Judd thought for a moment. “Serena, how long would it take me to drive out to Bethesda and Rockville? To talk with the families?”
“I could get you a car from motor pool. The drive is only twenty minutes if you go before rush hour.”
“I might need that.”
“Of course. But Consular Affairs already sent someone out there to talk with the spouses. They’ve now got the FBI, Montgomery County PD, and the local TV news crews all parked outside their homes. So I wouldn’t expect to just walk in there and start asking questions. You’ll have to be more discreet.”
“How do you know all that, Serena?”
“When you’re on the job, so am I.”
Discreet. That was what Parker said. What could I even ask them? What the hell do I know about hostage negotiations?
Judd huffed and punched the desk with his fist.
“Sir?”
“Sorry, Serena. I’m just thinking . . .” Parker has me on an unsolvable mission to negotiate for four suburban dads who got lost on a fishing trip? Is this another setup to fail? Or is Cuba an opportunity?
“Dr. Ryker, sir?” she said.
“Make it a Cuban.”
24.
MARATHON, FLORIDA KEYS
THURSDAY, 12:09 P.M.
I’m here in Marathon, in the heart of the Florida Keys,” a tall Hispanic woman with bright red lips read into the camera. “Behind me is where the fishing boat set sail yesterday morning with four American soccer dads on their fateful trip into the Seminole Flats. They sailed straight into the grasp of the Cuban navy . . .”
“That’s right, Tammy,” said another reporter, touching his earpiece with one finger and holding a CNN microphone with the other hand. “The authorities aren’t releasing any further information about the men . . .”
Jessica had left Castaways Bar & Grill and skirted the media circus in the main parking lot. On the far side was a small boardwalk where fishing charter boats docked: Capt’n Bill’s Charters, Florida Frank, Mad Marlin Max, Sun ’n’ Sport ’n’ Fish. At the far end, across from an empty slip, sat a massive cherry-red Ford pickup truck on oversized tires.
Jessica strolled past the truck. In the bed were ropes, buckets, and fishing gear. Glare on the tinted windows blocked her from being able to see what was inside the cab. No one appeared to be around, so she quickly took a photo of the truck and license plate with her phone. She then raised a hand to her forehead and leaned against the window to peer inside. The cab, too, was filled with boating gear and cardboard boxes.
“Hey!” shouted a gruff voice from behind her.
Jessica spun around to find a lean man with olive skin and long dark hair. He was wearing torn jeans and a cutoff T-shirt that exposed tattoos on both arms. His face was gaunt and unshaven. Jessica could see that he’d once been handsome, but something in this man’s life had taken a toll.
His eyes narrowed in anger.
“Oh my,” she gasped, flashing her friendliest smile and touching her chest with her fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s my truck,” he said, relaxing once he saw Jessica’s face. He took a step forward, and Jessica was overwhelmed by the smell of stale cigarettes.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, running her fingers across the roof. “I was just admiring it. So . . . red!”
“Yes, it is,” he said, looking Jessica up and down. “I didn’t mean to scare you, chiquita.”
“It’s my fault.” She pouted. “I shouldn’t have been looking inside your truck. It’s not right.” Jessica could see one of the man’s arms was inked with tattoos of a buxom mermaid and ?EN LA GLORIA DE DIOS!
“Well, don’t you worry. We’ve just had some trouble around here, that’s all.” He shrugged and held up his hands. On the other arm was a tattoo of a naval ship, a cross, and the numbers 2506.
“I can see that,” she said, gesturing toward the camera crews.
The man grunted. “You just here to admire trucks, chiquita, or can I help you?”
“I hope so,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “I want to hire a boat.”
“This is the place.” He grinned. “Take your pick.”
“I’m looking for Ricky.” His smile disappeared.
“Don’t know any Ricky.” He shook his head.
“You’re . . . not Ricky?”
“I just said I don’t know any Ricky,” he said through pursed lips.
“Becky over at Castaways said I could find Ricky around here.”
“I don’t know any Becky either.” He pointed at the charter boats. “You should ask Bill or Frank. They’ll take you out on a boat for the right price. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.”
The man ducked his head and slipped into the truck, started the engine, and reversed out. Jessica waved good-bye to the man, who acknowledged her with a slight nod, before he quickly drove off, heading southwest.
Once the pickup truck was out of sight, Jessica ran back to the Mustang and peeled out of the parking lot in the same direction.