The Orcas Island Job by Milam Vince

Author:Milam, Vince
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Sunday broke overcast but dry. From my elevated vantage point, the emerald green island with its small mountains and inlets and harbors was postcard perfect. I sat on the outdoor overlook porch as birds flitted among the nearby underbrush and several deer browsed nearby. My view of Chapman’s compound was aided with binoculars. No movement, his vessel docked, the water in Deer Harbor calm. I produced another interim report for Townsend.

The first report sent from Tucson had made her well aware of Chapman’s drug running. I added his visit with McBain the pimp and my run-in with Fred the spook to her knowledge base. A short sentence or two about timing for the possible soirée with important people, and the distinct possibility the whole shebang had been called off. I failed to mention expired hitters inside a Victoria junkyard and McBain’s involuntary cosmetic surgery. Items I deemed none of her business.

The encrypted report sent, I sipped coffee and eyeballed the compound through binoculars, with regular optical drifts both across the water for glimpses of surfacing whales and into the surrounding forest for glimpses of visiting hitters. Townsend, who worked seven days a week, took thirty minutes to digest my report and call me. She’d clearly determined several provided details were her business.

“Morning, Director.”

Even though she’d called me, the unspoken rule was I’d speak first.

“Describe the asset at your boat.”

No niceties, straight to business, and no offense taken. It was expected.

“Male, my height, slight build, and smoked.”

“Anything else?”

“It was dark, he had his raincoat hood pulled over his head, and no accent. Flat, mid-America inflection. Friendly. He desired a bosom-buddy relationship with a strong hint at my personal enrichment.”

“Have you called his number?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t. Under any circumstance.”

“Understood.”

“When do the prostitutes arrive?” she asked.

“You mean the underage girls?”

We had a private conversational Mexican standoff, the call silent from both ends. She’d view the young girls’ delivery as a small issue, a puzzle piece and part of the larger picture. I held a much different view.

“When, Mr. Lee?”

Probably not happening anytime soon, Marilyn. There was a slight hiccup in the supply chain.

“Thursday or Friday. I don’t have a definitive ETA.”

“Have there been any indications of our Asian friends?” she asked.

“None. They’re still a mystery.”

Another pause ensued as she loaded up operational directives, a habit I’d long experienced.

“I want you to capture what is said inside the main house. Do you have the requisite tools?”

“If the meeting still happens, yes.”

“Good. Are we still clear about ROE?”

Rules of Engagement. For this job, it was hands-off. Observe only. Rules flushed down the toilet in Victoria.

“We’re clear.”

“I require daily updates beginning Wednesday. Are we clear on that?”

“Okay.”

It grated, the schoolboy stuff. I didn’t begrudge her desire to know current events, but reporting out required something to report. Which I did when necessary. This was her jerking the leash and we both knew it.

On the flip side, she didn’t crawl my ass about my Victoria activities. The two bodies in the junkyard hadn’t been found yet. They wouldn’t be until the junkyard gates opened the next day.

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