Page 51 of The Marine's Homecoming

"Of course, you fellas catch up. I have festival duties, anyway." Her smile is as beautiful as ever as I follow the Colonel and Rico across the festival grounds over to the pier where we stand watching people passing by.

"Talk to me, Colonel," I say, leaning against the railing.

Harlan folds his arms and drops his voice. "Cordero's team intercepted the supply vessel at oh-four-hundred this morning, about forty nautical miles offshore. The Coast Guard boarded and secured the ship and the crew is in custody. All communications from the vessel have been cut since before dawn."

"So Dorsey has no idea," I say, looking over the crowd for where he might be.

"He has no clue," Rico says, leaning on the railing next to me. "His shore crew scattered after last night's delivery. The oneswho stuck around have no way of knowing the ship's been taken."

"Where is he now?" I ask.

"He's here," Harlan says. "Cordero's people have eyes on him. He came in about an hour ago and he's been walking the festival like he owns the place."

My guess is that he's been waiting for the right moment to signal to his ship that they can start loading up a boat to bring in at dark. People will be distracted by fireworks. But he will never be able to make that call.

"The sheriff has a team staged two blocks out," Harlan continues. "When you give the word, they move in. Cordero wants it quiet. You need to get Dorsey away from the crowd and the sheriff's people will handle the rest."

"Understood, Colonel," I say.

Rico squeezes my shoulder. "You good with this?" he asks.

After a decade of service following this man's orders, I'm more than ready. I'd say this mission is safer than ninety percent of the ones I've taken in my life. "I'm good," I tell him.

"Then let's go get this son of a bitch," Rico says.

I push off the railing and scan the festival. It takes about thirty seconds to find Dorsey near the stage, holding a lemonade and chatting with Ray Perkins. Ray is doing most of the talking, which is typical, but Dorsey nods along with that smooth smile that's fooled every person in this town.

I walk toward him while Rico and Harlan hang back, fading into the crowd. My bad leg is cooperating for once, which Iappreciate, but my chest feels ready to snap. Oh, how I'd love to choke the hell out of this bastard, and once he's in custody, I won't be able to.

Dorsey sees me coming when I'm about twenty feet out. His smile tightens, though, and he excuses himself from Ray with a polite word then turns to face me.

"Luke," he says, lifting his lemonade in a little salute. "Quite a festival. Hannah really outdid herself."

"She did," I say, stopping about four feet from him. "Can I have a word with you? Somewhere quieter?"

He studies me for a second with narrowed eyes. "Of course," he says. "Lead the way."

I walk him toward the far end of the pier, past the food trucks, where the crowd thins out. He follows beside me, sipping his lemonade. His pace is casual but his eyes are scanning the perimeter.

When we reach the end of the pier, I stop and turn. A few seagulls fight over a French fry on the railing, but out here, we're alone. There's nowhere for him to flee too, and there's only one pathway off this pier, which the sheriff will use to come out here.

"What's on your mind, Luke?" Dorsey asks.

"I know what you've been doing," I say, not even bothering to keep the accusation out of my tone. "I know what's in those crates. I know about the shell companies and the freight operation out of Panama. I know about the weapons Hannah and I photographed on your boat." I pause for a moment so that can sink in. "And as of four this morning, the Coast Guard has your supply vessel in federal custody forty miles offshore."

Dorsey's smile holds for about half a second before it fades and his eyes narrow. They go black as sin and he glares at me. "That's quite an accusation, Mr. Maddox," he says. There is zero charm in his tone now. All that smooth talking has done him no good. I've seen through him and he's about to be nailed to the ground.

"It's a fact," I say. "Your ship is gone. Your crew's in custody. The ATF has a file on you that will keep you locked up for a very long time." I take a step closer. "You’re washed up, Dorsey."

His hand tightens around the lemonade cup and I see it crumple in his grip. "You have no idea who you're dealing with," he says quietly.

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with," I say. "So does the ATF. So does the Coast Guard. So does the Coos County Sheriff's Department, all of whom are here today." I hold his glare and return it openly. "You're done in Bandon, Dorsey."

He takes a half-step backward and his eyes dart toward the parking lot as if he wants to try to escape. "I wouldn't," I say, shaking my head.

But he looks past me and sees what I already know is there. Two sheriff's deputies are coming down the pier, and behind them is a woman I'm guessing is Special Agent Cordero. Rico and Harlan have moved to block the only other way off the pier, which is access to his boat in its slip.

Dorsey's shoulders drop about an inch.