As he burst into the room, he registered a large black man standing behind a tripod-mounted video camera, which was aimed at the bed. A large, naked Hispanic man was tied to the bed, spread-eagled helplessly. A smaller, fully clothed Hispanic man was standing over him with a straight razor, making threatening gestures.
In the half-second that Phillip registered all of this, the men went silent. The man at the camera turned, reaching for the pistol in his waistband. Phillip heard Dani's pistol cough at the same moment he felt his own pistol recoil. The little man with the razor was still turning toward them to see what was happening when Sharktooth burst through the other door and shot him in the back, stepping forward without breaking stride to put two rounds into his head as he sunk to the floor.
"Muchas gracias," the big man on the bed said, his relief obvious. "Who sent you?"
Dani stepped up to the bedside. His relief turned to surprise, and then to shock.
"You!" he said.
She reached down and took the razor from the dead man's hand, tucking her pistol away.
"But, I thought Ozzie…"
"Yes," she said, "You thought Ozzie what?"
Rodriguez shook his head.
Dani took the razor and drew the corner of the blade gently, carefully down the side of his face, watching as just the outer layers of skin parted, not quite drawing blood. The big man screamed as if she had cut him.
"Tell us where you have the girl," she said, speaking softly.
"You'll kill me anyway."
"Yes, I most certainly will do that."
"Then the girl will die." His mind was racing. Obviously, they had kidnapped the wrong girl. This was the one he had been holding at Baliceaux; there was no doubt. Her hair had not yet covered the scar on her head.
"But you'll die first, and that could take a long time if you don't cooperate. Is she aboard Maximo?"
"No," he said, watching her hand with the razor approach his face again.
"Be very, very still," she said, as she put the end of the blade into the corner of his right eye, resting the blunt end against his nose and carefully lowering the back edge of the blade until it was in contact with his eyelid, steadying it with both hands.
"You know, most people blink when they lie," she said. "How about you? You blink when you lie?"
He didn't say anything. She increased the pressure slightly, causing the sharp corner of the blade to nick the skin of his nose. She watched the blood from the nick pool in the corner of his eye.
"Answer me," she said, in a soft, almost soothing voice.
"She's not here."
She drew the razor across, grimacing theatrically as he screamed. He was convinced that she had sliced his eyelid as he felt the cold steel drawn lightly across the sensitive skin, lubricated by his blood.
"Sorry," she said. "I was in an awkward position. I'll try to be more careful, and you try to be more responsive, okay?"
She took a corner of the sheet and gently cleaned the blood from around his eye. She put the cutting edge of the razor against the lower edge of his right nostril.
"I want to know where she is, not where she isn't. You understand?"
"Yes," he moaned. "I understand, but I don't know where she is. I had planned to have her brought here, but Johnston double-crossed me. Our plan had been to keep her at his cane field, in one of the old cabins there. I had planned to bring her here. My men who were supposed to pick her up never returned, so I honestly don't know where he took her. Believe me. I would tell you if I knew."
She put the razor down carefully. "Good boy. I believe you," she said, with a soothing touch to his cheek from her left hand.
He closed his eyes and sighed with relief, never seeing the muzzle of her pistol hovering over the bridge of his nose. His last thought was that he hoped she found that double-crossing bastard, Ozzie, and took the razor to him.
Chapter 29
Midnight Thunder was drifting, about a kilometer from Maximo. The moon was nearly full, bathing the sea with a silvery light reminiscent of nighttime scenes in old black-and-white movies. Maximo was still brightly lighted, and they could just hear the hum of her generator. Phillip pressed the remote actuator for the explosive charge that he had placed in Maximo's hull. He had put the charge near one of the shaft logs, well below the waterline, expecting that it would blow a large hole in the bottom, while the tamping effect of the seawater reflected much of the force in a vertical direction. They felt the impact through the soles of their feet as they heard a dull thump. The big motor yacht appeared to crack into two pieces about a third of the way forward from the stern, and smoke belched from the break in the upper decks as she settled with surprising speed. The lights went out, and she disappeared from view.
"Martinique, or St. Vincent?" Dani asked as Phillip started the two big diesels.
"I'm thinking Martinique, Dani," Phillip said. "We can't leave Midnight Thunder just anywhere. Taking her to St. Vincent in the daylight would be like landing a space ship in Times Square. We'd never get rid of the crowd, and customs would be all over her."
"Yeah. Think Clarence can fly us down? We could do a flyover and check out the cane field, and then come back in stealth mode after dark," Dani said.
"He's on standby. No need to wake him up; we'll just call him once we stash Midnight Thunder." Phillip opened the throttles and the big, featherweight boat began skipping across the waves, seeming to fly as much as float. The roar of the open exhausts on the big turbocharged diesels precluded further conversation as they raced to get home before daylight.
****
Liz awakened from a restless sleep as she sensed a change in the motion of the boat. The hum of the idling engines rose to a soft rumble as the stern of the boat settled. They're accelerating, she thought, wondering what time of night it was, and why they were moving. She peered from the porthole, but all she could see was the moonlit seascape. They were moving quickly. It was hard for her to guess how fast they were going, but it was faster than Vengeance at her best.
She decided to call it 15 knots, and, wide-awake now, she began counting off the seconds, raising a finger every time she passed sixty. Based on her ride in the speedboat after she was captured, she had reasoned that the vessel upon which she was being held was no more than 30 or 40 miles from where she had been abducted. That meant they were most likely still in the waters of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. As she counted the seconds, she tried to recall an image of the navigation charts.
She looked through the porthole as she kept up her count, searching for a clue as to direction, but she wasn't familiar enough with the night sky in this part of the world to hazard a guess. She would have to assume that her circle of position, centered on Bequia, was increasing in diameter. She had just raised her tenth finger when the boat slowed and stopped. They had only moved two or three miles, then.
She heard the rattle of anchor chain being deployed, and the boat moved gradually backward as the helmsman set the anchor. As they swung, she saw the silhouette of a point of rocky land, so they were near shore. The big engines shut down, leaving only the subdued murmur of a generator, and she realized that the deck beneath her feet was steadier than it had been before they moved. She concluded that they were in a protected anchorage, still within 30 or so miles of Bequia.
She was startled by the sound of the bolt on the door to her cell being drawn, and then the door swung open. Her two captors, masked as usual, entered the stateroom. One held a pistol, and the other came forward, a dark looking cloth bag in his hands.
"We're taking you ashore," the one with the pistol said, as his companion dropped the bag over her head, cutting off the view. "Sorry, but we need to bind your wrists. Be a good girl, and hold your arms straight out in front, hands together."
Liz complied. She felt and heard a plastic cable tie zip into place, pulling her wrist together tightly.
"Okay. Good. We're going to walk you to the tender now."
She felt a firm grip around
her right elbow, and a hand on her shoulder, guiding her, as the two men walked her down a corridor. She felt her left shoulder brush the bulkhead occasionally.
"Step down coming," her guide announced after 10 paces. He slowed, allowing her to step out, feeling her way down a single step. She became aware of fresh air, and felt raw, smoothly sanded teak decking under her bare feet, registering for the first time that she had lost her shoes.
"My shoes?" she asked.
"No shoes when they brought you here. Let's go. Into the tender with you."
She felt strong arms sweep her off her feet and swing her out, setting her roughly on the outer tube of what must be a large rigid inflatable tender. She felt the boat shift as the two men came aboard. One helped her to an upholstered seat, and she heard the sound of an electric-start outboard being cranked. After the second try, the engine coughed to life. The boat moved at just above idle speed for a couple of minutes, and then stopped abruptly, bumping against what she assumed was a dock.
She heard the men securing dock lines, and then one climbed onto the dock. The other pulled her to her feet and walked her a few steps, stopping as the first man said, "Reach your arms out. I'll take your hand, and then you climb up onto the dock."
The two men walked her down the dock, and she felt the rough planking give way to a mix of sand and finely crushed shell. After a short walk, they stopped.
"Okay. This is home. Sorry the accommodations aren't as nice as aboard, but the food will be just as good. Don't think you'll be here too long. Same drill as before. I'll cut your hands free, and when you hear the door slam, you can take off the hood. I'll shoot you in the foot if you try anything, and there're no pain pills here. Got it?"
Liz nodded, forgetting the hood. One of the men prodded her.
"Was that a yes?"
"Yes, sorry."
She felt him grab her left arm just above the wrist, and then felt two tugs as he cut the ties. She was pushed forward, stumbled a few steps, and heard the door slam.
"All right. Make yourself comfortable. Breakfast will be along shortly. Watch for the spiders. They're not poisonous, but the big ones have a painful bite."
Liz took the hood off, aware of a musty odor as her eyes adjusted to the gray light of dawn filtering through a small window up high. As she made a quick assessment of her surroundings, she saw that she was in a one-room efficiency apartment, with a loft for sleeping up under exposed rafters. Looking up, she saw that the window was more of a skylight, up near the peak of the roof. The ground-level windows had been boarded up with heavy plywood from outside. The furniture was in rough shape; the musty smell emanated from the moldy, decaying sofa. The underside of the roof between the rafters was water-stained, obviously from leaks over a long period. She shuddered at the thought of what the bed in the loft would be like, assuming there was a bed there. Looking at the couch, she thought about sleeping on the floor if she had to pass the night here.
She walked around, taking in more detail, and realized that the space was being used for storage. There were all kinds of odd things propped in corners and against walls in a random, haphazard fashion. She noted the mast for a small sailing dinghy, the sail furled around it, propped next to a slalom ski and a cooler. There were roll-around racks of clothing on hangers -- all sorts of clothing. She found three cocktail dresses hanging next to a man's dinner jacket, all rotten.
In one corner, she found a toolbox, which caught her interest, but her exploration was interrupted when the two masked men delivered a steaming breakfast tray. As usual, one held her at gunpoint, while the other set the tray on the filthy, cluttered counter of the eat-in kitchen. She tucked in with a voracious appetite, thinking about Dani and her "food is fuel," attitude. She needed to keep her strength up. There was no telling what she might find in that toolbox. Her hopes of escape were much higher, now that she was ashore. Maybe she would discover some shoes among all of the clothing. Although her feet were callused from going without shoes on deck, the thought of running barefoot through the typical island undergrowth sounded painful.
Chapter 30
The helicopter was flying a broad pattern, sweeping over much of the island of St. Vincent, obviously carrying well-to-do tourists. This wasn't an everyday occurrence, but it was far from remarkable, so no one except small boys gave the machine more than a casual glance. The pilot would periodically circle and hover, obviously pointing out some sight of interest to his passengers. After a minute or so, he would resume his crisscross pattern of flight.
This was a novel experience for Sharktooth; he had flown in helicopters, but only when his work required it. He had never had occasion to enjoy the view from aloft before, as he had always been focused on some mission involving violence. Today, he was enjoying himself as Clarence zoomed around the island. Sharktooth had come prepared with a bucket of fried chicken, which he had generously offered to share, but no one else was hungry.
"Okay, everybody, heads up!" Clarence announced over the intercom. "We're approaching the GPS coordinates of Johnston's plantation house. You can see the sugarcane fields ahead and a little to our right. How much time do you want me to spend over the target?"
Phillip keyed the push to talk switch on his headset. "The Chief Super said that the house is of historical interest; some of the bus tours for the cruise ship crowd even go there. We can probably get away with a couple of minutes hovering, if we make it look like it's the house itself we're looking at, but I think you should find something else to show us before we get too close. Hover over something close by long enough for us to sweep the area with binoculars. We need to spot the cabin, or cabins, that Rodriguez mentioned. Once we pick 'em out, then we can go hover near the house for a couple of minutes and get a closer look."
"You got it, Phillip. I'll hold us over that little village just ahead for a couple of minutes while you spot the cabins. You let me know when you're oriented, and I'll take us in close to Johnston's house."
****
Ozzie was on the phone with "his" senator, as he referred to the man. He was Ozzie's elected representative, but he was also Ozzie's most highly paid employee.
"Yes, Senator, Creole Belle is already at anchor in the cove, waiting. The chef is getting the food ready, and the girls should be arriving any time now. You round up your fellow legislators and bring them out as soon as you can. We should get underway around 4:30 or 4:45, so we can have a nice sunset cruise. We'll stay out until the party winds down, and drop everybody in Wallilabou in the early morning. Remember, stay away from those girls. I need you to be clean -- we'll have the whole evening on video, so those rascals will all vote just the way we want. There will be plenty of girls for you later. Okay?"
After a few more minutes of conversation related to pending legislation, Ozzie hung up the phone. He heard the helicopter in the distance and stood to look out the window. He watched as it flew within a few hundred yards of his house and hovered for a moment. He could just read the lettering, 'Island Tours by Air,' before the machine resumed its flight. He cleared his desk, putting all of his papers neatly into the file drawer and turning the key in the lock on the center drawer. Checking his watch, he decided that he had time for a quick shower and a shave before he left to go to the yacht.
As he showered, he thought about the kidnapping. The damned Frenchman was delaying him. At first, he couldn't see any harm in waiting another two days, but now he wasn't so sure. Berger had whined that he was having trouble raising $10 million in cash, but he had offered to transfer $2 million as evidence of good faith. Ozzie had agreed. He consoled himself with the thought that if the man didn't come through with the balance in two more days, he could get a good price for the girl.
The captain of his yacht had said that she was a real looker, and he was having a little trouble ensuring the good behavior of the two crewmen who were holding her. Ozzie was toying with the idea of letting them have their way with her and capturing it on video. He could post it on an anonymous file sharing sit
e and send her father a link to it -- give the old man a little incentive to make the payment. Yes, he liked that idea. He would do that.
****
After their reconnaissance, Clarence had flown to Canouan, explaining that the little island would be a good place to pass the rest of the afternoon. Since they were still in the country of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, there were no customs issues, and the airport was usually idle. One of the big bareboat charter operations had recently moved their base from Canouan, so the airport had little traffic these days. The whole island was a sleepy place, even for the Caribbean, and it was far enough from their target area so that they weren't worried about any of Johnston's spies reporting the presence of a strange helicopter.
They made themselves at home in the empty cocktail lounge and compared notes on what they had observed at the sugarcane plantation. There were several outbuildings that might be referred to as cabins, but only one showed signs of recent use, and it was the one closest to the water. The overland approach to it had been recently cleared and showed tire tracks, and all of the windows had been boarded up with plywood.
"The plywood could just be from the last hurricane season," Paul offered.
"Could be, but the plywood looked a lot less weathered than the rest of the building. I think they boarded those windows up recently," Phillip said.
"Why they close up for hurricane, when the house gon' fall down soon? Mus' be to keep she in. Plywood cos' mo' than the house," Sharktooth observed, pulling the last piece of fried chicken from the bucket, a morose look on his face.
Bluewater Vengeance: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 2) Page 17