"No, but that was different."
"How was it different?" Paul asked.
"I wouldn't have taken help from a stranger."
"No?"
"No. I was too proud, and I was determined to make it on my own."
"Anybody ever offer?"
"No. I worked hard at not projecting the kind of vulnerability that I see in her. I didn't want anybody to think I wasn't capable of taking care of myself."
"Ah!" Paul said. "I think you just put your finger on it."
"On what?"
"What's off about her. About them both, for that matter."
"Do tell, then."
"There's no pride there."
"They've had it beaten out of them, if they ever had it, Paul."
"That could be, but I've known plenty of other people who were legitimately down and out. Even the ones who were so low they were looking for handouts had just enough pride left to be embarrassed about it. One of the social workers that I knew said that learning to help without destroying that little bit of lingering pride was the key to getting someone back on their feet. The ones who were totally without that were never going to make it on their own."
"You think that's where Gina and Dalton are? Completely without pride? Or shame?"
"No, I don't, and that's what's wrong here. His behavior is pretty typical for a recent ex-con, but hers doesn't fit anything I've run across before."
"I'm not disagreeing with you. I have just an inkling of that feeling about her, too. When she's with me, telling her tales, it recedes, but when I sit and ponder our conversations, it rears its head again. What is it about her?"
"Try this. She managed to support herself and save a little money while he was locked up, if she's telling the truth. That's not consistent with the girl we're seeing now. She should either be more confident, or more devastated and embarrassed about the hopelessness of her plight."
"I think I see what you mean. Instead, she's disengaged, but she's spinning a tale that's designed to elicit sympathy."
"Something like that, anyway," Paul said, taking another sip of coffee.
"What do you think we should do?"
"Just hold steady. Let's see how they behave when we get to the islands. As for helping them, I'd be willing to give them a few hundred dollars to get them over the first few hurdles, but I don't feel good about helping them look for work. And I'd stress give. I'd be willing to risk a few hundred dollars; we can afford that. But think about it. To the average person looking for a boat-sitter, for example, our assistance would look like a positive reference. We could be setting someone up for an ugly surprise."
Connie nodded. "You're right. We're not in a position to give them any kind of reference, really."
"I disagree."
"You do?" Connie's inflection betrayed her surprise.
"Yes. We've been around them a couple of days, and we still don't trust them to stand watches, do we?"
"You're right! I hadn't put that together."
"Neither had I, until we talked through it. They might be all right, but they don't quite come across as trustworthy, or we'd feel differently about their offer."
"Thanks, Paul. I feel better about this whole thing now. Let's wait and see what happens. I'm going to lie down and close my eyes for a while. See you after sunup."
He nodded. "Rest well."
Gina opened the manila folder, careful to note the way the envelopes and papers in it were arranged. Dalton had dozed off not long after he handed it to her, and she had taken the folder into the amidships head where she could turn on a light without attracting attention. She made a first pass through the thin stack of documents without pausing to read anything. She wanted to know what was there before she took the time to study them.
When she opened the envelope that bore the logo of a jeweler, her pulse quickened. She drew out a stack of photographs, each of which showed a large number of diamonds arranged on a sheet of black velvet. A ruler along one edge of the velvet gave the pictures perspective; the velvet was about one foot square, and there were three photographs.
Without taking time to count them, she couldn't guess how many stones were shown in each. At a glance, she thought they were all about the same size as the ones in the earrings. She put the pictures back in the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. Frowning as she read it, she grasped that it was an appraisal. Not able to understand most of the terminology, she skipped to the end of the typewritten sheet and saw the figure $12,000,000.
Stunned, she counted the zeros, touching each with her index finger. "Twelve million bucks," she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. Forcing herself to keep moving through the folder, she put the appraisal form back in the envelope.
The next envelope in the stack was also from the jeweler who had made the appraisal, but it was fatter. She opened it and found several pages stapled together. After a few seconds of puzzled study, she concluded that she held an itemized list of the diamonds with a one-line description of each. Then she saw that some of the descriptions were followed by annotations in parentheses like (x3) or (x5). She concluded that there were several stones to which those descriptions applied.
In the third envelope from the jeweler, she found documents that referred to the sale of 40 of the loose diamonds, each one described in a one-line entry with a valuation. The total value of the transaction appeared to be $1,700,000, and the proceeds had been wired to a bank account in Antigua. Working her way through the remaining files, she found the paperwork for the purchase of the yacht, a few quarterly statements from a brokerage account that appeared to be worth several hundred thousand dollars, and an agreement in a foreign language with original signatures at the bottom.
She could see that the agreement had printing on the back. She turned it over; the text on the back was in English. She guessed that she was looking at a translation of what was on the front. If so, Constanza Maria Barrera had a safety deposit box at a bank in Martinique. Gina picked up the envelope that had contained the papers and found a key, unmarked except for a number. Looking at the document in her other hand, she saw that it listed the number on the key.
Putting everything back in the folder, she turned out the light and crept back across to their cabin. She slipped the folder under her mattress before she climbed up into her bunk, being careful not to wake Dalton. She needed to think about this. If she could play this right, they'd be set for life, but it was going to be tricky.
Gina smelled the aroma of roasted, ground coffee as she heard Connie getting ready to go up to the cockpit and relieve Paul. She'd wait until she heard Paul settle into their cabin, and then she would go up and join Connie. She had a rough plan in mind, but she needed more information. She hoped that Dalton would stay asleep a little longer; she didn't need him in the middle of this until she'd worked out the details.
She knew he'd ask what she'd found in the manila folder as soon as he woke up, and she dared not lie to him about its contents. While he was only semi-literate, he'd be able to piece together enough from the contents of the folder to cause big trouble if she didn't have a plan together. A few minutes with Connie, and then another few minutes to think it through — that's all she needed.
Then she could tell him, feed him her plan a step at a time, the way she had done before. He was too impulsive otherwise. If she had a roadmap laid out, she could play him like a drum, but if he learned about the diamonds before she was ready, it would be disastrous. Without her to restrain him, he wouldn't be able to control himself. He'd kill Connie and Paul, and she and Dalton would be stuck on this boat, miles from anywhere. Without Connie, there would be no way for them to get the diamonds even if they somehow managed to get to Martinique, but Dalton wouldn't think that far ahead.
She understood how safety deposit boxes worked; she needed Connie to open the box and retrieve the diamonds, and then they needed an escape route that would get them clear of Martinique so they could get rid of Connie and Paul. Managing Diamanti
sta II without Connie and Paul was going to be a challenge, but she had time to learn.
She heard them, talking in soft tones up in the cockpit. Paul would come down in a minute. She needed a better understanding of his routine when he came off watch, too. Her first idea had been to take Connie captive and use her to coerce Paul into doing what she wanted, but Paul was the more dangerous of the two. She'd be better off with Paul as a hostage and Connie sailing the boat; Connie would be easier to manage. Dalton could mess around with Paul, make him scream a little, and Connie would be like putty in her hands.
She relished the notion of pretending to be as horrified at what was happening as Connie would be. She would make Dalton out to be the Devil himself, while she was just a helpless girl, caught in his clutches. It had worked before; she had no reason to doubt that it would work this time. The best part was that if something went wrong, she could change sides and leave Dalton to take the blame.
She frowned and shook her head, remembering that there had been no time to clean up the mess aboard Blue Wing. It was a good thing the boat had sunk, speaking of Dalton taking the blame. "Crazy bastard," she thought. Of course, he'd been in a meth-induced haze then. He wouldn't remember any of what happened.
He was as close to sober now as she could ever remember him being. That was another problem; she'd have to work on that. Maybe she could get some meth or coke when they got to Martinique. Then she could crank him up, work him with the drugs. That would be easier, but it wasn't essential.
She heard Paul come below, heard the head flush, and then the latch on the door to the aft cabin snapped as he closed the door. She'd wait until he started snoring.
19
"Hi, Gina," Connie said. Gina stood at the companionway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine, thanks. Can I fix you some coffee?"
"No, thanks. I have a fresh thermos. Grab yourself a mug and join me."
Gina sat down next to her a minute later, reaching over and picking up the thermos. She poured herself a cup of the steaming coffee.
"Beautiful mornin' up here."
"It sure is," Connie said. "Sunrise is Paul's favorite time of day when we're at sea."
"I can see why," Gina said, gazing at the pastel colors on the horizon, watching them melt away as the dazzling gold of the rising sun spread over the water. "What about you?"
"My favorite time of day?" Connie asked.
Gina nodded as she took a sip of coffee. "Mm-hmm."
"Sunset. But not by much. They're both special. Paul and I set up our watch schedule so we can share them most of the time."
"But not today?" Gina asked.
"No. He was more tired than usual this morning."
"Y'all must be excited 'bout gettin' married. How long you been plannin' it?"
"Too long," Connie said. "But the time kept getting away from us. We've been busy with getting the business going, and then with the new boat. Plus, we wanted to give our friends plenty of warning so we could have a nice get-together."
"It's gonna be in Martinique, you said."
"Right. That's convenient for everybody. Two of our friends live in Ste. Anne, Martinique, anyway. They've got a big villa overlooking the anchorage."
"So the folks who come to your wedding, they gonna stay there? In the villa?"
"Well, no. Most of them will be on their own boats, but the villa kind of gives us a focal point."
"Have y'all got a date picked out yet?"
"Yes; it's in a couple of weeks."
"And how long's it gonna take you to get there from the Virgin Islands?"
"It's a little under 400 miles; figure around three days if we go straight through. Maybe a week if we take it easy, but we'll be stopping in St. Martin first, I think."
"That's part way, right?"
"It puts us a little closer, but it's not really on the way. We're thinking we'll go there to repair the lightning damage. It's easy to get parts there, and they're less expensive because it's duty-free."
"Does duty-free mean you don't have to clear in?"
"No, we'll have to clear in with immigration and get our passports stamped."
"Reckon me and Dalton can't go nowhere like that without passports, then."
"That's right. You can get into Puerto Rico or the USVI because you're U.S. citizens, but even there it'll be a little bit of a trick, because you don't have any identification at all."
"Are we gonna have a lot of trouble with that, you think?"
"I don't know. I'd guess not too much, once they hear your story. Paul knows some people in the Department of Homeland Security that he can call, from when he was still working. That might help. You should be able to get new passports there, and probably get your bank to send you that ATM card."
"What would happen if we went somewhere else and didn't clear in? I'm just curious 'bout how that works, you know. How would they catch us?"
"Most places have patrols that keep track of boats that come in. If they spot a boat that hasn't cleared in, they start asking questions, probably board it and search it."
"So when you clear in, you have to show the boat papers?"
"That's right. The boat papers, an outbound clearance from your last port, and a list of the people aboard. You have to present their passports, too. Some places want to see each person so they can match up the photos, but others are more lax. It varies depending on the individual officer who's checking you in, too."
"What if you just don't tell them about a couple of people, like me and Dalton, say. Sounds like it's kind of the honor system."
Connie gave Gina a long look as she considered that question. "They're easy-going most places, but that doesn't mean they don't care. Sometimes it's a random check, sometimes they go boat-to-boat and check. Sneaking into a country is a serious offense. If Paul and I tried to slip you in under the radar, so to speak, we'd probably all end up in jail, and the boat would be impounded. Believe me, it's not worth it. We're taking you to the USVI. After you've got passports, you won't have any trouble hitching a ride with somebody if you're willing to crew."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Connie. I didn't mean to worry you none; I ain't askin' you to do nothin' like that. I'm just tryin' to learn. This is just real new to me. I just picked up a little info from people in Annapolis, but there's more to it than I thought. How do you learn all this stuff, anyhow?"
"There are guidebooks, cruising guides, that spell it out for you." Connie's eyes were narrowed, her brow wrinkled. "But the rules are simple. When you enter the waters of another country, you have to clear in immediately at the nearest customs port of entry. You can't go anywhere else before you do that, and nobody but the captain is allowed ashore until you're cleared in. Then they may still want each person to show up at immigration personally with their passport. That's not always required, but it's always a possibility. When you walk in the door, they'll tell you what you need to do. If you don't clear in, you'll eventually get caught, and they're pretty rough on people who do that. Americans often don't realize that they have no rights in a foreign country beyond what the authorities give them. It can be pretty scary if you get crossways with the law."
"Sounds like it."
"Well, mostly, you'll find the people welcoming in the Caribbean countries. That includes the authorities, but make no mistake, they're serious about enforcing their laws."
They passed a few minutes in silence, and then Connie said, "Gina?"
"Yes'm?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you should know that the drug laws in most of the countries down here are harsh, especially for visitors. They make the U.S. laws seem lenient. So keep an eye on Dalton. People will try to sell you everything from ganja to coke, right out on the street, but if you buy it, you're guaranteed to get busted straight away. A lot of the dealers are informers; they'll give up foreigners in exchange for the cops looking the other way when they sell to their regular, local customers."
"Thanks for the tip.
I'm sure hopin' he'll stay straight, but drug habits are tough to shake, I reckon. He got hisself high soon's he got out, truth be told. When we was a-gettin' in that raft, I on purpose let his backpack get washed away so's he'd have to straighten up. Reckon you and Paul prob'ly figgered that out, ennyhow. Thanks for lettin' us pretend. He ain't got no bipolar whatever. He's comin' down from tweakin' on meth for a coupla weeks. That's what he's withdrawin' from."
"He seems better," Connie said.
"Comes and goes. That meth, it can really fu ... um, mess you up, I reckon. I seen my momma get the hallucinations after she'd been clean for weeks. Makes a body plumb crazy."
"That's frightening," Connie said.
"Yes'm, it can be." Gina drained her cup. "Thanks for 'splainin' to me 'bout clearin' in. Reckon I'd best go keep an eye on you know who. He gits kinda agitated sometimes if he wakes up and don't know quite where he's at."
"No problem," Connie said, the frown still on her face.
As Gina rinsed the salt from her hair, she thought about her talk with Connie this morning. When she'd come back below decks, she'd been pleased to find that Dalton was still sound asleep. She decided to take advantage of the privacy afforded by the head to collect her thoughts, knowing that he might awaken at any time. If he didn't find her in her berth, maybe he'd think she was still talking with Connie.
Now that she knew how far it was from the Virgin Islands to Martinique, she had a better idea of the challenge that she faced. Remembering what she'd learned from the woman on Blue Wing about how far a sailboat could go under engine power, she recognized that she and Dalton would have to sail Diamantista II at some point. Learning how to do that might be easier now, before they made a move against Connie and Paul.
She and Dalton had a couple of days before they would need to take over the boat; they could behave as they had been until they were in sight of the Virgin Islands. Once there, though, they would have to act.
She thought that holding Paul hostage was their best option. She was struggling with how to subdue him; it would be better if they didn't have to hurt him. Keeping him safe would be a good reason for Connie to do what she was told. If they killed Paul, or even injured him seriously, they might lose their leverage.
Storm Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 14