by Len Maynard
‘Not like his father, eh,’ the old man said with a rueful smile.
‘So where is he?’ I said. ‘Where’s Alan?’
‘Can I sit down?’
Nona pulled him up a chair. The old man sat down heavily. ‘The FBI let him down badly,’ he said. ‘He’d set up a meeting the morning the car bomb went off. An agent was coming to interview him, and Alan was going to give them everything, all the information they needed to bring down the cartel in the States. But someone at the Bureau ratted him out. The bomb was meant for him, not Anna and Sally. It’s why he ran. He knew once they’d figured out it wasn’t him driving the car, they’d come for him again, and that they’d catch up with him sooner rather than later. He came here. We hid him.’ He licked his lips and glanced at the rum glasses again. ‘A small one. Julius?’ he said.
‘You know better than to ask, Lucas.’
I was getting impatient. ‘So where is Alan now?’
The old man licked his lips again. ‘All this talking. Makes me dry.’
‘Give him a drink, Julius,’ I said.
‘Harry!’ Nona said.
Julius glared at me. ‘Harry, you’re no better than the Cubans who got him drunk.’
‘I’m not telling you to get him drunk,’ I said. ‘One drink. A small one.’
‘Thanks, Harry,’ my father said.
Nona looked at Julius, a question in her eyes. Julius gave a small nod of his head. She went inside and came back with a glass containing a finger of rum, handing it to my father, who took the glass in both hands and brought it up to his nose. He sniffed the sticky-sweet aroma, put the glass to his lips and took a sip, and then he set the glass down on the table.
‘Watt’s Cay,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Alan. He’s gone to Watt’s Cay.’
‘Why?’ I looked at him incredulously.
‘He wouldn’t say.’
I couldn’t see why he’d go there of all places. I wasn’t aware Alan knew Kim that well.
‘This is bad, Harry. He’s walking straight into their arms,’ Julius said.
‘Yes, I know. Can you get in touch with him?’
Julius shook his head. ‘He’s not using the radio on the boat, and his mobile phone’s switched off.’
‘When did he leave here?’
‘A few hours ago.’
‘Then there’s no way we’re going to head him off,’ I said. ‘We’ll do as you suggested, Nona, and leave at daybreak.’
‘You’re going after him?’ my father said.
I nodded and went to pour myself another rum. My hands were shaking.
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‘Do you think Lucas was telling the truth about Alan meeting with the FBI?’ Julius said once we’d cast off and The Lady was ploughing through the waves.
‘Jack said much the same. Besides, I think I know who Alan’s contact is. I’ve met him…Sam Goldberg. He spun me a line about meeting up with Alan for research on a book he was writing. And I swallowed it, damn it!’ I slapped the wheel with the flat of my hand. ‘Writer, my ass! He damn near told me he worked for the Feds.’
‘And he’s on Watt’s Cay too?’
‘Oh yes, he’s there too.’
‘What are the chances he’ll still be able to contact the Bureau?’
‘Not a hope in hell. Remember my father also said that Alan had been ratted out by someone at the FBI. So I would hazard that Jack and the Cubans are well aware of Sam’s status. Besides, the FBI has no jurisdiction over here. If they got involved in an internal Bahamian affair it could open a political can of worms, and I don’t think they’d be willing to do that.’
‘So, we can count out any help from that quarter.’
‘I think it’s safe to say we’re on our own.’
‘A comforting thought,’ Julius said with heavy irony.
We made good time to Watt’s Cay. Julius was an experienced sailor and didn’t suffer from seasickness, so I was able to open out the twin Pentas and build up some considerable speed. Yesterday’s storm had moved on and the morning was fine, with a sky of deep azure streaked by a few high bands of cirrus. There was a darker cloud line on the horizon that suggested the storm may be back later in the day, but the forecast was noncommittal.
At a little after midday we saw the faint outline of Watt’s Cay in the distance. I throttled back and let The Lady drift.
‘We can’t take the chance they’ll be watching the jetty. It can be seen from Kim’s house,’ I said.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘We circumnavigate the cay at a distance and come up on the opposite side to the house. We can anchor some way out and use the dinghy to get ashore. If my memory serves me correctly, there’s a long stretch of beach on the north shore with a fair bit of cover. Unless we’re seriously unlucky, we should be able to get up to the house without being spotted.’
‘It’s your call,’ Julius said.
It was a plan of sorts. What happened when we reached the house, though, was still a vague shadow play in my head, but nothing would be any clearer until we got there and assessed the situation.
The noise of the dinghy’s outboard motor blared through the morning silence, and I was very aware that this wasn’t a subtle method of approach. Half a mile out from land I cut the motor and we used the oars.
‘No sight of Alan’s boat.’
‘He would have tied up at the jetty,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t be expecting a reception committee.’
We landed on the beach and dragged the dinghy across the sand, hiding it in a patch of dense foliage at the base of a stand of palm trees. When I was satisfied that it wouldn’t be noticed by any casual observer, we struck out towards Kim’s house.
We were both armed. I had the Beretta and the Smith and Wesson, both tucked into the waistband of my chinos; Julius had surprised me back at his house by producing an old Colt 45 revolver. ‘It scares away the sharks,’ he said.
‘Are you any good with it?’
‘Pretty fair. I get a lot of target practice. You?’
‘I could hit a barn door if you painted it bright red and stood me two yards in front of it,’ I said.
‘That good, eh?’ Julius said with a chuckle. ‘Let’s hope the threat of the guns is enough.’
We could hope, but I wasn’t feeling terribly optimistic.
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By the time we reached the rear of Kim’s house that lack of optimism had developed into a deep pessimism. I was out of my depth here, and had been right from the start. I was no hero, and certainly no action hero. The thought of confronting the Cubans with their guns and utter ruthlessness filled me with nothing short of total dread. As we crouched behind the small rise overlooking Kim’s house, my palms were sweating, and that had nothing to do with the trek across the island.
Julius produced a pair of binoculars from the small rucksack he had slung over his shoulder, and handed them to me. They were strong enough to give a clear view through the windows.
The first person I saw was the Cuban woman, dressed in combat fatigues, her thick black hair tied back from a plain face. Her eyes were heavy lidded, nose prominent, and there was a determined set to her heavy jaw as she stood at the window of the lounge, occasionally glancing out as she smoked a cigarette. She turned to speak to someone, and I caught a glimpse of the machine pistol she was holding at her hip.
I looked beyond her and saw Stevie, Billie, and Sam sitting together on Kim’s cream leather couch. From the awkwardness of their postures it was obvious they were tied up, their hands secured behind their backs.
The smaller of the Cuban men came into view, also holding a machine pistol. He crouched down in front of the three on the couch and said something to them, to Billie in particular, and then he reached out with his free hand and grabbed Billie’s breast, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. She squirmed but could do nothing. I saw the Cuban woman laughing and making gestures to urge her colleague on. Sam said something to the man. The Cuban
released Billie’s breast and swung his hand, catching Sam across the mouth. Sam rocked backwards, his split lip dribbling blood. Stevie was struggling against her bonds and mouthing a stream of invectives I had no problem lip reading. The Cuban woman raised her weapon threateningly and then took her cigarette and blew on the lighted end, making it glow red. The implication was obvious, and Stevie’s mouth snapped shut like a clam shell.
There was no sign of Alan, and so far I had seen nothing of Kim, her young lover Philippe, or the larger of the Cuban men. I was guessing they were in another part of the house, but even as I had the thought another, much darker, possibility entered my mind.
I swung the binoculars from window to window, and was about to give up when a door at the side of the house opened, and the big Cuban stepped into view with something slung over his shoulder. With a feeling of dread I refocused the binoculars. He was carrying something rolled up in one of Kim’s Persian rugs, and it didn’t take too much to imagine what the rug contained. I felt a knot of nausea settle in the pit of my stomach. I should have followed my instincts and set sail last night, instead of being convinced by Nona to wait until morning.
I felt Julius nudge me in the ribs. He too was staring at the Cuban, watching as the big man dumped his burden unceremoniously into a bed of Kim’s flower garden.
We waited until he had disappeared back inside and then crept forward, finding cover where we could; behind trees and a couple of small wooden structures where Kim kept her garden tools.
We reached the house, ducking down to avoid being seen from the windows, and crept along in the lee of the house wall. Julius reached the rolled-up rug first. I could see him hesitate as he reached down to unroll it. By the time I joined him he’d exposed the body and was staring down at it, a confused expression on his face. He looked up at me, an unspoken question in his eyes. I stared down at the chiseled Gallic features, almost serene in death. There was a small bullet hole in the forehead, but that was the only imperfection in Philippe’s handsome face.
‘Kim’s lover, Philippe,’ I whispered.
‘I thought I was going to find Alan.’
‘Yes. So did I.’
‘Poor Philippe. He loved me so much he had to play the hero. Such a waste.’
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I spun around at the sound of the voice.
Kim was standing there, not two yards away from us. In her hands she held the shotgun, cocked and aimed at us. ‘This old thing may not shoot straight, but from this range it will take you both out, so don’t make any sudden movements or try anything stupid.’
‘Kim?’ I said, not really understanding what was happening. The world had lurched under my feet again, leaving me disoriented.
‘I take it this is Kim Weaver?’ Julius said.
‘Yes,’ I said, glaring furiously at her.
‘A famous man once said, ‘choose your friends wisely.’ You should have listened, Harry.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Kim, what’s going on?’
‘We can talk when we’re inside. I don’t trust you not to do anything rash, Harry. You always were a little hot headed. A great fuck, but a hot head. Take out your guns very carefully and throw them into the flower bed.’
I pulled the Beretta from my waistband and tossed it into the flowers. Julius did the same with the Colt.
‘Both of them, Harry. I saw you had two when you were bending over Philippe. You don’t want to play the hero as well and end up like him, do you?’
I took out the Smith and Wesson, wondering if I’d have time to raise it and fire before Kim pulled the trigger of the shotgun. The back door opened and the large Cuban stepped out into the late morning sun. He said something to Kim in Spanish. She replied, and with an alacrity that belied his size, he was behind me and yanking the gun from my waistband, and in doing so tore an inch-long gash in my buttock.
I think I swore, or said something insulting. He didn’t miss a beat. Without even looking he threw the gun into the flowerbed and swiped me with the back of his hand. I don’t know whether he wore a signet ring, or whether it was just his knuckle, but something very hard cracked into my temple, and something exploded in front of my eyes. I sank to my knees, clutching my head with my hand.
Kim twitched the shotgun. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Inside.’
Julius hauled me to my feet. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered in my ear.
I felt groggy. My vision was blurred, and my head felt as if someone was trying to penetrate my brain with a pneumatic drill. I stumbled a couple of times as Julius helped me towards the door, but his strength kept me on my feet.
‘Harry!’ Stevie gasped as Julius hauled me into the room where they were being held. As Kim walked in behind us with the shotgun aimed at our backs, the flame of hope that had flared briefly in Stevie’s eyes guttered and died. ‘So she fooled you too,’ she said bitterly.
‘For a long time,’ I said, the bitterness in my voice matching Stevie’s.
‘Not that long,’ Kim said. ‘I really cared about you, Harry, truly I did. But as I told you yesterday, I’ve changed more than you know.’
‘So how long have you been working for these clowns?’ I said, nodding towards the Cubans.
‘No, Harry. You’ve got things about face. They work for me. Or to be more precise, they work for Jack and me. And believe me, Harry, they’re not clowns. They’d kill you as soon as look at you.’
I tried to digest what she’d just said, but my thoughts were woolly from the blow on the head, and nothing was making much sense. I thought she’d said ‘Jack and me,’ but that couldn’t be right, could it? ‘You and Jack?’ I said.
She shook her head, a sad little smile playing on her lips. ‘Oh, Harry, Jack always said you never knew what was going on right under your nose. Now I believe him. Jack and I have been lovers for years. Since his last wife left him.’ Her smile turned coquettish. ‘Well actually, for a few years before she left him.’
Julius lowered me onto the other couch. Kim aimed the shotgun at him. ‘You sit too.’ She said something in Spanish to the big Cuban, and moments later our hands were being tied behind our backs.
At the window the Cuban woman was lighting yet another cigarette. She didn’t offer me one, which was a shame, because I hadn’t smoked since we left the boat, and I was starting to feel slight nicotine withdrawal. That wasn’t helping my thought process, but at least my head was starting to clear and the pain was easing.
‘So,’ I said to Kim. ‘You and Jack are making a handsome profit trading in human misery.’
The smile didn’t drop from her face. If anything it intensified. ‘A very handsome profit. Yes, Harry, we are.’
‘But why? Ted left you a fortune and you’re a successful writer. You don’t exactly need the money.’
‘Don’t be so bloody naïve, Harry. You can never have enough money. And besides, the books aren’t selling anywhere near as well as they used to. I’m no longer the flavor of the month. I’m looking at this little venture as my…our…pension.’
‘I don’t know how you, or Jack for that matter, can live with yourselves.’
‘I don’t have any trouble looking myself in the mirror, Harry,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re not the ones fucking children. Each other, yes, and Jack allows me to have my lovers, just as I turn a blind eye to his, but we’re not perverts.’
‘Maybe not, but you’re supplying the perverts. Is that any better?’
She shrugged. It was obvious she didn’t care.
Her mobile phone rang.
She pulled it from the pocket of her jeans and answered it, turning her back on us. The Cuban woman trained her semi-automatic on us, just in case we got any ideas.
‘Hi, darling. Where are you?’
She listened for a while. ‘No, he hasn’t got here yet…. Oh yes, he’ll come. And some other guests have arrived…. Yes, Harry, and he’s brought a friend with him. I think it’s Julius Flood…. Yes, that’s what I was thinking. No
loose ends…. Love you. Bye.’ She turned to us. ‘Jack will be here soon,’ she said brightly. ‘Although he’s a little disappointed in you, Harry. He thought you were out hunting down Alan.’ She went to the bar in the corner and poured herself a brandy. ‘Though I must say you would have wasted your efforts. Alan telephoned me earlier. He’s on his way here.’ She sat down on a cream leather armchair and tucked her legs underneath her.
On the couch Stevie, Billie, and Sam were sitting in silence, watching the exchange. ‘They’re going to kill us, Harry,’ Stevie said in her usual direct way.
‘That’s right, isn’t it, Kim?’ I said.
‘I expect so,’ she said. ‘Though ultimately, that will be Jack’s decision.’
Julius made a sound of disgust. ‘How can you sit there, woman, and contemplate cold blooded murder?’
‘Because, Mr. Flood, I’m a survivor. And neither Jack, nor I, wants to spend the rest of our lives behind bars.’ She sipped at her brandy. ‘We didn’t bring about this situation. If you want somebody to blame for your current predicament, then blame Alan Lancaster. Jack made a mistake. He trusted Alan and brought him into this venture. He thought capital investment would be useful, and he thought Alan would be the man to provide it. He miscalculated badly. He didn’t realize that Alan actually had scruples.’ She laughed. ‘Well, he’d never consciously displayed them before; screwing that nightclub singer while he had a wife and child at home were not the actions of a man with high moral values.’ She glanced at her watch, swallowed the last of her brandy, and got to her feet. She walked to the window and looked out. ‘Here he is,’ she said.
She could have been talking about Alan or Jack, but I guessed from the look of infatuation on her face it was the latter. She turned to the Cuban woman. ‘Watch them carefully, Maritza,’ she said. ‘Shoot if they give you any reason.’ She then walked quickly from the room.
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