“Back off, Joe. These are my guests, not yours.”
“He's fine, Theo,” she said. “I'm sure he just summoned his inner porcine visions.” Florian laughed as did Richemartel, more at the men who looked around, wondering what she had meant. “Florian, shall we?” She took his arm and they headed toward the stern.
“Put your arm on my shoulder,” she whispered. “Now pull me closer.” At that moment, he wished he weren't acting.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I didn't know if I should interfere.”
“There's a camera in the room. Sorry for the mess, but I put on a show for them. We won't be able to talk.”
“Okay, but are you acting with all these men? I don't trust them.”
“Let me run with it. I've handled these types before. And I can take care of myself.”
Behind them, Hammersley called out and asked if Florian had a minute. Declercq looked skyward, but Brie squeezed his arm, turned him around.
“Of course, Jeff. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I like this. Might buy me a boat. Weird thing is—I've never been on a cruise before. Tried water-skiing once. Couldn't get up. I save that for better things now.” He patted Joetta on her rear, pushing her toward Brie. He draped his arm around Florian's shoulder and changed direction, out of earshot of the women, and anyone else.
Joetta held out her hand to Brie. “I haven't been properly introduced. My name is Joetta Dunsmore.”
“Gabrielle Sanderson. Have you known Jeff for long?”
“A few months. Just a word to the wise. Be careful of Joe. He's dangerous.”
Brie eyed her with a sharp focus. “What makes you think so?”
“I've checked out all these people. Jeff travels in a rough crowd. And he's a lot smarter than he sounds. All that drinking, mostly Coke.”
“Joetta, why are you telling me this?”
“Because Florian is the most upstanding man here.”
“I like him. He's married, but he's been a lot of fun. He surprised me when he asked me to come along.”
“You weren't surprised at all,” she whispered. “But don't worry. I've got your back.”
Joetta's conspiratorial tone raised Brie's caution flag high. “Thank you, Joetta. I'm not really worried. I spend a lot of time in New York. Guys like these are everywhere. I'm used to it.” Who are you really?
“Well, like I said, be careful.” They reached the stern and the ocean filled their view.
Dinner, they were told, would be at six-thirty. After dinner, the Caballeros would meet, and a film would be shown for the guests in a theater on the upper deck. In their cabin to prepare, Brie hugged Florian, kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Don't be a prude. We can't blow this.” She tossed her bathing suit on the floor. “Take a shower with me,” she said.
In the shower, she hugged him and told him the bathroom had no camera, but in the light over the sink a microphone eavesdropped. Then she giggled. “Not now, Florian, we have to get ready.” She waved her hand so he understood he needed to respond.
“I'm always ready, Brie. But you can't keep messing up this room.”
She giggled again. “I'll pick up, I promise. But I don't promise the bed won't be a mess later.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said.
In a small room on the upper deck, Joe grinned. “Me, too.”
The bartender waited for orders and a new wall retracted, revealing a charcoal grill venting to the open sea air. Richemartel explained that the ship's motion aided the venting.
Ribeye steaks sat stacked on a side panel, bone-in for the men, trimmed for the women. Waiters circulated taking drink orders and asking how each liked their steak cooked. Last to join the group, Lucas Weiss held the booklet for the evening's business in his hand.
“We're not working yet, Mr. Weiss,” said Richemartel. In spite of a cheery demeanor, no one doubted Weiss had received an order. “Joe, take Mr. Weiss's booklet. We'll return it after dinner.”
Weiss looked around until he met Florian's eyes, whose slight head shake warned him. Florian leaned to Brie and said that Weiss would cause trouble. She whispered back that they couldn't help him. She laughed to take attention away.
“Mr. Richemartel, I've examined your proposal.” All eyes turned to Weiss. Joe held out a hand for the document. Weiss took a step back, a defiant sneer on his face. “You led us to believe this is a business group. What this document describes is disrupting governments the world over, not promoting cooperation.”
“Theo,” Brie said, “you said we should enjoy ourselves. Can't you boys save this until later? Please, Mr. Weiss.”
For the moment, the room hushed. Weiss looked at faces, and being the lone dissenter, handed the papers to Joe.
“Thank you, Ms. Sanderson,” Richemartel said. “Mr. Weiss, you are free to offer your ideas. Later. Now, will you take your seats, and let's enjoy what I'm certain you will find to be the best steaks you have ever tasted.”
Joe placed the booklet on the table by his boss. Under his breath, without moving his lips, Richemartel said, “Take care of this.”
Quiet conversation among the now-subdued group ended when Hammersley started talking. Loud, with bawdy jokes mixed in, Jeff allowed for a brief comment from Florian to Weiss, next to him. “You're foolish. We're a hundred miles out in the ocean.”
“What's he going to do? Leave me on an island?”
“He doesn't need an island, Lucas. He has this ship.”
Florian looked out the window with the subtle change in engine hum. The boat had increased its speed. Waiters took orders for preferences of how each liked the steak cooked, and brought beverages to those who asked. Richemartel, in khakis, a white silk shirt, and barefoot, walked over. He rested his hand on Weiss's shoulder. The smile stopped at his mouth.
“You could not be farther from the truth, Weiss. I apologize if you have the wrong impression. I don't wish to disturb dinner.” He patted Weiss's arm.
When the waiters placed dinner in front of them, Brie said, “This is delicious. Lucas, taste it. Maybe your mood will improve.”
Florian glanced at Richemartel as Weiss cut a small bite of meat, sniffed it and put it in his mouth. Dinner proceeded and the amiable chatter returned. As the waiters replaced drinks, Richemartel stood, and held up his wine glass. With a flourish, he toasted his guests and sipped, his eyes squarely on Weiss. In a self-made cocoon, Weiss ate, ignoring his fellow travelers. As the meal ended, he asked Florian to meet him on deck. Florian said he'd be along in a few minutes.
“Are you okay, Lucas?” Florian asked.
“I'm fine, I think. I just need to get a little air.”
Florian finished his salad and started to follow Weiss but grabbed the table as the ship entered the swell and watched the large wave speed right at them. He took Brie's hand and told her to hang on tight, and called to the others to do the same.
“We're going too fast for this turn,” he told Brie.
The ship's horn began to blast, just as the wave hit, driving water over the rails and along the deck, into the open foyer passageway. The ship listed, its angle too dangerous to stand. Plates slid, glasses flew, and silverware hit the floor. Empty chairs toppled and banged off the wall. From the loudspeaker, “Man overboard,” echoed around them. The ship completed its turn and righted itself, and most of the room emptied, everyone headed to the deck rails. Weiss had disappeared. Richemartel counted on the wine having the desired paralyzing effect. Declercq looked to the head of the table, as Joe was told to send out the launch. He didn't hear, “Good job.”
Last to the deck, Florian hurried to the stern. Joe directed the launch from a radio, binoculars scanning the horizon. “You're looking in the wrong direction,” Florian said. “We just turned ninety degrees to port. Turn the launch.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Declercq?”
“I am. Turn it. He's at least four miles out in that direction,” and pointed.
Joe redirected the three
men, aware that the lost time would be enough.
Brie took Florian's arm. Ready to snap at the lackadaisical reactions, he calmed himself, and said, “I've been at sea since my teens. I learned early to always watch the time when something goes wrong. I'm guessing we were at more than twenty knots into that turn. Weiss couldn't have been over for more than thirty seconds when the call came. The ship needed five minutes and seventeen seconds to settle and stop engines.”
Joe said, “Well I'm glad you're here.” But he leered at Brie.
“May I suggest you follow the launch. Slow engines. You don't want to tip it, too.”
“Mr. Declercq, would you mind monitoring them while I get a crew member. I'll go tell Mr. Richemartel.”
Alone for the time being, Brie asked, “What do you think?”
“That seems a strange coincidence.”
“Will they find him?”
“I doubt it. Between the water temperature and the waves, if they find him, he'll be dead. Brie, to be honest, I'm scared.”
While the search proceeded, the passengers returned to the dining room. Joe told them that Richemartel had notified the Coast Guard. “The launch is still searching. If you're hungry, please eat. We can't change what's happened.”
A couple of the groups returned to the table, but everyone else headed to where Florian and Brie were sitting. Brie whispered that he should tell them to eat. Then she called to Joe.
“I don't want to seem callous, but I don't believe I've ever tasted a steak quite as delicious.” She lowered her head, and looked up at Joe with raised eyebrows. “Joe, could I have another, only this time, the cowboy steak.”
He chuckled, the left side of his mouth rising in a semi-smile. “Bone-in, medium rare, comin' up. Anyone else?” Hearing that Brie had chosen to eat, half the group reordered. While they waited, Margaret Ahn asked Florian his opinion of what had happened. All attention fell on him again, as the rest wandered near to listen.
“I can't tell you what they saw from the bridge. We had increased speed, but the turn was too sharp to be smooth. Lucas was on the wrong side when we turned, I guess.”
The steaks for Brie and Florian were placed on the table. As if they were in a fish bowl, each took a bite, while everyone stared. “This is scrumptious,” said Brie, and cut another bite. “Cowboy steaks are the best.” She called to Joe. “Cooked to perfection.”
“If you're going to eat,” Florian said, “now would be a good time.” The group drifted to their seats, some ready to eat, but Malcolm Dewhurst sat next to Florian.
“Florian, everyone is upset. Should we ask to go back?”
“We're more than one hundred miles away from port, Malcolm. We have to wait for the search to be done and the launch to return. It's almost dark. We can ask if they plan to keep cruising during the night or stop. Even if we insist, we'll still have time to meet. I haven't yet read the booklet. If you think we should go back, mention it in the meeting.”
“I'm not sure I want to be so conspicuous.”
“Then enjoy the trip. We'll only be here two more days.”
Dewhurst leaned in. “You could ask.”
“I'm not sure I want to be so conspicuous.”
Chapter 30
AN UNDERCURRENT OF upset filled the air. The evening meeting convened in a small salon off the main hall of the first deck. Rather than a traditional meeting room, a circle of armchairs, plush and comfortable, did little to reduce the anxiety.
“I'm sorry we have had such an unfortunate initiation,” said Richemartel. His matter-of-fact dismissal of their loss, punctuated by moving straight to the business of the evening, added to their discomfort. “We have come to discuss how we can further our business interests. We do this in two ways. Sharing information and preventing governments from interfering in our work. You have been selected because you are astute and complementary. Most important, you are pragmatists. As am I. I will augment your overview with detail.” He scanned their faces and each wriggled uncomfortably from his focus. “First, by sharing information, we gain knowledge of markets and can use them to our financial advantage. Second, we have been told for years that government is the problem. This is inaccurate. Government is the enemy. All governments. Disturbing government power is our goal. Preventing legislation is one tactic only, as is winning elections. The most effective tool to do both is war. Especially when war threatens the West. The greater the perceived threat, the more disruption, and hence the better for us.”
The first question was expected. John Travers asked, “Mr. Richmartel, are you implying we should start wars?”
“Start them? Of course not. But helping them along, helping supply whoever wishes to buy, and of course helping to rebuild after. Every bomb that destroys a building is a two-fold opportunity. Replacing the bomb and the building. With payment guaranteed. Mr. Declercq, has the payment for your ship been delayed, or the cost for delivery of the goods?”
Not prepared, Florian stammered a no. “But I was unable to complete the delivery. At least not yet.”
Hammersley said, “The insurers argued but they paid for my part.”
“And did the stock go down?”
“I guess. Not sure,” he said.
“Sharp drop,” said Isaac Martin. “Shorts made a fortune.”
“Thank you, Mr. Martin. That is my precise argument. I assume you were one of those.” Martin's face remained stolid, but his eyes grinned. “And you will build another, Mr. Declercq?” he asked.
“I have no choice.”
“And has your new builder been selected?”
“Not yet.”
“The company which builds it will have a multimillion dollar contract, most of which will be paid by your insurance company. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“And I will invest in them when you tell us who it will be.”
“That's insider trading,” said Grace Bellwood. “That's illegal.”
“Ms. Bellwood, if you were to decide to purchase upgrades to your computers, would you have an advisor?”
“Of course.”
“And would you purchase stock or make other investments, based on the suggestion of financial experts?”
“Yes.”
His look told her to remain quiet.
“You are all aware that we have in our group one of the most successful analysts in market history. Mr. Martin can certainly tell us if investing in a computer company or shipbuilder is a good investment. Ms. Bellwood, this is wise business, not insider trading. Our only concern is timing.”
In a short time, conversations and ideas drove Lucas Weiss from everyone's conscious minds. When Richemartel concluded, Hammersley said, “Ya know, I'm hungry.” Above them, the film concluded and they all, Caballeros and guests, returned to a breezy deck, driven by a ship moving in an undetermined direction at a comfortable speed. The launch had returned, without Weiss, and the ship had moved on, leaving no trace.
Saturday morning, October 8
For Florian, early morning on a ship had always been a second home. He dressed and took to the deck to catch the sea air. Brie took her time, diverting the camera from her real purpose. Unable to make contact, she memorized the details of their first day, to be written when the first opportunity presented. Satisfied that the camera had its fill, she joined Florian for coffee and a walk on deck.
“Good morning,” he said, unable to look straight at her.
She took his chin, and kissed him. “Good morning to you.” A hug disguised her whisper. “Florian, we're lovers. They have film. You must act that way.”
His arm wrapped around and held her close. “Sorry. I'm out of my depth and struggling.”
She leaned back and laughed. “You're a good actor. Stay in your role.” She kissed his cheek.
By mid-morning, a warm sun had burned off an overcast, and promised a clear sky. Morning greetings and cheerful conversation provided an about-face from the previous night. After all, to most of them, Lucas Weiss had
been a stranger. They barely mentioned the meeting, coffee reminding them that they were less than twenty-four hours into the weekend.
“Anyone who would like to test the Pacific is welcome to take a swim off the launch.” Joe's announcement was an immediate reminder, but not a deterrent. First on deck in a bathing suit, Brie waved Florian to the stern.
“Are you sure you should go?' he asked, seeing the hungry looks of the younger male guests.
“I'll have a life jacket on.” She stroked his cheek.
As she climbed down the ladder to the launch, Joetta stepped next to him. “I may never get this chance again,” she said. The two women competed for male attention in the launch and from the ship. Standing behind Florian, Hammersley said, “Those are the two best figures in America, eh, Florian?”
“Perhaps. But that water is cold and deep.”
“That reminds me of a story about the two Texans on the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Richemartel looked at videos and listened to recordings from each of the cabins, closed in an electronic wonderland, while his guests enjoyed the food and the relaxation. Over his shoulder, Joe watched the film. He frowned whenever Richemartel changed channels, but he planned to return later. Alone.
After lunch, another meeting began exploring business compatibilities. Travers asked how his role as a member of the British parliament could possibly fit. Richemartel told him that he might recall he influenced how his government spent money, and how its policies affected the Commonwealth and Europe. “Not to mention your family business.”
“I'll be a little behind until my new trucks are available,” Hammersley said. “I can't do much in the Middle East until then.”
Florian said, “Jeff, I'd be glad to get them on sight for you when ready. Where will you be shipping from?”
“Out of New York, I guess.”
“Take them out of Wilmington, Delaware, instead,” said Isaac Martin. “Faster to load, hence cheaper. Not as busy. Fewer distractions.”
Hammersley pursed his lips, and nodded. “If you think so. I'll change the ship-to destination. Okay for you, Florian?”
Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5) Page 15