“Well, we are on our way to the Colombian jungle.”
“The deformities and sadness must be from the people being experimented on,” I added. “Pretty self-explanatory.”
“Yep, I agree.” Sue got up and stumbled from the rocking. “I’m going to go have a snack … and make sure Mike isn’t getting shit-faced again.” She bent over and kissed my forehead. “Want anything?”
“That was nice.”
“Just felt like it.”
I liked the little gesture. “I’ll join you in a bit. I’m going to go up to the bridge.”
We both went inside. Mike was sitting at the bar munching on some snacks set out in bowls. His drink was almost empty.
I climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing for support.
Paul had his hands on the large chrome spoked ship’s wheel and was sitting on a raised, amber-colored chair. The enclosed bridge had windows on all sides. Jorge was next to him in a matching chair, and Ivan was standing behind them.
We hit a set of larger waves, direct and hard. My shoulder bounced off the wall, and I grabbed the railing that ran around the perimeter of the bridge.
Ivan had to grab the back of Jorge’s chair to steady himself.
“Here, take this seat.” Jorge stood and gestured to Ivan. “I’m going to go get my binoculars.”
“There are binoculars here.” Paul pointed to the corner where a pair of Bushnell Marine’s hung on a hook.
“That’s okay, I prefer my own.” Jorge walked by, swaying. “Hi, Nick.” He continued down the stairs.
“How are you, my boy?” Ivan perched on the chair Jorge had surrendered to him.
“Fine.” I replied. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing up here.”
“Sea’s a little rough today,” Paul said.
CHAPTER 24
May 17, 2003
Everyone but Ji was on the bridge as we idled out of the marina in Puerto Plata. We were all staring at the black screen with green dots everywhere. There was one dot in particular we were concerned about.
“I first noticed it leave Key West fifty-five minutes after we did,” Miguel said.
“It could be just another boat on the same path we’re on.” Paul was steering us out into open water.
“Or it could be the Naintosa thugs,” I said.
“That boat is traveling a little slower than we are, but they made up time when we just stopped to add fuel,” Paul said. “However, chances are they’ll have to stop as well.”
“If they have radar they can track us like we’re tracking them,” Jorge said.
“Yes.” Paul pushed the throttle forward. “We can’t go much faster than we already have been, but I’ll increase our speed by three knots.”
“And we’ll keep watching,” Miguel said.
No one could keep their eyes off that little dot.
INTERLOGUE 7
Carlo pressed the red “Kill” switch and kicked the stand out on his orange-and-black KTM 640 Enduro. It was way more motorcycle than he needed to get around the family’s large tracts of land, but it made him feel virile. He was proud that he could still handle such a powerful machine at forty-eight. Usually he had a rush of excitement when he rode, but not today. This evening he was angry.
Davis sat in his New York office at GMNN, which he used when he was home on the East Coast. Office staff would be leaving for the day, but he was stuck to his oxblood leather chair, not wanting to move, unwilling to accept what his physician had told him moments ago.
The intercom sounded and a sultry female voice said, “Mr. Lovemark, are you there?”
Davis didn’t want to speak, but with reluctance said, “Yes.”
“Mr. Da Silva is still waiting on line one.”
“Fine.” Davis took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. “Carlo, sorry to keep you waiting.”
“We have a real problem.” Carlo’s voice was an octave higher than normal. It was rare that he was outwardly upset. “A different strain of wheat has materialized on my most eastern field—Naintosa’s genetically engineered plants are taking over my ancient grain.”
“Could it be seed from a nearby field that’s drifting onto your land?” Davis said.
“There are no fields next door, only mountains. It was either drift from a long way away or someone purposely spread the seed.”
“Hmm … sabotage?”
“Also, the vines growing on the north side of my property have died.”
“The genetically engineered wheat wouldn’t cause that.”
“Of course not. They were killed with glyphosate.”
“You don’t use glyphosate. You brag about that all the time.”
“Of course we don’t.”
“Then it was sabotage,” Davis said. “I remember seeing a fence, does it go all around the perimeter?”
“Yes, it’s more of a wall and hard to get over.”
“Do you have cameras?”
“Not everywhere; it’s a tremendously large property. Yet I will have them installed, even though the damage has already been done. This is not good, Davis.”
“I know.” Davis took a second to think.
“I feel like we’re losing control.” There was no trace of Carlo’s cool and calm demeanor; only frustration and anger. “Not just my farm but the whole plan.”
“I’ve decided to go to the Colombian lab personally,” Davis said. “We need to know what’s happening.”
“I tried to call Hendrick but couldn’t reach him.”
“I know he’s at the lab now. He won’t talk to me either.” Davis had additional motivation—his health diagnosis.
“Do you want me to join you?”
“I’ll let you know if that’s necessary after I get there,” Davis said. “But you should plan for it.”
“As we agreed, I’ve met with Hendrick’s younger brother,” Carlo said on the other end of the line. “Günter is receiving the same education as the Schmidts before him, seems brighter than Hendrick V, personable, and even-tempered.”
“That’s positive,” Davis said. “Can we speed up his education?”
“Possibly by a year, maybe two. I’ve already begun the process. Also, I spoke with Ivgeni Svetlov, and his brother might be able to help in the interim. I have arranged a meeting in Moscow.”
“Very good.” Davis felt the recurring pain in his intestinal area but didn’t let on to Carlo. “I’ll see what Hendrick’s progress and stability is.”
“Keep me posted,” Carlo said. “And ask Dr. Smith if he knows of any way the damage could’ve been caused to my wheat and vines without sabotage.”
Davis had a sudden intense need to relieve his bowels, and sweat formed on his brow. He had to cut the call short. The thought of seeing blood in his stool again scared him.
CHAPTER 25
May 18, 2003
We came around a protrusion of land on either side and through a channel that brought us into the natural harbor of Saint Thomas. Sailboats were anchored nearer land, and two cruise ships were moored along a long pier. White buildings with orange roofs populated the shoreline and dotted the steep mountainside. The air was warm and smelled of the tropics, brought on by the breeze.
We had skirted charcoal clouds of rain on our voyage, and now one seemed to be following us into Amalie harbor. The sun disappeared and droplets of water bounced off the window of the bridge next to where I stood.
The dot on the radar had made a brief stop last night and then continued on our same course. Paul had calculated that the boat had sped up even more than we had and was an hour behind us if it came to Saint Thomas.
The marina could easily handle a yacht of Paul’s size, and there were a few open slips.
As we idled in, Paul said, “To the right is the charter and cruise-ship terminal. That’s where you’ll find your pilot friend’s office.”
Jorge scanned to where the cruise ships were docked.
“Straight ahead is a duty-free mall,” Paul add
ed.
There were a number of two-story white stucco buildings with orange tile roofs, all with prominent retailer logos displayed.
“Is that round cabana a bar?” Mike pointed to the right.
Not too far away on an adjacent pier set on pilings was a sizable, round, open-air restaurant with a patio surrounding it and a metal roof painted the customary orange.
“That would be a good place to wait, so you could watch boats coming in,” Paul said.
“Good idea,” Jorge said. “You can all wait for me there.”
Once docked, we departed the boat with our duffel bags, giving a wave to Miguel and Ji. The shower had stopped, and the sun was coming back out.
“Okay, then.” Paul gave Sue a hug and shook the men’s hands. “Best of luck.”
“We really appreciate what you did for us,” Sue said.
“Thanks for everything, Paul,” I said.
He patted me on the shoulder. “Stay in touch when you can, and let me know if I can help in any way.”
“It would help if you published the story of Davis Lovemark gaslighting,” I said.
He paused. “Let me think about it. Maybe I should at least write it out so I don’t forget the details.”
“That’s a start.”
“Try to leave within an hour, just in case that boat is who we suspect it is,” Jorge said.
Paul waved as he went back up the gangway. “That’s the plan.”
We walked along the pier for about a hundred yards until we reached land.
“I shouldn’t be very long.” Jorge strode away toward the cruise ships.
We continued along the edge of the mall until we reached the pier that lead to the circular bar and grill. As we stepped atop the wood slats, on either side the water glimmered where the sun’s rays hit the ripples.
My shirt was already soaked through with perspiration. It was a relief to step into the shade of the covered patio. A refreshing breeze blew in off the water.
The cabana had seating around its perimeter, with the kitchen and bar in the middle. We found a table that looked out at the cruise ships on the left and the marina on the right where we could see Paul’s yacht and the bay in front of us—a perfect spot for boat-spotting.
“I could hang out here,” Mike said, lighting a cigarette.
A pretty waitress with large dark eyes, wearing a floral, sleeveless dress covering ample hips, came over to take our drink order and provide us with menus.
A black cloud rolled in across the harbor with an opaque liquid wall below it. The breeze intensified.
Sue gestured. “You all notice what’s coming?”
Within a minute, it was raining so hard that we could only see twenty feet beyond the cabana. Even though we were under a roof, we were getting wet from the rain ricocheting off everything. It was refreshing, but the inundation overwhelming.
As soon as it came, it was gone. The sun was back, bringing with it intense humidity.
We passed the time sharing appetizers and looking out at the bay while chatting about the view, along with the past and future.
Jorge had been gone for close to an hour. We hadn’t thought it would take him that long.
Mike ordered another beer and lit a smoke.
Boats were going in and out of the harbor, a few coming into the marina. None of them looked suspicious; however, we didn’t know what we were specifically looking for.
The sky was taking on shades of yellow and orange. Another dark, possibly rain-soaking cloud that was the shape of a meringue approached.
“Mr. Nick Barnes?”
I turned to see a woman standing behind us. It took a second to recognize her. “Ms. Virk?” It was the reporter who had tried to interview me in Burford and then written a story anyway—Adhira Virk.
“Who’s asking?” Mike said.
“What are you doing here?” Sue asked.
“I could ask the same question,” Ms. Virk said. “I’m on vacation.”
“So are we,” I responded.
“Oh? Where are you staying?” Ms. Virk asked.
I hesitated for a split second, but I knew it was enough to cause suspicion in my answer. “We’re in transit.”
Sue pivoted. “Isn’t Saint Thomas a long way from London to come for a vacation?”
“Oh, I’ve accepted a position at the New York News,” Ms. Virk said. “Thought I’d take a little break before digging into my new job.”
“That’s a GM Comm paper,” Mike said.
Ivan wasn’t saying anything; just watching.
“GM Comm is the biggest media organization in the world.” Ms. Virk frowned at Mike and then tried to recover. “A girl’s got to make a living. It was hard, freelancing.” She turned her attention to me. “How’s it feel to be free?”
“I was innocent all along and not a martyr like you wanted, so of course it feels good.”
“What’s it like to intentionally write misinformation?” Sue wasn’t holding back. “I hope your new job is to write opinion pieces and not to be concerned about facts, because that’s what your story about Nick was.”
Virk’s eyes narrowed. “You all need to be careful about what you’re saying and doing …”
We all stood at once. That made Virk take a step back.
I hadn’t noticed the two large East Indian men a few paces back until they took a step forward.
Was she really a reporter on vacation? Maybe not. I wanted the conversation to be over.
A boat’s horn sounded. It was nearby and kept going in a steady drone.
We all turned to where the noise was coming from. It blared from Paul’s yacht that was pulling away from a fueling station along a long dock not too far out. As if he saw that we’d noticed him, the horn stopped.
We’d been distracted by Virk and hadn’t seen a large white boat pull into the slip we originally docked at. Leaping onto the pier was the big Naintosa thug from the Ford and another man who I assumed was his partner, because I’d never really gotten a good look at him before.
“Fuck,” Sue growled.
“The bad guys?” Mike asked.
“Depends on your perspective,” Virk said.
Virk’s comment raised my suspicions higher—she may have been there to find and distract us long enough to be caught. We weren’t going to wait around to find out. I reached into my pocket, grabbed enough cash to cover our tab and dropped it on the table.
Sue pushed Virk aside. “Excuse us.”
I thought we may have to fight the two big guys with Virk, but they parted when all four of us stormed at them. One man bumped into a chair that a lady sat in, spilling her drink. The shaved-head man with the woman who now had green liquid down her cleavage stood. He had a sizable gut but big arms and wore a Hell’s Angels wife beater.
We proceeded past, not waiting to see the outcome of the inevitable confrontation.
When we came out into the open I looked to see where the thugs were. They were standing, looking out at Paul’s boat as it was now just out of reach for them. As if on cue they looked in our direction.
For a split second everyone hesitated. They looked to shore. We looked to shore.
We were closer to land and began bolting down the pier.
The thugs took off as well.
As soon as we reached the promenade we veered right, away from where the Naintosa men would be coming from. We were a couple of hundred yards ahead of them. Sue and I were holding back, making sure we stayed at the same pace as Mike and Ivan.
I saw Jorge turn a ninety-degree corner on the promenade from where the nearest cruise ship was and start walking toward us.
We were coming into a congestion of tourists making their way back to their ships as the sun was setting. They would soon be departing back to sea and on to their next port of call.
Mike was breathing hard next to me. Ivan had slowed some to make sure we didn’t abandon Mike.
Jorge saw us and stopped. He peered beyond our trajectory and then wa
ved in a circular motion, encouraging us to hurry up.
I snuck a look back and saw the thugs approaching the crowd of tourists. They’d made up ground on us.
We weaved and zagged around meandering vacationers.
Just before we reached Jorge, he turned and started running, leading us. No one said a word and just kept pushing forward.
Turning the corner of the promenade, there was a row of kiosks and single-story storefronts—selling travel excursions, charters, ice cream, and confections, and then a restaurant.
Jorge took a sharp turn into a narrow alley between buildings, and we followed. I brought up the rear, put my hand on Mike’s back and nudged him forward; he’d run out of steam but not given up.
We turned left again behind a store, then went to the other end of it and stopped next to a dumpster. We were just in time to see the thugs pass on the promenade. As soon as they were out of view we ran in the same direction.
Just before we entered the crowd again, Jorge opened a door to a business.
The only person inside seemed to be getting ready to leave. It was a charter company, and he was coming from around a desk. He stopped when he saw us, with a short skid on the concrete floor.
“Ricardo, you need to hide us,” Jorge said.
“Sure, Jorge. Follow me.” Ricardo was a tall, hefty, middle-aged Latino with curly hair cut short. He led us past four desks, down a short hall, and into a supply room.
“The reason we needed anonymity found us,” Jorge said.
“How many?” Ricardo asked.
“Two,” Jorge said. “One big and one average. White, American.”
Ricardo nodded. “Do you have protection?”
“Just me,” Jorge responded.
He was the only one who’d kept his gun, as he had a license. The rest of us had left ours with Paul, who was going to place them back in the van in Key West for pick-up. We were going to receive new protection in Colombia.
“Stay here. I’ll go watch for them.” Ricardo left the door ajar.
We were all catching our breath. Mike had his hands on his knees and was bent over, panting.
“They were on the boat we were suspecting?” Jorge asked.
I nodded. “Had to be.”
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