Marie nodded, still looking at the sea as Marcia left. She took a sip of water and glanced at her wristwatch, making note of the time.
24
Guillermo Montalba sighed with relief as he disconnected from Graciella. He was still trying to grasp what was happening. For now, he had averted disaster, but it had been a near thing. He had bought some time, but he wasn't sure how much.
He decided to work through what had happened during the last hour, hoping to spot something he'd missed. He'd been reading the morning email from Reuben Griffin when Delaney had called. Griffin's update was worrisome, but Delaney's news had been worse. Montalba forced himself to consider the events in the order in which they had occurred.
He reread Griffin's report. Caruthers, Griffin's man in Martinique, had been drugged while he was searching for Beverly Lennox last night. According to Griffin, Caruthers couldn't account for about six hours. Griffin's guess was that Caruthers had been interrogated while he was under the influence of whatever he'd been given. He'd been left by the side of the road, apparently the victim of a mugging. All of his belongings were missing, including his cellphone. Griffin was worried about what his assailants might find in the phone.
When Montalba read Griffin's description of how the woman had picked up Caruthers in the strip club, he agreed with Griffin. It was clear that the woman had known who Caruthers was, and who Lennox was, as well. Montalba was sure Caruthers had been spotted by Barrera's people.
Griffin thought this meant Beverly Lennox was still in Martinique. Montalba wasn't sure of that. In his view, Lennox was of secondary importance now, anyway. What Barrera's people could have learned from Caruthers was more dangerous to him in the short term than anything Lennox could do.
Caruthers had been piloting Griffin's sport-fishing boat when Montalba met with Griffin. Caruthers had seen his scarred face. Was it possible that he'd made a picture with the phone? There was no way to know.
Montalba had to assume the worst, that Caruthers had a photograph of him on the phone and had provided a description to his questioners as well. Given his family tie to Griffin, Caruthers probably knew more than he should about Griffin's activities in Florida, too. Montalba shook his head.
Deciding there was nothing more he could squeeze out of Griffin's report, he moved on to the phone call from Delaney.
"Remember O'Toole wanted me to check up on the Montalba woman?"
"Yes," Montalba had said. "The Whore of Babylon? What about her?"
"I haven't told O'Toole any of what I'm about to tell you, because of our agreement," Delaney said.
"Thank you. I appreciate your discretion. Please go ahead."
"Okay. We've been working a couple of our sources in the Miami Police Department. You remember that the woman disappeared? We found her car at the airport, but we couldn't figure out where she'd gone."
"Yes, I remember that," Montalba said.
"Well, we found her. She's using the name Marcia Levine, and she's chartered a yacht in the Caribbean while O'Toole's screwing around in the Middle East with some Congressional delegation. You recall that a while back, O'Toole had us chasing after a woman named Connie Barrera? He thought she was running a cartel."
"Yes, of course. That was about the time I made my investment in SpecCorp, wasn't it?"
"That's right. Anyhow, the Montalba broad chartered the yacht that Barrera and her husband run."
"Interesting," Montalba said. "And you got this from your sources in the Miami Police Department?"
"Yeah, but that's not all. They're part of a big DEA sting of some kind."
"What? Who's part of the sting? The Montalba woman?"
"No. Barrera and her husband. They're in some kind of deep cover operation, apparently. They're feeding stuff to the cops from some anonymous source they've got. The way this all came out, Barrera and her husband sent the woman's fingerprints to the cops, asking questions about her. They know she's Graciella Montalba, now. She's trying to set up some kind of big drug buy down there in the islands."
"The Montalba woman?"
"Yeah, that's right. They think she's working with her brother."
"I didn't know she had a brother. We're still talking about O'Toole's fiancée, correct? I thought she had no living relatives."
"Yeah. Except the cops say she's got a brother named Guillermo Montalba who's a big time drug smuggler. He's taken over O'Toole's shady businesses to keep O'Toole nice and clean."
"This is incredible. Are you sure of your sources?"
"Yes. It's all solid information. It checks out. And the cops are looking for this Montalba guy for a double murder that happened in the same condo building where his sister lives. At first, they had it down as a murder-suicide, but the word is they've got security videos that show him at the scene. And they have a recording of her talking with him, calling him Guillermo and referring to him as her brother."
"And you haven't told O'Toole any of this?"
"No. You and I agreed that I'd run everything by you first."
"Good. I need a little time to digest this."
"Yeah, well don't take too much time. If this blows up, we can kiss O'Toole goodbye as far as his run for the presidency. Imagine what'll happen if word gets out that his fiancée is a drug lord's sister."
"O'Toole thought Barrera was running a cartel," Montalba said.
"Yeah, we did, too. Turns out that's all part of the sting. She and this 'confidential informant' she's got have been keeping tabs on everything O'Toole and his pal the lawyer have been doing. They say O'Toole and the lawyer killed a couple of people recently, and they've got O'Toole tied to Montalba — the brother, that is, and also to some guy with scars all over his face. They don't have a name for the scar-faced man, but they think he may be Montalba's boss."
"Do you have anything else?"
"No. That's everything. When can I tell O'Toole?"
"Give me some time. You and I have the same motivation when it comes to O'Toole. Let me see if I can come up with a way to keep him clean. I'll get back to you."
"Okay, but the clock's ticking," Delaney said, disconnecting.
As soon as he was off the call with Delaney, Montalba had sent a text to Graciella advising her to drop everything and run. He asked her to call him on his emergency number as soon as she was clear of Barrera's people. That was the call he'd just finished; she should be calling back any minute to tell him where to pick her up.
The only loose end he found as he ran through his mental checklist was the couple on Vengeance, the killers he had put in place in case he needed extra leverage with J.-P. Berger. He thought about recalling them, as he had Graciella, but then he reconsidered. They were safe; there was nothing to connect them to any of this, not yet. Leaving them in place risked nothing, and he might still need to put pressure on Berger.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax while he waited to hear from Graciella. Then it came to him; there was a missing piece to the puzzle. He'd ordered Delaney to snatch Tiberius and Lucilius Jones. In the confusion, he'd forgotten about that. They should be in SpecCorp's hands by now. Montalba picked up the encrypted SpecCorp satellite phone and called Delaney.
"Yeah," Delaney said when the call connected. "You figure out what we ought to do already?"
"No. I'm still working on that. I need an update on the two men you picked up in Miami."
"Oh, yeah," Delaney said. "I was gonna ask about that, but the other shit distracted me. Not to worry; it's under control. We're holding them in Puerto Rico. You were supposed to let me know where to hand them off."
"Yes," Montalba said. "Can you deliver them to Isla de Aves? I'll have someone pick them up there."
"Yeah, no problem. Gimme a few minutes to see what kind of transport's handy. I'll get back to you with a pickup time."
"Anything new?" Sandrine asked, as Connie and Paul joined her and Phillip on the veranda. "I am about to prepare lunch."
"We do have some news," Connie said. "Should we wait un
til lunch is ready?"
"Not unless you're extra hungry," Phillip said. "Did you hear from Marie?"
"No," Connie said. "My cousin, the confidential informant."
"And we talked to Luke," Paul said. "He called to tell us that they have a leak somewhere in the MPD. Some outsider is accessing the information about the Montalba investigation."
"Uh-oh," Phillip said. "Do they have any idea who it is? Or who the leaker is?"
"Not yet. It's got the earmarks of a real cloak and dagger operation, though. It's all happening via their internal network. The IT people found a breach. Somebody's looking at everything they have, as soon as it gets uploaded. Even Luke's private stuff. There had to be an insider to help set it up, but they're not finding any tracks yet."
"SpecCorp," Phillip said.
"Why do you say that?" Connie asked.
"Just a hunch," Phillip said. "They have that kind of talent, and we already know they've got their nose in this. Sharktooth was pretty sure the two men who snatched the Jones brothers were special ops types, from the way they did it. Besides, we know they've been providing muscle for O'Toole and Montalba for a while. They were up to their eyeballs in the Vengeance mess."
"That makes sense to me," Paul said. "Did you hear from Sharktooth while we were out?"
Phillip shook his head. "No. I haven't talked to him since right after the snatch. That was all he said, other than that it happened. Did Luke have anything else?"
"Yes," Paul said. "Once we discovered that Marcia is Graciella Montalba, he was able to get a warrant for her telephone records. They're still digesting all the data, but there's enough so that he can justify a hard look at some other cellphone numbers in that cluster of buildings. He's also managed to leverage that to include one for O'Toole's phones, and he's building a case to get one for O'Toole's pal Gator Jaw Ryan."
"That's quite a bit of progress," Phillip said. "He must be feeling pretty good about that."
"He is," Paul said. "And there's more. While I was talking with him, Connie was exchanging messages with her cousin. But that's her story."
"He thinks they're close to closing their operation," Connie said. "The thing he's missing is the identity of this scar-faced man. They've got enough to nail O'Toole and Montalba, but he needs to take down Scarface to be sure they have them all. They don't want to let him slip through the net, in case he's the big boss. It has to be either him or Montalba."
"What do you mean, 'closing their operation?'" Phillip asked.
"If they're sure they've got everybody, they'll turn everything over to Luke, and work out a way for one of them to testify, if they have to."
"You keep saying 'they,'" Sandrine said. "There are more people than your cousin?"
"Yes, but I don't know how many," Connie said. "He's running a team, I guess."
"Won't this blow their cover?" Phillip asked.
"Possibly," Paul said. "The way these things work is pretty mysterious, and people like that have multiple identities. You can be sure there will be a lot of behind the scenes maneuvering. And it's possible that one or more of the people are ready to drop their cover and move on to something else. That happens, too."
"That sounds dangerous," Sandrine said.
"It can be," Paul said. "That's one of the reasons they won't do it unless they're sure they've caught everybody."
"Does Luke know this?"
"We didn't tell him yet," Paul said. "They asked us not to, for now. But it's possible that he has some inkling through one of his channels to the DEA. He wouldn't volunteer that — not at this stage, for sure."
"Interesting," Phillip said. "So where does that — "
He was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. He picked it up and looked at the display. "Marie," he said, answering the call.
He listened for a few seconds, the phone held to his ear. "Okay. So you're free to talk? Can I put you on the speaker?"
He nodded and took the phone away from his ear, touching the screen. "We're all listening."
"I told Phillip that Marcia has disappeared, but I did not — "
"Disappeared?" Connie asked, frowning.
"Yes. We stopped at a place near Anse Charpentier for lunch. We were beginning to talk about the meeting. I had stalled her while we were driving, to give you more time. I am using a different car from yesterday, and I told her I didn't know if it might be bugged; this was by plan, you see, to make her think I am serious. Also to slow things down a little. Anyway, we sat down and started to talk about it. Then she got a text and excused herself. She said she must make a call and wished to use the toilet, so she would be a few minutes. After 15 minutes, I cannot find her. So I check with the hostess; Marcia has taken a taxi from out in front. This is what I know."
"Did the hostess know the taxi?" Paul asked.
"Yes. The driver is there often. She called his cellphone, but he does not answer. I have his contact information, and I have sent it to Clarence. We will find him and learn where he took her. I think maybe Sandrine can notify immigration to stop her from leaving Martinique, yes?"
"Yes, of course," Sandrine said, reaching for her cellphone. "Excuse, please."
"Good. I go now; I will call if I learn something, but I am coming back to your house, now, Phillip."
"I guess we know who got the leaked information," Paul said.
"And now we need to catch Marcia," Connie said. "Or we may as well call her Graciella, I guess. It'll be a relief to take the gloves off and get some answers out of her."
"Let's get back to the boat," Paul said. "We can start by going through her stuff. Do you still have her passport in our ship's papers?"
Connie shook her head. "No. She asked for it back, since she was going to be away from the boat yesterday and today. She wanted to have it with her. But I'd bet she's got another one, anyway. And it's probably not in either of the names that we know."
"What about her laptop?" Phillip asked.
"She left it aboard," Connie said. "But it'll either be clean or encrypted."
"Maybe. But Clarence has people who can deal with that. Bring it back when you come."
"We'll just bring all her stuff," Connie said. "Let's go get to work."
Graciella Montalba's hands hurt from gripping the splintered wooden seat in the battered fishing boat she had rented. The boat pitched and rolled with a violent motion. The owner, a shriveled-looking, nut-brown man who spoke no English, steered due east, as she had requested.
He seemed unconcerned, but that didn't calm her nerves as they crashed over the two-meter swells that rolled in from the open ocean. To her, the 24-foot boat with its two outboards seemed tiny, but it was all she could find.
French was not a language that she spoke well and he had no command of English. He did speak a few words of Spanish, though, and between that and her smattering of French, she had convinced him to take her out into the ocean so that she could make some photographs of Martinique as seen from the sea.
She had taken a taxi to the town of Marigot, only about a mile north of the restaurant where she had left Marie. The driver had assured her that the fishermen from Marigot were accustomed to taking their open boats offshore and staying for extended periods.
He had taken her to the small-boat basin and helped her find the fisherman, who had negotiated what she was sure was an exorbitant price for his service. She had given the fisherman half of his fee in euros in advance. She had shown him the balance, which she stuffed in her pocket, promising to pay him when they returned safely.
When she had called Guillermo from the restaurant, he'd told her to get to the nearest boat and head out to sea. He would send their helicopter to meet her somewhere out of sight of land.
Before she boarded the boat, she had called again to let him know her point of departure. His instructions had been to head east until the helicopter intercepted her course.
He had also warned her to get rid of the fisherman, leaving the boat adrift when she climbed into the helicop
ter. He said it would be best if she left the boat empty; the authorities would assume the fisherman had fallen overboard.
She had not told Guillermo about the taxi driver, who could connect her to the fisherman. She reasoned that the authorities probably wouldn't find the driver. They would have no reason to ask questions; surely men like the fisherman must be lost at sea often enough.
She looked back over her shoulder, surprised to see how far away the shoreline was. They had been going faster than she realized. In a few more minutes, they'd be too far away for photography to make sense.
She was surprised that the man had not stopped before now; maybe he didn't understand all that she had said. He caught her eye and smiled at her, blowing her a kiss and shrugging.
She returned his smile and nodded. Men were all the same. Whether or not he understood her instructions, she knew what his agenda was. She blew a kiss back to him, licking her lips and raising a hand to the buttons on her blouse.
He throttled the engines down and turned them off, bringing the boat to a stop. The motion of the boat became more erratic, but he was clearly used to it. He stood and approached her, pausing a step or two from her to open the boat's ice chest.
She took the camera strap from around her neck, giving him a come-hither look. His smile brightened to a grin. Bending over, he rummaged in the cooler, picking up two cans of beer.
As he stood up, she struck. She held the camera by the long telephoto lens, swinging it like a club. The camera body hit the side of his head and his eyes rolled back as the two beers dropped back into the ice chest.
He collapsed, his head lodged against the side of the boat. She put two fingers to his throat; his pulse was strong and steady.
Looking around, she found a length of heavy twine in the mess near her feet. She picked it up and wrapped it around her hands, leaving a couple of feet between them. She looped it over his head and drew it tight around his neck.
An Easy Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 8th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean Page 19