"What about Key West?" I asked.
"Nothing yet, but the island is full of cops looking for the bomber."
"Did you find out anything from any of the other people on the island?"
"Not much. We're pretty sure we got all the bombers except the one here and the two headed for Orlando and Atlanta. The guards didn't know anything, and the girls were pretty much drugged up the whole time."
"Were there other bombers?"
"Yes. They're really sick kids. Simmermon did a number on them. They actually believe he's God's chosen prophet and that they're doing the Lord's work, blowing up good Christian people."
"Jock, don't you think it's time to warn people about this and keep them out of church tomorrow?"
"Can't do it, podner. I already suggested that. The people who make these decisions are afraid an announcement would cause a huge panic, and a lot of folks won't get the message anyway."
"So, we just let a lot of good church-going folks die?"
"Not my call. I agree with you. We've just got to find these bastards before they set off the bombs. Keep plugging." The phone clicked off.
I dialed Debbie's number.
"It's late, Royal, and I just got home from work," she said.
"What ever happened to `hello'?"
"Caller ID. I don't feel like being nice to you."
"Sorry, babe. I need some more help."
"You still in Key West?"
"No. Orlando."
"I don't even want to know why."
"No you don't. I need you to see what you can find on two people who're dead. Albert Thomas and Colin Edinfield."
"And you need this when?"
"Now would be good."
"Geez, the things I do for quarter tips." She hung up.
I told Logan what Jock had said about Atlanta.
"Glad to hear that," he said. "But if the government can't find anything on Thomas and Edinfield, how do you expect Debbie to?"
"Maybe she won't find anything more, but it's worth a try. She's good, and it's about time we had a little luck."
The FBI agent came back, his hand full of black-and-white photographs.
He laid two on the desk. "This is the fat guy coming in at 5:48 and leaving five minutes later. He's carrying a suitcase coming out."
I studied the pictures. The one of the man leaving the house caught his face straight on. It was high resolution and clear as a cloudless sky. I felt my heart skip a beat, my pulse quicken. This was the last thing I expected. I knew the man with the suitcase.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
"I ain't believing this," I said.
"What?" asked Logan.
"You ever go to Hutch's over on Cortez Road?"
"The place where you almost got killed? No. Why?"
I pointed to the face on the photograph. "This is the guy who runs the place. Fats Monahan."
"You're kidding. I thought that guy Bartel tried to kill him along with you."
"It could've been a set-up. Cracker was pretty sure the voice on the phone telling him to get me to Hutch's that morning was Fats."
"Wasn't Fats upstairs shaving when you got there?"
"Yeah, but he probably meant for Bartel to get me down in the bar. It was awfully dark in there. A perfect place for an ambush. Maybe he was late getting there, or I was early."
"What's Fats doing mixed up in this?"
"I don't know, but we'd better find out soon."
The FBI agent had been following our conversation. "What's this all about? You guys know this man?"
"Yeah," I said. "I think he tried to kill me recently."
"Fill me in," the FBI guy said. "This could be important."
"Let me make a call first."
I dialed Detective David Sims's cell phone in Bradenton.
"Hope I didn't wake you," I said. "This is Matt Royal."
"No, I'm watching the tail end of a Devil Rays game. Pretty bad. What's up?"
"Have you talked to your buddy Paul Galis in the last couple of days?"
"No. Why?"
"Long story, but I'm working with the government on a potential bombing in Orlando. You can call Galls to verify. It looks like our old buddy Fats Monahan is involved."
"Fats? From that bar out on Cortez Road?"
"The same one. We picked him up on surveillance with what we think is the bomb in question."
"What do you need from me?"
"Anything you can get on Fats or his bar. We're in a very short time frame here. Call Galls and get up to speed."
"I'll do that, Mr. Royal. You seem determined to screw up my life."
I laughed. "Not intentionally, I assure you." I hung up.
I called Debbie.
"Almost finished," she said. "I need another few minutes:'
"Keep digging. I want you to also check into a guy named Fats Monahan and Hutch's Tavern."
"The place over on Cortez Road?"
"Exactly."
"Well, I don't have anything else to do at midnight. Except sleep." She hung up.
"She needs to find a boyfriend," I said.
"Deb?" said Logan. "I don't know. She's pretty picky."
I filled the FBI in on what we knew about Fats and told him about Sims's role in this.
He turned to leave. "I'll get our computer people onto chasing Fats," he said. "Maybe they'll turn up something we can use."
"Tell them to hurry," I said, as he went out the door.
I called Jock to tell him about Fats. "I'm not sure how he fits into this, but he's got the explosives."
"I'm fresh out of suggestions. Keep me informed." He hung up.
"Logan," I said. "Got any ideas about the connection between Fats and Simmermon?"
"Beats me. Both of them have a history in the Keys, but that's about all I can see that would tie them together."
"That and Varn. Fats knew Varn from his days with the drug lords, and Michelle had Varn killed. I didn't think to ask her if Simmermon knew about his killing."
I dialed Galls' number.
"Paul," I said, "any luck with the bomber down there?"
"No, but I just got off the phone with David Sims. Sounds like you might have stumbled onto something."
"Yeah, but we'll play hell finding Fats in Orlando tonight."
"I've been in contact with Atlanta PD. They tell me the bomber there was going to hit a large Baptist church near downtown. I don't know if that could be a pattern, but we're not pulling any of our people off all the other churches down here."
"Do you have Michelle Browne stashed somewhere close?"
"Yeah. She's in isolation in the county jail, about a hundred yards from my office."
"I need you to ask her about Fats. I also need to know if Simmermon knew about the hit she put on Varn or Yardley or whatever they called him."
"I'll see what she can tell me."
"Don't be gentle, Paul. A lot is riding on this."
"I gotcha. I'll get back to you in a few minutes."
I didn't know what else to do. I had to wait for calls from Debbie and Paul Galls, and hope they had some information that would lead us toward our bomber.
The night was passing by with the speed of an out-of-control freight train on a downhill grade. Every minute, every second, moved us closer to a catastrophe that could change the world. Even if the president's address to the nation stopped the reaction Simmermon hoped for, a lot of good people would die on a quiet Sunday morning in Orlando. We had to stop this madness, but damned if I knew how.
I was tired. I dozed in my chair, waiting for a phone call. My head fell to my chest and woke me up. I looked around the room, my brain slowly coming into focus. Logan had nodded off in his chair, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. A snore escaped from his open mouth with every breath. I got up to get another cup of coffee. My phone rang, its irritating jangle waking Logan.