The Orchid Keeper: A Sean O'Brien Novel Read online

  THE ORCHID KEEPER

  The tenth novel in the Sean O’Brien series

  TOM LOWE

  Kingsbridge Entertainment

  ALSO BY TOM LOWE

  A False Dawn

  The 24th Letter

  The Black Bullet

  The Butterfly Forest

  Blood of Cain

  Black River

  Cemetery Road

  A Murder of Crows

  Dragonfly

  Destiny

  The Jefferson Prophecy

  Wrath

  The Confession

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.

  The Orchid Keeper – Copyright © 2019 by Tom Lowe. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, photocopying, Internet, recording or otherwise without the written permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. The Orchid Keeper is published in the United States of America by Kingsbridge Entertainment, Windermere, FL.

  Library of Congress Cataloging in—Publication Data - Lowe, Tom.

  ISBN – 9781691682935

  The Orchid Keeper by Tom Lowe – First edition, September 2019

  The Orchid Keeper (a Sean O’Brien Novel) is distributed in ebook, paperback print, and audiobook editions. Audible Studios is the publisher of the audiobook.

  Cover design by Damonza.

  Formatting by Ebook Launch.

  The Orchid Keeper by Tom Lowe © First edition – September 2019. Published in the U.S.A by Kingsbridge Entertainment. All rights reserved

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks and deep appreciation for the people that helped put this novel together. To my wife, Keri, who works tirelessly as my first reader and superb editor. A big thank you Helen Ristuccia-Christensen, Darcy Yarosh, and John Buonpane for their extraordinary beta reading skills. To Howard King, Ph.D. for his expertise with botany. Thanks to the talented team at Ebook Launch. To the graphic designers with Damonza. And finally, to you, the reader. Thank you for reading and being part of the journey. I hope you enjoy The Orchid Keeper.

  “As we got further away, the earth diminished in size. Finally, it shrank to a marble. That beautiful, warm living object looked so fragile, so delicate, that if you touched it with your finger … it would crumble. That changes a man.”

  - James Irwin, Apollo astronaut

  For Helen Ristuccia-Christensen

  and Darcy Yarosh

  CONTENTS

  Also by Tom Lowe

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  ONE

  As a young boy, Joe Thaxton was never afraid of monsters. During his childhood and teen years he spent a lot of time outdoors, learning to fish and hunt. Monsters were never under his bed or in his head as a child. But, today, that was going to change. Thaxton watched a real monster appear through the camera lens of his aerial drone. It would prove to be the most foreboding sight in his life.

  Thaxton, late-forties, skin bronze from running charter boat fishing trips, stood on his wooden dock in Florida’s Indian River Lagoon, flying his drone almost a mile upriver. Unnatural images appeared on the screen in his hands. Images he’d never seen. He looked closer, the corners of his pale blue eyes creasing, staring in disbelief. He used the remote-control toggle switches to fly his drone high over the river, looking for signs of schooling sea trout and redfish in the flats. He saw a giant. And it was coming toward him.

  Thaxton set the controls down on a wooden bench for a moment, reaching into his shirt pocket, removing his glasses for a closer look. The breeze carried the briny smell of salt water and baitfish. Two white pelicans sailed over the river, flapping their black tipped wings, heading east toward the Atlantic Ocean less than three miles away. Thaxton pulled the bill of his baseball cap lower, just above his thick eyebrows, the beige cap sweat-stained, a logo of a sailfish in the center, his curly brown hair jutting out from the sides. “What the hell …” he mumbled, using the toggle switches to fly the drone higher above the long and wide river. The greater the perspective, the worse the nig
htmare. As far as he could see, the river was covered in a chemical-green color as if the massive body of water, more than a mile wide, turned into solid-green Jell-O.

  He licked his dry lips, lowered the drone to about one-hundred feet above the surface, and flew it slowly down the center of water that often reflected the blue sky—water so clear in the tidal flats you could watch crabs scurry across the sandy bottom. Today, it appeared to be teeming in a green slime that moved silently, as if it had a sinister mind and will of its own, threatening to smother the very soul of the river beneath a pea-green soup that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Under his loose-fitting shirt, Thaxton felt a drop of sweat roll down the center of his back. He’d lived around the Indian River all his life. He and his brother had fished with their father for years in the northern section of the river near Titusville and Mosquito Lagoon. And he knew most of its 121-mile coastline on both sides of the waterway, from its start near Ponce Inlet in the north to Stuart in the south, where the water empties into the Atlantic Ocean. The Banana River and St. Lucie River all make up the massive waterway.

  He stood on his dock near Port Salerno and watched his world about to change. His dock, one of the longest in the area, grandfathered in at a length of one-hundred feet, had a small, thatched-roof sitting area at the end. He kept a 16-foot Boston Whaler tethered to the dock. His commercial flats charter boat was moored at the Ocean Drift Marina, less than two miles from his home.

  Thaxton made his living as a guide, and the waters of the Indian River Lagoon were his primary source of income. His wife, Jessica, worked as an elementary school principal. They’d bought their waterfront home twenty years ago, back before the real estate prices became unaffordable. They’d struggled, saved, and managed their money, forgoing expensive vacations to stay home and enjoy what they considered a slice of paradise in Florida.

  As Thaxton watched the video monitor receiving the live images from his drone, he had a feeling that everything, from the way he made a living to the lifestyle he shared with his family, was about to change. His fingers trembled while flying the drone and recording video, the sinister images giving the river the appearance of aquatic death. The river looked like the water suffered from some bizarre kind of nuclear fallout, changing the entire biology and morphing it into a river of green slime.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID and answered. His wife calling. Jessica said, “It’s Sunday. Maybe time for a break from playing with your new toy. I think you have some kind of drone fever. Big boys and their new toys. I’m making lunch for Kristy and me. Would you like a sandwich? I can bring it out and the three of us can have a picnic on the dock.”

  “My appetite is suddenly gone.”

  Jessica Thaxton stood in her kitchen, peering through the window overlooking the bay and the dock. She could easily see her husband holding the drone controls in one hand the phone in the other. She smiled. Attractive face and a fine nose, light brown eyes, dark hair that was just beginning to show signs of gray. She said, “You didn’t have breakfast this morning. Why aren’t you hungry?”

  “Because I just saw something that sickened my stomach.”

  “What?”

  “Something in the river?”

  “What? Another dead manatee?”

  “No.”

  “Please, God, don’t tell me you spotted a body floating.”

  “No. Nothing like that. Maybe even worse.”

  “What could be worse than a dead body?” She half smiled and sipped a cup of coffee.

  “The death of a river and a way of life for a helluva lot of folks.”

  “Joe, what are you talking about?”

  “You need to see this thing. I’m getting pictures of it from the drone, and the drone is less than a half-mile upriver. Whatever it is … it’s coming our way, and it looks like it’ll be here soon. And there’s no way in hell to stop what’s coming.”

  “You’re scaring me. Is it safe for me to come on the dock?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that, in the time I’ve been watching it, the stuff is moving with the flow of the river, it’s a slack tide, so that means the current is running about six knots. By the time I retrieve my drone, it will probably be coming right in front of our dock.”

  “Joe, what is it?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Something in the water. Something I’ve never seen in more than forty years on this river.”

  TWO

  Ten minutes later, Joe Thaxton piloted his Mavic drone to within one hundred feet of his dock, the drone buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. Two sea gulls circled once above the drone, squawking and fussing, as if they were giving it a verbal warning to stay out of their air space. Thaxton guided the black drone to the center of his dock, near the thatched roof lean-to. He worked the controls, gently setting the drone down and shutting off the four rotor motors. In the abrupt silence, he could hear the lap of the river water, the flow of the current against the pilings, the sound of the family dog, Rodeo, barking in their backyard.

  Thaxton leaned down, picking up his drone, removing the data video card, and folding the rotor arms so he could fit it in the carrying box. He stood and looked up, the green carpet on the water now visible and coming his way. He scanned the river, no sign of any boats, rare for a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon.

  “Daddy! We brought you a sandwich.”

  Thaxton turned around. His six-year-old daughter, Kristy, running down the dock toward him. Rodeo, their yellow Lab, trotted next to Kristy, a crooked dog smile on his bright face. Jessica followed, carrying a wicker basket in one arm. Kristy stopped running, walking the last twenty feet. A spattering of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. Her auburn hair was combed neatly and pulled back in a pink headband, her blue-gray eyes going wide. “Did you fly your drone today?”

  “Yes. I was flying it over the river.”

  “Can I fly it too?”

  “I’ll teach you, but we’ll need to start lessons in a wide, open field with no trees or water.”

  She grinned, one of her teeth missing. “Okay. Mommy made you a sandwich. I helped a little bit.”

  Thaxton looked over to his wife as she set the basket on a round, wooden table under the thatched-roof lean-to. He said, “Thank you both.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jessica looked at the river, her eyes scanning to the east, toward the ocean. “I don’t see anything.”

  Thaxton gestured with his hand. “That way. You can see the green from here.”

  His wife looked to the northwest, her eyes narrowing some, breeze blowing her hair, “What is it?”

  “My guess is that it’s some sort of algae bloom.”

  “We’ve had those in the past.”

  “But nothing like this. Let me show you what I saw from the air.” He inserted the video card in his tablet and hit the play button. Within seconds the screen filled with the chemical green, the point-of-view changing to a wider perspective, the green appeared endless.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Jessica. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Where’s it coming from?”

  “What is it, Mommy?” asked Kristy.

  “I don’t know. Daddy just found something in the water.”

  Thaxton pointed. “The current is bringing it our way. It’s just a matter of time before it’s out in the open ocean.”

  They stood, watching the green monster grow closer. Thaxton said, “I’m betting, because of the recent rains, the gate keepers at Lake Okeechobee have released a lot of water and, for some reason, the stuff is on fire.”

  Jessica shook her head and folded her arms across her breasts. “It’s like they did a massive toilet flush and all the crap is coming our way.” She frowned. “It looks like some kind of toxic waste … like Jell-O that’s gone through a weird kind of nuclear reactor spill, as if its glowing, and not in a good way.”

  “I’ve got the footage. I have to report this to the DNR and Florida Fish and Game.”

>   Within thirty seconds, the green water was less than one-hundred feet from the end of their dock. Kristy said, “My nose is burning.”

  Jessica eyed her husband. “Joe, let’s go inside. I don’t like the way things are looking.”

  “You take Kristy back to the house. I want to use my phone to capture some of this on video as it comes ashore on our property and our neighbors’ properties.”

  The wind abruptly shifted direction, blowing from the northwest, the breeze skimming across the continuous surface of green. Kristy said, “Something stinks. Like dead fish.”

  Jessica shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand, staring at the approaching green tide. “Look! I can see hundreds, maybe thousands of dead fish bobbing in that sea of green. It’s killing everything it touches. The odor is putrid.” Rodeo barked, snorting through his nose, panting.

  Kristy’s face tightened, reddening, her lungs gasping. “I can’t breathe!” she managed to shout. “Daddy! I can’t breathe?” She fell to her knees, holding her small hands to her chest, her breathing labored, lungs wheezing.

  “Kristy!” shouted her mother, bending down and holding Kristy’s face in her hands, looking into her daughter watering eyes. “Joe! Call 9-1-1! She’s having some kind of respiratory attack.”

  Thaxton bolted three steps to his wife and daughter, scooping Kristy up in his arms, her body convulsing as she tried to suck in air. “We’ve got to get her inside! You can call 9-1-1 as we go back to the house.”

  He ran, looking down at his daughter, her face contorted, desperate for air. Her eyes seemed far way. She couldn’t focus on her father’s face—her mind elsewhere, as if it had left her contorting body. Thaxton sprinted down the dock toward his backyard and house. He had never felt so frightened, so helpless. “Kristy! Breathe! Try for short breaths. Breathe! Stay with me, Kristy.” His wife and dog ran behind, the rancid stench of decay and toxins in the wind, chasing them. The smell of death coming from a river of poison.

  THREE

  Florida Everglades

  The last time I bought flowers for a woman, I placed them on my wife’s grave. I thought about that driving east on State Road 41, from Naples to Miami, through the heart of Big Cypress National Preserve and the Florida Everglades. I knew the place. It was marked by a small sign. Hand-painted. Neat lettering. Maybe the man who’d erected the sign didn’t want it to be easily read, at least not by most of the motorists speeding across the state through a land filled with towering cypress trees and dark water. I believe I knew why the sign looked more like a postscript. And that was the charm of the merchant of the Everglades. Perhaps hermit would be a better title. Maybe the entrance gate would be unlocked. Maybe it wouldn’t. I’d soon find out.