Steve’s Shorts: Siege…
[Sometimes a story will lead a reporter to the unexpected…]
Siege
Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore
“Who wants the story?”
Marguerite Favreau raised her hand. So did three others attending the meeting.
The ezine’s editor studied his group of volunteers. “This isn’t an easy assignment. Let’s hear ideas from the volunteers.”
Marguerite went first. There were a few backup assignments on her list, but this one had caught her attention. Roger Montgomery was an enigma, a mercenary who had retired and disappeared. No one even had a good picture of him, but he had been a player in a number of the world’s trouble spots.
“I’ll find him and interview him by discovering his whereabouts through his mother.”
“That’s interesting. He’s not a young man. Is his mother still alive?”
“Eleanor Montgomery is a rich widow who is a snowbird, living on her estate outside of New York City during summer months and the Caribbean in the winter.”
“That in itself is an interesting fact. You could slant your article on how and why her son became a merc if he came from a rich family.”
Marguerite nodded. “I’d want to get that from him too. Mothers can perceive things differently than their sons.”
“Point taken. It’s winter now. Maybe you just want a Caribbean vacation?”
“Not necessarily. She’s visiting with a friend over Christmas right here in Paris.”
“A French friend, perhaps a paramour?”
“Privileged information, but not a paramour unless she’s lesbian.” There were chuckles. “Do I have the assignment?”
“Let me here the others first.”
The others had nothing more than what one could get surfing the internet. Marguerite got the assignment.
***
“You move in interesting circles,” Madame Montgomery said to Marguerite, studying her over the rim of her teacup. “Anyone that knows Sophie is special. How did you meet her?”
“I bought a small painting from her and we chatted. She wondered how I could purchase an expensive objet d’art. When I told her I was an independently wealthy journalist who freelanced for the love of it, she said I was like your son. You’re visiting Sophie’s mother now, so the connections were there. I’m sorry if I’m intruding on your privacy.”
“Was Sophie trying to be a matchmaker?”
Marguerite blushed. “Why do you ask?”
“Because she knows my son is a confirmed bachelor. He dated occasionally, and Sophie went out with him several times when he accompanied my husband and me to Paris as a teenager, but now he’s somewhat of a recluse. The girl thinks a woman would help him settle down. So does Mathilde.”
Eleanor had refused to meet in her friend’s apartment, respecting her privacy, so they had met at a small café on the Left Bank.
“Did you meet with me just out of curiosity?” Eleanor nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary for a rich woman wanting to prove herself by making her own way and having a career. I chose journalism. Why is that curious?”
“Oh, I don’t care about that. You see, I have an exceptional son, but I always wanted an exceptional daughter too. Journalism never occurred to me. Lawyer, doctor, scientist, maybe. Roger made a choice that seems very strange, even stranger than journalism, though. I never knew many details about that choice until lately.”
“Do you see him often?”
Eleanor licked latte foam from her upper lip. “Probably more than he likes. But don’t think you’ll get to him through me. I value his privacy much more than Mathilde and Sophie’s.”
“Tres bien. What about answering a few questions about him?”
“I’d rather get to know you better first.”
At the end of the meeting, Madame Montgomery had learned more about Marguerite Favreau than Marguerite had learned about Roger Montgomery. The only new fact she learned was that he had been a Ranger in Afghanistan, and that had been a slipup. Is it natural for a Ranger to become a mercenary, Marguerite asked herself.
***
Marguerite learned from Sophie that Eleanor Montgomery was next bound for the Caribbean. Because she had no idea where son Roger was hiding, she decided to tail the mother. What had Roger done that made him into a recluse?
While she waited, she did her best to find his U.S. Army records. She did so the old-fashioned way, calling in favors. Research for an article on women in the military had forced her to cultivate numerous contacts in the American military and NATO. People were circumspect, but she confirmed that Roger Montgomery had been a Ranger on Special Ops assignments, mostly in the Middle East. What those assignments had been were a mystery, of course; the tight security lid implied they weren’t trivial, though.
Roger Montgomery was now thirty-eight and had spent ten years as a mercenary in Africa. There wasn’t much on that either, but no African government considered him a criminal, so that wasn’t surprising. Interpol and French authorities had nothing on the man, but one contact recognized the name.
“Roger Montgomery? Yeah, I recognize the name. He was a merc in Africa. If he was doing anything illegal there, we don’t know about it. But we don’t know a lot of things. He could be smuggling guns to ISIS as far as I know.”
A DGSI contact suggested she check with American organizations like the ATF, CIA, DHS, and FBI. She didn’t have the contacts there. The lack of information just increased the mystery. What did he do and why is he no longer doing it? Privacy was one thing, but was she endangering the man by making inquiries? As often happened, her journalistic instincts fought with her understanding that people just want to be left alone sometimes. As usual, the journalistic instincts won because she knew that at the end she didn’t have to write the story. That had happened on two occasion, once with a concert pianist and another time with priest.
Eleanor Montgomery’s trail led to Nassau, The Bahamas.
***
“We have a visitor.”
Roger Montgomery laid down his poker hand and took the glasses from Ben. He scanned the ocean. “A woman. It looks like she’s in trouble. Something with the motor.”
“Do we save her butt?”
Roger shrugged. “You can. Get Helen to go with you. I’ll go up to the house and warn my mother. I’ll then hide out in the guest bungalow. None of you have ever heard of Roger Montgomery.”
“That’s a hard lie to substantiate with your mother here.”
“Recently. You haven’t seen me in years. I’m still in Africa for all you know.”
It was Ben’s turn to shrug. “Your call, Captain. Go tell your mother and send my wife down. She’s a looker, by the way. Tell Helen to bring a beach robe too.”
“Because she’s topless?”
“Because your mother’s here. I don’t give a fuck. Neither does Helen.”
“Point taken. But mother’s not an old prude, you know.”
“Helen thinks so. Different generations. Get moving. The tide will be going out soon.”
***
Eleanor Montgomery hardly recognized Marguerite. Auburn curls had become straight black hair. Winter clothes in Paris had become borrowed shorts and bikini bra. She pretended she didn’t know the girl.
“Some cables were bad,” said Ben after Helen, Ben’s wife, led her to one of the guest rooms. “I don’t know if we have replacements here. I’ll have to check the workshop.”
“When’s Enrique due with groceries?”
“Three days from now. I’m a bit leery about fixing the boat and turning her loose, though. There’s a storm brewing. It’s a tropical depression now, but it could become a hurricane. That little boat’s not fit for a high sea state.”
“What’s her story?”
“She’s one of those ezine reporters looking for an interview with Johnny Depp.”
“She’s a bit off course, then,” said Eleanor with a smile. “And Johnny’s probably off making a film somewhere, maybe another one of those pirate comedies.”
“I think they’re intended to be serious.”
“Jack Sparrow is as serious as Tonto,” said Eleanor. “I’ll eat with Roger tonight. Our visitor can eat with Helen and you. She doesn’t know I’m here, does she?”
“Not likely.”
“See about fixing her boat and get rid of her as soon as possible. Let her weather the storm on Johnny Depp’s island, not ours.”
Ben raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
***
“It’s kind of lonely around here,” said Marguerite.
Ben looked up from his bouillabaisse and smiled at Helen.
“We’re just caretakers for the owners,” Helen said. “The family’s not here very often.”
“Nice to have your own personal resort the rest of the time.”
“It’s a big place to maintain,” said Ben. “We don’t have much time to enjoy it, if that’s what you mean.” He watched her break off a piece of bread and dip it into the soup. A simple girl, really, at home anywhere. He smiled.
“Will you be able to fix my boat?”
“Tomorrow will tell. You were taking a chance going to sea in such a small one. There’s a storm brewing.”
“I thought I’d make the island well before that. I drifted forever.”
She maintains the lie well. “Do you have sailing experience?”
“Not with sailboats. That’s why I rented a motorboat.”
“I understand Mr. Depp’s island has tight security. Why did you think you could even approach his house?”
“Just hoping to catch him in a good mood, I guess.”
“He wouldn’t be likely to be in a good mood if you disturb his privacy,” said Helen. “You’re not a stalker, are you?”
“Do you want to see my press ID?”
“Helen has a crush on Mr. Depp,” said Ben. “Ever since she saw him in some movie set in London about vampires.”
Helen blushed. “He’s earned his privacy,” she said. “Australia treated him badly in regards to those two dogs.”
“Oh, please, he and his wife deserved that,” said Ben. “You can’t go about the world breaking other country’s laws.”
“The pets must have been frightened.”
Ben saw Marguerite smile at Helen’s comment. I wonder why Eleanor dislikes her so much.
***
The next morning Ben was late to breakfast. “Boat’s fixed,” he said, taking his place at the table.
“Wires were frayed and shorted out. I stripped off the old insulation and replaced it with duct tape. It should hold long enough to return to Nassau.”
“I’m still going to Johnny Depp’s island.”
“Little Halls Pond Cay is too far. You’ll just beat the storm back to Nassau if you leave right after breakfast.”
Helen shook her head. “She won’t make even that. She’ll have to ride out the storm with us. I saw the news while I was cooking. It’s heading right for us and might be a hurricane by the time it gets here.”
“Damn global warming heats up the water too fast now,” said Ben, shaking his head. “Even if it doesn’t become a hurricane because it’s so early, you can’t chance it with that small boat. I’m sorry.”
Marguerite looked from one to the other. “I’d love to stay, but I feel I’m abusing your hospitality. Is there a closer island with a hotel?”
“Your best bet is here on dry land,” said Ben. “You can earn you keep by helping us prepare for the storm. Are you good with a hammer and saw?”
“I can pound a nail in crooked with the best of them,” Marguerite said with a smile. “Where do we start?”
When Ben was heading for a shed for more plywood, he saw Eleanor motion to him. He turned the corner of the guest house and found her holding three cables. They looked new.
“Where’d you find those? I looked in the workshop.”
“Her luggage. She staged the whole thing. When I met her in Paris, I knew she wouldn’t give up. She followed me, Ben.”
“You think she’s a danger?”
“Only if she leads someone to my son.”
“I’d better discuss it with Roger,” said Ben. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. She’s just a nosy reporter looking for a story. Maybe she had settled for Johnny Depp.”
Eleanor waved the cables. “Don’t be naive!”
***
“I can’t let you three do all the work,” said Roger, eyeing the dark clouds that were approaching and the crashing waves. “The computer doesn’t show a whole lot of rotation, but it will pound us even if it’s just a tropical storm. This place is too valuable to leave things to chance.”
Ben nodded. “You’d better come meet Marguerite, then.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Eleanor. “I’ll help prepare for the storm.”
“You can hardly lift a hammer, mother,” said Roger. “Butt out, for God’s sake. And, if you’re worried about her getting a story, forget about it. But we need all four of us to board the place up. I want to do the outbuildings too. You just never know.”
“OK, but make up some story. You were sleeping off some binge drinking or something.”
“That doesn’t save much face. And were you drinking with me?”
Ben laughed and Eleanor scowled at him. Turning to her son, she said, “I was out of sorts with a migraine. I’d never drink that much.”
“Not now, anyway,” said Roger with a smile.
Introductions were cursory. Helen went along with their stories without missing a beat. The four continued the storm preparations with Eleanor’s supervision.
“She owns the place,” said Roger. “Rather, my father did. She protects it as much as she thinks she protects me.”
He held the large piece of plywood cut to fit into the window frame so that Marguerite could nail it in.
“I have similar family issues,” she said. “I lost my virginity just to spite my domineering mother.”
“Teenage rebellion, I suppose?”
“Third year of private boarding school in England. Money isn’t necessarily the key to happiness.”
The rain hit just after dinner. They were ready for it.
***
“You play beautifully,” said Helen.
Marguerite finished the Chopin Nocturne and reached for her wine glass. She saw Roger look up from his book. “Many years of private lessons, but I’m very rusty. That piece isn’t stormy enough, though.”
“What about the Fantaisie-Impromptu?” said Roger. “That gets the old blood flowing.”
“Rainbows come after the storm,” said Eleanor with a frown.
Ben entered at that moment. “We have problems,” he said, removing his slicker, and shaking it off on the porch. He closed the door and turned to them. “There’s a large boat approaching. I spotted the running lights.”
Roger grabbed the binoculars and headed for the door. “They’re close. What fools to be out on these seas tonight. It’s a good size boat, but they’ll still have to come in. What’s wrong, mother?”
Eleanor was glaring at Marguerite, still seated at the piano. “You little fool! You led them right to Roger.”
“Maybe not,” said Roger, putting down the binoculars. “I’m thinking these are drug smugglers looking for a haven from the storm. They have quite a cargo covered with tarps.”
Both Eleanor and Marguerite blanched. “Will they attack us?” said Marguerite.
“They won’t want to leave witnesses,” said Roger. “Ben, let’s break out some heavy artillery. We’d better be prepared.”
Ben nodded and left the room. He soon returned with four long guns, two automatic rifles and two shotguns, and five pistols, three automatics and two revolvers. He also had a duffel bag of ammo.
“Are those legal?” said Marguerite, peering over Ben’s shoulder as he laid out the arsenal.
Roger approached the other side of the table. “What the island governments don’t know won’t matter,” he said. “Who wants what?”
“Give me a pistol,” said Eleanor.
“OK, but you’re staying here with Helen and Marguerite. She’ll be the last line of defense. Marguerite, have you ever shot a gun?”
She smiled. “Yes, and I don’t intend to be the helpless guest. You two take the AR-15’s and two pistols. We’ll split the rest. And I’m going with you. I’m assuming you’re taking the fight to them.”
Roger smiled. “You’re not reacting to my mother’s ill-conceived remark, are you?”
“No, but I can have Ben and your backs out there. You can’t go prancing down to the pier. They’ll mow you down. Is there a way down in back of the cay?”
“There is,” said Ben, nodding at Roger. “We might be able to surprise them.”
“Hadn’t you better determine that they mean us harm?” said Eleanor.
“You can be writing them a note on your fancy stationary, mother,” said Roger. “When we get closer, I’ll try to confirm their cargo is drugs. Does that suit you?”
“You always had an attitude,” said Eleanor. “Go ahead. Get all three of you killed. Helen and I will be radioing for help in the meantime.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Marguerite.
“The nearest police will take an hour to get here,” said Ben. “That might be enough time if we can slow them down, Roger.”
“I’m not counting on the police,” said Roger, “except for taking away the body bags.” Marguerite and Ben looked at each other. “Let’s go.”
***
The three threaded their way single file along a narrow and steep trail that began two miles in back of the guest house. The general trend was down through rocks, shale, and sand. As they approached the pounding surf, the going became slippery. With a lower center of mass, Marguerite had the least problem maintaining her footing, but none of them could move fast.
“We have to move about the same distance back around to get to the pier,” said Ben, his yell almost lost in the wind’s howl.
They were now knee deep on the average fighting undertow. Marguerite imagined it to be like moving through molasses, except the water pushed and grabbed with the waves.
“We’re here,” Ben finally announced. “Around this ledge is the pier.”
“Let me reconnoiter,” said Roger, moving ahead and taking a quick look at the pier.
“How many?” said Marguerite.
Roger put an index finger to his lips. Marguerite knew that meant that if Ben and he could hear her, the visitors might too. She nodded. He turned back to the scene to study the situation for a moment, then retreated to where the two were standing. He held up four fingers, patted his AR-15 four times. Marguerite shuddered. They had more firepower.
Ben traded his AR-15 for Marguerite’s rifle and raised an eyebrow toward Roger, who nodded. Ben moved forward, found a place to steady himself in the swirling waters, and rested the rifle against the ledge. His first shot killed one of their enemy, but a second only wounded. Seeing the other two head for cover on their boat, he waved them forward and motioned everyone to fan out.
Marguerite felt the adrenalin surge but took the far flank and moved toward the pier with the other two. The wounded man struggled to his feet and took aim at Ben, but Roger put him down with his AR-15. Shots were fired from the boat’s cabin. The three hit the ground.
Roger made like a traffic cop with his hand and moved forward belly first. At the pier he crouched and continued forward until he was next to the boat’s side. He waved a hand. Ben kneeled and began to fire into the cabin. Marguerite followed his cue. They hit the ground again when the drug runners fired back.
What’s the plan? Ben and Roger seem to have some sort of ESP? When the firing from the boat stopped, Roger put his AR-15 over the edge of the boat’s deck and sprayed the entire cabin. He then dropped down again.
No more gunfire, just the sound of pounding surf.
***
“What’s that?” said Eleanor.
Helen pushed back the curtains. “The wind’s rattling everything.”
“No, I heard gunfire. Oh God! They’re going to be killed.”
“I didn’t hear anything. Ben and Roger can handle themselves.”
“That Marguerite will get in their way,” said Eleanor.
“You’re being unfair to her, Eleanor. Did you notice the chemistry? Didn’t you see the light in those cold, blue eyes when she was playing Chopin? That’s the beginning of love, old woman. Get with the program.”
“Lust, maybe. Roger can’t really relate to women. He can’t make a commitment.”
“Yes, Ben’s told me he has those problems. Ever think you’re the cause of them?”
“Why? Because I love my son?”
“No, because you smother your son. In spite of that, he wants you around.”
“I never—” Eleanor stopped when Helen put a finger to her lips. “What is it?” she said in a whisper.
“Let me check the backdoor,” Helen said in an even lower whisper.
Helen went into the kitchen, checked the door, and pushed back curtains to peer into the storm. What she’d heard wasn’t produced by storm winds striking the old mansion. But she saw nothing, shrugged, and turned to go back just as Eleanor screamed.
Just as she entered the front room again, lightning flashed, revealing Eleanor and an assailant’s silhouettes. Eleanor was in her rocker, trying to find her gun; the drug runner was coming at her with a machete. Helen yelled, making the scumbag pivot and turn toward her. He dropped the machete and went for his own weapon. Too late. The shotgun blast shredded his body.
“Are you all right, Eleanor?” Helen said after making sure the man was dead.
“I’m bleeding. You fool! I was in your line of fire.”
Helen smiled. “Those specks are his blood, old woman. He was coming at me even as he went for his gun. His body shielded you. CSIs call it blood spatter.”
“OK. Get me a washcloth from the kitchen then.” She stood and kicked at the cadaver. “What a disgusting man! He smells like feces.”
“Standard cadaveric release. There will be urine too. Come, let’s go into the kitchen. We’ll deal with the body later.”
***
The tropical storm was losing its bite as they gathered around the kitchen table. They had agreed to put the bodies in the shed for the authorities. They’d also have to figure out what to do with the boat and its cargo.
“I don’t get it,” said Marguerite. “We took out five drug runners! Five ordinary people. That’s incredible.”
Helen poured more tea for the four of them but smiled at Ben and Roger.
“I guess it’s time to come clean,” said Roger, returning her smile. “Our dainty Helen here was a New York City cop at one time before she met Ben in a hospital. He was in a wheelchair recuperating and whistled at her when she went to interrogate a rape victim.”
“You wouldn’t believe what a romantic he is,” said Helen with a smile, winking at her husband. “Ben was in Special Ops with Roger before he started working undercover in Africa.”
“Undercover?” said Marguerite. “I thought he was a mercenary.”
Roger shrugged. “That was the cover. I was a CIA operative at that time. Ben and I served together in the Middle East, by the way. Helen and Ben seemed like logical people to take care of our little cay here when neither my mother nor I were here.”
“Even gentle souls can be violent people,” said Eleanor. She glared at her son. “They might have just surrendered, you know.”
“Do you think your attacker was going to surrender?” said Helen. “They were going to protect their shipment at all cost and eliminate any witnesses in the process. People out sailing run into these thugs all the time. The authorities find enough boats floating aimlessly to know what the modus operandi is.”
Eleanor’s rebuttal was a simple glare. They all stared into their teacups for a few moments.
“So I’m the novice here,” said Marguerite with a smile.
“You handled yourself rather well, I’m told,” said Eleanor, “so don’t think that.”
“Why, mother, am I seeing a softer side?” said Roger.
“I had a little chat with Helen,” said Eleanor, brushing her disheveled white bangs from her eyes. “You’d better marry this little trollop. She’s probably my last chance for some grandchildren.”
“Mother!”
Marguerite blushed and Helen and Ben smiled.
***
“Will you write my story?” said Roger.
Marguerite stopped putting suntan lotion on and tried to see beyond his dark glasses. She was used to that naked body now, its scars and lean muscles and its ability for tender caresses.
“No, but I think Sophie is right.”
“Sophie? Mathilde’s daughter?”
“And my friend. She said you need a woman to settle down. I’d add that you need one to complete your life. If you hide from the world, you need company. A man in solitary confinement can go crazy.”
“There’s always my mother,” he said with a smile. “And Ben and Helen.”
“Are they sufficient?”
He sat, leaned over, and kissed her. “No, they’re not, you little trollop.”
***
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