a problem. But what if this Henry Thomas wasn’t really the son at all? What if he was part of a sting? Anders gripped the window frame. He would go through his records and place a call to his old friend. Make sure everything was as it should be.
Then he remembered something, and it made him relax a little. The guard who dared speak up was right. The senior Ellington had always been a striking man. A man who turned heads. Ellington the Fourth was the same way. The resemblance was there not only in looks, but in the air the younger man held. The way he drew attention when he had walked into the Palace earlier. Anders exhaled. Everything would be fine. Of course the younger Ellington was who he said he was.
After all, like father, like son.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.
—Psalm 82:3–4
Four operatives had flown into Belize City on separate flights over the last two days. Jack had their itineraries memorized. Like with the waiting Porsche, his every move had been calculated by the entire team, choreographed with the precision of a brain surgery.
Anders McMillan’s gang would expect him to spend a few hours at the water. He had made contact with Eliza, so now he could go about his vacation day. It was his honeymoon, after all. Jack had passed his first test. At least he thought so.
The FBI had been careful.
Anders knew Henry Thomas Ellington III well enough to feel safe with his son. Henry the Fourth would need no further background check. Of course, Anders had no idea that Henry the Third was laying low. Or that the man’s real son had given the FBI permission to use his identity for the sting.
Which was why the actual Henry No. 4 was one more person the FBI had to trust.
The Blue Breeze Yacht Club sat at the north side of this nearly hidden sandy shoreline. Jack had gone there first after his brief time at the Palace. Not because he had a yacht in port on this trip. Stopping by the Blue Breeze was to legitimize Jack’s visit. Nothing more.
Just another young millionaire with time on his hands and admission to his daddy’s club—and the Palace. A chosen millionaire, set to marry Anders McMillan’s beautiful daughter. To anyone paying attention, a short visit to the club made perfect sense.
The FBI was betting Jack’s life on it.
Jack chugged back a couple sparkling waters and lime. “My old man drinks like a fish,” Jack had told the bartender earlier. He could feel feigned arrogance seeping through every pore of his body. “I promised him I’d be different. So, I don’t drink.” He patted his abs. His six-pack was visible through his T-shirt. “Too many carbs.”
There was truth to this story. Henry Thomas Ellington III had been to the club years back and he had, in fact, drunk too much. Now he was dying from his choices. Also, his son really was a health fanatic.
Playing the part of a millionaire playboy with a planned visit later that night to the Palace took all of Jack’s acting ability. He loathed everything about this part of his job. When he wasn’t talking to the other club members, he was talking to himself. You’re saving young girls, Jack. Keep your head. Keep smiling.
He stayed at the club for an hour, chatting with a handful of members. Long enough to validate his story. He was Henry Thomas Ellington IV, and he was about to marry Eliza. About to join two of the most powerful crime families in the Western Hemisphere.
When he’d put in his time, Jack walked back to his Porsche and climbed inside. He checked his phone. Nothing from Oliver. No change of plans from the other operatives in town. He glanced at the time. He needed to get to the beach. If possible, the goal was to make contact with Eliza. But only if a meeting seemed natural. A quick stop at his hotel and he was ready for the water.
Jack parked the car at the beach lot, and walked down a narrow path toward the water. Most of the city had no sandy shoreline. Just a steel railing and a rock border. Typically tourists drove or flew the extra nearly two hundred miles south to the Placencia Peninsula, home of some of the prettiest beaches