A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  She drove them through the slums. Houses had collapsed walls, and some were missing their roofs. The residents had strung frayed tarps, scraps of cloth, and whatever else they could find over the holes to keep out the rain. Dirty young children played in the streets. One small boy, wearing only a T-shirt, peed while he waved at the SUV. Through open front doors, they could see hard-packed dirt floors with plastic patio chairs. One building had a small crowd gathered around an ancient tube-type television that threatened to collapse the small table it sat on. A soccer match played loudly and men with vacant eyes stared at it with glass beer bottles in their hands. Joulie wasn’t immune to the scenes. She had seen, even in the poorest communities, in the United States, a state of wealth that far surpassed what these people would ever have. She glanced over at Ryan, who was staring out the window.

  Beyond the city they entered farmland. Fruit trees had been laid flat by the hurricane and their produce lay rotting on the ground. Some trees had already been cut up for firewood. More shacks lay in ruins, destroyed by the fierce winds. Rain had caused landslides to wipe out fields and homes. Without four-wheel drive, the washed-out roads would have been impassible. Everywhere they looked, there was abject poverty, people trying to repair their tin roof shacks with tree limbs, scraps of lumber, and whatever garbage they could find.

  Whenever they saw the blue Toyota Rav4, the people waved and called out to Joulie. She waved back, shouted a few words of encouragement, or stopped to listen to them discuss their plights. Always smiling and nodding, she told them she was working to bring them help and encouraged them with prayer. Children raced after the vehicle with their arms outstretched, calling for them to toss out a few coins.

  Joulie steered the SUV past long rows of newly planted fruit trees, pointing out the different varieties as they passed. She also showed him rows and rows of small trees planted on barren hillsides and on rocky slopes to combat the deforestation.

  She stopped on a hillside overlooking the city and pointed at the bay. This was not the picturesque vision of lush blue Caribbean waters surrounding a charming island. The water here was dark and dirt-stained. Garbage floated in the water and littered the beaches. Plastic jugs, rotting trash, and other debris clogged the river flowing into the bay. Fishermen rowing their boats through the rafts of garbage, leaving trails through which they could see black water. Waves lapped around sunken vessels. Some of the rusty hulls had washed up on shore and men were busy using cutting torches to disassemble them. Old shacks had been torn down along the waterfront, but piles of debris remained. A few were on fire, and men tended them with shovels and rakes. It saddened Joulie to see her country in such disarray.

  Yet there was still beauty here. Large green trees grew amongst the houses with their orange and red tile roofs. The massive structure of the centuries-old Our Lady of the Assumption Cathedral towered above the city with its white towers and brown domes. Rugged mountains bordered the city to the west and to the south spread broad, fertile river plains.

  This was her home. How could she have ever thought of leaving?

  “What is it you want me to see?” Ryan asked.

  “All of it. Open your eyes, Ryan. Our country is one of the poorest on earth, yet we have vast resources of gold and oil and the natural beauty loved by tourists.”

  “You sound like Toussaint.”

  “There are some things he was right about. We have vast wealth beneath our hills and oceans yet …”

  Ryan broke her silence. “Greg told me Haiti has more oil reserves than Venezuela.”

  “This is true. We also have twenty billion dollars of gold in a vein that stretches through the mountains into the Dominican Republic. They estimate the gold on their side is worth twice what ours is.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “No one does. When outsiders think of Haiti, they picture exactly what you see what your president called ‘a third-world shithole.’ I cannot disagree with the evidence. But we are just as beautiful as Cuba or the Dominican Republic, yet no one wishes to build luxury resorts or come to a country where they are likely to be murdered. We must change the culture.”

  Ryan shook his head. “You can’t change the world.”

  “I don’t want to change the world. I want to change Haiti.” She pointed to the men on the beach tending the smoky fires and cutting scrap. “I pay them to do those jobs. I also pay them to clean the beaches. I’ve invested in a facility that turns plastic into fuel oil and gasoline. We need to transition away from using wood as our cooking fuel.”

  “What else are you doing?”

  “We planted all those trees. I also want to start a fish farm. Children are going to schools we helped establish with local NGOs and I’ve made several endowments to local colleges. We have people in Port-au-Prince lobbying for money from the International Monetary Fund and the UN.”

  “You did all this with the money Toussaint had?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  She engaged the transmission and drove them back to the hotel.

  After dinner, and more conversation about the things she was doing to help her country, they strolled the lush grounds. Ryan paused at a stone bench and lit a cigarette. “You had a purpose for that little drive in the country. What do you want?”

  She sat on the bench and smoothed her dress over her legs. She leaned back to look up at him. “You’re not here for a pleasure cruise. Either you’re here to recover Kilroy’s weapons or the gold.”

  “I’m here for myself.”

  “Then it is easier to ask this of you.”

  Ryan took a draw on the smoke and put his foot on the bench. He rested his elbow on his knee and leaned into it. The night was humid, and insects chirped and buzzed around them. Her palms were moist, and her heartbeat had elevated with his proximity. Soft music drifted in from one of the nightclubs. She quelled the urge to kiss him.

  He sighed. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this but, go ahead.”

  “I would like the gold back.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Think what it could do for them.” She tried not to sound like she was pleading.

  “Eighty-twenty.”

  With a triumphant smile, Joulie said, “I will take eighty.” Getting him to concede part of the gold was a giant step. Her plan to tug at his heartstrings was working. She absentmindedly played with a gold pendent on a gold chain she’d worn since Farah, her grandmother, had given it to her. It was her nervous habit. She pulled her hand away, but not without a quick prayer. Mother, intercede for me with the spirits.

  “Not what I meant,” Ryan said. “I have a right to anything I salvage from a sunken vessel. I’m not required to split it with you or anyone else. Besides, I have a crew to pay for. All that gear and the boat weren’t cheap.”

  “What about taxes?”

  “What about them?”

  “You’ll have to report the gold and you will be taxed. Seventy-thirty,” she proposed.

  Ryan snorted. “If I get the seventy.”

  “How can you be so callous? Didn’t you see those people out there?” She paused and laid one hand on his arm. His skin was warm, and her mind flashed to her vision, the comfort of being in his palm. “You are a good and caring man. I know this about you, Ryan. I know you want to help these people. You help so many with your job, why not share your wealth with those who really need it?”

  “What about the money from the Clinton Foundation and all the other charities who’ve donated a billion-plus dollars toward fixing the problems?”

  “The government in Port-au-Prince controls those funds. They take their cut before any money reaches us. I could use the gold as I see fit without their oversight.”

  “How much of Toussaint’s money did you keep for yourself? How much did Wilky Ador’s people contribute to the projects?”

  The questions annoyed her. “We used it.” She scuffed a pebble across the path. “What we had did not go far,
but the gold, it would …”

  “The gold will run out too, and then what?”

  “We’ll make it last by investing in businesses and farms and houses. We’ll put those profits into the continued rebuilding of infrastructure and provide clean water and ample food. Right now, the people subsist on what little was left after the hurricane and what’s coming in on the container ships. The UN delivers bags of rice, but it isn’t enough. Did you see that pile of scrap cars by the container yard?”

  He nodded.

  “There is a quirk in the law allowing Haitians to import a vehicle packed with whatever they can fit into it. They call them household goods or personal effects. Everything comes stuffed inside those cars, mattresses, bicycles, car parts, canned food, whatever you can think of. The law doesn’t say the cars have to run either. It’s an informal system of shipping goods for personal use and resale.”

  “So, start a shipping line.”

  “It’s not that easy. Haiti has been impoverished for centuries.”

  “You’re into vodou, do a little dance and take the Devil’s curse off your backs.”

  “Ryan,” she chastised.

  “What if I refuse?”

  Joulie looked into his wonderful green eyes. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to strong-arm you.”

  “Strong-arm me?” Smoke streamed out of his mouth as he laughed.

  “Yes, there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on the gold.”

  “If they knew it was there,” he retorted.

  “Word spreads quickly when a salvage vessel arrives in our waters. It doesn’t matter what you bring up, someone will try to take it from you. I would hate for pirates to board your vessel and steal what you have.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Joulie shrugged. “It’s a suggestion that you cooperate with me. I will give you protection from the pirates and you will give me the gold.”

  “The only pirate around here is you.” Ryan straightened and took a final draw on his cigarette.

  She laughed. “I am the descendant of the pirate Jean Lafitte, one who helped defeat the British for American independence.”

  “He fought in the War of 1812, dear. The British were invaders trying to reclaim what they’d already lost. Much like you.”

  Joulie waved a dismissive hand. “Regardless, I will become a ruthless pirate to save my people. You may accept my help, or you can expect attacks by armed men. Which do you prefer, to work in peace, or to defend yourself against thieves?”

  “I’d rather not have to worry about any of it. So far, we’ve been fine.”

  “Because you enjoy my protection.” Joulie smiled and spread her hands. “Let’s make it sixty-forty.”

  “Seventy-thirty,” Ryan said. “That’s close to ten million for you.” He stubbed out the cigarette. “Any more is plain extortion.”

  Joulie stood and cupped his cheek as she had in her vision. “It would be better if it was twelve point five million. Besides, I would hate for word to leak to the U.S. government about a salvage vessel loaded with gold pillaged from Haiti. If they didn’t seize it and return it to Haiti, they would tax you on it.”

  His eyes bored into hers. The green had deepened a shade with his apparent anger, yet he did not pull away from her hand. “You’re a ruthless bitch. Even if the government seized it, they would send it to Port-au-Prince, and it would be a loss for both of us.”

  Softly, she said, “Are you willing to take that chance?”

  Ryan’s eyes shifted away, and he mumbled, “Fifty-fifty.”

  Joulie stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. His eyes shifted back to hers. There was no animosity in them now. His reluctance had turned to acceptance. Not because she had threatened him with pirates and taxes, but because the loa had sent him, and the loa were not wrong.

  Neither of them said a word as they stood there, the soft music floating over the high stone walls. A mosquito whined about their faces. Ryan broke the stare and his gaze traveled lower, then flicked up and away.

  She smiled, skin flushing. He’d just glanced down her dress. His ridged jaw muscles softened.

  “Ryan,” she whispered, her voice husky with anticipation. “I’m sorry I had to strong-arm you. This means so much to me, to these people.” Ryan muffled her “Thank you” by pressing his lips to hers. The kiss started soft and gentle, and as he ran a hand up her back, it turned hard and greedy.

  When she pulled away, she said, “I prayed you would do the right thing and the loa have answered my prayers.”

  Ryan said nothing. He pulled her to him again and kissed her passionately.

  This time he pulled away and looked into her blue eyes. She stared right back, a smile on her lips. Her whole body thrummed with excitement. She kissed him quickly and turned out of his grasp. She took his hand and led him up the path to her room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jim Kilroy stared through the powerful lenses of the Zeiss binoculars. His distant quarry crouched against the horizon, tall white masts swaying in the slight swell. The pale light of the sunrise bathed the sea, turning the water from black to slate gray. Every minute he stood on the bridge wing of Northwest Passage, the ocean took on more of its natural shades of blue. A gentle breeze ruffled his brown hair and wicked away perspiration from his sweat-dampened clothes.

  He swept the optics across the horizon, looking for the speedboat which had come and gone from Peggy Lynn the previous afternoon. Ryan Weller had left on that boat and not come back.

  Kilroy had watched the Peggy Lynn run search patterns for the better part of twenty-four hours and when she stopped and put divers in the water, he knew it meant they’d found the Santo Domingo and his gold. The payment for all the weapons, gear, and vehicles sunk inside the freighter when she’d been attacked. Items he’d been forced to pay for with his own money when the gold and the guns had sunk. It had nearly sunk him.

  Now he was determined to retrieve his gold. It had called them as it called to him. Yes, he could have found the Santo Domingo, chartered divers, and recovered the gold on his own. But why bother when one of the largest commercial dive and salvage concerns in the world would be backing Ryan?

  Kilroy fancied the gold as a trap, and Ryan Weller had walked right into it. A smile spread across the arms dealer’s face as he watched the salvage vessel. A few more days of diving and the whole treasure would be on board the Peggy Lynn. Then he’d swoop in and relieve them of his gold.

  “Beautiful morning,” Karen Kilroy said, holding out a cup of coffee.

  “It is.” He brought the binoculars down, letting them dangle on the strap around his neck, and took the cup from her. He gave her a quick kiss before sipping his coffee. At twenty years his junior, Karen was more than just a buxom, blonde trophy wife. She was his soul mate, and now that she knew about his arms dealing, she was his confidant and co-conspirator.

  “Has Ryan come back?”

  Kilroy shook his head. “I haven’t seen the boat, and Raul says it didn’t return during the night.”

  Karen said, “He’s making a deal with Joulie.”

  “Toussaint’s vodou tart? I doubt it.”

  “Why not? The gold came from Haiti, and she probably wants it back. Perhaps she has the same plan as Toussaint.”

  “No.” He chuckled.

  “Maybe she wants to use the gold to help her country.”

  “That would be like pissing it away. Haiti has always been poor and will always be poor.”

  “Jim,” she reprimanded gently.

  “Even Jesus said, ‘The poor will be with you always,’ and Haiti will always be poor.”

  “Maybe she could do some real good with the money.” Karen cradled her cup in both hands.

  Kilroy snorted. “I could do some real good with the money.”

  “How are you going to get it?”

  “I’m going to wait until they have it all on the boat over there and then take it at gun point.”

  A smile passed
over Karen’s thin lips.

  “What?” her husband demanded.

  “Do you think Ryan will just let you take the gold?” she scoffed. “He hates you already. You’ll have to kill him to keep him from tracking you down and taking the gold back or killing you.” She sipped her coffee, then said softly, “Neither option I like.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Leverage.”

  “Leverage,” Kilroy repeated thoughtfully. He stepped into the bridge and handed his empty cup to the mate, Raul. “Bring me another cup. I have the bridge until you return.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Raul said, the salute evident in his voice. He disappeared down the ladderwell to the galley.

  Kilroy returned to the bridge wing and put the binoculars back to his eyes. He watched a garishly painted Cigarette boat approach Peggy Lynn. Even from several miles away, they could hear the low roar of the high-performance racing engines. “The prodigal son returneth.”

  “What about Joulie?” Karen asked, indicating the speeding boat. “We could kidnap her and keep her until Ryan brings up the gold.”

  “No,” Kilroy said, lowering the binoculars. “She’d have every member of her gang hunting for her. Besides, I don’t think he cares about her enough to save her life.”

  “This is Ryan Weller we’re talking about. He’ll try to save her because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Be that as it may,” Kilroy said, “I don’t think she’s the right girl for the job, especially if she’s demanding some or all of the gold.” He knew how Ryan operated. He’d used Ryan’s sense of fairness and justice to coerce him into delivering the shipment of weapons to Toussaint. And he’d threatened the lives of Greg, Mango, and Ryan’s families.

  “But,” he mused, “there is a woman he would give up the gold for.”

  Karen’s features brightened. “Who?”

  Kilroy turned to look at his wife, a smile lifting the corner of his left lip. She still wore the yellow spandex boy shorts and a pink athletic bra from her earlier yoga session. He pictured her doing the downward dog pose and grinned lustfully at her.