Bluewater Voodoo: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 3)

by Charles Dougherty

  The camp that Moraga had established in the Everglades would still make a good staging area; they could accumulate and store supplies and explosives there, so there would be no contraband aboard the speedboats. Moraga had a U.S. passport, and the street people they were planning to use were U.S. citizens. In the unlikely event that the boat was stopped coming into U.S. waters, there should be no problem.

  Martinez envisioned that Moraga would come out to the freighter, spend a few days with a zombie, and escort the creature back to Florida and beyond to execute each mission.

  ****

  The diminutive blond woman sat at a table in the bar at Le Petit Refuge du Caritan, waiting for Claude-Michel to return with the glass of fruit punch she had ordered.

  "Merci," the woman said, flashing her most inviting smile at Claude-Michel as he put her drink on the table.

  "De rein," he responded, losing himself in her flashing green eyes.

  She blinked slowly, holding his gaze for a moment and then looking down and to her left. "Could you possibly help me?" she asked, looking up at him again.

  "I will certainly try," he said, drawn into those green pools again. "What do you need?"

  "The bar is not busy. Perhaps you could just sit with me and talk for a few minutes," she suggested.

  Suddenly feeling like an awkward adolescent, he fumbled as he reached to pull out a chair and sit down. He was trying to think of something clever to say when he realized that tears were rolling down the woman’s cheeks.

  "What’s the matter?" he asked, in a soft voice.

  "It’s so embarrassing," she said, in a barely audible tone, wiping ineffectually at her tears with a cocktail napkin.

  "A bartender hears everything, Mademoiselle. You mustn’t be embarrassed. If I can help, you have only to ask."

  "There was a m-man…," she said.

  "Yes?" he encouraged her.

  She sniffed, wiped her eyes again, and took a sip of the punch, holding the glass carefully in both hands, like a child. He noticed that her hands trembled.

  "He was so handsome, and so kind…," she sniffed again.

  "Yes,"

  "He said he loved me," she said, just above a whisper. "I was to meet him here yesterday, and he was going to take me with him, b-but…,"

  "Yes," he encouraged her.

  "I came as we agreed, and I waited across the street, but he never came out to meet me. Now I think maybe he is gone."

  "I’m sorry, but…"

  "He took all my money," she blubbered, the last of her reserve melting.

  "You mean he robbed you?" Claude-Michel asked, clearly angry.

  "N-no." She sniffed. "I gave it to him, to buy us tickets on the Air France flight to Paris. He said his credit card was at the limit and he would go to his parents when we got to Paris and… and…"

  "How can I help you? You wish me to call the police?"

  "Oh, no. I think it is some mistake, maybe I misunderstood. He was staying in this hotel; I hoped that someone here could give me his address in Paris, perhaps, or a telephone number…"

  "What was his name?"

  "Martinez. He said everyone just called him Martinez."

  "Wait here," Claude-Michel said, patting her hand as he rose and walked into the lobby. He returned in a couple of minutes with two sheets of paper, placing them on the table in front of the weeping woman. She picked them up, studied them for a moment, and shook her head.

  "No, no, I don’t believe it," she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks as sobs wracked her small body. "Miami! He lied to me. He said he lived with his parents in Paris."

  "I’m so sorry," Claude-Michel said.

  "No. I’m sorry," she said, fighting for composure as she rose unsteadily to her feet. "You’ve been very kind," she said, folding the photocopies of Martinez’s passport and registration into her purse. "How much do I owe you?"

  "On the house," he said.

  She smiled at him through her tears and nodded her thanks as she walked outside. Just outside the front door of the hotel, she paused to blot her tears with a tissue from her purse.

  Phillip’s jeep drew to a stop just across the street and Dani stepped out. She had gone to confer with Phillip at his villa, and Lilly and the professor were back aboard Vengeance writing up notes. They needed to provide enough information to their sponsor to keep the funds flowing. They were worried that he would get impatient, and they both felt strongly that they should pursue the current opportunity rather than chasing other, less certain ones.

  "What happened, Liz," Dani asked in alarm.

  "I got the information we wanted from the bartender."

  "Did that little bastard hurt you?" Dani asked, a flush rising on her cheeks as she put an arm around Liz, who began to laugh as she reached into her purse and handed Dani the photocopies. They got into the Jeep, and as Phillip pulled away from the curb, Liz explained how she had gotten the copies.

  "Why didn’t you just ask him, Liz?" Dani wanted to know.

  "It just came to me on the spur of the moment. I had been worrying about how to persuade him to answer me, and I didn’t come up with any good ideas. All of a sudden, he was in front of me, asking if he could help. While he was getting my drink, I had this flash of inspiration. I used to act, you know."

  "No, I didn’t. You must be pretty good at it."

  "Only in amateur productions, when I was at university; anyway, it worked."

  Phillip drove a few blocks and found a parking place near the town dock, where Dani and Liz had left their dinghy. In a few minutes, the three of them were aboard Vengeance, sitting in the cockpit with Lilly and the professor.

  "So, this Martinez is Venezuelan, and he travels on a diplomatic passport," the professor said.

  "That doesn’t add up," Dani remarked. "The home address he put on the registration is in Miami, but Paul said there was no record of anyone named Martinez with a Venezuelan diplomatic passport."

  "He probably has more than one passport," Phillip said.

  "With the same name?" Liz asked. "Why would he do that?"

  "Martinez is a common name. Having several different identities with the same name is better than having different names, in some ways," Phillip said. "It avoids all sorts of awkward situations if you’re undercover and you run into a casual acquaintance."

  "How do you know all these things?" Lilly asked.

  "If I told you…," Phillip said, pausing to think.

  "You’d have to kill me?" Lilly suggested.

  "Nothing that dramatic," Phillip smiled. "I was going to say that you wouldn’t believe me anyway."

  "I talked with Racine," Dani said, immediately becoming the focus of Lilly’s attention. "I need to let you know that I had already told her about the reality television show."

  "When?" the professor asked. "That could ruin everything."

  "Before I knew that she would be interested in meeting you. Actually, I think it worked in your favor."

  His eyebrows shot up. "You mean she likes the idea?"

  "No. She wants to spend time with you to try to change the focus of the program to something that casts Voodoo in a more favorable light."

  "Well, I understand that, but our sponsor is looking for sensationalism – it sells, you know."

  "She thinks that a show about the reality of Voodoo could be sensational enough, and she thinks telling the truth about the origins of the zombie myth might capitalize on the popular fascination to promote a more accurate understanding of Voodoo."

  "She hasn’t met RDF," Lilly said.

  "No, but you’ve met her. She’s engaging and charming – she might weave a spell that changes his mind."

  "She just might," the professor said, a pensive look coming over his face. "Would she meet with him?"

  "I don’t know, Professor," Dani said. "I think it’s a bit early to broach the subject with her, but I thought you should know that she has her own agenda. That’s good for you. If you can bend the show in that direction, you would h
ave something to offer her that would make her want to help you."

  He nodded, lost in thought, already considering how to position this idea with RDF.

  "Back to our immediate problem," Phillip interjected. "I’d like to take these copies and fax them to Paul."

  "Isn’t the information likely to be bogus?" Liz asked.

  "Yes, but there’s more to work with here than he had before. Even if the passport is a fake, it could provide some clue as to where Martinez got it, and that’s the way these things come unraveled. I’ll also get in touch with my friends in St. Lucia and see what I can find out about that detachment of marines."

  Chapter 20

  "I finally got Cedric on the phone last night," Phillip said. He and Dani and Liz were on the veranda of his villa, looking out over the anchorage at Ste. Anne, where Vengeance lay anchored in the calm, turquoise water. "He never heard of Martinez, but he knew all about the detachment of Venezuelan marines. Seems they’re pretty visible; they’re involved in all sorts of public projects. The senior officer is a Captain Sanchez, and he’s got a reputation as a ladies’ man – hangs out in the tourist bars around the Rodney Bay resorts. He’s got a taste for blond American women that’s caused some trouble from time to time."

  "What kind of trouble?" Liz asked. "Too insistent?"

  "No, not that. No complaints from the women, as far as the cops know. He’s gotten in trouble with a few boyfriends, husbands, that kind of thing."

  "So he’s a brawler, a bully?" Dani asked.

  "Well, not from what Cedric said. He seems to always come out clean. He’s been punched out a few times, and he just rolls with it – doesn’t fight back, even when he’s in the right. Never known to start trouble; he just gets caught every once in a while; takes his licks until somebody breaks it up."

  "Think we should ask the man a few questions? Maybe he knows something about Martinez if he’s lending him muscle."

  "It crossed my mind," Phillip said, "but he’s not going to give up anything willingly. He would be a pro, if Chavez’s bunch has put him in St. Lucia to garner goodwill."

  "There’s always the hard way," Dani said.

  "Yeah, but Cedric already warned me. He says the Prime Minister is tight with the guy -- Chavez is apparently buying favor with oil -- or money. Sanchez is untouchable, unless we want to cause a high-profile flap."

  "There’s another way," Liz said, with an impish smile. "You said he liked blond women."

  "Blond American women, Liz," Dani said. "Your accent is way too pronounced for you to pass as American."

  "But I’m not the only blond woman in the room," Liz said, suppressing a giggle.

  Phillip chuckled, a grin creasing his face as he watched Dani slowly realize what Liz was suggesting.

  "I’m not good at that, Liz."

  "Nothing to it; you’ve got the looks -- and the accent. I’ll lend you some makeup and a little perfume; it’s like riding a bicycle, Dani. If you’ve done it once, it’ll come back to you when you need it."

  Phillip laughed as he watched the color rise in Dani’s cheeks.

  "Bicycle, my ass, Liz. I- I- I… don’t have the right clothes, or anything."

  "I’ve got the cutest little black dress, Dani; it will fit you perfectly. Heels, too. Everything else you need is standard equipment."

  "I’m not, uhm…"

  "Come on, Dani. No guts, no glory," Liz chided.

  "But I…, uh, Phillip?"

  "I’m way out of my depth, here. I should probably go inside, so I don’t put a damper on your conversation," he said, barely able to keep from laughing at Dani’s discomfort. "You ladies call me when you think I should come back."

  ****

  Kayak Spirit, Phillip’s Carriacou sloop, swung to her anchor in the calm water of Rodney Bay, St. Lucia. Phillip had sailed from Marin with Liz and Dani aboard after they concluded that there was some risk that their Venezuelan quarry would recognize Vengeance. Dani was relaxing in the shade of the cockpit awning, having finished stowing the sails. Phillip had gone ashore to clear in with Customs and Immigration at the marina, leaving them to square the boat away after their rollicking five-hour sail. Liz was working below deck. It was mid-afternoon, and there was just enough of a breeze to make the temperature comfortable in the shade.

  Dani was preoccupied, her jaws clenched. She hadn’t spoken to either Liz or Phillip, except for the monosyllabic exchanges necessary to handle the boat. Liz came up the companionway ladder, holding a black, sleeveless, scoop-necked sheath of a dress on a wooden hanger. "Looks like the humidity took care of the wrinkles, Dani. It’s you; trust me," Liz said, smiling.

  Dani glared at her. Before either could say more, Phillip brought the dinghy alongside and climbed aboard. "We’re legal," he said, ignoring the tension in the atmosphere. "Cedric sent the pictures of Sanchez to the customs office while we were on our way across the channel. Let’s see what lover-boy looks like." He tore open a letter-sized envelope and shook two photographs into his left hand, turning them so that they could all see them. One was a standard, full-face passport mug shot. The other was a snapshot of a lean, darkly handsome man in well-tailored, casual slacks and a polo shirt. He stood beside a table in a bar, obviously in conversation with the two women seated there.

  Liz let out a low whistle. "Look at those pecs. Nice arms, too. Wish I could pass for American." She staggered from Dani’s solid punch to her shoulder. "Easy, girl. Just kidding; don’t get jealous on me. He’s all yours." She side stepped Dani’s lunge, grabbing a handful of T-shirt behind Dani’s right shoulder, pulling her off-balance. Liz pivoted to get behind her, stepping in close and slipping her left forearm around Dani’s neck and under her chin. Liz clasped her own right forearm with her left hand, pulling her left arm to settle Dani’s neck snugly into the crook of her elbow. She put her right hand on the crown of Dani’s head and began to apply pressure gradually. Dani struggled fruitlessly for a bit. As her vision began to narrow, she tapped sharply on Liz’s left forearm. Liz eased the pressure immediately, allowing Dani to catch her breath before releasing her completely.

  Phillip watched, nodding his approval. "Nice moves, Liz. I didn’t know you could do that."

  "Dani taught me," she said, keeping a wary eye on her erstwhile opponent.

  "Too well, it appears," Dani said, massaging her neck, a grin on her face for the first time since the morning.

  "You always said it was best to provoke your opponent; make her lose control," Liz said, with a tentative smile.

  "Yeah. You pushed my buttons all right. I walked right into it."

  "I’ll go shower and get ready first," Liz said.

  "Get ready first? You going somewhere? I thought I was the honey-trap."

  "You’re hopeless; I’m going with you. If you’re sitting in the bar by yourself, he’ll think you’re either waiting for somebody else or you’re a hooker. If I’m with you, he’ll think we’re two unattached women looking for a little fun. Once he takes the bait, I’ll leave you alone; don’t worry."

  "I told you I’m no good at this."

  "You’ll do well. I’ll try to stay within earshot, if you need to call for help," Liz smirked, "and Phillip is going to be having a drink at the bar. He’ll hit on me as I’m leaving and we’ll get a table nearby, so you’ve got some backup."

  "Why do I feel like you two plotted all this without my being involved?"

  "You were busy pouting," Liz said, bracing for another attack, but Dani just smiled with resignation.

  "Well, okay, but I get the first shower," she said, heading for the companionway.

  ****

  Phillip and Liz had just ordered dinner, having decided that Dani and Sanchez appeared to be settled at their table on the other side of the yacht club bar for the evening.

  "I laid the groundwork, just like we planned," Liz said. "Asked him where he was from. And he said Argentina, which threw me for a minute."

  "How did you recover from that?" Phillip asked.

&nb
sp; "I said, ‘Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you were from Venezuela.’ He gave me a strange look and asked, ‘Why does that make you afraid,’ which was a perfect lead-in for my story about Martinez breaking my heart in Martinique."

  "Clever. How’d he react?"

  "He laughed, and then he confessed that he actually was from Venezuela. He worries that a lot of Americans are put off by that, but Dani stepped in at that point. I was proud of her – she was really smooth."

  "What did she say?"

  "She said, ‘I was hoping you were from Venezuela. Liz tells me that Venezuelan men really know how to please a woman,’ or something like that."

  "Wow. She really did get into the role, didn’t she?"

  "Yes. When we first sat down, just the two of us, I asked her why she seemed so comfortable all of a sudden."

  "What did she say to that?"

  "She said, ‘Once I get the son-of-a-bitch alone without Phillip watching, I’ll get the drop on him and beat it out of him.’ You think she will, Phillip?"

  "I guess we don’t need to know what she does with him behind closed doors," Phillip said, a mischievous smile on his face as he watched Sanchez escort Dani from the bar. "You settle our check – make some excuse about the food. I’ll keep a loose tail on them. My bet is the resort next door, but if you don’t see me in the lobby when you get there, call my cell phone."

  Chapter 21

  She was driving him beyond reason with her teasing, leading him to the brink again and again. Finally, able to control himself no longer, he threw her violently onto the bed, grasping the black dress at the neckline and tearing until she was as naked as he was. Laughing, she struggled, not making it easy for him. In desperation, he pinned her shoulders with his forearms and began to choke her into submission. On the verge of blacking out, she ceased struggling and gave herself to her assailant. After several frenzied minutes, he rolled to the side, and lay next to her, spent, one arm draped possessively across her, marking his conquest.