the Bahamas and they were going to try to talk with her the next day. He left out the drugs,
gunshots, and apparently fatal boat accident.
"Who's with you?"
"The Private investigator that I told you about and a computer specialist from my office."
"God help you, Andrew. That sounds dangerous."
"We'll be okay," Andrew said as convincingly as possible. "I was wondering whether I might be
able to take this girl to your friend's place -- the rehab center -- assuming that we find her and she
wants to get out of the porn business."
- 97 -
"The John 8 House? I'm sure Micky would take her in. Are you saying if this girl is not Faith, you
want to help her anyway?"
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
"That sounds like a great thing to do and I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem, but I'll call and make
sure. I will call you back either way, or you can call me when you're able."
"Thanks, Chris, I really appreciate your help, as always."
"Nicki and I will be praying for you. And you know, Andy, this might not be a bad time for you to
start praying again, too."
After they wrapped up their conversation, Andrew went back inside the hotel room and the three
of them watched the rest of Papillon before going to sleep. In the movie, Steve McQueen plays
the part of a man who has been wrongly sentenced to life in prison. He repeatedly risks
everything in order to escape the hellholes in which he is thrown.
Andrew could not help the feeling that this man, who would rather die trying to escape than live a
tortured life in prison, was a kindred spirit.
Chapter 36
Monday, March 22
7:00am
Sufficiently rested, the three picked up breakfast at a curbside vendor and caught a cab to the
marina.
The Sweet Sunshine was smaller than the Crazy Baldhead, but seemed well equipped for the
trip. The captain introduced himself as Andreas, a native of Nassau. By 8:00, they pulled out of
the marina, cruised out of the small bay, and headed southeast to Catt Island.
“So you’re going sightseeing on Catt Island,” Andreas said, less a question than a statement.
“Yeah, never been there before,” Andrew replied.
“Has some interesting sights, I guess. But not too many people go there.”
“I hear the old monastery is quite unique,” Andrew said, trying to build credibility for their cover
story.
Andreas nodded as he looked them over suspiciously. J.D. recognized the look. He’d gotten it all
of his life – usually from those engaged in crime to one degree or another.
“You go to Catt Island much?” J.D. asked.
“Like I say, not much sightseeing going on there,” he replied.
Nice evasive answer, J.D. thought. Something’s going on with this guy. I don’t know what, but
there is already tension between us that’s not normal.
J.D. kept an eye on Andreas as he sipped his juice and guided the boat. Andrew and Monty were
pretty quiet as they cruised across the open water. Of course, J.D. was no longer a police officer
- 98 -
and he wasn’t investigating the boat captain, but he probably still gave out that “cop” vibe that
Andreas picked up on.
I wonder why a cop on his boat would make him nervous? J.D. asked himself. He couldn’t help
but worry that their tour guide may have ties to Chiang’s people and be leading them directly into
a trap. He would have to watch this guy closely.
Andrew had picked up a brochure on Catt Island back at the hotel and read up on their
destination.
Ninety-five miles southeast of Nassau, Catt Island is known as the least inhabited island
in The Bahamas. It is perfect for those looking for total seclusion, world class diving,
snorkeling and fishing. The island also offers 50 miles of rolling hills, rocky cliffs, and pink
and white sand beaches.
A single road spans the length of the Catt Island, making it easy to explore without
getting lost. Appropriately called the Main Road, it starts in the north at Arthur's Town and
ends in the south at Port Howe.
The island’s many historical sites are easily reached from the Main Road. Beautiful
churches dot the picturesque landscape. The ruins of the Deveaux Mansion, a two-story
whitewashed building once used as a cotton plantation, still attracts photographers and
those seeking a stroll through history.
Mt. Alvernia, the highest point in The Bahamas, rises up 206-feet through a thick tropical
forest. At the summit stands a small monastery called The Hermitage.
Once called San Salvador, the island is now called Catt Island because from the air the
island resembles a feline sitting on its haunches.
Andrew noted the odd explanation of the island’s name. Though the map of the island showed
the imaginary shape of a cat, the fact that the name outdated the airplane belied its etymology.
He studied the map to see if he could figure out where Chiang’s plantation could be. With its own
private dock, it could be anywhere. But with only one major road to navigate, there couldn’t be too
many places for it to hide. They would start at Arthur’s Town and work their way south.
Somebody, somewhere should be able to tell them where to look.
Around 10:30, Andreas turned to the group, “Arthur’s Town dead ahead.”
Andreas pointed the Sweet Sunshine slightly south of the tip of the oncoming island. Monty
leaned over to Andrew and quietly asked, “How far is that monastery from where we’re docking?”
“I think it’s about 25 miles. Why?”
“See if this makes sense: If they are taking the photos and video and uploading it at the
plantation, then beaming it across the microwave link to the Brigadoon from the top of that hill, we
will see the transmitters up there somewhere, right?”
“Probably.”
“In order for the signal to get to the transmitters, it has to come from the plantation somehow,
okay?”
“Alright.”
- 99 -
“That means that there will either be a hard line, like a telephone wire or some other cable, or
another receiver dish with a relay set up.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m saying that if we find a transmitter pointing due north, then we will also find a receiver
pointing to the plantation or a cable running to it. I would guess it’s a cable, but either way it will
lead us to the plantation.”
Andrew got it. It made sense and it eliminated the need to ask around and arouse suspicion.
“I can’t see any other way that they could beam a straight-line signal across the ocean without
using that mountain,” Monty said. “Plus, we can snoop around the monastery all day long without
anyone asking questions. It’s a tourist spot, so they are used to people exploring the area.”
Andrew nodded in agreement as Andreas slowed the boat to bring it into the cove where they
would dock.
“How do we find you when we’re ready to leave?” J.D. shouted to Andreas.
Turning, he replied, “I’ll either be on the boat, at the dock, or in Uncle Arthur’s Pub at the base of
the pier.”
“We could be an hour or we could be all day, but when we’re ready to leave, we don’t want to
wait.”
“You’ll find me.”
Chapter 37
Monday, March 22
10:50am
They walked up the pier discussing Monty’s idea. J.D. liked it, too, so they caught a minivan taxi
at the base of the pier. The cab driver had hung some type of amulet from the rear view mirror.
Shells, herbs and what looked like small animal bones dangled from a coarse hemp rope.
Monty pointed to it as they pulled out of the marina, “What’s that for?”
“For de spirits,” the driver said somberly. “Keep de bad spirits away.”
Changing the subject, Andrew asked the driver to point out the interesting sights as they headed
south down the Main Road. He guided them through the village of Dumfries, past Bird’s Point and
Alligator Point, through the aptly named town of Bluff, all the way down to New Bight, with its
picturesque beach. The whole time, the driver chatted about the towns, the wildlife and the
beaches. Never once did he bring up pirates, drug runners, pornographers or voodoo. He was
content to let the evil spirits rest.
When they reached the path that leads to Mt. Alvernia, on top of which sits the Hermitage, the
cab driver stopped and pointed up the hill.
“There it is, right up there.”
“How hard will it be to catch a cab back?” J.D. asked.
- 100 -
“No problem. Many cabs on the Main Road.”
“You’ve been great,” Andrew said, paying the cabbie and adding a generous tip. “Thanks a lot.”
“Thank you!”
They piled out of the minivan and looked up the path. They couldn’t see the top through the thick
forest, but a sign clearly marked the trail: The Hermitage 3 km.
“How far is three kilometers?” J.D. asked.
“A little less than two miles,” Andrew said.
J.D. sighed heavily. Monty ribbed him, “You gonna make it, old man?”
“Just walk.”
As they made their way through the lush vegetation on a white, crushed coral path, J.D. asked,
"Either of you notice anything funny about our boat captain?"
Andrew and Monty traded blank looks. "He was pretty quiet, but I figured he was just the shy
type," Monty said.
"Why, what did you notice?" Andrew asked.
"I got a funny vibe from him right off, like he didn't trust me for some reason."
"You think he works for Chiang?" Monty asked.
"I wondered about that," J.D. said, "but I think we'd have found a pretty quick when we got to
Arthur's Town."
He stopped talking for a few seconds to catch his breath, then continued, "You remember
Dominic's comment about drug runners on Catt Island?"
"Sure do."
"I think he's running drugs. Maybe skimming a few buds off the top. He's definitely a stoner. He
pulled his sunglasses off for a second when we were getting off the boat and I got a look at his
eyes. If there's one thing I know, it's a stoner."
"You think that's why he accepted the job to Catt Island?" Andrew asked, "To use a few
unsuspecting tourists to act as cover for his smuggling?"
"Could be. There's a dozen different places where a bale of grass, a bag of coke, or any other
contraband could be stashed."
"What are we going to do about that?"
"Not much we can do. We'll just have to keep an eye on him. Dopers can be unpredictable and
unreliable."
"That's just great," Monty said. "If we need to blow this joint in a hurry, I'd better not catch him
blowing a joint."
- 101 -
They walked in silence for ten more minutes before J.D. had to stop and take a break to catch his
breath.
“Don’t have a heart attack on us now!” Monty jabbed.
“You just keep your eyes peeled for computer stuff, geekboy!”
They hiked up the rocky path through the trees for another half-mile when they came upon a
great stone gateway marked “Mt. Alvernia” rising above the scrubby brush. An ornate stone cross
stretched across the top of the weatherworn, gray and white arch.
“A cross,” Monty pointed to the top of the arch. “Dat should keep de baaad spirits away,” he said
in a poor native imitation.
Andrew and J.D. smiled at his silliness and kept hiking. The trees gave way to smaller shrubbery
and the stone silo of the Hermitage could be seen at the top of the hill. The three of them paused
for a moment to rest, J.D. breathing a little heavier than Andrew and Monty.
“Not much up here,” Monty observed.
“No towers or power lines on this side,” Andrew said.
“Which side are we on?” Monty asked.
Andrew looked around. “Given the way the road runs and the way we’ve walked, this has to be
the southwest side.”
“Yep, that’s right,” J.D. confirmed as he glassed the hill through his rented binoculars.
“That’s kind of what I was thinking. That means that a dish would be on the other side.”
“Let’s find out,” Andrew said and started walking again.
At the summit, the trees opened up to a barren hilltop with a crude wooden crucifix welcoming
visitors to Father Jerome’s early twentieth century sanctuary. They climbed up to the Hermitage,
which turned out to be a scaled-down replica of a twelfth century monastery spread across a
rocky plateau overlooking the ocean on one side and the island on the other. There was nobody
else around, neither guides nor tourists, so they explored on their own.
Curiously, the entire structure was unusually small. The ceilings were low, the doorways about
the height of the average man, and the windows all closer than normal to the ground. A plaque
explained that the priest who built the refuge, and several others across the Bahamas, was a very
short man.
"A midget monastery. Now I've seen everything!" Monty remarked.
“I guess this guy wasn't expecting any visitors,” J.D. said as he ducked under a doorway.
At one end of the L-shaped structure stood a stone silo. Andrew led the way as the three of them
climbed the spiral stairs to the tiny room at the top. Three evenly spaced windows opened up to
the outside. They each took a spot at a window and looked around. Monty looked north,
searching for some sign of communications hardware on the hillside or in the forest. J.D. looked
southwest, back over the town of New Bight. Andrew looked southeast, back down the coastline
to the southern point of the island.
“Anyone see any dishes or towers or anything?” J.D. asked.
- 102 -
“Nothing,” Andrew answered.
“Me, neither,” Monty said.
“This is definitely the highest point…”
“Hey,” Andrew interrupted, “let me see those binoculars.”
J.D. handed them to Andrew and looked over his shoulder. “Whatcha got?”
“See that pier over there?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a pretty fancy yacht.” Andrew focused the binoculars on the large cruiser tied to the long
pier. “I don’t see anyone on it… and I can’t quite read it.”
“Read what?”
Andrew handed the binoculars to J.D. and stepped to the side. “See if you can make out the
name painted on the side of the yacht.”
J.D. held his breath as he steadied his gaze on the boat. After a few seconds, he exhaled and
said, “Son of a gun!”
“What?” Monty and Andrew asked in unison.
“It’s called The Brigadoon!”
“I thought so!” Andrew exclaimed.
They took turns glassing the yacht, the pier and the land in between. From their position, they
could see a grassy area just up from the beach, then a grove of trees. The forest on the hill
prevented them from seeing any buildings, but they assumed that the plantation house had to be
somewhere nearby. No telephone wire ran from that area up to the hilltop, or from any other area
for that matter.
“There has to be a transmitter dish somewhere around here!” Monty said. “If it’s coming from
down there,” he pointed southeast, “a cable has to run around to the north. There’s no tower
down there that can overshoot this hill, so it has to be somewhere along this side,” he motioned
up the coast to the north.
“Could be somewhere on the cliffs,” Andrew said.
“Could be… but it has to be serviceable from a road or trail somewhere.”
“Doesn’t really matter now,” J.D. said. “It looks like we found ‘em.”
“But I was thinking…” Monty started. The other two turned to listen. “If we find the line and cut it, I
can go inside and tell them that I was sent to repair it. They could check their own internet
connection and see that they are down.”
“No way,” Andrew said. “Much to risky!”
“I’m with Andrew on that one,” J.D. said.
- 103 -
“So how are we going to get in?” Monty asked. “Just sneak through the woods?”
J.D. and Andrew thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know,” Andrew said, “but I can’t let you
put yourself in danger.”
They stood in the top of the tower in silence for several minutes, trying to form a plan of attack.
J.D. spoke up first.
“Let’s head down to the beach over there,” he said, motioning northeast, “and see if we can walk
down the beach to the plantation. Anyone asks, we’re just wandering the beaches. That way, we
can get a better look at the place.”
Andrew looked down at the beach, which ran north and south, disappearing behind Mt. Alvernia
straight east of the Hermitage, and reappearing further south toward the plantation. “You think the
beach goes all the way through?”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I think we should try.”
They looked down at the sections of beach visible from their perch.
“If it does go through,” Monty said, “we can probably spot a dish from down there. I’d still like to
know where it is.”
“Alright,” Andrew said, “let’s give it a shot.”
Getting over to the east side of the island proved a little harder than they imagined. A cab ride
back north through New Bight and up to Smith Bay Settlement lead them to a road that cut east
across the narrowest part of the island to the beach that ran back to the south past Mt. Alvernia
and led to Chiang’s plantation. They stopped at a street vendor in Smith Bay to pick up bottled
water and some snacks. The cab took them to the eastern shoreline and dropped them off. The
three set off south to Blue Lake Beach and whatever awaited them on the other side.
Forty-five minutes later, with the sun rising high in the sky, they stood at the foot of a large rock
outcropping the jutted out from below The Hermitage atop Mt. Alvernia. A cluster of small
microwave dishes protruded from the cliff high above them. J.D. sat down in the sand where it
met the cliff, welcoming the shade and the rest.
“Transmitters and receivers,” Monty pointed out. “Makes sense. That’s their internet access. I
knew it had to be here!”
The way that Catt Island’s eastern shoreline runs north and south, with the north end slightly tilted
to the west, allowed the signal to shoot alongside the coast for a few miles, then out over the
open water to Eleuthera. The elevation of Mt. Alvernia and the Brigadoon Bay hotel provided just
enough clearance over the water for it to work.
“I wonder if I could climb the rock here,” Monty mused out loud.
“Forget it,” Andrew said. “We’ve got to get over this one.” He pointed to the lava formation that
effectively ended the beach in front of them. “I wonder how far it is before there’s beach again.”
“One way to find out,” Monty said, tossing his water bottle to Andrew.
“Be careful. This isn’t covered by Worker’s Comp.”
- 104 -
“Don’t worry. I used to rock climb quite a bit in college. I’ll just get to the top of this formation and
see if we can go any further.”
Andrew sat down next to J.D. while Monty scaled the 25-foot lava rock incline.
“You okay?” Andrew asked.
“Sure. Just a little more exercise than I’m used to.” J.D gulped down the last swig of his water.
“You nervous?”
“I suppose. We’re getting a lot closer than I ever imagined.”
“You know, this could end up being a huge disappointment. Are you prepared for that?”
“I know. I’m used to disappointment. But this time I’m not the emotional wreck that I was all those
other years that I searched. If it’s not her, it’s not her. There’s nothing I can do but try.”
“Her name’s Faith, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Did it ever occur to you that you’re out here looking for Faith?”
Andrew turned and looked at him quizzically.
“I mean, you’re a Christian, or used to be, right?”
“Something like that.”
“So you’re out here looking for answers in a lot of ways, like you’re searching for your daughter,
who’s name is Faith, and you’re kind of looking for something to believe in again, you know?”
“Maybe… It did occur to me a few years after she disappeared that I did ‘lose my faith’ in both
ways, literally and spiritually.”
“I can understand. That’s got to make you question God.”
“Yeah, it does.”
"But faith is supposed to be about believing in something, or someone, even when you don't
understand it all."
“Are you preaching at me? I didn’t even get the impression that you were religious!”
“Nah… just making an argument. I grew up Catholic, but when I got older, like in my 20’s, I didn’t
see the point of it all. It just seemed like a bunch of strange words and motions. I guess I just quit
going because I didn’t see the meaning in it.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. I grew up in a Charismatic church where if you could just work up
enough faith, you could say something and it would come true. I found out the hard way that it’s
not that simple. Sometimes things happen that don’t make any sense at all.”
“Tell me about it. Go work the street for a while and you’ll see lots of things that don’t make
sense. Good people getting murdered, scumbags getting away with it. Drugs, prostitution,
violence… it’s all pretty jacked up.”
- 105 -
“I bet.”
“But at the end of the day, I still think there’s a God up there somewhere.”
Just then, two large iguanas came scurrying down the cliff, jumping onto the beach and chasing
each other across the sand. One stopped, turned around, and stood up on its back legs. The
other one stood up, too, flaring a round flap of skin around its neck like a peacock strutting its tail
feathers. They wrestled for a few seconds, then sprinted off across the sand and back into the
rocks.
“Spring time,” J.D. quipped.
They laughed for a moment, then sat in silence, watching the surf roll up the beach, then back
out, in an endless cycle of power and tranquility.
“It’s this kind of stuff that makes me believe God exists,” J.D. said. “I know that evil exists – I’ve
seen way too much of it to deny that – but at the same time I know that goodness, beauty and
love are more powerful.”
“Hmm…”
“I know how awful people can be, so it’s hard for me to believe that good things come from us. I
figure there’s got to be a ‘higher power’ out there, and even inside some people, that enables us
to rise above the mess this world’s in.”
Andrew thought about it. He used to believe. Sometimes he still wanted to. But he couldn’t get
past his past. Without knowing who else to blame, he chose to place the blame on God – a God
who let bad things happen to innocent children. It was too much for Andrew to comprehend and
over the years, his heart had completely hardened. Even as he sat before the majesty of creation,
he couldn’t see the Creator.
“Hey!” came a shout from above. They looked up to see Monty perched halfway down the rock
barrier. “Come on! We can reach the beach on the other side!”
Andrew looked at J.D. and asked, “You ready for some rock climbing?”
“Why not,” he muttered and stood up.
The climb up and over the beach barrier was not too difficult. The porous lava rock crunched
under their shoes, but offered a good grip. However, it was somewhat sharp to the touch, so it
was a delicate process trying to balance on two feet without leaning on a hand.
By the time they reached the other side, they were all sweating. J.D. was the last to reach the
beach.
“You alright?” Andrew asked.
“Yeah, I just cut my hand a little,” he said, showing his blood-speckled palm where the rock had
punctured through his skin. “Should be alright.”
Andrew opened his water bottle and poured some on his hand to rinse it off.
“About half a mile to the pier,” Andrew said. A small boat and a catamaran sat on the beach
between them and Chiang’s pier. About a hundred yards from the beach, a bungalow stood
underneath dozens of palm trees. A row of tropical plants marked a boundary line between the
properties.
- 106 -
“Looks like private homes line the beach between here and there,” he observed. They walked
down the beach, passing a few small plantation-style homes. As they approached Chiang’s pier,
the last little bungalow gave way to a wide, open grassy lawn dotted with various types of palms.
Several small cottages were scattered around the area, many clustered around a large swimming
pool and patio. A large 19th century colonial plantation home stood at the opposite side of the
pool.
With no place to hide, the three kept walking across Chiang’s portion of the beach, glancing
sideways to survey the property. A few men and women sat around the pool, but the place
appeared to be pretty calm overall. If anyone was on the yacht, they were below deck. A thick
tropical forest provided the boundary on the far side of the property. Once there, they huddled in
the trees to plan their next move.
“Well, we can’t go marching up the lawn,” Andrew said.
“No, we’ll have to go around to the front and take a look,” J.D. said. “I doubt the access will be
much better, but we oughtta check it out.”
“Cut through these trees?”
“No, way too close. For all we know, it could still be Chiang’s property. Let’s keep going down the
beach.”
The walked another half mile down the beach before spotting the road that ran parallel to the
beach. Although it was clear that they were trespassing on someone’s property, they decided to
cut through and, if questioned, just play the part of dumb lost tourists trying to get back to the
road. Nobody bothered them, so they hit the narrow blacktop and started walking back towards
Chiang’s plantation.
“Phone lines,” Monty said, looking up. Telephone poles lined one side of the road with two rows
of wires. “Top ones are power lines, then telephone. Old lines, too.”
Just then a car horn sounded behind them. They turned around to see a small green and white
cab. Andrew started to wave the driver away when J.D. stopped him, “Wait, let’s get him to drive
us by. Won’t be as obvious that we’re casing the place. Plus, I’d like to get a feel for the quickest
way outta here.”
They piled into the tiny four-door hatchback, Andrew in the passenger’s seat, J.D in the back
behind him and Monty behind the driver. The driver greeted them with a big smile.
“Where you need to go?”
J.D. answered, “Just drive slow down this road. We’re looking at real estate and wanna see each
place real close.”
The driver did as instructed, taking his time, gladly running up the meter. As they passed
Chiang’s plantation, they all noticed one thing: they couldn’t see hardly anything from the road! A
thick hedge of tropical plants lined the road with only two gaps for the gated driveway, which
curved sharp enough among trees that there was virtually no view of the house or the rest of the
complex. Gates stood silently in front of each opening, with a fence running the length of the
property, though mostly hidden in greenery.
As they reached the north end of Chiang’s place, Andrew turned from the passenger’s seat and
looked at J.D. with a “What now?” expression.
- 107 -
Monty was leaning over, almost in J.D.’s lap, looking up at something. “Keep going,” he mouthed
to them. They stayed quiet, looking at Chiang’s neighbors’ homes as the driver continued up the
road. Soon, they came to the place where Mt. Alvernia forced them to veer left, away from the
beach and the lava formation they had scaled.
“Stop here,” Monty said abruptly. The driver halted the cab and Monty jumped out. He looked at
something for a few seconds, then leaned back in the cab. “Let me show you something.” Andrew
and J.D. stepped out of the cab and they huddled behind the car.
Monty pointed to a telephone pole, “See that third wire? That appeared at Chiang’s property and
goes into the jungle while the power lines and telephone lines curve left with the road.”
“Microwave connection,” Andrew said.
“Yep. That’s it. No doubt.”
“Looks like you were right about the internet setup.” To J.D.: “So what’s the plan?”
J.D. was still thinking it over, so Monty jumped in, “Let’s cut their connection and go in to repair it.”
“Too dangerous,” J.D. said. “What if they call back to the Brigadoon and find out that you weren’t
sent by them? Way to risky.”
“Got a better plan?”
The stood on the side of the road racking their brains for a better way.
“I wish we could wait until dark,” J.D. said. “It’d be much easy to move around.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Andrew protested. “They could board the yacht and take off at any time.
Plus, if we need to leave quickly, we need to be able to go and Andreas can’t sail at night.”
“I know, I know…”
They thought for a few more minutes, the cabbie waiting patiently with the meter running. Finally,
J.D. gave in, “Okay, we cut the cable and try to go in. But two conditions: first, any sign of
suspicion, we leave. Second, I go inside.”
“You?” Monty asked. “No offense, but you won’t be able to talk your way through the front door!”
“I know that. I mean you and me go.”
“Hang on,” Andrew interjected. “This is my deal. I’m going in!”
“Look, I know how you feel, but do you know how to use a gun?”
Andrew shook his head in resignation. “Can you talk your way in technically?” Again, Andrew
indicated he could not. “I know it’s tough, but I don’t see any other way. The three of us show up,
it looks wrong. I’ve got the gun, he’s got the brains, so that’s the only way it will work.”
J.D. was right and they all knew it. “You wait with the cab.”
“Fine.” To Monty: “Just be careful.”
“I will. Who wants to cut that cable?”
- 108 -
“How are we going to cut it?” Andrew asked.
“Either of you have a pocketknife or something?”
“Nope.”
"Let's ask the driver," J.D. walked around to the driver’s side of the cab. “Hey, we want to cut
down a couple of fresh coconuts. You have a knife?”
“No knife,” the cabbie said. “But I got a machete!”
“That oughtta work!”
The driver got out, opened the hatchback, and produced an old, but highly functional, machete.
Andrew and Monty smiled.
“You mind if my buddy takes it into the jungle there for a few minutes?” J.D. asked.
“No problem!”
The cabbie handed it to Monty, who dutifully trudged into the forest. Ten minutes later, he came
out, coconut in hand. “Got it!” he said, not talking about the coconut.
“Nice one!” the driver said. He took the machete back from Monty and put it in the trunk. “Now
what?”
“Take us back down there,” J.D. said, pointing south down the road towards Chiang’s place. They
piled back in the cab and he turned it around and drove. When they reached the first driveway
entrance, they stopped him. “Wait here,” J.D. said to the driver.
“You going in there?” he asked incredulously.
“You know them?” J.D. asked.
“Oh yes. Japanese guy. Makes, uh… movies,” he grinned like a newlywed on his honeymoon.
“Chinese, actually,” Andrew said.
“We’ll be right back,” J.D. said. He and Monty walked up to the gate while Andrew waited in the
cab.
At the gate, a small box sat atop a pole at car window height. J.D. pushed the button on the box
expecting to hear some kind of buzzer or intercom. Instead, the gate opened up.
“That was easy.”
They walked up the driveway. Back in the cab, Andrew felt his anxiety rise as they disappeared
around the bend.
Chapter 38
Monday, March 22
12:45pm
- 109 -
The circular driveway met with a wide sidewalk that led through a plush garden to the mansion’s
front porch. Monty and J.D. cautiously approached the front door and rang the bell. A large Asian
man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts answered.
“Who are you,” he said, more of an accusation than a question.
Monty answered, “Your internet access is down. We’re not getting anything on the outside.”
“What company you with?”
“Company?” J.D. said, “We’re private contractors! You think they’d just call somebody in the
yellow pages for this job?”
The doorman didn’t disagree. “Joey send you?”
“Is that his name?” J.D. asked Monty.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Hang on,” he said, then shut the door, leaving them standing on the porch.
Lowering his voice, J.D. asked, “Who’s Joey?”
“Probably Joey Chiang. Jimmy’s relative, I’d guess.”
“Wonder if he’s the number two guy in the operation. Or maybe he runs the hotel side, while
Jimmy stays over here.”
The door opened again and the same security guy said, “Follow me.”
He led them through a spacious foyer decorated in colorful Caribbean colors and lined with
brightly colored hibiscus and bougainvillea. Original paintings by Alexandre Gregoire accented
the walls on both sides. Everything was bright and clean, hiding the filth and sickness that they all
knew lived under the surface. He led them out a sliding glass door in the back, through a garden
area with hammocks, benches, and showers, and around the pool deck. Lotsa photo spots, J.D.
thought.
Two young girls sat by the pool. Neither matched Amber’s description. Another man stood over a
grill, piling on burgers and steaks.
“Smells good,” J.D. said. “I guess lunch will be served soon.”
“I hope so,” the security guy said. He looked like he had put away more than a few burgers over
the years.
They passed three small cottages then came to the last one on the north end of the property. He
opened the front door and stood by for Monty and J.D. to enter. The front room had two
workstations with monitors and special computers built for converting video to internet-ready files.
A young Asian man was touching up a particularly risqué photo in an image editing program.
Their escort closed the door and left them alone.
The man behind the computer looked up, “We down again?”
“Looks that way,” Monty replied. “The hardware in back?” he asked, pointing at the closed door.
- 110 -
“Yes,” the young man said. He stood up and walked to the door. “I keep it closed when Ricky’s
gone. I know it’s not good for the air circulation and all, but it’s noisy and just makes my room
hotter.”
He opened the door, revealing a larger room packed with computer hardware. Monty recognized
most of the equipment immediately. The routers and storage drives were all made by SerComm,
a Taiwanese company with a reputation for being fast, cheap and reliable. In contrast to most
environments Monty had worked in, there was not a single piece of American-based hardware or
software in the place. It all ran on Linux, an operating system that was owned by the world
community, rather than one big company. Whether it was because of the Asian connection or the
distrust of Microsoft’s privacy policy, Monty couldn’t know for sure. He did know that if pressed on
the hardware end, he would run up against some walls with this equipment.
“So who are you guys? I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m the Linux guy,” Monty said, then pointed to J.D., “and he’s the microwave guy. You the
network admin?”
“Oh, no. I’m the graphic artist and video editor. Ricky’s the hardware guy, but he’s at some trade
show in China this week.”
“He’s not at the Beijing Computer Exhibition is he?” Monty asked, genuinely curious.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Wow! I’d love to go to that show.”
J.D. interrupted their geektalk. “We gonna get this thing fixed or just dream about bigger hard
drives?”
“Fine, let’s get to work,” Monty replied, then leaned over to the graphic artist. “Bitter old Cobol
guy!”
They both laughed at the inside joke, then Monty turned to go into the server room. “It’s okay if he
checks the lines outside while I run a systems test in here?”
“Sure, that’s fine. But the microwave dishes aren’t on the property here.”
“Yeah, we know,” Monty said. “I’m assuming they’re up on that hill somewhere?”
“Yes. Mounted on the cliff side. There’s a trail that goes up there, but you have to hike or take the
4-wheeler.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to go that far,” J.D. said, turning to go out the front door.
“Hope not!” the artist replied, sitting back down at his workstation.
Monty went into the server room and pulled a keyboard out of the rows of hardware mounted in a
dozen racks along the two back walls. He toggled the mouse to wake up the computer and the
monitor lit up. A few clicks and he was looking at a massive directory of images and video files.
He clicked the first one to see if it was what he suspected it was. Up popped a photo.
“I think we just found the truly evil spirits,” Monty mumbled to himself. “Now it’s time to work a little
magic of my own.”
- 111 -
Outside, J.D. worked his way back toward the pool. As he approached the next cottage, he could
hear a shower running through a small open window. He looked in the next window and saw a
bedroom with clothes strewn across a chair and bureau. A case with high-end lenses and filters
lay open on the unmade bed. An expensive camera sat on a table next to the chair. A tripod
rested up against one corner.
J.D. moved to the next cottage. The blinds were all closed, so he could not see in. He walked to
the front door - nobody was around to see him - and knocked. Nobody answered, so he tried the
handle. The door opened to reveal another cottage, similar in layout to the one with the
computers, but furnished for living space. The entry room had a kitchenette and a two-top table
on one side, a living room on the other. J.D. walked across the room to a door and opened it. A
king-sized bed filled the room, with two nightstands and a small bureau. Another door led to a
bathroom. This cottage appeared to be unoccupied.
J.D. slipped out the door and went to the next cottage. He could hear music playing softly from
within this one, so he figured it was in use. Peering in the kitchen window, he could see plates
and glasses in the sink, a box of cheese crackers on the counter, and a half-empty bottle of wine
on the table. The music seemed to come from the bedroom, so he cautiously walked around the
corner to the bedroom window. Peeking in, he could see the backside of two legs - obviously a
woman's - on the bed. He leaned further to see the rest of the girl. His pulse quickened as he saw
her long red hair, although he couldn't see her face. He watched her for a few seconds, waiting to
see if she was just lying down or still sleeping. The radio on the dresser droned on with American
hip-hop. She didn't move, so he walked around to the front door, glancing around to make sure
nobody was watching, and knocked. No response. He knocked again, louder. Still no response.
He knocked as loud as he dared, waited, then walked back around to the bedroom window. She
hadn't moved an inch.
He rapped on the window, but the girl never moved. He looked around the room and noticed an
empty wine glass on the nightstand with lipstick smudged around the rim.
“Passed out,” he mumbled and knocked again on the glass. “Alright. I guess she won't mind if I
go on in,” he said to himself. He walked around to the front door again, still nobody in sight, and
let himself in. He opened the door to the bedroom and found himself facing the girl.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Amber?”
Nothing.
Her long hair obscured her face, so he still was not sure if it was really her. Knowing that she may
wake up at any point, and freak out with a strange man in her room, J.D. walked over to the bed
and gently pushed her hair out of her face.
It was Amber.
Her smudged make up and electric blue silk evening gown indicated that she had simply passed
out in the bed. She still didn't move and J.D. started to worry. That's when he noticed the pills on
the floor between the bed and the nightstand. He knelt down and picked one up. It was white and
marked with “ZY,” which meant nothing to him. He touched it to his tongue. The taste was bitter,
but nothing that J.D. recognized, which meant it wasn't ecstasy, acid, heroin, or any other typical
street narcotic. It did, however, cause his tongue to start tingling, which meant that whatever it
was, it was powerful. He looked under the bed and spotted a brownish plastic vial. There was no
wrapper or marking on it and there were no more pills in it. Now he was very worried.
He pocketed the pill bottle as he stood up. “Amber!” he called out. He grabbed her shoulder and
shook her gently. “Amber, wake up!”
- 112 -
She didn't make a sound. J.D. put two fingers on her neck and felt a pulse. He counted the
seconds on his watch and realized her heart rate was about 35 beats per minute - too low, even
during sleep.
J.D. left her and went back outside. Fortunately, he still saw no one. He could, however, hear
some people talking up by the pool. A hedge of pineapple guava plants prevented them from
seeing the cottages, but the voices came from the same spot as the rising smoke from the grill.
J.D. quickly walked back to the computer cottage and went inside. The graphic artist looked up.
“Find anything?”
“Looks okay so far,” he replied, walking to the back room. Monty glanced over his shoulder as
J.D. entered the room. He leaned over close to Monty and whispered, “I found her. Let's go.”
“Give me just a minute.”
“You don't understand. We have to go now!”
Monty typed furiously while J.D. grew more impatient. A few seconds later, Monty hit 'enter' and
watched the monitor as the servers started logging off one at a time and rebooting.
“Perfect!”
He smiled to himself and stood up. J.D. led him out. “We'll be right back,” he said to the artist and
went outside.
Inside the big house, the telephone rang. The large Asian butler picked it up.
"This is Ming."
"Hey Ming, this is Mac over at the Brig. I'm not getting an online signal. Looks like you guys are
down again."
"Yeah, I know. Your repairmen are here."
"Our what?"
"Your guys. To fix the internet thing. They're already here."
"Hang on," Mac said. There was some chatter in the background while he conversed with his coworkers before he came back on the line.
"We didn't send anybody."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we didn't send anybody! We just figured it out ten minutes ago and it took us that long to
pinpoint the problem. And I called you first."
"Then who are these guys?"
"Sounds like your problem."
"Yeah, I'll take care of it."
- 113 -
Ming sauntered down the hallway of the south wing where Jimmy Chiang conducted his late
morning Tai Chi. He stood in the doorway of the spacious exercise room while traditional Chinese
music echoed out into the hallway. At a break, Jimmy Chiang turned to his assistant and bowed.
Ming bowed in return, making certain he bowed lower than his uncle.
"Yes, Ming."
"We may have a problem Mr. Chiang."
“What's the story?” Monty asked in a low voice.
“She's passed out in a cottage up here. Maybe O.D.'ed on pills.”
“Uh oh… what are we going to do?”
“Well, we need to get her outta here. Carry her if we have to.”
“Did you look for the birthmark? Is it her?”
“I dunno. I forgot to look. Birthmark or not, we need to get her out so we can at least talk to her…
once she wakes up, that is.”
“We can't go back through the house…”
“No, we can't. I figure we cut through the trees here and carry her up the property next door to the
road. I just hope that next door isn't a part of this place.”
“Me, too. Anyone see you walking around?”
“Not yet. But this place is starting to wake up.”
They reached the cottage and went inside. Amber lay in the same position. Monty took one of the
photos out of his pocket.
“Yep, that's her.” He bent over her and looked at the back of her legs. “No birthmark.”
“Well, that just means that we still don't know. Let's pick her up and get her outta here.”
“Okay… how are we going to do this?”
“I'm not sure,” J.D. thought about it. “Let's just sit her up first.”
“Is this a dress or pajamas?” Monty asked as the pulled her legs off the edge of the bed and
heaved her shoulders up.
“I'd guess a dress,” he answered. He pushed the straps back up on her shoulders. “Stand her up
now.”
They each grabbed one side under her arms and lifted. She offered no help, but just moaned as
her body stayed limp. They sat her back down.
“That won't work,” J.D. said. “Here, I'll just carry her. You lead the way and keep your eyes peeled
for anyone else.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
- 114 -
J.D. put his arms around her waist and lifted her up over his shoulder like Santa Claus and his big
sack of toys. She moaned louder this time, but still didn't wake up. Monty went back to the front
door, opened it, and looked around.
“Coast is clear.”
They quickly walked out of the cottage and went around back. The tropical forest dividing the
properties was about 20 yards wide. Fortunately, there was no fence. They made their way to the
other side and popped out in an open yard. An older woman stood with a hose, watering some
bright orange orchids in a flowerbed. She looked up, startled. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“I'm sorry, ma'am,” J.D. said as they turned left, toward the road, and kept going, “but she's sick
and we're taking her to the doctor.”
“Why are you cutting through here?” she called out as they walked toward the gap between her
house and the forest. “Hey, wait a minute!”
They didn't wait. In fact, they picked up their pace. Over J.D.'s shoulder, Amber began to moan
as she bounced up and down with each step.
“There's the road,” Monty said.
“You run up ahead and flag down Andrew and the cab,” J.D. suggested. Monty jogged on ahead
as J.D. breathed harder and harder to keep moving. Monty made it to the road and disappeared
to the left. A few seconds later, J.D. made it to the road. He stopped and looked left to see the
cab coming toward him, Monty and Andrew already inside.
Just then Amber made a retching sound and J.D. felt a wet warmth on his back. Something
splattered on the pavement behind him. He just closed his eyes and held on to her. The cab
pulled up and Andrew and Monty jumped out.
“Put her in back in the middle in the back,” J.D. said. “Watch out, 'cause she just puked.”
They maneuvered her into the back seat, Monty and Andrew on either side, and J.D. got in the
front with the driver.
“What is this?” the cabbie said.
“She's sick. We gotta take her to a doctor,” J.D. said.
“There's a clinic in New Bight.”
“We can't go to that one. Take us to Arthur's Town!”
“But that's a lot further. We should go…”
“Just drive to Arthur's Town and drive fast!”
Ming entered the computer bungalow where the graphic artist sat working on a photo. "Where are
they?"
"The tech guys?"
"Yeah."
- 115 -
"They left a couple of minutes ago. Said they were checking the cables outside."
Inside the big house, the phone rang again. Ming wasn't around to pick it up, so after ten rings,
Jimmy picked it up himself.
"Yes?"
"Jimmy?"
"Yes, this is Jimmy."
"It's Joey. Listen, I think we might have a problem."
"Yes, I've been told."
Joey spoke in Chinese as he explained the events of the last two days. As he finished, Ming
came into the Jimmy's room. Jimmy asked Joey to hold, then spoke to Ming in English.
"Did you find them?"
"No, I think they're gone."
"Is Ruby Dee here, the girl with the red hair?"
"Yes. She's in bungalow five."
"Go get her."
They buzzed up the Main Road for twenty minutes, passing two other cabs and several locals on
foot. From the front seat, J.D. kept turning around to check for any followers.
“What's wrong with her,” Andrew asked.
“PILLS,” Monty mouthed in silence, then motioned as if he were popping a few. Andrew nodded
his head in acknowledgement, then waited in agony to hear the rest of the details of their mission.
He knew that it would have to wait until they were out of the cab.
Halfway there, Andrew turned to Monty, “What was it like inside?”
“It was actually very nice. Clean, classy… If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a great place.”
“Hmm,” Andrew turned toward the window, not really seeing what they passed. “Angels of light,”
he murmured.
“Huh?” Monty asked.
“Nothing.” Andrew continued staring out the window, lost in his thoughts.
Once they reached Arthur's Town, J.D. said, “Go straight to the pier where you picked us up.”
“But the hospital…” the cabbie protested.
“They don't take her insurance, okay?” he yelled. He glanced at the meter, which read just under
$25. “Is that American money or Bahamas?”
- 116 -
The cabbie looked at the meter. “That's about $30, U.S.”
J.D. pulled two $20 bills out of his wallet. “Keep the change.”
The driver took the money and put it in his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”
They pulled up to the pier as close as possible and scrambled out.
“I'll go find the captain,” J.D. said. “You two take her to the boat.”
Amber was starting to wake up, but her eyes couldn't focus on anything. They stood her up,
Andrew and Monty on each side, and walked her down the pier to where the Sweet Sunshine
was tied up. She stumbled and moaned, but remained unaware of what was happening. Getting
her in the boat was tricky, but they managed. By the time they were all three on board, J.D. and
Andreas were walking down the pier.
Andreas stopped when he saw Amber on board. “Wait a minute. Who's that?”
“She a friend. We're taking her to a doctor in Nassau.”
“You never said anything about another passenger…”
“Just get in a drive, okay? We don't have time to discuss it.”
“I don't think so…”
J.D. pulled his Investigator's badge out of his pocket and flashed it. “Look, you just take us back
to Nassau and I won't say anything about your extra cargo, okay?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“No? Do I need to dig around in the compartments until we come to an understanding?”
Andreas considered his position and J.D. read the guilt in his hesitation.
“Let's go,” J.D. ordered.
Resigned, but not happy, Andreas untied the boat and cranked up the motor. J.D. boarded last
and they pulled out of the bay.
Ming came back into the big house, sweat ringing his armpits and dampening his hair.
"Did you find her?" Jimmy asked.
"I looked everywhere. She's gone, too."
Jimmy sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke.
"Get Joey on the telephone."
As the engine leveled out and drowned out their voices, Monty told Andrew what had happened
back at Chiang's.
- 117 -
J.D. stayed at the front of the boat where he could keep an eye on Andreas. He didn't trust the
captain and wanted him to know that he was being watched at all times.
“What did she overdose on?” Andrew asked. Amber slumped between them on the back bench
seat, still incoherent.
“I don't really know," Monty answered," J.D. said the bottle was not marked."
Andrew got up and walked to the front of the boat .
“Any idea what kind of pills those were?"
" I'm not sure. Maybe some kind of sleeping pill by the look of it."
“Is she going to be okay?"
“Yeah, I think so. If she had taken enough to kill her I think she'd be dead by now. See if you can
wake her up. Try to get her to drink some water. I'm gonna stay up here where I can watch this
guy," he said, pointing to Andreas. ”I don't trust him. For all we know, he's one of Chiang's drug
runners."
Andrew walked to the captain and asked him for some bottled water. Andreas pointed to the cocaptain's seat, ”There's an ice chest built into that seat. Just lift up the seat cushion."
Andrew opened up the chest, which was filled with various beverages, and pulled out some
plastic bottles of water. He held one up for J.D., who nodded his head, and tossed it up front to
him. Then he pulled out of three more and walked to the back of the boat and handed one to
Monty. He sat down next to Amber, put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.
“Hey, Amber, can you hear me?"
“She's pretty out of it," Monty said.
"I wish I could get a look at the back of her leg, but it's kind of hard the way she sitting."
"If she wakes up while you're doing that, you might get a swift kick in the head!"
The boat had a roll of paper towels hanging in an enclosed area near the co-captain's chair.
Andrew got up and tore off a few, wetting them with water from his bottle. He sat back down and
began wiping the crust and around Amber's mouth and chin. Her blue dress remained spotless,
since she was bent over J.D.'s shoulder when she vomited. As he finished cleaning her up, she
opened her eyes and looked at him. She tried to say something, but it came out as a mere rasp.
Andrew held his water bottle up to her lips and carefully poured some water into her mouth. She
swallowed hard, blinked and focused on him again. She said something to him, but he could not
hear it over the engine.
“What?” he asked, leaning over to put his ear closer to her mouth.
"Are you an angel?” she said in a hoarse whisper.
"Me? No, I'm..." he searched for the right word, " I'm just a friend."
She smiled at him as he offered more to drink. Monty leaned up when he noticed that she was
awake. Amber drank deeply from the bottled water and turned to Andrew.
"Where we going?"
- 118 -
"We are on our way to Nassau. How are you feeling?" Andrew said.
"A little better now," she smiled and looked at him, "The last thing I remember, I prayed and
asked God to send an angel to take me away from there. You call yourself a friend, but I think
you're my answer to prayer."
Andrew felt his throat tighten up. He wanted to speak, to say something, but there were no words.
Even if he knew what to say he wasn't sure he could say it. The idea that God could use him to
answer someone's prayer was beyond belief. And while she may have found an answer, he still
had many questions. She adjusted her sitting position, closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
This time, however, she had a smile on her face.
Ming stood in front of the teakwood desk as Jimmy Chiang sat in the leather chair behind it. Joey
Chiang was on the speakerphone from the security office at the Brigadoon Bay Resort.
"Three men took Ruby in a cab to Arthur's Town and boarded a small boat," Ming informed Joey.
"That's them," he replied. "Any idea where they are going?"
"If they came from Fort Lauderdale, they are probably headed back there."
"We can get a plane and beat them there," Joey suggested.
"No," Jimmy said. "We should not follow them to the States."
"What do we do?" Joey asked.
"I think the captain of their boat may be one of our runners. Somebody picked up a small load
while they were here."
"Any idea who?"
"We are finding out. If that's the case, they may not be headed straight to Florida."
"Nassau?" Joey guessed.
"Perhaps. Could be Freeport."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Put calls out to our people in Nassau and Freeport. Andros, too," Jimmy said. "Tell them to
watch the marinas. And have an airplane ready to go."
Half an hour later, Amber awoke again. "Do you have any food?" she asked.
Hearing her question, Monty got up and asked Andreas, who pointed him to another
compartment near the co-captain's seat. He came back with an assortment of snack foods.
Amber selected some crackers and thanked him. He and Andrew took their pick and they all ate
quietly for a few minutes. Some of the color came back into her face, so Andrew could tell she
was truly recovering. He took a few deep breaths as he prepared to ask her the questions that
had brought him so far, facing so much danger, and stirring up so much emotion.
“I need to ask you a strange question," he said. "But I'll explain why I'm asking it."
- 119 -
"Okay, go ahead."
"Have you ever had a birthmark on the back of your left leg behind the knee about this size?” He
held up his thumb and forefinger in a circle.
"That is a strange question!” she said, smiling. "No, I don't really have any birthmarks. Never
have."
Andrew's heart sank like a stone cast into the sea. But he had to make sure.
"Do you know your parents?"
"Of course. Why, did my mom send you?"
"No... you're sure that your parents are really your parents," Andrew started, then realized how
awkward that sounded. "What I mean is, you're not adopted are you?"
"Oh, I am my mother's daughter, I can promise you that. Most days I wish I was adopted. As for
my dad, I can't really say. He ran out on us when I was just a baby and now he's some bigshot
lawyer in Chicago, from what I hear."
The news was not unexpected, but still disappointing. Just to eliminate all doubt, he asked one
more question.
"Do you know when and where you were born?"
"Dayton, Ohio. Twenty-one years ago last January."
"You're twenty-one?"
"Yeah, why are you so surprised?"
"I just thought you were younger... for some reason," Andrew began to feel a little uncomfortable.
Amber looked at him curiously. "Have we met before?"
"No, I... uh..." Andrew stammered, looking for the best way to explain himself without looking like
a lecher. "I saw you in some photographs and thought you were somebody else."
She studied his nervousness, trying to read the full meaning behind his explanation. Then it
dawned on her.
"You mean the photos on the internet?"
Andrew avoided her stare. "Yeah, those."
She smiled at his embarrassment. "It's okay. They're out there for the world to see. It doesn't
bother me any more. And yes, I was legal when I took those pictures, if that's what you're
thinking," she said matter-of-factly. "I just look young. Most photographers won't actually take
pictures of underage girls. They just find girls that are eighteen or nineteen, but look fifteen or
sixteen."
"Perhaps you were legal, but Monty did find plenty of photos of children who were clearly not
anywhere close to eighteen -- girls and boys."
- 120 -
"Really?" she seemed surprised. "I never saw anything like that, but then again the Chiangs are
pretty secretive. Rumor has it that they are connected to the Hong Kong mafia."
Andrew shook his head in amazement. "I guess I won't be planning a trip back here any time
soon."
“It’s a hellhole,” Amber said gravely. “I can’t believe I’m leaving.”
“Me, too,” Andrew replied. As they rocked gently with the ocean swells, he felt a wave of
satisfaction wash over him. Amber wasn’t his daughter, but her life still mattered. And the fact that
it was solely because of his efforts that she was escaping this “hellhole,” as she called it, made
him feel a little like a messenger from heaven.
“So what’s the scoop here,” Amber looked over at Andrew. “If you’re not my guardian angels, why
did you rescue me?”
Andrew gave her the full story -- how his daughter had been kidnapped years ago, his
desperation to find her, his personal struggles when their searches turned up nothing, and his
accidental discovery of the photos. He explained J.D.'s role and pointed out that Monty was the
one who tracked down her location through the Internet. "Wow, pretty smart!" she said. He
explained how much she resembled his ex-wife, and how he had hoped, despite the improbability
of it, that she might be his long lost daughter. Amber listened to every word with compassion. His
story genuinely touched her.
"You must have really loved your daughter," she said.
"I did... And still do."
"I wish you were my dad," she said.
Andrew reflected on the irony of it all. Fate, as he preferred to think of it, had connected a girl who
never had a father with a man who desperately missed his daughter. He had prepared himself for
this moment, for the disappointment that would most likely come. All of the experts, all of the
statistics, all of the signs pointed to the likelihood that his daughter was dead. But like every other
parent who lost a child, Andrew had never buried his little girl. He had only buried his ability to
hope, to believe, and, in some ways, to love. Over the last two weeks, a small seed of hope had
cautiously been planted. Now, he knew, it would never come to fruition. Yet at the same time, he
did not feel the emptiness that he always felt before when he buried his emotions. Despite the
fact that Amber was not his daughter, a new sensation was taking root. He didn't understand it.
He was still too caught up in the moment. But his disappointment was quickly giving in to a new
sense of purpose.
Amber finished the crackers, drank more water, and turned to Andrew, "I still don't feel very good.
Would you guys mind if I laid down for little while?"
Andrew jumped up, "No problem.” He motioned for Monty to get up too, "Do you mind if I ask
what those pills were that you took?"
"Just some kind of sleeping pill, I think. I had had a lot of wine, too." She laid down across the
back bench.
"How many did you take?” Andrew asked gently.
"Probably too many," she said, a little ashamed.
"Get some rest. We'll be in Nassau and about half an hour."
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Andrew and Monty walked up to the front of the boat where J.D. sat. "How she doing?"
"She will be okay," Andrew said. "She's not my daughter."
"Yeah, I figured."
"But you know what? We did a good thing. Even though she’s not mine, she’s worth finding."
Chapter 39
Monday, March 22
2:20pm
They reached Nassau without incident. Once in port, they woke Amber up, paid Andreas for his
services, and walked to a restaurant at the marina. Over a late lunch they discussed their options
for getting back to Florida. It was early enough in the afternoon to catch an airplane back to Miami
or Fort Lauderdale, but late enough that it would be difficult to get back to the States by boat
before dark. After a few phone calls, they arranged for Andrew and Amber to catch a 4:15 flight to
Fort Lauderdale, so Andrew could pick up the rental van and drive her to the John 8 House.
Monty and J.D. booked a 5:30 flight to Miami, where Monty could continue on back to Texas.
At the airport they sat down to kill time, waiting on their flights. J.D. read a newspaper while
Monty sat back and closed his eyes. Amber and Andrew sat across from them, talking.
"I don't know how to thank you guys enough for getting me out of there," Amber said.
"You are very welcome," Andrew said. "You have answered an important question for me, even if
it's not the answer I'd hoped for.
“I'm glad you’re getting a fresh start on life," J.D. said.
“I haven’t had this much fun since me and another student hacked into the university database
and dropped the whole campus from their classes!” Monty said.
They all laughed until the white noise of the airport lulled them into waking slumber. They were
physically and emotionally spent. Andrew gazed out the glass windows at the empty tarmac,
feeling his familiar emptiness.
Amber finally broke the silence, "I'm really sorry you didn't find your daughter."
"I've gotten used to the disappointment."
Sensing his melancholy, she changed the subject. "So what's this place that you're taking me to?"
Andrew snapped out of it and took a deep breath to clear his head. "It's called the John 8 House.
That reminds me, I need to try calling them again." Andrew took out his cell phone and hit
punched the redial button. After several rings someone picked it up. It was a different girl this
time, much more upbeat and phone-friendly.
“Hi, I'm calling for Micky Green again. This is Andrew Mason. My brother, Chris…”
“Yeah,” the girl interrupted. “Micky says come on by any time. Chris called here, so it's cool.
We're expecting you.”
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“Great,” Andrew was warmed by the recognition and reception. “I'm thinking about coming by this
evening, if that's alright.”
“That would be wonderful,” the chipper girl said. “Are you bringing someone in? We had two girls
graduate in the last week, so the timing is perfect. We've got plenty of room.”
“Actually, yes. Her name is named Amber."
"Awesome! When should we expect to see you?"
"We are on a 4:15 flight, so we should be in Fort Lauderdale around 5:00. And then the drive,
however long that is."
"That's about an hour, hour and a half," the girl said. "We will look for you between 6:00 and
7:00."
Andrew hung up the phone and turned to Amber.
"They're expecting us!” he said.
"What exactly is this place?” she asked again.
"It's a place where girls go to take some time off, you know? From what I understand, a lot of the
girls have come out of the same thing you're coming out of. You can live there for a while, go to
their support groups, make friends... that kind of thing. My brother knows the guy that runs it, so
I'm sure it's a good place."
"What did you call it? John something?"
"The John 8 House. I'm assuming that's a Biblical reference, but I can't tell you what it means."
"It sounds nice. But then any place has to be better than where I've been."
Andrew sat quietly for a few minutes, allowing his mind to wander. He watched a small, private jet
land on the runway. As it taxied over to the terminal, Andrew noticed a man walking through the
airport, toward the back entrance. He nearly jumped out of his seat as he realized who it was -Andreas, the captain of Sweet Sunshine!
Andrew looked back outside to the group of passengers disembarking the private jet. He didn't
recognize any of them immediately, but the first three off of the plane were Asian. Then another
man stepped to the door of the airplane and donned his sunglasses before striding down the
steps. It was Alvarez!
Andreas exited the back door, heading towards the new arrivals. He didn't appear to have noticed
their group sitting in the airport.
Amber looked outside and muttered an expletive. "That's Joey Chiang!"
"And Alvarez, too," Andrew said, standing up.
J.D. stood. "We'd better get outta here."
They grabbed their bags and quickly walked out the front door of the airport. Andrew flagged
down a minivan taxi and they jumped in.
"Where to?"
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“Take us to the market,” J.D. replied.
Amber said, "Did you see that guy sitting on the hood of his car back there?"
"No, what guy?"
"Some guy was sitting on the hood of his car like he was waiting for someone. He watched us run
out and get in the cab, then he pulled a radio out of his car and started talking to someone. He
seemed pretty interested in us."
"Great," Andrew said looking over his shoulder out the back window of the taxi. "Do you think
we're being followed?"
They all turned and looked at the back window. "I don't see his car. It was a small four-door
painted that bright color of green you only see in the islands."
They took turns watching out the back window for the five-minute ride to the downtown market
area, but didn't see anyone tailing them.
When they reached the busy market street, J.D. said, “This is good.”
The driver pulled to the curb, Andrew paid him, and they stepped out onto the street.
“In here,” J.D. said, leading them into a nearby shop.
The four of them made their way to the back of the store, winding through the T-shirts, coffee
mugs, straw hats, and other souvenirs, to a spot where few tourists browsed.
"What are we going to do now," Amber asked, visibly worried.
J.D. looked at his watch. "We've got 45 minutes until your flight. Our first priority is to get you on
it. The question is, are they gonna be watching the airport or looking around the island for us?"
"If they spotted us at the airport," Andrew said, "then they know we've got flight plans."
"Let's assume that they saw us. That means they will be watching the airport, maybe even
checking the passenger list if they got those kinda connections. How many did we count?"
"I saw five people get off the airplane," Andrew said. "Plus Andreas at the airport and maybe the
guy sitting on the car. That's seven total."
"Okay, that's at least seven. So say they leave two or three there at the airport and send four or
five to look for us. If they have radios and cell phones they could split up five ways and try to spot
us. On an island this size where they know lots of people and we don't know anyone, odds are
they can find us."
"We could hole up in a motel somewhere," Monty suggested.
"For a while, sure," J.D. replied. "But at some point we have to make a move to get to the airport.
Either that or try to book a boat and they know that we've already done that, so they are sure to
be watching the marina."
"I think the faster we get off of this island, the better," Andrew said.
- 124 -
"You got that right. We've gotta figure out a way to get you two on that plane. And we've gotta
figure it out fast."
"You know, I've got a crazy idea," Monty said. His eyes wandered around the store while the
other three looked at him, waiting for him to finish his thought. "Let's dress these two up and send
them in disguise. There's enough junk in this place for costume party."
The others looked around the store, noticing the hats, shirts and other apparel. Other accessories
-- sunglasses, jewelry, sandals and other oddities – abounded as well.
“Goofy as it is,” J.D. said in amazement, “that might actually work.”
"Let's go shopping!” Andrew smiled.
Amber picked out a plain white sundress, something much more common and much less flashy
then her blue silk dress. J.D. brought her a tacky, brown straw hat. "Better cover up as much of
that red hair as you can," he said.
"I think I can do better than that thing," Amber laughed, handing the hat back to him. She found a
white straw hat that looked less like a tourist from North Dakota and more like a socialite from
South Miami. Andrew picked out a green T-shirt with the word "Nassau" stitched across the front
and some white cotton pants that seemed to be the favorite choice for men on the island. Monty
brought Andrew a pair of sandals as Amber picked out new sunglasses.
J.D. walked over carrying a plastic bottle, a comb and a hair dryer. "Hey kid," he said to Andrew,
"Ever been a blond?” He held up the bottle. It was sun-bleaching formula. "Put this stuff in your
hair, comb it in with the heat on high on this thing," he held up the hair dryer, "and in ten minutes
you look like you been down here a month."
"I don't know about that," Andrew hesitated.
"Awww, come on...”Monty said.
Amber walked up, holding up her new apparel, "I'm finished with my shopping spree."
"Come on, let's pay for this stuff and get outta here," J.D. said. They walked to the cash register
and the clerk rang up their stuff. J.D. set the hair dryer, comb, and hair bleach on the counter.
"You want that, too?” the clerk asked.
"I think I'll pass on that," Andrew said. The clerk rang up the other items and Andrew paid in cash.
Just as the clerk of was handing them their purchases in plastic bags, J.D. reached inside his
shirt and pulled the gun out of its hidden holster, yelling, "Get down on the floor now!"
The clerk gasped, then dropped to the floor behind the counter. Amber, Andrew, and Monty
turned to see J.D. walking toward a man who had just stepped into the shop. It was one of
Chiang's men. He had just taken off his sunglasses to allow his eyes to adjust to the indoor light
when J.D. spotted him.
Tourists scrambled to find alternate exits as J.D. said, "Drop to the floor now or I'll put a bullet in
you!"
The guy muttered something in Chinese and went down on his knees. J.D. walked behind him
and shoved his head toward the floor, "Lay flat!” J.D. put his knee squarely in the guy's back as
he lay prone. "Monty, take this," he unclipped the radio from the back of the guy's belt and tossed
- 125 -
it to Monty. "You two get outta here," he said to Andrew and Amber. "I don't want to see you on
this island again."
Catching his directions, Andrew grabbed their new clothes off of the counter and took Amber by
the elbow to lead her out the back of the store. Then he turned back to the counter and grabbed
the items for his hair.
In the back alley, Andrew looked both ways for more of Chiang's men. Nobody was in sight, so he
led Amber down the block and into the back door of a cafe. Inside, he handed her bag of clothes
to her and they walked to the restrooms.
"Do it quick," he said.
"See you in a minute, blondie," she replied.
J.D. kept Chiang's guy down on the ground as long as he dared. He knew that someone would
tell the Bahamian police about his gun-waving incident and it was just a matter of time before they
showed up. Since he lost his handcuffs back at the motel in Florida, he had no way of keeping the
guy on the ground. He motioned to Monty, pointed out the front door to the street and mouthed
the word "TAXI." Monty picked up on his signal and stepped outside cautiously. When the cab
pulled up, J.D. said to the guy on the floor, "Don't move." In one quick motion he stood up, exited
the store, and jumped into the taxi.
"Take us to the airport," he ordered the driver as Monty got in.
"You think we should go back there?” Monty whispered to J.D..
"No, probably not. But we need to get outta here."
Several minutes later Andrew came out of the bathroom. Amber had waited in the ladies restroom
until she heard his hair dryer stop. She looked at his spotty brown and blond hair and smiled.
"Looks like a pretty bad highlight job," she said.
"The best I could do. You ready?"
Andrew went out the front door of the cafe and flagged down a taxi. When the driver pulled up,
Andrew opened the door and Amber came out of the cafe. He got in the back seat next to her and
ordered the driver to take them to the airport.
"Pull into that parking lot on the left," J.D. said to the driver. "Is this the only entrance into the
airport?"
"Yes, sir," the cabdriver said.
"Park in the shade over there," J.D. instructed, motioning toward a parking spot under a tree on
the edge of the lot. "Just keep the meter running. We need to sit here a few minutes."
From where they sat, they could see anyone coming into the airport, but they weren't really visible
from the terminal itself. A few minutes later they saw what they had come there to see. It was
Amber's white hat that Monty recognized.
- 126 -
"It looks like Andrew took that bottle of hair bleach after all," Monty observed and smiled.
With their sunglasses on and shopping bags in hand, they walked directly to the ticket counter
and checked in. The airplane was sitting on the tarmac and boarding had begun, so they went
straight through security and out to the airplane. They both avoided looking around so they were
not sure if Chiang's men had seen them, although they were certain they were there. They settled
into their seats on the small prop jet and anxiously awaited departure.
J.D. wrestled with their next move. He wanted to watch Amber and Andrew actually get on the
airplane and take off from this island. But he knew they had a better chance of getting away by
themselves and in disguise. If he and Monty showed up inside the terminal, Chiang's men would
surely spot them. Of course, after the little incident at the market the local police were probably
looking for them, too.
"What now?” Monty asked.
"Time to call in a favor," J.D. replied. "But first, a little sightseeing."
Fifteen minutes after boarding, their plane taxied down the runway. "Looks like we made it,”
Amber said.
From the aisle seat, Andrew looked across her out the window. "No guys in jeeps with machine
guns mounted in the back, like in the movies, so I guess we're okay."
Amber smiled at his joke. "I just hope your friends are alright."
"Yeah, me too. I feel responsible for Monty, but I know I left him in good hands. I will try his cell
phone when we get to the mainland."
"I still can't believe you guys went through all that trouble for me," Amber said. "But I guess, in a
way, it wasn't exactly for me."
"It may not have started that way, but now it's all about you. There is, however, one more thing I
wish we could’ve done.”
“What’s that?”
“I wish we could have gone back for your friend at the Brigadoon."
"Who, Maria?"
Andrew nodded.
"She wouldn’t have come with us anyway. She's got a little girl that lives with her mother up in
Alabama somewhere. She sends most of her money back home."
"You don't think she would want to get out of that so she could take care of her little girl?"
Amber shook her head. "She didn't want to be a mother to begin with. Plus, she's hooked on
drugs. It's a nice thought, but she wouldn't give it up. Truth is, very few girls would. Deep down,
they may want to get out, but there's a reason they are there to begin with. For some it's the
money, some it's the drugs, and a lot of the girls are running from something or someone. But
- 127 -
they are there for reason and though they may not like it, they are too afraid to do anything about
it."
"Were you too afraid to do anything about it?"
"For a long time, yeah. But then I decided to do something. So I prayed."
J.D. and Monty rode around in the back of the cab, looping down the seaside road that runs along
the southern tip of the island. They were out of the tourist area and into the kind of neighborhoods
that risk getting completely wiped out in a big hurricane. As they curved around the point and
started traveling back to the north, this time on the eastern side of the island, they hit the lower
end business district where tourists seldom visited. At a stop sign J.D. announced, " This is good.
Drop us off here."
He and Monty got out of the cab, paid the driver, and stood on the sidewalk, locals casting
curious looks at them.
"What are we doing here?” Monty asked.
"Walking," J.D. said, heading down the sidewalk in the direction from which they had just come.
"We passed a cheap little motel a couple of blocks back. We need to stay out of sight for a little
while and I need to make a few phone calls."
They bought some food and drinks from a street vendor on their way to the motel. Monty waited
outside while J.D. checked in to the dirty, rundown inn. The room was small, stuffy, and
nauseating.
"We're not staying here tonight are we?” Monty asked.
"Probably," J.D. said as he sat down on one of the double beds and picked up the telephone. "I
just hope we don't end up staying here tomorrow night, too."
Amber and Andrew arrived safely in Fort Lauderdale and took a taxicab to the marina. As they
transferred to the rented minivan, Andrew couldn't help looking around.
"You seem nervous," Amber said as he started the engine. "Do they know you're parked here?"
"I don't think so. There's only a couple of guys I'd worry about and one of them... well...” he trailed
off. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed out of town. After a few minutes of awkward
silence, Amber said, "Something is bothering you."
They entered the freeway and headed west toward Belle Glade and the John 8 House. Andrew
filled her in on more of the back-story, telling her the part about Alvarez and Donnie. She
remembered Alvarez, but not Donnie. Then he told her about the boat chase at Eleuthera,
finishing with their quick departure from the scene of the accident.
"You don't know for sure that they are dead," she finally said.
"I'm pretty sure."
"Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."
"Maybe, maybe not." They drove toward the sunset in silence.
- 128 -
Monty flipped back and forth across the few cable channels the motel TV afforded them while
J.D. talked on the phone. He hung up and said, "Okay, were out of here tomorrow. That was a
guy I did some work for about a year ago and he has a boat. He's going to send someone to pick
us up as early as possible.”
“So we’re staying in this dump tonight,” Monty said, resigned.
“Yep. Make yourself at home. The best thing we can do is stay outta sight and wait."
Andrew's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and didn't recognize the number.
"Hello, this is Andrew."
"You guys make it back to Florida okay?” Monty asked on the other end of the line.
"Yeah, we picked up the van and now we are driving to the John 8 House. Where are you guys?"
Monty filled him in on their adventure. “And you should see this Roach Resort!”
Andrew laughed at Monty’s colorful description of the motel. "I'm glad you guys are alright. I was
worried. Please call me tomorrow when you get back to Florida."
"Will do. We're guessing that will be around five o'clock, depending on how fast this guy's boat is."
“Just call my cell. Maybe we can catch the same flight back to Dallas."
Andrew and Amber pulled in to the John 8 House half an hour later. It was an old church on the
edge of town, complete with a steeple and steps leading up to the front door. The offices and
Sunday School rooms had been converted into bedrooms and the sanctuary served as a meeting
room and dining hall. They knocked on the double doors at the back of the old sanctuary. A
twenty-something girl opened the door and greeted them warmly.
"Hi, are you Andrew?"
“I am. This is Amber."
"I'm Ginger. Come on in, we are about to have dinner."
They followed Ginger into the auditorium where too long tables were set up. Several girls were
filing into the room, some carrying food and drinks, others taking a seat at one of the tables.
"Micky's in the kitchen," Ginger said. "She will be out in a few minutes. Have a seat at one of the
tables."
Andrew and Amber sat down while Ginger retreated into a back room.
Amber turned to Andrew, "I thought Micky was a guy."
"Me, too! But she did say she didn't she?"
“That's what she said!" Amber laughed.
- 129 -
Just then an attractive woman, clearly older than the rest of the girls, walked in and introduced
herself. "We're so glad you made it! I'm Micky Green.” Andrew stood up and shook her hand. He
stumbled over his words, thrown off balance not only by the fact that she was a woman, but also
by the fact that she was a beautiful woman.
"I'm...uh, Andrew,” he shook her hand.
“And this is?” she said, turning her head toward Amber.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew was embarrassed at his loss of manners. “This is Amber Dodd."
“Hello, Amber. We've got a room set up just for you and you can stay as long as you wish."
“Thank you. That's very nice of you," she replied.
"I hope you two are hungry. We’re just about to eat."
In all of the excitement, Andrew hadn't thought much about dinner. But when Ginger had let him
in, the aroma made him realize that he was quite hungry.
“We're having chicken and spinach enchiladas just for you," Micky said. Andrew laughed out loud.
"You've been talking to Chris!"
"You caught me," she laughed. "He asked me to call if I heard from you, so I talked to him this
afternoon after we knew you were coming. He told me that this was one of your favorites and it
just happens to be one of my specialties."
Micky and some of the other girls brought in the rest of the food and they all sat down to eat.
There were seventeen other girls there. All of them appeared to be in their late teens or early
twenties. Micky took a seat across from Andrew and Amber. As they passed around the Mexican
feast of rice, beans, chips, and enchiladas, Micky gave them an overview of the John 8 House.
"We have 12 guest bedrooms, so we can sleep up to 24. Most of the girls have a roommate, but
when a new girl comes in we try to give her a room of her own for a while. Some of the girls have
jobs in town, but it's not required. We have half an hour of prayer at 6:30 every morning and kind
of a rotating session at 8:00 every night -- sometimes it's just a time of sharing amongst each
other, sometimes we have a Bible study, sometimes we just sing songs. Occasionally we will
have a guest speaker. Saturdays are open, but we schedule some optional activities for the girls,
like shopping together or going to a movie. On Sundays we hold regular church type services
here, but some of the girls prefer going to a denominational church in town that is more of what
they are used to. We only have one strict rule here: 10:00 curfew every night, no exceptions. We
try to help get the girls back into a normal daytime routine and we found that when someone slips
back into an old lifestyle, the first thing they do is break curfew. So when that happens, we deal
with it right then and there."
Micky watched Amber’s reaction to this last condition, but Amber just nodded and smiled. She
turned to Andrew. “How’s the food?”
Andrew held up a bite of enchilada on his fork, "This is excellent!” He put the food into his mouth
and Micky smiled. When she smiles, Andrew thought, she's even more beautiful.
"How long do most of the girls stay?” Amber asked.
"As long as they need to," Micky said. "For some, that's just a few days while they make
arrangements to go back home. For others it's a year or more. You met Ginger already -- she's
been here about three years. She stayed so long I gave her the title of Assistant Director! Mei,
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here, just arrived this weekend," Micky motioned to the girl sitting next to her, who gave them a
shy, slightly embarrassed smile.
"We are interested in one thing," Micky continued, "and that's getting your life on the right track.
We don't care how long it takes. Do you have somewhere to go? A parent or a spouse?"
Amber laughed, “No hubbie! Not planning on that for a while. As for my parents… well, I don’t
know my dad, so that’s out. I do know my mother,” darkness came over her face, “so that’s out,
too.”
An uncomfortable pause threatened to ruin their conversation, so Andrew changed the subject.
"What is the meaning of ‘John 8’?" Andrew asked. "I'm assuming that's a reference to the Bible?"
“That's right," Micky said. "At the beginning of the chapter the religious leaders bring a woman
who'd been caught in adultery to Jesus. They quote the Old Testament law to Jesus and try to
get him to condemn her. But he sends them on their way and extends grace to her. Jesus
basically says to her, ' Where did your accusers go? Has anyone condemned you?' The woman
replies, 'No one, sir," and Jesus says, 'Then I don't condemn you. Go home and leave your life of
sin.'
"That's what we are all about here -- extending Jesus' grace, without condemnation, while these
girls learn to live a new life."
“That's good," Andrew said. He hoped everything would work out for Amber, but he didn't really
want to hear about God's grace or how good Jesus was. He had had enough of religion. Too
many of his prayers had gone unanswered. A part of him still felt that when he needed God most,
He hadn't come through.
"So you two have had quite an adventure," Micky said.
As they finished dinner, Andrew told her the story. Amber filled in the part that Andrew missed
while waiting in the cab. He told her about Monty and J.D., still in Nassau. As some of the girls
cleared the table, Amber sat back in her seat and yawned.
"You must be worn out," Micky said to Amber. “Let me show you to your room. We will have to
round up some clothes for you to sleep in and some toiletries. Tomorrow we can take you
shopping."
“What about you," she said to Andrew. “Are you going to stay here with us tonight?"
“I can get a motel room," he said. "There is a motel in this town, isn't there?"
“There is," she replied, "but we have plenty of room here. Let me have Ginger show you an open
room while I take Amber to hers. Then you can make your decision."
Micky and Amber left and a few minutes later Ginger came back and led Andrew to a spare room.
It was a modest bedroom on a hallway with half a dozen other rooms. It was furnished with a twin
bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk. He would have to share a bathroom with some of the
girls, Ginger told him, but the door locked and they wouldn't mind a male guest for just one night.
While he was getting the tour, Micky returned.
"So are you going to stay with us?" she asked. “It would probably comfort Amber to have you
around a little longer. Plus we could have a cup of coffee together. I'd love to talk with you more."
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Andrew could hardly resist such a kind offer from such a beautiful woman. "You talked me into it.
I just need to get my stuff out of the van."
“Don’t’ forget to call your brother. He wanted to make sure you two made it here alright.”
Andrew retrieved his bag, took a warm shower and put on clean clothes. Before joining Micky for
their cup of coffee, he used his cell phone to call Chris.
"We made it to the John 8 House," Andrew announced.
"Andrew! I'm so relieved to hear from you," Chris said. "Tell me what happened. Did you find
the girl?"
Andrew gave Chris the short version of their adventures, leaving out the dangerous parts. Chris
questioned him on a few points, not convinced that it had been so easy, but Andrew deflected his
inquiries and Chris did not push him.
"So you the two of you are there?" Chris asked. "At Micky's place?"
"Yes, we are. And by the way, why didn't you tell me that Micky is a woman?"
"What you mean? You thought she was a man?"
"Of course!" Andrew laughed. "How many women do you know named 'Micky'?"
"Well it's a home for girls! What kind of place would it be if it was run by a single man?"
The two laughed together over the long distance line.
"So she's not married?" Andrew asked.
"No, not that I know of. I think she may be divorced or something. Why?"
"I was just wondering."
"Hey wait a minute, you're not..."
"What?"
"You're interested in her!"
"I didn't say that," Andrew denied weakly.
"She's a wonderful woman! You should take some time to get to know her. And by the way,
how's her cooking?"
"Good," Andrew smiled to himself. "It was really good."
He found Micky sitting on a couch in the living room. She had changed into some casual cotton
shorts and a loose t-shirt. One of her long legs was curled underneath her, the other dangled
over the edge of the cushion. Her toenails were painted bright red. Andrew forced himself to not
stare at her shapely, athletic form, even though it seemed to take all of his self-control.
"I've heard a lot of interesting stories," Micky said, "but yours is pretty amazing. I guess you're
disappointed that you didn't find your daughter."
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"I knew it was a long shot, but yeah... I was hoping it was her. I'm glad something good came out
of it anyway."
She reached over to the end table next to the couch and handed him a cup of steaming coffee.
“It’s got a touch of Chai. Hope you like it.”
He blew in his cup and a thick vapor swirled in the air.
“It’s pretty hot,” she said.
“Smells good!”
Her cup sat cooling on an end table. He set his down, too.
“Gotta watch the cat tongue,” she said and smiled.
Andrew laughed, “The what?”
“Catt tongue! You know, when you burn your tongue and it gets all rough like a cat’s!”
They both laughed. “I’ve never heard that before,” he said. “But then I’m not much of a cat lover.
I’ve always had dogs.”
They smiled at her joke and Andrew noticed her warm, dark eyes again. They seemed to have
gravity all of their own, and he was being pulled in.
"You know, you risked a lot getting her out of there. God really used you to answer her prayers."
There she goes again, Andrew thought. He shifted the conversation, "So how did you end up
running a place like this?"
“That's a bit of the story, too," she said. He smiled and waited for her to continue.
"I had a sister that was two years older than me. We grew up in a pretty strict home about an
hour north of here, towards Orlando. My dad was a deacon in the church and my mom sang in
the choir. When Hannah -- that was my sister -- turned sixteen and got her driver's license, she
started hanging out with the 'wrong crowd.' She was drinking and dancing, things like that.
Nothing too bad, but it really upset my parents, especially my dad. It was pretty tense for a couple
of years, then Hannah graduated and left town. She packed up one Sunday while we were at
church and her and her best friend, Sherry, took off for Fort Lauderdale. We didn't know where
she had gone -- just that she was gone.
“I was pretty upset. I prayed she would come back, or at least call or something, but after about
three months we hadn't heard anything. So I started asking around her old friends and finally
found out where they had gone. I got a phone number and tracked her down. She told me that
she was waiting tables at restaurant with Sherry and made me promise not to tell Mom and Dad
where she was. We kept in touch off and on for about a year, then one day I called and Sherry
told me that Hannah had moved in with some guy -- a bartender from the restaurant, several
years older than them. She didn't have much good to say about him and didn’t know his phone
number, so there was no way for me to get ahold of her.
Micky picked up her coffee, blew on it, and took a sip. Andrew waited patiently for her to continue.
“A couple of weeks later, I drove out to Fort Lauderdale one Saturday. I went to the restaurant
where Hannah worked and found out that she had called in sick that day. I talked to Sherry and
she said she was worried. Evidently this guy had a pretty bad reputation -- drugs, violence... a
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real loser. I got Sherry to ride with me over to the apartment where Hannah was living and
knocked on the door. When Hannah answered we were both shocked. Her left cheek was bruised
and swollen and she had a black eye.” Unaware of her own movements, Micky touched her face,
as if she was feeling the pain herself.
“We went in and talked to her. She broke down and admitted that this guy was beating her.”
Amber walked into living room. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing a
borrowed T-shirt and shorts. All of the heavy, smudged makeup was washed away. She looked
more like an innocent girl and less like a woman with a troubled past.
“I'm going to bed," she said. "Thanks again for everything, both of you."
"You're very welcome," Andrew replied.
"I'm glad you are here," Micky said.
Amber leaned over and gave Andrew a quick hug. He smiled and said, "Good night."
“Good night," she turned and walked back down the hallway, leading Andrew and Micky alone
again.
"That's sweet," Micky said. Andrew shrugged it off, but he felt a glow inside. He drank some of his
coffee, commenting on how good it was. Micky thanked him with her heart-warming smile.
“Finish your story, if you don’t mind.”
"Well, me and Sherry helped Hannah pack her stuff and I drove her back home. Of course, mom
and dad were pretty surprised when we drove up. Mom hugged her and kissed her, but dad didn't
say much. The next morning, dad insisted that we both go to church with them, so we did. After
we sang a few hymns, the preacher, who was best friends with my dad, started into his sermon.
“It was awful. He ranted about harlots and sinners, and how bad it was for kids to dishonor their
parents. He was preaching right at Hannah and everyone in the church knew it. We were both
upset by the time church was over, but when we got home it got even worse. Dad got in
Hannah's face and told her how much she had embarrassed him. Everything he said was about
him -- nothing was about her.
“Needless to say, it didn't take her long to get out of there. The next morning, she packed her
stuff and left while Dad was at work and Mom was out. I begged her to tell me where she was
going, but she wouldn't -- just promised to call or write sometime later. As the months went by,
nobody heard anything from her. Sherry hadn't seen her or heard from her, either. I graduated
from high school and got accepted at the University of Georgia. Then, a couple of weeks before I
left for school, we got a phone call.”
Micky paused, struggling to speak. Recounting her pain all these years later still hurt, but she
composed herself and whispered, “Sherry was dead -- overdosed on heroin.”
She stopped as a solitary tear trailed down her cheek. She put her coffee on the table and
brushed away the tear with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Andrew said, reaching over and putting his hand on the back of her hand. She turned
her hand over and grabbed his. “I understand,” he said.
The few seconds they sat hand-in-hand seemed frozen in time to Andrew. With her touch, they
connected on a level deeper than Andrew had shared with anyone in so very long. He really did
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understand her pain and she knew it. There, in the living room of that rehab center, something
spiritual occurred. Then, just as quickly as it happened, it passed.
“Sorry,” she said, releasing his hand and busying herself with her coffee. Andrew, too, took
another drink. On her own volition, she continued.
“Sherry had been living in West Palm Beach with another guy she had met in Fort Lauderdale.
We never met him -- never really wanted to -- but he knew where Sherry was from and looked up
our phone number so the hospital could give us the bad news.
“After her funeral I was pretty freaked out. I almost didn't go to college, but couldn't stand being in
the same town as my parents, so I went. I guess you could say I was a little rebellious during
college. I stayed away from church, but I also stayed away from the party crowd. I focused my
energy on school and work, and when I graduated I had a good job in Atlanta. I majored in
business and hotel management, so I was working in a big hotel downtown. Of course, we had
our share of 'working girls' coming in and out of the hotel, but we managed to keep the real
obvious ones away. I was pretty intent on keeping them out and learned how to spot them in the
bar, the restaurant, or the lobby.
“After I had been there a few years, we hired this lady named Kate to do marketing and she was
a Christian. But she was different from the people I had known growing up in the church. On one
level, she was normal, if you know I mean. Yet on another level, she was completely different -- in
a good way. We got along real well and sort of became friends. Then there was this big Christian
conference in town and a lot of the people were staying in our hotel. Kate knew somebody, who
knew somebody, who knew this band that I had actually heard of before -- they played them on
the regular radio stations. She introduced me to the band members and they invited me out to
hear them sing that night.
“So I go, you know, just to hear the music. I figured that when somebody got up and started
preaching, I would just leave. But the music was like nothing I had never heard before. It was
more than just the sounds and the words, there was something in it that made me feel alive! I was
so overwhelmed that when the speaker came up to the platform, I just stayed. I don't know how
long he spoke, but it was like he was talking to me. Not the same way that the preacher in my
parents' church had talked to Hannah; this was more like God talking through him to me. Instead
of conveying anger and damnation, I felt love and peace.”
Andrew could see it in her eyes. Though she still mourned the loss of her sister, peace emanated
from within her. It was as real as the cruelty of this world, and more powerful. For a split second,
Andrew felt a longing within himself to know this peace, too.
“I realized that night that I had grown up in church and heard a lot about God, but I had no idea
who God was! At the end, I went down to the front and Kate and some other people prayed for
me. I asked Jesus Christ -- the Jesus that I had never known -- to come into my life. Over the
next year, everything changed for me. I had to work through a lot of misconceptions about God
and the tangle of negative emotions that I had held in for so long, but I started going to Kate's
church and with the help of the pastor and the people there, I was completely transformed.
“One of the things that changed for me was the way I looked at the girls -- you know, the
prostitutes -- that would come into the hotel. I no longer saw them as a nuisance; I saw them as
needy. Instead of seeing them as dirty, I saw them as someone that God wanted to clean. One
night, when business was kind of slow, I approached one of these girls and instead of kicking her
out, I started talking to her. By the end of the night, I had gotten the chance to really minister to
her. She showed up at church a few days later and over the next few months her life was
completely turned around. Of course, my life changed from that point on, too!
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“I started a ministry in the church to dancers, models, and prostitutes. That was around the same
time that I met your brother, Chris. A little while later, I felt like God was calling me into full-time
ministry with the girls. I talked to our pastor about it, and he agreed. Somehow, he found out
about this church that closed down here and was up for sale. He talked to a few of the wealthier
people in the church and they got together and bought it. They still support it some, but now we
get a lot of private donations, especially from the families who are touched by the ministry here.
Pretty much any girl who gets her life turned around has someone in her family who ends up
giving to keep this ministry going. God has really blessed it."
"Chris mentioned something about a big news story on you."
Micky blushed, "Yeah...um, Fox News did a piece on the ministry here and it got picked up by
some of the local stations, and then the newspapers around the state did stories, and it kind of
snowballed for a while. That's pretty much died down now, but we did get a lot of help from
people around the country. Complete strangers were mailing in checks. It was really weird. My
pastor recommended we put it into an endowment, so that’s what we did. God works in
mysterious ways, I guess."
"That's great. I can tell that you really love the girls and do an awesome job here. I feel good
about bringing Amber to you."
They drank the rest of their Chai coffee in silence. Andrew felt himself drawn just to look at her
face. She caught him looking at her, smiled and looked away. He smiled and looked down, an
unspoken message having just been sent and read.
“So what else do you know about Amber," she asked.
“You know, we've been so busy running that I haven't really asked her much. She doesn't really
know her father, but says he's a lawyer in Chicago. I don't know much about her mother, but I
know the relationship is not good. She hasn't mentioned sisters your brothers. I'm hoping she will
open up to you."
"That's okay, we will get to that in time."
“I know she’s 21 and never been married. No kids, I don’t think.”
“Drug history?”
“Other than the sleeping pills, I’m not sure. She doesn’t seem to be acting like an addict so far.”
“No, she’s not. She seems pretty calm.”
“I think she’s really glad to be out.”
While Micky had told her story, Andrew had been caught up in it. Now that they talked casually,
he couldn't help watching her mouth as she spoke. He mentally slapped himself and thought,
What are you doing? Forget about it!
But he couldn't help it. It had been a long time since he had noticed anything beautiful, especially
a woman. Yet while Micky was certainly physically attractive, there was something more -- a
beauty that ran deep.
Micky yawned and it was contagious; Andrew yawned, too. They both smiled and Micky said, "I
guess it's bedtime!"
She stood up and collected Andrew’s empty coffee cup. “See you in the morning."
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“Thanks for the coffee," he said as she walked into the kitchen. “Nice to meet you," he said to the
empty room. "Very nice."
Chapter 40
Tuesday, March 23
7:42am
J.D. sat on the edge of the lumpy single bed rubbing his eyes. The tropical sun burned through
the dingy curtains, warming the tiny room already. He glanced at his watch, since there was no
clock in the room. Hopefully, his buddy would be an hour or so east of Miami soon. That would
put him here between ten and eleven o’clock. He and Monty would stay inside the room as much
as possible until the boat was within cell phone range of the island. Then they’d take a cab to the
Cable Beach marina, get on the boat, and get out as quick as possible. If Alvarez’ gang was still
watching, they’d be checking the airport and the marinas, but with such a quick exit, J.D. felt
confident they could get away. Even if they were spotted, they’d be out to sea quickly and in an
open-water race, he felt good about his friend’s small, lightweight craft. And if it came down to it,
he had plenty of bullets to enforce a safe distance between them and any pursuers.
Monty moaned and sat up in his bed. He scratched his legs furiously.
"Can sea lice live in a bed?" he groaned.
"Dunno. Probably fleas. Take the shower first – maybe that’ll help."
Monty practically sprinted into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Before leaving Miami, J.D.
had the forethought to pack a small kit of toiletries. He liked to comb his hair and brush his teeth
and experience taught him that unplanned overnight trips were to be expected. If only I had
packed clean underwear, he thought.
Andrew woke up later than usual. He felt refreshed, having slept better in one night than he had
in the last couple of weeks. He dressed, stepped into the bathroom to make himself presentable,
and then followed the sound of voices to the auditorium. Micky, Amber, and a dozen other girls
sat in a circle talking.
Andrew sensed he was interrupting something, "Oh, I'm sorry." He turned to leave.
"That's alright," Micky said. "We're almost finished. There is some breakfast in the kitchen."
Andrew walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Ginger came into the room.
"What can I get you? We have eggs, cereal, and sliced fruit."
"I was just looking for some juice," Andrew said.
"There should be apple juice and there and, of course, fresh squeezed orange juice, Florida's
finest."
Andrew took out a carton of orange juice and Ginger handed him a glass.
"Something to eat?" she offered.
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"Some cereal would be fine."
Ginger fetched a bowl and a spoon. "Everything around here is pretty earthy. Micky's a bit of a
health nut. 'Healthy body, healthy mind, healthy spirit,' she says."
Andrew got the milk out of the refrigerator and chose some bran flakes.
"Y'all having some kind of session out there?" he asked as he poured the cereal.
"Yeah, a sunrise Bible study and discussion," Ginger replied. " Can I get you anything else?"
"I'm good. Thanks."
She returned to the auditorium and left Andrew alone as he ate breakfast.
Monty came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. His calves were covered painful with red
spots. Several dotted his stomach and chest.
“You get bit, too?” he asked J.D., who sat propped up in bed watching CNN International.
J.D. looked at him and winced. “No, I’m clean.”
“How’d I get the only bed with bugs? I mean, I’m glad you didn’t get bit or anything, but geez…
two beds in the same room and mine’s infested!”
“Maybe they washed the sheets on mine recently,” J.D. suggested.
“Yeah, thanks. I feel better already.”
“I got a comb and some toothpaste, if you want,” J.D. offered.
“Got any lotion of any kind?”
“Sun block, that’s all.”
“Deodorant?”
“Yeah… but it’s roll-on.”
“Forget it. We’ll both be sweating by noon anyway.”
“True.”
“I should’ve rinsed my clothes last night and let ‘em dry overnight,” Monty mused.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” J.D. said. “Especially my underwear.”
They looked at each other – two strangers thrown together in a few wild days’ adventure facing
each other in a rotten motel room in the wrong part of the Caribbean with nothing but sweaty
clothes to put on for a second day – and started laughing. After a full minute of raw, stressrelieving laughter, J.D. got up from the bed and said, “Alright, my turn in the can.”
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Just as Andrew finished eating breakfast, Micky entered the kitchen.
"How are you doing this morning?" she asked.
"Good. Yourself?"
"Great!" she replied.
You look great, Andrew wanted to say. "Amber talking much?"
"Actually, she is," Micky said. "I suspect she will be here for a while, which is exciting because
she’s showing a lot of promise. She’s really bright and I think she could do a lot with her life."
"She'll be in good hands," he said, rinsing his bowl and glass in the sink. "What's the plan for
today?"
"Well, we need to take her shopping. What are you going to do?"
"I need to head to the airport, turn in the rental van, get home... you know, work and all."
"Oh… okay."
Was that a tone of disappointment? he wondered. “Let me call and check on flights. I need to see
what’s available today.”
Andrew returned to his room and called the airline. Most of the afternoon flights were completely
booked. The agent volunteered to place him on standby for a 3:10 flight, but when she checked
the evening flights, he discovered that he could confirm both himself and Monty on a 9:50
departure. Even though it meant arriving at home after midnight, it also meant a full day with
Micky. Of course, he told himself that it was best to go ahead and confirm the late flight for both
him and Monty, so they could travel together and avoid needless waiting at the airport, but he
knew the real reason he was staying.
When he informed Micky of his decision, she was pleased.
"Let's not waste any time," she said. "I'll tell Ginger to round up the girls and we can head out."
Monty peeked through the curtains to look outside. Across the shallow parking lot, a few people
moved about on the street. His stomach reminded him that they had eaten lightly the night before.
From their room, he couldn’t tell if the street vendor was out or not. He could, however, see a
small strip mall across the two-lane road. Next to a shop that advertised both electronics and
beauty supplies was Toosie’s Discount Mart. Toosie’s appeared to be a 7-Eleven style
convenience store. A man walked out carrying a newspaper and bottle of what looked like orange
juice. I wonder if they have something for bug bites, Monty wondered. He felt like a man on fire
standing a few yards from a swimming pool. I gotta try, he thought.
J.D. turned on the shower in the bathroom. Monty considered knocking on the door before he got
his head under the water to ask if he could run across the street for some food and, more
urgently, something to stop the itching. Then he hesitated. For a brief moment, he felt like the guy
in the cartoons with a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.
“He doesn’t want you to leave this room,” one voice said.
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“You have to go,” the other countered. “You need to eat and so does he. And this itching has to
stop!”
“You should at least tell him.”
“He’ll tell you not to go alone. Besides, you’re an adult.”
“He’s gonna be ticked.”
“Just go. Do it fast. You’ll be back before he’s out of the shower and he’ll thank you for the food.”
“Not a good idea…”
“No choice…”
Monty clearly heard the dissenting voices in his head. The problem was, he couldn’t tell which
one was the angel and which one was the devil!
“Heck with it,” he mumbled and opened the door. He glanced all around. Nothing suspicious. No
cars parked close by with goons sitting in the front seats. Nobody watching him poke his head out
of the room. Only a few people going about their business on a weekday morning.
“I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder, not loud enough for J.D. to hear, but loud enough for
Monty to claim that he’d said it, if J.D. gave him too much flack for leaving.
Shopping is limited in Belle Glade, so Andrew and Micky decided to make the 45-minute trip east
to West Palm Beach. Ginger spread the word of a day trip to the mall and those who wanted to
go started “getting ready.” For Andrew, this meant putting his wallet and his cell phone in his
pockets. But for the girls, Andrew soon discovered, this meant a half-hour process of mixing and
matching clothes, primping in the restrooms, and making him wait.
Andrew didn’t mind. He chatted with a few of the girls at the John 8 House, learning more of their
activities. The more he heard, the more he felt good about the place. He also found out just how
much Micky meant to these girls. Most of them had never had a parental figure show them true
love. Micky was more than a counselor to these girls -- she was a friend. Their fondness and
admiration for her spilled over onto him. All of the girls loved Micky. Andrew thought again that he
could love her, too.
Monty found exactly what he’d been looking for in Toosie’s. An off-brand, hydrocortisone-based
cream promised relief of “bites from chiggers, mosquitoes, spiders, ticks and other insects.” He
assumed that fleas, or whatever the bed bugs were, would be covered under the “other insects”
banner. He spread some of the cream on his legs inside the store and hoped it would work
quickly.
He walked out of the store with a sack full of the bug cream, two honey buns, two bananas, a
papaya, a bag of peanuts, and two bottles of orange juice. It wasn’t the IHOP buffet, but it would
do.
He walked to the road and waited for a car to pass. It cruised lazily by and he stepped into the
road behind it. The short, sharp screech of brakes caused Monty to look over at the car that had
just passed. He looked directly into the eyes of one of Alvarez’ men. It took less than a second to
recognize the guy that J.D. put on the ground in the tourist shop. He turned to say something to
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the guys in the front seat, but before they could jump out of the car, Monty dropped his grocery
bag and ran.
Instinctively, he ran the opposite direction of their hotel room. He didn’t have his cell phone – a
rookie mistake he’d later kick himself for – so he had no way of warning J.D. But the last thing he
wanted to do was to go running into a single-entry motel room with J.D. in his underwear and
three armed bad guys right behind him. They’d be cornered and defenseless. Well, not entirely
defenseless, but escaping in an O.K. Corral-style blaze of glory was exactly the kind of thing they
wanted to avoid.
So Monty ran. He cut behind the strip mall with Toosie’s and entered a neighborhood mixed with
cinderblock bungalows, trailers and a few aluminum and board shacks. It wasn’t the kind of
development to take your kids trick-or-treating, but its lack of organization (and fencing) put Monty
in a place where he could disappear quickly. Given his head start, his athletic advantage, and the
fear-driven shot of adrenaline that rocketed through his system, he found himself alone within a
couple of minutes. He emerged from the shantytown on the road that ran down the western coast
of the island. The surf gently rolled up the beach as if nothing unusual were happening. Monty
tried to do the same as he slowed to a walk and started up the road. He knew he couldn’t stay on
the road long, but he needed a few seconds to clear his head and think.
Ahead of him, traveling southbound, a taxicab rumbled down the road. Monty waved at it and the
driver pulled over. He jumped in the back seat.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Uh, I’m not sure. Just drive and I’ll figure it out,” Monty answered.
“Whatever you say, cap’n.”
Micky drove their extended passenger van and Andrew sat up front with her. Amber, Ginger and
six other girls rode in the back. Even with the crowd behind them, Andrew couldn’t help feeling
like he was on a date. It was, after all, the closest thing he’d had to a date in a long time -- so long
that he couldn’t even remember how long it had been.
As they passed through Belle Glade, Micky pointed out the few points of interest: the three
churches that some of the girls attended – Catholic, Baptist and Pentecostal; the town square and
park where they often walked or picnicked; and the various shops that make up a small town.
After that, they were immediately in the swampland of south Florida, heading toward the more
hospitable, but more crowded, east coast.
Andrew checked for a signal on his cell phone. It was still strong, so he dialed Monty’s cell phone.
Nobody answered, so he dialed J.D.’s phone. No answer there, either.
“That’s odd,” he said.
“What’s that?” Micky asked.
“Neither of them answer – Monty or J.D.”
“Maybe they’re out of range,” she suggested.
“They couldn’t have left yet. Their boat won’t be there until late morning.”
“Well it is the Bahamas,” Micky pointed out. “Their cellular service isn’t always that dependable.”
- 141 -
“True,” Andrew conceded. He put his phone back in his pocket, but the concern stayed in his
mind.
“Hey, Monty, you know what might work?” J.D. asked as he opened the bathroom door.
Only the reporter on CNNI answered him, talking about the latest riot on the streets of another
Middle Eastern city.
“Monty?”
J.D. glanced around the room. Clearly, it was empty. He was wearing only a towel, but the first
thing he picked up was his gun. He snapped a loaded clip into it and walked to the window.
Without disturbing the curtains, he peeked through a gap in the side and looked outside. Nothing.
He noticed that the door was unlocked, so he opened it slowly. Nothing immediately outside. He
checked the walls of the motel to the right and the left. Nothing. A taxicab cruised by on the
street. A woman with a small child walked up the road as well. Other than that, nothing.
J.D. shut the door, locked it, and dressed. He thought through the possibilities. Worst case,
someone had busted in and grabbed Monty. But if so, why didn’t he hear anything? And why
didn’t they grab J.D. as well? Surely they would have heard the shower running. The door was
unlocked and nothing was broken on it, so it had to be something else.
Suppose somebody knocked, Monty opened the door, and they grabbed him. But why would he
answer the door? And why wouldn’t he yell loud enough for J.D. to hear? Maybe he had, but J.D.
hadn’t heard. Or maybe they just stuck a gun to his head and told him to be quiet. Some people
freaked at the sight of a gun in their face, but others froze up. Maybe Monty was the latter kind.
But surely Monty wouldn’t be stupid enough to open the door. Unless, of course, they had used a
maid or something to lure him out. Maybe she knocked, he saw her, opened the door, and they
grabbed him. Better yet, maybe they just got a key and unlocked it themselves. No, that couldn’t
be it because the chain was undone, not broken. Monty had to have unlocked the door from the
inside.
Then the third possibility – one so remote and so stupid that he didn’t want to consider it –
occurred to him. Maybe he just left.
J.D. walked to the window and looked out again, this time looking at the buildings, not the people.
That’s when he spotted the convenience store across the street. He watched it for a minute,
hoping to see Monty’s skinny white butt walk out. No way he’d just walk over there, he thought.
Not after what we been through the last coupla days.
He watched the shopping strip for a few minutes, but saw no sign of Monty. He turned to Monty’s
backpack sitting on the bed and rummaged through it. No wallet, but that didn’t mean much. It
was probably in his pocket, whether he’d left on his own volition or not. His cell phone, however,
was still there. J.D. picked it up and punched up the most recently dialed number. Not
surprisingly, it was Andrew’s cell phone. But the date and time were from yesterday, not this
morning. He checked the incoming calls and saw a log entry for a missed call from Andrew.
Would Monty willingly leave the room without his cell phone? J.D. couldn’t decide. If he’d been
dumb enough to go out on his own, he might be dumb enough to leave his cell phone. J.D.
walked to the window again. “He was itchin’ pretty bad,” he said out loud. He watched the
convenience store for another minute, then made his decision.
- 142 -
He grabbed his own cell phone and saw a missed call from Andrew as well. He started to call
Andrew back, but decided his first priority was to look for Monty. He didn’t want to worry Andrew
unnecessarily, and if Monty was nearby or needed help, he didn’t want to miss him because he
was talking on the phone.
He put on his shoes, stuffed the gun into the pocket of his shorts (not entirely obvious, but not
very well hidden) and left the room. The door required locking from the outside, which J.D. did
with the sole room key they had been given. His head swiveled around, surveying the area as he
crossed the parking lot to the road. He never broke stride as he crossed the road until he noticed
the bag on the side of the road. He wasn’t sure if it was the honey bun that caught his eye or the
way the bag seemed so out of place on the road. Trash littered this part of the island, but not
bags full of groceries. A papaya had rolled a few feet from the bag and a banana stuck out of a
tear in it, giving the impression that the bag had been dropped in place.
J.D. tore the hole in the bag wide open to see what else was inside and there it was: a tube of
hydrocortisone cream. J.D. picked it up and read it, just to be sure. “…spiders, ticks and other
insects,” he read.
He suddenly got real nervous. He glanced up and down the road, across the street at the motel,
and back at the shopping strip. Nobody seemed to be watching him. He walked quickly to the
convenience store and went inside. The clerk looked up at him.
“Mornin’,” J.D. said. “Some guy just come in here and buy this?” He held up the tube of cream.
“White guy? Bought some groceries, too?”
The clerk looked uncomfortable, but cooperated. “Yeah,” he answered.
“How long ago?”
“Ten minutes, maybe.”
“Where’d he go?”
The clerk hesitated, not liking the questioning.
“Where’d he go!” J.D. demanded.
“I don’ know! He bought dem and left!”
J.D. thought the clerk was telling the truth. Odds were, he was. If the picture he was getting was
accurate, Monty had spotted the convenience store while J.D. was in the shower, run out to get
something for his bug bites and a little breakfast for both of them, and got nabbed.
Had they been watching the motel all night? Where would they go with Monty? Were they coming
back for him? The questions shot through J.D.’s mind rapid-fire. He couldn’t answer them all, but
he knew one thing: he had to clear out of there fast.
He walked to the motel room and packed up their things as fast as possible. He didn’t bother
checking out. As he walked back out to the road, his eyes canvassing the area constantly, he
considered finding a spot to survey his own motel room. If they were coming back for him, he’d
have the drop on them. But he quickly discarded that plan. If they wanted him, they probably
could have gotten him already. And if he waited around here all day, he’d waste precious time
looking for Monty.
He flagged down a cab. Before the driver could ask, J.D. said, “Take me to the airport.”
- 143 -
He punched up Andrew’s cell number on his phone. Andrew answered on the second ring.
“Did you talk to Monty this morning?” J.D. asked immediately.
“No,” Andrew said, sensing urgency in J.D.’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s gone.”
“What do you mean? Where’d he go?”
J.D. filled him in on the events of the last few minutes – the bug bites, the convenience store, and
the grocery bag in the street.
“God, no,” Andrew gasped. He lowered his voice so that Amber couldn’t hear him in the back seat
of the van. “What would they do to him?”
“I’m not sure,” J.D. said. “Question him or…”
“Or what?”
“Maybe hold him for ransom… I don’t know.”
“Why would they want money? They’re filthy rich with drug money!” Andrew said.
“Not money,” J.D. said, not wanting the finish his thought. He didn’t have to. Andrew figured it out.
“They want Amber back,” he said. He turned and stole a glance at the girl. She was talking and
laughing with the other girls, already adjusting to her new life outside of the porn industry. His
stomach knotted up and his head spun. He had awakened that morning feeling a million miles
away from the nightmare of Catt Island and Chiang’s private hell. Now he felt the flames once
again.
“What do we do?” Andrew asked.
“I’m headed to the airport. I figure that’s where they’ll go. If I can get there before they take off,
maybe I can figure out a plan. Worst case, I go to the police. Whatever it takes to keep him on
this island instead of Eleuthera or Catt.”
“What can I do?”
“There’s not much you can do. Just stick by the phone. If I need something or find out something,
I’ll call you.”
“There’s got to be more I can do,” Andrew insisted.
“I don’t think so,” J.D. said. “Just hang tight for a while. I’ll call you back...” J.D. hesitated for a
second, as if to say something else.
“What?” Andrew asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Maybe there is something you can do,” J.D. said.
“What? Anything, just say it.”
“Maybe you should pray.”
- 144 -
Andrew hung up, feeling sick. His rational, hardened mind told him that prayer was pointless,
useless. It was something people did to make themselves feel better, not something that actually
helped. Years of praying for his daughter had taught him that painful lesson and he wasn’t ready
to suddenly change his mind now. Yet, something deep inside of him yearned for it to be true. If
only he could beckon a Higher Power to reach down into this darkened world and stop bad things
from happening, he would gladly ask.
They say that a drowning man always begs God for help. But Andrew had already drowned in
despair, so his doubt kept him permanently underwater.
“What’s happening?” Micky asked.
Andrew looked back at Amber again. The girls kept chatting, oblivious to his phone conversation.
He leaned close to Micky and barely spoke the words, “They picked up Monty.”
“I don’t follow,” Micky said. “Who picked him up -- his ride back to Miami?”
“No, Chiang’s guys.”
“Chiang’s the bad guy?” Micky asked, trying to remember all of the characters from Andrew’s
adventure. They weren’t sure if Amber heard the name or just sensed its vocalization, but when
Micky asked the question, she picked up on it.
“What’s going on?” Amber asked from the back seat of the van.
Andrew didn’t want to tell her. It might spark fear, panic and guilt all at once. He desperately did
not want to undo all of the progress that had been made in the last 24 hours.
“Andy, what’s wrong?” she asked, panic already creeping into her voice.
Andrew knew that he had to tell them. He couldn’t hide it. He couldn’t lie. And part of him,
whether conscious or unconscious, wanted to tell someone else just in case there was a chance
that prayer could have an effect. He knew that Micky would want to pray and he knew that he
wouldn’t dare stop her, so perhaps he could free himself of the burden of prayer by telling them.
“Monty’s missing,” he said. “J.D. just called and he thinks Chiang’s men may have picked him up.
He’s heading to the airport to try to catch them.”
As he’d anticipated, horror crept over Amber’s face. But before she broke down, Micky whipped
the van into the weeds between the two-land highway and the swamp.
“Get out,” she said with authority. “We need to pray.”
The cab driver cruised around the south bend of the island and Monty recognized the road again.
They were headed back toward the motel. As with most of the taxis, the back windows were
heavily tinted.
“Slow down when we get to the town,” Monty said.
“You know the South Cay?” the driver asked in an accent that was much less islander than most.
“Is that what they call it?” Monty replied.
“Yes. It’s where the island’s poorest villagers live. I wouldn’t recommend it for tourists.”
- 145 -
“No kidding,” Monty deadpanned. “I can’t imagine why.”
They pulled into the edge of South Cay and the driver dropped his speed to a crawl.
“You are looking for something in particular?” he asked.
“Sort of.”
As they approached the motel, Monty had a decision to make. Did he dare return to their room?
Or was it more dangerous to leave J.D. alone, unaware of Chiang’s men?
“Pull into that motel on the right,” Monty said, impulsively making his decision. “Go over there to
room 12.”
The driver peered at Monty curiously in the rearview mirror, but said nothing.
“Can you back into that space in front of room 12 and wait for me? I need to talk to a friend of
mine real quick.”
The driver did as requested while Monty surveyed the area carefully. Nobody watched them. All
vehicles in site were empty or passing by without interest.
Monty opened the taxi door and said, “Leave the engine running.”
He walked just a few steps to the door and knocked fast and loud. He tried the doorknob, but it
was locked. He knocked again. He looked through the window, only seeing shadows through the
curtains, but saw no movement. The television, which he had left on, appeared to be dark. The
light over the sink in the bathroom was off. It looked like J.D. was gone, checked out and, Monty
imagined, quite worked up.
Monty jumped back in the cab. The driver waited patiently while Monty tried to put himself in
J.D.’s shoes. He’d be looking for me, but where? Would he go to the marina? Will he eventually
return to the motel? Where will Chiang’s men be looking?
Now was not the time for a Caribbean cat-and-mouse game, each of them circling the island
looking for each other. The motel was dangerous, that much he knew. The marina was likely
being watched, but where else would they meet?
“Cable Beach,” Monty said. “The marina at Cable Beach.”
Fleetingly, Andrew wondered about alligators in the marsh just a few feet from where they stood
holding hands in a large circle, looking like some sort of weird swampland worshippers to the few
cars that passed. But as Micky broke out in prayer, he knew that the urgency of the situation
trumped all other concerns. Micky spoke passionately, pleading for Divine intervention into their
situation, quoting scriptures that promised God’s protection and commanding “principalities,
powers and rulers of darkness” to leave J.D. and Monty alone. She asked the Holy Spirit to blind
the eyes of their pursuers and guide the thoughts and actions of those being pursued.
As she prayed, Monty felt something that he’d never experienced – not even during the years he
faithfully attended church. It was not just the emotion of the circumstances. It pierced his mind as
well as his heart. He felt something that swept away his worry and fear like a mighty wave picks
up a surfer and propels him toward the shore.
- 146 -
What he felt was a presence. As Micky pleaded with the Heavens, Andrew felt as if another group
of beings encircled their small human chain and entered into intercession with them. Andrew’s
eyes were closed, but a vision burned into his mind – a picture of angels surrounding them. Not
the kind in the Hallmark stores, with their plump, baby-like faces and pastel colors, but the
strapping, seven-feet-tall kind with powerful eagles’ wings protruding from muscle-bound
shoulders. Their presence felt like football players about to break the huddle or, more correctly,
warriors preparing for battle.
When Micky finished speaking, a few seconds of silence ensued, although everyone was still
praying. Andrew heard another voice rise up and realized, to his surprise, that the voice was his
own. It was as if his mind was detached from the words that rushed forth from some unlocked
place deep within his spirit. Later, he couldn’t even recall the exact phrases that passed through
his lips. He only remembered a sensation that he described as a prisoner walking out of dungeon
after innumerable years in the dark, staring in surreal disbelief at beautiful fields of flowers in the
bright sunshine.
He prayed much along the same lines as Micky had, begging for God’s intrusion into the evil that
stalked his friends. But amid the supplication came something totally unexpected and forever
transforming. United with his cry for help came a declaration of belief in the God that Andrew had
disowned. Not only did he ask for God to intervene in their lives, he actually believed that He
would. In that moment, Andrew understood the meaning of faith – not the kind that simply implied
a belief in the supernatural, but the kind that knew beyond all doubt that the Creator of the
universe was at work.
When the prayer ended, Andrew opened his eyes to a new reality. The next few hours were, to
him, like a movie based on a book he’d already read. As Micky pulled the van back onto the
highway, he felt nothing but peace. Monty and J.D. would be alright, no matter what happened.
He didn’t know the details, but he knew the final outcome of the story and simply waited for things
to play out.
Sweat beaded on J.D.’s forehead, partly from the outside temperature and partly from the inside
turmoil. The cab pulled up to the airport and the driver got out to get J.D.’s (and Monty’s) luggage
from the trunk. J.D. intercepted him.
“Just wait, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Sure,” the driver said. “I’ll park over dere,” he pointed to a spot where several cabs were parked.
“Thanks,” J.D. said and entered the terminal. He wore a cap and sunglasses, but knew that his
disguise wouldn’t fool Chiang’s men. He also wore his gun in his shoulder holster. It was loaded.
If Chiang’s men were here, he planned to confront them. If they wanted a fight, he would give it to
them right here in the airport – right here where security was sure to intervene quickly and then, if
he would decide on the spot, he would have the option of reporting Monty’s abduction to the
authorities. Anything, he told himself, to keep them all on Nassau.
He wandered the small terminal, quickly ascertaining that Chiang’s men were not around; at
least, not in plain sight. He couldn’t see Chiang’s jet on the tarmac. He suddenly worried that he
was too late. Could they have gotten to the airport and taken off that fast? There was only one
way to find out.
He approached the Bahamian security agent working the main door to the tarmac. Flashing his
Private Investigator’s badge, he said, “I need to talk to the head of security.”
- 147 -
The guard eyed him intently, stood up from his stool and unclipped his radio from his belt. “He’ll
want to know what it’s about,” he said.
“It’s about a possible kidnapping,” J.D. said, stepping close enough to the guard to make him
uncomfortable.
“Alain, this is Michael, come in.” The radio crackled a response. “There is an American here who
needs to talk to you. Says it’s about a possible kidnapping.” The radio popped again. “He’ll be
right here,” the guard said to J.D.
Within sixty seconds, a tall man in an impressive uniform strutted across the airport floor. “How
can I help you?” he asked J.D., his voice lacking the warmth of his words.
“An American under my protection has disappeared. I have reason to believe that he may have
been brought here and placed on a private jet. I need to know all of the flights that have taken off
from here in the last hour.”
J.D. hoped that the directness and force of his words would elicit an answer, but he wasn’t so
lucky.
“Who are you?” the man, presumably “Alain,” asked.
“I’m an investigation specialist from Miami,” J.D. answered.
“You have no authority with the United States government?” Alain asked. J.D. knew where this
was going. If he was an official agent of the U.S. government, he would not have authority on
Nassau, but he would at least have some clout. Being a private investigator gave him neither the
authority nor the influence to get any cooperation on the island.
“Not yet, but I can get it, if that’s what you want. I’ll take up the rest of your day, but I can get it
through the Florida Governor’s office to the U.S. Ambassador here,” J.D. bluffed. “Or you can just
tell me if any private jets have left here in the last hour and I’ll go away.”
Alain considered it. Though it offended his pride to have another arrogant American pushing him
around this way, it was a simple question. And since no private airplanes had taken off all day
from the airport, he wouldn’t be inviting any further intrusion into his time.
“All of the outbound flights are displayed on that board,” he said, pointing to the electronic
marquee showing departing flights.
“That’s all of ‘em?” J.D. asked.
“That’s it,” Alain said.
J.D. squinted at the board, which showed three commercial flights: one to Miami, one to Orlando,
and one to Freeport. True to form, nothing much happened here before noon, especially when it
came to travel.
“Thank you,” J.D. said. “Have a nice day.” He turned and walked out of the airport, never, he
hoped, to return again.
Monty arrived at the marina and looked around the parking lot. Locals were everywhere,
preparing boats for day excursions. Tourists arrived in floral shirts and Bermuda shorts, cameras
- 148 -
in tow. Cable Beach was large, busy and spread out. The only way he’d find J.D. out here would
be to get out and walk around the entire place, which didn’t seem like a good idea at all.
Monty didn’t know what to do. With no way of knowing if J.D. would actually be showing up here,
he could be simply walking into a trap or just wasting his time. He cursed himself for leaving his
cell phone at the motel, then had another idea.
“Are there any pay phones around here?” he asked the cab driver.
“Up by the office,” he replied, pointing to the wooden shack that stood next to the closest pier.
I don’t know J.D.’s cell number, he thought. Heck, I don’t even know Andrew’s, he realized. I
always pull up his name from the address book and hit ‘enter.’ Then a concept from his technical
experience came back to him. Don’t worry about what you don’t know, work with what you do
know.
What do I know? he asked himself. I do know our office number, he thought, and they have
Andrew’s cell number on record. He checked his watch. It was after 8:30 back in Fort Worth, so
somebody would be in for sure.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to the taxi driver and walked to the phone. Using his calling card, he
got ahold of someone at the office and, deflecting her questions about his ‘sick’ friend, got
Andrew’s cell number.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked as soon as he realized it was Monty calling him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Have you talked to J.D.?”
They traded short versions of the morning’s events and Andrew told Monty to stay where he was.
Andrew called J.D. back and gave him Monty’s location: a cab in the parking lot of the Cable
Beach marina. Within a few minutes, Andrew’s sense of peace took another step toward
fulfillment as J.D. made his way to the marina to rejoin Monty and wait for their ride off of Nassau
and out of the nightmare.
Andrew had never considered himself much of the shopping type, but their time at the mall felt
less like shopping and more like a date. He slipped Ginger $150 for Amber and sent the girls
shopping so that he and Micky could spend some time together. With the news that Monty and
J.D. were reunited and soon leaving Nassau, Andrew was able to relax as they found a
restaurant in the mall and enjoyed a long lunch together.
The conversation covered both the serious and mundane, revealing their pasts and their hopes
for the future. They talked about music, food, movies, books and other things that both of them
enjoyed. Micky convinced Andrew that he needed try scuba diving and they even flirted with the
idea of taking a trip down to the Keys some time in the future.
After lunch, Andrew received a call from Monty confirming that he and J.D. were leaving Nassau
on a private boat with J.D.’s friend. Andrew told him about their evening flight and wished him a
pleasant voyage. The relief felt like a burden lifting from his shoulders.
They re-grouped with the girls, giving Amber the good news about Monty and J.D.’s departure,
and spent the afternoon driving to several discount clothing stores. Once everyone was satisfied
with their shopping day, they had dinner with the whole group.
- 149 -
As they sat around the table eating their meals and enjoying the conversation, Andrew felt
something new and wonderful. Even though these girls were, for the most part, complete
strangers, he felt as if he was part of a family. For a brief moment, he imagined that he and Micky
were Amber’s parents and they were celebrating her birthday with her six closest friends. He
knew that he was dreaming, but it was a nice dream – certainly better than the ones that had
haunted him for so many years as his own family fell apart.
As their boat pulled into the harbor in Miami late in the afternoon, Monty and J.D. were both
relieved. They had made it. Their adventure was over and they had all escaped unharmed. They
disembarked and loaded into J.D.’s friend’s car, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, but
much more relaxed. They’d been chased, shot at, forced to hide, and on the run, but in the end
they had succeeded and they were safe.
Before Andrew left for the airport, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and retrieved all of the
cash he had left. "Here, use this for whatever she needs," he said, handing it to Micky.
"You really don't have to..."
"I want to," he said. He grabbed her hand with his free hand and put the money in it, holding it
there for a few seconds. She looked up at him with her dark, magnetic eyes and he felt his heart
skip a beat.
"Thank you," she said and smiled. He wanted to hold her hand longer, but he let it go and turned.
"I guess I should tell Amber 'good bye' before I go," he said. Micky led him into the auditorium,
where several of the girls still sat chatting.
"I'm heading out," Andrew said. Amber stood up and gave him a hug.
"Thanks so much," she said, squeezing him tight. He felt a warmth inside -- the kind he had felt
long ago, before Faith disappeared. "Keep in touch."
"I will," he promised.
"Let me know that you made it home alright,” she said. "And tell Monty and J.D. 'thanks,' too."
"I'll call periodically to see how you’re doing."
He fetched his bag from his room and the girls walked him out to the van. As he prepared to pull
out, Micky came to his window.
"You can call any time to check on Amber," she said.
"I'll do that. I promised her that I would."
"Or you can just call, if you want," she said, smiling.
Andrew smiled back. "Are you flirting with me?"
Micky blushed and stepped back. They laughed together, then he said a final 'good bye.' She
stepped back from the van and he started to put it into reverse. Impulsively, he stopped, jumped
out of the van and walked over to Micky. She smiled, unsure of his actions. He gently moved to
her cheek and kissed her. “Take care of yourself,” he whispered in her ear.
- 150 -
She put both of her arms around him and hugged him tightly. A few of the girls “oohed” and
“aahed,” but they didn’t care.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. Micky just nodded and smiled.
On his drive back to Miami his thoughts of Micky were only interrupted by a phone call from
Monty. Monty was already at the airport. Andrew told him that he would meet him at their
departure gate, then turned his thoughts back to Micky.
Even after he gotten his life back together, he had not thought much about women. The idea of
dating had always brought a feeling of guilt because of the way he allowed his first marriage to
crash and burn. Now that Micky had shined her light into his life, he realized how dull and gray his
world had become. He found himself longing to stay in the Sunshine State.
Ming knocked on the door to Jimmy Chiang’s study.
“Come in.”
Ming entered and bowed until Mr. Chiang spoke to him.
“Have we heard anything?”
“There is no sign of them anywhere – Eleuthera, Andros, Nassau, Freeport. We even checked in
Abaco.”
“Has the Cuban returned to Miami?”
“Yes. Alvarez is back. He will be watching, along with some of his crew.”
“Perhaps they just wanted the girl.”
“It looks that way.”
Mr. Chiang nodded and thought for a moment. “Keep watch.”
“Should we send people to Miami and Fort Lauderdale?” Ming asked.
“No,” Chiang replied curtly. “Do not go to the States. Just keep watch.”
He flicked his wrist in a motion of dismissal. Ming bowed, turned and exited.
The airplane taxied onto the runway and Andrew reflected on the events of the past week. Beside
him, Monty was already starting to doze off. The events of the last week were already beginning
to feel like a dream, with some details fading away while others pierced his mind. He thought
about Donnie, whose wasted life had met such a horrible end. He though about Alvarez, who still
lived, yet also wasted the opportunity to make the world a better place, choosing instead to prey
on innocent ones for his own miniscule gain. He thought about Amber, her new life with limitless
hopes and dreams. He though about Anita and the rest of the girls still out there suffering.
But he thought most of all about Micky. She stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long
time. It was more than just an attraction to someone of the opposite sex; it was a sense of
connecting with another person on multiple levels. She was amazing.
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As the airplane left the ground Andrew also sensed something else he hadn’t experienced in
years. He felt peace. And as the jet rose higher in the air, he experienced another strange, yet
comforting feeling. For the first time since he could remember, Andrew felt a little closer to
heaven.
Epilogue
Wednesday, March 31
10:00am
The Online Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, United
States Customs, and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, gathered together in
a conference room in Alexandria, Virginia.
Agent Ophus called the meeting to order. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the six-person
team, "for a little over a week now, we had been receiving e-mails every hour from the same
location in the Caribbean. These e-mails each contain a different pornographic photo attached to
them. Some of them are borderline child pornography, but many of them are disturbingly clear. At
this time, we have identified 108 photos of child pornography with approximately 47 different
victims."
The FBI agent hit a button on his laptop and a computer screen flickered onto the projection
screen.
"As you can see, each e-mail also contains the text, 'CHIANG’S PLANTATION, CAT ISLAND,
VIA BRIGADOON BAY, ELUTHRA,'" he motioned toward the image on the wall.
"That's in the Bahamas," one task force member said.
"Yes, it is." Agent Ophus tapped a key on his laptop and a detailed map of the Bahamas
projected on the wall. "The spelling on the message is incorrect, but Catt Island and Eleuthera
are adjacent islands east of Nassau."
"Have you confirmed the source?" another agent asked.
"We believe so, but the route is well masked. We can easily pinpoint the connection to a resort on
Eleuthera called ' The Brigadoon Bay,' and we have confirmed that it is owned and run by a
gentlemen by the name of Johnny Chiang. Of course, this is probably his 'American' name, but
we have someone down there confirming his identity."
"Do we have enough to bust them?" the junior member of the task force asked. Several of the
others turned to him and smiled.
"Oh yeah," Agent Ophus confirmed. "That's why we're here right now. We are flying down today
to pick up an agent from our field office in Atlanta who has been in touch with the Bahamian
authorities. We will meet with them in Nassau tonight, then start arresting people first thing
tomorrow morning."
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