Drone Threat

37

A late-model sedan turned off the two-lane asphalt and onto a tree-lined path. Tires crunched on the gravel as the sedan crept a hundred yards toward the single-story ranch house. Security cameras fixed to light poles tracked their progress.

“There he is,” the passenger said.

The garage doors were open. A windowless black-panel van stood far inside, to the right, leaving the rest of the expansive garage open. A bright yellow-and-red Chinook Charter logo decorated the van’s swinging back doors.

The sedan pulled up onto the spotless cement driveway and shut off its engine after parking directly behind the van. The two men climbed out. Sport coats, ties, leather shoes. The driver was heavyset with a dirty-blond mustache. The dark-haired passenger was taller and leaner and clean-shaven but with a heavy five o’clock shadow.

The door leading from the house into the garage opened. Norman Pike stepped into the garage in his stocking feet and put on a pair of slippers. He held a heavy ceramic coffee cup in one hand.

The two men entered the garage. The tall passenger scanned the space. Neat as a pin. No oil or dirt or even dust on the garage floor. Everything was perfectly organized and uniform in storage racks and metal cabinets. There was also a tall mechanic’s tool chest on wheels and a workbench with a vise.

“Mr. Pike?” the driver asked, reaching into his coat pocket.

“Yes?” Pike took a sip of coffee, his eyes focused on the driver’s hand.

“My name is Agent Barr.” He held up his wallet so that Pike could read it.

“FBI?”

“And this is Agent Fowler. We’re both from the Milwaukee office.”

“Nice to meet you fellas. What can I do for you?” Pike reached out and shook hands with both men. Fisherman’s hands, Barr noted. Strong and calloused.

Agent Fowler glanced around the garage. “Nice little shop you got here.”

“Helps me keep everything shipshape. I run my business out of my house.”

“A charter business?” Agent Barr said.

“Yeah. Out of Cheboygan.”

“I always wanted to do that,” Agent Fowler said. “Nothing beats a day on the lake, fishing.”

“I’m a lucky man, for sure.”

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Agent Barr asked.

“Of course not. You want to come in? Just made a pot of coffee.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind. It was a long drive.”

“Follow me.” Pike headed for the door. He stopped at the threshold and removed his slippers, placing them neatly on a plastic pad. He turned around. “If you don’t mind—”

“Of course not,” Agent Barr said.

Pike went in as the two agents unlaced their shoes, leaning against the wall for stability. They exchanged silent, irritated glances. They set their shoes down neatly next to Pike’s.

Inside the door, they entered a long hallway, two doors on each side. One was slightly open. Two were shut. The fourth was secured with a heavy security bracket and a black-dialed combination lock. Fowler made a mental note. The engineered wood floors were as spotless as the garage. They eventually landed in a large open-area chef’s kitchen that led into a living room.

Pike set two steaming cups of coffee on the bar. “Please, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand if you don’t mind,” Fowler said. “Back’s killing me after that drive.”

“I’m surprised you came from Milwaukee. Isn’t there an FBI office in Detroit?”

“Yeah, but they’ve got their hands full right now, so we got the call.” Barr took a sip of coffee. “Man, that’s good.”

“Roast the beans myself. That’s the secret. You guys want anything to eat?” Pike raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. “Something to fortify the coffee?”

“No, thanks, this is great,” Barr said.

Pike leaned against the stove. “So, what can I do for you?”

Fowler reached into his coat pocket for a photo. Set it down on the counter. “We’re looking for this man. Daniel Brody.”

Pike picked up the photo. “Yeah. He was on my boat three days ago. Why?”

“He’s missing. We’ve been asked to check around. We got as far as Cheboygan and your charter but after that, his trail disappears.”

“Oh, God. That’s terrible. Super-nice guy.”

Fowler set his cup down. “You mind if I use your restroom?”

“Sure. It’s back down that hall, second door on your left.”

“Thanks.” Fowler headed that way.

“Did he tell you where he was headed next?” Barr asked.

Pike scratched his beard thoughtfully. “No, not that I recall. He said he was running through his bucket list. I assumed that meant he was sick or something. Was he?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“He said he always wanted to go fishing on the Great Lakes. We had a great time. Caught his limit, too.”

“Did he show you any identification?”

“Yeah. His driver’s license. California, I think.”

“His rental car never got turned in,” Barr said.

“Oh, boy. That’s not a good sign. Can’t you trace it with the GPS onboard?”

“It was disabled.”

Pike’s eyebrows raised. “Wow. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“The last known position of the vehicle was ten miles north of here. The rental car company sent a man out to the location but didn’t find anything.”

“Huh. Sounds like your guy wanted to disappear.”

“Could be. We haven’t closed any doors at this juncture.”

Pike smiled. “Must be fascinating to do what you do.”

“It has its moments.” Barr took another sip of coffee. “Did Brody tell you he was an American citizen?”

“He was, wasn’t he?”

“Dual citizenship.”

“Really? He never said anything about that. Like, Canadian or something?”

“Israeli.”

“Oh. Well, he seemed American.”

“He grew up in Los Angeles. Did he tell you about his work?”

“No. We just talked about fishing, the basics. He said he didn’t really know anything about it. I even had to sell him a fishing license just so he could go out.”

“So you didn’t know he was a college professor?”

“No.”

“He didn’t talk to you about robotics? Drones? That sort of thing?” Barr asked.

Pike shook his head. “No. That would’ve been really interesting. I would’ve remembered something like that.”

“So how long have you been a charter captain?” Barr asked.

“Going on eight years now.”

“Business is good?”

“Yeah. It’s really good. Great, in fact.”

“I’m surprised you’re not out right now. Isn’t this high season?”

“Had a last-minute cancellation. Decided to use the time to catch up on my paperwork. The IRS is driving me nuts.” Pike caught himself. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind paying taxes. It’s the tax forms and Schedule Bs and all of that crap that kills me.”

Barr smiled at Pike’s discomfort. “I hear ya.”

“So you were in the service?” Pike asked.

“First Marines. Iraq.”

“You got the look.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“I was in Iraq for about a year, but not in uniform. Bad eyes. But I worked for a contractor. Tech support, for computers. An IED took out a couple of friends of mine, and that was all it took. I was out of there, man, let me tell you. Not worth the money, even though it was damn good money. It’s how I was able to buy my boat.”

“And tax free, too,” Barr said.

“The good ol’ days,” Pike said. “More coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He handed Pike his cup. Where the hell was Fowler?

Pike refilled it. “So, this Brody guy. You’re looking for him because he’s in trouble, or he is the trouble?”

“He’s a missing person. That’s all I’m authorized to tell you.”

“Must be an important guy. Otherwise you would’ve sent the local PD.”

“He’s definitely a person of interest.” Barr checked his watch.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I hope you find the guy.” A toilet flushed down the hallway.

“Me, too.” Barr handed Pike a business card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

Pike studied it. “I will, for sure.”

Fowler reappeared. “It’s getting late. We should get going. We’ve got a couple of stops we still need to hit.”

“Yeah, we should.” Barr turned to Pike. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Let me walk you out,” Pike said.

The crunch of gravel gave way to an asphalt hiss as the sedan’s tires pulled back onto the two-lane heading west for the I-75 north and Mackinac.

“What’d you see?” Barr asked.

“Not much. I looked around. I stopped at the shut door but there was no time to pick the combo lock. I listened but didn’t hear anything on the other side.”

“Probably nothing to worry about. Maybe it’s just a torture chamber with a dozen women drugged unconscious and chained to the walls.”

Fowler laughed. “He’s not the type. Trust me.”

“Should we grab a warrant, just in case? Check it out?”

“Based on what?”

“Probable cause.”

“What probable cause? A locked door?”

“You don’t think he’s hiding anything?”

“I’m guessing it’s just storage. Rods and reels. Those things can get pricey.”

Barr sighed through his nose. “You’re probably right. He doesn’t strike me as anything but what he seems to be, a charter boat captain. I say we hold off on a warrant. Last thing we need is another federal judge up our poop chutes.” The car rose and fell with the undulating road. “So where the heck should we look for Brody next?”

Fowler loosened his tie. “I know a good steak house in Mackinac. Maybe he’s hiding out there.”

“Sounds like a winner.”

Barr shifted uncomfortably. “Pull over at the next gas station, will ya? I never did get a chance to bleed the lizard.”