by Scott Cook
“But it’s old,” Ray said. “Like many South Beach motels. We’ve been upgrading each building every few months or so, rotating between them so as not to have the place empty. Honestly, the place is so profitable that so long as we’ve got five of the eight buildings full, we’re in the black. At any rate, insurance should cover the costs… eventually.”
“So the fire department thinks it was an accident?” I asked.
Theresa and Ray exchanged a look. He cocked an eyebrow at me, “So far… why, do you suspect something else?”
I shrugged, “Hell, I don’t know… but from what you’ve told me… some odd things are happening in and around your businesses…”
“He’s a suspicious man,” Lisa said with a grin. “He thinks everybody is hiding something.”
“I do not,” I said peevishly, grinned, narrowed my eyes and in a low and suspicious tone: “Wait… that’s what you want me to believe, isn’t it? Yes… yes…”
“Honestly though,” Lisa continued, shaking her head. “If investigators aren’t already, it might be a good idea to have that fire looked at more closely. Just in case.”
Theresa nodded and Ray shrugged, “Very well.”
“Oh, Ray… have you paid the man yet?” Theresa asked suddenly.
Ray smiled sheepishly, “As a matter of fact… no. I was going to do so this afternoon, but…”
“There’s no rush,” I said, holding up a hand. “I suspect you’re good for it.”
“Before you leave tonight we’ll give you a retainer,” Theresa said. “I for one will sleep better knowing the famous Scott Jarvis is on our team.”
“Si,” Ray said with a smile. “Now, let me tell you a bit about the cargo vessel and the crew. As I mentioned Saturday night, the captain has recently bought himself a rather expensive new BMW. It’s also come to my attention that the crew, or most of them, has been seen around town spending money… eating at expensive restaurants, shopping in Coconut Grove, and so on.”
“I take it that’s unusual,” I stated. “Running around and celebrating like Bartholomew fair… like its Fiddler’s Green upon my word and honor.”
Ray chuffed, “Most of those men are uneducated and several live aboard the ship. They’re a good crew and I pay them well, yet that’s still not making them rich. The officers are fairly well paid, slightly above the standard rates in fact… but I find it more than a little suspicious that every one of them is suddenly… how do you say it… flush.”
“We think they’ve recently come into a lot of money,” Theresa added.
“It would be fairly easy to do,” I said. “After all, how often is your ship inspected? I’m sure by now the customs procedures don’t involve a detailed search of the entire ship.”
“We are spot checked, though,” Ray said. “And with things being what they are… the Department of Homeland Security, specifically the Coast Guard, is fairly stringent about their inspections especially with vessels going to and from Central America.”
“It’s not impossible,” Theresa said, “but getting large shipments of drugs into the port of Miami isn’t an easy task.”
I thought on that for a moment, “No… but they don’t have to, do they? Your own organization is perfectly set up for it. Consider… you have two shrimp boats that spend days at sea. You have a small fleet of day charters too… are they all day charters?”
Ray nodded and frowned. He saw where I was going, “Yes… mostly small boats but we do have a forty-two foot Viking that does long range deep sea trips and even goes over to the Bahamas for weekends.”
“The point is,” I said, “it wouldn’t be any big deal to meet the Theresa Maxwell in international waters, make a transfer and then bring the dope in via the shrimpers or the charters. Much easier in fact. Even a million dollar coke shipment… and I’m talking wholesale now… the cost of picking it up, would range from about three dollars American in Columbia to about seventeen dollars American in Costa Rica per gram. Since your ship is docking in Limon, let’s assume they’re picking it up there. So it’s humped up from Columbia and loaded aboard the ship in Costa Rica… or offshore probably. So let’s say fifteen thousand per kilo. Even ten kilos which would sell here for something like three million dollars, weighs only twenty-two pounds. Very portable and easy to load and unload at sea.”
“How do you know so much about drug prices?” Theresa asked.
I grinned, “I used to be a cop. Believe it or not, Orlando is a popular exchange market.”
“Really?” She asked with genuine surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
“Exactly,” I said. “There are others, too. Honestly, if I were a drug runner, I’d buy myself a large old sailboat and operate out of Tampa Bay. There’s hardly any law enforcement on the water there and nobody ever even looks twice at a sailboat, especially an older one.”
“You think like a criminal,” Ray teased.
“Sun Tzu,” I offered.
“Ahh… very good,” he said and held up his glass. “So you think I do have a problem?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say now,” I said. “I’m only suggesting that you have grounds to be suspicious. For somebody smart, your setup is the perfect opportunity. Well-established and respected business man, an established shipping line between Latin America and Florida, multiple boating businesses to bring in stuff in multiple locations… are all your charters out of Miami?”
Theresa frowned, “No… we have three day fishermen here, the big boat is in Marathon and another in Fort Lauderdale.”
“And we’re considering starting one in Fort Meyers,” Ray said unhappily.
I sighed, “There you go. My guess would be the Marathon boat or the shrimpers. You’ve already had an issue with the Morris brothers… although that doesn’t mean they’re guilty.”
“But Sheriff Pelton inspected them as soon as they tied up to the dock,” Theresa said.
“Sure,” I replied. “However, they could’ve met anybody offshore. As I understand it, a lot of boats follow the shrimpers because of the by catch. When they sort through the nets, they throw a lot of bait fish and stuff back, creating a sort of chum line behind them. A lot of fishermen like to catch bigger stuff around the shrimpers… so there’s plenty of opportunity for a rendezvous.”
“Sounds plausible to me,” Lisa said. “Now all that remains is to prove or disprove it.”
Ray nodded, “Okay… this sounds good to me. Well, we can work out details later. For now, why don’t we go down and mingle? I’m sure the Davis’ are probably wondering where you two went.”
There were approximately thirty guests on board, not counting my group of four. They ranged in age from thirties to a few in their late sixties or early seventies. They were all couples, too. Although the dress was casual, evening dresses or slacks and blouses for the women and slacks and golf shirts for the men, there were plenty of flashy and expensive accessories. Rolexes, gold necklaces, platinum tennis bracelets and dangling gems of all sorts shimmered in the fading twilight and the decorative lighting of the main saloon.
Ray and Theresa introduced us to everyone. Apparently George and Aleja knew most of them from a number of regular events. Most of the guests were all members of the same clubs, in similar businesses and represented a small slice of the South Florida carriage trade.
Lisa and I stood along the glass wall that represented the far after end of the saloon and the ship itself. We were chatting amiably with a fortyish couple that owned a four-hundred unit high-rise in Palm Beach. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a small boat was traveling in our wake, maybe a mile astern. At first I thought nothing of it, yet after a few minutes in which the boat didn’t alter course, I grew suspicious.
The Reina de las Olas was running at about ten knots. An easy cruising speed for the yacht, whose maximum was nearly twenty-five knots in a pinch. However, the boat behind us was no more than a twenty or twenty-five foot center console. In seas of a foot or so, that boat should be running
up on plane at twenty-five or thirty knots… so why was it plowing in the track of our wake at exactly the same speed?
Were they hiding something?
A mild nudge from Lisa brought my attention back to the conversation that was plodding along nearly as sluggishly.
“…so I says to Alexus,” The husband chattered. “We need to jump on the train now, y’know what I’m sayin’?”
Brad and Alexus Waterton were New York transplants and it showed in their accents. I think I said something to the effect that I did know exactly what he was sayin’ while trying to maintain one eye on the boat I now believed was intentionally following us.
Ray and Theresa walked up wearing courtly smiles. Theresa started chatting with the Watertons and I caught Ray’s eye.
I nodded to the boat astern, becoming dim in the near darkness, “Friend of yours?”
Ray frowned, “I don’t think so… a very non-descript boat, though…”
“You don’t have anybody tailing us for security or anything?”
He shook his head no.
“Call up to the bridge,” I suggested. “Have the captain come thirty degrees to starboard and hold that course for a while. Let’s see what our buddy does… are there any weapons aboard?”
Ray’s eyes went wide, “You think this could mean something?”
Lisa leaned in, “He thinks everything means something, Ray.”
I grinned a little sheepishly, “When I’m on a case, I’m suspicious of everything. There are no coincidences.”
“I have a pistol in my cabin forward,” Ray said. “In the nightstand of the bed. A Glock 9mm. If you think it’s necessary, you’re welcome to it.”
“You don’t mind me rifling through your drawers?” I asked.
Ray chuckled, “Don’t worry, I removed all of the… marital aids… before sailing.”
I laughed and we turned back to the group. Even as we did, a couple I hadn’t yet seen appeared through the double doors that led to the dining compartment. They were young, the well-tanned man in his mid-thirties and the woman about my age, perhaps a couple of years younger than the man. He was average in height and build with short blonde hair and a boyishly handsome face. The woman was shorter, maybe Lisa’s height. She was blonde as well and clearly built like a bombshell. Her figure was lithe, well-curved and her face was beautiful…
“Holy sweet Baby Jesus in a car seat…” I muttered under my breath.
Lisa was the only one who noticed and pressed up against me, “What is it? You look a little pale. Don’t tell me the great Captain Jarvis is seasick!”
I didn’t laugh, only jerked my chin in the direction of the new couple, “Look… recognize that girl?”
Lisa scoped the two attractive people making their way to a small steam table that had been set up with hor d’oeuvres.
“She’s gorgeous,” Lisa said without a hint of jealousy. “She does look familiar… wait… oh, holy crap-stick, Batman…”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “Well, at least we now know that Ray isn’t just being paranoid. There’s definitely something going on with his businesses.”
The beautiful young blonde woman now laughing with several other guests at the snack table was none other than Nicole Sloane of the FBI. Her presence here could not be a coincidence, especially while we were being followed by a small boat. Something was going on, and my suspicions were about to be proven all too accurate.
7
October 13th, 1797
The hammering of the caulkers, the clanging of the forge and the incessant bellowing of men at work had finally died away. Although this came as a relief to the Whitby Castle’s passengers, it left Catherine Cook with a distinct sense of unease.
With the Frenchmen now mostly idle and her remaining crew also left with little to do, there was too much time and not enough activity. Idle hands were the devil’s work, as the saying went, and Kate felt that unless everyone was kept busy, the temptation to drink, fight and rape would overcome the privateers. That and her own men, those who were healthy enough, would grow sullen and resentful, perhaps going so far as to attempt to retake their brig.
While this was certainly an admirable goal, it wasn’t one which should be ventured upon without careful consideration. Her own mind was certainly taken up with the idea of retaking the brig as well. Indeed, she could think of little else. She felt that if they could take the brig back, that they could also… and perhaps should also… capture the Sword of Vengeance as well. After all, it wouldn’t do to try and sail away in a slow brig with a fast and resentful vessel nipping at their heels.
Then there was the brig’s contingent of passengers. Led by Mr. Bentley, they were growing more and more restless and even openly abrasive. On more than one occasion, Bentley struck up a conversation that soon became a heated argument with Meraux. In spite of the French captain’s assurances, Kate had no doubt that this young and evidently impetuous man could only be pushed so far. She herself was already walking a dangerous line with him.
It was painfully obvious that Meraux wanted to bed her. He maintained the thinly veiled fiction of gentlemanly interest, yet she knew it was as false as old Wiggins’ wooden teeth. Just as the Frog’s patience was wearing thin with her passengers, so too was it wearing thin with her.
She wasn’t particularly concerned. Kate’s life-long training from her father, often rigorous at times, included fencing as well as the pugilistic arts. She could fight with her hands as well as any man her size. And Meraux was not her size. He was lean and shorter, which meant they might be somewhat evenly matched in brute strength. Should he be so foolish as to take her against her will, he’d find it a difficult proposition indeed.
No, what worried the young captain pro-tem was the aftermath of such an attempt. At best, there would be a draw and he’d have his men intervene. At worst, she’d lose and be forced to suffer his rutting. She could handle that, if it came to it. The man was at least handsome after all. She could always rely on the ancient advice given by frigid mothers to their daughters on their wedding nights to simply close their eyes, lie back and think of England.
A scenario worse still occurred to her mind. She might kill him and have to face those consequences. In fact this is precisely what she hoped would happen, but only after she’d made preparations to deal with it. Should this seemingly inevitable event come to pass before she was prepared… she didn’t like to think of what would transpire for her passengers and crew.
The difficulty was one of communication. Of the brig’s original thirty crew members, including all the officers, only eighteen were left unharmed or with wounds so minor it did not prevent them from working. In the sick berth, two more cases were laid up with wounds that, while serious, were not life-threatening and would likely be on their feet again in a day or two. Cleared for light duty at least. That included Danvers, who over the past few days had proven to be one of her staunchest supporters.
She found that interesting and amusing. That was men for you, she surmised. Clap them a good one on the jaw, give them a swift kick in the arse and they’ll follow you anywhere.
On the other side of the coin, Meraux had nearly twice as many men. His crew, although much larger, had suffered far more in the battle. That was due in part to the fact that being a privateer, even the small Baltimore clipper carried far too many idlers. They were necessary for boarding and carrying prizes into friendly ports. The downside of this was that when battle began, all those men were packed tightly and had been mercilessly slaughtered by the brig’s shot.
However, Meraux still had a two to one advantage. This was somewhat mitigated by the fact that of his remaining crew, some would be needed to sail the schooner and some the brig. They’d be divided and more easily dealt with.
Regardless, her difficulty in communication still remained. How to tell her men what she was planning and what signals to look for before they acted. It was hardly possible to gather them all together below decks. The English were too wel
l watched by the French and any gathering of that size would be immediately suspected.
No, she would have to pass along her thoughts to a few of the men and hope they relayed them accurately to the rest. They would wait until nightfall on some evening, or perhaps just before dawn, and swarm through the brig, killing as many French as they could as fast as they could. Then they’d have little choice but to take the schooner, as well. Otherwise, there would simply be a repetition of the initial fight two days before. In that event, Kate had little hope that they’d emerge victorious.
Neither crew was well drilled. Her own men could barely load and point a gun without they were directly supervised. On the other hand, the Frogs were a new crew as well and under an inexperienced captain. There had not been time or sufficient effort to work them up into a unified and effective fighting body of men.
She had time, but not a great deal of time. She stood now on the main topmast cross trees, one hand holding a back stay and the other supporting a telescope. The wind was blowing in from the southeast, and the ship’s bow pointed south of the inlet through which they’d arrived. She scanned the ocean beyond but saw no other vessels, either in shore or out in the offing. Although she wasn’t overly concerned by that, she was a bit surprised.
While the long coast of Florida was not occupied by Europeans, save the Spanish port of Saint Augustine, a good deal of shipping went to and fro in the waters between the peninsula and the Bahamas. American, English, Spanish and even French vessels plied these waters as they made their way along the American coast and into and out of the Caribbean. She thought it was unusual that in two days she had yet to spot even a hint of white sail on the horizon.
One thing that she did have in her favor, or at least she hoped it would favor her in some way, was sole knowledge of their actual position. She’d been able to steal a moment to examine the chart that was still laid out from when Captain Woodbine and the brig’s master had pricked it last. Based on that position and a fair knowledge of the speed and course of the two vessels after the battle, Kate had figured their position with a fair degree of confidence.