“Excuse me, what’s your interest?”
I was wondering when the guy would break my momentum. “I came to meet with her and was told you’d detained her. I also happen to be a JAG lawyer.” I found my wallet and showed him my State Bar of Georgia card and military ID.
“This lady, is she in the military?”
“Active duty.” I circled back. “You said she had a gun. What kind of weapon?”
The young man looked befuddled, unsure what to do. I’d learned from dealing with countless subordinates on military bases that the easiest way to get what you wanted was to act important.
“We have a real situation,” I said. “Ms. Perry came here on a sensitive military assignment, which is why she was armed. A boat exploded off Loggerhead today, did it not?”
“We think so. That’s where everybody is. Out investigating.”
Good to know. “That boat blowing up is all part of an ongoing military investigation. Where is Ms. Perry?”
He pointed at one of two doors on the far end of the office. Each was small, with little headroom and a barred glass window. “Locked in there. We don’t have a cell, which is a little ironic since this whole place used to be a prison. I’m keeping an eye on her.”
One more time. “Where’s the supposed weapon she had?”
“You act like there wasn’t one. There was. I have it.”
“Show me.”
He acted a little indignant, as if he needed to show me that the gun existed. Which was exactly the reaction I wanted. Subordinates also liked to prove to those above them how right they could be. He walked over to a cluttered wooden desk and opened a drawer, removing the same 9mm automatic that Coleen had pointed at me earlier.
I approached and held out my hand. “Let me see it.”
Incredibly, the idiot handed it over. I examined the weapon and noticed no magazine. So this guy wasn’t as dumb as I thought. “It’s unloaded. There’s no law against carrying an unloaded gun.”
He reached into the drawer and found the magazine.
“Let me see it,” I demanded.
He hesitated, then handed it over.
Now we were cooking.
Since some of my superiors liked to accuse me of being a loose cannon, I decided it was time to start acting like one. I snapped the magazine into the weapon, chambered a round, and aimed the gun straight at him. “I’m assuming you can open the door to that room?”
The young man’s eyes went wide.
“Never had a gun pointed at you before?”
He shook his head.
“It’s not really a problem unless—” I cocked the hammer. “—I do that.”
The click added an exclamation point to my observation.
“If I even hiccup this could fire.”
He seemed to get the point. “Mister, could you put that thing down? Really. Please. Put it down.”
“Do what I asked.”
This time he backed his way toward the door, fumbling in his pant pocket and removing a key, which he worked into the lock.
I motioned with the gun for him to open the door then enter.
Inside was a small, windowless space, not much larger than a walk-in closet, with more brick walls, that also served as an office. I caught the surprise on Coleen’s face and quickly shook my head, signaling for her to keep quiet. She was handcuffed to an exposed pipe that ran from ceiling to floor beside a desk.
“Unlock her,” I said.
He found another key and opened the cuffs. I motioned for him to take her place and he quickly began to cuff his wrist to the pipe.
Coleen watched in disbelief.
I motioned for us to step out into the other room.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Getting you out of here. Where’s the coin?”
“That’s what you really want. Not to help me.”
“Look, I just met Valdez. He’s here and not happy. He wants his coin.”
“I thought you worked for him?”
“I never said that. You just assumed.” We needed to get moving. “Where’s the coin?”
“They took it.”
Why couldn’t this be simple? I stepped back to the doorway and asked the young ranger, “The lady had a gold coin. Where is it?”
“Are you a thief? Is this a robbery?”
I aimed the gun straight at him. “One more time, then that’s it for you. Where’s the coin?”
“Okay. Okay. It’s over in the staff quarters. One of our historians wanted to look at it.”
“Tell me where.”
He did. “You’re in big trouble, mister. Real big trouble.”
Didn’t I know it. The list of felonies was growing by the minute. And all federal, too. My CO would not believe his good fortune.
“The Coast Guard and FBI are on the way here,” he blurted out.
That caught my attention.
“Talk to me.”
“They radioed a little while ago. The FBI is flying to get her and should be here anytime. You’ll get yours then.”
Maybe not.
After all, I was one of the good guys.
And they could be my salvation.
Chapter Eleven
I led the way as we rushed across the parade to the far side of the fort, the gun tucked at my waistband beneath my Jaguars T-shirt. Hearing that the FBI was on the way added a new dimension. Sure, Jansen was suspect but that didn’t mean everybody was crooked. I could make contact with those agents, explain the situation, and they could talk with Stephanie Nelle. If they moved fast, the Coast Guard could even detain Valdez before he left American waters. But I could see that Coleen Perry was not happy at the prospect of having more federal agents around.
“I assume you don’t want the feds to know what you’re doing,” I said. “Considering that it’s illegal to have that Double Eagle.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Right now I’m the idiot risking my hide to save yours.”
“I saw you leap off that boat before it blew, and when those men knocked you silly. The plane that flew by, right before the explosion, was the same one from before. I noticed the ID numbers.”
We kept moving across the short grass, following a defined sandy path that bisected the parade.
“What was your name again?” she asked.
“Cotton Malone. Here from the Justice Department.”
“Are you new at all this?”
That one hurt. “Does it show?”
“Only that you’re young, and I’m guessing you don’t have a clue what you’re into.”
“You’re not exactly Ms. Experience,” I pointed out. “We’re probably about the same age.”
“Except I’m not some hotshot Justice Department guy. Let me give you a piece of advice, Mr. Cotton Malone. The FBI is not your friend.”
At least one retired agent fit that bill, but I wasn’t ready to lump everyone into that category. “Care to explain?”
“Not at the moment.”
The young ranger had pointed us toward some freestanding buildings on the parade’s far side. Behind them, arches in the tall brick had been filled in with wooden walls and windows, creating enclosed staff quarters where there had once been only open casements. A few visitors loitered about on the coarse grass taking photos. More people ambled through the casements above, revealed in the arches that surrounded us on all sides.
We made it to a set of wooden stairs, which we climbed fast, finding the door we wanted at the top marked residence area do not enter. We ignored the warning and passed through into a long corridor that bordered the exterior wall. A welcome breeze slipped though the open casements. A series of doors stretched down an interior wooden wall to our left. I found the correct door and lightly knocked. No answer. One more time. Same result. I gripped the knob and turned. Probably little reason to lock anything around here. How much crime could they have?
I eased open the door.
The small space beyond was lightly furnished with a cotlike bed draped with a knitted spread, dirty clothes piled on the floor, a cluttered desk, and a small bureau. A screened window facing the interior parade hung open.
And then there was the falcon.
Standing on a perch, wings ruffling from our unwanted intrusion.
“You don’t see that every day,” Coleen said.
No, you didn’t.
Neither of us moved.