Thankfully, Rhonda’d decided to have the rental van delivered to the dock instead of the hotel. Passersby gave me dirty looks as I tried to quiet Po Thang, and probably would have accused me of dog abuse had I not gotten two crew members to wrangle him into a crate and shove him into the back of the van.
Po Thang’s plaintive wailing could be heard for blocks as they drove away. Next stop: Jean Luc’s house until I joined them. I didn’t envy Rhonda’s night if she couldn’t settle him down.
I’d instructed Rhonda not to go directly to Jean Luc’s, but to head out of town and make sure she wasn’t followed. Since we didn’t dare communicate via my cell phone, I had to trust she’d be careful before doubling back.
Before she left, she told me she’d used the rental van driver’s phone to contact Jean Luc’s cell phone. He was in Paris, but gave her the main gate combo, told her where to find a key to the service entrance, and how to turn off the alarm. I had fond memories of that house’s servant’s entrance; it leads to an incredible wine cellar Jan and I raided frequently when we were staying in the pool house.
Back on Odyssey I pushed away thoughts of happier days not so long ago when raiding Jean Luc’s wine cellar, and tried to prepare myself mentally for what promised to be a very long and stressful night. And without the aid of Valium.
I wasn’t really concerned with the operation of the boat, because all I had to do was drive it in a confined circle until the bad guys showed up with the girl. The money was already loaded into an inflatable, as instructed, which I would lower over the side once Juanita was safely on board. What niggled at me was what if something went wrong? What if, as I feared, they decided to off both of us? Dead people don’t make great witnesses.
Reading and watching mystery stories and police procedurals for many years wasn’t helping my already vivid imagination with worst case scenarios, and that threat sent earlier of dropping Juanita into the sea with an anchor tied to her didn’t help.
“Are you ready to be a hero, Loocey?” Fabio asked, as he smoothly maneuvered us past the harbor entrance and out to sea.
“Lucy never got into anything this dangerous. Stupid, yes. Zany, yes. Life-threatening? Nope. I’m terrified.”
“You’ve handled worse situations.”
“I guess. But I was in control. Who knows what these lowlifes have up their sleeves?” I was past caring if they heard me by now.
Fabio whispered, “You don’t have to do this, you know. I will take them the money.”
“Thank you, Fabio. I know you would, but that is a recipe for disaster. If I don’t show up they’d kill her for sure, and probably you as well. If I do what they say….”
“They might kill her anyway. And you.”
“Gee, sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
Fabio brayed a laugh, and I joined him. “Oh, gawd, I needed that laugh. I miss Jan so much.”
“She’ll get over it. She just doesn’t like you having all the fun.”
Nacho joined us and heard Fabio. “Some fun. We’re almost there, and,” he looked at his watch, “right on schedule. I wish all these boats were not out here. What the hell is going on?”
“Looks like a late afternoon regatta to me. And a few cocktail cruises, that’s my guess. On such a perfect weather day, everyone’s taking advantage.”
As if to back me up, the breeze carried the sound of laughter and music from a boat headed into port. The sun had just set, so I expected everyone except us to be harbor-bound before it got really dark. The city lights in Cannes were already on, and we were making twenty knots, so we were closing in on the waypoint where I lost my crew.
Nacho grabbed my arm with one hand and motioned me to follow him with the other. “Bathroom,” he mouthed.
“No, I’m good.”
He rolled his eyes and hauled me into the sky lounge loo. Once he closed the door, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket, hit a key and handed it to me. “It’s for you.”
He left, giving me a ‘make it short’ sign.
“Hello?”
“Hetta, how are you holding up?” Jenks asked.
Tears sprang into my eyes. “O-okay,” I said, my voice quavering in spite of me trying to control it.
“I want you to know how proud I am of you, and I wish we could talk longer. Just keep your cool and remeber everything I told you.”
“Got it. Matter of fact, it’s written on my thigh.”
Silence. Then a low laugh. “Wish I could be a fly on the wall if you need to read it. Love you, we’ll talk again soon. Keep the phone.”
He disconnected and I let the tears flow, then splashed water on my face and was patting it dry when the engines slowed.
I looked at myself in the mirror, growled, “Show time” and went to take the helm.
Chapter Twenty-four
When Fabio brought the Odyssey Forty to full stop at a designated waypoint, I took the helm.
He stayed with me while other crewmembers lowered a large inflatable into the calm water and moved it to the swim platform. Under his watchful eyes, I held the ship in place, keeping just enough way on so we weren’t broadside to a slight swell. Yes, the weather had been very mild for a couple of days, but we were well outside the protected harbor, in the Mediterranean Sea, and there was nothing but four hundred nautical miles of open water between us and Algeria, so a little lumpiness was inevitable.
“Very well done, Café,” Nacho said, then, in an uncharacteristic move, reached over and hugged me. If I ever had an inkling I might not survive this handoff, that cinched it.
Before I could make some snide remark, he quickly left the bridge.
Fabio, a trained captain, remained stoic as he gave me last minute instructions, then saluted and said, “You are now capitán of this ship. Fairwinds, y vaya con Dios.
“Isn’t there a female version of captain in Spanish?” I asked, trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.
His teeth gleamed in the glow of the bridge lights. “Sorry, just habit, Capitana Coffey.”
“That’s better. Now, go. Hasta la vista, Baby.”
“Yes, we will see each other again, very soon.”
“Yes, we will. Thank you for everything, and if….”
“There is no if.” With that, he left me alone.
Once the entire crew was safely in the shore boat, they pushed away from Odyssey and streaked toward shore. I watched them on radar for a minute or two, then dialed in my destination latitude and longitude, and the ship steered a course toward my destiny.
During the hour it took to reach the designated exchange point, I plotted a large grid, put in more waypoints as I’d learned to do when searching for treasure in Magdalena Bay last summer, and sat back to let Otto—that’s what I call the autopilot—do the work.
A beep let me know I was at the rendezvous point, so I switched over the system to run in large circles around it. Running a grid is a stultifying task, but at least when you’re scanning a screen for nifty stuff like shipwrecks, bottom anomalies, or even just watching fish like we did last summer, it beats the hell out of cruising in circles at night without underwater lights or cameras. OXL had them, but I had been told not to use any lights, so I was running dark.
At least I didn’t have to worry about getting run over by a freighter; an automated system would alert me if I had company within two miles. I sat back in the leather captain’s chair to wait. And wait. And wait.
For lack of anything else to do, I stared at the blank radar screen until my eyes watered. Digging eyedrops from my pocket, I used a drop or two in each eye, then closed them for relief. Exhausted from both lack of sleep and stress, I nodded off and jerked awake when my head hit my chest.
My Kindle lay nearby, so I decided to let the boat do all the work while I entertained myself. My book in progress was a sea adventure, and I quickly realized that might not be the best choice, what with it involving bad guys with intent to do harm, chasing the protagonist all over the water. I found a bodi
ce-ripper and lost myself in the doings of a virginal heroine and a dastardly pirate. Or so I thought.
An alarm jolted me out of a deep sleep, and for a few seconds I had no idea where I was. Unfortunately, I quickly remembered.
Checking first the clock, then the radar, it dawned on me I had dozed off for almost an hour, and a small boat had entered the two-mile radar zone and was running straight for me.
I took control of the helm, steered for the rendezvous coordinates, and reset the autopilot. Ten minutes later I was right on the money, so I switched to manual control and brought the engines to idle. Until the exchange was made, I would use the bow and stern thrusters to keep the stern into the swell. Not that a boat the size of Odyssey is affected by such small waves, but my company was coming from shore, and I wanted to get a visual on them as soon as possible.
Standing up, I hit a few switches and changed control of the ship to the starboard docking platform, although I was reluctant to leave the safety of the enclosed bridge. Before I was able to make out the oncoming boat, they lit up the bridge with a bright spotlight and I knew when I stepped outside, I’d be a virtual deer in the headlights.
However, I did go out, averting my eyes from the intense light until they suddenly killed the spot. By the time my vision adjusted to the darkness again, they were out of sight, and then I heard and felt them bump against the swim platform. I could also hear their outboards idling, and the muffled burble of my own engines, but other than that, the scene was eerily silent.
A disembodied, amplified, voice boomed, making me jump. I was reminded of swat teams using a bullhorn when some idiot barricaded himself into a building. “Lower the money,” they demanded.
That was not the plan. I stepped back inside and pushed my own PA system’s slider to maximum. With speakers all over the boat, I knew I was about to give them an earful in return. “Not until I see Juanita safely on my deck.” My counter demand could probably be heard in Cannes, fifteen miles away. “That was the agreement.”
I heard them talking amongst themselves, but couldn’t understand what they were saying, or in what language. One thing was certain, though; these people were no boating experts. First, they hit the swim platform too hard, and now they didn’t realize their voices carried so well as they compensated for the combined boats’ motor noises. And, the numbskulls were downwind, meaning they were also getting a goodly whiff of diesel fumes. Anyone who knew what they were doing would have instructed me to do a one-eighty, bow to the swell.
Odyssey, as instructed, remained dark, inside and out. I was sorely tempted to scare the bejesus out of the jerks by lighting them up with a few of the yacht’s 1000w spots, but I had to worry about Juanita, and what would happen to her if I did.
True, I controlled the money, but they still had the hostage. I hoped.
The next voice I heard was female. “Are you Hetta Coffey?” She sounded young, and scared.
“Who wants to know?”
“It’s me, Juanita. They say they will let me sit on the swim platform, then when you lower the money and let it float away from your boat, they’ll check it’s all there and only then will they cut the anchor line tied to my waist. Please, please, do what they say.”
“Don’t worry, I will. However, I want to see you. Whoever you are in the dinghy, shine a flashlight on Juanita, untie her hands if they are bound, and put a life jacket on her. Once I see she’s safely on the platform, I’ll lower the money, but not before. You get that?”
No one answered for a moment, then a gruff male voice said, “Agreed.”
From what I could hear, but not see, it took a little doing to follow my demands. I imagined them trying to transfer a heavily weighted and bound girl from an inflatable onto the slightly moving platform. I just hoped they didn’t accidentally drop her in the drink in the process.
After what seemed forever, but was probably no more than five minutes, they turned their spot on Juanita and I could clearly see her for the first time. She was drenched, probably the result of the ride out from the beach in a ten-foot dinghy. The minute I saw she was onboard, I concentrated on trying to make out who was in the skiff in the back-glow of the spot. I made out two figures dressed in black, faces covered with those balaclavas popular with ISIS. It was a chilling sight, as were the large automatic weapons they brandished. One might wonder why they hadn’t just picked me off when they had me in their spot.
I couldn’t tell if the kidnappers were men or women. Not that it mattered, as all they represented at the moment were ominous black beings that I wanted to get paid off and away from, tout de suite.
Shifting my attention to Juanita, I saw she was trembling, She sat, head bowed, cross-legged on the platform. A thick length of rope encircled her waist and snaked a few feet to a good-sized anchor resting on the platform with her. I estimated the anchor to be about at least a forty pounder, close to the same weight of the stern hook I use on Raymond Johnson when I want to anchor fore and aft. I’d been forced to let it go a few times due to a wind shift in the middle of the night, and when I went to retrieve it the next morning, it took all my strength to get the anchor back onto my deck. That hunk of metal tied to Juanita would take her to the bottom in no time flat.
As I’d demanded, her hands were free, and they’d secured a life preserver under her arms, but I doubted it was buoyant enough to overcome the pull of that anchor. That thought gave my gut a turn, but I somehow managed to clear my throat and work the scared tone out of my voice.
“Thank you,” I said, “I see you listened to me, and so I want to fully cooperate with you to get this exchange over with as soon and safely as possible.” What I really wanted to say was, Eff you, you cowardly pieces of donkey dung, for terrorizing an innocent young woman.
Just to keep myself talking, and therefore in control of the situation, I asked, “Juanita, are you injured?”
She raised her head and looked in my direction. Lifting her hand to her ear, she reminded me of that photo of her ripped earlobe. To her credit, she said, “No.”
“I can’t hear her,” I said into the mic, even though I had read her lips.
They held the bullhorn to her mouth and she said, “No, I’m not hurt. Just, please, do what they say.”
“Don’t worry, honey, I will. All I want is to get you to safety.” And rip these bastards’ balls off and stuff them down their throats. “I’m going to lower the money on the port side. I’ll have to turn on a deck light over there so I can guide the dinghy down. Is that alright?”
I didn’t get a reply, but saw the two nod at each other, so I flipped a switch and lit up the port side control platform. Another button powered up the winch and I hoisted the lifeboat filled with cash, gave it a nudge with my foot to make sure it cleared the hull, and began slowly lowering it.
Feeling extremely vulnerable, what with being lit up and clearly within shooting range of the perps’ large automatics, I mentally lambasted myself for not stashing a Valium in my pocket.
My hand movements could be clearly seen from the kidnappers vantage point, so I reached up with one arm to create a distraction, hoping the SOB’s watched my left hand while my right hit a set of buttons. Blessing Prince Faoud for his paranoia, and Jenks for giving me the information I needed, I activated a set of hidden infra-red cameras that no one, not even Fabio, knew existed. I didn’t think the bad guys could see the six-screen array from their dinghy point, but to me the screens looked the size of Jumbotrons in sports arenas. I whispered to myself, just to make me feel better, “Pucker up for the fans back home, you SOBs.”
Evidently, they couldn’t see the screens, for one of them stepped onto the dive platform with Juanita, while the other drove their dinghy slowly along the port side of Odyssey to grab their filthy lucre.
My anxiety was bumping the ozone layer, and for a split-second I considered making a run for the sky lounge bar and grabbing that bottle of Nacho’s tequila, but decided against it. Hell, knowing him, he’d probably sent it ash
ore with his luggage anyhow. And I needed what little wits about me I had left. Things were going just a little bit too smoothly, and my inner cynic was sending flares into my nerves.
Slowing the downward progress of the money boat, I gently maneuvered it until it was only four feet above the water. As I hoped he would, the driver moved in close, almost under it, so when I remotely removed the clip, the skiff plummeted into the water, missing his dinghy by inches. Amateurs!
He—it was a male—was standing in his dinghy, reaching upward when I let the money boat go. He yelped, and nearly fell into the water as both his dinghy and the one I’d dropped rocked wildly. Grabbing a gunwale on the skiff, he barely managed to keep it from capsizing.
On the aft camera screen, I watched the other bad guy rush to the port side end of the swim platform, lean out, and peer down the side of Odyssey, trying to see what the commotion was all about. Perfect.
In a flash, Jan materialized in a third camera’s range, climbing out from under the canvas cover of a ski-doo. With amazing speed, she rushed the rail, leaned over right above Juanita, lassoed her with practiced skill, and did the same with the anchor. Quickly cinching in the slack, she wrapped it around a cleat, threw her arms skyward with two thumbs up, and then grabbed tightly onto a rail herself.
Sometimes it pays to have a best friend who is a once-upon-a-time rodeo queen with scads of goat roping trophies in her mom’s den back in Texas. I planned to add another, if we survived this caper.
The swim platform bad guy suddenly spied Jan and was raising his weapon toward her when I jammed the engines into forward and both throttles to full speed ahead, launching him into the drink.
Yeah, I wanted to keep Juanita and the three mil, but I figured if we left the money behind we might have half a chance of getting out of harm’s way while the perps were rounding up the cash. Or drowning.
Just Follow the Money Page 15