"Second hand?" Dani offered.
"Yes. I am hearing this from the second hand mouth. But the agent, she will work tomorrow in the morning. We will ask her then."
Chapter 13
Liz turned on the burner under the coffee pot and touched the flame of the butane lighter to its rim. "Damn," she muttered.
"What's wrong?" Connie asked.
"Out of propane. Always happens first thing in the morning when I'm making coffee."
"I'll switch the tanks," Dani volunteered, reaching in the tool drawer for an adjustable wrench.
"Can you talk me through it?" Connie asked. "I'd like to learn how."
"Sure." Dani handed her the wrench. "Come on up into the cockpit."
When they were both standing in the cockpit, she pointed to the aft locker on the port side. "That's the propane locker. Combination is the same as all the other padlocks."
Connie nodded and reached down for the lock. "Not locked."
"Hmm. That's a little odd. We usually just keep 'em all locked. One of us must have forgotten to lock it last time we changed tanks."
"How long does a tank last," Connie asked, lifting the lid of the locker.
"Oh, around three months, depending on how much Liz cooks. Now, the fitting where the hose is connected to the tank won't be very tight. It has a rubber seal, so when you put it back, you should only make it a little more than finger-tight. You may need the wrench to break it loose, though. Sometimes the salt air corrodes the brass fittings. It's a left-hand thread, so you turn it clockwise to loosen it." She stepped closer, looking over Connie's shoulder to watch her adjust the wrench to the fitting. "Wait!" She pulled Connie aside and bent to look more closely at the contents of the locker.
"What's wrong?" Connie asked.
Dani, intent on what she saw, didn't answer immediately. After a few seconds' study, she reached into the locker with both hands, fiddling for a moment with something that was out of Connie's line of sight.
"Dani?" Worry was evident in Connie's voice.
"Sorry," Dani said, rising to her feet and turning around, a cell phone with wires hanging out held between her right thumb and forefinger.
"What is it?" Connie asked.
"A bomb. Somebody rigged a shaped charge of plastique to the spare tank; set it up so they could trigger it by calling this phone."
"Why?"
"Good question. They knew what they were doing, though. It would have used that propane tank to blow Vengeance to pieces, and there probably wouldn't have been enough traces left for anybody to find, even if they looked. Propane explosions aren't common on boats, but they aren't unusual enough to warrant a very careful investigation, either." The cell phone in her hand rang as Dani paused. She put it down and looked around, scanning their surroundings.
"What are you looking for?" Connie asked.
"Looking to see who's watching us. If Liz had been a couple of minutes later making coffee, that call would have been the end for us."
"So you think someone was watching us?" Connie asked.
"That's one of the reasons to use a cell phone to trigger a bomb; you watch to be sure your victim is where you want them, then set it off."
"Somebody just tried to kill us?" Connie looked pale beneath her tan.
"Yes. No question. They saw us in the cockpit, so they knew we were home."
"What are we going to do?"
"Go ahead and switch the tanks. I need a cup of coffee worse than ever."
"But what about…"
"It's safe. I pulled the cap out of the plastique when I disconnected the wires."
Connie went to work on the propane hose, moving with exaggerated care as Dani watched.
"Okay," Dani said, as Connie looked up at her, finished. "Now spread some saliva around the threads on the fittings that you just put together."
Connie complied, frowning. "What's that for?"
"Checking for leaks at the joint. No bubbles means it's okay -- we don't want to have a real propane explosion. Liz!"
"Yes," Liz answered from below. "Can I light it?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Liz replied. "Coffee's on."
"Now what?" Connie asked.
"Once I've got some coffee, I'll call Phillip. You remember Clarence?"
"The guy you and Phillip borrowed the helicopter and that strange boat from when Alfano was after us a few weeks ago?"
"That's the guy."
"What about him," Connie asked.
"He's got some people working for him who can maybe tell us a little about the bomb -- maybe even if they've seen the same guy's work before."
"Why does he…"
"Like I told you back then, there are some things you shouldn't ask about."
Connie nodded dubiously as Liz emerged from the companionway, a carafe and three mugs on a tray. "What are you two mumbling about up here?"
Dani told her about the bomb as Connie poured coffee into the three mugs, the rich aroma floating on the still air as they settled around the cockpit table. They had exhausted the facts and were starting to speculate when the sound of the satellite phone ringing intruded on their conversation. Dani went below to answer it.
"It's Phillip. I'll be back up in a few minutes," she called up the companionway.
She emerged from the companionway a minute later. "Sandrine wants us to come over for brunch. Phillip will arrange for somebody to come check out the bomb while we're gone. She said they had some news, but it would keep until we got there.
****
"Sandrine called the office this morning and spoke to the gal that she mentioned yesterday," Phillip said. He and the crew from Vengeance sat at the table on his veranda while Sandrine was bustling about the kitchen.
"I'm authorized to report on her call, but then we have to wait until she joins us before we take up any new business." A wry smile split his face as he paused for a sip of coffee before he started the tale. "Anyhow, the morning after you and Delorme left, Liz, this character came into the customs office looking for information on Isis. Very British, very mysterious. Claire, the agent, was charmed. He spun some tale about being an investigator for a law firm in London that was handling the estate of Delorme's long-lost uncle. Supposedly, Delorme was his only heir."
"Did she tell him anything?" Dani asked.
"She told him that Isis had cleared out the previous morning. He, of course, wanted to know where she was bound," Phillip said. "She was evasive; Delorme had cleared for Bequia, but she just told him somewhere in the Grenadines, and she pointed out that yachts often changed their plans in route, so she really couldn't say."
"Isn't that private information?" Connie interrupted.
"Not really. It's not published anymore, but it used to be in the newspapers in most shipping ports. I don't know if the rules have actually changed, but it's not hard to find out, anyway."
Connie nodded. "Thanks. Sorry to interrupt."
"That's okay. Anyway, we thought that was the end of the story, but Claire called Sandrine back not five minutes later. The guy had called her back right after Sandrine hung up. He wanted to see if Isis had returned. She told him that there was no record, and while she was talking to him, she made a note of his number from the caller i.d. It traced back to Le Petit Refuge du Caritan."
"What's that?" Connie asked.
"The little hotel overlooking our anchorage," Liz said.
"Exactly," Phillip agreed, as Sandrine set a heavily laden tray on the sideboard and began passing plates heaped with eggs, ham, fruit, and cheese.
"I am missing anything? You do not say more than I already know, n'est-ce pas?"
"Not a thing, my love," Phillip said. "Your timing is perfect; I just finished telling them about Claire."
"Bien."
"I want to confront that bastard," Dani said. "Let's eat fast and pay him a visit."
"There's no rush," Phillip said.
"Like hell there's no rush. He tried to blow up my boat. If he hasn't already run,
you know he's about to…"
"It's under control, Dani. When I called Clarence about the bomb, I asked him to have someone pick up the guy; his name's Louis Godfrey, by the way, and by the time we've finished breakfast, he will have told everything he knows."
"You had him kidnapped?" Connie was aghast. "What if he's innocent?"
"Nobody's innocent. Besides, when La Direction Départementale de la Sécurité Publique captures someone, it's called an arrest, not a kidnapping."
"You mean this Clarence is…"
"Not relevant to our situation. Don't ask," Phillip said.
****
Sandrine had cleared the table, vociferously refusing to let her guests help. She had just rejoined them with a fresh carafe of coffee when Phillip's cell phone rang. He answered it, spoke softly for a moment, and disconnected.
"Excuse me. That was Clarence; he's calling back on the scrambled line. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Is very nice you are back with us, Liz," Sandrine said as Phillip left. "I do not like it when you are leaving to go away with this man who is the jerk. I am sad that you were being hurt by him but as well he is not with you more, I think. We have such men in France, too. I was knowing some like this before I am so good lucking to find my Phillip."
Liz, grateful for Sandrine's effort to ease the tension of the moment, raised her napkin to her lips and looked down to hide a smile.
Dani, with her poker face, said, "You are truly very 'good lucking,' and Phillip is 'good lucking' to have you, too, Sandrine."
Liz began coughing convulsively to suppress her chuckles and Connie rushed to her aid, grateful for the distraction as she tried to keep a straight face. She cast a surreptitious glance at Sandrine as she tried to assess whether the woman's fractured English was deliberate. She could never tell, but she had begun to suspect that Sandrine often had the last laugh when she twisted her words.
When Phillip returned, Sandrine and Dani were smiling innocently at him and the other two women were gasping for breath and had tears in their eyes. He looked at them, a question on his face, until Sandrine spoke.
"Basta, Phillip. It is enough, now. You must not be keeping us in suspenders any longer."
"Suspense, Sandrine," Phillip said, as Connie and Liz both succumbed to coughing fits again. "Not suspenders. I'm keeping you in suspense."
"And if you are not soon telling us what Clarence was telling you, I will show your friends the suspenders, all right."
Dani began coughing as Phillip's face paled.
"No more about that," he barked. "Clarence had news."
The coughing stopped at once as everyone turned to Phillip. "This private eye checks out so far. Louis Godfrey looks to be his real name, although they're still checking. He claims to be working for Caroline Delorme's parents. He says they haven't heard from her since she and Delorme left for St. Vincent a few weeks ago. He questioned Delorme to no avail, and then started watching him. He saw Liz visiting Isis and then saw her leave with Delorme a few days ago. He tracked her to Vengeance because of the name on the dinghy. When he lost Delorme, he decided to watch Vengeance and see if Liz turned up to lead him to Delorme again. That's the short version. He's still talking."
"But what about the bomb?" Connie asked. "If he didn't set it, who did?"
"And why?" Dani asked.
"The demolition guys have retrieved it from Vengeance. They're still working on a detailed analysis, like trying to track down the cell phone and the source of the plastique. It's military-grade stuff, but they recognized the work. They've seen several almost identical devices around here and some of the neighboring islands. They think whoever builds them is working for a major drug ring, based on the targets. They haven't been able to tie them down to a person or even a gang, but Godfrey got a picture of a guy in a pirogue who boarded Vengeance yesterday while we were out sailing. You can't really see much of the guy's face, and the boat's pretty generic, but they emailed the picture to my cell phone."
He poked at the screen for a moment and then passed the phone to Dani. She shook her head and handed it to Liz and Connie. Connie drew a blank, but Liz stared at the picture and pinch-zoomed, trying to get a better look at the man. Everyone looked at her until she handed the phone back.
"It's hard to be sure, but the boat and the man look like the ones that delivered that backpack to Robert right after we made sail."
"There's one other thing," Phillip said. "The call to the cell phone that was meant to trigger the bomb was made from the pay phone in the lobby at the Petit Refuge du Caritan."
Chapter 14
Louis Godfrey chewed at the inside of his cheek as he contemplated his situation. The manacles cut into his wrists as he stared at the man and woman sitting across from him. His head hurt and his vision swam. He instinctively tried to lift his hand to touch his throbbing forehead, forgetting that the cuffs were fastened to the steel table by a short piece of chain. The muscles in his legs were cramping painfully; his ankles had been taped tightly to the legs of the chair ever since the first time he had regained consciousness.
He had no idea how long he had been held since the two men had burst into his hotel room and flashed their badges. He had made a sudden movement toward one of them, and that was his last memory until he had regained consciousness in the chair. Then the questioning had begun and he had lost consciousness again. When he came to the second time, these two were sitting, looking at him. "Who the hell are you people?"
The man and the woman just gazed at him with mild interest, studying him as if he were some alien being. He was sure he had never seen the man before, but the woman could be the one from the yacht -- the one with the reddish-blond hair. "Where am I?"
Their expressions never changed. He thought the man looked American, and he had something about him that hinted at a military background. He was older than the woman, probably by twenty years, give or take, but he appeared to be wiry and fit. "What time is it? How long have I been here?"
They greeted every question with the same silent, mildly interested look. He thought about his next step. His clients were paying him well for his discretion, and he was technically on holiday from his employer. He suspected that he might have a concussion; his vision wavered at random intervals, and he had a horrendous headache. His mouth was so dry that moving his tongue was painful. "Water," he croaked.
The man stood up. Godfrey flinched, but the man walked past the table, out of his field of view. He dared not turn his head to try to follow. He could hear the man rummaging behind him as the woman continued to gaze at him steadily. Was the man getting him a drink?
In a moment, the man returned to his seat. He held Godfrey's camera. Godfrey watched as he turned it on and shifted his position so that the woman could see the display with him. They scrolled through the pictures, examining them carefully, but without comment. Finished, they looked at one another for a moment. The woman nodded, and they turned back to face him. He heard a door open behind him, and someone else entered the room.
"Who paid you to plant the bomb?" the man asked, in a soft voice.
"No one!"
"You were acting on your own?" the man continued, as the woman shifted her gaze to look over Godfrey's shoulder. Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
"No! I don't know anything about a bomb."
"Why did you have Vengeance under surveillance?" a woman asked from behind him.
"I…I…c-can't…"
"Look, Godfrey, this has already taken too long. Did the Beales pay you to kill Liz Chirac?" the woman behind him asked.
"I don't know a Liz Chirac, or anybody named Beale."
"I'm Liz Chirac," the woman in front of him said in a stern tone.
"Godfrey," the man said, his tone reasonable, "at least some of what you told the police checks out, but some of it doesn't. Your best bet is to be honest with us."
"I don't know what you mean. I didn't tell the police anything. What police?"
"Oh, you wouldn'
t remember. That's part of what the drugs do. That way, they can drug you again and again to see if your story stays consistent," the man explained.
"The French police wouldn't use drugs. Who are you people?"
"They have a different set of rules when they're dealing with terrorists."
"Terrorists! What are you talking about?"
"People who plant bombs -- I'll tell you a story," the man said. "This is what the police have put together from what you told them and from the evidence that they found in your possession when you were captured. You are Louis Godfrey, a private detective from London. You were given leave by your employer to work privately for one of their major clients, Sir John Beale. His daughter is married to Robert Delorme. You had Delorme and his yacht, Isis, under surveillance, and you saw Ms. Chirac visit him. You photographed her visit, and you photographed her leaving with him on Isis a few days ago. One of your associates intercepted Isis in Bequia, planning to kill both Ms. Chirac and Mr. Delorme, but Ms. Chirac had left the yacht and returned to Martinique. You traced her to the yacht Vengeance using the photograph of her in a dinghy with Vengeance's name on the side. You moved into the Petit Refuge du Caritan, into a room overlooking the harbor where Vengeance lay at anchor, and set up video surveillance of Vengeance. When you knew she was unoccupied yesterday, you sent an associate to plant a bomb in her propane locker. This morning, as soon as you saw the women aboard Vengeance, you tried to trigger the bomb."
"That's preposterous! I…"
"Godfrey," the man said in a patient voice, "the woman behind you found the bomb and deactivated it. Within two minutes, you called the cell phone that was to trigger the bomb; the call was made from the pay phone in the lobby of your hotel. Your camera time-stamped the video; you were recording at the time of the call, no doubt so that you could prove that you accomplished the hit. You also had a picture of a man in a local boat alongside Vengeance, time-stamped during the time the yacht was unoccupied. Who was he? Someone you hired to plant the bomb, but who?"
"This is absurd. Who are you, and what do you want?"
"You can start by giving up your associates and agreeing to testify against John Beale."
Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5) Page 9