Collateral Damage A Matt Royal Mystery - By H. Terrell Griffin Page 0,119

until we figured things out.

Llewellyn had become very cooperative the night before as he began to perceive that Jock might be exactly who he said he was. He called the man overseeing his operation and told them that he had taken control of the situation at Doc’s house, but that he would have to hold the men until daybreak. The Bahamians were getting a little squeamish, but everything was under control. He was in charge and would bring the people he’d arrested out at first light.

We left before dawn, but not as Llewellyn had indicated to his superior. We took our rented boat back to the marina and used the other two boats to transport our men and our prisoners. The marina was deserted and we tied the boats to the docks and disappeared into the darkness. Two vans were waiting on the road that ran next to the marina, courtesy of Chief Constable Gilmore and Tom Llewellyn. We were taken directly to the airport.

The sun was well up by the time we landed at Opa Locka. The August heat beat down on us, a relentless fact of summer in Florida. We were met by two men from the Miami office of Jock’s agency. Neither spoke a word, just nodded as Jock gave orders. One handed Jock a large envelope, and loaded the CIA men into another van and left the airport.

Because his plane in Marsh Harbour was too small to accommodate all the passengers, Doc had arranged for Tom Telson to bring the rented jet from Atlanta to Opa Locka to pick up the men of Team Charlie. They would fly back to Atlanta and check into hotels, taking a reluctant J.D. with them.

My phone call to Bill Lester the night before had not been exactly pleasant. I told him everything we’d discovered in Marsh Harbour. He was relieved that J.D. was safe and he understood the implications of the involvement of rogue CIA agents. Finally, I took a deep breath and told him about the bank account and the fact that J.D.’s name was on it.

His voice was cold. “When did you find out about the account?”

“Yesterday.”

“And you’re telling me about this now?”

“I’m sorry, Bill. I knew J.D. wasn’t involved, but I also knew that you’d have to take some action, give the information to the town manager at the very least. It would inevitably get out, and J.D.’s career would be over. The fact that she was innocent wouldn’t be a factor in the story.”

A stony silence ensued. Then a sigh. “You’re right. I couldn’t report what I didn’t know. But you ever do something like this again and I’ll put your ass under the jail. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear, Chief. And I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. You did the right thing. I’ll square her disappearance with our people.”

He was going to tell them that J.D. had been on an undercover operation that he could not disclose and he was sorry to have worried them. They would be a bit pissed, but in the end would accept her disappearance as just another burp in a cop’s routine.

When everybody was gone, Jock, Logan, and I went into a small office in the coast guard hangar. The air-conditioning was working overtime, blowing a steady stream of cold air into the small space. I had already sweated through my shirt and welcomed the relief the coolness brought. Jock sat at a desk and opened the envelope given him by the agent.

He studied the contents for a minute, shuffling through the pages. “Looks like the director came through. These are dossiers on the Thanatos teams and Nitzler.”

He passed me a sheaf of papers. “You guys take a look at the teams. I’m going to dig into Mr. Nitzler. I think his career is over.”

I began to read the pages, passing each one to Logan when I finished it. The report, written in dry bureaucratic speak, couldn’t obscure the drama. The war in Vietnam was winding down. Nixon’s Vietnamization of the war was in full swing. The only problem was that the South Vietnamese could not win. Their government was corrupt and the people had lost confidence in it. The Viet Cong, supported by the north with money, weapons, and regular troops, were in the ascendancy. The outcome was inevitable. The south would fall. The only thing the Americans could do was prolong the agony in hopes of salvaging some strategic position. Thanatos was born of desperation. It was an attempt to slow the