Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) by John Cunningham (best manga ereader .txt) 📗

overtake and consolidate criminal activities in the northern Caribbean.”

Diego and Boom-Boom’s comments came to mind.

“You said international. From where?”

“That we don’t know, only that it’s an organization with tentacles all over the world. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, arms, numbers—you name it. A conglomerate of sorts.”

“So, what’s any of that got to do with adoption?”

“I didn’t say it did.” He waved a hand. “There’s no evidence tying these missing people to a turf war.”

I didn’t say anything, knew he had to have more.

“There are some quasi-religious kooks the adoption issue might have set off,” White said. “But I don’t see a connection to the actor.”

“Ahh, you mean, like…” I closed my eyes for a second and rummaged in my brain for the name. “Reverend Hell No?”

“Hellfire.” He smiled. “Yeah, he’s a candidate. He’s against anything he considers contradiction to God’s will—”

“God as in the Christian God?”

“I’m not sure he can tell you exactly what God he’s talking about. He’s been known to quote the Bible, the Quran, the Talmud, Jah, and a lot of other stuff he makes up, on top of what he claims to be divine whispers ‘from above.’

“Bottom line is he vehemently opposes man changing the course of what he considers destiny. Every now and then we send a plainclothes officer to one of his sermons. Last week he spoke out against abortion and adoption, said that if a woman gets pregnant, no matter how, there’s no choice but to carry and raise the child. That’s the lot you were given, he says, so you don’t turn your nose up at it.”

“And what does he say about people who do?”

“That they don’t deserve to live.”

Interesting.

“Hellfire’s not his real name, I take it?”

“Nah, he was born in Christiansted to a missionary woman from Germany. Father was a native but never had much to do with him. His legal name is Randy Jaegle.”

The door opened behind me. Officer Fingernails poked her beehive inside.

“Your conference call with the Task Force’s starting. Do you and Agent Booth want to dial-in from here?”

My stomach clenched as if it were a sponge someone just squeezed. I wiped the sweat from my brow as White’s eyes met mine.

“Shall we?” he said.

“Before you do that, have you made any connection between John Thedford and Stud Mahoney?”

“Aside from Adoption AID?”

I nodded. His face showed nothing.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said, “but we can ask Special Agent Booth.”

I glanced at my ancient Rolex Submariner.

“I have to get to Tortola. Dunk’s expecting me.” I stood up fast and nearly caused my chair to fall over. “Give Booth my regards.”

Lieutenant White had already turned on the speakerphone and was pressing numbers.

“Tell him yourself before you leave,” he said.

He glanced up as the connection beeped. A number of voices could be heard on the speaker. I scooted for the door, saluted White, mouthed “I’ll call you,” and left.

Inside her glass box Fingernails was delicately peeling a banana, which took incredible coordination. I pulled at the handle but the exit door wouldn’t open. I heard White’s voice rise from the conference room.

“Do you mind?” I nodded toward the door. Fingernails slapped her hand down on the button like it was a game show and she had the winning answer. I scurried out and all but sprinted across Julian Jackson Drive toward the airport without a glance back. I dashed down the road into the airport’s General Aviation driveway, managing to get honked at by a van overloaded with tourists destined for Bolongo Bay, according to the sign on the van’s grill. Why hadn’t Booth told Lieutenant White about Crystal’s connection to Stud Mahoney? Was he hoarding clues for his own gain, as usual? Or was he telling him on the call now? I hoped I wouldn’t need White’s help any time soon, because he was sure to mention our meeting to Booth.

And why hadn’t Crystal told me about her relationship with Stud?

I finally stopped to catch my breath and glance at my watch. I was ten minutes late to pick up Avery Rose.

WHEN THE CELL PHONE buzzed on my hip, I figured it was Booth. Ready to press END, I saw the number on the screen and smiled.

“Tell me something good, Ray.”

“We’re refueling on Providenciales—be there in an hour and a half.”

I paused outside the entrance of the General Aviation building and pumped my fist.

“Terrific! What plane did you charter?”

“Charter my ass, I borrowed it,” Ray said. “Spottswell’s Baron.”

“The drug plane? I thought that thing was jinxed.”

Ray shared details of their first leg, including Lenny’s initial terror of flying, which he cured with a political rant. One debate and he already fancied himself the next Barack Obama.

I heard rustling in the background, an unmistakable voice.

“Who the fuck you talking to? That Buck? Give me the damn phone—”

By the noise that followed, Lenny must have ripped it out of Ray’s hand.

“What kind of shit you getting me into, man? I got a constituency to fight for, a campaign to run—damn, Ray, you see the legs on that fine island honey? I may have to make Provo a sister city to Key West and have a junket here—”

“Lenny! I’m late to pick up a bona fide country music star!”

“You can keep all of them, Buck. I want me some adopted mothers, like Charlize Theron and Sandra Bullock. Not a bunch of boring-ass writers and Supreme Court justices, man. Ray promised me some primo honeys and maybe a politician, like Bill Clinton or John McCain. I may not agree with all their shit, but hey, I get them to endorse my ass, sky’s the limit.”

The grin on my face had people staring at me. It was so good to hear Lenny’s voice.

“I’ll leave you guys a list and a schedule at the concierge desk here at the Private Aviation terminal—some by plane, some by boat. You can split ‘em up.”

He handed the phone back to Ray.

“And if something goes wrong or you have any trouble at