Bluewater Enigma

by Charles Dougherty

  "Did they see who left it?" Montalba interrupted.

  "No, sir, there were no boats moving in the vicinity, and no sign of life nearby. The package was wrapped in a blood-soaked piece of fabric that they identified as part of the camouflage dive skin their leader was wearing."

  "Does that mean he didn't return with the package, then?"

  "That's the implication, sir, but we don't know how the package got there, or why it was wrapped in the fabric. As soon as they opened it and saw that it contained the drugs, they called in for instructions, but the police boarded them before they had time to say anything. As I told you last night, the phone line was open during the arrest and part of the search. That's all we got from the two men."

  "I see," Montalba said. "Not much, but it makes some sense, I guess. Did they know why the police chose to raid their boat instead of the target?"

  "The lawyer made some inquiries. The police were acting on an anonymous tip."

  "Were these the same cops who were supposed to bust the target?"

  "No, sir, and that's where this gets strange. The man in charge of the local narcotics squad has been arrested by their equivalent of internal affairs."

  Montalba thought for a moment. "It sounds as if your man in charge didn't do his homework."

  "We don't know, yet, sir. The Coast Guard officer who carried out the boarding the day before yesterday was arrested early this morning, as well. As I said, the situation is still fluid."

  "I think your target turned the tables on you," Montalba said. "Maybe they had better connections with the police than you did."

  "Our working theory is that somebody captured the team leader and interrogated him, sir. He was the one who made the arrangements with the local authorities."

  "Somebody?" Montalba asked. "I want some background on who that somebody could be, do you understand me? I want to know everything there is to know about those two women who run that charter yacht, and I want it fast. Your organization's performance has been poor. If I don't have some answers before the day is out, I'll be calling your CEO. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir. Loud and clear. I'll handle it, sir. Rest assured that we will — "

  Montalba disconnected the call while the man was talking. While he'd been on the secure phone with SpecCorp, he'd received a text message on the prepaid cellphone that he reserved for Beverly Lennox. He opened the text.

  "Dinner last night uneventful," he read. "Further instructions?"

  He frowned. Had she expected something to happen at dinner? The woman was smart; he had to give her that. Too bad the SpecCorp people weren't as bright as she was. He poured a cup of coffee and sat back, pondering what to tell her.

  Beverly was in the head putting on sunscreen when her cellphone chimed. She picked it up and read the text from Berto. "Make the most of your time in the islands. No further instructions; just get good video."

  She'd left Harry up in the cockpit with Liz and Dani. They were drinking coffee and relaxing in the shade of the big cockpit awning. They had finished a late breakfast, all having slept in after their big night ashore.

  Dani had asked what they wanted to do today, and Beverly had stalled, hoping to hear from Berto. She had asked Dani about possible destinations, and Dani and Liz had both suggested the Tobago Cays, since Beverly enjoyed snorkeling. Harry was indifferent; he was content to sip rum drinks and ogle the women on nearby boats.

  Beverly pulled her hair back, putting it in a ponytail. She slipped on a thin, white linen bathing suit cover-up over her orange thong bikini. The sun was too hot for bare skin, even in the shade. The reflected rays had burned her over the last two days in spite of her liberal applications of sunscreen.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror and decided she looked too frumpy. She'd noticed the hungry looks that Harry was giving their hostesses when he thought no one was watching. She smirked at her reflection and shook her head, untying the cover-up and letting it hang open.

  That was better, but she still worried that if he made a play for Liz or Dani, it would ruin things. She needed to keep his attention, as much as she didn't want to. Getting kicked off the yacht wasn't part of Berto's plan for them.

  She reached back and untied the top of her bikini and let it fall, shrugging her shoulders to settle the translucent cover-up in place. She retied the cover-up, but loosely, showing plenty of cleavage.

  She turned, looking back over her shoulder at her reflection. The cover-up stopped about halfway down her hips, the bright white linen contrasting with the orange straps of the skimpy bottoms. She pouted and winked at herself in the mirror.

  Dressed for work, she gave her makeup a last check and turned off her phone, putting it on the shelf by their bed as she made her way back up to the cockpit. Harry greeted her with a wolf whistle when she came up the ladder, and she acted embarrassed. That always pleased him.

  "What do you think, Harry?" she asked, as she sat down across from him and leaned forward to pour herself a mug of coffee from the carafe.

  "Humma-humma," he said, leering at her as the cover-up fell farther open.

  "No, silly boy. I meant about going to the Tobago Cays."

  "Oh," he said, licking his lips. "Sure, why not."

  "Are you ready?" Dani asked.

  "Any time you are, babe. Old Harry's always ready."

  Dani locked eyes with him, her icy blue gaze burning into his skull. When he looked away, she shook her head and got to her feet. "Let's get the awnings down," she said.

  "Go ahead and get started," Liz said. "Let me secure the galley. I'll be with you in no time."

  Five minutes later, they had the awnings rolled up and lashed on the coachroof. Liz went forward and picked up the control for the anchor windlass while Dani started the engine. When Liz gave her a thumbs-up, Dani engaged the transmission briefly and Vengeance crept forward as Liz took in the anchor chain.

  By the time Liz had the anchor lashed in its chocks, Dani had raised the mizzen sail and uncovered the main. Liz hoisted the main while Dani held the bow into the breeze. When Liz cleated the halyard and scrambled back to the mainsheet winch, Dani cranked the helm to the starboard and shut down the engine.

  As the bow came around, Liz payed out the mainsheet, keeping the mainsail full. By the time the bow pointed out to the open water, they were making eight knots almost dead downwind, with the main out against the starboard shrouds and the mizzen all the way out to the port.

  Liz moved back to sit beside Dani at the helm, and Beverly said, "It's magic."

  "It is indeed," Dani said. "Pure magic."

  "What about the other sails?" Beverly asked.

  "We couldn't keep them full on this course," Liz said. "They'd be blanketed by the main. Once we round the point up ahead, we'll turn south and put the wind on our beam. Then we'll roll out the staysail and the Yankee."

  "I see," Beverly said. "Is it okay if we go up on the bow deck now? We won't be in the way?"

  "Not at all," Dani said. "Go up there and enjoy the ride. If you're lucky, you may have a porpoise or two for company once we're out there."

  "I want to freshen up my sunscreen," Liz said, winking at Dani. "You okay for a few minutes? I won't be long."

  "Sure," Dani said.

  Montalba was thinking about Beverly Lennox as he sat in his dimly lit office, his feet on his desk. He stroked the scar on his cheek, his thoughts wandering. She was physically attractive, but all women in her line of work were physically attractive.

  He was struck by her self-possessed manner. Not that she wasn't willing to follow his instructions, but he got the sense that for all that, she was her own woman. There was a hint that there were some things she wouldn't do, some line she wouldn't cross. He wondered where that line was drawn.

  She didn't do drugs; he'd made sure of that before he recruited her. He knew better than anyone the perils of employing dopers. That was another thing that made her a bit unusual in her line of work. He wondered if there could be something in her backg
round that would account for that.

  He'd held back telling her about his plan to frame Velasquez with planted drugs. She didn't need to know about that, and he had thought she'd be more convincing during the drug bust if she didn't have to conceal that knowledge.

  Still, her recent text made him wonder how much she suspected. "Dinner last night uneventful." He wondered again what she could have meant by that. She must have sensed that he had planned for something to happen during their dinner ashore. Why did she think that? And what had she expected?

  She was smarter and more intuitive than he had anticipated. She might be dangerous. Once this was over, he'd keep her close until he learned more about her. The ringing of the SpecCorp-provided encrypted phone broke his concentration.

  Swinging his feet to the floor, he swiveled his chair and picked up the phone from his credenza.

  "Yes?"

  "Who is this?" the caller asked.

  "I beg your pardon?" Montalba asked. The caller's voice wasn't familiar. "Whom were you calling?

  "This is Delaney. I needed enough speech to match your voice."

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Delaney." Montalba wasn't too surprised to get a call from SpecCorp's CEO. Apparently, his dissatisfaction had been passed up the chain of command. "I've been thinking I needed to call you."

  "Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual. When you called me on O'Toole's recommendation a while back, I thought we had a good understanding."

  "That was on a different matter," Montalba said. "Perhaps I should have called you personally about this job, but the man you had assigned to handle the last one assured me that it wasn't necessary."

  "Look, uh ... I don't like not knowing who the hell you are. You got a name?"

  "We discussed that. You were happy enough with my investment in your business. Must I remind you that it was not small, Mr. Delaney?"

  "Things are different now," Delaney said.

  "Yes, they are. I'm beginning to realize the shortcomings of your operation. That makes me even more glad to be anonymous."

  "I don't think we can continue to do business, then," Delaney said.

  "Are you resigning?" Montalba asked, his tone bland.

  "Fuck, no, I'm not resigning. This is my company; I built it from nothing."

  "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," Montalba said.

  "What?" Delany asked. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

  "Look, Mr. Delaney, I'm a businessman. Through my companies, I own a majority interest in SpecCorp now. If you don't like that, you can leave, and start again with nothing, so long as you don't violate the anticompetitive clause in our agreement. Or I might allow you to buy me out, depending on the offer."

  "No court will enforce that anticompete clause," Delaney said.

  "I wouldn't rely on the courts to enforce it; that's not my way of operating."

  "Is that a threat?" Delaney asked.

  "I suppose that depends on you, Mr. Delaney."

  "I could go to O'Toole," Delany said.

  "You could, but I assure you, he can't help you. This is between us. Troubling O'Toole could result in an unpleasant outcome for you."

  "Look," Delaney said, "we've gotten off on the wrong foot, here."

  "I think so. Perhaps we could start over," Montalba said. "Is there a problem?"

  "Yeah, there is. This was presented as routine surveillance, a honey trap for a congressman who may become a nuisance to our mutual friend, O'Toole."

  "Yes," Montalba said.

  "You misled us. Got us into the middle of a Class-A goat fuck," Delaney said.

  "You're still angry."

  "No shit! I'll try to stay cool, but I'm fuckin' furious. I've been played."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Delaney, but I assure you, I didn't play you. Can I ask what's happened?"

  "You said you were thinking of calling me," Delaney said, tension still in his voice. "Why? To warn me?"

  "To warn you? No, I was displeased with the way your people were handling the job. Can you start at the beginning, please? I do not know why you are angry, but I think we both want to see O'Toole get the nomination when the time comes."

  Montalba heard Delaney take a deep breath and exhale. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we do. I've had a bad day, and it's because of this job, as you put it."

  "I see," Montalba said. "I'm sure your people have informed you by now of what's happened down in the islands, but I sense there's something they haven't shared with me."

  "They don't know," Delaney said. "Most of them don't know any more about me than I know about you. That's by design. I keep a low profile; plenty of people around would like to do me in."

  "I understand what it is to live that way," Montalba said.

  "Yeah, I can tell you do. Anyway, here goes. I live in a 25-acre compound in Northern Virginia, heavily guarded. Nobody gets in or out without my knowing. My wife was having a brunch for her bridge club today, so I had extra security in place. Ten men instead of five. They penned the dogs for the guests' arrival, and then released them once everybody was in the house. You got the picture so far?"

  "Yes. Go ahead."

  "The ladies were eating their pastries when this scruffy guy waltzed into the dining room and went straight to my wife. She jumped out of her chair and asked who the hell he thought he was. He said, 'Now don't be that way, Eva.' He gave her a big hug and a kiss. When he stepped back, she tried to slap him."

  "Tried?"

  "Yeah. He grabbed her arm and planted a memory stick in her hand. 'Give that to your husband, sweetheart,' he said, 'And tell him to mind his ways, or I'll come back to see both of you.' Then he walked out like he owned the place, whistling the Colonel Bogey March."

  "What about the guards and the dogs?" Montalba asked.

  "My wife went looking for them. She found them locked in the kennel, all in one big pile. Tranquilizer darts stuck in their necks. Men and dogs all mixed up together."

  "And you think my job, as you called it, had something to do with that?"

  "The memory stick was loaded with several video clips. They showed parts of the interrogation of the man who was in charge of our team in Bequia," Delaney said. "He told them everything he knew, but that was limited to the details of the operation and his personal background. Nothing for you to worry about."

  "He told them he worked for you?" Montalba asked.

  "Negative. He told them he worked for SpecCorp. He didn't know anything about me. I'm invisible unless I choose to reveal myself, like in your case."

  "So how did they connect him to you?" Montalba asked.

  "I don't know. You know who these people are? The women?"

  "On the boat?" Montalba asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Danielle Berger and Liesbet Chirac," Montalba said.

  "Uh-huh. You asked my people to get background on them. You haven't got that yet?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "What we got so far is that Berger's father's a big-time arms dealer out of France. A guy named Jean-Pierre Berger. J.-P., he's called."

  "An arms dealer? You mean like a gun-runner?"

  "Not exactly. He brokers deals with governments. Want an air force? An armored division? Maybe a ballistic missile sub? He's your man."

  "You think he's behind it?"

  "He could be, but most likely, it's some of his people, doing the daughter a favor. She's a piece of work herself, from what we gather. Spent the summers when she was a teenager blowing up coke refineries in Central America with a bunch of people her old man contracted out to somebody. Nobody knows who they were working for."

  "He sounds like your competition," Montalba said.

  "I wish. He's been in the game so long he's part of the establishment, him and his network. They're in a different league from me. I can't help you if you're going to tangle with him."

  "We've already tangled with him, it seems," Montalba said. "What do you recommend?"

  "We need a way out," Delaney said. "Lay a false trail, so you and me and O'Toole ar
e out of the line of fire. There's no way to mix it up with Berger and his bunch without attracting attention we don't want."

  "A false trail? Leading where?"

  "We need a scapegoat. I can handle laying the false trail, but we need a plausible fall guy."

  "I have an idea," Montalba said.

  "Who?"

  "Let me do a little homework. I'll call you back."

  "Don't take too long," Delaney said.

  16

  "Did you just do what I think you did?" Dani asked, as Liz came back up into the cockpit.

  "Most likely. I thought we needed to talk, and with them on the foredeck, this seemed like a good time. And the light was off, so the system's not active anyway. Just help me remember to turn it back on if she goes below."

  "Sure," Dani said. "What's on your mind?"

  "Do you think we dare call Luke?" Liz asked. "We'd have to use the sat phone this far offshore, but if they notice, we could just tell them we were checking in with the charter broker. If we're careful, they won't hear us, the way the wind's blowing."

  "Why do you want to call him?" Dani asked.

  "It's been two full days since we talked with him. I was thinking he might have some more information on Beverly."

  "It's worth a try," Dani said.

  Liz took the phone out of the locker in the steering pedestal and moved back behind the helm, sitting next to Dani and holding the phone between their heads.

  "Pantene," Luke answered.

  "It's Liz and Dani," Liz said.

  "Good. I made a little progress; I've passed it on to Phillip, but he didn't think I should call you. Can you talk?"

  "Not much," Liz said. "We still have guests aboard, but we wondered if you had anything new for us. They're just out of earshot."

  "Okay," Luke said.

  Liz had turned the volume down to where she and Dani had to lean their heads together so they could both hear. "Tell us," she said.

  "She's a high-end escort, a rich man's companion for hire, we think. No record; she's clean as far as we can tell. Lives in a two-million-dollar-plus condo that's owned by a corporation. Company name leads to a dead end. She supposedly has a trust fund; no living relatives."