Medusa (NUMA Files 8)

“The car is at the Eden Center. He probably stopped in for some Vietnamese food.”

The Eden Center was a complex of shops and restaurants that served the Vietnamese population of Falls Church.

“He doesn’t like Vietnamese food,” Austin said. “Try finding his phone.”

Wilmut traced Zavala’s cell through its GPS chip.

A second blinking star appeared on the outskirts of the city, several miles from the first. Wilmut enlarged the map and switched to a satellite picture. The star was on one of a couple of dozen rectangles, apparently the roofs of large buildings. He zoomed in.

“Looks like an industrial complex,” Wilmut said. “All the buildings look pretty much alike.”

“I need an address,” Austin said.

Wilmut punched a button and GOOD LUCK FORTUNE COOKIE COMPANY appeared on the screen. He laughed, and said, “Guess he likes Chinese food.”

Austin thanked Wilmut, and rode the elevator down to the garage to pick up his Jeep Cherokee. As he drove along the Potomac, he found Caitlin’s number in his directory. She immediately recognized his voice.

“This must be my lucky week,” she said. “The two handsomest men at NUMA calling me. How are you, Kurt?”

“I’m a little worried about Joe. Do you know anything about an FBI Asian gang stakeout involving Charlie Yoo?”

“No such thing, Kurt. Charlie is a guest of the Bureau. He is notified of field ops only at our discretion, and we don’t have anything like that going.”

“That’s what I thought,” Austin said. “Thanks for your help, Caitlin.”

“What the hell-”

Austin clicked off, and the unfinished question was lost in the ether. Driving with one hand, he quickly programmed the address Wilmut had given him into the dashboard GPS unit.

Next, he reached for a rack under his seat, pulled out the holster containing his Bowen revolver, put it on the seat beside him, then stomped on the gas.

CHAPTER 27

DOOLEY’S VINTAGE SINGLE-WIDE MOBILE HOME ON A PINE Island canal was no five-star hotel, but it had distinct advantages that would not be found at the Four Seasons.

Pine Island was several miles distant from Bonefish Key. The trailer had a water view. And it had Dooley Greene sitting in a deck chair at the end of a dilapidated dock, cigar stub clenched between his teeth, 16-gauge shotgun on his lap, keeping an eye peeled for trouble.

Relying on his deep knowledge of local waters, Dooley had earlier made a fast crossing to the mainland. He had kept his boat’s running lights turned off until he headed into a canal lined with mobile homes. As the boat coasted up to the dock and Dooley killed the motor, Gamay confronted Paul.

“Before I burst from curiosity, please tell me how you happened to dash from one coast to the other and arrive just in time to rescue the fair maidens in distress. You weren’t scheduled to arrive here for a couple of days.”

“Kurt called and said he might have unknowingly sent you into danger. I couldn’t reach you by phone, so I put the seminar on hold and flew standby to Florida.”

“How’d you hook up with Dooley?”

“More good luck: he hooked up with me,” Paul said. “I was at the Pine Island Marina looking for a ride to Bonefish Key, checking out boats and desperately hoping someone had left a key in the ignition, when Dooley saw me and asked what I was doing. When I mentioned your name, he jumped at the chance to take me to Bonefish. He then noticed that two kayaks were missing, and figured out where you might have gone.”

“Thanks, Dooley,” Gamay said. She gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re probably wondering what all this is about.”

“You learn that it’s healthier to mind your own business around here, Dr. Gamay, but I’ll admit to being a little curious about what’s going on.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Gamay glanced at Song Lee, who had been huddled on a seat during the trip to the mainland.

Dooley tied up the boat and led the way to the trailer. He extracted a six-pack of Diet Coke from the refrigerator, passed three cans around along with a bag of Goldfish crackers. Without saying a word, he took his shotgun out of a locked cabinet. With the 16-gauge slung over one arm, he ambled out to the dock with the rest of the six-pack.

Song Lee and the Trouts went into the trailer and sat around a Formica-and-chrome kitchen table. She sipped her Coke like an automaton and stared into space.