Gardens of the Queen

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Gardens of the Queen Page 14

by Nicholas Harvey


  After each diver had sampled the chamber, AJ finished the tour, backtracking again to meet the other two divers at the stern. A big boom extended the length of the stern and schools of jacks cruised just above in the open water, circling the wreck like a horde of watchdogs. The group moved shallower and returned towards the bow over the upper deck and pilot house where AJ led them through for a turn at the large wheel still mounted in the middle of the room. From there they exited on the upper side of the listing ship at around thirty feet and headed across the open water to the reef in time to spot a hawksbill turtle cruising over the coral head and dropping down the other side into the depths of Sand Chute.

  As AJ hung with her group at fifteen feet for their safety stop, allowing their bodies to dissipate excess nitrogen they’d built up over the dive, she admired the great ship before her. Always a breathtaking view. The moorings were now alive with boats and divers descended from all directions; AJ was glad they’d hustled to miss the rush on the popular site.

  It was hard to believe two days before she’d been inside the wreck of a seaplane in the midst of a storm and now the wreck of an historic navy vessel on a perfect blue sky day. Thoughts of the Cessna brought her back to the men at the dock. Paranoid or not, she knew the safest thing would be to move the fugitives and the hard drive.

  Chapter 42

  The north side had lain down calm enough to move the police boats outside the reef and moor to the dive buoy on Pinnacle Reef, close to the crash site. Floating next to them was a large flat barge with a crane mounted on one end of the deck and a small wheelhouse at the other end. Roy Whittaker sipped on a coffee and watched his two divers prepare their gear.

  “What do you think we can strap to on the wreck, fellas?” he asked casually.

  Reg looked up from mounting the first tank of the day to his BCD. “All the weight is up front where the motor is so I’m thinking a strap around the nose, forward of the windshield, and one behind the doors. What do you think, George? Should pull her up pretty square?”

  George nodded. “I reckon. The roof is mostly torn away where the wing ripped off so we can’t strap around there.”

  Roy sipped some more coffee and took his time. “Alright, I’m sure you two will figure out what’s best.”

  Reg rubbed some anti-fog in his mask and dipped it in the ocean to wash it out. He could sense Roy was playing with small talk but had something more on his mind.

  The detective looked out over the water where the wreck of the plane still lay on the bottom. “You know what’s a bit odd to me?”

  Here we go, thought Reg. He hated misleading Whittaker. They were friends, but he also knew the man was sharp and very perceptive; he couldn’t pull the wool over his eyes for long.

  “What’s really odd is we haven’t found anything personal yet.” Another thoughtful sip of coffee. “If you were stealing a plane and flying to another country wouldn’t you throw in a spare pair of underwear and maybe a shirt or two?”

  He glanced back and forth between the two divers. “I mean, he had to know there was only one way he was going back home to Cuba and that would be in handcuffs, right?”

  Reg and George knew the questions were rhetorical and let him keep going on his train of thought.

  “If you were leaving your homeland forever wouldn’t you take something with you? A family picture, your favourite baseball hat, some toiletries, something, right?”

  Reg nodded slowly. “I guess. Maybe he was in a big hurry.” Pangs of guilt ran through him for surreptitiously pulling the watch out but overpowering that was the knowledge Whittaker was on the right path. Reg wasn’t worried about Carlos being confirmed – they all knew he was the pilot – but in theory no one yet knew Sydney had been on the plane.

  “Could be, Reg, could be,” Roy countered. “Just keep an eye out for me down there, be nice to confirm the ID of the pilot. Right now we only have the word of the Cubans that Rojas is our man; I’d like to corroborate that with some evidence.”

  “We can do another sweep once we hook up the fuselage,” George offered as the two divers moved to the stern, ready to splash in.

  Roy nodded. “Sure, that would be good. As I say, just keep an eye out for me.”

  The mooring pin was at forty feet and using a compass heading the two men made quick work of the 200-yard underwater swim to the wreck, lying exactly where they’d left it the day before in shallower water. With the seas calmed, the pieces of the plane now rested serenely in their new undersea world with plenty of curious critters and fish moving in, sizing up the new housing opportunity. Each man brought a large rolled-up nylon ratchet strap and they quickly began wrapping them around the fuselage as best they could. Once they were tightened around the beaten aluminium fuselage, fore and aft of the cockpit, Reg eased up to the surface and waved the barge over.

  The sixty-five-foot vessel, usually used for moving containers around in the harbour, slowly chugged over. One man operated the crane while another ran the barge and they communicated back and forth by radio. Reg hoped they were good at doing that as he was a speck bobbing in the water and the wrong signal would have him run over by thousands of tons of steel. The barge came to a stop twenty feet from Reg and the crane operator swung the boom around off the bow and lowered the cable. Hung from the main clasp were two short steel cables with large hooks on the ends and Reg let the heavy lines drop past him and watched them lower towards George and the seaplane. George signalled when they were near to him, which Reg relayed to the crane operator, who then halted the powerful winch.

  Reg dropped back down to join George and the two divers manhandled the bulky hooks around each strap. Slowly returning the twenty-five feet to the surface Reg signalled for the crane operator to start winching. With regulator in mouth Reg looked down at George, who continued to signal, indicating when the slack was taken. With his hand clear of the water Reg passed the signals to the boom man. When the tension came on the lines the winch motor strained noticeably and the barge’s bow dipped slightly in the water. The barge was used for moving shipping containers so it had plenty of muscle for this operation. The plane wasn’t that heavy but the weight of the water was immense and the key was to move slowly or the straps would break or rip the plane apart. George eased back a bit as the cables quivered under the strain and the plane moved off the sea floor and swung away from the coral head a few inches. Painfully slowly the winch eased the wreck through the water, Reg keeping his eye on it the whole time, with a thumbs-up to the crane operator to keep winching. George followed the fuselage up, staying about six feet back in case something gave way, watching the straps and cables for signs of trouble.

  Reg poked his head out of the water and gave the operator a nod and okay sign, letting him know it was going well and to keep that pace. When he ducked his mask back under George was gone. A stream of regulator bubbles slithered around the fuselage and a fin swooshing in the water revealed George was below the plane where it had been lying on the bottom. Reg was about to signal for the crane to halt when George reappeared, swimming back up level with the rising wreckage. He excitedly gave Reg an okay signal and held up a black rucksack. The bag had obviously been thrown from the cockpit and trapped under the wreck. Reg signalled back okay. But it was not okay – he had a good idea what they’d find in that bag.

  Chapter 43

  The last of the customers splashed in and, after flashing a big grin at AJ, Thomas took a giant stride off the swim step and followed them down. AJ dropped the weighted regulator on a long hose off the side which would hang at fifteen feet in case anyone was low on air for their safety stop. She then fussed about and tidied up around the boat. They were moored on Royal Palm Ledge and at a depth of forty feet the divers would spend a solid hour enjoying the reef and the large overhanging coral.

  Satisfied all was in order on deck, AJ scaled the ladder to the fly bridge and scanned the view to her south towards George Town harbour. Despite the longer run from the Kittiwake to Royal Palm L
edge, passing many great shallow dive sites along the way, she’d offered the group their second dive here as an excuse to get another look at the Cuban boat. It was a great dive site so the sacrifice was hers in extra burned fuel. She wasn’t sure what she could learn by staring at the moored trawler but like a Christmas present under the tree she couldn’t help but look. She was retrieving her binoculars from under the console when her phone buzzed, indicating she had a text.

  It was Reg: ‘Found a bag, guessing it’s their clothes, not good.’

  AJ swore to herself. This whole thing felt like they were trying to hold water in their hands – whatever they did it poured out. All they needed was a little time for Jackson to get Sea Sentry here and prepared but everything and everyone around them seemed to have a different agenda. They were stuck in the middle between the good guys and the bad guys and both were closing in. She lifted the glasses and focused on the Cuban boat. All appeared still and quiet aboard, no movement. She slowly moved from bow to stern along the railing, studying the layout, looking for something. What was she looking for? AJ shook her head, setting the binoculars down. She’d felt a nagging urgency to get here to see the boat but had no idea why when she really thought about it. What did she expect to see? Bad guys with big guns patrolling the decks? More than anything she sensed a lack of control; maybe looking at the trawler made her feel like she was doing something rather than waiting for pieces to fall in place. Waiting was not her forte. What she wanted to do was march over to Whittaker with Carlos and Sydney in tow and lay out the whole story so he could protect them both and send the Cubans and their Russian muscle packing. But she knew it wasn’t that simple and the detective had rules he had to follow which meant everything would be pushed through red tape, which took time. Meanwhile the explosives would be set on Monday and nothing would stop them blasting the reef to pieces. No, they had to push on and hope to hell Jackson could convince his people to make a big enough splash in the world media that the fuses wouldn’t be lit.

  She lifted the glasses back up and scanned again, this time a little higher, looking at the cabin and wheelhouse structure. Standing out the back of the wheelhouse on some metal stairs running to the stern deck was a man. He also had binoculars, and he was looking directly at AJ.

  Chapter 44

  Pavlo took a long draw on his cigarette and held the breath in his lungs while he kept the binoculars steady on the dive boat. The girl on the bridge was slender and shapely with a great tan, but he wasn’t sure about the tattoos. He wasn’t used to tans or tattoos on the women in Russia, or the whores he occasionally frequented in Cuba. She looked pretty good from here so maybe he liked the edgy, rebellious look and hadn’t known it until now? He blew the smoke out of his nose and played with the focus, wishing the glasses were stronger so he could see her more clearly. From downstairs in the dining area he heard his computer ding an alert. Grumbling, he reluctantly ducked back inside handing Silvio his binoculars back before heading down the steps from the wheelhouse to the main deck. Silvio took the glasses and watched the Russian hustle down to check on whatever they were monitoring or watching with all their fancy computer gear.

  Silvio stepped outside and tried to figure out what Pavlo had been interested in. He trained the lenses on the closest stationary boat, maybe a half a mile or more north. It struck him as odd that the girl on the boat was also looking at him.

  Chapter 45

  Roy Whittaker looked across the water at the flat barge a hundred yards away. On its deck lay the forlorn-looking fuselage of the Cessna seaplane and its crumpled wing section, buckled in the middle. At the stern of the police boat the divers were preparing to get back in the water to retrieve the pontoons. On the bench before Roy lay a sodden wet rucksack.

  “It was right under the plane itself, just lying there,” George gushed, pleased to provide his boss something to work with. “As soon as we lifted the plane up, there it was.”

  Reg continued getting ready, hoping by some miracle the bag didn’t reveal anything useful.

  “Well, let’s see what’s in this thing,” Roy slipped on a pair of pale blue nitrile gloves to examine the evidence and started by unzipping the main compartment. Water poured out and the detective was careful not to let any contents spill with it. Clothes were stuffed inside and he removed them as one soaking wad and flopped them on the bench. Both divers had now turned to watch the process, fascinated for different reasons, forgetting about the pontoons for the moment.

  Roy pulled the garments apart from each other. A pair of blue jeans, a grey tee shirt, a pair of shorts, socks, more socks, boxer shorts which Roy held up to the divers with a slight smile.

  “No man travels without spare underwear.”

  Another tee shirt, another pair of jeans and a beige brassiere… Roy held the bra in front of him and couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.

  “That’s a new twist,” he mumbled to himself.

  Roy placed the bra down and separated the last two garments, a pair of women’s panties and a lightweight windbreaker.

  Reg tried to suppress any outward reaction but inside his stomach turned. He knew Roy was like a bloodhound once he had a lead and moments for Reg to come clean about what he knew were stacking like bricks about to topple over.

  “There was someone else on board the plane,” George finally voiced the obvious conclusion.

  Roy smiled. “Or this young man liked to wear women’s clothes. Or he was bringing clothes to a friend. But, yes, most likely I’d say there were two people on that plane.” He looked over at the battered fuselage. “Two people, it is appearing more and more likely, who survived this crash.”

  Reg stayed silent; as much as his conscience screamed, he hung on to the chance nothing left in that bag would actually identify the female passenger. Roy unzipped the second compartment at the front of the rucksack to a cascade of more salty water. Reaching his gloved hand inside he retrieved a thin brown wallet which he opened to show a Cuban driver’s licence and a handful of currency. The licence bore the name Carlos Miguel Rojas.

  “Positive ID on our pilot, Mr. Rojas,” Roy relayed, “and the money is Cuban pesos.” He held up a bank note. “Local money, not CUC, the tourist money they use in Cuba.”

  Setting the wallet aside he peered in the compartment again and pulled out two more items, which he examined. He set down a blue Cuban passport belonging to Carlos Rojas and opened the second similarly blue-jacketed passport. Reg could see the cover sported the coat of arms of the United Kingdom, but below were the words ‘Cayman Islands’, identifying the owner as a British Overseas Territories citizen.

  “Regina Sydney Bodden,” Roy read aloud. “Well I’ll be damned.”

  Roy stared dumbstruck at Reg. “Isn’t that Thomas Bodden’s sister? The lad that works with AJ?”

  Reg nodded reluctantly, “I believe you’re right Roy, uses her middle name Sydney, goes to school in Miami if I’m not mistaken.”

  “What on earth would that young lady be doing on a stolen seaplane from Cuba?” Roy mused.

  Reg struggled to think of a further diversion. “Maybe this Rojas kid stole the girl’s rucksack? Would explain her stuff in there.”

  Roy pondered a moment. “Still doesn’t explain what she would be doing in Cuba to give him the chance to steal her bag. Well, I guess I’ll call young Thomas and ask him if he’s seen his sister lately, perhaps he can shed some light on this. Do you have Thomas’s number, Reg?”

  While Reg retrieved his mobile from his gear bag to get the number, Roy tapped the passport on his other hand, deep in thought.

  “The Cubans didn’t mention a word about anyone else on that plane,” he pondered. “Means either they didn’t know, or they’re hiding the fact. Funny how they didn’t mention the plane was even missing until we found it, yet they had a boat and an unfriendly Russian representative already in our harbour.”

  He put his hands on his hips and nodded wistfully. “This keeps getting more interesting. Sure seems lik
e the Cubans and their Russian fellow are keen to keep something covered up. Can’t say I approve of that when they bring their problems to our little island.”

  Chapter 46

  AJ glided the Newton alongside the dock in West Bay and Thomas skipped onto the pier and tied her to the cleats. Their boatful of happy divers began passing their gear to Thomas and making their way up the dock, ready for some lunch after two great dives. AJ cut the motor and slid down the ladder to help folks as they left and to stow the gear for those returning tomorrow. Thomas caught her eye and nodded towards the public dock next door. Another dive operation’s boat was just docking and there on the deck was Billy, the Australian kid. He was dropping bumpers over the side and getting the lines ready but they could also tell he was looking around the car park nervously.

 

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