Chapter 7
"What did Sparky say?" I asked Jack when I returned to the Avventura.
Jack just shook his head.
I didn't press the issue. I knew it would be expensive.
Disappointment tensed Jack’s face. I knew how much he wanted to get back into another open-top car.
We’d been without the Porsche for so long, there was nothing to satisfy his sports car itch.
I had the sportbike I could get on when I needed that sense of death-defying adrenaline.
But with current events, we'd have plenty of adrenaline to keep us going.
“Well, look on the bright side,” Flynn said. “It’s just an excuse to buy another car.”
The free-spirited movie star always had an upbeat take on life.
His trademark phrase, “You’ve gotta ride the wave, go with the flow, let the Universe be your mojo,” encapsulated his philosophy on life.
He always seemed to surf through the peaks and valleys without letting it dampen his spirits.
He’d been on top of the world and at the bottom.
He’d seen fame and heartbreak and gone from rags to riches and back again.
Now he was financially set and rebuilding his career for the pure sake of doing something cool and fun.
He’d recruited me into the madness, and I was working on a script based on the Mickey Malibu story and some of our previous adventures.
Flynn had already started drinking. He lifted his glass to toast. “Gentlemen, since this is my last night on the island before I head into the great unknown, I say we do it up in style.”
Flynn had been staying with us for the last few weeks during his mission training on the island. Trying to keep a low profile with Flynn around was nearly impossible. But the paparazzi had died down from the initial rush when he first arrived.
“JD and I have an errand to run," I said. "What did you have in mind?"
"Good food, good drinks, and good friends," Flynn said with a grin.
"Well, it seems like we've got all of that," JD said.
"Given the current situation, I don't know if gallivanting around the island is a good idea right now," I said, then I told him about the incident.
"Hell, I don't need to go out carousing around to have a good time. We’ll order in, run your errand, then see where the night takes us.”
I didn’t want to let the briefcase out of my sight.
I also didn't want to carry it around everywhere.
Putting it in the property department was not an option at this point.
There were plenty of places to hide it around the boat, but it wouldn't be too hard for the perps to figure out where I lived. The moment I left the boat, they’d ransack the place, looking for the item.
Plus, this thing probably had a GPS tracker.
There was a solution for that.
I had some woven copper Faraday fabric. I grabbed it from a storage compartment and wrapped the case with several layers, then used gaffer tape to secure it. Surrounded by a makeshift Faraday cage, it would block any tracker or mobile signal.
At least for now, the case was off the grid.
Jack ran to Diver Down and grabbed dinner to go. He brought it back to the boat, and the three of us chowed down on the sky deck, watching the last rays of sunshine sink over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel colors.
Isabella called me back. "That case is a TitanVault.
State-of-the-art. Bulletproof. Drill proof.
Biometric scans with pulse detection. I'm not going to say there is no way into that case.
There is always a way. But it's not going to be easy.
Those cases don't come cheap, either. Whatever is inside is worth protecting.”
"Yeah, I already tried a few techniques that didn't work."
"There's something else…"
I stifled a groan.
"Your victim's face is too mangled to get proper recognition. I ran his name through the database. Something is off. His credit history is short. Three months. A few purchases. Looks like a dummy ID. If you can give me his fingerprints, I can do a more comprehensive search.”
I thanked her and told her I'd be in touch. Then I called Brenda. "Have you run Steve Davidson's prints yet?”
"I was just about to call you. Steve Davidson is not Steve Davidson. His real name is Nathan Mercer. At least, that's what the database tells me.”
"Who's Nathan Mercer?”
“That’s your job to find out.”
"I figured you would say that."
I thanked her for the information, then called Isabella back and told her the man's true identity. She said she would look into it and get back with me. She was in the middle of something. I didn’t ask.
After I hung up, I did a quick Internet search for the name. Not much came up—a CareerLink profile in the technology and defense sectors, alumni information from MIT, and an article featuring Nathan about off-grid living.
We inhaled the burgers and fries, then grabbed some supplies and transferred them to the Raptor.
I cast off the lines. Jack took the helm and navigated us out of the marina.
Once we passed the breakwater, he throttled up, bringing the boat on plane.
The small HPDE tactical boat carved through the swells.
The moon hung low in the sky, shimmering the water.
The stars flickered above. A few lazy clouds drifted in the sky.
It was a nice evening. Any chance to get out on the water was a welcome relief.
Nothing else seemed to matter out here. We left our troubles behind at the shoreline.
But somehow, trouble had a habit of finding us.
Jack was doing well. His shoulder had pretty much healed. Still a little sore and achy from time to time, but all things considered, he had a lot to be thankful for. We all did.
It took about an hour to get to Emerald Cay. I figured that was as good a place as any to hide the briefcase.
Flynn had a lot of questions.