I released the brake on the windlass and began backing away from the beach. Once enough chain was out, I engaged the windlass brake and reversed harder, pulling the rode tight, and setting the anchor in the sandy bottom.
Satisfied, I shifted to neutral, shut down the engines, and told Fiona in a low voice to reconnect the safety chain. Sound travels well over water; normal conversation can be heard hundreds of yards away. I went down the ladder quickly and opened the salon hatch. Finn bounded out and stood on his hind legs, looking toward shore.
“How long will she be?” Moana asked, starting down the ladder.
I turned to face her just as her foot slipped. She toppled backward, and I moved quickly to break her fall. As small as she was, I was able to catch her in midair, cradling her small frame in both arms. I doubted she even weighed as much as Finn, and he was barely a hundred pounds. She smelled a lot better.
As I gently placed her on the deck, she smiled up at me. “Thanks.”
“De nada,” I said, then went to the transom door and opened it. Finn came over and stepped out onto the swim platform. We were in about five or six feet of water over a sandy bottom.
“Think you can find us something to snack on?” I asked Finn, rubbing the loose fur behind his ear. He barked once.
“Then get to it, boy. These ladies are probably hungry.”
Finn jumped into the water, going under for a second, before bobbing back to the surface like a cork. Labs can float effortlessly, thanks to a dense underfur that traps tiny air bubbles, making them more buoyant.
Looking around, Finn spotted the shoreline and struck out toward it at a fast swim.
Fiona joined me at the transom. “Didn’t Charity say she was bringing steaks?”
“She did,” I replied, “but a little snack before she arrives isn’t gonna hurt.”
“And your dog will find a snack?” she scoffed.
Finn reached the beach and trotted out onto the sand, his nose to the ground. “He will in a minute,” I said, as Finn disappeared into the foliage. “Right now, I think he’s just looking to relieve himself.”
A moment later, Finn returned to the water’s edge. He moved back and forth on the wet sand at the edge of the water, stopping to sniff at it here and there, before he waded back into the water. When it reached his belly, he began pawing at the bottom with his big front paws, the webbing in his toes kicking up silt. After a moment his head went under. When he came up, I could see that he had a clam in his mouth. He started swimming back toward the boat.
Moana stepped up to the transom on my other side. “What’s he got in his mouth?”
“A clam.”
Fiona laughed. “One clam? What do we do? Cut it up into three pieces?”
Finn reached the swim platform and deposited his find, then turned and swam in circles for a moment. Suddenly, he dove. Through the gin-clear water, we watched as he swam down to the bottom and pawed at the sand a moment. When he came back up, he had another clam in his mouth.
“Good boy,” I shouted, as he dropped it on the platform with the other one.
He turned and dove again.
I looked over at Fiona. “Give him ten or fifteen minutes, and he’ll bring up a good dozen. That should hold us over until Charity arrives.” Glancing toward the sun, now just a few degrees above the horizon, I said, “Right now, I’m missing happy hour.”
In the galley, I put four Red Stripes in a small cooler, topped it with ice, and carried it up to the bridge. The girls were already there, Fiona in the second seat, and Moana on the port bench, both facing aft.
“You like to watch the sun go down,” Moana said softly. “But it makes you sad.”
Taking my seat, I removed a brace of the stubby brown bottles. I opened them with a bottle opener that’s always floating around on the console somewhere and passed a beer to each of the two girls, then dropped the opener in the cooler and closed it.
“Not sad,” I confessed, putting my feet up on the aft rail. “Sunset is a time to reflect; to look back on your day and examine what you’ve accomplished. It’s the best time to make plans for tomorrow, so that the mistakes you made today won’t be repeated.”
Fiona raised her bottle. “To better tomorrows.”
We drank, and I relaxed a little. Having a pretty good idea of what was to come, I just enjoyed the daily dance of sun and sea before it did. There was a possibility that this day’s events weren’t quite over.
In the distance, a buzzing sound grew a little louder.
The sun slipped behind the clouds and was gone. I found myself hoping the clouds didn’t extend far beyond the horizon, and El Sol would reappear just below them, but he didn’t. It was the twentieth sunset I’d watched since leaving the Keys in search of Savannah. And it was the first I’d watched with another person during that time.
“You girls need to go below,” I said, as darkness fell quickly over the water. I reached up and turned on the bright overhead lights and the anchor light. “Company’s coming. Go to the forward cabin and lock the door. He won’t stay long.”
“Company?” Fiona’s eyes showed fear. “Who is it?”
“A cop from Nassau, I think.”
“A cop?” she said, as both girls moved quickly down the ladder.
I followed them down to the cockpit, carrying the nearly empty cooler and my half-empty beer in one hand.
Finn had climbed up onto the swim platform, and stood looking off to the south, ears up as high as he could raise them. For labs, that’s about half-mast. At his feet, I noticed a healthy pile of top neck clams.
“Stay in the cabin until I tell you to come out,” I warned the girls.
When they were halfway through the salon, I ordered Finn inside. He reluctantly obeyed. I scooped his clams into a bucket then sat down in the fighting chair to wait. The low buzzing grew louder.
After five minutes, the green sidelight and white stern light of a boat appeared out beyond the spit of land to our south. The stern light slowly disappeared as the red sidelight became visible in the gathering darkness. The boat was turning, coming straight toward the Revenge. I recognized the silhouette of Detective Sergeant Clarence Bingham’s swift patrol boat. I wasn’t completely certain in the near darkness, but I only saw one person aboard.
I swiveled the fighting chair and leaned toward the switch, mounted to the bulkhead beside the salon hatch. The bright white lights of the cockpit came on, along with the blue underwater lights around the swim platform. All lit up like this, the Revenge looks very inviting—and, hopefully, non-threatening.
I could hear the boat approaching, though I could no longer see it, due to the bright cockpit lights. I wasn’t worried, though. I’d half-expected it after the slide the Defence Force guy had given us, though I hadn’t known who would be coming.
The sound of the engine changed, as the boat’s pilot shifted to neutral. “Cap’n McDermitt? Yuh look like yuh was expectin’ someone.”
“Come aboard, Detective Bingham,” I said, raising my beer in salute. “I kind of figured you might be here to see me.”
His boat entered the cone of light my boat cast around it, and Bingham quickly tied off and stepped over the gunwale. “Were yuh now?”
Reaching down, I flipped open the cooler, grabbed the last beer and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly in his left hand, and I did the same with the bottle opener in the bottom of the cooler. He caught that, too.
A slow grin came to the man’s face as he leaned back on the gunwale and popped the cap, which he pocketed. “I’ve learned a bit more about yuh since we last met, Cap’n,” he said, handing the opener back. “Did yuh know dat yuh name is a watch word to some people?”
“Watch word?” I asked, taking a long pull from my beer.
“Certain words or phrases,” he began, “dey trigger some computer somewhere, for people to take
a closer look. Words like bomb, or hijack—or Jesse McDermitt.”
I grinned a bit. “I kinda doubt that.”
“Less dan a minute after I started searching di internet about yuh, I got a phone call from di Foreign Affairs Minister himself.”
“Coincidence,” I said with a shrug.
Bingham took a slow pull from his bottle. “I would think di same thing. Except di minister asked specifically why I was looking for yuh.”
That was mildly surprising. I knew Big Brother watched the internet, picking up on key words and phrases in all languages in the ongoing fight against terrorism. The internet is not private. Anything uploaded is public, whether you want it to be or not. And it’s there forever.
“So, what was it the Foreign Minister wanted?”
Bingham’s eyes locked on mine. “To tell me dat yuh are a hands-off ghost.”
“Ghost?”
“Yuh work for di American government,” he said.
I tried to keep my face neutral. While I was once loosely connected to Homeland Security, and before that an active duty Marine, these days I was nothing more than a charter boat captain, and lately not even that. But a spook? Hardly. But it would explain the events from earlier in the day, and quite well.
“Was that why I wasn’t told to wait around when I found the container?”
“I wouldn’t know ’bout dat, Cap’n,” he replied. “I did hear dat a container was recovered south of New Providence dis afternoon with a body inside.”
He studied my face as he mentioned the body.
“I called it in,” I said. “I could tell by the smell that someone had died inside it. Any idea who or how?”
He continued to gaze at me, his dark eyes not giving away anything. Finally, he nodded. “One mon, tied spread-eagle on a wooden frame and propped up just inside di door. His throat was cut ear to ear, and his tongue pulled out through di slash.”
“They call that a Colombian necktie,” I said.
He nodded again. “Yuh are familiar with dis kind of execution?”
“Not personally. Just things I hear. The way I understand it, it’s meant as a warning for other people to keep their mouths shut.”
“Dat is my understanding, too,” Bingham said, taking another slow drink from his beer as he continued to appraise me. “Di man has already been identified. A small-time drug distributor in America. Di coroner said dat he died at least a day before di container went overboard.”
“Let me guess,” I offered. “The container was bound for the States.”
“To di mon’s own legitimate business.”
“Any drugs in the container.”
“Dey are still searching,” he replied. “But, from what I hear, no.”
“Truth is, Bingham,” I began, deciding that some transparency might get more information. “I did do a little contract work for the American government. Transportation arrangements and the like. That’s all ancient history now.”
“I see,” he said. “I also know dat di man yuh dropped off in Nassau once worked for your government, as well. I thank you for di evidence you provided against di two men.”
“I still have some contacts. Want me to see if they can find out anything about the guy in the container?”
“Your government has already been very helpful in dat regard.”
He hadn’t mentioned the Pences and Rayna Haywood. “That’s not why you followed me all the way out here is it?”
“No,” he replied, standing, and draining his bottle. “I wanted to tell yuh dat di other three weren’t on dat cruise ship, like yuh said.”
“Still at Half Moon Cay?” I asked, though his appearance here suggested otherwise.
“I sent a patrol boat,” he said, rising and going to where he’d tied his boat. “Di three were not dere either.”
“So, you came all this way to warn me?”
“I don’t think yuh are a man dat need a warning,” he said. “Dey stole a boat from Half Moon, a fifty-five-foot Hatteras. Di owners are still missing.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” I said.
Bingham untied the line and swung a leg over onto the patrol boat, letting it drift away from the Revenge slightly.
“Di men we arrested have begun to talk,” Bingham said. “Dey both said dat besides di three dat were supposed to be on di cruise ship, dere was another woman, Fiona Russo. But I am not supposed to ask you any questions.”
“Did either of those men tell you about two others in the group? A man and a woman Pence had ordered killed late last night?”
“Yes, dey did,” Bingham replied, starting his outboards. “Both said dat dey saw di woman di next day, right dere on yuh boat.”
“You mean they saw her on a boat that looks like this one.”
He smiled broadly. “Yes, Cap’n. Dat exactly what I mean.”
I moved over to the gunwale. “If I see this Russo woman, the other three, or the Hatteras, you’ll be the first to know.”
He merely nodded and put the engines in gear. A moment later, he throttled up and the boat was soon swallowed by the darkness. I waited until the sound was far beyond the other cove, then I went to the salon hatch and doused the bright lights. Climbing up to the fly bridge, I did the same up there, and turned on the low level red lights and radar.
Bingham’s boat was two miles away and heading south at a good rate of speed. I waited until the echo was five miles away, then I went down and opened the salon hatch.
The salon was pitched in darkness, with only the red light of the coffeemaker to guide my way. Not that I needed guidance. In the galley, I turned on the red overhead lights and stepped down the companionway. Finn was sitting in front of my stateroom door, ears up, and head cocked to the side.
“Think a dozen’s gonna be enough?” I asked, as I tapped on the door. Finn went past me and up into the galley. Every day, it seemed like he understood more and more.
“It’s okay to come out,” I said through the door.
The latch clicked, and the door swung open. Fiona was standing just inside. “You said you didn’t work for the government anymore.”
Turning, I made my way back toward the salon. “I don’t.”
“We could hear every word you and that cop were saying,” she said, following me, Moana right on her heels.
Sitting at the little dinette, I opened the cabinet under the flat screen TV and took my small laptop computer out. I turned it on, and it immediately connected to the boat’s wireless router, which in turn was connected to a satellite internet provider. The two women stood across from me.
“What he thinks and reality are two different things,” I said. “Can one of y’all go out to the cockpit and bring that bucket of clams in?”
Fiona turned and went out through the hatch.
“What’s that?” Moana asked, pointing to my laptop.
“A computer,” I replied. “I have a satellite connection.”
Quickly accessing the portal to Chyrel’s desktop, I began to run an encrypted search. A lot of cruisers have internet forums. It didn’t take long until I found one where people were talking about a boat that was stolen at Half Moon.
“What should I do with these?” Fiona asked, returning with the bucket.
“Wash ’em down in the sink,” I replied, as I read the accounts from the previous day. “Know how to shuck clams?”
“I do,” Moana said, taking the bucket and going to the sink.
“Leave a few for Finn,” I said, looking over to where he lay on the deck at the corner of the couch. “He shucks his own.” Finn’s head came up, cocked sideways, as his tail beat a tattoo on the deck.
Fiona slid in next to me, looking at the screen. The blog described the same boat Bingham had reported stolen. A fifty-five-foot motoryacht had been boat-jacked while anchoring at Half Moon Cay. S
everal people commented on it and mentioned the boat’s name: Cruisader, out of West Palm Beach. Of course, by the time the Bahamian authorities arrived, the boat was long gone.
Another search for the boat name and home port revealed a website, with numerous pictures of the boat and the couple who owned it, Mark and Cindy Mathis. They looked early sixties and affluent, he a retired software engineer and she a retired high school teacher. The boat looked vaguely familiar, but that style of vessel was very common.
“Think it was the Pences?” Fiona asked, reading over my shoulder.
Shrugging, I continued to scroll through the conversation. Two boats, Saline Solution and Dirty Little Seacret, had apparently witnessed the crime, and several other concerned cruisers were asking all kinds of questions. It struck me how different the conversation was compared to the stilted, one-sided interrogations I’d had with cruisers while trying to find Savannah.
“There!” Fiona said, pointing to a comment the boat called Saline Solution had posted an hour ago.
It was three people, too far away to get a description, but definitely a man and two women. They used a tender they stole from HMCR. Please pass the word on other nets, we’re very worried about our friends, Cindy and Mark.
“Time’s right,” I said. “This happened at Half Moon Cay an hour after the ship sailed. They could easily have hidden out on the island until Delta Star left, then jacked this boat as they were anchoring.”
“What are we going to do?” Moana asked from the galley.
I glanced over at her and then at Fiona, sitting next to me. I couldn’t quite tell if the question was what they should do to avoid the Pences, or what we should do to help bring them to justice.
“The authorities probably have it under control,” Fiona said after a moment. “Not much we can do from here, anyway.”
Her stock rose just a bit, in my mind. Over the next hour, we shucked and ate the clams, though Fiona struggled to get them open.
I tossed an unopened clam onto the deck in the salon. Finn clamped his favorite treat in his big paws and bit down on the opening in the shell, lining up his canines on one side with practiced ease. I explained my theory about how he was able to find them. I’d noticed several times, on different beaches, that he was able to sniff them out at the water’s edge, then dig around in the nearby shallows until he found another. Little by little he’d move out into deeper water to search for more. The ones on the beach were sometimes dead and apparently didn’t taste as good.
Rising Force Page 3