Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Your friend, the president, must be apocalyptic by now, eh, Florian?”

  “You mean apoplectic. I'm certain the events upset him, but it seems the water project is still moving ahead.”

  “They got most of your ship out of the way though, so we can start bringin' more stuff in soon.” He looked at Joetta and said, “I hope.”

  “Oh Jeffy, it'll be just fine. And when it is, you'll be gone again. I'll miss you so much.” She kissed his cheek. Looking at Brie, she said, “What shall we do while the boys are havin' their little powwow?”

  “I brought some sales reports, and I have financials to look over for an expansion next year. So I'll find a way to keep busy.”

  Not expecting that answer, Lucas Weiss asked about her business. She had prepared for the sullen man with dramatic personal wealth, driven by the profits from his insurance company and invested with cool brilliance across the business world. By repute, he had a nose for sniffing out winners, so she spoke about her private-label cosmetics and high-end market, as well as the planned expansion into upscale designer clothing for both women and men. “I specialize in addictions of the rich,” she quipped.

  “Is your financing arranged?” His blunt approach surprised Florian, but Gabrielle had studied each of the new Caballeros, and Weiss never wasted words with his conversation.

  “At this point, it isn't. I'm considering a number of options.”

  “We'll talk, maybe tomorrow.”

  “That'll make our host happy. See, networkin' already.”

  While Florian and Brie and the other two ate light, Hammersley had ordered a steak with baked potato, sour cream and a side of bacon, crispy and crumbled. “None of those bacon bits for me. Only the real thing.”

  While Hammersley yammered, Florian nibbled and flashed looks at Weiss, who ignored the chatter, but his eyes signaled they should talk. When the waiter asked if he could get them anything more, Florian said that his evening had come to an end.

  “You can't go yet, Florian. The night is young. Besides we might ought to talk about what the trip's all about.”

  “Jeff, we'll find out soon enough. If you will excuse us, it's been a very long day for me.”

  “How about one for the road. Waiter, I'll have another, and another one of these pink things for the young lady. Lucas, how 'bout you?”

  “No, not tonight, thank you, Jeff.”

  * * *

  “ARE YOU ALONE here?” Brie asked. He stood straight when the question hit. “I can be straight-forward too, Mr. Weiss.”

  “Yes, I'm by myself. I don't like this set up. Anything they need to say can be done in a meeting in a couple of hours.”

  “Lucas, I am as much in the dark as you,” said Declercq. “If we have reason to worry, we'll find out soon. But you must calm down. There will be no help for us once we're at sea. Besides, you might enjoy yourself.”

  The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Florian and Brie stepped out. Declercq said they would be at breakfast at seven thirty and raised a hand as the doors closed.

  “My God, that man is intense,” Florian said. “I wish he'd stayed home. I'm nervous enough.”

  “Florian, come sit on my balcony.”

  * * *

  EARLY MORNING sun twinkled over the calm waters of the harbor. Florian made a point of rising early and not disturbing his bed. The signs of his presence could only be found in his bathroom. He left all other evidence in the room adjoining. That attempts to watch them would be made was clear, so he and Brie had spent the night together, acting like a couple for possible eavesdroppers.

  By seven-fifteen, they were seated on the restaurant's terrace, coffee poured and breakfast on the way. Over the rim of his next sip, Florian saw a familiar group coming toward them.

  “We have company,” he said in his softest voice. But until they were required to be hospitable, he stayed put. All their weekend companions were hotel guests, and all but Weiss accompanied by partners. Brie had suggested a table for two, but again, tables were pulled together, introductions made and the wait staff put through their paces. Conspicuously absent, Jeff Hammersley had shouted from the terrace outside his room and asked someone to order a Bloody Mary for him.

  Florian took the head seat, which placed him farthest from everyone, but the others accepted his choice as their leader. On his right, Grace Bellwood was polite, and embarrassed that her companion was younger. John Travers, the member of Parliament and a woman who could have been his granddaughter were at the far end.

  “Florian, did you fly in yesterday?” Travers asked.

  “I did. Long trip. And you, John?”

  “Late flight from Washington. We're buying two hotels and I wanted to check them out. I have been in the colonies all week.”

  “It's rather a coincidence that we're all here. Anyone staying elsewhere?” asked Malcolm Dewhurst. “No one. Strange.”

  “We better hurry or we'll be late,” said Bellwood. “We'll have plenty of time to talk.” They placed a quick breakfast order, and quiet ensued until the last to arrive raised the noise level. Jeff Hammersley, pulling Joetta, shouted hello as he walked onto the patio. Brie put her hand on Florian's leg.

  “Good morning, good morning, hello everyone. This here's Joetta. You'll all meet her more later. Now where's my hair of the dog?” Rather than quiet conversation, they spent the next half hour learning about Hammersley's trip, his room, and his headache.

  Crowded elevators took them to get their weekend gear, and a crowded lobby of waiting Caballeros greeted Florian and Brie. At nine o'clock, a small bus parked at the door, and a young man in white jeans and a tee-shirt advertising a bar in Cancun hopped off.

  “Hi. I'm Joe. I'm taking you all to the boat. Is everyone here?” He appeared to be more of a tour guide than the somber, and deceased, Peter Seymour, not what they all had expected.

  From behind, “Hiya, Joe, I'm Jeff. Got anything to drink on that bus?”

  “Hi Jeff. No, we don't. We have a stop to make first. But if you all will take your luggage outside, we'll get you all loaded up.” When the bus turned inland, instead of toward the docking area, Joe told them they were flying to Mexico where they would board.

  “What about passports. I didn't bring mine,” said Grace Bellwood.

  “Ms. Bellwood, it's all taken care of. You'll have a bus waiting when we land.” Hammersley applauded. Most of the group were regular international travelers and probably had passports with them. Florian asked Brie if she had hers. She said she did, but how their new acquaintance happened to know their names bothered her.

  A small, yet well-appointed business jet waited at a private airfield. By nine forty-five, they were airborne. Less than an hour's flight later, they were on the ground and boarding another bus.

  Hammersley pushed Joetta up the steps, both hands on her behind, and turned to Brie. “Need a boost?”

  “Thank you, but I can manage.”

  “No problem.” He looked her up and down. “I bet you look great in a bathing suit.”

  “Jeff,” said Florian. Brie interrupted his comment “You bet I do. But you'll get a chance to judge for yourself.” Her gentle jest hid her mental picture of how to take him down.

  By noon, they were boarding Hackers. The yacht stretched more than half the length of a football field with twelve tasteful state rooms, decorated with no expense spared. While they unpacked, Brie activated a GPS beacon in the wall of her cosmetic case. Only on for a few seconds, the signal would pinpoint their location. She had been instructed to turn it on and off as often as possible.

  An announcement that lunch would be served at one came from a speaker in the wall. With a casual scan of the room, she looked for hidden cameras or listening devices, sure that the speaker did both.

  “This room is quite comfortable,” said Florian, the opposite of how he felt, as the vibration of the engines began. He expected the sound to disappear in moments, once they left the dock. As a mariner, he hoped for an opportunity to
inspect a custom-made, and very expensive, craft.

  They had dressed for the first part of the trip, so they went up to the main room. Benches with water-resistant pads circled the perimeter, with casual yet comfortable chairs scattered throughout. Through the window separating the room, Joe talked to three men in white, pointing to sections of the room. Florian stepped closer and looked beyond the divide. A dining room with a buffet table waited to be filled, and two long tables set in a T were covered in linens and sparkling silverware. Surrounded by windows, a bow view would tell them where they were headed. Behind him, the Caballeros and their guests began to fill the main room. Joe invited everyone in.

  “You'll find a card at your seat. If you'd like a drink, the bar is open.” To his left, a mechanical hum started a wall sliding and the bar lifted from beneath the floor. One of the men in white stepped behind it before the bar locked in place.

  “The designer left nothing out.” Florian said to no one in particular. “Hiding the bar between decks, not wasting floor space.” He examined, not the bar but the mechanism. “I'd love to see how they engineered this.” Behind him, a man he hadn't seen said, “I'll arrange a tour for you, Mr. Declercq. Perhaps this afternoon, if you feel up to it. We're here to relax and enjoy the water.”

  Florian turned. “Thank you. I'd like that. But you have the advantage of my name.”

  Chapter 29

  FACING THE GROUP, his arms spread open in greeting, their host said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Telesphore Richemartel. Welcome. I look forward to conversing with you over the next few days. When you have your beverage, please take a seat.” He looked to Declercq. “From what I gather, you are the natural leader of this group, Mr. Declercq. You have been placed at the head of the table.” He waved to the bottom of the 'T.' “And I will be opposite, here at the center of the cross table. “And you, Ms. Sanderson. I have seen your placecard next to me.”

  She shook his hand and smiled, then put her arm around Florian's neck, and whispered, “I'll be fine,” and kissed his cheek. Richemartel, in deliberate order, strolled to the bar, shaking hands and chatting. Brie's unobstructed view followed him around the room. Now he has a face. Strangely familiar.

  “Now that you have your places, please enjoy the buffet. I think you'll find the lobster salad is excellent.”

  When they had all found their seats, Florian stared at the other end of the table. All eyes were on him, waiting for their cue to get their food. He raised his hands, palms up and said, “Please everyone, eat.”

  The scraping of chairs and resumed conversation provided a momentary glimpse of Gabrielle in a lively chat with Richemartel. When Florian stood, she turned her head, winked and resumed her conversation. Once in line, he had a feeling that more than one of his new associates wanted to talk. Furtive glances peeked from Dewhurst, Bellwood, and of course, Lucas Weiss. Even Hammersley had stopped yapping. Leaving the line, Declercq asked if he could get anyone something from the bar. Hammersley said he didn't drink after breakfast until the end of the work day. Margaret Ahn asked for a white wine. He stopped at the top of the T and asked if the two remaining people, Brie and Richemartel, would like anything. Brie asked for a bourbon Manhattan on the rocks, and Richemartel declined.

  The lobster salad tasted better than advertised. Yet the Caballeros nibbled at the offerings. Florian had attended meetings the world over for years, and worried that a surprise awaited them. It was always so. With excellent food, surprises came next. Richemartel rose and tapped his water glass.

  “When you are all finished, I would like a few minutes with you. Guests, the ship is yours. I recommend the upper deck for sun and sweet ocean air. Our bar steward will be available.” When Brie excused herself, Richemartel rose, and took her hand and shook it, as gently as the ship rocked in the waves. As she walked by, she brushed Florian's sleeve and headed to their room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you are wondering why you are here.” He allowed a moment while his audience shared glances, in apparent agreement. “When you met the late Mr. Seymour, he told you that you are a select group of people who have more in common than you perceive. I am the one who selected you. Let me tell you why. We face a changing world, one not friendly to either business or wealth. Each of you represents success in both, yet in different and complementary forms. From blue collar to digital, we are a microcosm of business today. What I expect is that our collective benefit is your interest also. This weekend, in a casual setting, we will explore how to further our interests and protect our success from those in governments worldwide wishing to, I believe the term is redistribute, to interfere. We will meet after dinner and discuss a variety of topics.” He picked up a stack of booklets. “I have created an agenda of areas which affect us all. If you would be so good as to look this over, and put your copious, collective intellect to use. I do have one request. You all have mobile phones which I would like you not to use. Please bring them to Joe, who will return them when we return on Sunday.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Richemartel, but my business is twenty-four hours a day,” said Isaac Martin. “My phone is both my database and my means to contact my people.”

  “Ah yes. Mr. Martin. Let me propose this. If I can't make you more money in these two days than you can with your activities, show me your plan, and we'll check the results when we arrive home. If you make more, I'll write you a check myself. Fair enough?”

  “Not what I would have expected, but fair enough.”

  “Does anyone else have a problem?”

  Hammersley said, “Well, my phone is my camera. I wanted to catch a few shots of Joetta. She looks damn good in that bathing suit. She calls it that. I don't.”

  “Mr. Hammersley…”

  “Call me Jeff.”

  “Mr. Hammersley, before you worry too much, let me say that we have cameras on board, which you can borrow at any time. Feel free. Anyone else?”

  Florian considered the possibility that Jim Beech had miscalculated. Maybe their host was no more than a concerned businessman. With a big boat. So far, other than stealing his companion, he seemed to be quite congenial, and the guests had no shortage of amenities. Richemartel waved toward the main room. As one, heads swiveled as Brie walked on deck. Is she flirting with him? They had never even mentioned that. What is she doing?

  When the meeting ended, Florian walked down a short flight of steps to deposit his notebook. Clothes were strewn on the bed and the floor, in spite of empty hangars in the closet. He picked up the room, surprised and irritated. His wife kept a spotless house and it had been more than ten years since his daughters had been around to upset her routine. Brie and her mess conjured a strange reminder of a younger man with teenage girls. He chuckled and went on deck.

  At the bow rail, Brie stared out at the ocean, her blonde hair jostled by the breeze. Richemartel leaned against the railing on her right, the sun at his back. She turned when Florian approached.

  “Hello,” he said. “We have a perfect day for cruising. Mr. Richemartel, where are we headed? My compass says west-southwest right now. About eighteen knots?”

  “You'll have to talk to the driver, Mr. Declercq. I'm afraid that I am along for the ride.”

  “Nice ride,” said Brie, her shoulder-length hair blowing straight back. “Florian, we've been talking about Paris and my new collections. Mr. Richemartel said he has some friends who might be interested in partnering on the retail end.”

  “That's wonderful, Brie. Another reason to go more often. Do you go to Paris often, Mr. Richemartel?”

  “Not as much as I would like,” he said.

  “I agree. Even as close as Paris is to Antwerp, I find little time for pleasure trips.” Unable to gauge her conversation, Declercq remained standoffish. He needed to speak with her alone. As the others drifted to the deck, Florian saw a brief chance when a crowd began to form. He leaned in and started to ask, but she said, “Not now.” At the rear, Lucas Weiss jerked his head to summon Declercq, who strolled back to join
him.

  “Smooth ocean, smooth ride, isn't it, Lucas?”

  “Florian, have you read the booklet?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “I don't like where this is going.”

  “Lucas, we'll have a chance to talk later. You need to be calm. In case you hadn't noticed, we're in deep water.” He looked over the side and shouted, “Look everyone.” He pointed at a pod of dolphins about fifty yards ahead. “I hear that means good luck.” Although he'd never heard that, ever, he drew attention away from Weiss's bad temperament.

  “Well, looky there. Hey Joetta, stand by the rail. Let me get a picture of you and the fish.”

  “Technically, Jeff,” said Dewhurst, “dolphins aren't fish. They're mammals.”

  “And smarter than many humans with whom I am acquainted,” said Grace Bellwood, talking in Hammersley's direction. He was too busy with the camera, the girl and the fish to pay any mind to her dig. Florian spotted a quick grimace. The comment had hit home.

  Florian paced the main deck, end to end on both sides, unable to catch Brie alone. He couldn't tell if she needed his help. Of one thing he was certain, she was magnetic, not in the literary sense, but in the scientific sense. Or to be accurate, the biological sense. After three trips around the deck, after casual conversations with some of his fellow passengers, he stepped into the circle of men surrounding her.

  “Brie, take a walk with me.”

  “Sure. I didn't want to interrupt your inspection.” Polite laughs surrounded them.

  “One voice in the circle said, “I was right. You do look good in that outfit. But those are some nasty scars.”

  “I guess I should say thanks, but I did tell you that you were right.” She stood on her toes and did a pirouette on her left leg. Jeff Hammersley wolf-whistled, and Joetta laughed and stroked his arm. “The scars are from a motorcycle accident. I got run off the road by a pickup and slid down a guardrail, into a chain-link fence. Bloody, but not too serious. Hit and run.”

  “I'll be glad to rub some suntan oil on it anytime,” Joe said, just as Richemartel came around the corner.