big beer belly. “My wife called and made a reservation.”
“Buster Pascal. Got it right here.” He pulled a registration form out from beneath the counter.
“My wife and I are on our honeymoon,” Ben said. “Any chance we could get the cabin at the far end of the row?”
Buster smiled. “Congratulations.” He shoved the form across the counter. “Cabin’s yours.” He winked. “A man needs privacy on his honeymoon.”
“Thanks.” The weather here was good, warmer than it was back home. Ben filled out the form and paid the bill in cash for a two-night stay.
Buster counted the money, smiled and shook his head. “A woman who likes to fish. You’re one lucky SOB, my friend.”
Ben flashed him a man-to-man smile. “Won’t be a lot of fishing on this trip—if you know what I mean.”
Buster rumbled a laugh. “Smart man.”
“I see you have boats if I can manage the time. I may want to rent one for a couple of days.” He’d know more about where he was going after he downloaded the area maps Sol was sending.
“Nice aluminum flat-bottoms. Comes with a pole and gear. Take you up into the bayou. Great fishing there—bream, catfish, crappie. But I wouldn’t go far. Easy to wind up lost in there.”
“Bushytail Bayou?”
The owner shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t bother. You can get there from here, but you’d have to know the way. There’s lots of twists and turns. Real overgrown. You’d get lost for sure.”
“Glad you warned me. I think I’ll go ahead and take that boat, though.” He pulled his wallet back out, paid for the boat and fishing gear. “I get up earlier than my wife. Bound to get in some time to fish.”
Buster grinned. “My wife hates fishin’. Like I said, you’re a lucky SOB.”
Ben got two keys to cabin nine and headed back to the car. The lie about him and Claire being newlyweds had come easier than it should have, since he wasn’t a marrying man. He wished to hell he could spend his made-up honeymoon in bed with her, but that wasn’t going to happen.
He started the engine and drove to the cabin farthest from the office. As Claire had said, the place wasn’t too bad, a small wooden structure on stilts about two feet off the ground with a covered porch out front. It had two full-size beds, a tiny kitchenette and bath.
“Look, there’s a coffeemaker and bag of coffee.” Claire practically swooned. “Coffee in the morning and an amazing view of a beautiful lake. This is heaven.”
“Yeah, it’s a regular five-star. Nothing but the best for my woman.”
Claire looked over at him, and he realized what he’d said. She wasn’t his woman. She didn’t belong to him. She never would. He didn’t say that, though, just brought his duffel and her suitcase in from the car and tossed them up on one of the beds, stashed the weapons bag and ammunition underneath.
He took his laptop out of his duffel and set it up on the tiny kitchen table.
“No internet, remember.”
He turned on the machine. “I’ll be on satellite. I can tether the computer to the sat phone.”
One of her dark eyebrows went up. “High-tech. Very impressive.”
“Glad you approve.” Before he cranked up his email, he phoned Sol, gave him their current location and told him that from now on they’d be communicating via sat phone.
“I’ve pinpointed the target’s location,” Sol said as he studied satellite photos of the area on his computer screen. “A big open space in the middle of the swamp a little north and west of you. Hang on a minute.” Ben could hear him pounding the keyboard. “Satellite shows a cluster of houses...more like cabins.”
“How many?”
“Looks like eight or nine. Hard to tell exactly what they’re being used for.”
“Can you see Black Snake Lake?”
Silence for a moment. “I see it. Looks like it’s maybe three or four miles from the compound.”
“I need to know how the lake connects to the location. I’ve got a boat, little four-stroke outboard. Unless you’ve found a better way in, looks like I’ll be going in by water.”
“I’ll find the best route. Your computer up and running?”
“I’m hooking up the tether as soon as we’re finished. “You come across anything new on the Braggs?”
A brief pause. “I was just getting to that.”
“I don’t like what I’m hearing in your voice.”
“They call themselves the Bayou Patriots. Looks like about thirty members. The father’s dead. Mace Bragg’s the leader. He’s the oldest brother. They’re headquartered in the compound,