Ghosts of Havana (A Judd Ryker Novel) by Todd Moss Page A

want me to call? Assistant Secretary Eisenberg, perhaps?”
    Parker glanced back at the screen. The announcer was urging viewers to follow events via #soccerdad4 on Twitter.
    “What the fuck is bonefishing?”
    “I have no idea, sir. Do you want me to call someone to find out?”
    Parker sat down heavily into his chair and swiveled in a circle. After two spins, he stopped abruptly. “Get me Judd Ryker.”

17.
    FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA
    THURSDAY, 8:25 A.M.
    T he beach along the Fort Lauderdale strip was still quiet. The boardwalk was slowly filling up with runners in tight exercise clothes and neon-colored running shoes, darting between steady streams of elderly walkers in all whites and nursing-home shoes.
    The sand was mostly abandoned. Jessica established camp as far from other beachgoers as she could, laid out two large white towels, a small red plastic cooler of drinks and bagel sandwiches, and set up a low-slung chair for herself. A few feet away, Toby and Noah, generously slathered in sunscreen, played noisily with buckets and shovels in the wet sand on the water’s edge. They dug a moat and built a high wall to try to protect their sand castle from the incoming waves.
    Jessica watched her sons for a moment, then adjusted her peach-colored bikini top and settled into her chair. She dug her toes deep into the sugarlike warm white sand and stared up into the cloudless blue sky. She felt the light breeze through her hair.
    This was just what she needed. A relaxing day on the beachwith her sons. She tried to push any thoughts of the past few days, the past years, from her mind. No stress, no work. Just relax.
    Jessica pulled Treasure Island out of her bag and opened to chapter one.
Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted . . .
    Her phone buzzed. She groaned but decided she had to check it. On the screen flashed DANIEL DOLLAR , her code name for the Deputy Director. What could he want? Against her better judgment, she pushed ANSWER .
    “Hel-lo?”
    “How’s the house? Everything all right?” the Deputy Director asked.
    “Yes, thank you. It’s lovely,” she said. “We just got in yesterday morning.”
    “Have you gotten to the beach yet?”
    “Yes, we’re here now.”
    “Wonderful. Did you find the towels?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    “The white towels are for the house. The big blue ones are for the beach.”
    She glanced up just in time to watch Noah drop a bucket of wet sand on one of the white towels. “Yes, got it. Thanks again. I really needed this break.”
    “You’re very welcome. I’m glad you could use the house. It’s been in my family for years, but I rarely have time to get down to Florida.”
    “Okay . . .” she said. “Is there anything else?”
    He didn’t reply.
    “Sir?” she said.
    “I know you need a break, Jessica.”
    “Yes, I do. You were right.”
    “And . . .” He paused. “I need you to run a small errand for me.”
    “Sir?” She gritted her teeth.
    “I know you’re on vacation. I want you to relax. But, I need your help, too. It’s a small thing. Very small, I promise.”
    “What kind of help?”
    “Is this your secure phone?”
    “Yes, sir,” she sighed.
    “Good girl. I’m going to need you to clean up a mess. A sensitive mess.”
    “You’re reactivating me already? Right now? While I’m at the beach with my children?”
    “I didn’t want to ask you, but it’s time-sensitive. And delicate. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”
    “The only one?”
    “This is why we created Purple Cell. To go anywhere. To do what’s needed. When it’s needed. No bureaucracy. No bullshit.”
    She didn’t say anything. She was steaming inside. Mad at herself for not seeing this coming.
    “Don’t worry about