Mystery of L’Inconnu

Mystery of L'Inconnu Detective Remy Ferguson Thriller Mystery Series, Volume 1 Dan Grylles Published by Whisper Writer Press, 2023. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. MYSTERY OF L'INCONNU First edition. June 29, 2023. Copyright © 2023 Dan Grylles. ISBN: 979-8985637786 Written by Dan Grylles. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page PART 1 - THE DISCOVERY | PROLOGUE PART 2 – THE DECEPTION CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 PART 3 - THE DETECTION CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 CHAPTER 31 CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 CHAPTER 34 PART 4 – THE DISCLOSURE CHAPTER 35 CHAPTER 36 CHAPTER 37 CHAPTER 38 CHAPTER 39 CHAPTER 40 CHAPTER 41 CHAPTER 42 CHAPTER 1 – INNOCENCE LOST About the Author PART 1 - THE DISCOVERY PROLOGUE Day 7, 1:47AM - Somewhere on the Caribbean Sea Captain Mercer instinctively grabbed his sidearm, and tossed on a T-shirt, jeans and loafers, ignoring Coast Guard uniform protocol. The change of the USCG Meridian’s direction had stirred him from sleep, alerting him that something drastic had occurred since he’d given strict orders to stay on course to their interdiction with the drug cartel vessel. Though he heard no ammunition fire, he cautiously stepped out of his cabin and quietly shut the metal door. As he ascended the stairs to the bridge, he heard soft yet normal discussions between his crew above. He was annoyed as he entered the back of the bridge, realizing the graveyard shift skeleton crew was fixated on something outside the ship’s window. Seeing Mercer, his second-in-command, Lt. Cmdr. Steven Roberts, pulled his cigar out of his mouth and announced, “Captain on the bridge.” “Why have we changed course, Commander?” Mercer asked. “This had better be—” He stopped mid-sentence. “Where did that come from?” Out from the darkness and thick fog some hundred yards dead ahead loomed a luxury yacht. Not a typical sailing yacht, as the TACLET team had seen in country club ports. Their own ship, an 87-foot legend class Coast Guard cutter, dwarfed in comparison to this vessel of half a football field in length. It also towered over them with three visible levels, the upper two appearing to be half-levels in the stern area, with a smooth fifteen-degree angle backside. “Sir,” Roberts explained, “CPO Donaldson spotted it from a distance. It was barely visible. The moonlight hit its metal railing. There were no indications or readings of a vessel anywhere in this vicinity.” Mercer quickly assessed the situation. “Line us up parallel to them,” he told the pilot, Ensign Jake Whitmore. “Keep us about thirty yards away. I don’t want anybody taking pot shots at us. Then cut the engine.” “Aye, sir,” Whitmore said. The hull of the yacht, which had no lights emanating from it, was primarily a dark navy blue, camouflaging it in the night. Chief Petty Officer Donaldson continued to scan the yacht’s exterior with his binoculars. “There’s some kind of glass or mirror attached to the side, reflecting the water.” “It makes it practically invisible from a distance,” Roberts observed. Mercer shook his head. “I don’t like the look of that. Somebody definitely didn’t want to be seen. And maybe still doesn’t.” There was a silence among the crew. “The radar on top above the crow’s nest isn’t rotating,” Fernandez noted. What happened to the engine? Mercer wondered. The only visible movement was an American flag fluttering softly on the bow as an apparent show of colors. Perhaps used by a criminal foreigner to throw off suspecting law enforcement. USCG jurisdiction was split into nine districts. The Meridian had been assigned to District 7, an expanse more than twice the size of Alaska, and notorious for the highest drug traffic activity of all the districts. The crew’s job was to search out and take down suspected drug traffickers and terrorist groups encroaching upon the high seas. Every member was trained in boarding and securing such high-risk vessels, including those with potential hostage situations. Mercer turned to Ensign Jorge Fernandez, in charge of communications. “Nothing on SART?” Fernandez shook his head. “Nothing on the radar, sir.” “AIS Transponder?” “I don't see them, sir. I can’t imagine a boat that size wouldn’t have one. I’d guess they turned it off. Plus, their RACON appears to be down or broken.” The yacht was floating adrift, unanchored, with no audible sounds emanating. Shrouded in the fog, it looked like something out of a ghost movie. Mercer scanned the ship's deck. “Commander, that thing could easily accommodate how many? Twenty, maybe thirty persons?” “Maybe they were being followed by pirates and turned off their AIS?” Roberts said. “It doesn't look like they've dropped anchor.” Mercer scratched his chin. “Whitmore, record our position.” “Aye, sir,” Whitmore said, noting their ship's and the yacht’s longitude and latitude for potential law enforcement investigation. “I don't recall hearing anything about a yacht in these parts. Collateral damage from the last storm?” Donaldson replied, “It's possible. Maybe their communications got knocked out?” Mercer slowly shook his head in response, with a ‘no clue’ look in his eyes. Roberts turned to Fernandez. “Any communications? Distress signals? EPIRB or PLBs?” “No, sir,” Fernandez replied. “Nothing on channel 16 all night. No calls from any nearby RCCs.” He listened in his headset, switching channels. “There’s no signal on 406MHz, and no sounds on the boat either.” He looked back and forth over the mammoth structure. “It appears like it just stopped . . . and didn't tell anyone . . . It looks . . . empty.” Roberts turned to Fernandez. “Check to see if anyone entered a float plan out