Rubenstein's Augur

by Henry Hollensbe

  “With two women on board and my arm in a sling from an accident, I had no idea what this guy had on his mind. I woke Colonel Kostov and I explained the situation. He suggested that I follow the man along the starboard side and he would go along the port.

  Kostov nodded.

  “Next thing I knew, I heard a speed boat coming along the port side. I hurried across the deck. Colonel Kostov was standing there. There wasn’t much moonlight, but I could see the horror on his face. When he could talk, he told me that the man had fallen overboard just as a boat went past at high speed. The man screamed, but the boat couldn’t stop. Police was painted on its side.

  “Our dates came on deck and found a shoe with a foot it. They—and I—vomited over the side.

  “And that’s all we know. We wonder who he was and if the Polly—or Molly—is here.”

  “I guess that given the fact we found a shoe with a foot in it, he must be hurt pretty bad. We were planning to sail for Florida on the tide, but we’ll be glad to stay and help sort this out.”

  Larson looked at his prospective coconspirators. “What do you think?”

  Kostov smiled. “You have missed your calling, Sam.”

  “Can we pull it off?”

  “Suppose we can,” Sheila said, “should we?”

  “Is your question based on moral grounds?”

  She hesitated. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then it depends on whether you want to stay here and explain how three Russian criminals died or whether you’d like to be eating lobster at the A&B in Key West in a few days. Personally, I’ve had as much of my life impinged upon by Mr. Staranov as I care to.”

  “What about the rowboat?” Linda said.

  “No problem—it’s tied to the side of the boat. Just where it should be.”

  “What about the other two?” Linda said.

  “What other two? Are you thinking about two men we never saw who may be washed up somewhere in the bay some day? No money, no identification. Ivan says no fingerprints on file?”

  “Sam,” Sheila said, “I must say I’m seeing a side of you I didn’t know existed.”

  Larson chuckled. “I didn’t know about this side of me, either.”

  “So?” Kostov said.

  “In or out?” Larson said.

  “In,” Linda said.

  Sheila nodded. “In.”

  “Remember, the less you say, the fewer opportunities for error. We’re just numbed by this whole thing.”

  An hour later, Larson was dozing in the saloon when he heard the skiff come along side.

  Luis entered. “Still awake, Sam?”

  “Waiting for you. Come in.”

  “Waiting for me?”

  “Come in. There’s some coffee left.”

  “Why are you waiting for me?”

  Larson explained.

  Luis nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Felipe! Para el ancla. We’re not leaving just yet.”

  Luis returned to the saloon. “They were about to pull up the anchor. They’ll go to bed. Do you suppose we’ll be sailing any time? Oh, what about the complaint? The noise that was reported?”

  “Linda had some trouble with the home theater. It was pretty noisy for a while. Ivan decided he could reduce the sound. He was wrong.”

  Luis smiled. “It’s quite a rig, all right. Anyway, do you suppose we’ll be sailing any time soon?”

  “I can’t think why not. The Fairhope police are to be here early. We’ll tell our story. They shouldn’t have any reason to hold us or the boat.”

  “Even though—”

  “Innocent bystanders.”

  Luis stretched. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Chapter 43

  September 6

  The police boat tied up along side El Cisnero Blanco at nine-thirty. A middle-aged

  man with the assurance of an experienced sailor climbed on board. A younger man with

  less self-assurance followed.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Poole—Steve Poole,” the first man said. “My partner is

  Detective Sergeant Gillespie.”

  Gillespie nodded.

  Larson gestured toward the saloon. “Please come in. Coffee?”

  “Thank you.”

  Poole studied the furnishings. “I’ve been watching her since she arrived. Bad case of

  jealousy.”

  “Unfortunately for me, she’s not mine. The owner is Humberto Vargas. Fort

  Lauderdale and Caracas. My party and I are borrowing her for a few days.” Poole nodded.

  “I may be getting ahead of myself,” Larson said, “but do you have any idea when we

  can leave? We don’t have too much time and everyone is—”

  Poole raised his hand. “From what Corporal Jansen told us this morning, I don’t

  think we’ll have to hold you up for very long.”

  Larson nodded.

  “Now you are—”

  Larson introduced everyone.

  “I know it’s a nuisance, but would you mind going over what happened for us again.

  What Jansen told us makes good sense, but we might have some questions.” Poole

  turned to his partner. “Lester, while I’m listening, the—the shoe. Why don’t you find

  something to put it in.”

  “Don’t you want to look at it?”

  “No, Lester, a shoe’s a shoe.”

  He opened a small notebook. “There’s the question of the wave. Jansen said he took

  Colonel Kostov’s wave as a greeting.”

  Larson glanced at Kostov.

  “Hardly,” Kostov said. “There was a man in the water. I was trying to wave him off.

  He was approaching very swiftly and was going to pass quite close to the boat.” “How fast would you say?”

  “Boats are not my area of expertise, but I estimate fifty kilometers per hour.” Poole frowned. “So, thirty, maybe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Too fast for these waters, let alone approaching a boat.” He made notes. “Let’s go

  on.”

  Half an hour later Sergeant Poole had no more questions and Sergeant Gillespie had the foot loaded in the police launch.

  “That’s it, folks,” Poole said.

  “What do you think?” Larson said.

  “Well, let’s see. One, I don’t think we’ll find the rest of your visitor. The shrimp and other scavengers will get the meat before it’s sufficiently bloated to rise. The water is deep in this moorage, so that I doubt if the chief will send any divers to look for the bones.”

  Larson nodded.

  “Two, ever since the folks in Biloxi got into gambling we’ve had a lot of odd characters around here. I figure your man got into the liquor pretty strong, forgot where he was going—or maybe misunderstood his directions—and ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll look around for a Molly or Polly, but whether such a boat is around here or not, there’s sure only one like this.” He smiled. “Hard to mistake it. No, I think you can forget the whole thing like a bad dream.”

  “We’ll try to do that. What’s next?”

  “There’ll have to be a coroner’s inquest.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll have to talk to the chief and the coroner. When were you planning to sail?”

  “Soon as we can. We’d have been gone now if this hadn’t come up.”

  “I’ll talk to them when we get back. Lester, you got names and address and phone numbers for these folks?”

  “I do.”

  Poole extended his hand. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  Larson led the two detectives to the launch.

  Poole looked around the boat again. “If you run short of crewmen before you leave, I could get a week or so off. Real easy.”

  Larson laughed. “Thanks for the offer. We’ll keep it in mind.”

  An hour later, Larson tapped Luis’s shoulder. “The police called. We can go.” Lu
is depressed the winch button. “Anchor coming up, Felipe.”

  There was a scream from the prow. “Sam!”

  Larson hurried forward. “What? You can wake up the dead with that scream.” “It was Linda, not me, but look!”

  There was bundle of blue material floating on the port side.

  Kostov lay flat on the deck, but couldn’t reach the material. “Gray cloth of some

  kind. I cannot judge what kind.”

  Sheila’s voice was small. “Staranov was wearing a gray suit.”

  Kostov walked toward the stern as the incoming tide moved the bundle aft. He

  watched it disappear, then looked back at Larson and shrugged.

  Linda was crying. “Sam, I—”

  “Okay, both of you ladies listen. Let’s deal with this problem once and for all. It’s

  possible that one or maybe all of the bodies will surface, but there’s nothing to tie us or the boat to them.” The women both nodded. “Keep in mind who came to torture, rape, and kill us and get over whatever guilt you’re feeling. Those guys are out of our lives and, if the cops were right, most of Eugen Yakovich is on the way to a fish market.”

  Linda wiped her eyes and smiled. “May be cutting back on my shrimp consumption.” Luis came forward. “Sam, what’s with the scream?”

  “Sand shark.”

  He smiled at Linda. “They’re no problem.”

  Sheila smiled. “We’re moving.”

  “Slowly in here,” Luis said. “Under power until we reach the Gulf. After than, the

  sails. The next stop is Key West.”

  Chapter 44 September 7, at sea

  The winds outside Mobile Bay had initially been uncooperative. Larson had decided

  against motoring. The noise of the big Yanmar diesel was the type of sound he and the

  others wanted to leave behind.

  A west wind arose after dinner, so that the big sloop was running before the wind at

  seven knots.

  It was after midnight when the foursome could no longer distinguish individual lights

  along the Florida shore and returned to the saloon for a final drink. Kostov led the parade

  to bed.

  A shattering scream woke Larson at two. He pulled the drawstring of his pajama bottoms tight and opened his stateroom door. There was no sound. He was turning back to his room, when Kostov appeared in pajamas.

  “I guess you heard that,” Larson said. “Any ideas?”

  Kostov shrugged. “I was sleeping soundly. A sea creature, perhaps?” “Nothing I ever heard before.”

  “What about Linda?”

  Kostov smiled. “She did not awaken.”

  “Good for her.” Larson shrugged. “Back to sleep.”

  They were about to reenter their staterooms, when Felipe appeared at the far end of

  the corridor. “Señor Larson?”

  He shrugged. “We both heard it, but—”

  The scream was repeated, louder this time.

  Larson opened the door to Sheila’s stateroom. A nightlight glowed. She was huddled

  in a corner, her arms wrapped around her legs, her face hidden by her knees. She was sobbing.

  Kostov followed Larson into the room and found the light switch.

  Larson sat on the floor beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She molded her body against his.

  “A dream?”

  She nodded, then wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Bad dream.”

  “Staranov?”

  “Yes.”

  Larson helped her stand. She started toward her bed, but he held her back. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go right back to sleep. Let’s go into the saloon.”

  She took a dressing gown from her bed.

  Kostov led the way.

  They sat at a corner of an L-shaped couch, with Sheila in the middle.

  Larson poured three brandies. “It occurs to me that we’ve never talked about what happened yesterday. I for one was so glad to be out of it alive and on our way that I guess I just set it aside. Or maybe hiding from the shock of three violent deaths.”

  “Me, too,” Sheila said. “Ivan?”

  “I filed it.”

  “Filed it?” Larson said.

  “It is not that I am a man of action, as you people put it, nor vastly experienced, but I have been in more dangerous positions than we faced here. I suppose I must sound as if I were a sort of military automaton, but I was not greatly affected.” He smiled. “On the other hand, I was not on the firing line.”

  Larson took her hand. “Do you think talking about it—what happened between you an Staranov—would help?”

  She sipped her brandy. “Maybe. Better than reentering that dream.” She leaned back and began.

  Larson was incredulous. “Pliers?”

  Sheila nodded, then smiled at Kostov. “Ivan, it’s a little personal from here on. Would you mind?”

  Kostov stood and smiled. “I understand. I should have departed long ago, but the

  man interests—interested—me. Forgive me.”

  She watched Kostov go. “The man really had no interest in me. I remember from my

  experience at home thinking that he was probably asexual.” She paused. “Sam, he was

  talking about drugging you and dissecting your body while I watched. I—” She sobbed. “It strikes me that you were more badly wounded at Mountain House than I realized.”

  He shook his head. “I suppose all that time you spent in your bedroom should have been

  a clue.”

  “You had a lot on your mind.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I drove to Atlanta for a session with a friend of Aaron’s, but—”

  “Session?”

  “A psychiatrist. It did me some good. I got myself under control.”

  “How did last night compare?”

  “Not as bad as the other, really. I think it was cumulative. Two encounters with that

  madman in just a little over two weeks.” She shivered, then emptied her drink and

  poured another. “What do you suppose make a creature like that tick?”

  Larson frowned. “Do you think it’s healthy for you to go into that right now?” “Healthy? Yes, I do. For any ordinary person, perhaps not, but I am a scientist. I am

  interested. Understanding him might help me.” She hesitated. “Would you mind asking

  Ivan to rejoin us?”

  Kostov followed Larson back into the saloon. He was wearing a large terrycloth robe. He pinched the material to show it to Sheila. “I am becoming accustomed to your thick bath towels, but this is a new experience. One of the closets in my stateroom is full of robes similar to this. Ten, perhaps. Do you think your friend will mind if I wear it?”

  Larson smiled. Those are for guests, Ivan. Humberto will be happy that you were comfortable.”

  He nodded. “Now, you have summoned me for what?”

  “Sheila is interested in Staranov. You said you were, too.”

  “A curious man.”

  Sheila nodded. “What do you think made him tick?”

  Kostov frowned. “Tick?”

  Larson smiled. “American slang. What made him behave as he did?”

  “I heard—I guess we all heard—his history of himself,” Sheila said. “Do you suppose the childhood torture was a factor?”

  “I think that must be a part of it,” Kostov said, “but others have suffered so and did not become monsters.”

  “Is there really a university for torturers?” Sheila said.

  Kostov shook his head. “I know of no such institution, but the Second Chief Directorate certainly had some expert torturers on staff. It is possible that they were formally trained.” He shook his head. “An appalling thought.”

  “Could his behavior have been based on some sort of genetic problem?”

  Sheila nodded. “Maybe. Lorenz’s CHAOS goes hand in hand with Darwin’s theories in explaining cer
tain circumstances. This may be one.”

  Kostov frowned. “Darwin, I know, but Lorenz?”

  Sheila, teaching again, sat up. “Darwin explains how newly developed superior skills and talents change the makeup of a species, but he does not address how the new skills originate. CHAOS explains that variations autonomously appear from time to time. Most fail the stress of living, but those that survive may improve a species.”

  “Well,” Larson said, “if our man Staranov was a new variation, let’s hope his mind- set died with him.”

  “Amen.” She stood. “On that note, gentlemen, I think that I am sufficiently diverted.” She smiled. “I don’t know how long it will take me to put Mr. Staranov in his rightful place, but this has been a start. Thank you both.”

  September 8, fifty-eight hours from Mobile Bay

  Linda stared out a porthole that evening. “Not much to see when the sun goes down.” “The new moon will help in a couple of hours,” Larson said.

  “Where are we, anyway? I’m afraid the bread crumbs I’ve been dropping aren’t

  going to lead me home.”

  “Let me look.” He returned from the cockpit with a slip of paper. “GPS says—”

  “GPS?”

  “Satellites that know where we are.”

  “And?”

  “We’re at north latitude twenty-seven degrees, fifty-seven minutes, and thirty-two

  seconds and west longitude eighty-four degrees, sixteen minutes, and fifty-three seconds.”

  “Wonderful!” Linda said. “What’s that in American money?”

  “I think Tallahassee is due north of us and Tampa is east.”

  Kostov yawned. “Exciting, but it is time to sleep.”

  Linda followed him from the saloon.

  Larson chuckled.

  Sheila crooked a finger. “Will you join me, master geographer.” “Just let me wet the bottom of my glass. You?”

  “Please.”

  He set the glasses on a cocktail table and fell beside her. She cradled his face and kissed him.

  “I beg your pardon! What’s that for?”

  “A reward, such as it is. You—and Ivan—have saved my life again.” Larson shrugged. “All American boy, as you once pointed out. Just doing my duty.” “I don't suppose that little man will be bothering me any more, but what if someone