Gasping, Gerald felt a small hand grip his hair from behind, pulling him upright. His numb left arm was still trapped. The man with the ponytail dropped Gerald's right hand and hit him with a pile-driver of a punch in the solar plexus. Gerald's knees buckled, but whoever was behind him kept him upright. The smiling man methodically pummeled Gerald's ribs. Each blow was measured, delivered with enough force to bruise the ribs without breaking them. Gerald lost consciousness long before the beating was finished. As he slipped to the ground in the alley behind the Admiral's Inn, a diminutive Asian man, no bigger than the average 12-year-old, stepped from behind him. He and the man with the ponytail, walked away, whispering to one another.
****
Marilyn Muir watched the man at the table where Gerald had been sitting, careful to avoid his notice. She wondered where Gerald had gone; she had expected that he would appear at her table moments after he got up, perhaps with a drink, or perhaps just to introduce himself and wish her a good evening. She would have been cool toward such an unsolicited approach, but only cool enough to provoke a more serious attempt. After she decided he wasn't coming back, she began to pay a little more attention to the other man at the table.
He wasn't bad looking, she noted, if you went for Mediterranean good looks. He had thick, crinkly black hair, cut close to a well-shaped head. His dark eyes and olive skin were set off nicely by his white polo shirt, which displayed his muscular physique to its best advantage. He wasn't her type, but he wasn't hard to look at, either. He was almost too carefully turned out to be having dinner with another man.
Given the way Gerald had been checking her out before he left, it could be that the two men were on the prowl for women. That could account for his careful grooming, and it would be in keeping with Gerald's reputation.
She knew now that the man who was traveling with Gerald was named Nick Thompson, and that he had been making a living recently as a salvage diver. As best the investigator had been able to learn so far, Thompson had no police record. His former employer had been hesitant to provide much information beyond saying that he had hired the man based on his Navy training, and that Thompson had resigned for reasons of his own.
It had been too late in the day for the investigator to follow up on Thompson's Navy service, but he indicated that he would not have much difficulty with that, given a day or two. Marilyn believed in thorough preparation; she would not leave anything to chance if she could avoid it. She intended to know exactly what Gerald was up to before she embarked on her campaign in earnest. Based on what she already knew about him, she doubted that he brought Thompson to Antigua to share his vacation.
With Thompson's background as a salvage diver, she thought it was possible that Gerald hired him to recover the gold. She knew that Gerald's family had handed down the location of the wreck from generation to generation. She also knew that the location they had was inaccurate by miles.
Chapter 5
Nick paused as he was about to step aboard Vengeance. He had noticed that Dani was pouring varnish through a strainer into a plastic cup; he didn't want his weight to shift the boat and cause a spill. When she set the can down and looked up, he grinned at her and stepped onto the passerelle that bridged the gap between Vengeance and the quay.
"Thanks for waiting," she said.
"No problem. Varnishing's enough of a pain without some yahoo making it tougher."
"Most guests wouldn't think of that. I appreciate it."
"Sure," he said. "Done enough of it myself. You just doing touch-up work?"
"Right. We figured we might as well take advantage of the idle time, unless your plans have changed."
"Nope. I just came by to pick up those circuit boards on my way to the electronics shop. You know anything about the place?"
"Not really, but I'm sure they must be pretty good. They've been here for a long time; they get lots of business from the big luxury charter yachts. Those guys wouldn't use them if they weren't competent."
"Right. I'm just hoping they'll let me use their stuff."
"Most of the marine businesses down here don't like to do that; tools are too scarce, and it's their living. But I've had pretty good luck by offering to pay their normal hourly shop labor rates while I use their equipment. Never tried that with electronics, but it works for other things."
"Makes sense to me," Nick said. "I'll start out with that offer. Thanks for the tip."
"You're welcome. Hey, you don't think Gerald's going to want to go for a day sail or anything, do you? I'd hate to get caught with wet varnish."
"I doubt it. I actually haven't seen him since dinner last night. I think he must be under the weather; he left the table before he finished his after-dinner drink. That's the last I saw of him. He didn't show for breakfast this morning."
"Should we check on him?" Dani asked.
"Nah, I don't think it's anything. He keeps to himself a lot. I'd be surprised if he wanted the boat, though. You'll be safe enough doing your varnish."
Nick went below and opened the back of the sonar cabinet, pulling the two boards out and putting them in his ever-present briefcase. "Enjoy the morning," he said to Dani as he stepped off onto the quay.
"Thanks. Good luck with the sonar," Dani said as Nick walked away.
Neither of them noticed the slightly built man standing in the shadow of one of the dockside buildings. When Nick had started up the stairs that led to the electronics repair shop, the man approached Vengeance. "Excuse me, captain," he said from the foot of the passerelle.
Dani looked up from her work. "Yes?"
"Good morning, ma'am. My name is Samuel; I work on boats. I was wondering if you have any work for me."
"Not this time. We're just doing a little touch-up work while our guests are ashore. Maybe another time, though."
"You come here often," he said. "I know this boat; she used to be called Best of Times. I did her varnish when she was for sale a few years ago."
"You're right, Samuel. That would have been right before we bought her."
"Yes, ma'am, I t'ink so." He watched as Dani began laying varnish onto the spots that Liz had sanded earlier. After a few minutes, he said, "You keep her ver' nice. Beautiful. If I can ever help you, I'm always aroun'. Jus' ask anybody for Samuel."
"Thanks. I'll keep you in mind, Samuel."
He tipped his ragged straw hat and stepped back into the shadows.
****
Gerald was eating a late breakfast in the dining room at the Admiral's Inn when he saw the woman from last night come through the door. Obviously planning a day at the beach, she wore a short, filmy cover-up over a skimpy black bikini and carried a beach bag. He wondered if she would be refused service. This was one of the most staid restaurants on the island; beach attire would not normally be appropriate. He saw the maître d's shocked look, quickly suppressed as she slipped a folded bill into his hand. The man glanced around, verifying that the room was empty except for Gerald. He smiled at the woman and nodded, picking up a menu as he led her across the room.
Gerald averted his eyes; the last thing on his mind this morning was flirtation. He couldn't take a deep breath without wincing; the mere thought of sex was painful. He hoped that her aloof manner from last night persisted, at least until his ribs felt better. She was a dazzling woman, but he was in no condition to get involved with her now.
He studied his plate as he raised a forkful of eggs to his mouth, wondering how Nick was coming with his repair of the side-scan sonar. The way his torso felt, he wouldn't be able to dive for several days, so it would be just as well if he had the equipment failure as an excuse.
The irony of his assailant's comment struck him again. If he weren't in so much pain, he'd have to laugh. Jackson had told the man to leave him able to dive; diving with a broken pinky wouldn't have been a big deal. The way he felt now, it would be a long time before he could strap on SCUBA gear. He considered sending a message to Jackson, explaining that his collection efforts were going to dela
y his payment. He clenched his teeth in frustration. Marc Jackson wasn't interested in excuses; he just wanted the money Gerald owed him.
Gerald felt a wave of despair at the thought of how quickly his debt was growing. With twenty-five percent interest each week, the amount he owed would be daunting except for the prospect of the gold bars in Phaedra's hold. With the current price of gold, just one of those bars would more than settle his debt, even with the astronomical accumulation of interest. He silently cursed himself for waiting so long to go after Phaedra.
He shrugged, forgetting about his ribs until the sharp pain reminded him. That last bet should have been a sure thing. He wondered again if Jackson had rigged the game to put the screws to him; it was more than likely. After all, the man was a crook. Jackson was fine with Gerald's bets as long as he was losing, but once Gerald got the inside track and started compounding his winnings, the man had grown progressively more hostile. Gerald wouldn't be surprised if Jackson had bought the services of that quarterback in the last, crucial game.
****
Marilyn spotted Gerald while she was waiting for the maître d' to get her table ready. Surprised to see him eating such a late breakfast, she wondered again where he had gone last night. Based on his dinner companion's behavior, he had been taken aback by Gerald's disappearance as well; he had clearly thought that Gerald was only going to be gone briefly. "Thompson," she reminded herself. Thanks to the investigator, she knew the man's name.
Having positioned herself so that she could see Gerald's reflection in the mirrored wall from the corner of her eye, she could tell that he had seen her. He was avoiding eye contact, keeping his gaze on his food. That was quite a contrast to his hungry stares last night. She wondered what could account for the change.
She would wait until she was served and see whether he looked at her, but she decided that if he didn't, she would take the initiative. Glad of the foresight that prompted her to bring along his latest book, she contemplated her approach. Reaching into the beach bag at her feet, she withdrew the book and studied his photograph on the back cover.
She turned the book over and opened it on the table. She would read until he stood to leave, and then she would feign recognition, holding up the book and comparing him to the back cover photograph. If he didn't acknowledge her at that point, she would approach him, act surprised, and ask him to sign the book. She would play the doting fan; she knew he was far too vain to resist that. Once she had him in her clutches, she was confident that her body would work its magic over him; it hadn't failed her yet.
Chapter 6
Nick had the circuit boards on the test bench in front of him, his laptop computer to one side. The screen of the laptop showed the schematic diagram for the side-scan sonar as Nick pretended to troubleshoot the boards. After watching Nick for a few minutes to be sure he wasn't going to damage the test equipment, the owner of the shop had excused himself to make a service call. Nick was alone except for the clerk at the front counter who was amusing herself with a game on her Smartphone.
Once he was sure she couldn't hear him, Nick took his satellite phone out of his briefcase and placed a call. "We're in English Harbour," he told the man on the other end. "Got here last night. I faked a problem with the side-scan sonar." He listened for a moment. "No problem," he said. "We're here for tonight, at least. If you need me to, I can keep us here another couple of days."
He disconnected the call and went back to turning knobs on the oscilloscope in front of him. He moved some test leads around on the circuit board and studied the oscilloscope again, giving a convincing performance in case anyone walked in on him. After a few minutes, his satellite phone rang. Even though he was expecting the call, he still checked the caller i.d. screen.
"Thompson," he muttered, answering the call.
The man had hung up to check with someone else before calling Nick back. "My local contact said Yates disappeared into an alley last night with a couple of guys for several minutes. You know who they were?"
"No idea," Nick said. "He left me at the dinner table. I thought he was chasing a skirt at first, but he never came back. Didn't see him this morning, either."
"My guy said he came out of the alley moving real slow, like, and went to his room. He stayed in the alley for a while after the two guys left him. He got a drug problem, or something?"
"I don't think so. No sign of it, anyway. I gather your guy didn't get what he needed."
"No. He needed some time in Yates's room; couldn't do it with Yates there."
"You checked the villa over at Jolly Harbour?" Nick asked.
"Yeah. You were right. Nothing there."
"I told ya," Nick said.
"Look, Thompson, the boss, he's like one of these boots and suspenders types. Not that he don't trust you, but ... "
"Yeah. I don't give a shit. His money's good."
"I heard that. You sure you can keep 'em there for another day without anybody gettin' curious?"
"No worries."
"What about the two women on the boat?"
"What about them?" Nick asked.
"Think they know anything?"
That annoyed Nick; his voice betrayed his reaction. "How the hell would they know anything I don't know? Yates and me, we're always together when we're with them. He hasn't had a chance to tell them anything. They just sail the damn boat, okay?"
"Stay cool, man. I gotta ask, see."
"No! No, I don't see. Yates hired me to help him find the gold. Why the hell would he tell the women something he hasn't told me?"
"Because, Thompson, maybe he's smart enough not to trust you, you crooked bastard."
Furious, Nick took the bait. "Screw you, asshole!" he barked.
The man on the other end laughed. "Remember what you said a few minutes ago."
"What, shithead?"
"His money's good. Keep 'em in English Harbour until we give you the word. I'll be in touch." There was a click as the man disconnected the call. Nick took a deep breath and resumed his act.
****
"Of course I don't trust him. Why the hell should I? He's got an endless track record of selling himself to anybody who'll pay him. Son of a bitch would steal the fillings out of his mother's teeth. Dumb bastard. He got kicked out of the Navy for selling drugs that he stole from the ship's medicine chest." The man paused as the waitress approached their table with two draft beers.
When she left, the other man asked, "You think he's on somebody else's payroll? Besides Yates, I mean?"
The first man took a sip from his beer and swallowed. He sighed with satisfaction as they watched a big sailboat motoring majestically down the Intracoastal Waterway. They were in a waterfront restaurant in Thunderbolt, Georgia, having lunch. "I'll guarantee it, if there's anybody else dumb enough to pay him. He's about as discriminating as a crack whore."
"Then why not just buy the information from him?"
"Two reasons, right off the top of my head. First, you can't believe a word Thompson says. He'll tell you whatever the hell he thinks you want to hear, as long as he can keep his hooks in you."
"Yeah, I should have seen that. What's the other reason, just out of curiosity?"
"I'm pretty sure Yates hasn't told him anything. Gerald's a degenerate gambler, but he's not dumb, and he's known Thompson since we were all playing stickball in grade school."
"Then why would he even hire the man?"
"Nick's a known quantity — no surprises. Gerald needs his know-how, and as long as you keep the guy on a short leash, he can find wrecks. He's a damn good diver, and a solid guy in a tough spot, as long as you're on the same side."
The second man nodded. "All right; that makes sense. Thanks for indulging me."
"No problem. You have to know the players if you're going to be able to do the job for me."
"It's nice to work with somebody that understands that."
The first man nodded. "I like to keep everybody in the loop. Avoids dumb mistakes if everybody on the
team knows the game."
"Speaking of knowing the game, now that you've given me the background, just what is it you want me to do for you?"
"I want to know everything those two are up to. Find out how Thompson's conducting the search; get copies of whatever files either one of them has. Check out everybody they come in contact with. Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir. But it's going to be expensive."
"I understand; there are several tons of gold at stake here. Once Yates and company find it, we'll take it from them, but first, we have to make sure no one beats them to it. Your organization comes highly recommended for this kind of work. We haven't talked about that aspect of the job yet, but it's probably time. You interested in some kind of contingency arrangement for taking the treasure once they find it? In addition to your fee for surveillance?"
"Could be. Let me talk with the others and do a little background work. If the story checks out, we'd probably be willing to take a minimal retainer against expenses and a percentage of the recovery."
"We need to move quickly," the first man protested.
"Quickly is the only way we work, Mr. Smith; remember, we used to move armies overnight for the government. I'll have a proposal for you by dinner time."
"I'll look forward to it, Mr. Jones."
The two men shook hands, and the one who had called himself Jones stood up and left the restaurant without looking at any of the other patrons. The one who had called himself Smith noticed that his companion's beer was untouched.
****
"I just love what you do with words, Gerald," Marilyn gushed, leaning against the table in such a way as to emphasize her cleavage. She smiled to herself as she tracked his gaze. "The dialogue is so real. I can feel the sexual tension between them." She sighed theatrically.
"It's kind of you to say so. I'm pleased that you're enjoying the book," he said, meeting her eyes again.
Bluewater Bullion: The Seventh Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 7) Page 3