"I see. Any idea where?"
"Be patient, Phillip, and let me finish."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry."
"Yes. That Sandrine will straighten you out. Let's see…"
Phillip waited, smiling.
"Yes, I have it. While they were following Isaac, one of the men took a phone call. He referred to the other party as 'Baas,' and he later referred to him as 'Ozzie,' when he was telling the other man about the call. They were to bring the girl to a boat called Yellow Hooker, at Blue Lagoon. Isaac said that a man named Simon was going to take them on Yellow Hooker to meet another boat, called Creole Belle, at some place north of Trinidad."
"That's very helpful, Mrs. Walker. Thank you very much."
"You're quite welcome, Phillip. Ah, Phillip…"
"Yes?"
"They didn't pay Isaac. Should I pay him?"
"Yes, please. I'll pay you back. Thank you again, Mrs. Walker."
"You're welcome, Phillip. No need to pay me. Phillip?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"When is the wedding? I need to make plans for somebody to mind the business, here."
Chapter 37
Steve Smith, the skipper of Creole Belle, was annoyed with his employer. He and his crew were tired, having spent last night cruising back and forth to the west of St. Vincent while Ozzie entertained a majority of the members of St. Vincent's parliament. He had then been ordered to make a direct run to Trinidad, where he was to have the vessel hauled for new antifouling paint on her bottom. He and the crew had been grumpy when they left, and the prospect of a 15- to 20-hour run to Trinidad didn't improve their attitude. Steve knew that Ozzie wanted him to make the run without stopping just to save money, which he thought was absurd, given the value of the boat and the cost to run her. The costs of a night or two in marinas and the clearance charges were insignificant, but Ozzie was cheap.
Now, to add to their troubles, Ozzie had ordered them to stop and wait for him. Creole Belle was west of Grenada when Steve got the message, and Ozzie had told him to run west until he was out of sight of land, and then turn back to the north, holding a northerly course at moderate speed until he met Yellow Hooker. He consoled himself with the thought that David and Timothy were with Ozzie, so he would at least have his full complement of crew again. Maybe if those two weren't too tired, he could get a little rest himself. He wondered where Ozzie was planning to go once he came aboard, but he could tell that his boss was not in a talkative mood, so he had not asked. It didn't really matter; Creole Belle had fuel enough for a transatlantic run, and the larder was nearly full.
****
Juan Camacho put his cigar out and picked up a pen, turning it in his hands as he collected his thoughts. His two most trusted lieutenants watched him, waiting patiently until he was through outlining the situation for them. They understood the implications of a conflict with Espinosa; he was a man that they saw often in the Miami area. The idea that a Frenchman, in faraway Paris, could be a threat was hard for them to grasp, but Camacho seemed more worried about him than about Espinosa.
"Berger is an arms dealer. He has access to all sorts of weapons, and the men who know how to use them," Camacho explained.
"Bah! Soldiers, Juan. Soldiers can't deal with our men; they are bound by rules."
"Trust me, Tomás. If Berger comes out after us, you'll think all of those Federal anti-drug, antiterrorist task forces are like the Girl Scouts. When I was younger, I saw what some of his people did. I don't think there's an army that could stand against them. He doesn't just sell weapons; he sells the know-how that makes them worth having. Two of his guys kept Castro's whole team at bay in Angola for days, and when it was over, they had disappeared without a trace. They wiped out three companies of his best, and nobody ever saw them. We do not want to tangle with him."
"So what are we supposed to do, Juan?" Tomás asked.
"I want that girl delivered unharmed to Mario Espinosa."
"Why can't we let Berger fight his own battle, if he's so strong?" the other man asked.
"Because, Lorenzo, Berger knows that Rodriguez was part of our organization. I must do this for him, to show good faith. He may destroy us, otherwise, just because Rodriguez once worked for us."
"So, give him Rodriguez, then. He's a worthless pig, anyway."
"It's too late for that." Camacho explained that Rodriguez, José, and Maximo had vanished. "Nothing left to show that they even existed except that EPIRB thing and an empty life raft."
"And you think Berger did this?" Lorenzo asked.
"What is it that you wish us to do, then, Juan?" Tomás interrupted, before Camacho answered Lorenzo.
"Send two of our best men and a fast boat to intercept Johnston. I understand he has the girl on his fishing boat, Yellow Hooker, heading south. His yacht, Creole Belle, left St. Vincent much earlier today, also southbound. Take the girl, and bring her to Miami. We'll drop her on Espinosa's doorstep."
"What about Johnston and his boat?" Lorenzo wanted to know.
"Scuttle both of the boats. Bring him here, to the warehouse. We'll see what he might have that could compensate us for the losses that he and Rodriguez have caused."
****
Phillip had been on the phone with his contact in the police department in St. Vincent again, asking for information on Yellow Hooker. While he was waiting for a call back, Dani had moved Midnight Thunder to a position that allowed them to maintain a radar watch on the boat traffic leaving the south end of the island. They were tracking several vessels that were moving in a southerly direction, but it was impossible to guess which one might be their quarry. There were too many to allow the simple expedient of a visual check; riding from one to the next in their odd-looking craft would attract far more attention than they could afford.
As Phillip studied the radar display, the satellite phone rang. He answered, listening intently for a minute.
"Thank you," he said, disconnecting the phone. He turned to his expectant audience. "Yellow Hooker is a 53-foot Hatteras sport fisherman. The hull is canary yellow, and the superstructure is white. She's gone from her normal mooring at Blue Lagoon, and there's no customs paperwork, so the assumption is she's out for a day or two of fishing around the Grenadines."
"I think we should run south and look for Creole Belle," Dani said. "Much easier target to find, and she's probably staying away from other traffic, somewhere between here and Trinidad."
"There's some merit to that thought," Phillip said. "I've been trying to figure out how we could stop Yellow Hooker in the middle of all this traffic without drawing attention."
****
The two men left Isla Margarita as soon as they got their orders from Tomás Oliva. At a bone-jarring 60 knots, they would make Grenada in a little over two hours. Once in Grenadian waters, they would alter their course to the north and begin looking for this yellow Hatteras sport fisherman. They welcomed the activity; they had been idle since someone hit Baliceaux a few weeks ago. They hoped that business would resume soon. Fishing was a rough way to feed their families, but with the drug traffic diverted to the west, it was all they had. They understood their instructions, but they were a bit worried about the prospect of boarding and taking over the larger boat in open water. People with no open-water experience had no concept of how wild the sea could be, even under benign weather conditions. Approaching within small arms range and sinking the other boat would be no problem. This was something that they had accomplished a number of times.
Bringing the two boats together long enough to accomplish a boarding without serious damage to their own fragile, high-speed vessel would be a different kind of challenge. Then, they were expected to transfer two prisoners to their own craft, run back to the south and destroy a large motor yacht, and then bring their prisoners to Miami. Camacho might be a genius at the drug trade, but he clearly didn't know much about the 40-foot ocean racers that transported his product in coastal waters.
They would need fuel before they could make Mia
mi, and that would be a problem with two prisoners aboard. Conferring with each other over the roar of the engines, they decided that they would trade their boat for the Hatteras. It wouldn't be as fast, but it should have the range to make Miami without refueling, and it would certainly be more comfortable. Once they delivered the two prisoners to Miami, they could take the Hatteras offshore and scuttle her in deep water. It would be easy enough to get another go-fast boat in Miami, and they could make a leisurely trip down through the islands to Isla Margarita. With no prisoners and no contraband, they could stop frequently for fuel and rest.
That settled, they began to search in earnest for their target. They had already spotted the Creole Belle, the motor yacht they were supposed to sink. They considered doing that first, but then reasoned that if they damaged their boat in the process, they wouldn't be able to accomplish their primary mission of capturing Johnston and this woman. Then they remembered that the crew of Creole Belle was expecting a rendezvous with the Hatteras, and their new plan made even more sense to them.
Chapter 38
Ozzie was at the helm of Yellow Hooker as they made their way south past the southern Grenadines. He was staying well to the west of the islands, out of the normal path of the yachts and inter-island freighters that traversed the area at all hours of the night and day. As he spotted the distinctive silhouette of Union Island several miles off his port bow, he realized that he might be within VHF radio range of Creole Belle. Picking up the microphone, he called several times, but he heard no answer. This didn't alarm him; he could always use the satellite phone.
"Here, Simon. Take the helm, would you?"
Simon stepped forward and nodded his head, placing his big, gnarled hands on the wheel as Ozzie stepped back.
"I'm going below for a while. Call me on the intercom if you spot Creole Belle." Ozzie climbed down the ladder from the flying bridge. Once below, he went forward to the crew's quarters and opened the door, peering at the girl. She was still trussed up and wedged into the lower berth with extra cushions. She was unharmed, but certainly cramped and uncomfortable. It served her right, he reasoned. If she had not tried to escape, she wouldn't be bound with duct tape.
He was thrown forward, striking the doorframe, as the droning engines were suddenly throttled back to idle speed. He was in pain; his collarbone felt broken from where it struck the edge of the doorframe.
"What's happening?" he yelled, as David and Timothy appeared in the corridor from the forward cabin, looking dazed.
Before either man answered, they heard the crack of a high-powered rifle. Seconds later, there was a resounding crash, and the three of them were thrown to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Ozzie roared in pain. David and Timothy were helping him to his feet when two men entered from the aft deck, one holding an automatic rifle, and the other with a pistol in hand.
"Mr. Johnston?" the man with the pistol asked, looking at Ozzie.
Ozzie nodded, and the rifle cracked twice, deafening in the closed space. David and Timothy dropped to the deck, lifeless. The man with the pistol nodded at the other man, who put his weapon down and produced a roll of duct tape. Ozzie's wrists were jerked roughly behind him and taped securely together as he cried out in pain from the broken collarbone. The man with the pistol motioned for him to climb up to the flying bridge. Ozzie complied with some difficulty as the other man steadied him from behind, one arm on either side of Ozzie as they climbed the ladder together. Once they emerged onto the flying bridge, the man casually kicked Ozzie's legs from beneath him, laughing as Ozzie crashed to the deck with howls of pain, unable to break his fall with his wrists bound behind his back. His loud complaints subsided to groans as the man administered several vicious kicks to his midsection.
"Shut up," the man barked, with one last kick for emphasis. His companion stepped to the helm and engaged forward gear, opening the throttles with a practiced hand while Ozzie wondered who they were. Could these be Berger's men? How had they found him?
****
Midnight Thunder was barely making steerageway. They had Creole Belle in sight, a tiny dot on the horizon. They had picked out the vessel on radar and carefully crept close enough for Phillip to use binoculars to confirm their target. Then they pulled back out of sight to consider their options.
"I think you and I and Sharktooth should board her. Paul can take Midnight Thunder back out of sight, and when Johnston comes aboard, we'll take him by surprise," Dani said.
"Well, that was my thought, too, but if they're in communication, Johnston might realize something's wrong and abort. Then we're stuck," Paul responded.
"We'd just get back on Midnight Thunder and go after the Hatteras," Dani said.
"Yeah, but we'd lose the element of surprise and…"
"Boat run straight fo' Creole Belle, 15 knots at 'bout 10 mile out," Sharktooth interrupted, eyes on the radar screen. "Mebbe Yellow Hooker."
"Good chance," Phillip said. "Timing's right and there's nobody else out here."
"So much for plans," Dani muttered. "What do you think, Phillip -- should we let them do the transfer, then hit Creole Belle?"
"Probably our best shot," Phillip agreed. "Let's just lay low and watch, for now."
They were interrupted as a call came over the VHF radio. "Creole Belle, Creole Belle, this is the Hooker on 16, over."
"Hooker, this is the Belle. That you, boss? Over."
"Yes, Steve. Hold your course and speed. We'll come up on your port quarter. Get the crew down on the platform to help us aboard. Copy? Over." The man's voice sounded strained.
"Copy that, boss. You okay? You don't sound so good. Over."
"Okay, Steve. This is Yellow Hooker, clear and standing by on 16."
"Okay," Phillip said. "We'll wait until they get done and the Hatteras is out of the area. We probably want to shadow them until dark, and then board. Sounds like they've got a swim platform of some sort at the stern."
"Targets run together," Sharktooth announced.
Before anyone could comment, there was an earsplitting explosion. They rushed up on deck in time to see a column of smoke rising from the sea in the direction of the two boats.
"What do you figure, Phillip? Some kind of light anti-tank weapon?" Paul asked.
"Hard to guess, but yeah, something like that," Phillip agreed, going below again to peer at the radar as a second explosion rocked them.
"One target, moving away in a northerly direction, 10 knots and accelerating. Nothing else around," Phillip announced. "Let's stay on him."
"Why he blow up he own boat, you t'ink?" Sharktooth mused.
"Covering his trail, maybe?" Dani offered.
****
Ozzie was huddled in a corner of the flying bridge, stunned at the way they had blown away Creole Belle. She was there one minute and gone the next, with just a few bits of flaming wreckage left behind.
"Look. You know who I am, right?" Ozzie asked.
The man at the helm turned and looked at him, an amused smile playing on his hard face. He nodded, raising his eyebrows to encourage Ozzie to continue.
"Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it," Ozzie said.
The man nodded.
Encouraged, Ozzie said, "Berger must be very powerful."
The man nodded.
"But these islands are my turf, not his, right?"
The man waved his compatriot to the helm and assumed a squatting position next to Ozzie. He took out the roll of duct tape and wrapped two turns around Ozzie's head, covering his mouth securely. Catching Ozzie's eye, the man smiled and nodded again.
****
Juan Camacho and Tomás Oliva were sitting on the patio beside the pool, watching the girl stretching in the sun like a cat.
"You like her, Tomás?"
Oliva smiled nervously, not sure how to respond. One never knew with Camacho. This could be a trap; his mind was racing to come up with a safe response. If he said no, Camacho might be offended. If he said yes, Camacho might think he ha
d designs on the girl. Either of those outcomes could be fatal. He decided a smile was the safest answer.
"She's yours, if your men bring us Johnston and the Berger woman."
Tomás's smile spread. The phone beside him rang, and he answered, speaking softly for a moment. Once he finished the call, he put the phone back on the table and turned to Camacho.
"Creole Belle is gone. They have Johnston and the woman, but there is a slight change in plans. Their boat was heavily damaged, so they are bringing Yellow Hooker to Miami, non-stop. It will take a couple of extra days, with the slower boat."
"That's all right. Well done. Take your girl, there, and leave me. I must work."
Camacho walked into his office and called the lawyer, Epstein.
****
Manuel Espinosa sat in the booth across the table from the other lawyer, who looked none too happy with the arrangement.
"I was expecting your father, Manny," Epstein said. "My message is for him alone."
"I understand, Sol. I'm sorry that he won't see you."
"I must see him. I can't give the message to you. My client was explicit in his instructions."
"So what will Sr. Camacho do to you if you fail?"
"I never said he was my client."
"I don't blame you. I wouldn't represent him, either. It's a good way to get killed. I'm still sorry you'll have to disappoint him, even if he's not your client."
Epstein squirmed in his seat. "Will you pass the message on? To your father and no one else?"
"Of course, Sol."
"Your father should tell his friend Mr. Berger that there will be no more ransom demands. Whatever money he has paid will be returned to him within a few days. His daughter will be released into your father's care, probably the day after tomorrow. It is hoped that your father will understand that this regrettable incident was the result of one deranged employee, and all of those involved have been dealt with in a suitable manner."
Bluewater Vengeance: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 2) Page 21