Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  The previous Friday had ended the first week of study in an advanced computer course that Dougal was taking. He spent the weekend catching up on two urgent cases at his office, and while he was at work on Sunday, Kurt dropped by. They came to the conclusion that the mainstay of The Organization’s communication system was almost certainly computer-based. Even though Dougal knew more about computers than Kurt, his understanding was still limited. That was why he had enrolled in the course, which was run by a group of local companies. In addition he had purchased a state-of-the-art personal computer.

  Before he had a chance to pour his drink, the telephone rang. “McAllister!” he replied rather tersely.

  “Good evening Mr. McAllister, this is Mimi at the lab.”

  Dougal softened immediately. Mimi was a young and beautiful blonde. She was also the technician in charge of work being done on the various tissue samples.

  “You must have some important news to call me at home,” Dougal continued.

  “Actually, it’s really a confirmation of what we already suspected. As you are aware, we managed to get the tissue samples from New Zealand earlier than expected. The Prime Minister was killed by the same virus that was used on Hedi Wetzlar and the Chancellor.”

  “You know, Mimi, it could be that the US Secretary of State administered the micro-injection when he visited New Zealand. Soon after that, he committed suicide, so they say. Remorse maybe?”

  “More than likely, but we’ll never know for certain.”

  “Aye. Well thanks for the call. I’ll pass on the information to Jamaica.”

  Dougal decided to call the Judge after he’d finished his drink, which consisted of two generous fingers of Glenfiddich. He sank into a chair, took a gulp, sighed, and closed his eyes. After an hour or so, during which he dozed off, he made some coffee and contacted the villa.

  Sunday, November 18, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  Trilby had decided everyone needed some relaxation, and persuaded the Judge, Meg, Bobbie and the Barkers to come and watch his afternoon cricket match at the North Shore Cricket Club. Jon remained behind to rest body and soul, and consequently was the only one around to receive two important pieces of information. The first was a fax from Dougal at about four o’clock. It was the results from the Mannheim laboratory. The second was a phone call just after five. Jon hauled himself out of the pool where he had been cooling off, and answered at the outside extension.

  “Is that you, Jon?” said Norton Grinder’s familiar voice.

  “Yes, Norton, it is.”

  “I got some bloody good news for you! We broke into the Airport Jail!”

  “You what?”

  “We smashed down the door of one of the cell blocks. And guess who was there.”

  “I’ve no idea,” Jon replied.

  “Anna and Hans.”

  “That’s fantastic, Norton. How come you’re still alive to tell the tale? Are they okay? Were there any guards?”

  “None at all. They probably got scared and ran like hell when the UN planes landed. But to answer your first question, Hans is bloody ill. We had to carry him to the truck, and he was delirious all the way back to Saddles. I called the village doctor and he said it looked like he was drugged, possibly overdosed. On top of that he seems to have got the ’flu, or something worse, and being so down and everything, it could easily kill him if he doesn’t get hospital treatment. That was out of the question since the hospital is still full from the hurricane. Joshua and I couldn’t take him either as our places are much too small, then Josh hit on the idea of asking Mrs. Robinson. I thought it would be expecting too much, but as it turned out she was only too pleased to help. She’s a real gem, that woman.

  “Anyway, the doctor said there was little risk of Hans infecting anyone because his illness was mostly due to his lousy condition. He gave him some antibiotics, and now he’s safely tucked up in bed with Mrs. R fussing around like an old hen. Ms. Andersson’s not so hot either, and she’s staying there too. But I don’t think it’ll take long for her to recover and help. Between you and me I think Mrs. R’s enjoying herself. Is Judge Winchester there? I wouldn’t mind a few words with the boss.”

  “Sorry, Norton. He’s being introduced to the mysteries of cricket. Trilby’s in a match against Montego Bay.”

  “Too bad. I wanted to tell him it’s probably safe to come to St. Barbe’s. It seems that most of the ruling politicians have buggered off to God knows where. According to the radio, this means the Opposition’s taken over. I don’t understand the details, but Mrs. Robinson said they plan to run the country for about six months, then have a general election. Seems this is in the constitution or something. No shit, Jon, I really do think the place is okay for you all to come home. But give it a couple of days just to be on the safe side. Of course the east end of the island is a bloody shambles, and it’ll take years to get back to normal I should think. But we were goddam lucky in this neck of the woods. Something to do with the mountains deflecting the wind, least that’s what the local weather experts said.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that, Norton, and I’ll pass on what you’ve told me. You and Joshua did a fantastic job. I’m certain the Judge will give you a call later this evening.”

  He did, and it was agreed that everyone would leave for St. Barbe’s as soon as they could, except for the Barkers, who wanted to stay behind for the time being.

  That night, Judge Winchester switched out his bedside light and decided that at long last he would probably sleep well but he had no illusions about the fundamentals of the situation. While the apparent loss of control in St. Barbe’s must surely have been a considerable setback for The Organization, it was obvious that they had much bigger fish to fry elsewhere, and the Judge had his own ideas as to how big those fish really were.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Wednesday, November 21, St. Barbe’s

  Norton Grinder drove the beetle to the airport to meet Judge Winchester, Meg and Trilby. It was still light when he took a circuitous route through Jamestown to the Holiday Inn. The day before leaving Jamaica, it had been decided that Bobbie should stay behind with Rodney and his family until things were sorted out on St. Barbe’s. It was these “things” that made Meg feel depressed. Here she was in her own country on her way to a tourist hotel that didn’t belong to her. Jon’s description of Leeward’s condition made her realize that it might not be the financial disaster she had anticipated, but as an emotional one it was unprecedented in her lifetime. In spite of all this, Meg would have to make up her mind about the hotel’s fate, and she could hardly do that without seeing it.

  Norton told his passengers that Hans had been moved to the hospital the day before, and Anna was still too ill to meet them at the airport. She was at the Holiday Inn where she was resting in bed, and wanted to see all three of them when they arrived.

  Immediately after checking in, they went to Anna’s room. She looked pale and run down. “I’m really glad to see you all,” she said. “And it’s such a relief to be free again.”

  “Did Kurt manage to retrieve your credit cards and identification?” asked the Judge.

  “He didn’t do that himself, but his company’s Stockholm affiliate sent someone to my apartment. Everything was there. I don’t remember much of what happened when I was kidnapped, but I recall being asked for my Thibald and Sörnsen entry card and refusing to hand it over. I routinely kept it with my credit cards and passport in a hidden compartment at the back of a kitchen cabinet when I was home. I think Larsen wanted it badly enough to ransack the place, which is why Mr. Gruber found it in such a mess when he checked it out. They should all arrive tomorrow.”

  “How’s Hans feeling?” Meg asked.

  “I’m afraid he’s only half-conscious. The doctors say it’s to do with some drugs he was given. I’m very worried.”

  “It’s lucky they didn’t have the same effect on you.”

  “At least they got him into the hospital,” Trilby commented.


  The phone rang. Anna listened without speaking for a minute, then said, “Thank you.”

  “It’s Hans,” she whispered. “He died about an hour ago.”

  Thursday, November 22, St. Barbe’s

  Hans’ death hung over them like a black pall, but from time to time Anna's grief was replaced with cold fury. She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of Larsen, just as Meg had condemned Stoker and Green for Peter’s murder. Deeply sympathetic, Meg took a light breakfast to her room and tried to comfort her, but with limited success. Anna spent most of the day making phone calls to the Wetzlar Winery, and arranging for Hans’ body to be shipped home. She insisted on doing these things without help. Meg understood.

  During the morning, the Judge contacted Dougal and asked him to try and persuade the German Security Service to investigate The Organization. After that, he went to Jon’s room to discuss the problem of the Guard; it could easily break out of its territory and start killing people. Jon suggested they should attempt to destroy it themselves rather than call in the police, since the local political situation remained uncertain.

  The following afternoon, Jon and Trilby went to see Norton Grinder to talk about the operation, while Meg and the Judge retired to their rooms for a badly needed rest. Anna sat in a lawn chair and gazed out to sea.

  The Judge was just beginning to relax on his bed when the phone rang. It was Josie.

  “We’ve been rumbled, Dad,” she began. “The night before last, Crispin and I were followed. A car picked us up after we’d been to the supermarket, of all places. Luckily we were able to lose it before getting home.”

  “But I told you to get out if anything like that happened. You should have been on a plane long ago.”

  “Stop worrying, we’re in Toronto. I tried to contact you at the villa but Rodney told me you’d gone to St. Barbe’s and were at the Holiday Inn. This is my third attempt. But don’t worry, we’re okay here.”

  “Toronto? What the hell are you doing there?”

  “All the flights to Antigua out of Washington and New York were fully booked way ahead, so we decided it was safer to get one from here rather than Atlanta, which was the other possibility. We have reservations to Antigua for Saturday afternoon, and will arrive in St. Barbe’s at eleven-thirty Sunday morning.”

  “I suppose it’s the best you can do under the circumstances. We’ll meet you at the airport. I’ve missed you, Josie, and worried a lot.”

  “That’s silly, Dad. Crispin’s highly competent, and he’s been so careful and thoughtful. By the way, we’ve stumbled on some odd goings on. He’ll tell you all about it on Sunday. Just to whet your appetite, we’ve discovered that the US Secretary of State may have murdered the New Zealand Prime Minister. I wish we knew how—”

  “But we do, Josie!” the Judge interrupted.

  “My God! How did you find out?”

  “It’s a long story. But we shouldn’t talk any longer; I don’t trust the phone.”

  “It’s probably okay as we’ve registered at the hotel under false names, so I’m going to add one more tidbit. The Secretary of State didn’t kill himself because of remorse. Our guess is that he found out something really important that he wasn’t supposed to know about. We think he was forced to kill himself with sleeping pills and the person behind it is someone on the White House Staff called Ray Colbert. Not only that, there’s a distinct possibility that the Vice President’s involved.”

  Josie stopped for a moment. Luckily the Judge didn’t know that Crispin was trying to kiss her as they lay naked on the bed in their hotel room.

  “I’ve really got to go, Dad. See you Sunday. Love ya!” Josie hung up.

  The Judge lay on his back and thought over the conversation. What he had just heard was earth-shattering, astonishing, but it was frustrating to have to wait until Sunday to get the details. He would pass on Josie’s news to everyone as soon as he got the chance. In his excitement, he completely forgot about his worries concerning Josie’s now obvious feelings toward Crispin.

  Later that evening, just after dinner, Meg took the Judge to one side. “I’m not putting it off any longer. I’ve decided to go back to Leeward to give the place a thorough inspection. It’s a question of facing up to it, or I’ll get no peace of mind for the rest of my life.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” asked Judge Winchester.

  “I’d like that, Marvin. It would be a big help.”

  “Then come up to my room and we’ll have some brandy sent up.”

  The Judge settled Meg on a small settee, then phoned room service. While they were waiting, he shut the balcony door and pulled the drapes.

  “I can’t bear the thought of seeing Peter’s things, his clothes, our room,” Meg began.

  “Then why not give it a miss?”

  “I can’t. If I do that, there’s no point in going at all. I have to face everything, Marvin, even the place where Peter was shot.”

  “I don’t know about that, Meg, I really don’t. Neither of us are experts at this kind of thing, and it might do more harm than good if you revive the whole incident.”

  At that moment the brandy arrived. The waiter set it on a coffee table in front of the settee, and when he had gone, the Judge poured the drinks and sat beside Meg. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you,” he added.

  Meg took his hand and looked up at him. “You’re a very sweet person.”

  After that they talked well into the night, about each other, and about what their lives were like before they met. Meg understood the Judge’s compassion for her loss when he told her how he found out about Miriam’s death from television coverage of the Lockerbie plane crash. Meg realized they had been brought closer by personal tragedies, but the bond between them was much more than that. The fact that the Judge was black might have affected her feelings at one time, at least before Jon brought Josie to Leeward, but not now. Her whole outlook on just about everything had been drastically changed over the last months. As the evening wore on, Meg relaxed even more, and when the Judge put his arm around her, she nestled against him and they talked on. Eventually she dropped off to sleep.

  The Judge knew he loved Meg deeply, but in what way, he wasn’t quite sure. He could feel the warmth of her body against him, and that made him desire her. But he knew that it would be much too soon for Meg to think of him in that way, even supposing there was a chance that she might do so later on. He decided he would have to be very careful if he didn’t want to lose her, very careful indeed. So rather than take any chances, he withdrew his arm in a way that awoke her gently.

  Meg looked up at him again and stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so rude. But it’s way past my bedtime.”

  They both stood.

  “I’d like to get Leeward over with,” Meg went on. “Can we go soon?”

  “Tomorrow would be best, if you’re sure,” replied the Judge.

  “Tomorrow it is then.”

  The Judge opened the door and took both of Meg’s hands in his own. “Try not to worry.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and slipped away.

  Saturday, November 24, St. Barbe’s

  Meg unlocked the main doors of the Leeward Estate Hotel with the key she had kept with her all this time. Judge Winchester and Jon joined her in the lobby. It was dark and cool inside, but as far as Jon could make out, nothing had been disturbed since his last visit. The hurricane had left almost half the trees along the driveway uprooted, but luckily the hotel appeared undamaged.

  The three of them stood looking around. Meg was quiet, withdrawn.

  “Why don’t you two check Rodney’s cottage?” she said. “I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  The Judge put a hand on her shoulder. “Just give us a shout when you’re through.”

  Left to herself, Meg let the tears flow and opened the door to Peter’s office behind the reception counter. There were several dirty cups on the desk, and no sig
n at all of the papers that had once occupied the pigeon holes. All but two of the room keys were missing, and she thought of the police occupation with disgust. But according to Jon, the family’s personal effects remained untouched in their bedrooms, and that was where she headed. Halfway up the stairs, she stopped and looked down into the lobby, then she looked up at the row of closed doors. Her resolve seemed to evaporate, and she sat right where she was with her head in her hands.

  Outside, the two men found Rodney’s cottage locked. Judging from what they could see through the windows, there was no damage inside. Behind the hotel, the maze looked unchanged, and the big palm at its entrance was still standing. Without speaking, Jon and the Judge made their way to the rear where the helicopter had landed, and Peter had been killed. There was nothing left to see, of course, no trace of blood, nothing to mark where he and one of the soldiers were shot. The wind and the rain had obliterated all traces of their deaths.

  They remained silent for a few moments, each remembering—Jon, his first shock at the news and Judge Winchester, the sight of Peter falling after the bullet’s impact.

  The Judge turned to Jon. “I don’t want Meg to come here. At least not yet.”

  “I definitely agree,” Jon replied. “There’s no need for it. And as far as the hotel’s concerned, I think she should sell it.”

  “That’s something she’ll have to decide for herself.”

  Jon saw the Judge eyeing the bedroom windows. “We should see how she’s getting on, don’t you think? On second thoughts, maybe I’ll check the pool area. Perhaps it would be best if you went alone.”

  Judge Winchester failed to notice that Jon was aware how close he and Meg had become. He just nodded, and they returned to the hotel.

  Meg was sitting on the bed she had shared with her husband for so long, staring at the closed door of the small bathroom as if waiting for him to emerge at any moment. The Judge said nothing, and sat beside her. Meg looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. He pulled her gently against his chest, and her body convulsed with deep sobs. At last she was letting it all out. Hopefully, the time had come for her to think about living again.