by Scott Cook
It being mid-November, the evening was comfortable but not hot. The humidity had left Florida, even down in Fort Lauderdale, and the eighty degree night was beautiful. My slacks, Rockport’s and button down navy and white striped dress shirt weren’t unpleasant to wear.
My grandparents were already waiting on the dock. My grandmother looked slim, elegant and remarkably pretty in her cream colored slacks, strapped low heels and sleeveless peach colored blouse. Her bare arms were tanned and toned and the string of pearls around her neck seemed to glow against her tanned skin.
I whistled appreciatively, “Good evening, gorgeous! May I escort you to the soiree? Wait till the quality gets a load of you.”
Nana laughed and took my arm, “Certainly.”
“Hey, what about me?” Pops asked.
He was decked out in a classic yachtsman’s rig. White slacks and white button down shirt open at the collar. This was covered by a single breasted navy blue blazer with fouled anchors on the brass buttons. He looked sharp with his wide shoulders and straight carriage and his Ted Knight hair fashionably combed.
“You look like a scotch ad,” I teased.
“Or Dick Cavett,” Nana said with a grin.
“No respect at all,” Pops grumped good-naturedly. “I’ll bet… well God bless my soul!”
I turned to see Lisa appear at the entry port and make her way carefully down the short gang plank the yacht club had provided and join us on the floating concrete dock. She wore a royal blue knee-length dress with an off the shoulder neckline that swept down in a v and exposed a tasteful bit of the generously full bosom beneath the fabric. A cream colored sash belted the dress around her slim waist and matched the elbow-length gloves she wore. The outfit was set off by a choker with a marble sized flat sapphire pendant set into a gold inlay. Her makeup was spare but effective and her hair pulled back and held in a loose braid by a cream colored ribbon at the nape of her neck. The effect was heightened even further by the three inch wedge heels she wore, making her around five foot seven and giving an even greater impression of slenderness and carriage.
“Sweet Jesus…” I breathed.
Lisa smiled a red-lipped smile at me, “you like?”
“My God…” Pops breathed and whistled appreciatively. “I guess this means I get to escort her to the soiree, eh son?”
“Oh, honey you look amazing!” Nana enthused. “We’re gonna have to beat them off with a stick.”
I stared for a long moment until my grandfather laughed, “We’d better get going, ladies. I think the lad is starting to get impure thoughts.”
Lisa giggled, “Starting? Jack, I’d be surprised if he could do simple arithmetic in his head right now.”
I chuckled and winked, “I know one plus one…”
With Nana on my arm and Lisa on Pops’, we strode up the docks and into the main dining room at the Bahia mar yacht club. Aside from the dozen or so crews of the boats we’d raced, a good forty people in all, there were also locals and other guests. It was a Saturday night and the club was jumping.
“What say we head into the bar for a pre-dinner cocktail?” Pops suggested. “That way we can parade the ladies a little more.”
I laughed and the ladies agreed. You couldn’t help but notice that virtually every head turned as we went by. Both men and women alike practically gawked at Nana and especially Lisa. Men older than Pops to young guys barely out of high school were glued to our every move.
There were two open seats at the crowded bar, which we gallantly gave to the ladies and ordered drinks. Pops and I had just gotten our whiskeys when a strong voice from behind us spoke up.
“If you’re not the luckiest man here tonight, I’ll eat my hat, Old Jarvey.”
Pops and I both turned to address the speaker and I nearly did a spit take. A tall lean man with silver and blonde hair stood before us. He was about six feet tall and had light-blue eyes. Although thirty years younger than his father, the resemblance was uncanny. It took me several seconds to recover my wits. It must have showed because the man met my gaze and smiled thinly.
“Yes, I’m Hank’s son,” He said, extending a hand, “Captain Henry Lambert, Jr. You must be Scott Jarvis.”
“I…” I stammered and took a steadying breath, “It’s nice to meet you, Captain.”
“I understand you knew my dad,” Lambert said. “Met him before… before he died.”
I swallowed and cast a look at my grandfather. He seemed undisturbed, which eased my mind a little. I looked back at Lambert.
“Yes… I was there,” I said. “There when he died as well as… as your daughter, sir.”
The man nodded, “I know. I… I read your book.”
I heaved a sigh, “then you know the truth about Henry Lambert… or should I say, Ernst Schumer?”
Lambert nodded, “Pretty big revelation… but I’m a Lambert and so is the rest of the family. It is what it is. My dad… my dad liked you. He thought very highly of you.”
“I liked him, too… but when did he have time to tell you about me?”
Lambert smiled thinly, “He left a… private journal. It was found aboard the salvage ship after the… the incident. He explains a lot of things in it. It seemed like when Audrey came to him about the Ariovistus, it brought up a lot of memories and other things. Dad talks all about it. He talks about you, too.”
“That must be an interesting read,” Lisa mused.
“It was,” Lambert said with a wan smile.
“Was?” Pops asked.
“I gave it to a friend,” Lambert said. “A Marine Corps Colonel I know. I thought it was something he should have.”
A tingle went up my spine, “Could that friend be… Warner Grayson?”
Lambert nodded and treated me to a wry grin, “That’s right, Commander. Well, I should get back to my party. Maybe we’ll talk again later. I just had to meet the man who…”
I cast my eyes down to the hardwood floor and softly said: “Who caused the death of your daughter and father…”
“No, son,” Lambert said kindly, patting me on the shoulder. “Nobody blames you for that. Audrey… made her choices. As for Dad, well… I think I agree with your assessment in the book you wrote. I think that he felt a lot of guilt about the real Hank Lambert. I think that he tried to protect you at the end as a way to atone. In spite of… of what the sixteen year-old Ernst did… my father was a good man for the next seventy-five years. He served our country, he was a good father and grandfather, and even great grandfather… and that’s how I’ll remember him.”
“Me too,” I said with a small smile.
“You all right, honey?” Nana asked after Captain Lambert had strolled off.
I shivered, “I’m fine. Just a little odd. Three people died that day, though… and certainly one of them didn’t deserve it.”
“That’s the way of things sometimes, son,” Pops said kindly. “That Israeli woman, what was her name… Imani? Yeah… Imani was doing what she thought was right and protecting others. Damned admirable.”
I nodded.
“And she sounded like a real dish,” Pops said with a grin. “A wild cat in the sack, eh?”
Nana slapped him and Lisa snickered. I felt the blush blooming hotly as it rose from beneath my collar and up my neck, “Jesus, Pops…”
As we got seated at our dinner table and ordered appetizers and more drinks, Lisa leaned in, “I want to read more of Katie Cook’s journal. I can’t believe that she got those sailors to follow her and fight with her! That was amazing. For a woman of that time to command men…”
“I think you’d be surprised,” I said. “Throughout history there have always been strong and independent women. Women who ruled, in one form or another. Yes, in general women were kept out of things, but not everybody in the past thought of them as weak and muddle headed. Being a history buff, I’ve dug deep into the past. Well beyond what they teach us in school.”
“That’s true,” Nana said. “Think about the f
amous women in history. Joan of Arc, Catherine the Great, Queen Elizabeth I… even way back in Egypt there were female Pharaohs. What was that one’s name…? Nephritiri or something?”
“Even in the Roman Empire,” I added, “you had Livia. She practically ran the Empire for Augustus. At least the logistical parts. And Queen Cartamandua of Britain who defeated her husband and joined up with the Romans and became an ally of Claudius. Then there’s Cleopatra, of course.”
“So it’s different, “Pops said. “Katie I mean. That she became a captain. But consider her advantages. She was six feet tall. Taller than most men at the time. A real Valkyrie. She was young and strong and beautiful. She also had a keen mind and very forceful personality, as you heard from Lisa’s reading today.”
“I’ll say,” I said with a grin. “I can believe she’s both James Cook’s granddaughter and an ancestor of ours.”
“Yeah, brave and stubborn,” Lisa jibed. “Who does that remind you of?”
Everybody laughed. Except me. I only glowered, “This insolence shall not go unpunished. It’ll be two dozen at the grating for ye’!”
More laughs.
“But when you say she became a captain,” Lisa continued, “do you mean that she ends up capturing that schooner?”
Nana grinned, “Let’s read more and find out. I think you’ll be amazed.”
The serving captain approached our table. He wasn’t the server who’d taken our order, though. He held a tray on which sat a bottle and four tall flutes. He set the bottle on the edge of the table and began to pass out the flutes. The champagne was Cristal, quite an expensive brand.
“Good evening, folks,” he said with a friendly smile. “A gentleman asked me to deliver this to you with his compliments.”
“Wow,” Lisa said. “Who is this guy?”
The head-waiter shrugged, “He didn’t say. A very elegant gentleman, though. He asked me to convey a request. He asked if he might have a brief word with one of you two gents after your meal. Although he specifically asked that young Mr. Jarvis be present.”
Pops and I exchanged a look. I turned to the waiter, “Sure, I suppose that’d be all right, considering his generosity. We might go out on the veranda for a cigar after dinner. Perhaps our benefactor might join us then?”
“Very good, sir,” The captain acknowledged and wandered off.
“Ooh…” Lisa cooed. “Mysterious gentleman delivers champagne… sounds real James Bondy.”
Nana chuckled as Pops reached for his glass, “Well, consider where we are and the kind of scratch represented here. Glasses up now. Here’s to winning the first leg!”
We clinked and drank. I’m not sure if I can tell a three hundred dollar bottle of bubbly from a thirty dollar bottle, but the stuff was pretty good. After a meal fit for a King, Lisa and Nana met up with some of her friends in the lounge. Pops and I asked them to join us outside, but they waved us off.
“You boys go smoke your phallic symbols,” Nana teased. “Lisa and I will stroll around and drive the men crazy.”
Pops laughed, “No doubt. I’ve seen no less than two dozen guys from college age to doddering old duffers eyeing you two like an all you can eat buffet.”
“Charming,” Lisa intoned, winking at me.
Pops pulled out two very large Monte Christo Churchill’s and handed one to me, “come on, son, and let’s take these obvious compensations outside.”
“Speak for yourself, old boy,” I said. “If anything, this is an understatement.”
Lisa laughed, “You wish.”
I hung my head.
They all laughed at that and Lisa patted my arm, “its okay, punkin… it’s not the size of the ship, it’s the motion of the ocean.”
Pops roared with mirth, “yeah… well all I know is that it takes a damned long time to get to England in a rowboat, eh son!? Ah ha ha HAAA!”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Nana chastised with an obvious lack of conviction. “You two children get the hell out of here.”
We got the hell out of there. The yacht club featured a spacious pool and adjoining veranda that faced the Intracoastal Waterway. Pops and I made our way to a group of Adirondack chairs, got comfortable with our full glasses of double whiskeys and got the cigars going.
“Ahhh…” Pops sighed happily as he puffed away. “Beautiful night. Can’t be more than seventy-eight degrees, clear skies, good hooch and a fine stogy. All we need now are a couple of good lookin’ broads, huh?”
I laughed, “We had a couple of good lookin’ broads, Pops… they threw us out because of your foul sailor’s mouth.”
“It turns em’ on, son.”
We smoked in silence for a minute or two before becoming aware that we weren’t alone. A set of footsteps sounded across the pavers that led from the pool deck to the veranda. I looked to my left to see a tall, slim and elegant man strolling toward us. The man looked to be in his mid-forties and about my height. He had thick curly dark brown hair and a handsome face. He wore a cream colored suit with dark burgundy shirt and matching splay handkerchief and tie.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a rich deep voice with just a hint of a Cuban accent. “May I join you to enjoy this fine evening?”
“Certainly,” Pops said, indicating another chair like ours.
The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle so that we could all see one another without having to crane our necks unduly. After shaking hands with each of us, our new friend sat, set his tall glass of something in the armrest drink holder and began to prepare his own cigar.
“My name is Don Ramon Luis Tavares,” he said by way of introduction. “The Don is of course not a true title. Just something that my friends seem to enjoy and that has stuck with me. It serves me, I suppose, so I use it in formal introductions. I know that you are Jack and Scott Jarvis. It is truly a pleasure to meet you.”
“You sent the expensive fizz,” Pops stated.
“Si… yes,” he said with a smile as he began to light his smoke. “A small token of appreciation and I hope a gesture to begin a friendship.”
“Well it was very gracious, Mr. Tavares,” Pops said.
“You also told the waiter to mention you specifically wanted to talk to me?” I inquired.
The elegant man smiled, “Yes, senor Jarvis. Your reputation as a skilled investigator proceeds you. I find myself in need of a man with your skills and abilities.”
Pops cast a quick glance over at me but said nothing. I puffed on my stogy and said: “How do you even know who I am, Don Ramon?”
He chuckled, “Please let us not be so formal. My friends simply call me Ray. I would be honored if you would both do so.”
“All right, Ray,” I agreed. “I’d still like to know the answer. Mostly curiosity is all.”
“Well, Scott,” Tavares said, getting more comfortable in his chair. “It’s one of those degrees of separation things, you might say. I’m a fairly successful businessman based out of Miami. Through my network, I know many people in Florida. I have heard your name from several friends who know several of your former clients well. Additionally, as a member of the yacht club and as one who takes advantage of the reciprocation with other clubs, I have a vast network of contacts. I know of your grandfather, although I’ve never until tonight had the pleasure.”
Pops hoisted his glass, “You must be thrilled this evening then.”
Tavares laughed, “Indeed, Admiral Jack, indeed. I also understand your grandson is quite a skilled writer, although I have yet to open one of his books. I do look forward to doing so, however.”
“How can a small time down at heel private investigator be of assistance, Ray?” I asked.
He grinned, “Well… perhaps it’s best if I begin by telling you a little about me. To… set the stage as it were.”
“Is this going to be a confidential conversation?” Pops asked. “Would you like me to leave?”
“Oh, no, Jack,” Tavares said adamantly. “Please remain. You may have some in
sights as well. I’ll try to be brief… I came over from Cuba during the Mariel boat lift in 1980. I was only six years old then. My mother and I were among the refugees, my father having been taken up by Castro and executed. Fortunately, my mother’s uncle had come to the States just before Castro took power and was able to offer her a job and us a place to live.”
“So that got you out of Freedom Town fairly quickly,” Pops observed.
Tavares nodded, “It wasn’t so bad for me. I was a little boy and there were a lot of children to play with. But for my mother… who was young and pretty… that confinement was very stressful and she was grateful to get out.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered.
“My uncle was not a rich man, but he did own a small restaurant in Miami and he hired my mother as a waitress and I would help out in the kitchen. I washed dishes and even became an assistant chef when I was a little older,” Tavares explained. “My great uncle was a kind man and one who believed strongly in hard work. It was he who helped me to earn enough money to go to college and get my start.”
“And what is your business, senor?” Pops asked.
“Many things,” Tavares said. “I own a small fleet of charter fishing boats, several hotels on the beach, a few Cuban restaurants which my mother now manages… and I import coffee from Central America and operate a pair of shrimp boats out of Key West… well, Stock Island to be precise. It is from these last two ventures from which I believe my trouble springs.”
“What sort of trouble?” I asked.
“Drugs,” Tavares said disdainfully. “I believe that someone in my organization is smuggling coca and marijuana into this country using my commercial fishing boats or aboard my ship. It’s even possible that one or more of my charter captains is involved as well. I haven’t been able to prove any of this, of course… but…”
“But you must have some reason to be suspicious,” I stated.