Sins in the Sun: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  “Nice job with the spring hooks,” Hodgson commented, attaching the first cable to a mooring cleat on the starboard side.

  “Figured they’d make the job easier,” Clayton replied, “And it makes no difference which cable you hook to port or starboard. They’re both attached to the same rings we welded on, front and back.”

  “Excellent,” Hodgson approved, heading to the two rear cables and hooking one on either side of the submarine as well. “All done here. Now what?”

  “Move away from the pier,” said Clayton. “Just a few feet to give us more room to bring down the tank.”

  Once again, a command was called into the hatch and moments later, the submarine had edged over five or six feet. Satisfied, Clayton called out to one of his men who waited at the controls of a nearby crane and signalled him to go ahead. With a belch of diesel exhaust, the rumble of the idling engine increased and the empty thousand gallon propane tank rose a couple of feet from the pier then slowly moved over the edge, the cables attached to the submarine below dangling beneath it. Once clear of the pier, the crane operator lowered the tank until it floated on the water’s surface before disengaging and raising the electromagnet which had carried the load.

  Having served its useful life for propane storage, the tank had been one of several waiting to be recycled until Chris had come along with his request for help. At just over sixteen feet in length and forty-one inches in diameter, the tank was an ideal candidate for the role of ROV in Chris’ cocaine smuggling pretense. Now painted aquamarine for camouflage purposes, propulsion for this faux-ROV would be much like a trailer is propelled, or rather, dragged by an automobile. Attached to the actual submarine, the tank would dutifully follow the sub from above, including underwater if its leader dove to depths greater than twenty-five foot lengths of the cables.

  “There you go,” Clayton said with a smile. “One artificial ROV.”

  “It’s actually pretty convincing, even from this close up,” Hodgson commented. “It’s floating lower than I expected.”

  Clayton laughed and said, “I ended up getting curious about how well this would actually work so a couple of my guys and I messed around with it some and did some testing. We ended up pouring some concrete into the bottom to reduce the buoyancy, improve stability and keep it from rolling should the cables go slack or snap. You should take a minute or two and test it before you go.”

  Hodgson glanced at his watch and nodded. “We’ve got time. You’re deep enough here?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Clayton confirmed as he pulled a compact digital camera from his pocket. “I’ll get it on video so you can see it later.”

  “Sounds good. Back in a couple of hours,” Hodgson replied before climbing down the ladder and closing the hatch above him.

  Clayton watched as the water began to churn and the submarine slowly slipped beneath the surface. He waited a few moments, activating his camera once the propane tank started to move. Expecting the tank to simply dive, he laughed as it began to glide toward the open sea, remaining on the surface for fifteen or twenty feet before slowly going under and disappearing from sight.

  * * * *

  12.519°, -70.08°, Caribbean Sea, 2:21 p.m.

  Though only the sixth largest body of water on the planet, the Caribbean Sea remained vast enough to make a rendezvous between two vessels based on chance rather unlikely. A window of time had been agreed upon as well as coordinates to a spot approximately five kilometres directly west of Oranjestad. Direct communication between the two vessels would serve to fine-tune the elements essential to make their peculiar meeting a success.

  “Having lived in the Caribbean all of my life,” said Gomez, “I have been on my fair share of yachts, my friend, but never on one as magnificent as this one.”

  “It is one hell of a boat,” Chris agreed, pausing to take a sip of post-lunch chardonnay, “Though it’s not the biggest we’ll be using to move our shipments. This one’s about average, the smallest being one hundred thirty feet or so and the largest just a bit over two hundred. I figured going with boats of this calibre would reduce the chances of anything more than cursory inspections with authorities anywhere.”

  “However, there is always a risk,” Gomez replied. “And such inspections could still take place.”

  “Of course the risk remains and I’m not saying there will never be any inspections,” said Chris, “But the level of suspicion goes down with each element which demonstrates such suspicion is unwarranted. A multi-million dollar craft, a respectable owner, properly registered, listed with a reputable charter organization, manned by a professional crew and rented by rich vacationers for anywhere between one hundred and three hundred fifty thousand plus expenses per week. Definitely less risk that your average go-fast boat with three Latinos on board.

  “And, despite all that, should a full inspection take place, what would the authorities find on board? Absolutely nothing, which leads us to the main reason why we’re on this fabulous ship to begin with.”

  Pulling his mobile from his shirt pocket, he tapped the screen then raised the phone to his ear. “Jon, if this is a good time, let’s bring her up for a few seconds. Keep me posted.”

  Cutting the connection, he smiled at Gomez and said, “I’ve got something to show you.”

  * * * *

  “I’m guessing we’re up,” said Sean Hodgson as the submarine’s UQC phone buzzed, its indicator light flashing. Picking up the receiver, he pressed a switch and said, “Hodgson here.”

  “This is the Lady Delilah,” Jon responded. “We have you at about twenty metres portside, fifty feet down. Please confirm.”

  “That’s us indeed,” replied Hodgson. “Is it show time?”

  “It is if you’re ready,” Jon replied.

  “We’re good to go,” Hodgson confirmed. “Your ROV can be on the surface in about a minute. Tell me when.”

  “Have it surface two minutes after I give you the go,” said Jon. “Keep it visible fifteen seconds or so then bring it back down. Can you do that?”

  “Not a problem,” Hodgson replied. “Anything else?”

  “Will you be stopping or slowing when you come up?” asked Jon.

  “Not unless you want us to,” said Hodgson. “I think the visual effect will be better if the ROV is moving.”

  “Okay, we’re maintaining the same speed,” said Jon.

  “And we’ll be staying with you, twenty metres to port,” said Hodgson. “Your ROV will appear two minutes after your signal. We’ll keep communication open until we’re done in case there are any problems.”

  “Very well,” said Jon. “Let’s do this starting now.”

  “Countdown starting now,” Hodgson replied.

  * * * *

  On the upper deck, Chris’ mobile began to buzz as it vibrated on the table top.

  “Yes?” he answered and listened for a moment then said, “Very good. Thanks, Jon.”

  Rising to his feet as he cut the connection, he looked at Gomez and said, “Come on. It’s time and it won’t last long.”

  Gomez, along with Hector stood and followed Chris to the railing on portside while Chris called out to Leslie and Dave who sat on loungers in the sun on the opposite side of the deck. “If you two want to see this, come on over.”

  All five lined up at the railing and gazed out at the sea where Chris pointed. “Jon’s bringing up the ROV. It’ll appear about fifty, sixty feet from us. I don’t want the thing out there any longer than it has to so he’ll bring it back down pretty quick.”

  The group watched on as the seconds passed until Leslie suddenly pointed and said, “There it is.”

  The others focused on the area she indicated, seeing nothing at first then noticing the long, cylindrical form materialize as it rose before finally breaking the surface.

  “It’s bigger than I expected,” said Gomez, “Though still not easily noticeable due to the colour.”

  “It’s a bit over sixteen feet long,” said Chris, “And,
yes, I’m quite pleased with the colour. Excellent camouflage.”

  “Can you bring it in for a closer look?” asked Gomez.

  “Not for now,” Chris replied. “It’s actually going back down any second now.”

  As if on cue, the turquoise cylinder began to sink and was covered with water within seconds before slowly disappearing from view as it descended into the depths.

  * * * *

  “Lady Delilah, how did we do?” asked Hodgson as the submarine continued its descent.

  “Brilliantly,” Jon replied. “It was almost as if I was operating the thing by remote.”

  Hodgson laughed. “Well, in fact, you were and by voice activation no less. So, the visual effect was to your satisfaction? Do you think it fooled your friend?”

  “I’m on the bridge to talk to you so I don’t know for sure,” said Jon, “But based on what I saw, he can’t be anything but impressed. You gentlemen did a marvellous job.”

  “It turned out to be a fun project,” Hodgson admitted. “I know that Phil and a couple of his men really got into it. I hope you’ll let us know of the final result.”

  “I’ll make sure you get some feedback,” Jon replied. “You may even hear about it on the news in the next couple of days. Thanks again and have a safe trip back.”

  * * * *

  “I would have liked to see it in more detail,” said Gomez, a bit disappointed by the short, distant viewing of the ROV.

  “You’ll get your chance,” said Chris, “But while it’s in transit, it stays underwater and a comfortable distance from the boat. Doing otherwise defeats the purpose.”

  “I would have liked to see it closer too,” said Hector, his tone reflecting suspicion. “It looked to me much more like a giant propane tank than a submarine.”

  Chris turned to him and smiled. “Tell me, my friend, what is the main characteristic of a propane tank?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Hector replied, puzzled.

  “Let me explain it to you,” Chris snapped, losing the smile. “A propane tank is designed to withstand pressure which is exactly what a submarine is designed to do. The ROV I allowed you to see a minute ago was exactly what you think you saw; a one thousand gallon propane tank which was converted into a submarine. Why bother creating something which already exists? The shape and size is exactly what we needed and buying these tanks and converting them was a lot cheaper and more efficient than designing something from nothing. Any other comments, amigo?”

  “I-I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Hector, taken aback by Scorpion’s sudden change in demeanour.

  “Hector was not being critical, Dennis,” Gomez stepped in, wishing to defuse the unexpected tension. “He was simply stating an observation, a correct one as it turns out.”

  “Fine, if that’s all it was,” was Chris’ curt response. “It sounded like a challenge to me but, if it wasn’t, end of story.”

  “Of course, it wasn’t,” Gomez confirmed with a fierce glance at his bodyguard. “I’m certain Hector was simply unhappy he couldn’t get a better view of your impressive machine. I expressed similar disappointment as well.”

  “Like I said, it’s over,” said Chris, appearing relaxed once again as they returned to their seats. “And perhaps I should clarify my refusal to have the ROV exposed for more than a few seconds because I do have a very good reason.”

  “You have explained and I understand,” said Gomez, intent on moving past this minor clash. “You wish to avoid any chance of the ROV being spotted.”

  “Yes indeed,” Chris confirmed, “Especially when it’s loaded with a ton of paste.”

  “You mean now?” Gomez blurted with surprise.

  Chris offered a faint smile and nodded. “You didn’t think I’d do an empty run, did you? If I’m going to cover the cost of a luxury yacht cruise from Aruba to the Dominican Republic with an ROV in tow, you can be damned sure it’s business. I trust both you and Hector now fully understand why I don’t intend to hoist that propane tank up on deck so you can admire the paint job up close.”

  “Of course,” Gomez replied, in somewhat of a daze. “May I ask where this shipment is going?”

  “That depends,” said Chris. “I can have another yacht bring it to the states for processing like the last shipment or, if you’re ready to deal with it, we can make this your first load.”

  “How soon would you expect me to be ready?” asked Gomez anxiously, recognizing an unexpected gain of one and a half million dollars.

  “Pretty much when we get there,” Chris replied. “I either fly my guy down to train your people or he refines this load when he receives it a day or so later. This can’t be laying around for a week while you’re getting ready. Have you started setting up as I suggested?”

  “I have spoken to the men I need and they have agreed to work the lab,” said Gomez, “But I would need a few days to get the equipment and chemicals required and in place before we could do any actual refining.”

  Chris frowned as he gazed at the Dominican. “I can have the coke on the street and the money in my pocket in a few days. I don’t think this is going to work out… unless…”

  “Yes?” asked Gomez. “Unless what?”

  “I’m just thinking of the other avenues Pablo was looking into,” said Chris. “He was checking out possible locales but also had some solid discussions with potential chemical suppliers. Maybe we could give you a hand to get things lined up in a hurry.”

  “I would definitely appreciate any assistance you could offer,” said Gomez with relief.

  “Pablo had been working to set us up in Puerto Plata so, with his connections, that’s where we could make things happen the fastest,” Chris continued. “I think your Paradise location would be the best place to start. Have you determined where the lab would be there?”

  “Uh, yes, I have,” Gomez replied. “There is storage room which we do not use near the receiving area.”

  “The room with the old furniture,” said Chris with a nod. “You showed it to us during our visit. That’s a perfect location. Can you get someone to clear it out?”

  “I have already asked my manager, Luis, to look after that in my absence,” said Gomez. “It should be done by the time I return.”

  “We can make this happen if you want, Pedro,” said Chris. “If you can make sure Luis has the room ready, I can call Pablo to get him moving with the suppliers he met and arrange for my man to be in Puerto Plata by the time we arrive. We would actually save time with production and I would rather be shipping finished product to the U.S. than paste.”

  “For obvious reasons, I would also prefer being involved in the processing of this shipment,” said Gomez. “I will contact Luis immediately. Is there anything else which would need attention? I do not wish to find something was overlooked at the last moment.”

  Chris thought for a moment then shook his head. “No. I’ll have Pablo source everything which is needed. Is there a number he can contact Luis at directly to coordinate delivery?”

  “Of course,” said Gomez, nodding at Hector who pulled out a pen and notepad and quickly scribbled a number. “I will let Luis know to expect the call.”

  “Excellent,” said Chris as he stood from the table. “I’ll let you get in touch with Luis while I get a hold of Pablo and look after a few others things which need my attention. Make yourself at home and enjoy everything this boat has to offer. We’ll hook up again in an hour or so.”

  * * * *

  Palacio Policia Nacional, Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, 2:47 p.m.

  “… so it wasn’t something I had thought of earlier,” said Chris over the phone from somewhere south on the Caribbean. “It simply came to mind during our conversation as an additional possibility. What do you think?”

  “It is an excellent idea,” Ortega replied. “It will have to be approved by the Major General and the Admiral but I believe they will agree.”

  “I hope they do,” said Chris. “This could be yo
ur chance to do a lot more damage.”

  “This is how I see it as well,” Ortega agreed. “I will go see Armando immediately.”

  “I’ll call Jerry Washington to let him know you may be in touch,” said Chris before supplying the American operative’s mobile number.

  “I will contact him either way,” Ortega promised, “And I will get back to you as well.”

  * * * *

  Club-Style Villa Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 2:53 p.m.

  Jerry Washington relaxed on a lounge chair while Chen and Martinez battled on a chessboard when his mobile buzzed on the table at his side.

  “Washington,” he answered after glancing at the display. “How’s the cruise going?”

  “Perfection to date,” Chris replied. “The ROV stunt went without a hitch and Gomez is already counting the millions he’s going to make.”

  “Sounds like you have him right where you want him,” said Washington.

  “It’s looking good and, in fact, it’s gotten better,” said Chris. “As a result, you guys are going to get to play a bit more instead of laying by the pool getting bored.”

  Washington laughed. “I can’t say I’m bored yet but I’d be happy to play. What’s up?”

  “Gomez wanted to see the ROV up close,” Chris explained, “But I told him that wasn’t possible on account the thing was loaded with a ton of coca paste. We chatted a bit and he made it clear he wanted in on the processing but needs to get the lab set up. I kindly suggested we’d give him a hand so here’s what’s going to happen, subject to approval…”

  Chapter 11 – Thursday, December 18, 2014

  Base Naval "27 de Febrero", Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, 7:49 a.m.

  His driver slowed to a stop and De La Rosa lowered his window as the guard stepped up to the car.

  He saluted then leaned over to address the two backseat occupants. “Buenos días, General. Buenos días, el Director. The Admiral is expecting you in his office. I will let him know you have arrived.”