Mary brought a cup of coffee up into the cockpit as I was finishing. Surprised that it was time for her to relieve me, I closed the laptop and turned off the hotspot. Shifting my position to where I could steer with my foot on the tiller, I put an arm around her as she sat down beside me.
"Rest well?" I asked, as she snuggled against me and sipped her coffee.
"Well enough. You sleepy?"
"I think so."
"Did Aaron have anything new?"
"Not much." I gave her a quick rundown on the status of the files. "They're puzzled about why only the payees were encrypted. Why the rest of the files weren't. He wanted me to ask if there was a change in command, as he put it. Like maybe somebody new came on the scene and decided they needed to encrypt the files."
"Or decided they didn't need to, and stopped after they got through the payees," Mary said. "That's a good question, but I don't know the answer."
"I suspected you wouldn't. How long did you know about O'Hanlon?"
She frowned for a few seconds. "I don't understand what you're asking."
"Sorry. Was he somebody you heard of before he hired you to kill the Daileys and recover the files?"
"Oh. No. I heard of the Daileys before. They were high profile people, all over the society pages. Not that I'm a big follower of that kind of thing, but unless you lived under a rock, you couldn't miss hearing about them."
"I'm just trying to understand how you got into all this," I said. "Were they known nationally? Or just in Florida?"
She thought about that as she took another sip of coffee. "Florida, I guess. That's where I spent most of my time, when I wasn't working a target somewhere else. But they probably got national visibility, as prominent as they were in Florida. Why?"
"Like I said, just trying to put things in perspective. So the Daileys were visible and O'Hanlon stayed out of sight?"
She nodded. "Pretty much."
"When you first told me about the Daileys and O'Hanlon, I researched them online. I found the Daileys with no trouble. Even a little about Frankie and his mixed martial arts career. O'Hanlon was a different story. He was tough to find. That matches what you just said."
"What's rolling around in that devious mind, Finn?"
"I'm trying to find a toehold — something to help unravel all this. You mind telling me how you got the contract to hit the Daileys? I'll understand if you don't want to say."
Mary put her mug down on the seat beside her and gazed off at the western horizon for several seconds. I couldn't tell what was going through her mind. Without turning to look at me, she spoke.
"I'd tell you if I could, but there's not a simple answer." She shook her head, continuing to watch the developing sunset.
After several seconds, just as I was about to break the silence, she continued. "For you, it was simple enough, I guess. Nora or whoever just called you up and told you who you were supposed to kill. It's different for me. I can't exactly have business cards printed up with '1+800-hit-4you' on them, or a web address like 'www.killer-for-hire.com.'"
She still wasn't looking at me. I could see the muscle in her jaw flexing as she clenched her teeth.
"It's done by word of mouth," she said, "but nobody trusts anybody. You can see why. It would be easy to get nailed for conspiracy. So you never hear from the same person twice. There's a network, I guess is the best way to put it."
She turned to face me, but she wouldn't look me in the eye.
After a few seconds, I said, "A network, huh."
She nodded. "It might have been some of the same people; sometimes they used those things that disguise your voice, give it a creepy sound. For a hit, I'd get a series of calls. It was like following a breadcrumb trail or something. No one person ever committed to anything, so if a call was recorded, you couldn't make a case against anybody, even if you knew who they were."
"I don't see how you ever closed a deal that way."
"That's why it works. Once you get through the dance, you end up picking up the info on your target at a blind drop. Sometimes it was physical, sometimes it was a virtual drop."
"How did you avoid getting stiffed on payment?"
"There's an escrow system. The escrow agent thought it was a real estate transaction, as far as I know. They would get word to me that they were holding a certain amount of money to pay me when I delivered the deed. There was an advance, plus there was confirmation from a bank of my choice that the funds were on hand pending my fulfillment of the agreement. Kind of like a letter of credit in international trade. It was double-blind; I didn't know who was paying, and they didn't know who was doing the hit."
"Then how did you and O'Hanlon ever meet?"
"We didn't ever meet. I was taking the files to the drop when his guys jumped me. That's when this whole thing came apart."
"How did you find out he was behind it?"
"One of the guys who jumped me told me when he saw what happened to his partner. Fool. He thought he could make a deal with me, but I had all the leverage."
"They'd already paid you when that happened?"
"Two thirds. I got shafted for $150 grand. I was supposed to get that after I turned over the files."
"O'Hanlon must have known somebody on the inside of the network," I said. "Otherwise, how did his guys know you did the job?"
"He did. He told me before he died."
"He gave you a name?"
She nodded.
"And?"
"And I paid her a visit. She was talkative enough. I started with her, worked my way through several others, but the last one in the line found out I was coming and killed himself."
"How do you know he was the last one?"
"I know, Finn. That's all."
"How many were there in the chain?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not," I said. You're not going to tell me anyway.
Changing the subject, I asked, "How did you break into the business?"
"Enough, Finn. I'm not ready for any more. Go," she said. "No more of your damned questions."
I leaned forward to kiss her goodnight. She pushed me away.
"See you in four hours," I said, as I went below.
She didn't answer; she wouldn't even look at me.
20
Four hours later, when I came on watch again, Mary was still angry. She gave me the tiller and went below, not saying anything when I told her to sleep well. Earlier in our relationship, I found her hard to read. I didn't have that problem anymore. Or at least not as much.
She was an accomplished liar. She led me the wrong way around Robin Hood's barn as we were getting to know one another, but we were past that. Or so I thought until a few hours ago.
The story she gave me earlier about how she got her assignments made no sense at all. I got a headache just thinking of her made-up tale about the network. She lied again, but why? What was she hiding, at this point?
And she was caught off guard by my questions. She was way too good at lying to fumble the way she did. I just discovered that she didn't improvise well. Before this, I never spotted her lies until long after the fact. I never saw a tell until this evening, but now she was like a rank amateur, looking away, describing a way of doing business that was unworkable, avoiding eye contact. And acting guilty as sin.
I frowned, picking at loose threads. Coming full circle after a few minutes, I shook my head. Why didn't she just refuse to answer? I gave her that option — all but invited her to tell me she wasn't comfortable discussing how she lined up jobs. But instead, she tried to bullshit me. What could that mean?
Then I got a chill when I realized one of the implications of this. She was prepared in advance when she lied to me before. Back then, her stories were coherent and consistent, unlike the bullshit she rattled off a little while ago.
When we first met, I wondered if she had come looking for me. The coincidence of her bumping into me by accident in Puerto Real was unlikely. Somewhere along the way, I suppressed
that question. Probably as I was falling in love with her. Remembering my early caution, my reluctance to trust my feelings, I felt like a fool, and not for the first time in our relationship.
The lonely old fart fell prey to a sweet young thing. I even thought at the time that she could be setting a honey trap for me. But she conned me, made me think she felt the same way I did. I felt a hard, black lump forming in my gut.
And a sharp, tearing pain in my chest. Facing up to the idea that she was playing me all this time hurt. After my failed marriage so long ago, I swore I would never fall for another woman. For 20 years, I managed not to do it.
Women came into my life, and women left, but I never let myself feel anything for them. Somehow, I dropped my guard this time and convinced myself that Mary was different. We were soulmates, I thought. But she was playing me the whole time.
That's okay. I've figured it out; from now on, I'm going to play her. She sought me out for a reason. Our first encounter was no accident. She was primed and ready with her series of carefully articulated lies. Each new tale explained away the earlier lies she confessed to, until she finally convinced me she had told me everything. Or at least everything that mattered between us.
The woman was clever; I would give her that. And deadly, too. Don't forget that, you old sucker. Her game's run its course, but she'll never know. Not until I'm ready.
My jaws ached from clenching my teeth. Shaking my head, I dragged myself back to the present. I could do this. I could turn the tables on her, and whoever sent her.
Our interaction would be minimal for the next couple of days. We wouldn't arrive at Isla de Aves until late afternoon the day after tomorrow. This wasn't our first extended voyage together. We usually enjoyed each other's company for a few minutes at watch changes, but I wasn't sure that would happen this time.
She was in a huff when she went below; I would wait and see how she behaved when she came on watch. That would be in about three hours. Between now and then, I would get my mind straight. She most likely would have some tale to try to explain away her anger; I would listen and react in a manner fitting the relationship she thought we had.
There was no point in tipping my hand. If she tried to make amends, I would welcome it with open arms. But I wasn't falling into her trap again. Once bitten, twice shy.
That brought a rueful smile to my face. Once bitten? You dumb shit. You don't even want to count the bites. But keep the steel in your spine, Finn. That shit stops NOW.
21
Forty-four hours later, Island Girl swung to her anchor in the relatively calm water in the lee of Isla de Aves. Mary was off watch, asleep on the settee in the main saloon.
Tucked in behind the lee cloth we rigged so we wouldn't fall off the settee in rough water, she was oblivious to our arrival. I let her sleep.
Our trip from Bahia de Guánica was rough. The weather was squally for the whole two days. We made good time under reduced sail, but the trip wasn't conducive to reconciliation.
Neither of us rested well during our off watches, and Mary was angry to begin with. Lack of sleep didn't improve her mood. She continued to give every sign that she was still as upset as she was right after our set-to at the beginning of the trip.
That suited me all right; I was happy enough to use the time to lick my wounds and get my head straight. I wasn't over my hurt and anger, but I was in control of my feelings at this point. That was all that mattered.
Sitting in the cockpit, I watched the black clouds and lightning bolts out to the west. That was the most recent squall, the one that hammered us two hours earlier. The forecast I picked up before I came on watch said the low-pressure area would be well away from us by morning. From the looks of the sky, the worst was already over.
Bending at the waist as I sat in the cockpit, I could see the barometer on the bulkhead just beyond where Mary slept. The pressure was rising steadily for the last few hours. We were in for a quiet night and a pretty day in the morning.
Careful not to wake Mary, I slipped below and dug two cold beers out of the icebox. I took them back up to the cockpit and settled down to watch the sunset. Filtered through the last of the storm clouds, it would either be spectacular or a non-event, depending on how far the last squall moved in the next hour.
Retrieving my bag of snacks from the cockpit's footwell, I found a salami and provolone sandwich to go with my beer. I popped the first can and took a sip, savoring it after 48 hours of drinking only water or tepid coffee.
Pulling the plastic wrap from the sandwich, I took a bite and chewed slowly, propping my feet on the opposite seat and leaning back. Sailing definitely offered its own rewards. People who never spent 48 hours without sleep while being battered by storms at sea couldn't imagine how wonderful a salami sandwich and a beer could taste. Enjoying them while watching a tropical sunset from a calm anchorage made them even better.
As I filled my belly, I wondered what the next few days would hold for my relationship with Mary. We were here because she wanted to experience having an island to ourselves. Maybe her mood would improve. I hoped so.
Even though my trust in her was shaken, maybe even broken, she could be good company. And with the storms out of the way, this was about as romantic a spot as she could want. Maybe we would enjoy ourselves; I resolved to do my best, anyhow. And I hoped she would, whatever she was up to.
Since my exchange with Aaron the first night out, neither of us had been in touch with anyone ashore since we left Puerto Rico. We could have used the satellite hotspot to check email, but neither of us did. Turning on the SSB marine radio every few hours for an updated weather forecast was as close as we got to contact with civilization.
One thing that pleased both of us was that the lousy weather stretched all the way north into the Bahamas. If whoever planted that tracker was up there trying to intercept us, they weren't having a good trip either.
Thinking of the tracker made me wonder again how those people found us in Bahia de Guánica. Given my renewed suspicion about Mary, I thought it was likely that she led them to us somehow. I couldn't fathom why she would do that. She wasn't careless, but it seemed the only explanation.
Maybe Mary was grouchy because I screwed up her play, whatever it was. Or maybe her anger was unrelated to the questions I asked.
For a moment, I considered dragging the laptop and the hotspot up here. I could check the email drop Aaron and I were using. After two days, he might have news, either of the decryption of the files or of Mystery Man. Or both. He wouldn't say anything else about Phorcys unless I gave him the all clear, at this point.
I spent a lot of my on-watch time over the last two days wondering about Phorcys. Phorcys and Medusa. Mary and Phorcys. Did she get her jobs through him? Was that what she was trying to cover up with her bullshit story?
If so, why did that matter, between the two of us? There was something off about her relationship with Phorcys; that was clear. She mentioned that dealing with him made her anxious — on pins and needles, was the way she described her reaction to talking with him.
Mary wasn't a woman who was easily frightened. She let me listen in on her last two calls to him, back when we were working to rescue my daughter from her kidnappers. From what I heard, he was favorably disposed toward Mary; he even said he owed her favors.
The way he sounded, he owed her more than he was ever likely to be able to repay. So why did he make her nervous? Or was she just feeding me more bullshit to hide something else about their relationship?
Before I finished with Mary, I would know. Or one of us would die because of my trying to find out.
I finished my sandwich and washed it down with a swallow of beer. The sunset was shaping up nicely. There were enough storm clouds on the horizon to diffuse the light and turn the sky to a palette of colors ranging from yellow to orange to scarlet to deep red.
Opening my second beer, I slugged it down as I watched the show. I finished the beer as the sky faded to gray and black. It was
time for me to creep into the forward cabin and get a full night's sleep.
22
One of the best parts of having Mary aboard was waking up to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. I lay in the V-berth, taking my time getting up, thinking about how that coffee was going to taste.
I was feeling good about life in general. Then I remembered Mary and I were on the outs. At least I was well-rested. And she made coffee. Maybe she would share it. I crawled out of the V-berth and put on a clean pair of cutoffs and a fresh T-shirt.
It was early. The gray light filtering into the cabin was just enough for me to see what I was doing. I made my way up into the cockpit where I found Mary nursing a mug of coffee and waiting for the sunrise.
"Morning," she said, pouring coffee from the thermos into another mug and holding it out toward me.
"Thanks," I said, taking the coffee and holding it under my nose, inhaling the aroma before I took my first sip. "Good morning yourself. Been up long?"
"Long enough to make coffee. I tried to be quiet and let you sleep. Sorry if I woke you."
"Thanks. You didn't wake me; I went to sleep right at sunset. Must have slept 12 hours. You rest well?"
"I did. I was whipped. I didn't even hear you drop the anchor last night. When I woke up, it took me a few minutes to figure out why we weren't bashing into the waves anymore. This is a fine spot, and it looks like we're going to have a clear day."
"That's the last forecast I heard. The low's moved off toward Central America. Supposed to be nice, settled weather for the next several days, at least."
She was sitting at the aft end of the port side of the cockpit, facing forward, looking east. I sat at the forward end of the starboard side, looking diagonally across the cockpit at her. In the dim light, I watched her face fall when I didn't sit beside her. Looking down at her feet, she took a sip of coffee.
Vigilantes and Lovers Page 7