Chapter Whiskey #2
“You do realize he’s been operating for nearly thirty years, most of it solo, which requires skill and instincts.”
“My point exactly. He’s used to flying solo, and he’s ex-CIA.”
Cooper chuckled. “I see your point. But I can tell you in Cancun a few months ago, he was all Team Shepherd. He wouldn’t have been hired for the team had he been a hardcore solo operator.”
“I realize that as well,” Flores said. “As I said, just trying to force interaction between him and the team.”
***
The two vehicles continued on to Chicago Executive Airport, where the Learjet waited for them.
The final push of intel came through from Cam Woods just before the plane took off into the blustery November sky.
It was a bit of a bumpy ride until the plane climbed above the turbulent layer of the incoming storm system.
There was nothing new or earth-shattering in Woods’ report.
Williamson had no financial skeletons in his closet.
His Lakeside Campground did okay. He wasn’t getting rich off of it, but it brought in an income that supported his family.
The flight was uneventful, and they soon landed at the small regional field in Conecuh County, Alabama.
They stepped off the plane into calm, sixty-seven-degree air under a bright afternoon sun.
All the men put sunglasses on; Flores and Gallop also donned baseball caps.
The pickup trucks and boat waited for them as promised.
They quickly transferred their gear from the plane to the pickups.
Mac flipped the lids of both of the coolers open to survey the food supplies inside. “Sorry, Robinson, not seeing any beer,” Mac called to him.
“I say we stop and get some if we pass a liquor store,” Robinson said. “Just to keep our cover.”
“I’m sure there is a bar near the lake and campgrounds,” Cooper said. “Might be a good place to see if anyone remembers our four missing men.”
And yes, sure enough, there was a bar nestled among the trees on the road that led towards the campground. It also had a hand-painted sign advertising bait for sale as well as beer. Pickup trucks were parked in front of it.
“I’m feeling a Deliverance vibe,” Robinson said.
“Deliverance took place in Georgia, not Alabama,” Winston said.
“I’m just saying there are similarities,” Robinson argued.
“You’re being paranoid,” Gallup said.
“Fair warning, if I hear banjos, I’m outta here,” Robinson said, garnering him laughter from the rest of the team
They drove to the end of the road, where it dead-ended at the campground, and all entered the main office, a large building at the front of the campground, which also was a bait shop and a general store.
Cooper approached the main counter and met John Williamson, the owner. He was a balding white man in his mid-fifties, who matched his driver's license picture from the mission file. Cooper presented the Illinois driver's license under his cover name, John Wiess.
“Illinois,” Williamson remarked. “You drove a long way.” He glanced out the window at the two pickup trucks. “Why do your trucks have Florida plates?”
“I’m attached to the base in Pensacola,” Cooper said without missing a beat.
“You’re military, huh,” the man said. “Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you,” Cooper said. “We’re all looking forward to the next week of being out on the lake, maybe doing a little hiking.”
Robinson grabbed a case of beer from the cooler and set it on the counter beside Cooper. “I can’t believe we forgot beer. I’m happy to see this general store.” He enunciated his words with a fake Southern accent.
Williamson eyed Robinson and the others. “Now, John here may be active duty, but there’s no way y’all are.”
“No, sir,” Robinson said. “Happily retired for many years.” He laughed.
Williamson laughed with him. He completed the paperwork and then handed four room keys, actual metal keys, to Cooper.
“Sorry, I don’t have six keys. You boys will have to share.
I have you in cabin number twelve. Sorry, seven isn’t available.
Twelve’s got a great view of the lake and is a bigger cabin, which will accommodate your party’s size better.
Just follow the signs into the campground and you’ll come to it.
And that’ll be eighteen even for the beer. ”
Robinson handed him a twenty and stuffed the change into the St. Jude’s fundraiser can beside the cash register.
They got back into the pickup trucks and drove into the campground, following the gravel road.
They passed cabins one through six, all visible and accessible from the gravel road.
The sign indicating cabin seven pointed at a dirt road that disappeared into a heavily wooded section.
The road curved, and they caught a glimpse of the back of what they assumed to be cabin seven, and they got their first sight of the large lake, which lay down a hill from the road.
Cabins eight through eleven were down another dirt road and dotted the banks of the lake.
The road entered another stand of trees, and then cabins twelve through fifteen were on a dirt path that sloped down towards the banks of the lake, each shrouded from each other with thick bushes and trees, but visible from this road that overlooked them all.
The two pickup trucks took the road to their cabin. They’d hike in to take a closer look at cabin seven after doing recon to see if it was occupied or vacant.
Mac pulled himself from the backseat of the truck and took a moment to gaze at the expanse of the lake.
It was a beautiful view. Fishing boats dotted the top of the dark blue waters that were bordered with tall trees all the way around.
From the info on the area that Woods on the Digital Team had sent, Mac knew that this was the largest lake in the county.
It was actually a reservoir that was formed by damming the Big Escambia Creek.
The lake and the creek covered approximately six hundred acres, which translated to a lot of area to cover.
The men unloaded the vehicles. There were two bedrooms in the cabin, one with a queen-size bed, the other with two twins.
And in the main room, which was a kitchen and living room, there were two couches.
It was, as you’d expect, rustic and sparsely decorated, with unmatched dishes in the cabinets.
There was a fireplace but no television.
There was one bathroom with a small shower and no tub.
Cooper immediately put his bags on one of the twin beds. “Whoever doesn’t snore is welcome to join me.”
“I’ll claim the other bed if no one minds,” Mac said.
“Winston and I will take the queen,” Flores spoke. Bravo Team had long-standing sleeping arrangements.
“Once we start poking around, if we’re concerned that we’ve gotten anyone’s attention, we’ll want two members to be on overnight,” Cooper said. “We’ll decide that if the time comes.”
“Who wants to go on a hike with me to check out the cabins and specifically number seven to see which ones have occupants?” Flores asked.
“I’ll come with you,” Kenny Gallup volunteered.
Getting a sense of his new teammates, Mac had already judged that Gallup was a man of few words but was a team player.
Robinson was the comedian or joker in the group; Winston enjoyed the finer things in life; and Flores was the serious team leader, a dedicated professional that he doubted was really within five years of retirement.
“Remember, there are black bears in the area,” Winston said. “I don’t want to have to treat any mauling injuries.”
“Love your compassion, Needles,” Robinson said. “Mac, come down to the lake with me while I get the boat in the water. Figure we should get it in, and maybe a few of us take it out this afternoon for a little reconnaissance.”
“Good idea,” Cooper said. “You two should go ahead and take it out for a spin. Start documenting the area.”
Mac slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes as he stepped back out into the afternoon sunshine. Each cabin had its own boat launch and small wooden dock. Mac slowly backed the trailer and pickup down the steep boat ramp, easing the trailer into the water.
“Hold up!” Robinson yelled when the trailer and boat were deep enough for him to separate the boat from the trailer.
Mac put the truck in park and engaged the parking brake.
He met Robinson by the trailer and helped to unhook the boat from the trailer.
Robinson climbed in, and Mac gave it a push.
It floated free. Robinson engaged the motor and piloted it to the dock.
Mac returned to the pickup and parked it near the cabin.
Then he jogged back down to the dock and hopped into the boat.
Shortly after, Robinson pulled the boat away from the dock and brought it out onto the lake.
They took a wide loop as close to shore as they could be while staying within the channel markers, so they wouldn’t bottom out.
The water at depth looked clear, but closer to shore it was murky, though they could still see rocks in the shallow water.
Mac documented which cabins looked occupied from their vantage point, mostly by which ones had vehicles parked near them?
He also took pictures of the cabins and other boats they passed with his phone.
They got a good look from the water of the bar they’d passed on the drive in that was just up the road from the campground, unaware it sat on the water with a dock and outside seating on a deck, both of which were packed.
Mac texted Cooper about it and said that he and Robinson would see about checking it out if a spot opened up at its little dock. Cooper replied that it was a good idea.
At that moment, the boat at the end of the little pier pulled away. Robinson took the spot. After he switched the engine off, he turned to Mac and dropped his voice down low. “Can you do anything about that accent?”