Page 76 of Ground Truth

The driveway site had previously been prepared and graded for proper drainage. Huge piles of crushed shells had been dumped at regular intervals along the expansive circular drive from the road to the mansion’s entrance by large trucks.

Front end loaders were poised and ready, waiting for drivers to move the shells and spread them evenly along the surface. As they stepped off the bus, the first five went directly to their assigned stations, fired up the machines, and began to spread the crushed shells.

Five more workers quickly climbed aboard compaction machines to begin compacting the shells that had been spread yesterday.

Flint estimated the work on the driveway would take at least another week to complete at the rapid pace the workers were moving. The job was hot and heavy, and the pressure added by working under armed guards had to be intense.

The bus driver closed the door after the last man stepped off. He drove along the road adjacent to the mansion’s property to the east wing. He pulled the bus to a stop again. Peretz rose from his seat, through the open door, and down three steps to the ground.

The second guard gestured toward the door and barked, “This is where you exit.”

The remaining workers filed out, one row of seats at a time. Flint and Drake were at the back of the bus and the end of the line. Peretz waited with a clipboard, passing out assignments. As expected, Flint and Drake were told to report to the suite at the back of the house overlooking the Caribbean Sea.

They walked along a path through the lush tropical plants, keeping a sharp lookout for snakes and other wildlife until they rounded the corner of the building out of sight of the security guards.

Flint stopped under the shade of the coconut palms scanning for the two silver Vespas he’d paid Peretz to procure. He spotted them parked below his sight line near the bottom of the hill at the shoreline.

“This way,” he said as he set off quickly with Drake close behind.

He rushed down the incline, slipping on the rocks and plants all the way to the bottom. From the locked under-seat and glove compartments, they retrieved weapons, ammunition, encrypted satellite phones with chargers, sunglass goggles, helmets, chronographs, and water bottles.

They stripped off their Marlins caps and long-sleeved shirts and stashed them in the empty under-seat compartments and left the remaining items for later.

“We’ll start with the hospital. He should be at work by now. If he’s not there, someone is likely to know where he is,” Flint reconfirmed as they started the Vespas and rolled away from the mansion. After a mile or so, they picked up speed.

Using the satellite images, Flint had memorized the layout of the island. The hospital was located near the small residential section of Atabei Town, about five miles north of the mansion. Most of Atabei’s two thousand residents lived near the town.

Atabei Town was clustered around two intersections and four blocks of commercial businesses. Behind those businesses in all directions were conch houses built on narrow residential streets.

The conch houses were built of wood and set on posts which allowed air to circulate underneath the floors. Most were one story with a porch across the full width of the front of the house.

Clad with horizontal weatherboards, the conch houses sported gabled metal roofs and double-hung sash windows. The homes were painted cheerfully in bright, pleasant colors.

But as with the homes in most Caribbean islands, hurricanes could easily demolish them and had done so several times over the years.

When they pulled into Atabei Town, Flint slowed the Vespa and took the first right turn onto Atabei Street to approach the Atabei Country Club. The hospital was directly across the boulevard from the country club.

Flint drove past the hospital and down the block to the first alley. He turned right and found the cubby behind two large dumpsters. They parked the Vespas side by side, out of view of the hospital’s front entrance.

He removed his helmet and placed it on the handlebars. He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his clothes.

Drake parked beside Flint, pulled the keys, and dropped them into his pocket.

Flint said, “You really think anybody around here is going to steal anything?”

“Nope.” Drake shook his head. “Hedinger would chop off their hands if they tried.”

“Exactly.”

“Before we go in there,” Drake said, “are you sure you want to be so obvious about what we’re doing? If this guy really is Phillip Reed, he’s not gonna be very happy.”

“We talked about this. If he’s here, going right to the source is the fastest way to get what we came for. If he’s not here, we need to flush him out as soon as we can. We’ve only got a few hours to find Greta and get her off this damned island,” Flint replied.

“Assuming she’s alive. Assuming she’s here. We have no evidence to prove either,” Drake said, shaking his head. “The security staff looked exceptionally competent to me. We’re painting a big target on our backs.”

“That’s what our guns are for. We’ll shoot back.” Flint grinned and turned to stride across the pavement and along the sidewalk toward the hospital’s main entrance, Drake at his side.

The building looked like the mansions he’d seen on the east side of Atabei. White stucco walls, barrel tile roofs, lush tropical landscaping, waterfalls. Cheerful colors and well tended grounds everywhere.

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