Bluewater Vengeance: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 2)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Did you check on the plane, Phillip?"

  "Yes, but we didn't learn anything conclusive. The plane left yesterday and came back. It's often flown by some other man who uses it when it's idle. He also sometimes takes Rodriguez places. No one on Bequia has seen Rodriguez since yesterday, so we figure he was there for the kidnapping and left, probably by boat, given that the plane was only gone for about an hour. A man and a woman apparently went for a joyride. Could have been Rodriguez but nobody got a good look at them."

  "So what are you planning?" J.-P. asked.

  "We've decided to go back to Martinique and put Vengeance in the marina. We need to be able to move quickly, so I've made arrangements with Clarence to borrow Midnight Thunder."

  "That will certainly let you move fast. Is Clarence not using her?"

  "His contact down in Venezuela had a mix-up with the Guarda Costa on his last run, so they're taking a little time off."

  "And does Clarence still have the helicopter tour business?"

  "Yes, of course. He's even upgraded the equipment since we last worked with him."

  "Okay, so you are well equipped. How will you find Rodriguez?"

  "We're guessing he has Liz on the yacht. That's what I would do, in his position. If he stays at sea, he has privacy and security, plus some freedom of movement. We were hoping for a little help from Paul and Mario. I'm sure that José must be keeping Camacho posted on where Rodriguez is, so maybe they can pick up a clue in Miami. There's sure to be a stir when they discover that we hit Baliceaux again. Maybe there's some way to play all of that to our advantage. The other thing is this motor yacht. Somebody must know something about it."

  "Mebbe Zeke an' James the men hit Baliceaux."

  "What's that, Sharktooth? I don't understand." J.-P. said.

  Phillip told J.-P. what Sharktooth had learned about the two men working for Ozzie Johnston. "He's a local drug kingpin, J.-P. We figure that Rodriguez was dealing with him on the side and just borrowed some muscle from him so that he could keep El Grupo in the dark while he was looking for Dani, but I'm not sure what Sharktooth's thinking."

  "T'ink Camacho be plenty unhappy 'bout Baliceaux."

  "No doubt about that," Phillip agreed, "Go on."

  "So, mebbe somebody he'p he; tell he Big Jim pay Zeke and James to kill Carlos and Hector las' night. Mebbe then he tell 'bout where José an' Big Jim."

  "That's worth some thought. Whether it's information to trade with, or just something that we want to leak to Camacho to keep the heat off of ourselves." Phillip scratched his chin in thought.

  "I think that I should tell Mario and Paul this idea. They can decide how best to use it, yes?"

  "Yes, J.-P." Phillip saw Dani and Sharktooth nodding in agreement with J.-P.'s suggestion.

  "So I will go along with this ransom demand, and let these unfortunate people believe that Liz is Dani. That is correct?"

  "Yes, Papa."

  "Au revoir. We shall speak again once I talk with Mario."

  ****

  Big Jim had been a perfect gentleman when Rita arrived, meeting her at the ferry and carrying her bag to the hotel. They had gone for a short flight in his plane, so that she could see the delightful little islands, sprinkled like bits of jade on the deep blue, velvety looking surface of the Caribbean. They had an early dinner and spent an athletic evening in bed.

  This morning, after another, more leisurely romp, they had dressed and gone to the restaurant for brunch. After they had eaten, they lingered over a pot of coffee as they took in the view of the harbor, framed by the blossoms on the trees from which the hotel took its name.

  Big Jim had taken a call from somebody named Ozzie on his cell phone just after they got back to the room, and that had annoyed her. She didn't understand why he couldn't have let the call go to voicemail; her tongue had been in his ear when the phone rang. The call had been brief, but his ardor had faded immediately. Although he had kept up a pretense, Rita wasn't fooled. She knew men.

  He had explained that he wanted her at her best, relaxed and fresh, and he knew she must still be tired from the flights and the ferry ride, not to mention their activity of the previous night and this morning. He had arranged a massage for her, and he walked her down to the spa, saying that there would be a nice surprise for her back in the room when she was done. It had all seemed a little out of character for the rough man that she knew from many past encounters, but he was paying the bills, so she had gone along with his plans.

  She indeed felt fresh and relaxed when she got back to the room after an hour and a half. Her muscles were so well-stretched and kneaded that she could barely stand up. She had opened the unlocked door just a crack and murmured, "Iago, where's my surprise?" in her most seductive voice. She unbelted her robe as she slipped into the room, allowing the robe to slither from her shoulders as she closed the door behind her.

  She would show that bastard a surprise! Just wait until she saw him again. She was incensed when she opened the envelope on the pillow and found ten $100 bills, wrapped in a note on hotel stationery. "Called away on business. This should get you back to Miami. Best, Jim." She would teach him to treat her like a cheap hooker.

  "Thousand dollars, my ass!" She muttered, as she threw her clothing into her suitcase with great force and slammed it shut, not caring if she wrinkled her dresses. She had managed to book a flight back to Miami from St. Vincent this evening, and she needed to catch the 4 o'clock ferry.

  Chapter 24

  "This Luís Romero character runs a string of high class girls, Paul. They mostly service clients in the upscale hotels around town, or do longer term gigs, like as escorts on trips, or whatever. Word is a lot of his girls start out as 'girlfriends' to Camacho, then get handed off to Romero when Camacho moves on. Vice never managed to tie Camacho to Romero, though." Luc paused and took a sip of his thimble-sized cup of colado, savoring the syrupy blend of high-octane espresso and cane sugar that was a specialty of the Cuban coffee shops all over Miami.

  "Why the hell does anybody go to Starbucks and spend five bucks for coffee when they can do this for ninety cents? For that matter, why would anybody snort coke with the kick you get from this stuff?"

  Paul looked over at the mob around the Starbucks on the corner and shook his head. He and Luc had just finished a heavy lunch at his favorite hole-in-the-wall Cuban restaurant a block off Lincoln Road. They were sitting on a shady bench, watching the eclectic mix of people wandering the pedestrian mall. "Got me, Luc. You were telling me about Romero."

  "Right," Luc said, tearing his eyes from the deeply tanned, muscular girl in a thong bikini who was literally bouncing through the crowd, some sort of spring-loaded shoes on her feet catapulting her a couple of feet above the other people's heads. "Romero hangs out in the late afternoon in that little place on Calle Ocho where we used to all drink beer when we got off shift. You remember?"

  "Yeah. Funny. I remember that as a cop bar. Pimps hang out there now?"

  "Times change, Grandpa, and he calls himself an agent, you know, like, for models. Better get your head straight before you go talk to him. It ain't like it was when we were walkin' a beat."

  "Okay, okay. Point taken. So why is it I should go talk to him, anyway?"

  "One of his girls was spoutin' some shit about this high roller down in the islands, flew her down there for what was supposed to be a 'week's holiday,' and dumped her after about 12 hours. She was some kinda pissed, I hear."

  "And why do I care about that, Luc? What's it got to do with Rodriguez?"

  "She was in Bequia when the john dumped her. He just disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, a couple of days ago. I figured the time fit, the place fit. The connection to Camacho is kinda iffy, but you never know. You got anything better to do?"

  "Okay, now I get it. String me along, why don't you?"

  "It's good for you, old man. Keeps the brain cells workin'." Luc winked as he stood up and walked away.

  Paul watched as he melted into the
crowd, remembering when Luc was a rookie patrolman, assigned to Paul right out of the academy. He got up, looking at his wristwatch, thinking a nap might be in order before he headed over to Little Havana in search of Romero and this irate girl.

  ****

  Luís Romero, freshly barbered and manicured, watched the slightly overweight man pause as he entered the dimly lighted bar. It was a bright, sunny day outside, and the guy was obviously waiting for his eyes to adjust before he moved too far from the door. He had cop all over him. Luís worked hard to maintain his veneer of respectability, but he could still read the signs he had learned to watch for years ago as a kid on the street.

  Once Paul was able to make out his surroundings, he had no trouble picking out Romero, sitting right in the corner, just where Mario's friend said he would be. He saw that his quarry was watching him, curiosity written clearly on his pampered face. Paul walked straight to the table, never breaking eye contact with the man.

  "Join you?" Paul asked, his hand on the chair across from Romero.

  "I don't talk to cops." Romero had a sneer on his face to match his tone of voice.

  "Right out of a bad movie," Paul thought, as he pulled out the chair and sat down. "I'm not a cop, and I don't talk to pimps, either. You a pimp?"

  Romero nodded to the beefy man who was sitting at the bar, watching. The man put his orange juice down and got quickly to his feet, heading for Paul, who sat gazing at Romero, appearing to be oblivious to the activity behind him.

  The man, who looked like a professional wrestler, was reaching a bloated hand toward Paul's shoulder when his world went dark. As he collapsed, a short, slender man who appeared to be in his seventies caught the giant and eased him gently to the floor, saying, "It's not healthy to move so fast, for such a fat man."

  Romero looked worried. The little old man nodded at him, smiled, and went to the bar. He picked up the abandoned orange juice, brought it back, and poured it casually on the big man's face. There was no reaction. The old man nodded, satisfied, and took the recently vacated seat at the bar, watching Romero with a steady gaze, a smile on his face.

  "Who the hell are you?" Romero asked.

  Paul shook his head.

  "What did he do to Rico?"

  "I wasn't watching," Paul said, smiling.

  "I'll have your badge," Romero blustered.

  "Too late. I'm retired," Paul said.

  "You may live long enough to regret this."

  "I'll take my chances, Romero. I'm tired of playing, now. You answer a couple of questions, and I'll overlook the fact that you're impersonating a human."

  "You don't get it, do you, Mr. Retired Cop?"

  "I said I was tired of playing. You can talk, or the old man and I will take you for a ride out to the 'Glades. You'll talk, once we get you out there. I promise."

  "Cops can't do that shit these days," Romero said.

  Paul flexed his wrist, raising his right hand slightly. The old man stood up.

  "What do you want?" Romero asked, eyeing the old man. He still couldn't figure out what the old guy had done to Rico, but whatever it was, Rico hadn't moved.

  "One of the models that you represent had a gig down in the islands a couple of days ago."

  "Maybe," Romero said, still watching the old man, who smiled and nodded. "What about it?"

  "She's going to tell me all about it."

  "And then what?"

  "And then you won't have to worry about my friend at the bar. We can just forget this unfortunate accident that your pet gorilla had when they bumped into each other."

  Romero nodded. "I'm reaching in my coat pocket to get her card. Don't get excited." He extracted a professional-looking business card and handed it to Paul. "Wait about 30 minutes, and give her a call at that number. She'll be expecting it, and she'll tell you what she knows. If you come in here again, you're a dead man." Romero's voice sounded hard, but he kept a nervous watch on the old man, who was still smiling as he followed Paul out into the sunlight.

  ****

  "So Rodriguez is shacked up in Bequia with Rita? That's all he's up to?" Juan Camacho held the phone between his shoulder and his jaw as he rubbed coconut-scented suntan oil into the girl's bare back. He smiled and inhaled deeply as she purred like a big cat.

  "He had breakfast with Ozzie Johnston the morning he got here, before Rita showed up. He took her sightseeing in that little plane of his, and they ain't been out of the room since," José said.

  "Two days? That's a long time, even for a pig like him, José. You check his room? You sure he didn't slip by you?"

  "Tío Juan, it could not happen. I go now to check the room. Maybe I should just do him and Rita, get it over with, yes?"

  "Not until I tell you, José. Don't worry, you'll get to have your fun with Rodriguez, but not yet. Understand?"

  "Sí, Tío," José said, disconnecting the call.

  He decided that before he checked the room, he would call Carlos and Hector. They couldn't get into much trouble on Baliceaux, but he didn't trust them. He hit the speed dial number for Hector's phone and listened as the call went to voicemail. He probably forgot to charge the battery, José thought, as he straightened his clothing and ran his hands through his unkempt hair. He went into the men's room at one of the open-air bars and checked to make sure that he didn't look too disreputable to go into the hotel. He wet a comb and ran it through his hair. The two-day beard was a little scruffy, but he could pass for one of the yachties who wandered through town. They didn’t take much care with their appearance, either.

  He whistled as he walked into the hotel, nodding pleasantly at the people he passed. When he was outside Rodriguez's room, he looked around, checking to make sure he was alone. It was mid-morning, and most of the hotel's guests were out sightseeing. Satisfied that no one was watching, he pressed his ear to the door. After several seconds of silence, he tried the knob. The door was unlocked. He walked into the room to discover that not only were Rodriguez and the woman out, but that the room had been made up and looked unoccupied. He looked around for luggage, finding none. They were gone. He clenched his teeth, wondering how they got by him. Tío Juan would not be happy. He left the room, lost in thought as he walked back outside.

  He decided to call for his Cigarette boat and go to Mustique. Rodriguez had probably gone back there. Once he found Rodriguez, he could go to Baliceaux and check up on Carlos and Hector, too.

  ****

  Vengeance was just coming out of the wind shadow of St. Lucia's Pitons. Sharktooth had the helm; Dani and Phillip were making sail. It was late afternoon, and they were expecting to reach Marin, Martinique, before midnight. As the sails filled, Sharktooth shut down the engine, and Vengeance came to life.

  "It's magic, isn't it?" Dani asked, as she and Phillip joined Sharktooth in the cockpit.

  "Sailin'?" the big man asked, gold teeth glinting in a wide grin.

  "Yeah," Dani said.

  "Funny thing, the way a boat under power just never feels alive," Phillip said.

  "Tha's 'cause she not alive when she got engine goin'. Engine push she, not part of she. Sails, wind, they part of she. Tha's what I t'ink."

  The satellite phone rang as they were passing Rodney Bay, at the north end of St. Lucia.

  "Am I missing another glorious Caribbean sunset?" Paul asked, as Phillip switched the phone to speaker mode and put it on the cockpit seat.

  "Just about to happen, Paul," Dani said. "This looks to be one worth remembering, too. Clear horizon out there. We should get a nice green flash."

  "Wish I could be there, but somebody has to do the dirty work, I guess. I got some news on your boy Rodriguez."

  "Do tell," Phillip said. "What did you learn?"

  "I talked to his lady friend, although I think that's in the past. She's not too happy with him. Funny, but she thought they had more than just a business relationship. Anyway, she spent a night with him in Bequia, at a place called the Jacaranda House. As best I can put it together, she got ther
e the afternoon of the day your friend Liz was kidnapped. Rodriguez took her for a short joyride in his plane, and they spent the night in the room. He got a phone call just before lunch the next day that seemed to rattle him a bit. Right after the call, he sent this gal, Rita, to the spa for a massage, and when she came back to the room, he was gone. Packed up and left. Put a note on the pillow, with some money, which really set her off. She got mad all over again, just telling me about it."

  "Okay, that's interesting. It all fits, from a timing standpoint, but I'm not sure where it leads us," Phillip said.

  "Well, there's a little more. This wasn't her first trip to the islands with Rodriguez. She and her roommate had been down a couple of times before. One time, they spent a couple of weeks on his boat."

  "Ah," Dani said. "What about the boat?"

  "This gal is not a boater, Dani. She just knew it was big. Several 'bedrooms,' as she said, a small pool, a helicopter pad. That kind of big."

  "That narrows it down a little, but there are still a lot of big motor yachts down here," Phillip said.

  "Oh, we've got a name. The boat was called Maximo."

  "Oh," Phillip and Dani remarked, simultaneously, recognition on their faces. Phillip nodded to Dani to go ahead.

  "I know the boat. It's down here every season. Does luxury charters out of St. Martin and St. Barth's. Summers in the Med. He probably just chartered it for his party, but maybe one of the charter brokers would know more," she said. "Might be worth checking to see if she's under charter at the moment."

  "We're on it, Dani. I've got some of my old friends with the DEA checking on it. All we've learned so far is that Maximo is owned by a Delaware corporation and is flagged in the Marshall Islands, but by tomorrow, these guys will know everything there is to know about her."

  "How about her current location?" Phillip asked.

  "That, too, most likely. That's why I called my DEA buddies. They work with the Coasties and the NSA to keep track of all the yachts coming and going down there in the drug zone. It's not real time, but they'll figure out roughly where she is. I'll call as soon as I know."