"Okay," Connie said.
"But when they file an SAR, they're required to keep it secret from the customer, and anybody else."
"Nasty," Connie said. "So how would the customer learn about it?"
"Most of them don't, because they get cleared up pretty quickly by some of our analytical tools. We have some pretty sophisticated data analysis tools that correlate all those reports. That's the metadata analysis O'Brien mentioned. It's only when there's no innocent explanation that things move to the next step."
"And that's what happened with the Lewises?" Paul asked.
"Exactly. Now, this doesn't mean they're guilty of anything, you understand. But they're definitely on the radar, and you mustn't let them know. We clear on that? I've taken the risk of sharing this with you based on O'Brien's confidence in you two. He told me all about you; I'm not worried, but I have to say this to you anyway. If you tell them, you'll be obstructing an investigation."
"We understand. Anything else you want to tell us?" Paul said.
"Unless you have questions, I think we're ready to talk about how you can help us. And, if they're innocent, you'll be helping the Lewises, as well, don't forget."
"Got it," Paul said. "Ask your questions."
"Have they discussed their business with you at all?"
"A bit," Connie said.
"They're using the charter to look for places to hold seminars for people they're trying to recruit to bring in more investors," Paul said.
"All right. How much have they told you about their investments and their customers?"
"Connie?" Paul said, "I think you've got a better grasp of what they said. Why don't you take the lead, and I'll fill in if I think you skipped something?"
"Fine," Connie said, and began to tell Johnson what they knew about Frank and Kathy Lewis.
****
"This isn't what we expected," Kathy said. She and Frank were sitting in the cockpit with Connie and Paul, sipping wine and enjoying an appetizer platter. "Are all the islands like this?"
"They're all different, but there are some similarities, too. What was it that didn't meet your expectations?" Connie asked.
"It seems really crowded and touristy, I guess," Kathy said. "And the traffic's awful."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think we were still in Florida," Frank said. "Except for some of the road signs in French or Dutch."
"I mean, we saw some nice places, but this isn't exotic. We were looking for someplace special to entertain our potential associates. This isn't it. There are some nice resorts, but ... "
"Okay, I think I get it," Connie said. "St. Martin's relatively wealthy; the infrastructure's pretty good compared to a lot of the other islands, but it is crowded. The population density is awfully high; it's one of the smaller islands, with as many people as some islands that are much bigger. And it's not as attractive from the standpoint of natural beauty, but it's comparatively easy to get here from most places."
"I think you'll find some of the other islands more to your liking," Paul said. "If you're looking for real 'get away from it all' places that are still easily accessible from the States, maybe we should head for Antigua."
"We don't want anything too primitive," Kathy said, "but somewhere with fewer, um ... distractions, maybe?"
"The guy giving the tour suggested St. Barth or Anguilla," Frank said. "What do you think of them? Could we host a seminar there?"
"You could," Connie said. "They're close by, which is probably why he suggested them. That's kind of a downside, though; they get day-trippers, so you might find some of the things you didn't like about St. Martin. St. Barth caters to the very wealthy, and Anguilla's, well, different. It's seriously laid back. I can think of a couple of high-end resorts on either island that might be worth a look, but ... "
"But?" Kathy asked.
"There are still distractions close at hand -- shopping, day trips coming here -- and they're pricey, plus availability may be limited. They're both tiny islands, and the high-end resorts are booked well into the future."
"The price isn't a big issue," Kathy said.
"I understand," Connie said, "but for the same kind of money, you can get equally elegant facilities and a much greater sense of isolation -- a more exotic, otherworldly feeling -- in a few other places, now that we know what you're looking for. How many people would be in a seminar?"
"Oh, probably only a handful. Maybe a dozen, max," Kathy said.
"And is transportation an issue? Airline connections?"
"I'm not sure I understand," Kathy said.
"Well, if your attendees are traveling commercial, that makes Antigua more favorable. But if they're traveling on private aircraft, or if you want to charter a plane to fly them in from a collection point somewhere, that opens up some other possibilities."
"Ooh!" Kathy said. "I'd never considered that."
"It does have a certain appeal," Frank said. "It definitely puts them at our ... um, I was going to say mercy, but that's not quite right. You know what I mean, though."
"It might add some complications from a logistics standpoint," Connie said, "but you could take them to places they might never see, otherwise."
"Where are we talking about?" Kathy asked. "Not Antigua, but the others."
"Several places come to mind," Connie said. "Petit St. Vincent and Palm Island for example."
"Or Bequia," Paul added. "There's that place on the other side of the island."
"Oh, that's right," Connie said.
"I never heard of those places," Kathy said.
Frank cleared his throat. "Neither have I."
"That's sort of the point, isn't it?" Connie asked.
"But where are they?" Kathy asked.
"Down in the Grenadines," Paul said. "We forgot Mustique. I think there's a place there."
"Is that Grenada? You said we shouldn't overlook it."
Connie smiled. "No, the places we named are all part of a country called St. Vincent and the Grenadines. The big island is St. Vincent, and the others are all small specks of land strung out through the 50 miles of ocean between St. Vincent and Grenada. But Grenada's a different country, as confusing as that sounds."
"How would we get people there?" Frank asked. "You mentioned chartering a plane, but how big a plane could a tiny island accommodate?"
"Good question," Paul said. "But St. Vincent or Grenada handle the big commercial flights, so you could fly them in there if the island you chose didn't have a long enough runway. You could have a high-speed launch to carry them to the final destination."
"Then why not just fly commercial? We flew into Grenada." Kathy frowned.
"Schedules aren't very flexible, depending on where they're coming from," Connie said. "You flew from Florida, but friends of ours have spent 24 hours getting to Grenada from California, or even Texas, with lots of connections and long layovers."
"Okay," Kathy said. "What about between Antigua and there? Anything?"
"Yes, there are some other spots. We'll stop along the way, if you like, so you can get a feel for them. There are lots of beautiful places, but they're not as isolated as you want."
"Can we leave this evening?" Kathy asked. "I really liked sailing at night."
"Unfortunately, we can't," Connie said. "The drawbridge to get out of the lagoon won't open until 8:30 in the morning. We can leave then, and get into Antigua tomorrow evening."
"Let's do that," Kathy said. "St. Martin's not what we want."
****
The irony of Schultz complaining about the other side's escalation of the conflict wasn't lost on Jansen. He'd just read the text from Schultz; it would be funny in a different context. Clearly, Horton hadn't been available to translate for Pinkie. He reread it, extracting facts from the emotion-laden word salad. In spite of Pinkie's gibberish, Jansen subscribed to the idea that even the dull and ignorant sometimes made worthwhile observations. Or, in the words of Gator Jaw as quoted by O'Toole, "Even a blind hog finds him an aco
rn ever' once in a while."
There were a couple of acorns here. The more obvious one was the mention of the man with the scarred face. Both Nicholson and the other victim of Sam's ministrations had been sure he was from Mexico, though neither could say why. Neither had a name for him, either. Scarface was a new player in this game, and he was high enough in the hierarchy of his organization to be flying around on a private jet.
Pinkie had dismissed the other prisoner's protests that he wasn't part of the scar-faced man's operation, but Jansen thought the man's denial might be significant. The man had known Scarface, or at least known who he was, but had not worked for him. Instead, he had professed to be part of a group that was aligned with the Russian mob. Jansen didn't take the Russian reference literally; there were a number of syndicates with eastern European connections, loosely referred to as "Russian."
To rednecks like Pinkie, they were all Russians, just like all the Hispanics were Mexicans. Pinkie, in his bigoted mind, thought the "Mexicans" and the "Russians" were conspiring against "... us red-blooded Americans. We do need that damn wall built. Damn foreign fuckers," Pinkie had blathered. "They're ruining what made this country great, the godless bastards. Stealing our jobs and raping our women. The worst of them damn Mexicans are the ones from Colombia."
Jansen shook his head, unable to suppress a chuckle. The only thing missing was a diatribe against women who didn't know their place. He could imagine Pinkie's reaction if he learned about Barrera.
He thought about what to do with the hard intelligence that Pinkie had gathered. The involvement of a scar-faced "Mexican" wasn't surprising. It was consistent with what O'Toole had picked up from Giannetti via Gator Jaw. There was still the question of who the interlopers were; the cartels were in constant flux. Chances were good that the scar-faced man was working with someone they knew from previous dealings. Dealing with a new organization was a normal part of doing business, but they needed to identify the players and work something out.
The presence of the other man, the one with the "Russian" connection, was more worrisome. He was a wild card. Jansen wondered where he had come from and how he'd gotten involved with Nicholson. That was a serious change in the landscape of the drug business in the southeast. Jansen decided that when he next heard from his FBI informant, he'd expand the scope of his research.
Chapter 14
"Sure you don't want to swing by Anguilla?" Connie asked, as they motored through the open drawbridge from St. Martin's lagoon into Simpson Bay.
"No, thanks," Kathy said. "We looked at the guidebook that you gave us and decided you and Paul called it right." She looked at Paul, who stood on the coachroof, folding up the mainsail cover as he worked it back along the boom.
"It's an unusual island," Connie said. "It's beautiful but ... "
"Yeah. We need a sure thing," Kathy said. "I like the idea of the small super exclusive resorts where we can have a captive audience. I mean, we'll be paying for this boondoggle for these people. I want their undivided attention."
"Anguilla's a little out of the way anyhow," Connie said, "but it would be easy to swing by St. Barth, if you want to make sure. We'll pass right by it, within a couple of miles."
"Nah," Frank said. "We picked out two places in Antigua we want to look at. One's on its own island, and the other sounds pretty isolated, even though it's on the big island."
"We think they're both possibilities, if we want to avoid chartering a flight," Kathy said.
"But we both really like that idea," Frank said. "So we'll want to check out a couple of those other places down south -- the ones you mentioned -- before we commit ourselves."
They were leaving the bridge channel. Connie stood up and turned, looking behind them, making sure she had room to maneuver. Satisfied, she throttled the diesel back and shifted the transmission to neutral. Cranking the helm to port, she swung the bow into the wind and nodded at Paul. He began to hoist the mainsail as she turned and raised the mizzen, which she had uncovered while they were waiting for the bridge to open.
Paul finished raising the main a few seconds after she returned to the helm. He stepped into the cockpit and grasped the tail of the mainsheet that extended from the drum of the sheet winch. He looked back over his shoulder and nodded at Connie. She turned the helm to the starboard, putting them back on a course that would clear Pelican Cay on the east side of the Simpson Bay entrance.
The main and the mizzen both filled and swung out over the starboard side. Connie sheeted in the mizzen as Paul tended the main, and in seconds, Diamantista II accelerated. She was rising and falling in a smooth rhythm as she crested the swell, which built to between one and two meters as they passed Pelican Point. Paul rolled out first the staysail and then the Yankee as Connie shut down the diesel. When they were clear of the south shore of St. Martin, the east-northeast wind built to almost 20 knots.
Connie, one eye on the compass and the other on the horizon to the southeast, said. "I'm going to harden up on the wind until we pick up our course to Antigua. Give me some trim as we go."
Paul grinned at her. "Aye, skipper. Ready when you are."
Kathy and Frank watched in silence as they brought the vessel around until the wind was coming from about a 45-degree angle off her bow. Diamantista II heeled about 15 to 20 degrees to the starboard and surged ahead, throwing up an arc of spray every time her bow cut through a wave. Periodically, a larger-than-average wave would break over the starboard bow, the water rolling back along the side deck until, its energy spent, it gurgled through the scuppers leaving the silvery teak deck glistening.
"Wow," Kathy said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind, "this is a lot different than the sail we had coming up from Grenada. Is this normal?"
"Absolutely," Connie said, "we were on a broad reach most of the time coming north. That means the wind was behind the beam, more than 90 degrees off our bow. It kind of pushes us along when it's like that, and she stands up pretty straight, but she rolls more with the waves. Now the wind is well forward of the beam; we're somewhere between a close reach and close-hauled, and the aerodynamics of the sails are different. They're working more like the wings of a plane, pulling us along instead of pushing us. The boat leans over and puts her shoulder into the waves, and even though we aren't standing up straight, the ride's much more stable."
"I can feel that," Frank said. "Except for the angle, it's a lot more comfortable."
"How fast are we going?" Kathy asked.
Connie glanced at the GPS display over the helm. "About nine and a half knots -- not much different from the trip up."
"It sure feels different," Kathy said. "I feel like we're flying compared to the other day."
"Part of that's the wind in your face," Paul said, "and part of it's the change in her motion. We got lucky with the wind today; we've got a good angle for Antigua. Should be a fast trip."
"Speaking of Antigua," Frank said, "I'm going to get online and see if I can make some arrangements to see those two places. Is tomorrow morning safe from a timing perspective?"
"You might want to shoot for the afternoon," Paul said. "What do you think, Connie?"
"Afternoon's better. They're both on the east side of the island, and we'll have to clear in with customs and immigration before we go around there. Jolly Harbour's the quickest place to do that, but they'll be closed when we get there. They won't be open until eight or eight-thirty tomorrow morning, so it'll take us until around lunch time to get to either of those places."
"No problem," Frank said. "Come on, Kathy. With this nice smooth ride, we can get a lot done on the computer before it gets too hot below deck."
"I'll power up the satcom system for you," Connie said. "Can you take the helm, Paul?"
****
"She's hot!" the informant said, leaning across the table toward Jansen. "You didn't tell me that."
"Her looks aren't relevant. I -- "
"I'm not talking about her looks, Art," the man said, his face pasty
in the dim lights of the bar. "I damn near stepped in the shit; there are all kinds of trip wires around her files."
"What are you talking about, 'trip wires?'" Jansen asked.
"Her file's earmarked for special handling."
"What's that mean?" Jansen asked.
"It means somebody in the Bureau's got an interest in her -- somebody pretty damn high up."
"What kind of interest? Is she under investigation, or what?"
"Yeah, there's a warrant to monitor her internet service on that boat, but that wouldn't account for the special handling tag."
"Well, come on, damn it. What would account for it?"
"It's hard to say. Sometimes it means a higher-up is running the investigation personally; sometimes it means there's some kind of relationship."
"What kind of relationship?"
"Something that makes her worth handling with kid gloves, like. I dunno. Maybe she's related to a high level politician, or somebody in the Bureau, or, like maybe an Army general? It's hard to say."
"Are you telling me she's under somebody's protection?" Jansen asked.
"Possibly. That could do it, too. But if that's it, I'm surprised there's a warrant for her internet."
"Why? Wouldn't that be a formality?"
"Not if she's got some kind of inside track. Not necessarily."
"What do you mean, inside track? You mean she's like an informant, or something?"
"Yeah, that kind of thing. If she was a C.I. -- "
"C.I.?"
"Sorry. Confidential informant. If that's why, they wouldn't need a warrant; they'd have her permission. The warrant would increase the risk of blowing her cover. There'd be court papers and such. That shit's pretty air tight, but why bother? The more people that know, the more likely there's going to be a leak, see?"
"I see," Jansen said. "What can you tell from the warrant?"
"Not much; it was pretty vanilla. It went through the normal process from the Miami office. Nothing remarkable."
"Except the special handling tag on her file," Jansen said.
"Yeah, right."
"So, since there's a warrant, what about her email?" Jansen asked.
Sails Job - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 6th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 10