“There’s a time factor involved too, Chris,” Dave commented. “It seems pretty tight to me.”
“Are you doubting my abilities after all these years?” Chris asked, feigning offence. “I did give us a couple of days. Seriously, I’m sure I can find the appropriate yacht within a day or two. As for the ROV, I’m toying with something which I’ll bounce off you all once I’ve convinced myself I’m not nuts.”
“What if Gomez wants to see the coca paste?” Martinez questioned. “Where do you plan to get that?”
Chris grinned and replied, “With all due respect, Pablo, I’m going to minimize who-knows-what and not answer that, although you could probably help us out with finding a supplier.”
“No way, boss,” Martinez replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not but there are limits to my helpfulness.”
“Don’t worry,” said Chris. “I wasn’t serious and you’ve been more than helpful so far. I think your work is done here but, if you don’t mind, I’d ask you to stay here a few more days, just in case we need some advice.”
Attempting to look solemn but failing, Martinez replied, “As much as I miss winter in South Dakota, I’ll make that sacrifice for you.”
“You guys okay with that?” Chris asked Washington and Chen.
“Oh, yeah,” said Washington while Chen gave a thumbs up.
“Good,” said Chris as he stood. “We’ll be in touch tomorrow. I foresee a few busy days ahead so we’re going to go enjoy dinner with our charming esposas. Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”
Chapter 8 – Monday, December 15, 2014
Gulfstream G280 over the Caribbean Sea, destination Aruba, late morning
Over the years, Chris had chartered luxury yachts for both business and pleasure on a number of occasions and, as a result, had become good friends with Sheila Bahmer, CEO of SeaLife International Charters. Though Chris had never gone into specifics with her about his clandestine employment, he had informed her along the way he worked as a consultant for the government and dealt with delicate matters. An adventurous spirit herself, Sheila had received this information without batting an eye and simply told Chris, “Don’t ever screw up one of my boats on one of your missions, buddy, or I’ll have your ass.”
Since, she had become somewhat of an informal resource for Chris whenever he needed a contact or information in an area with which she was familiar, a rather wide range considering she dealt with boat owners, marina operators and high-level business executives the world over. When Chris had called her early that morning about his urgent need for a luxury yacht, not only had she found the vessel and crew corresponding to his wishes, she had also put him in contact with a couple of people who could likely help him carry out an essential portion of his plan.
Preliminary discussions with the two gentlemen had held sufficient promise to warrant a meeting and by eleven-thirty, Chris and Jonathan had been boarding the G280 for the flight of an hour or so to Aruba with Rega and Avery handling the pilot duties. Their presence not required for the trip, Dave and Leslie had remained at the resort to enjoy some down time on the beach with Cathy, Sandy and Josée.
“Do you really think this will work?” asked Jonathan.
“Either of the two could decide not to go along,” Chris replied, “Though they both seemed rather keen about the cash I offered. I think they’ll go for it.”
“There’s that as well but I was referring to Gomez,” said Jonathan. “Do you think he’ll buy this? Maybe we should simply off the guy and drop him overboard.”
“There are a couple of reasons I’d rather not do that, though it is tempting,” said Chris, “For one, we’ll be on a chartered boat with a hired crew. The good news is, I’ve sailed with them before and Harvey, the captain, is a good man and he should play along with us once I bring him up to speed. However, committing murder on his boat might be pushing it. The other reason is, I’m not sure how well Ollie would deal with learning we literally killed his problem. As for Gomez buying this, unless something screws up, the man will believe what he sees.”
Jonathan nodded and said, “Fair enough. What if something screws up?”
“Then we’ll move on to plan B,” Chris replied with a grin. “We’ll off the guy and drop him overboard.”
* * * *
Flip-Flops Bar & Grill, Oranjestad, Aruba, early afternoon
“And that, gentlemen, is what we need,” said Chris, finishing his sales pitch to the two businessmen seated across the table. “What remains to be determined is, will it work and, if yes, can you help us out?”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t work,” said Sean Hodgson, owner of Coral Tours. “In fact, it seems rather simple to do. What do you think, Phil?”
“We’re right on the water and dredged deep at the dock for deliveries,” replied Phil Clayton, general manager of Energy-Aruba. “Putting this together would be nothing and, of course, it will work. I’m simply curious and a little concerned about what this is all about. I want to be certain we’re not getting involved in anything illegal.”
“Unless what we’re asking you to do is illegal, you have nothing to worry about,” said Jonathan. “We’ll never come in contact with your equipment. We’ll simply see it from a distance and even that will only last for a few seconds.”
“I’d also ask you to keep in mind who brought us together,” Chris added. “I understand you both have known Sheila for a number of years. Do you believe she’d ever put you in jeopardy for any reason?”
“You make a valid point,” Hodgson agreed, also intrigued though clearly not as concerned as his counterpart. “However, you must admit your request is out of the ordinary. If I understood correctly, your intention is simply to create an optical illusion, but why? Is this for a movie? You can tell us. We’ll keep it to ourselves.”
Chris sighed. “Okay, I’ll come straight with you because I really need your help with this. It’s actually kind of dumb but we all do dumb things sometimes so, here’s the deal. We have a friend with whom we’ll be cruising the Caribbean in a couple of days and we leave from here at the Renaissance Marina. Now, this friend is a nice guy but he can be a bit of a blowhard. Everything he has is always bigger and better than anyone else and it can get kind of annoying.”
“We meet a lot of people like that,” said Clayton, nodding with understanding. “Especially rich American tourists, no offence intended.”
“None taken,” Chris replied with a smile. “We’re Canadian, though, so is our buddy, Pedro. Anyhow, he’s really into remote control vehicles – cars, planes, helicopters, boats – you name it. His most recent is a submarine, about six feet long, he had custom-built and, frankly, I’m just tired of hearing about it.”
“So this is all to show him up?” Hodgson asked, grinning broadly.
Chris nodded and shrugged. “What can I say? I told you it was dumb.”
“Not to mention a little crazy,” Jonathan added, “Which is why I believe this just might work.”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” said Clayton, “With one exception. Since your friend is a remote control aficionado, he’ll surely want to try this ‘submarine’ of yours. How can you refuse him?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Chris replied. “My niece will be on the boat with us so the sub will be hers, not mine. She’s a feisty lady and doesn’t know Pedro. She won’t hesitate to tell him to get his own damned toy.”
“What if he asks her to bring it in for a closer look?” Clayton insisted, “Or to bring it back to the surface once it’s submerged?”
“She just acquired the thing and isn’t certain she should actually be playing with it in international waters in the first place,” Chris explained. “Best to keep it away from prying eyes. I should also point out we only intend to maintain the charade for a short while. Once we’ve messed with Pedro’s head for an hour or so, we’ll let him in on the joke. Can we count on your assistance?”
“If you’re willing to pay what
you offered,” said Hodgson, “I’m in. Any day is good for me but I’d ask we do it after two o’clock to respect my business’ schedule.”
“Fair enough,” Chris agreed. “How about you, Mr. Clayton?”
“With the little effort required on my part, I’d be a fool to say no,” Clayton replied. “I’ll need a day for the paint job but after that, as long as I know when, I’ll be ready.”
“Excellent, gentlemen. Thank you,” said Chris. “I’ve got a few business details to finalize before we can go off on this cruise but we could be doing this as soon as Wednesday. I’ll let you know.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Clayton. “When and how should we expect to get paid?”
“Just tell me where,” Chris replied, “And the money will be transferred before the end of the day.”
* * * *
Ventura Grande, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, late afternoon
“… and that pretty much covers what we’ve done so far,” Chris concluded.
“I must confess, I owe you an apology,” said Miguel Ortega, seated once again on the terrace of Chris’ suite.
“And why is that?” asked Chris as Jonathan, Leslie and Dave waited, also curious to hear the police officer’s response.
“I seriously doubted I would hear back from you now that almost a week had gone by since we had initially met,” Ortega explained. “Then I come here this afternoon to learn all you have done over the last six days, including bringing more people in and renting jets and yachts at surely a great expense, all with one objective in mind – to destroy Gomez. I apologize for underestimating how serious your intentions are in this matter and vow to assist you in any way I can to make this a mutual success.”
“No apology is necessary, Miguel,” Chris replied. “Perhaps I should have contacted you sooner but until we had something worthwhile to work with, I didn’t really see the point. Now, we do have a solid plan but your help will definitely be needed to make it work. The good news is, if you can provide the assistance we’re looking for, our success is all but guaranteed.”
“If that is the case,” said Ortega, “Gomez will soon be rotting in a cage because I will do whatever is needed to make it happen.”
“I like your attitude, Miguel,” said Chris. “Let me go over the details of our plan so you have a clear understanding of what we’re looking at.”
Chapter 9 – Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Palacio Policia Nacional, Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, 9:17 a.m.
Major General Armando De La Rosa, head of the National Police, stared across his desk at his subordinate in silence for a moment before speaking. “I am very disappointed, Miguel, very disappointed in–”
“Armando, I’m–” Ortega interrupted but stopped abruptly when his superior raised a hand, demanding silence.
“You will let me finish,” De La Rosa growled. “You come in here and tell me of these foreigners and their extravagant plot to destroy Pedro Gomez and how you have been meeting with them and offering assistance. Do you at least realize why I am so disappointed?”
“Armando, I’m sorry,” replied Ortega. “I realize this is out of the ordinary and if we cannot help, they will ask the United States for–”
“Ask the United States? You clearly don’t understand what my problem is!” De La Rosa snapped before breaking into a smile. “This has been going on for a week without my knowledge. Did it not occur to you I might want a piece of that bastard Gomez for myself?”
“So, uh, so you are in agreement with this?” asked Ortega, somewhat flustered as he realized his boss had been toying with him.
“Absolutely. It’s brilliant,” De la Rosa replied as he reached for the phone. “I only wish we had come up with something like this ourselves in the past. I will see if my old friend Ramon is available to meet with us. Time is of the essence and we obviously will need his help.”
* * * *
Mount Isabel de Torres, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 1:17 p.m.
With nothing to do but wait for crucial feedback from Ortega, Chris had suggested a day of sightseeing, much to the pleasure of Sandy, Josée and Cathy who welcomed spending some actual vacation time with their spouses and Leslie. With Roberto at the wheel of a minibus, the group had first visited the historic Fortaleza San Felipe before heading to Mount Isabel de Torres for its spectacular cable-car ride, mountain top views and botanical gardens.
Sandy frowned, causing Chris to grin when his phone trilled while the group enjoyed the picnic lunch the resort had supplied.
“You had to expect it to ring at some point, sweetie,” he said before strolling off as he answered the call.
“Sorry we’re ruining your vacation,” said Leslie, having noticed Sandy’s expression.
“Don’t be silly,” Sandy replied. “I completely agree with what you’re all doing and the only person to blame is this Gomez. He deserves what’s coming to him and I’m more than happy to sacrifice a bit of my vacation for the cause. Anyhow, I’ve got Josée and Cathy to keep me company while you all keep my husband out of trouble.”
“He’s in good hands,” Dave offered with a smile. “You know we won’t let anything happen to him.”
“Just make sure nothing happens to you either, mister,” said Cathy.
“There’s no reason for anything to happen to any of us,” Jonathan stepped in. “Assuming we get the help we need so we can actually go ahead, this will likely be the easiest job we’ve ever done.”
“Well, that was Ortega,” Chris announced as he rejoined the group, his expression solemn.
“And?” Jonathan asked.
Chris smiled and replied, “We’re going on a cruise, kids.”
Chapter 10 – Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Renaissance Marina, Oranjestad, Aruba, 1:06 p.m.
Despite Ortega’s call the previous afternoon, Chris’ party had managed to remain in vacation mode for the remainder of the day and evening, barring a bit of time required to make some calls. While Jonathan had made arrangements to have the Gulfstream and his pilots ready for the flight to Aruba the next day, Chris had contacted Harvey Reynolds, the chartered yacht’s captain as well as Sean Hodgson and Phil Clayton, his two new business associates in Oranjestad.
His final call had been to Pedro Gomez, informing him of their flight and subsequent cruise the next day. Gomez, while excited about the trip, had been disappointed by Scorpion’s flat-out refusal to allow him to bring a couple of ladies along for entertainment purposes but had understood the drug lord’s insistence on discretion.
The flight aboard the luxury jet had been another comfortable one for the six passengers, the hour passing quickly as Gomez boasted anecdotes of his ascension to the top of the Dominican crime world. Upon landing at Queen Beatrix International Airport, immigration formalities had been a walkthrough, further strengthening Gomez’s belief of Scorpion’s connections and power. Little did the mobster know the particular helpful connection on this occasion was Major General De La Rosa who had made a call to appropriate authorities on the Dutch island. A vehicle had been waiting for them when they exited the terminal and, a short drive later, the group arrived at the Renaissance Marina where Captain Harvey Reynolds and crew welcomed them aboard the Lady Delilah, a one hundred sixty-five foot, triple-deck super-yacht.
“Good to see you again, Dennis,” said Reynolds, descending the gangplank and shaking Chris’ hand before relieving him of his carryon.
“Always a pleasure, Captain,” Chris replied. “You remember my team?”
“Of course,” Reynolds confirmed, having studied emailed photos he had received. “Leslie, Dave, Jon, great to have you back with us.”
“And may I introduce our last two guests,” said Chris. “Pedro and Hector.”
“Nice to meet you, gentlemen,” said Reynolds as two stewards and a deckhand joined the group on the dock to collect their luggage. “Okay, folks, we’re waiting for a last delivery of supplies but we should be on our way withi
n the hour. Let’s get on board and get you settled in then you’ll be taken for a quick tour so you don’t get lost. Let’s get together in about twenty minutes on the upper deck for some lunch and an introduction to my crew. All aboard and follow your bags.”
* * * *
Energy-Aruba, Oranjestad, Aruba, 1:42 p.m.
Phil Clayton stood on the pier and watched as the now empty forty-eight passenger submarine from Coral Tours glided closer then veered, coming to a near standstill, parallel and some fifteen feet from the dock.
“Sorry we’re a bit late,” Sean Hodgson called from atop the submarine’s deck. “We had a kid throwing a tantrum because he didn’t want to get off with about the dumbest parents I’ve ever seen in my life, telling him he could stay as long as he wanted.”
Clayton laughed and asked, “Did you toss them out to sea?”
“No, but I was told I was very rude,” Hodgson replied, “And I should expect to get ripped to shreds on TripAdvisor.”
“Oh well, it was nice knowing you,” Clayton teased before turning to the business at hand. “As for being late, you have nothing to worry about. You’ll be on your way in ten minutes, maybe less. Move in closer so I can get the cables to you.”
Hodgson called down into the open hatch and the submarine was soon repositioned half a dozen feet from the pier. One by one, Clayton tossed the four cables down, draping them over the submarine, two roughly ten feet from the front and the other two a dozen feet further back.
Sins in the Sun: A Vigilante Series crime thriller Page 7