"Dave, I think I've found something," Garcia's voice over the cell phone was quivering with excitement. "But, be prepared, because it is really, really weird."
"We've done weird before," Rossi reminded the computer tech. He had been waiting patiently for her call, confident that she would find something for him to pursue. "So, why don't you begin at the beginning?"
"Okay, I took what you told me – cotton fields and fruit crops – and got Marty to help me search satellite images of the various Leeward Islands," Garcia began. "And, we came up with several possibilities."
"However, upon further examination, there is only one island that fits your parameters, kind of," she concluded.
"What do you mean 'Kind of'?" Rossi asked.
"Well, the crops all appear to be accounted for," Garcia explained. "However, it appears that there are actually four separate settlements on the island. Plus, the island itself is owned by an extremely reputable corporation."
"A corporation?" Rossi questioned. "One that is listed on the New York Stock Exchange?"
"Not quite that prominent," Garcia replied. "However, they are well known for developing resorts in tropical locals which provide jobs and job training for the locals. And recently they have been concentrating on developing ecologically sustainable resorts that bring tourists to underdeveloped areas."
"And where do I find this paragon of ecological responsibility?" Rossi asked dryly.
"Their main office is located in the Florida Keys," Garcia told him. "I am sending the address as well as the names of the major players to your phone even as we speak. And, I am also sending directions to the island I've identified."
"Thanks," Rossi glanced at the screen of his phone.
"Trans-Caribbean Development Corporation," he read. "And they own Hutchens Island?"
"They have since the early 1900's," Garcia confirmed. "And, just as a suggestion, you might want to take Morgan or Lewis or Reid or another member of the BAU with you when you go to visit them. It would lend some credence to your inquiries."
"Good idea," Rossi agreed. "Let me call Cruz and tell him what you've found."
"And - Thanks Garcia!" he added. "Hopefully this is the key we have all been looking for."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"We are here to see Mr. Hayward," Matt Cruz announced to the woman sitting behind the reception desk at Trans-Caribbean Development Corporation's main office.
Following his review of Garcia's information, Cruz had insisted on personally leading the investigation. Initially, there had been some discussion on whether or not to include Rossi in the group. However, in the end, Morgan's opinion had prevailed. "It's not like he's some civilian with no background and no idea of what to expect," he had argued. "And, besides, without him we wouldn't even have this lead."
Cruz had been forced to agree and Rossi had traveled with the team to the Florida Keys.
It was early in the morning when they had arrived at the modern office building which housed the development company's offices, and Cruz had taken Lewis and Rossi in with him, leaving Morgan, Reid, and JJ outside to guard the perimeter.
"I'm sorry Sir, but Mr. Hayward isn't in yet this morning. Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist replied.
"I don't think I need one," Cruz and Lewis flashed their FBI credentials while Rossi stayed in the background.
"The FBI?" the woman questioned, surprised. "I don't know what you would want with Mr. Hayward, but he isn't here right now. Let me check who is here." She began reviewing a list of employees who had already checked in that morning.
"None of the partners appear to have arrived yet," she began apologetically. "I could however – " She stopped and looked towards the entrance door.
"Mr. Hartnell!" she exclaimed. "May I speak with you for a moment?"
"Yes, Leslie," a tanned, middle-aged man wearing sunglasses walked over to the reception desk. "What can I help you with?"
"These people are with the FBI," the woman explained. "And they are looking for Mr. Hayward. He's not in yet but maybe you can help them?"
"Always ready to help the FBI," the man exclaimed as he removed his sunglasses. "Ron Hartnell," he introduced himself. "I'm one of the partners here."
"And you don't need to introduce yourself," he turned to Rossi. "You're David Rossi. I've read all your books and also attended the reading you gave several months ago at the library in Ft. Lauderdale."
"Thank you - It's always good meet a fan," Rossi smiled at the man. "Now, we have some questions this morning and you might be able to help us."
"I can certainly try," was the enthusiastic response. "Why don't we all go up to my office and make ourselves comfortable? And, Leslie, when Wayne comes in can you send him up?"
"Of course, Mr. Hartnell," was the relieved response.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"Now, what can I do for you agents?" After declining an offer of something to drink, the group had arranged themselves on the chairs and couch in Ron Hartnell's office.
"We have some questions about Hutchens Island," Cruz began the inquiry.
"We understand your company owns it," Lewis added.
"Hutchens Island?" the man questioned. "It's been a long time since I thought about that place. It's been sitting there in the Caribbean for over a hundred years serving as a reminder of one of the early failures of our company."
"Why is that?" Rossi asked interestedly.
"Why is it a failure?" Mr. Hartnell repeated. "Well, mainly because it never developed into the flourishing enterprise our grandfathers had anticipated."
"Your grandfathers?" Lewis asked.
"Yes," the man smiled. "In order to understand this, you need to go back to the origins of Trans-Caribbean Development Company. Originally, back in the early 1900's, it consisted of four young men who pooled their money with grandiose dreams of making a killing by raising cotton on an island in the Caribbean. They bought Hutchens Island fairly cheaply and the climate seemed to be amenable for that particular crop. However, between the weather (several hurricanes blew through that area during the next several years) and the difficulty of getting workers who were willing to live on the island, things never panned out. After seven years of losses, the plan and the island were abandoned. The island has been just sitting there ever since."
"We, that is the current generation, are just lucky that they cleared enough money to buy a slightly decrepit hotel on Puerto Rico. A little adroit advertising during the depths of a New York City winter and the rest is history, so to speak."
"Are you sure?" Rossi asked. "About the island being abandoned, I mean."
"Of course," the man looked puzzled. "We have a company that goes out there several times a year and checks on it, looking for squatters and the like. The reports always come back saying that there isn't anyone out there."
"I must admit that on several occasions we have considered developing it as one of our resorts," he continued. "But every inspection we have commissioned has said the same thing – There just isn't enough water available to support development."
"Good Morning Ron!" a fit looking man in his mid-thirties walked through the door of the office to join the group. "Leslie said you're looking for me. What is going on here?"
"These people are from the FBI, Wayne," Mr. Hartnell replied. "And they are asking about Hutchens Island."
"This is Wayne Hayward, one of the other partners" he introduced the newcomer.
"That place?" the man questioned. "Why? Is the government interested in using it as a training facility of some sort? I can't imagine it being good for anything else."
"Would you be surprised if I told you that we have proof that not only is Hutchins Island occupied but that it is also producing several very profitable crops each year?" Rossi asked.
"What?" both men stared at him as if he were speaking Martian.
"That's impossible," Ron Hartnell declared.
"We have reports," Wayne Hayward insisted.
"We have a satellite photo," Cruz took the picture out of his attaché and placed it on the coffee table.
"This was taken about 10 days ago," he added as the two men bent over to examine it.
"The shape looks like what I remember of the island," Ron Hartnell said. "But, I can't be sure."
"All the original surveys are stored in George Hughes's office," Wayne Hayward pointed out. "Perhaps we should go in there and take a look."