Sins in the Sun: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  Saluting once more, he about-faced and strode with purpose to the guardhouse. Once inside, he hit a switch to raise the gate then waved them through with one hand as he picked up the telephone with the other.

  Familiar with the naval base, the driver quickly made his way to the administration building which housed the offices of Admiral Ramon Quesada, commander of the Armada de Republica Dominica, the Dominican Navy. A guard waited at the building’s entrance to escort the two police officers to their destination and, in no time, they were seated across the desk from the admiral.

  “So, Miguel, you are convinced this additional component to the plan is a good idea?” demanded the beefy, sixty year old admiral, demonstrating his usual directness.

  “Yes, I do, Admiral,” Ortega replied without hesitation.

  “Do you believe it is an essential component?” asked Quesada.

  “No, it is not essential,” Ortega admitted. “However, it certainly will cause Gomez more hardship.”

  “If everything works as we hope,” Quesada pointed out. “Any number of elements could go wrong.”

  “I would be a fool to disagree with you, Admiral,” Ortega conceded, “But the people working on this are highly experienced professionals who do not accept failure.”

  “Yes, I spoke to Nick Sharp since you first came to me,” the admiral admitted. “I simply must consider the risk we are taking.”

  “We recognize the risk as well, Admiral,” Ortega insisted. “It is not to be taken lightly.”

  “Indeed,” Quesada agreed, “Which is why I must ask you how much of your desire to take Gomez down stems from personal vengeance, Miguel? You must understand, I am aware of your niece.”

  Ortega’s expression tightened and he paused before responding. “I cannot deny my rage in relation to Ramona’s disappearance and probable death, Admiral. However, I am a law enforcement professional and I did not get to where I am today by letting my emotions control my thinking or actions. Yes, I loathe Gomez for the loss of my niece but also because of who he is and what he does. He is a violent criminal, in fact, the worst our country has to offer. He represents everything our profession is against and he needs to pay dearly for his despicable acts.”

  Quesada gazed at the deputy director for a moment and sadness seemed to overcome his features as he nodded. “As I mentioned, I am aware of Ramona but you are not aware, few people are, of Hugo.”

  Ortega glanced at De la Rosa who shrugged but remained silent then turned back to the admiral. “Do you mean your grandson, Hugo?”

  Quesada gazed at him with glistening eyes and nodded. “Yes, my grandson.”

  “Of course, I am aware of Hugo. He was killed in a car accident almost two years ago,” said Ortega. “It was a hit and run and, unfortunately, the driver was never found. Are you suggesting Gomez was somehow involved?”

  “Miguel, I’m certain you remember the go-fast boats and cocaine we seized which we suspected were linked to Gomez,” said Quesada, not expecting an answer nor waiting for one. “A few days after the first seizure, I was dining out with my wife when Gomez showed up at our table. After greeting us, he congratulated me for the armada’s fine work but expressed regret for his acquaintances who were now in prison. He then told me to be careful as there were surely people out there who were unhappy with me.

  “A couple of months later, we seized the second boat, that being the one whose two occupants were willing to implicate Gomez.”

  “And who were dead the next morning,” added Ortega.

  “Precisely,” Quesada agreed. “Strangely enough, Gomez once again managed to run into me, on the golf course this time. He was shocked to have learned of his alleged involvement and saddened by the untimely demise of two men he had believed were friends. He ended his little speech by jokingly suggesting that perhaps I should simply let these lowly drug runners be to avoid anyone getting hurt. When I asked if he was threatening me, he replied he had no reason to do so then wished me well and told me to take good care of my family.”

  “Then came the third boat,” Ortega muttered in anger.

  The admiral took a deep breath and nodded. “Two weeks later, Hugo was run down on the street, less than a week before his eighth birthday. As you mentioned, you already know the results of the investigation.”

  “But, Admiral, are you sure Gomez had anything to do with it?” asked Ortega. “Did he contact you?”

  Quesada opened a drawer and pulled out a small card then said, “He sent flowers to my home with this.”

  Ortega took the proffered card and silently read the neatly scripted text.

  Admiral Ramon Quesada and family,

  In life, we unfortunately all must suffer losses of varying importance, sometimes due to our decisions, sometimes at the hand of others. May Hugo rest in peace. He is now safe from the dangers of our world.

  Sincere condolences,

  Pedro Gomez

  “Hijo de puta,” Ortega whispered in anger before handing the card back. “I am so sorry, Admiral.”

  “So am I, Miguel,” Quesada replied. “Day after day, I’m sorry this pig, Gomez, is not dead or rotting in jail but his time is coming soon. Do you have a judge on this?”

  “Genaro Saucedo,” said De La Rosa. “We spoke last evening and he told me to contact him day or night.”

  “There is none better than Genaro,” Quesada approved. “It is ironic but he was my golfing partner the time Gomez approached me on the course. He is also well aware of Hugo. Gomez may believe he is invincible but we will soon get our revenge.”

  He rose to his feet and added, “I even have an idea to make that revenge a little sweeter. Let’s go to the evidence depository to find what we need for Gomez’s new cocaine lab and I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

  * * * *

  15.898°, -68.917°, aboard the Lady Delilah, Caribbean Sea, 9:27 a.m.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Chris as he and Jon strode onto the upper deck. “Mind if we join you?”

  Gomez laughed and replied, “I really enjoy your sense of humour, Dennis. Please do join us. I hope you don’t mind that we didn’t wait for you for breakfast.”

  “Not at all,” said Chris as he and Jon took a seat. “As I told you yesterday, you make yourself at home for the short time we’re on board.”

  “Will we be arriving today?” asked Gomez. “I have no idea where we are.”

  “We checked with Harvey before coming out here,” said Chris. “We’re about one hundred eighty miles south of La Romana heading north-northeast to go around the eastern tip of the Dominican, past Punta Cana before heading west to Puerto Plata. To answer your first question, no, we’ll only be arriving sometime in the afternoon tomorrow. This is supposed to be a leisurely cruise so I don’t want to attract any more attention than required, especially since we can expect more patrol boats closer to Puerto Rico.”

  “I don’t mind another relaxing day aboard this marvellous ship,” replied Gomez. “Anyhow, it will give our friends more time to set up back home. Have you, uh, heard anything back from Pablo?”

  “In fact, I have,” said Chris. “That was the main thing I wanted to tell you about. We spoke just before I came out here and everything looks good to go. Some stuff is coming in from Santo Domingo but he should have everything together and ready to deliver sometime this afternoon.”

  “That is excellent news,” said Gomez. “Perhaps I should call Luis to let him know.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Chris agreed. “Pablo will be calling him but I don’t mind him hearing it from you as well. Why don’t you go make that call while we have some breakfast and change into something you don’t mind getting wet in? Harvey’s going to be stopping in about an hour so we can hop into the Caribbean and mess around with the jet skis and other toys for a while. After all, we are on vacation.”

  * * * *

  Playa Dorada Plaza, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 2:17 p.m.

  “Looks like our ride is here,” sa
id Chen as a black Nissan NV Passenger van approached and parked next to their Escalade in the lot.

  “You’re still good with this, Pablo?” asked Washington as they watched the wiry Latino climb out of the vehicle and head to where they sat at the outdoor café.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Martinez replied. “Like you might understand, this whole deal is the most fun I’ve had in over a year and after a few days of kicking Steve here’s butt all over the chessboard, a field trip is a nice change of pace.”

  “Jerry,” said the Latino as he reached their table.

  “Nice to meet you, Miguel,” said Washington, extending a hand. “These are my associates, Steve and Pablo.”

  “Hola, Steve,” said Ortega, shaking his hand before turning his attention to Martinez. “Pablo, I’m happy to have the opportunity to personally thank you for your help without which Gomez might never get what he truly deserves.”

  Taken aback, Martinez blushed as he replied, “Uh, just, uh, trying to do the right thing, mainly for selfish reasons, sir.”

  With a last hand squeeze, Ortega replied, “In this case, I approve of your selfishness.” Addressing all three, he added, “Everything for the lab is in the van, all boxed and sealed. Arturo is behind the wheel and the other is Sal. I assure you they both are trustworthy, smart and able, should any difficulties arise. They are also young and strong and your helpers this afternoon so do not hesitate to let them unload the van. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  Washington shook his head. “This should be a very simple job but I’ll let you know if things go wrong.”

  “My phone is on,” said Ortega. “I’d love to come along but someone might recognize me.”

  “Better you wait here,” Chen agreed as he slid the Escalade’s keys across the table. “But you can join us quickly enough if there’s a problem.”

  “Well, let’s do this,” said Washington, handing a mobile to Martinez. “Call Luis and tell him we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  * * * *

  17.602°, -68.192°, aboard the Lady Delilah, Caribbean Sea, 2:19 p.m.

  “So, Pedro, are you enjoying our little cruise?” Chris asked as he settled into the hot tub on the sundeck.

  “I am having the time of my life,” Gomez admitted, reluctantly shifting his gaze to Chris from Leslie who laid in the sun a dozen feet away wearing a rather skimpy bikini. “Jumping into the sea and racing around on a jet ski without any land in sight is truly a remarkable experience.”

  “Those are activities I insist on doing whenever I get out on one of these boats,” Chris agreed. “The sense of freedom and privacy out in the middle of nowhere is a definite rush.”

  “Excuse me, Dennis,” Harvey Reynolds called out as he strode onto the sundeck at a determined pace.

  “Afternoon, Captain,” Chris replied. “What’s up?”

  “Visitors on the way,” said Reynolds, pointing to port. “Dominican Coast Guard requesting permission to board.”

  “Any particular reason?” Chris asked as he climbed out of the hot tub and grabbed a towel.

  “Routine inspection is what I was told,” Reynolds replied.

  They moved to the railing with Gomez and Leslie following and saw the patrol boat, though still at a distance, clearly heading their way.

  “Is Jon aware of this?” Chris asked.

  “Yes sir,” Reynolds confirmed. “He was on the bridge with me when we were contacted.”

  Leslie’s phone buzzed and she answered, listened for a few seconds then said, “I’m with him. I’ll tell him.”

  Cutting the connection, she looked at Chris and said, “Jon’s got things covered.”

  Chris nodded and looked at Harvey. “Thanks for the update. I’ll go put some pants on to properly greet our guests. Could you ask Jon to meet me in my suite?”

  “Will do,” Reynolds agreed, “And don’t worry, sir. As I said, this is strictly routine, registration and passport verification, that kind of thing.”

  Chris smiled and said, “Do I look worried? Let’s just go through the exercise and hope it doesn’t delay us too long.”

  “These are usually pretty quick,” Reynolds replied. “They should be on board in about ten minutes. At that time, I’d ask you all to be in the lounge off the swimming deck with your passports in hand. I’ll send the tender out for them.”

  Ten minutes later, Chris and his party watched as the tender glided up to the swimming deck, a hand hopping off and tethering a line while a Dominican officer and three men climbed onto the yacht. Captain Reynolds greeted the officer then gestured to a table on one side where a collection of required documents waited. They moved to the table where the officer declined an invitation to sit and requested to examine the documents.

  Reynolds first presented the papers relating to the ship and its crew which the Dominican scanned with efficiency born from experience. Next came the passengers’ passports at which time the officer made a brief comment.

  Turning toward the lounge, Reynolds called out. “Would the passengers please step out onto the deck? The commander wishes to make visual identifications.”

  The group stepped out and the officer began inspecting the passports one by one, looking up for a couple of seconds at each passport holder in turn as he went through the pile. When he reached the fourth, he smiled as his eyes went to Gomez, gazing at him for a full ten seconds before moving on to the next. Once done, a discussion ensued for a few moments, ending with Reynolds shrugging and nodding before heading to the tender while the Dominican commander communicated with someone via a handheld radio transceiver. The tender’s idling engine rumbled and the deckhand unmoored the boat, pushing it off before jumping aboard as it pulled away, heading back to the Coast Guard patrol vessel.

  Reynolds crossed the swimming deck, looking grim as he approached the passengers.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Chris as the captain reached them.

  “Only in terms of wasting some time,” Reynolds replied. “The commander has decided to have our boat searched.”

  “How nice of him,” Chris muttered. “Did he give any reason why?”

  Reynolds nodded and gazed at Gomez. “My apologies, sir, but the commander made his decision upon seeing your passport. It seems you’re somewhat of a celebrity in your country.”

  * * * *

  Paraíso de Ángeles, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 2:57 p.m.

  “This is the last of it,” said Arturo as he entered the stockroom with four more cardboard cases piled on the hand truck.

  “I had not realized you were bringing such a large shipment,” Luis commented, a bit concerned by the imposing quantity of cartons and crates, stacked four and five high, which now covered a quarter of the floor space of the ten by fifteen foot room. “Are you certain all of this is needed?”

  Frowning at the larger man, Martinez said, “I was unaware you were a specialist in cocaine refinement, Luis. Had I known, I would have told Pedro to let you find what was needed while I stayed on the beach watching the young ladies in their bikinis.”

  “I-I’m not a cocaine specialist,” the resort manager spluttered. “I just did not think so much material was needed for the lab. From what I’ve heard, cocaine is often produced outside in the jungle.”

  “Yes, and much of the coke you refer to is garbage,” Martinez snapped. “If that wasn’t the case, we wouldn’t be going to the trouble of bringing the paste here. Refined under proper conditions and with the right processes, we will be producing pharmaceutical quality cocaine hydrochloride with almost one hundred percent purity.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Luis. “I was just making a comment. I guess it’s more complicated than I thought.”

  “It’s very complicated,” Martinez confirmed. “The right equipment must be used and dangerous chemicals are involved, speaking of which, who will have access to this room once we leave? I don’t want some dumb employee coming in here and burning his face off with a bottle of
acid.”

  “For now, only I have the keys,” Luis replied, “And, as you can see, I had a good, solid lock installed. I promise you, nobody will be coming in here.”

  “Good,” Martinez approved. “Our man will be here within a couple of days and I know he will want to oversee the setting up of the lab. I recommend you lock this door and keep it that way until he arrives. We certainly don’t want anything screwing up our plans and delaying my boss’ timetable. Trust me when I tell you that would not be good at all.”

  “If we are done here, I will lock the room immediately,” Luis suggested, “And I will put the keys in the safe in Hector’s office. Besides me, only Hector and Señor Gomez know the combination.”

  “That is exactly what I recommend you do,” said Martinez, nodding at Washington and Chen to indicate it was time to go. “Thank you for your help, Luis. I will make sure Señor Gomez knows how smoothly this went thanks to you.”

  They left the room and waited while Luis locked the door, making a show to demonstrate all was secure then walked out the open roll-up door to the waiting van.

  “Good job in there, Pablo,” said Washington as the van rolled off on its way to the gated exit. “You really have your shit together about all of this.”

  Martinez laughed and replied, “There’s something to be said about experience.”

  * * * *

  18.094°, -68.239°, aboard the Lady Delilah, Caribbean Sea, 6:57 p.m.

  Following a rather thorough search which had lasted over an hour, all the Dominican Coast Guard had succeeded in doing was delaying the Lady Delilah’s schedule, much to the ire of Gomez who clearly felt directly responsible for the inconvenience. As a result, he had been ranting almost non-stop since the authorities had left the yacht almost three hours earlier, additionally fueled by the pre-dinner cocktails Chris had proposed and kept coming once their cruise had resumed.