Fallen King by Wayne Stinnett

Author:Wayne Stinnett [Stinnett, Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Sea Adventures, Genre Fiction, Sea Stories, Thriller, Travel
Amazon: B00TM5JSR0
Publisher: Down Island Press
Published: 2015-02-12T23:00:00+00:00

We turned in shortly after supper, since we actually did have a charter the next morning. A regular client from Miami was coming down to do an underwater photo shoot and had booked me for the whole morning.

I was out of bed at zero four-hundred, with the smell of fresh coffee wafting in from the galley. After hitting the head, I let Pescador out and poured a cup, then stood looking out the window facing the island’s interior. There was a light on in both the west bunkhouse and the Trents’ house.

Hearing footsteps coming up the rear steps, I opened the door and Carl walked in behind Pescador. “Charlie said breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Want some coffee?” I asked, seeing him eyeing the machine on the counter.

“Leaded?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a grin, pouring a mug for him. Charlie had started limiting the man’s caffeine intake.

He took a drink and asked, “What time you think you’ll be back?”

“Not sure,” I replied. “This photographer is doing something new, not just taking pictures of pretty fish. He’s bringing two models with him.”

“Models?”

“Yeah, underwater models. No idea what he has in mind, but he wants a deep reef with gin clear water.”

Thirty minutes later, Kim and I were aboard the Revenge and heading northeast in Harbor Channel, while Pescador looked on from the pier. It was still two hours until sunrise, but the client was meeting us at the Anchor at zero six-hundred. He wanted to be set up on a reef in forty feet of water as the sun was coming up. Something about filtered light. I was planning to take them to the far side of the G Marker, where a few low, broken finger reefs extended out to a depth of forty feet. If that didn’t work, there was always Looe Key, a large reef off of Big Pine, but it was further away and we might not make that by sunup.

Arriving at the Anchor, I saw the lights on inside and left Kim to tie up while I went to find our client, Peter Simpson. There was a rental car in the crushed-shell parking lot, a big white Crown Vic, so I figured they were inside having breakfast.

I was surprised to see Deuce’s boss, Travis Stockwell, sitting at the bar, sharing a large platter of fish tacos with Rusty. “Morning, Jesse,” Rusty said. “Care for some breakfast?”

“Thanks, Rusty,” I said, “but we ate before we left the island.” Then I turned to Travis. “What are you doing down here?” I asked, probably with a bit too much suspicion.

“Relax,” he said, noting the misgiving tone in my voice. “I knew you’d be here this morning and just wanted your opinion on a couple of things.”

Taking the stool next to him and accepting a mug of coffee from Rusty, I turned to the former Colonel.

“My opinion? Since when does a bird Colonel need the opinion of a fisherman?”

Stockwell had taken over as Associate Deputy Director about a year ago, when the guy that had once held that position went rogue and nearly got the President killed.

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