Based on his questions, Jackson had lost touch with his two thugs after they had gone aboard Vengeance. Jones pondered possible explanations for that. He was surprised he hadn't heard any more from his lead agent in Antigua. The absence of a call could only mean that the man hadn't been able to locate Rodriguez and Lee. Perhaps they had been aboard Vengeance when the women refused to talk with the agent. If so, that raised more questions about Jackson's role. Could it be that the gambling debt was simply a cover story of some kind?
He couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for the facts at hand unless Jackson was in some kind of partnership with Yates or Beauregard. He put that notion aside; he would have to wait until he heard from his field people. Jackson's men had to be somewhere; they couldn't have vanished. If they weren't still on the boat, then they must have met another boat on yesterday's outing.
The notion of another boat brought to mind Pisces of Atë. The presence of Merrill Bond's boat in Antigua couldn't be a coincidence, especially given his previous relationship with Thompson. Thompson was capable of working for more than one interested party in a situation like this. His reputation made it likely that he was feeding information to Bond while he pretended to work for Yates. That was just the sort of thing the man was known to do.
Jones, ever a pragmatist, decided that he would have one of his associates who knew Thompson approach him. The man would doubtless be willing to sell them information, although it would have to be corroborated by an independent source before they could put any faith in it. Jones decided another set of data couldn't hurt. He reached for his encrypted satellite phone.
****
The nondescript man had seen Marilyn Muir leave the Admiral's Inn in the company of Gerald Yates about half an hour ago. As soon as his associate in Jolly Harbour had called to tell him that Muir and Yates were aboard Vengeance, the man slipped into her room using an electronic lock pick that worked almost as quickly as a key. He had failed to notice the hotel maid who watched from the concealment of the floor's linen closet.
Confident that he had all day, he methodically searched the room. As thorough as he was, he didn't find anything unexpected. He knew Yates had been spending his evenings here; the woman's collection of lingerie made it obvious what the two of them had been up to. Ever thorough and suspicious, he checked carefully to see if the room had been wired for sound or video. Jones had thought the woman could well be working for someone else, but there was no evidence of that.
Besides her clothing, toiletries, and empty suitcases, he found a heavy duty, well-worn camera case. It was locked, but that didn't slow him down. He opened the lid and examined the contents with professional interest. The case held an assortment of prime lenses and an expensive, high-end digital camera body. The empty compartments indicated that she had probably taken another camera and at least one zoom lens with her on today's excursion.
Either the woman was planning some extensive surveillance or she was a serious photographer. Considering her choice of gear, he decided on the latter. Her equipment showed signs of hard use and diligent care. He closed and locked the case, sliding it back under the bed where he had found it. He knelt down and shined his penlight into the gloomy space, noticing that it was free of dust. The housekeeping staff was to be commended, he thought, as he pulled out a laptop computer case.
Opening the computer, he discovered that the machine was password-protected. Not surprised by that, he took a tiny solid-state disk drive from his pocket and plugged it into one of the USB ports. Leaving the machine working, he finished his search of the room while his software cloned the hard drive. Alerted to the completion of the task by a soft beeping sound, he unplugged the external drive and closed the computer, putting it back where he had found it.
The only other item of interest that he found was a copy of Yates's latest book on the bedside table. Flipping it open, he saw that Yates had autographed the flyleaf. Cracking the room door open, he peered into the hallway. Certain that he was unobserved, he stepped from the room and pulled the door closed behind him.
Chapter 17
The trade winds were blowing at a steady 15 to 17 knots, and the seas were moderate. It was a beautiful day for sailing between Antigua and Barbuda. The extensive reefs to the east that stretched from Barbuda south to Antigua were only a few feet below the surface of the clear, blue-green water, and they effectively blocked the swells rolling in from the Atlantic, providing idyllic conditions. Vengeance was carving a creamy wake through the nearly flat water, speeding along at a little over nine knots.
Dani and Liz were alone in the cockpit, enjoying tweaking the sails to get the most out of Vengeance. Gerald was lounging on the foredeck, where he and Marilyn were ensconced on the cushions Liz had spread out for them. Marilyn was busy with her camera, snapping endless shots of the light playing on the billowing sails and the rainbows forming in the spray from the bow as the boat parted the occasional small wave.
She had been thrilled at the chance to record an impromptu show provided by a school of dolphins a few minutes earlier. Liz had gone forward and clapped loudly, explaining that the creatures often noticed and reacted to an appreciative audience. Indeed, her applause drew them back for an encore, much to Marilyn's delight. Nick was below, his eyes locked on the screens of his instruments, oblivious to the natural beauty that surrounded them.
"I like her," Dani said, her attention caught by a glint of sunlight on the lens of Marilyn's camera. She had worked her way out on the bowsprit and turned to face them, snapping shots of the full length of the deck. "Did you offer her that harness? Or did she ask for it?"
"Gerald asked. She was making him nervous, hanging over the rail," Liz said.
"Good for him. She was making me nervous, too. I thought we were going to lose her while you were playing with the dolphins."
"That was opportune; I think she probably got some great shots. They were really hamming it up for her, weren't they?" Liz shaded her eyes with her hand, peering off into the distance to the west.
"What do you see?" Dani asked.
Liz reached for the binoculars. "There's a boat out there, maybe halfway to the horizon," she said, as she removed the lens caps and raised the glasses to her eyes. "Looks like a sport-fishing boat, but he's not moving."
"Pisces of Atë?" Dani asked.
"Too far for me to tell. It could be. Oops, he's moving again. Looks like he's running a parallel course to us. I don't think he's far enough away to be trolling along the drop-off out there."
Dani reached for the binoculars and studied the boat for a moment. "That's about where we were a couple of days ago; you're right, it's too shallow for them to be trolling, but judging from their wake, that's about the kind of speed they're making."
"Bet it's Bond's boat," Liz said. "They're probably surveying, just like Nick."
"Could be. Think we should mention it to Gerald? Or wait until we hear back from Elaine to see what she learned about Bond and Thompson's parting?"
Liz glanced up toward the foredeck. "Hmm. Let's wait; I'm not sure how much he knows that he's not sharing. He's got his own agenda, I think. Anyway, I'm not sure he'd be interested. Marilyn's sunbathing; she has his undivided attention."
"You know, he's a nice enough guy, but ... " Dani shook her head.
"But what?" Liz encouraged her.
"I don't know. She seems a lot more outgoing than he is."
"So?" Liz said.
"They seem a little mismatched, I guess."
Liz chuckled, shaking her head.
"What?" Dani asked. "Why are you laughing at me?"
"Not you. Us. Sometimes I think neither one of us is ever going to find a guy that measures up."
"Nothing wrong with high standards," Dani said. "I don't want somebody that I have to take care of all the time; that's a pain."
Liz smiled.
"Well, do you want somebody like that around all the time?" Dani asked.
"Not all the time, but maybe just every
so often. I mean, he's pretty hot, you know?"
"That's what you said about Nick the other day. He ever get around to asking you out?"
"I think he sort of lost interest after Gerald told him I was going to shoot Rigo."
"How do you know Gerald told him that?"
"Well, Nick was thanking me for nursing him back to consciousness, and one thing led to another, and he asked me."
"Asked you what?"
"If I would have shot Rigo if you hadn't beat me to it."
"What did you tell him?"
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Well, right then, I would have. I was pretty pissed off. After I had time to think about it, I, well, ... you know how that goes."
"Yes."
****
Marc Jackson cradled another of his throw-away cell phones between his shoulder and his ear. He was sitting on a bench in Forsythe Park in downtown Savannah, a bag of peanuts in his left hand, feeding the pigeons as he listened to Mickey's report.
"So this gardener saw them get on the boat?"
"Yes."
"He's sure it was them?"
"He couldn't have described them any better if he'd been looking at them while he was talking," Mickey said. "He said the one with the ponytail was waving a gun around; maybe took a shot at the woman driving the boat."
"Shit! I'm surprised you got him to talk. He must have been scared shitless that you were asking questions."
"Well, I can be pretty black sometimes. The other guys that questioned him sounded awfully white, from what he said. The hundred bucks helped make him comfortable, too."
"Wait a minute. What other guys?"
"Some people renting the villa across the way. These villas are on these dredged out cul-de-sacs that give everybody a place to tie their boats. The gardener said these people have been hanging out in the place across the water, keeping an eye on Yates and Thompson. They asked him about Rigo and Chen earlier this morning."
"Wonder who the hell they are?"
"I don't know, but he's seen three guys and one woman over there. One of the guys seems to stay there all the time. The others come and go."
"So did he see the boat come back?"
"Yes. They were gone maybe an hour and a half, two hours. The women brought the boat back in to the dock, and one of them helped Yates get Thompson into the villa. He said it looked like Thompson was drunk or something."
"So then what? He see Rigo or Chen?"
"No. The women took the boat out to the mooring, and that was it. He left about six o'clock."
"Damn. You think you can ask around about the women?"
"Sure."
"Be careful; we don't want word to get back to them."
"It's a charter boat, Marc. I'll just pretend I'm in the market for a charter. Probably happens all the time."
"Maybe, but that woman that called me had some brass; they're on their own turf down there, don't forget."
"Right. I'll be in touch."
"Okay. If we don't come up with something quick, I'm going to have to call Rigo's old man. My sister's getting antsy because she hasn't heard from Rigo; I don't want her to wind him up."
"Okay. Well, maybe you should give him a shout — see if he's got some people here I could work with, in case I need a hand."
"Yeah. That's a good idea, Mickey. Thanks. He just makes me nervous, that's all. Those drug guys, they're dangerous."
"That's why you need to get him on our side early. We want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem."
"You're right. I'll let you know."
****
Bond sat at the dinette table in the main cabin of Pisces of Atë. He and his two crewmen were studying the photographs of the wreck that rested on the sandy bottom 25 feet below where they were anchored. This was the one that he thought was most likely to be Phaedra, based on its location. Judging from the deterioration of the hull timbers, the age was about right. As best they could estimate, the size was consistent with what they knew of Phaedra.
"It's definitely an old island schooner," the taller of the two men said. "The stumps of the masts are there."
"Probably 75 feet long, give or take," the other man added. "But she's broken up pretty bad."
"Lots of it's covered with sand, too. Problem with these shallow wrecks. Every damn storm that blows through moves stuff around," the taller man added.
"Except the gold," Bond said. "If it's Phaedra, there's supposed to be several tons of gold. It wouldn't get moved around much, especially not if it was bullion."
"Shit, Merrill, we might be damn rich. Several tons? At what, $1,200 an ounce?" the taller man asked.
"Give or take. Don't start counting it yet, Jack. You and Davey get back in the water and find it. Then we'll figure out what it's worth," Bond said.
****
Later in the afternoon, Bond studied the worn, worm-eaten piece of wood that his men had recovered from the wreck. About a foot and a half long, it had been encrusted with marine growth when they brought it to the surface. He had scraped away most of the growth with a dull putty knife and then held the board over a bucket while he poured laundry bleach from a white bottle over the surface.
The harsh chemical would destroy any archaeological value the piece might have, but he didn't care about that. The location and shape of the scrap meant it could have been a carved trailboard, one of the decorative pieces that ran from a vessel's bowsprit back to the hull. Typically, the vessel's name would have been carved into the outer surfaces of the trailboards, the raised lettering being picked out with contrasting paint or gold leaf.
As the remaining encrustation of soft coral dissolved in the bleach, he held the piece of wood over the side, plunging it into the seawater and swishing it back and forth. His companions stood close, looking over his shoulder as he turned and put it on the cockpit table.
"E, d, r," he read aloud, running his fingers over the badly eroded letters. "I think, anyhow."
"It's gotta be, boss," the taller of the two crewmen said.
"No. It's too worn to even be sure what the letters are. Besides, even if it is e, d, r, it could be a different name."
"Like what, Merrill?" the shorter man asked.
"I don't know. Cedric, maybe?"
"Aw, come on. Who'd name a damn boat Cedric? Besides, what are the odds of it being the wrong wreck?"
"The odds are lousy until we find the gold, Davey," Bond said. "Lots of wrecks are on this shelf. There's a chance this could be Phaedra, but that's all it is — a chance."
The two men stared at the piece of crumbling wood for a moment, then the short one said, "Come on, Jack. May as well get back in the water."
Jack nodded. "Hey, Merrill?"
"What, Jack?"
"How many other wrecks show up near here on Thompson's scans?"
"Three or four within a half-mile radius. Could be any one of them. Or none, for that matter."
"None?" Davey said. "I thought the gold was for sure on Phaedra."
"There are no sure things in this game. I told you boys that when you signed on. There's good reason to think Phaedra was carrying the gold, but she could have been a decoy. Besides, that was a hundred and fifty years ago. This is shallow water, and it's heavily fished. Even if this is Phaedra, and even if she was carrying the gold, somebody could have found it a hundred years ago. Nobody'd know. Now get your gear on and get back down there, why don't you?"
Chapter 18
Dani and Liz had just dropped off their guests at the villa. Liz stowed the dock lines and fenders as Dani took Vengeance out to the mooring field. They saw the harbormaster's RIB sitting at the mooring that they usually occupied; Julian was waving them over.
Dani brought the boat to a stop just before the bow touched the mooring buoy, and Julian dropped the eye of the mooring pennant over the boat hook that Liz held. As she fed the pennant through the hawse pipe and looped it over the Samson post, she invited Julian to come aboard and visit.
He grinned and nodded, dropping back along the side of Vengeance until he could tie off the RIB to the midship cleat on the port side.
"Good afternoon," Liz said, as he scrambled up. "How about a beer?"
"Good afternoon, ladies. A beer would be welcome, I t'ink. I hope you and your guests had a nice sail today."
"Beautiful, Julian," Dani said. "It was perfect out there."
"Good, good," he said, standing in the cockpit until Liz returned from the galley with three frosted bottles of Carib.
"Please, have a seat," Liz said, seeing that he was waiting to be asked.
When he hesitated, she said, "Thanks for being such a gentleman, but it's easier to fold the table out after you and Dani are seated."
He smiled and nodded, sitting down across the cockpit from Dani. Liz folded the table out and slid into the seat next to him. She reached around and retrieved the beers, putting one in front of each of them. Dani lifted hers and said, "Cheers."
They clicked the necks of the bottles and each took a sip.
"Ver' nice," Julian said. "Thank you. I love to see Vengeance out here. She brightens up the whole harbor."
"You're kind to say that Julian," Dani said.
"Is the truth," he said, taking another sip of his beer.
After a few moments of silence, he ventured, "About that mon the other day?"
"Yes?" Liz said.
"Well, I tol' Dani, I watch him; see he go to this villa right across from where Mr. Yates is staying."
"She told me," Liz said.
"Mm. Well, this morning I talk with Diane in the office. She made a copy of the information." He opened the flapped pocket of his shirt and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. "We don' usually do this, but that mon, we t'ink he is maybe up to something, you see. If he bothers you again, we ask that you please tell us."
"Thank you, and please thank Diane for us," Dani said, unfolding the paper, she looked at it for a few seconds and passed it to Liz.
"So it's a company rental," Dani said, as Liz scanned the paper.
Bluewater Bullion: The Seventh Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 7) Page 11