BooksBarbecue
Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The men dressed as stevedores ordered them to guard the road in and the perimeter, which was only a half circle about the area of a baseball field, all hemmed in by those molasses tanks. Their MP role was just for show, Lett told himself, in case anyone got near.

From the boat came wooden crates the size of larger foot lockers, maybe four feet long, each marked RHUM and THE PHILIPPINES and FRAGILE. Two unmarked deuce-and-a-half trucks were waiting ready, two-and-a-half tons and six wheels each. The stevedores used a winch and a standard flat cart with four wheels to unload the cargo, but at one point the winch jammed. Then the cart broke under the weight of only a couple crates, busting the axle. They had to wait around for the fix.

A tractor arrived with a bigger flatbed cart that could hold a tank. Snafu solved.

Once the cargo was offloaded, about five men strode off the boat and down the gangway. Some might have been important figures. A couple were Asian, one likely Japanese, the other a Filipino, possibly. All wore civvies, but Lett could picture any of them in officer’s uniforms from the swagger they had. They swaggered into four waiting sedans. But the sedans didn’t leave. Lett and Jock shrugged at each other.

Edward Lansdale strode off the boat, down the gangway. Then another sedan pulled up: four doors, sloped rear end, whitewalls, and plenty of chrome. Lett stiffened. It was a 1941 Packard Clipper.

Lansdale met the car, opened the back door. And out stepped a large, darker man. The man had taken off the jacket of his oversize suit, which revealed a holster. His sleeves were rolled up, too, which revealed ornate island warrior tattoos spreading from his hands up his arms.

Frankie.

11.

Lett and his team got Spam and rice, water, and coffee. Afterward, Lett ducked into a wharf outhouse that smelled like the inside of a dead man. He produced his syringe and shot up in there. Just in case. He didn’t want what he’d seen to haunt him on the way back and get up on top of him when he needed it least. Any weakness was a blind spot.

What was Frankie doing there? Lett wondered what to tell Kanani. His mission was hush-hush of course. He’d seen her around camp a couple times since reuniting with her on that park bench, but they were kept so busy and were among so many others that he barely had time for small talk let alone for sharing telltale details. Apart from that, he’d mostly kept to himself at his bungalow, not wanting to make any false moves before his first assignment of the third stage.