CHAPTER 1

Fernandina Beach, Florida

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

"Look Mark, just above the Intracoastal Waterway Bridge. Couldthat be Nash Logan's helicopter?" Bobbi Wilkins, an attractivebrunette in her early 50s, attired in a stylish pant suit to complementher slim figure, pointed her arm south from the Fernandina Beachriverfront helipad area to a rapidly approaching helicopter. Herhusband, a handsome, tall and fit man of about seventy, with a grey`Van Dyke' beard and moustache to match his full head of greywavy hair, raised his hand to shade his eyes before responding in hislow-pitched voice.

"No doubt about it, honey! I believe that our luncheon host hasarrived. And he is right on time, too."

As Mark Wilkins finished speaking, the brightly-colored,five-passenger "Bell Ranger" swooped down from the cloudless sky tosettle gently in the middle of the circular helipad, cordoned off by arope barrier on the edge of the waterfront concrete parking area.

The rotor was still turning as the rear door opened and afit-looking, white-haired man of about sixty, dressed in casual slacksand golf shirt, jumped to the pavement and strode toward them.He was undoubtedly the well-publicized Nash Logan, chairman andprincipal stockholder of Canada's largest homebuilding company,the very man who had phoned Mark the prior evening to invite thetwo of them to lunch aboard his yacht moored in the St. Johns Riverin downtown Jacksonville. He had asked them to meet him at thewaterfront helipad a few blocks from their turn-of-the-century homein the historic section of this small city at the north end of popularAmelia Island, Florida. He said he would land at ten, and Bobbiglanced at her watch to confirm Mark's observation that Mr. Loganwas right on time.

"Bobbi, Mark," exclaimed Nash Logan with a big smile on hisface. "How good to meet you! With the telephone description I gotfrom Harold Abrams, I would have recognized you anywhere. Hetold me just to look for the most elegant retired couple in FernandinaBeach. And here you are!" He offered his hand to Bobbi first beforeturning to Mark.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice.I know you must be busy people and I am fortunate to find youhome."

"Well, after all," Mark returned Logan's smile, "it isn't every daywe get invited to lunch on a yacht, especially via a brightly-colored airtaxi."

"Yeah," replied Logan in a softer voice, "our colors are ratherbright. However, my Marketing VP claims that these bright colorsattract attention wherever we go, and that's part of the mystique ofselling new homes. But, enough small talk, let's get aboard. Mark,how be you sit up front with Jake Johnson, my pilot, so you can pointout local attractions as we head back into the city? Bobbi and I canride in the back."

Logan assisted Bobbi up the steps to the right rear seat anddirected her how to attach the seat belt and don the ear phonesand microphone so they could all talk to each other during theflight. Then, he and Mark hopped aboard and strapped in to theirplaces. Mark shook hands with the pilot, Jake Johnson, who was agood-looking man of average height with a ready smile and anobvious Canadian accent, complete with hard-sounding vowels andthe frequent addition of "eh" to the ends of sentences.

"All set, Jake, we are ready to fly whenever you are," Logan advisedthe pilot.

"Yes sir, Mr. Logan, here we go." The helicopter lifted off theconcrete and quickly accelerated to about one-thousand feet altitude,moving slowly toward the north end of the island a few hundred yardsfrom the waterfront dock.

"So Mark, tell me about this place," spoke Nash's voice in theirearphones. "Why do you live here?"

"Wow," replied Mark. "That's a big question, Mr. Logan."

"Hey," said Logan, "please call me Nash. I came to Florida to learneverything I can about this state and I am anxious to get started. So,please help me learn."

"Okay," said Mark. "It turns out that you came to the right placeto get started.' He proceeded to describe the unfolding scene below.Fernandina Beach is one of the oldest settlements in Florida. Formany years, beginning in the 1850s, it was the southernmost stop onthe east coast reachable by railroad. So many northerners came herefor winter vacations. Florida's oldest operating hotel, Florida HouseInn, was built here in 1857 by railroad pioneer David Yulee, one ofthe primary leaders in Florida's achievement of statehood in 1845,and the first United States Senator from Florida. Unfortunately, thecurrent owners closed its doors because of financial problems earlierthis year. The famous Henry Flagler, of Standard Oil, built a luxuryhotel here for northern tourists in the 1880s, but it burned down inthe early twentieth century and was not re-constructed. Prior to that,according to local historians, eight different flags flew over the city atdifferent times as a variety of armies took possession of this strategicisland colony.

"Up here on the north side of the island," continued Mark,"you can get a good look at Fort Clinch, named for a somewhatcontroversial army officer of the infamous Indian Wars in themid-nineteenth century. It is still standing as an historic monumentto guard the ocean entrance into the Fernandina Beach settlement.And across on the northern shore of the St. Marys River, you can seethe historic fishing village of St. Marys, Georgia. So you are literallyat the northeast corner of Florida. As to why Bobbi and I chose tolive here in a one-hundred year-old house, we decided, after searchingseveral options over a two-year period, that Fernandina Beach offersthe most interesting and relaxing atmosphere for a newly-marriedolder couple of any alternative location known to us."

"Dynamite," responded Nash. "What are those structures northof St. Marys?"

"We are not allowed to fly over there, Jake," replied Mark, ashe felt the copter move north. "It is the King's Bay Navy Base fornuclear submarines and they do not welcome uninvited guests. Isuggest we fly south along the Atlantic beachfront and I will showyou two very popular resort communities beyond this area ofFernandina Beach." As Jake turned the aircraft to the south along thebeach, Mark continued, "By the way, you can see the local executiveairport to the west, fronting along the Intracoastal Waterway. East ofthe airport is the twenty-seven hole Fernandina Beach Public GolfCourse, and coming into view along the beachfront is Summer SandsResort Community with its eighteen-hole golf course. Very expensivemid-rise condominiums line the shore here, on either side of theRitz-Carlton Hotel.

Mark explained that Summer Sands originally was the northernpart of a large tract purchased by the Sea Pines Company of HiltonHead Island, South Carolina, in the early 1970s to plan and developthe southern half of Amelia Island Plantation. Sea Pines was foundedby Charles Frazier, who many regard as the originator of recreationcommunities after he developed Sea Pines on his family's landon Hilton Head Island, beginning in the 1960s. Unfortunately,the recession of 1973-74 drove Sea Pines into bankruptcy justas it completed the first phase of Amelia Island Plantation andthe property subsequently was split into two parts. The southerneight-hundred acres was acquired by an Ohio coal mine owner namedCooper who enlarged it to over thirteen-hundred acres and directedits development into a profitable resort community, with three golfcourses and a championship tennis center, before he died in the1990s.

Mark paused to point out another area of interest: "We are comingup on Amelia Island Plantation now where the large condominiumbuildings line the beachfront and lower-density attached and detachedhomes extend all the way across the island to the west. The northernpart of the original property was acquired by a local group of investorswho were equally successful in developing Summer Sands resortcommunity. Both properties now are completely developed."

"That's a great description," interjected Nash. "What's on the nextisland south?"

Mark continued to describe the coastal terrain, pointing outthat State Route AIA, which extends from the Georgia border downthe coast three-hundred and fifty miles to Miami, traverses AmeliaIsland and crosses a recently re-constructed new bridge to TalbotIsland—actually two islands, with the north portion named LittleTalbot Island, but the divider creek is too small to be noticeable fromthe air. Except for a couple of small out-parcels, the entire doubleisland is a state park with very nice picnic facilities and trails, as wellas a magnificent sand beach.

State Route AIA then crosses on another bridge and swings westalong the north bank of the St. Johns River to the Ferry Dock, whereit crosses by ferry to the little fishing village of Mayport. The pavedroad continues on up the north shore of the river a few miles to theN. B. Broward Bridge, usually called the Dames Point Bridge by localresidents, reflecting the narrowing of the river at that point.

"Holy Mackerel," exclaimed Nash. "Look at all those navy shipsmoored across the river. It must be a major Navy Base, eh?"

"That it is," replied Mark. "Mayport Navy Base is one of thelargest military ports on the east coast and former home base fortwo aircraft carriers, both since retired. Currently, it is planned tore-fit the base as home-port for a nuclear carrier. You best stay onthis north side of the river, Jake, to avoid any conflict with thebase airport. You can follow the river for fifteen miles right intodowntown if you like."

"Roger that, Mark," answered Jake, as he turned the helicopter tothe west upriver. "This is an easy route to follow."

"The channel in the St, Johns River is about forty feet deep,"continued Mark. "But it is about to be dredged another ten feet toaccommodate the larger ships due to sail through the new PanamaCanal when it is completed in 2014. Ahead, you can see the high-levelbridge completed fifteen years ago and named for former Jacksonvillenative and Florida Governor Napoleon Bonaparte Broward. Many ofhis descendants still live on remaining portions of his property fartherwest along the river. I consider it rather ironic that Broward's majorclaim to notoriety, during his brief term as Florida's Governor in 1905to 1909, was to initiate the disastrous drainage of the Everglades insouth Florida, and then current state officials ended up naming abridge after him. Just beyond the bridge, on the north side of theriver, is the new Matsui Shipping Terminal on one-hundred acresalready open to inter-ocean shipping. A neighboring terminal forHanjin of Korea is planned for construction prior to 2014. We alsoanticipate a new cruise ship terminal, either at this location or in thevillage of Mayport—a location decision still being debated by localpoliticians and the Jacksonville Port Authority.

"Around the next bend in the river you can see the MatthewsBridge, often called the red bridge by locals because of its color.Beyond are the green or Hart Bridge, the blue Main Street Bridge,and the newer Acosta Bridge which is lighted with purple neon stripsat night. The red, blue and green colors reportedly are symbolic ofthe colors representing Jacksonville's colleges of higher education. Allof them serve downtown Jacksonville, which you can identify by thehigh-rise buildings around the next bend in the river. By the way, thiscity originally was named 'Cowford' because residents and animalshad to ford the river on a sandbank at this point. But, wait, I believe Isee your easily-identifiable colored yacht moored alongside the NorthBank Riverwalk adjacent to downtown, so I guess my travel talk iscompleted."

"Right, take her down, Jake; and thank you, Mark, for anexcellent description of the sights along our route," said Nash. "Mycontact was absolutely right about your knowledge of this state."

* * *

On the south bank of the St. Johns River, directly across from theLogan yacht moored on the north bank, three well-dressed men sat onthe patio of the Crown Plaza Hotel bar. All three had drinks in frontof them, but their attention was riveted on the helicopter landing onthe deck of the yacht.

The oldest of the three was small of stature and almost completelybald, except for a fringe of white hair on his head. He had apleasant-looking face that belied his seventy years of age. Despitehis disarming appearance, Albert Siegal was the reputed controllerof the largest money laundering operation in Florida for a Colombiadrug cartel. He invested large sums in real estate developments thatusually were completed in record time due to rapid local governmentapprovals aided by rumored corrupt bribery of officials. Theinvestor's share of the profits flowed to seemingly respectable businessenterprises in other states controlled by Colombia's Esperanza family.

The two younger men on either side of Siegal appeared to be intheir early fifties: one was a tall, handsome man with blond wavy hairwho rarely smiled; the other was equally slim, but of average heightand characterized by a full head of black hair combed straight backand shiny with hair dressing. The tall man was Siegal's attorney KurtRichter, from Orlando, where all three men resided. He was wellcompensated for handling the illicit money flow from The Bahamasinto Florida, and dividing it into deposits and short-term savingsinstruments in a variety of small banks and credit unions, until itcould be transferred into longer-term land development investments.The shorter man was Jack Swift, an Orlando real estate broker whowas responsible for identifying new investments for Siegal. Hisjob had become increasingly difficult since the start of The GreatRecession in late 2007, and the subsequent halt in new real estatedevelopment. Their Colombian masters were impatient with Swift'sdeclining ability to invest their funds, a problem that was beginningto attract attention from federal bank examiners to their growingdeposits.

Thus, Siegal had taken a personal role in micro-managingSwift's activities. He and Richter had accompanied their associatenorth to the Jacksonville waterfront for a personal look at Swift'slatest prospect: the wealthy Canadian builder Nash Logan, whowas rumored to be searching for a large land purchase upon whichto build a new community. Evidently, the Canadian economy wasnot affected by the American recession and real estate developmentwas continuing to expand. Swift had contacted Logan's office inToronto, but only succeeded in leaving a message that he is the mostknowledgeable land broker in Florida. He received no response fromLogan! So, at Siegal's insistence, the three men decided to have afirst-hand look at their new investment target, who had arrived inJacksonville the previous night by air from Toronto.

Siegal was holding binoculars to his eyes, and he appeared tobe focused on the passengers disembarking from the Logan Homeshelicopter that had just landed on the stern deck of the yacht acrossthe river.

"Do you recognize the helicopter passengers?" asked the older man.

"Yes sir, Mr. Siegal," replied the fast-talking Jack Swift. "The manin the passenger seat is Dr. Mark Wilkins, the well-known urbanplanner now retired from the international architectural, planningand engineering firm, Roberts, Jones and Vale (SJ&V), headquarteredhere in Jacksonville. That is his wife emerging from the rear seat. Sheis a successful free-lance writer for a number of national magazines.They have been married only a couple of years and live in FernandinaBeach. My new contact on board the yacht told me that Logan wouldpick them up from there and bring them here for lunch. That isLogan disembarking from the other rear door. My informant tells methat Logan brought them here to recruit Wilkins to assist him in hisFlorida property search."

"Why the hell hire a planner," interjected Kurt Richter? "Whydidn't he hire a real estate broker like you? Didn't you contact him athis Toronto office when you learned about his interest?"

"Yes I did," replied Swift, somewhat defensively, "but all I receivedwas a polite brush-off from his secretary. And, yes, before youcontinue questioning, I tried to contact him several times withoutsuccess, before I hired an informant on his yacht in preparation for ameeting here in Florida."