Doc - 19 - Chasing Midnight Read online

  Chasing Midnight

  Doc [19]

  Randy Wayne White

  PENGUIN group (2011)

  Rating: ★★☆☆☆

  Tags: Mystery, Thriller

  Mysteryttt Thrillerttt

  * * *

  * * *

  *It began peacefully enough, on one of Florida's private islands.*

  At a reception hosted by a notorious Russian black marketeer, Doc Ford uses darkness, and his friend Tomlinson, as cover to get an underwater look at the billionaire's yacht. By the time Ford surfaces, everything has changed.

  Environmental extremists have taken control of the island. Or are they thugs hired by the Russian's competitors? Whatever the motive, they have herded everyone together and threatened to kill one hostage every hour until midnight unless their demands are met-at which point they will just blow everybody up.

  Electronic jammers make communications with the outside world impossible. The only hope of avoiding terrible consequences: The militants do not know Ford's capabilities, or that he is still on the loose. But that situation won't last for long . . . and the clock is ticking.

  ### About the Author

  **Randy Wayne White** is the author of eighteen previous Doc Ford novels—most recently *Dead Silence, Deep Shadow,* and *Night Vision*—and of the nonfiction collections *Batfishing in the Rainforest, The Sharks of Lake Nicaragua, Last Flight Out, *and *An American Traveler*. A onetime veteran fishing guide, he lives in an old house built on an Indian mound and spends much of his free time windsurfing, playing baseball, and hanging out at Doc Ford’s Sanibel Rum Bar & Grille on Sanibel Island, Florida.

  CHASING

  MIDNIGHT

  ALSO BY RANDY WAYNE WHITE

  Sanibel Flats

  The Heat Islands

  The Man Who Invented Florida

  Captiva

  North of Havana

  The Mangrove Coast

  Ten Thousand Islands

  Shark River

  Twelve Mile Limit

  Everglades

  Tampa Burn

  Dead of Night

  Dark Light

  Hunter’s Moon

  Black Widow

  Dead Silence

  Deep Shadow

  Night Vision

  NONFICTION

  Randy Wayne White’s Ultimate Tarpon Book

  Batfishing in the Rainforest

  The Sharks of Lake Nicaragua

  Last Flight Out

  An American Traveler

  Randy Wayne White’s Gulf Coast Cookbook

  (with Carlene Fredericka Brennen)

  Tarpon Fishing in Mexico and Florida (An Introduction)

  FICTION AS RANDY STRIKER

  Key West Connection

  The Deep Six

  Cuban Death-Lift

  The Deadlier Sex

  Assassin’s Shadow

  Grand Cayman Slam

  Everglades Assault

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014,

  USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) •

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland,

  25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) •

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,

  Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books

  India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017,

  India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,

  New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) •

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2012 by Randy Wayne White

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in

  any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or

  encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  White, Randy Wayne.

  Chasing midnight / Randy Wayne White.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-56066-2

  1. Ford, Doc (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Marine biologists—

  Fiction. 3. Florida—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.H47473C47 2012 2011047133

  813.54—dc23

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  BOOK DESIGN BY AMANDA DEWEY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of

  the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and

  Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author

  assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication.

  Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume

  any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  There is no room for moral baggage on a small island. Anything bigger than a bikini is better left at home.

  —S. M. Tomlinson,

  One Fathom Above Sea Level

  If religion is opium to the masses, the Internet is a crack, crank, pixel-huffing orgy that deafens the brain, numbs the senses, and scrambles our peer list to include every anonymous loser, twisted deviant and freak, as well as people we normally wouldn’t give the time of day.

  —S. M. Tomlinson,

  Sudden Internet Isolation Response

  In an Unprepared Society

  (Excerpted from Zen Me the Pillow You Dream On)

  This book is for two respected travel companions, on the road and off:

  Allan W. Eckert and Peter Matthiessen

  Sanibel and Captiva Islands are real places, faithfully described, but used fictitiously in this novel. The same is true of certain businesses, marinas, bars and other places frequented by Doc Ford, Tomlinson and pals.

  In all other respects, however, this novel is a work of fiction. Names (unless used by permission), characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is unintentional and coincidental.

  Contact Mr. White at WWW.DOCFORD.COM

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I learned long ago, whether writing fiction or nonfiction, an author loses credibility if he’s caught in a factual error. Because of this, I do extensive research before starting a new Doc Ford novel, and Chasing Midnight required more research than most. Before recognizing those who provided assistance, I would first like to remind the reader that all errors, exaggerations and/or misinterpretations of fact, if any, are entirely the fault of the author.

  Much thanks goes to the dedicated professionals of Mote Marine Laboratories, mos
t particularly Jim Michaels, for his patient advice and attention regarding sturgeon and caviar. A visit to Mote’s Sarasota, Florida, facility is highly recommended, as is the superb Siberian caviar produced and processed there in the most well-thought-out Earth-friendly facility the author has visited.

  Without the extensive use and testing of an extraordinary piece of tactical equipment, the TAM-14, a thermal acquisition monocular, this would have been a very different book, indeed. The author owes much thanks to Bob Alexander and Nivisys Industries of Tempe, Arizona. Nivisys is a low-profile company that, consistently, takes an innovative lead in engineering and producing some of the world’s finest tactical optics systems, and the author would like to thank all involved for allowing him to use the TAM-14 in a very public way.

  Others providing expert advice on equipage were Kevin Parsons, founder of Armament Systems and Procedures (ASP, Inc.), Chuck Bunstock of Golight, Inc., Nebraska, and Dr. John Patterson of Bathys Hawaii Watches.

  Sports psychologist Don Carman, once again, contributed unerring insights into human behavior, aberrant and otherwise, and his advice regarding Marion Ford’s fitness routine is much appreciated. Dr. Brian Hummel, Dr. Denis Kuehner, of Sanibel Island, and Dr. Timothy S. Sigman provided expert medical advice.

  Bill Lee, and his orbiting star, Diana, as always, have guided the author, safely—for the most part—into the strange but fun and enlightened world of our mutual friend, the Rev. Sighurdhr M. Tomlinson. Equal thanks go to Gary and Donna Terwilliger for helping the author to escape, undamaged. Steven Dougherty of New York and California has also provided useful insights into the mind-set of hipsterdom and various modes of übercoolness.

  The author’s black ops advisers, Hon. Cdr. Tony Johnson, Capt. Galen Hanselman and Capt. Dan O’Shea, were of especial help, as were international intelligence correspondents T. B. Thomas Pattison, Capt. Bobby Dollar, Capt. James Hull of Costa Rica, Jay Blues Sielman and Harlow Montague—wherever they may be.

  Others who provided help or insights, information or advice include: Dr. Pearl D. Miller of Tampa, Dr. Dave Melzer, Darryl Pottorf, Mark Pace, Kirsten Martin of VersaClimber, and friend and attorney Steve Carta.

  Special thanks goes to Wendy Webb, my life companion, adviser and trusted friend, as well as Stephen Grendon, the author’s devoted SOB, Mrs. Iris Tanner, guardian angel, and my partners and pals Mark Marinello, Marty and Brenda Harrity and my surfing buddy, Gus Landl.

  Much of this novel was written at corner tables before and after hours at Doc Ford’s Rum Bar and Grille on Sanibel Island and San Carlos Island, where staff were tolerant beyond the call of duty. Thanks go to Raynauld Bentley, Dan Howes, Brian Cunningham, Mojito Greg Barker, Liz Harris, Capt. Bryce Randall Harris, Milita Kennedy, Sam Khussan Ismatullaev, Olga Jearrard, Rachel Songalewski of Michigan, Jean Crenshaw, Amanda Gardana Rodriguez, Bette Roberts, Brian Cunningham, Amazing Cindy Porter, Ethan Salley, Fernando Garrido, Greg Barker, Jessica Shell, Jim Rainville, Kevin Filowich, Kimberly McGonnell, Laurie Yakubov, Lisa Reynolds, Michelle Boninsegna, Sarah DeGeorge, Shawn Scott and Dale Hempseed and master chef Chris Zook.

  At the Rum Bar on San Carlos Island, Fort Myers Beach, thanks go to Wade Craft, Kandice Salvador, Herberto Ramos, Brian Obrien, lovelies Latoya Trotta, Magen Wooley, Meghan Miller, Meredith Mullins, Nicole Hinchcliffe, Nora Billheimer, Ali Pereira, Andrea Aguayo, Brian Sarfati, Catherine Mawyer, Corey Allen, Crissy McCain, Deon Schoeman, Dusty Rickards, Erin Montgomery, Jacqi Schultz, Justin Dorfman, Keil Fuller, Kerra Pike, Kevin Boyce, Kevin Tully, Kim Aylesworth, Kylie Pryll, Patrick John, Robert Deiss, Sally Couillard, Steve Johnson, Sue Mora and Tiffany Forehand.

  At Timber’s Sanibel Grille, my pals Matt Asen, Mary Jo, Audrey, Becky, Bart and Bobby were, once again, stalwarts.

  Finally, I would like to thank my two sons, Rogan and Lee White, for helping me finish, yet again, another book.

  — Randy Wayne White, Casa de Chico’s

  Sanibel Island, Florida

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

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  Epilogue

  1

  I was beneath fifteen feet of water, at night, observing a dinosaurian fish, when something exploded and knocked out the island’s underwater lights.

  The fish, a Gulf sturgeon, was armor plated, three feet long, hunkered close to the bottom as it fed. Its close relative, the beluga sturgeon, is the gold standard of caviar lovers, and a sacred cow to the global, billion-dollar caviar trade.

  My interest in sturgeon, and the often corrupt caviar industry, was a secondary reason for spending this new moon evening, in June, on one of Florida’s exclusive private islands—Vanderbilt Island on the Gulf of Mexico. The retreat is forty acres of palms, sand and Old Florida architecture, north of Vanderbilt Beach, east of Lovers Key and south of Sanibel Island, a small enclave concealed by swamp and shallow water in a remote corner of Estero Bay.

  A handful of the caviar trade’s elite was on the island for a weekend get-together, hosted by a Russian black market millionaire. Officially, he was rallying interest in a new U.S. import company. Privately, he claimed to have found a legal way around the international ban on beluga products. It had something to do with altering the Gulf sturgeon’s DNA to produce larger eggs like its Caspian Sea cousin.

  “Eggs firm and finely skinned so they burst between the teeth with hints of butter, almonds and fresh ocean air—each pearl black as a Caspian midnight,” according to literature in my gift bag when I checked in.

  Gulf sturgeon were common in Florida until the 1930s, when they were netted almost into nonexistence between Tampa Bay and the Florida Keys. The idea of a genetically altered hybrid was fanciful, considering the legalities involved, but it had merit—on paper, anyway.

  But I was dubious. Sufficiently so to make some unofficial inquiries, and then try to finagle invitations for myself and my pal Tomlinson. As I soon discovered, though, the Russian wasn’t handing out invitations to just anyone.

  “Impossible,” a woman with a Russian accent had told me, “unless you are wholesaler. Restaurateur, maybe, but established restaurants. And willing to pay fee—in advance—to reserve spot.”

  The price was so steep it had strengthened my impression that the black marketeer didn’t want outsiders at his caviar party. After a bit more research, and after discovering a couple of impressive names on the guest list, I had become doubly determined to go. There had to be a way.

  There was. Tomlinson is founder of two thriving gourmet rum bars, and I was an investor. That made us both “established restaurateurs.” Sort of. The woman then told me I had to send documentation before she would accept my credit card.

  “It worth the money,” the woman had added. “First night, guests treated to night of gambling and caviar at famous resort across bay. They have dolphin show and Jet Skis.”

  Flipper and Jet Skis—I could hardly wait.

  She was referring to the Bare Key Regency Resort and Offshore Casino Boat, a particularly noxious tourist trap, four miles by water from Vanderbilt Island. But I had sent the papers, anyway, and finally closed the deal.

  I wanted Tomlinson along for more than just his restaurant connections. The man may look like the Scarecrow in a New Age Wizard of Oz, but he has rock star qualities that make him a favorite of poor boat bums and yachtsmen alike. To almost everyone, Tomlinson is Everyman, his aggressive edges worn smooth by demons, hallucinogenics and his daily use of cannabis. As
an author, he is revered by spiritualist types. As an ordained Zen Buddhist monk, he has a devoted cult following—even though the man is anything but monklike in his appetites and behaviors.

  My pal is, frankly, a pain in the ass more than occasionally. But he is also one of the smartest people I know. It was one of the reasons I wanted Tomlinson along. But not the main reason. The Russian host would check my background and be understandably suspicious. The same with three other men I’d found on the guest list. They were the Russian’s caviar competitors from Iran and Turkmenia, and also a Chinese mega-millionaire by the name of Lien Hai Bohai.

  Their suspicions about me would be well founded. I’m a marine biologist who is sometimes contracted by the same governmental agencies, state and federal, that are mandated to protect endangered species such as the beluga sturgeon. I hoped my association with Tomlinson—an unrepentant hipster who reeked of patchouli oil and enlightenment—would veil my true intentions.

  Fact is, after my unofficial inquiries, a government agency had instructed me to attend the party. Which is why I had paid the heavy fee. The agency’s interest in the Russian—Viktor Kazlov—and his guests, was classified for reasons that had less to do with caviar than with their business dealings in the Middle East.

  Kazlov and his Eastern European associates were my primary reasons for being on the island. Because China is now the world’s leading producer of aquaculture products—and the most expert at stealing aquaculture technology—Lien Bohai was of interest, too.

  I had grown tired of the formal reception, though, that was still going strong in the island’s main lodge. The bar and dining room were tiny, and I’m uncomfortable in crowded spaces. Then Tomlinson had introduced me to one of the most abrasive women I’d ever met, an environmentalist named Winifred Densler. “Eco-elitist” would be a more accurate way to describe her, because it includes iconoclasts from both political wings, right and left.

  Densler, it turned out, had crashed the party, along with four male associates. Worse, as I discovered later, Tomlinson had “possibly but unknowingly” helped the trespassers by posting key information about the caviar meeting on their web page after donating money to the group six months earlier.