Intercept: A Treacherous Race to the Triple Crown - Softcover

Forbes, Mary Jane

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1440171378 ISBN 13: 9781440171376

Publisher: iUniverse, 2008

Synopsis

War veteran Daytona Pete intercepts a mayday call on his ham radio at 5:30 p.m. amidst a raging storm off Florida's east coast. Jon Anderson, the skipper of the forty-four-foot Molly C requests assistance. The fierce storm prevents immediate rescue. When the yacht is located the next day on New Smyrna Beach, Anderson is dead from a gunshot wound to the head.

As Captain Manny Salinas from the Daytona Beach Police Department and his black Labrador retriever, Peaches, search the Molly C for clues, they discover a hidden cache-216 pounds of cocaine worth $3 million and one cup of ricin, a poison toxic enough to contaminate thousands of people. Further investigation reveals a terrorist plot where the target is in a race for a Triple Crown victory in Belmont, New York-a race that will be watched worldwide.

When a tipster calls Homeland Security about the Molly C and her skipper, the investigation swings to Venezuela. Homeland Security Agent Hutchinson hopes to stop the three men-a biologist, a gardener, and an ex-jockey, now handicapper-from pulling off the sophisticated plan to trigger a mist of ricin over the racetrack and kill thousands of people.

About this title

From the Back Cover

Chapter 7

Daytona Pete's condo building stood seven stories high on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. Manny parked his black SUV and, with Peaches at his side, entered the building. They were greeted by a short doorman wearing a dark green uniform. "I'm here to see William Peterson. I understand he is on the seventh floor. Do you know if he's in?" Manny asked.

"I don't know any William Peterson," the man said.

"Daytona Pete?"

"Oh yes, sir. Daytona Pete is up there. Just take that elevator. When the door slides back, you'll be facing his front door."

Manny and Peaches rode up on the elevator and stepped out onto the seventh floor. True to the man's word, Unit 702, in gold letters on the door, faced them. Taking note of the freshly-painted cream-colored walls and thick dark brown Berber carpet, Manny rang the bell.

"Hang on, I'll be right there," a man behind the door yelled.

The owner of the voice opened the door. He was sitting in a wheelchair--a double amputee, both legs missing just below the knee. "Yeah, what can I do for you?"

"My name is Captain Manny Salinas, Daytona Beach Police Department. Are you Daytona Pete?" Manny asked, with a wide grin. "I understand you intercepted a mayday call yesterday."

"Well, hell, come on in. Chuck said someone from the department would be stopping by. And who is this?" Pete asked scratching Peaches behind the ears. The dog loved Pete's attention. She planted herself as close as she could get to the wheelchair and put her paw up on his right stump.

"This is Peaches. She must like you because she's doesn't voluntarily shake hands with someone unless they ask."

"Come on in, Captain Salinas. I just put on a pot of coffee." Daytona Pete did a wheelie and headed for the open kitchen area.

"Please, call me Manny."

"Manny it is. And, knock off the Daytona--just call me Pete. Do you put anything in this syrup? Sorry, I always make it strong. Something I got used to in Iraq."

"Cream and sugar if you have it."

Daytona Pete, a veteran, lost his legs below the knee from a land mine. Prosthetics were fitted for legs but he never bothered to attach them when he was at home. With his savings, disability, and mustering out pay, he bought a condo overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in Daytona Beach Shores. It was a very small community bordering Port Orange. The only claim to a downtown area was a Seven-Eleven convenience store and a few tourist shops.

The condo's balcony, wheelchair accessible, faced the ocean and captured whatever breeze was coming through that hour, that day. The pelicans rode the breeze in the morning and then again late afternoon, diving into the water for their breakfast and dinner.

Pete's condo, being on the seventh floor, afforded him particularly good reception on his ham radio and cell phone. A relay tower was within a mile and was aligned perfectly with the satellites racing around the earth.

"This is quite a place you have. I thought my equipment was sophisticated, but you have me beat. What's with the three computer monitors?" Manny asked.

"Well, my hobby is communicating with passing ships. Normally I can't see them as they are over the horizon, but I can talk to them and they to me. My passion, however, is betting on the horses over the Internet. With three monitors, I can watch and bet on three different tracks simultaneously, watching each race in real time, say Aqueduct in New York. Gulfstream Park, Florida. Hell, even Australia and Dubai come through loud and clear."

Pete handed Manny a cup of coffee and took a sip of his own.

"My living room is set up like a command center for my racing hobby. I call it my OTBP, off-track betting parlor," Pete said chuckling. "I have an account on a wagering website for the horses. I deposit funds into this account, an online transfer from my bank here in Florida. The website gives me access to tracks around the world, and it's all legal, Captain. You should try it sometime."

"The only time I bet on the horses was at Calder in Miami. I lost my shirt, but I have to admit I had fun doing it."

"Please excuse the mess of papers, Manny. I'm getting ready for the first leg of the Triple Crown in two weeks, the Kentucky Derby. I've been collecting all the stats for the horses, again pulling information from my wagering site, but I also check in with various racing gurus. Then I'll handicap the field. How's your coffee? Want more cream?"

"No. This is great. I probably won't sleep for a month."

Peaches settled down behind the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Her head was between her paws, but her eyes darted back and forth watching the pelicans fly by.

"I had some good luck while in the army, as well as some not so good luck," Pete remarked, patting his leg. "While taking the standard psych tests, a shrink noticed that I had the ability to see obscure patterns within written text, and within a series of seemingly random numbers. Where others saw randomness, I saw patterns. As a kid, I was always making up my own codes. Well, the shrink recommended me for crypto school. After graduation, the army assigned me to a cryptology sub-specialty designation. Hell, I should have stayed a cryptologist." Pete patted his thigh again.

"I guess that skill would come in handy when looking at all the statistics you compile," Manny said, gazing around at all the pieces of paper. "However, much as I would like to hear more about the horses, I think I'd better ask you a few questions about the call you intercepted yesterday. Looking out your balcony now, it's hard to believe how bad the storm was."

"The call came in late in the afternoon, around 5:30," Pete said. "I wasn't doing anything with the computer, just looking out at the angry sea, black clouds, and rain blowing sideways. Fact is I dozed off. The crackle of my ham radio woke me up. Then I heard, `mayday, mayday,' loud and clear. I looked out the doors but couldn't see any boat. So I hustled over to the radio, grabbed the mike, and asked who was calling and their location. The guy said his name was John Anderson and the boat was the Molly C. He said they ran out of fuel and were taking on water. He thought he was near Ponce Inlet lighthouse, but he couldn't see because of the storm."

"This man, John Anderson, he used the word `we' and `they'?" Manny asked.

"Yes, he did. I know when Chuck, my friend at the Coast Guard Station, called me later, he said they found a man onboard, shot dead and no sign of another person. Shit, I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway I called the coast guard immediately. They're used to getting calls from me. Mostly just chatting, but sometimes it's serious. Chuck stops by once in a while and we go out for a beer. Anyway he said they, too, had heard the call."

"What channel did this John Anderson's call come in on?'

"The distress channel, sixteen."

"Did you hear from Anderson again?"

"Nope. Just dead air. Couldn't raise him, and neither could Chuck."

"Well, he and the boat did exist. It was definitely the Molly C, but the man had no ID on him. We can't verify that John Doe is John Anderson or someone else. The boat's being traced to see if we can find some answers. Who owns it? Where she's registered? If you think of anything else, please give me a call. Here's my card with my cell number."

Manny took his empty coffee cup to the kitchen counter. Sensing her master was about to leave, Peaches was instantly on her feet. "When you think about the call, try to remember any background sounds you heard. It doesn't matter how insignificant you think it might be. Right now, you are our only link to that voice."

"Sorry, Manny. The static was fierce. I was lucky to pick up the communication at all."

About the Author

Mary Jane Forbes graduated from the University of Utah and owned and operated The Corps Software Academy for more than ten years. Her hobby, jewelry design, led her to write the four-part House of Beads mystery series. She lives near Daytona Beach, Florida. Visit her online at www.maryjaneforbes.com.

Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2008
• ISBN 10: 1440171378
• ISBN 13: 9781440171376
• Binding: Paperback
• Language: English
• Number of pages: 200