Page 72 of Shadow of Death
Amy’s supervisor had arrived at the local FDLE office. He was a large man, tall and broad-shouldered, and could be imposing when he chose. As a supervisor, he was excellent, listening to his people and, as the saying went, he was a man who could play well with others. They’d realized early on that what they were battling had a long-term agenda; he was ready for the FDLE to work with the FBI and to have Amy, his state employee, on “loan” to the FBI for as long as it took.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Amy said, looking at Hunter in the conference room where they were meeting. Special Agents Ryan Anders and Sean Masters were there—along with Aidan Cypress. “In Colorado, the puppet master or masters behindthis‘horseman’ have been playing on the religious angle. You hurt—kill—people because you’re trying to help them atone for their sins and get to Heaven. That’s the game played. But this...taking a federal agent, killing him, and slicing him to pieces to be discovered bit by bit... It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Whatever the game in Colorado, there’s still been an arm of the enterprise down here. It’s hard to see the endgame,” Hunter said. “But I believe, too, this can be twisted to agree with the horseman angle. I’m not sure how, but out there somewhere, someone has something of a headquarters or at the least—a station of sorts—a place to kill or dismember a victim.”
“More than possible,” Aidan said. He grimaced. “There was a reason the Seminole people who escaped into the Everglades during the last of the Seminole Wars survived—never surrendering and never becoming part of the Trail of Tears and never signing a peace treaty. Going after them was too deadly and not worth the effort required of the army. Few people realized the extent of the land that is the Everglades in the south-central portion of the state. Now, you have tribal lands governed by the Seminole Tribe in accordance with American laws and the Department of the Interior—and you have privately owned land and state-owned land. I don’t believe this station or headquarters is on tribal land. We have our own police force and it’s a good one. Not that our other local police forces aren’t excellent—but police tend to be busy where there are people. We have abandoned sugar mills out there along with century-old abandoned homesteads, park land, all kinds of land. And yet, so much is the same. Land that contains moccasins, coral snakes, black bears, alligators, even crocodiles in areas, the endangered panther—still a possible threat when encountered. Not to mention the fact we’re now overcrowded with pythons and other snakes people decided to humanely dispose of in the Everglades. Whoever this is knows the Everglades and what they’re doing out there. But I know the Everglades—and others working out there know them, too. Which puts us back to the beginning. You can hide all kinds of things in our River of Grass.”
“Seems like the way to find out where they are is to be taken by them,” Amy murmured.
“As in Special Agent Gleason?” Mickey asked dryly. “Kidnapped from Colorado.”
“I think we’ll see more happen here,” Amy said, looking at Hunter again. “We were brought down here, I believe lured by Hayden’s phone and...” She hesitated and then shrugged; it was what it was, and they dealt with the bad. “...and Gleason’s body parts. But I think we were brought down for another performance—this by the third horseman. Somebody just happening out there in an airboat or on one of the trails is going to be taken. Maybe we’ll find more body parts. Maybe we’ll discover that they’re planning another display—such as the woman killed and strung up when the first ‘horseman’ made his appearance.”
“I say we get out there as something other than what we are,” Ryan Anders said, looking around almost as if wondering if he needed to raise his hand to speak.
Amy smiled at him. He was young, but he was good. He was going places. One day, she thought, in years to come, he might take Mickey’s place. He was great in the field. He could tail a suspect as few others could do, changing his appearance with ease. Today, he was just himself, nice blue suit, brown hair neatly combed, his eyes their natural amber color rather than covered by contacts in a different shade.
Hunter turned to him. “I’m afraid you might be right, Ryan. There is someone out there just waiting for a tourist or even a local fisherman or bird-watcher to sweep up and...well, use, somehow. I believe Gleason is dead, but I don’t think they killed Gleason in accordance with any of their cult tactics. This was all done as a lure. It’s doubtful whoever is behind all this even believes in God in any fashion.”
“We can be fishermen,” Sean Masters offered. “Or bird-watchers. No, fishermen, I think.” He grimaced. “Hey, my grandfather talked about all the lodges they used to have out there—shacks where he and his cronies would hang out when they wanted to escape. Sometimes they were supposedly hunting alligators in season, but mostly, he said they sat around at night and shot up beer cans.”
Amy laughed. “Yep, I had family with ahunterin it, too.” She turned to Hunter and then to Mickey. “Then there’s the Lost City and the area surrounding it. But that’s been—”
“Lost City?” Hunter asked.
She nodded. “Supposedly, Confederate soldiers hid there during the Civil War but were discovered and killed by either local tribesmen or Union officers. Then, Al Capone supposedly had a still out there, and it’s been investigated by the Department of the Interior, archeologists, and others. Haunted, of course, or filled with skunk apes. But the Everglades is filled with hammocks and ponds, dry land and wet, for miles and miles and miles. Yes, this person—or persons—could be running a major operation somewhere, just like Al Capone.”
“So, that’s it. How do we get the manpower to cover that kind of distance?” Sean murmured.
“We don’t,” Hunter said. “We concentrate on one area. North of Alligator Alley and west of Route 27.”
“You mean...where we found the body displayed by the first horseman?” Amy asked.
Hunter nodded, turning to Mickey. “I’m willing to bet that whatever we’re looking for can be found in that area.”
Mickey rose, saying, “All right. We concentrate on that area. I’ll video with the heads of the local police—and we’ll bring the Highway Patrol in on it, too, so they know what’s going on. Of course, I’ll connect with all our FDLE people in areas near or touching, warn them what to be on the lookout for. Of course, I’ll head to the tribal offices in Hollywood so the Seminole council is warned. Ryan, Sean, I like your idea. Don’t go in as law enforcement.”
“Airboats,” Aidan said.
They all looked at him and waited.
Aidan shrugged. “The best way through the Everglades is via airboat, in my opinion, at least. My friend—our friend—Jimmy Osceola—owns an airboat, as do many members of my tribe, and other entrepreneurs. But I can talk to Jimmy. We can get a few airboats going by day, staffed by some who really know the territory and carrying a special kind of tourist.”
“I’ll approve it,” Mickey said after a minute. He nodded toward Aidan. “I’ll get people out from the Orlando office to go over the area again. All we’ve managed to come up with is a hand and a foot...”
“Sir, in defense of all those working out there, it’s not a lack of effort or expertise. Looking for anything out there is like looking for—” Aidan began.
“A needle in a haystack?” Ryan suggested.
“A needle in a stack of needles,” Aidan said. “But I do believe it will be important to search the area over again. And again.”
“That will be done,” Mickey promised. “And I understand. I’m not suggesting there was dereliction of duty on anyone’s part. All right, Aidan, we will enlist Jimmy Osceola. If he’s willing—he’s civilian and he already found bad things on a tour not long ago with the ‘red horse.’ But if he’s willing, his tour is a known one. We’ll get at least another two to four airboats out there with agents while we’ll also have agents with the forensic crews—which is near where the body was found with the first ‘white horse’—and where Hunter has suggested we should be looking. I like your idea of just looking like tourists, Aidan. But if, as you two seem to think, Hayden Harper is involved in this, she’s met both of you. Which would take you out of that segment of the play.”
“Mickey, please—” Amy began, but she didn’t have to say more.
“Not necessarily!” Ryan said. He smiled. “I can make them unidentifiable from a distance—even up close, really. Especially to someone who has seen them, spoken once or twice, but doesn’t really know them.”
Amy had seen Ryan change his own appearance so as not to be noted—and she had barely recognized him. She smiled.
