Blood Money

By JJ Burke

El Tigre is dead. This is a confirmed fact, but the legacy of evil and violence that he has sown continues to sprout. When these erupt, they inevitably affect Jon Morton, and, by association, Carlos Montoto. Once again, Jon and Carlos are forced to abandon their peaceful refuge as commercial fishermen and return to the dark world of violence and death. As before, this return is attributed to El Tigre and his convoluted criminal mind. Jon’s last involuntary return to the world of covert action came close to getting him killed. Now he is facing one known man, plus the addition of an unknown group of murderous criminals, all hunting El Tigre’s money, and all headed toward rural Dodsonville, West Virginia. Can Jon and Carlos terminate these criminals in time to prevent a blood-bath?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: May 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781626949164

Book preview

El Tigre is dead. This is a confirmed fact, but the legacy of evil and violence that he has sown continues to sprout. When these erupt, they inevitably affect Jon Morton, and, by association, Carlos Montoto. Once again, Jon and Carlos are forced to abandon their peaceful refuge as commercial fishermen and return to the dark world of violence and death. As before, this return is attributed to El Tigre and his convoluted criminal mind. Jon’s last involuntary return to the world of covert action came close to getting him killed. Now he is facing one known man, plus the addition of an unknown group of murderous criminals, all hunting El Tigre’s money, and all headed toward rural Dodsonville, West Virginia. Can Jon and Carlos terminate these criminals in time to prevent a blood-bath?

KUDOS FOR BLOOD MONEY

In Blood Money by JJ Burke, we are reunited with Jon Morton and Carlos Montoto as they are once again drawn into the world of black ops, violence, and death. Even though the Colombian criminal and terrorist, El Tigre, is dead, Jon and Carlos still aren’t free of him. Things El Tigre set in motion before his death are coming back to haunt them. Now a group of killers is converging on a small mountain village in West Virginia, and Jon and Carlos are the only ones who can identify at least one of them. Sent by their former commander to identify and stop the criminals, Jon and Carlos soon discover that what they thought would be a simple cleanup operation could be a deadly fight for their lives. Well written, intense, and fast paced, this story will have you biting your nailS and turning pages as fast as you can. I thoroughly enjoyed it. ~ Taylor Jones, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

Blood Money by J. J. Burke is the story of two former black ops soldiers who just want to live the quiet life of commercial fishermen. Jon Morton and Carlos Montoto have long since retired from the service but the black ops missions they participated in just won’t stay in the past. Criminals from groups they targeted while in the service are out for blood. Now that the leader of the main group is dead, rumors of money he paid an informant being stashed in a small town in West Virginia are spreading rapidly, drawing opportunists and cold-blooded killers into the area. Agents posing as INS are on the case, but only John and Carlos have seen at least one of the criminals, so they are the only ones who can identify him. Convinced by their former commander to go to West Virginia to point out the man to the other agents on the scene, Jon and Carlos get much more than they bargained for. Like the two before it, The Lethal Fisherman and Scattered Pieces, Blood Money is fast paced, intense, and compelling. Once you start, you’ll find it very hard to stop reading. An excellent addition to the series. ~ Regan Murphy, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

BLOOD MONEY

J. J. Burke

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2018 by J. J. Burke

Cover Designed & illustrated by Kathy Fields-Reeves ofd Seaway Advertising & Design Studios

All cover art copyright © 2018

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626949-16-4

EXCERPT

They’d put him on a ship back to Columbia, so what the hell happened?

Jon immediately turned to Carlos. All right, what the heck did you see, back there?

Jon, it wasn’t the truck--it was the bus. I’m almost positive that I saw the kid who shot A.J. on that bus. He was sitting by the window, and he should be sitting back in Colombia. Pablo...Pablo Robles...is his name.

Silence was Jon’s immediate reaction, but his mind was churning. Why the hell won’t the past stay in the past? Should I call the commander? No! Carlos could have been mistaken, yet he’s usually quite accurate with his observations. A quick check may give us an answer. Let’s call the bus terminal. With any luck, they’ll know where the bus originated and where it’s headed by the time and location when you spotted it. Did you happen to catch the company name?

Yes, it was Trailways.

Great! We were headed southwest when we passed it, and it was somewhere between eleven forty-five to twelve a.m. Hopefully, we can get some solid information before we jump the gun.

The answers Jon received from the Trailways terminal were not what he wanted to hear but had almost anticipated. The bus originated out of Miami, Florida, made a number of stops on its route north, before the stop in Annapolis. It would then head southwest, continuing on to a small town in northwestern West Virginia. Its run would terminate in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Jon asked the final question that he had to, but didn’t want to. What’s the name of the town in West Virginia?

The ticket agent’s answer not only set off alarm bells but angered him as well. It’s the town of Sheridan. Not much to see or do there, but we do a fair trade with the area residents.

Jon thanked the dispatcher for the information, put his phone away, looked at Carlos, and relayed the information he had just received. It’s not one-hundred percent, but it looks as if you may have spotted our boy. I knew we should have terminated him. I’d better give the commander a call.

Carlos, too, was angry. Sheridan is just down the road from Dodsonville, where A.J. lived. We stayed at that Red Apple Rest Motel between the two towns when we checked out of the one in Dodsonville. That kid’s definitely gonna be a problem, unless he’s stopped.

BLOOD MONEY

PROLOGUE

The unknown shooter had been identified as A.J. and had been killed. The oddity was that he was not killed by Jon or Carlos, but by a young man named Pablo Robles. Pablo was unknown to either Jon or Carlos and was seeking to revenge the death of his father. His father had been killed in the raid on El Tigre’s island headquarters. The young Colombian had also been hunting for two-million dollars that El Tigre was to have paid A.J. for the information that led him to Jon. El Tigre told Pablo it would be his when he killed A.J. Although the money was assumed to exist, no one living knew that to be factual, and, if it did exist, where it was hidden.

Jon and Carlos had taken Pablo Robles into custody and put him on La Luna Media, the freighter he first arrived on. He was now, unwillingly, headed back to Colombia on the same freighter--without the money he believed to be rightfully his. He had been strictly warned that if he returned to the US, and if caught, he would be put on trial for murder. The captain of the freighter had also been strictly warned that he would be tried as complicit, to ensure that Pablo did not get off the ship until their arrival in Colombia.

Jon and Carlos were driving back to North Carolina to meet with Rosita and Sheri. Both men were relaxed and looking forward to the reunion, now that the insidious threat was ended. Jon, however, had a nagging sensation and could not help but wondering if it was truly completely over.

CHAPTER 1

In Retrospect

Sheriff Gabriel Tanner was still at his desk. It was well after eight-thirty in the evening, but Gabe was oblivious of time as he painstakingly tried to sort out, and put together, the events of the past three weeks. The legal-size yellow pad on his desk was covered with names, dates, and events--many with question marks. Unfortunately, there were far too many questions and far too few answers. For someone in law enforcement, unanswered questions yielded nothing but problems, usually coupled with more questions.

Albert James Johnson, known to everyone in this small mountain town as A.J., had been buried alongside his parents, just three days ago. The events that led to his death presented some disturbing inequities. He could have let it go, and no one in this small mountain town would have questioned his decision, but Gabe had made up his mind. He intended to get this mess sorted out, and properly ordered. This file wasn’t about to be closed, until he was completely satisfied. Fust thing er ta check off whut ah know, fer a fact. Mizz Polk tole me thet she had give Zeke’s gun ta th’ Johnsons, efter Zeb were shot. Thet prob’ly ’splains how A.J. knew ’bout who th’ gun b’longed ta. He paused in his though process, at that point and took a long look at the rest of the items on his list. They ain’t but jest a few unanswered items. Problem er they’re all th’ big uns, ’n’ all ah got er guesses ’n’ mebbe’s--no facts. Ah need sum solid answers.

Ah’m near positive thet A.J.’s th’ one whut put thet arrer through Zeke ’n’ ah’m shore Zeke burnt A.J.’s folks house, ’n’ thet’s where ah’m stuck. Ah ain’t got th’ bow’n’ no proof thet A.J. er anyone else ’roun’ these parts ever owned one. Zeke’s dead so ah cain’t question him, ’n’ th’ same fer A.J. Thet’s two dead ends, fer shore. Them two guys whut come t’ town, jest days afore we heerd thet A.J. got killed--jest know they wuz more ’n they let on t’ be. T’other thing er how come ah found A.J.’s truck ’pon thet spur en th’ woods? How’d he git t’ town ’n’ back t’ th’ base fer ta be shipped out? Shore as shit he didn’t walk! Then ta top er all off, he left ever’thin’ ta me en his will. Gabe stared at the yellow pad for a while longer then made the only logical decision that he could at the moment. ’Peers ta me thet sum, er all, a these questions might never git put ta bed. Reckin ah’ll jest set this list aside, ’n’ keep er tucked away fer when an answer shows, ’n’ they allus do! Shore wish ah cud find me a deputy ta hire. Seems thet fer a right small town, they’s right much work.

CHAPTER 2

A New Day

Jon’s days, when he was working, usually began as a carbon-copy of the day before. This was not the result of intentional planning, but just that it had become a smooth and comfortable procedure. Toilet first then wash, shave, brush his teeth, comb his hair, and finally dress. He would, on occasion, stop in the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, and then out the door for his solitary walk to the docks. His routine was purposely simple and repetitive--a direct opposite from his former, covert world. Today there’ll be a new and welcome change in my routine. I get to take delivery of my new fishing boat and finally get back to a peaceful existence. He smiled visibly at the thought of this new custom-built boat. Can’t wait. Have to remember to thank Tony, with a bottle of good bourbon, for giving me that connection. Today Jon went to the kitchen in a more relaxed state of mind. I’ll get the coffee started then relax until Sheri wakes up. His thoughts went briefly to last night. That was a fantastic dinner. Frank hasn’t lost his touch, and the Blue Pelican looks as if it’s going to be around for a long time. Coffee’s ready. He poured a mug full of black coffee and walked toward the screened porch then changed his mind. I’ll just sit here until she gets up. The lounge chair will do for now.

Old habits, which were life-savers or learned lessons were hard to let go of, and he automatically started a mental review of the crazy hunt to track down and eliminate a turned operative. Could we have found him any quicker? Did we miss any of the clues or signs? The more I go over it, the more I’m convinced that we did everything possible under the circumstances. Now that it’s over and, after all is said and done, the three of us, Ertugal, Carlos, and I are lucky to be alive. That might not have been the case if it weren’t for the intrusion of the unknown factor, and a damn lucky one at that. Carlos’s casual observation allowed us to save Ertugal’s ass. That kid, Pablo, without knowing it probably saved me or Carlos or even both of us from a fatal bullet. That alone was worth just putting him back on that boat to Colombia instead of causing him to disappear. If that’s the case then how come I still have that nagging feeling that we should have also terminated that kid. We had the perfect opportunity, regardless of what transpired. The termination of the kid would have closed all the doors, leaving the field clean.

***

He was abruptly brought back to the present. Good morning, hon. Have you been up long? You must have been deep in thought for me to be able to walk right up to you without your noticing.

I was doing a mental review of the new boat. She doesn’t need to know the truth in this instance. He stole a glance at the clock. Just shy of one hour till I have to go. Coffee’s ready. I need a refill, and I’ll get yours while I’m at it. Why don’t you get comfortable on the porch, and I’ll be right there? Let’s see if I can push my luck. That is, unless you’d like to get comfortable in the bedroom?

Funny boy--coffee and the porch sound perfect, right now. She started for the porch door.

He was on the porch a minute later. Here’s your coffee and something else. He leaned over and kissed her long and firmly on the lips.

That’s a perfect starter. By the way, what time do we have to leave?

If we leave here by six-thirty, that should allow ample time. I’ll drop you with Rosita, and Carlos and I will continue to the dock.

What time do you think you’ll be back?

Barring any problems, we should be back in time for lunch. We’re going to take her out for a shake-down run.

Sheri changed the subject abruptly and unexpectedly. Jon, is it finally all over? No more return visits to that horrible military experience of yours. Can you--we--finally look forward to a normal life? I’m asking because I can’t enjoy a relationship where I have to be in constant fear that something else is lurking in the shadows of your past.

I should have expected this, and I guess I can’t blame her. Yes, it’s over and done with. This last mess has put the past behind me, and we can look forward to a future of normal lives. I sure hope that’s true, and I’m not just saying this for the moment. Sadly only time will tell.

Fantastic! Let’s get dressed.

CHAPTER 3

Suerte

The Luna Media was rocking and pitching violently. She had gotten caught in a sudden squall that was sweeping across the southeastern Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Georgia. Pablo Robles struggled to maintain his balance while climbing the ships ladder that led to the deck. A cold, clammy film of sweat coated his arms, neck, and forehead. His interior room in the ship’s lower recesses was not much bigger than a closet, and like a closet was lacking a window. The ship’s irregular, storm-tossed motion together with an ever-present aroma of diesel fuel had given him a severe case of motion sickness.

He threw open the door, lurched onto the deck, ignored the driving rain, and barely succeeded in stumbling to the rail. He was able to get his head over the rail an instant before beginning to vomit violently. This bout of regurgitation lasted for several minutes. When his stomach finally stopped churning, he stepped back, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and retreated to a nearby bulkhead.

With his back planted against the steel wall, he slid to a sitting position on the deck, oblivious of the coarse, rusted areas on the steel wall. He looked out at the tossing wind whipped sea, and the visual effect of the waves going one way and the ship pitching and rolling, in various opposing directions, started another wave of nausea. This time Pablo couldn’t make it to the rail. With a spasmodic lurch, he rolled to his side, in a futile attempt to rise. He managed to get to his knees, but no further, as violent retching took control leaving him helpless.

One half-hour later the squall was finally spent, and Pablo’s resolve returned instantly, to replace his seasickness. I must get the captain to take me back to Virginia, when he returns. With that burning thought driving him, he headed for the bridge and the captain.

Pablo climbed the three ladders to the bridge and walked in. The captain was at the helm and didn’t turn at the sound of his entry. "Señor Capitán! Señor Capitán! I must know--how soon do you return to Los Estados Unidos? I must get back and soon, very soon."

The captain was aghast at this rash request. Didn’t you hear a word when they told you that if you returned, you would be tried for murder? Worse still, if I bring you on my ship, I will be held as an accomplice and loose my captain’s license. That is one thing I will never let happen. If you are crazy enough to return, you’re on your own. He paused to check his compass bearings then continued. Now get th’ hell out of here and leave me alone. I have to set a course for the port of Miami.

Pablo immediately changed his demeanor. Miami? Where is this place?

Not thinking along the same devious lines, the captain responded simply. Florida--Miami is in southern Florida. I have to take on a shipment of farm machinery. He didn’t, however, miss the slight smile that appeared briefly on Pablo’s lips. Don’t get any fuckin’ ideas about sneaking ashore. I will have a man stationed at the gangway, to ensure that you remain on board.

All traces of Pablo’s smile of excited anticipation quickly vanished.

***

The sun had reappeared as two tugboats met the Luna Media, at the harbor channel entry, and expertly maneuvered her to the pre-designated pier for loading. Hawsers were tied off, the gangway was lowered, and the captain went ashore to receive his copies of the shipping manifests and export documents. On board, members of the crew were preparing the on-deck cargo area to receive the shipment. Pablo watched all of this with a sinking sense of despair. He paced the deck, staying away from the cargo area, his eyes darting repeatedly from the dock to the gangway and inevitably, to the man standing guard. When he met the guard’s eyes, the man’s visage went from blank to a sardonic grin that read, Just try it--I dare you. Pablo wasn’t a fool. This man was, easily, twice his size and from his looks, would truly relish the task of keeping him on the ship.

***

The shipment of new cargo was being hoisted aboard by immense dockside cranes. The large wooden crates with black stencils--denoting their contents, weight, and place of origin--were stacked on deck, in the now readied on-deck cargo area. The deck crew was busy with the loading and securing of the crated cargo. Pablo purposely stayed well out of their way. He walked casually along the dockside rail, but not closely enough to arouse any suspicion. His eyes were constantly searching, in a guarded manor, seeking some avenue of escape. As if seeing them for the first time, Pablo’s gaze fell upon the hawsers, running from on deck cleats to dockside capstans.

These heavy ropes were nearly two inches in diameter. I could, easily, slide down one of these, to the dock. It would be no different than the lianas and vines, near my village, that I used to swing on. He started to, quickly, and without being obvious look for the one that would offer the best opportunity. It didn’t take long for him to find his target. That one, at the rear of the ship, is furthest from the loading area. It will be a longer slide but no matter. It is also the most distant point from the gangway. That’s my answer!

Closer inspection of the tail of one of the hawsers showed a glaring flaw in his plan. There’s no way I can slide on this rough, twisted cord. He would either have to find something that would slide on such a coarse surface or he would have to hang under the hawser, wrapping his legs around it and pulling himself along with a hand over hand progression. That’s much too long distance for me to try that type of escape, fifteen meters more or less. It was at this time that his very empty stomach began to ache for food. His thoughts went from escape to his belly. Perhaps I can go to the cook and pay him for a plate of food or even a simple sandwich. His planning temporarily put aside, Pablo abandoned his inspection of the hawsers and went below, heading for the galley.

When he arrived at the galley, it was immediately evident, even prior to his entry. The air in that room held a mixed assortment of latent aromas from the residue of the last prepared meal, bacon being the primary one. The cook was nowhere to be seen. Pablo called out, "Cocinero! Where are you?"

After two repetitions, each louder than the former, an answer came from somewhere behind the kitchen equipment. "Aqui! You little pain in the ass. What do you want?"

Pablo wasn’t intimidated by the strong response of the cook. I’m hungry. Why else would I be here? At first, there was no response to his statement, which prompted Pablo to start in the direction the cook’s voice had come from.

He had barely gone ten feet when the response came. I’ve got a hell of a mess here, to clean up. I don’t have time to take care of your small problem.

Pablo continued walking towards the voice. He began to pick up a strange scraping sound, as he drew closer. The sound is coming from that room with the light on. It was the storeroom, and there was the cook, using a floor squeegee to gather a thick white substance which had spread over a substantial area of the floor.

Pablo saw an opportunity for free food. What is that stuff? Perhaps I can help you clean it up.

The cook may not have cared one bit about this young man’s hunger, but the offer to help was not only a surprise but very welcome. It’s lard. When that storm hit, a twelve kilo pail toppled from the shelf and split like a ripe melon. He paused, waving his arm about in a sweeping motion. This is the result. It sticks to everything and is slippery as a skinned papaya. The cook had been scraping the slippery cooking grease into low piles then, using a dust pan, shoveling the lard into a large, black, garbage bag. This got rid of the bulk, but still left the floor dangerously slippery.

Pablo recalled his mother cleaning a greasy skillet with sand and a small amount of added salt. He saw an opportunity to benefit from the cook’s dilemma. I know how to clean the balance of this lard from the floor.

The cook paused in his efforts and looked at Pablo, skeptically. Tell me, my smart young man, how would you do this?

Without a moment’s hesitation, Pablo responded, Scrub the grease with a mixture of sand and some salt. I know that this works as I have seen it used.

The cook paused in his cleaning and thought about this for a moment, a perplexed look on his face. Suddenly, he brightened as if a problem had been solved. Wait here for me. We have a drum of sand in the engine room, in case of an oil spill. I’ll be right back. With that, he ran out of the kitchen.

Pablo stood without moving, for a moment, his eyes surveying the storeroom. His gaze fell upon the box of large, plastic garbage bags with a caution label indicating that each bag had a maximum capacity of thirty kilos. He paused, calculating the possibilities. If a bag can hold that much weight, surely it would be much stronger in layers. That’s my way ashore.

Quickly, he pulled two bags from the box, pulled up his shirt, and wrapped them, tightly around his waist, at the same time, glancing nervously, toward the doorway. He then tucked his shirt back into his pants, securing and hiding the bags. With his prize secured, Pablo began to work on the remaining few areas of lard, collecting it in the same manner as the cook had.

Not more than five minutes had gone by, and the cook returned. I have a bucket of sand. I’ll get a box of salt then you can show me how we will clean this floor.

***

A mixture of sand and salt was spread liberally over the lard coated area of floor and, with a coarse-bristle floor broom, the mixture was brushed back and forth to absorb the lard. The residue was then collected in piles and scooped up. Not only was the floor completely devoid of that dangerously slippery lard, it was actually cleaner than before the accident. Pablo’s reward was a generous ham and cheese sandwich, with mayonnaise and lettuce, accompanied by a cold soda. They parted amicably, the cook immensely pleased with the clean-up and, Pablo, his hunger now satiated, and with what he was sure would be his means of escape to shore.

CHAPTER 4

Escape

Pablo again ventured back on deck and was met with a baleful look as he approached the gangway. It was quite evident that the guard, appointed by the captain, was still hoping for a confrontation. "You don’t think you’re good enough to get by me, do you, perito?" The man was defiant and definitely challenging.

Pablo’s reply caught him by surprise. I have no wish to go ashore. I just want to know how soon we are leaving. I miss my home and my mother who, by now, must surely believe that I’m dead.

Caught totally by surprise, the burly man answered truthfully. We sail this evening with the tide, sometime between seven-thirty and eight.

Pablo thanked the man in a deferent manner. "Muchas gracias, señor." He then turned and headed for the stairway that led to the belly of the ship and the small cubicle, which was his room. The burly guard was left alone and more than a little disappointed.

Cramped quarters were forgotten as Pablo began to prepare for his escape. The two, plastic garbage bags were laid out flat one on top of the other. He then cut a square from his bed sheet, approximately the same size as the bags and laid it on top of them. He rolled the three layers tightly together, the sheet section becoming the inner layer. The thick, black roll was then tightly bound, at each end, using strips cut from the same bed sheet. Pablo was getting excited. That should work perfectly! He went to the door, opened it, then casually looked out. Good! No one is in the passageway! He turned and quickly retrieved the plastic roll, tossing one end over the top of the door. One more check to make sure there were no witnesses and, with each hand, he grabbed an end, above the binding. Holding tightly, he let his full weight drop. The sheet-strip binding held, and his weight was easily supported. A big smile appeared on Pablo’s face. Muy Bueno! Now to wait for just the perfect moment.

***

Dusk was upon them, and night was fast approaching, the sun just slipping below the western horizon. The gangway had been lifted, and preparations were underway to leave port when Pablo made his way on deck. His shirt was hanging out to act as cover for his plastic slide. Still, it took his using one hand to prevent it from slipping into view as he made his way aft.

Darkness was quickly enveloping the port. The oncoming night afforded him the cover he sought as he moved close to his chosen hawser. Too bad the gangway is gone. That ape of a guard is also gone, but no matter, I have my escape. A quick, last look to ensure that no one was watching then he climbed over the rail and down onto that heavy rope. By now darkness had fallen. Pablo draped his makeshift plastic slide over the hawser, reaching under with his left hand to grab the loose end of his slide, just above the knot. Then, with his right hand gripping the other end in the same manner, he allowed his body to ease off his perch. He was now hanging beneath the hawser. He used his feet to push away from the ship. Slowly at first, he began to slide toward the quay. He was elated. It works! He began to slide at a more rapid rate as momentum took over. Just a minute or two, and I’ll be on my way to collect my money. Suddenly, looming out of the dark was a large, circular object. It surrounded the line blocking his escape route. He was sliding rapidly toward this looming obstruction, which, without doubt, was about to abort his escape. His slide hit the disc, and he was jerked to a stop. What is this and why is it here? In his excitement at having discovered a way off the ship, Pablo had not fully surveyed the hawsers along their entire length. At a point, approximately two-thirds the distance from the ship to the quay was a large metal disc, three feet in diameter, and