"Working backward from about a year ago, Jonas Pratt, Joe Greco and Ralph Giannetti, and some guy from Georgia named Sam Alfano, who got busted in the Bahamas for money laundering."
Connie's face drained of color. Paul took her hand as she said, "I'm the connection."
"What? You aren't even involved, except -- "
"Not in this investigation," Paul said. "But she's the C.I. whose name was redacted from the records of the other cases."
"Now I'm really confused," Johnson said. "How did you end up as the C.I. on all those cases? Without your name showing up in any of our files? Are you in the DEA files? They should be -- "
"Her name won't be in any of the files," Paul said. "We can explain that, but it'll take a while. It would save a lot of time if you just checked me out with some of your interagency contacts -- me, and a guy named Phillip Davis. You'll have to pull some strings, but I really can't tell you much more until I know you're cleared for it. It's a long way from fraud, and it's all buried pretty deep for good reasons. Trust me here for a second, okay?"
"O-okay. It sounds like I don't have much choice, for the moment."
"Good," Paul said. "The important thing right now is to find out how that analyst made the connection. The obvious answer is that he had Connie's name to start with, isn't it?"
"Yes. That would lead him right to the files. But how would he have gotten it? We haven't requested that kind of analytical support, and nobody outside this investigation would have Connie's name."
"Unless somebody else had her name to start with and started asking questions, right?" Paul asked.
"I see where you're going. But if you two are well enough connected to have her name redacted from all those case files, who could it be?"
"And that's the question that only your analyst can answer. It had to be one of just a handful of people in the DEA or the MPD. Or somebody on the other side."
"Shit. Excuse my language, but this is getting complicated," Johnson said. "You want to give me a head start on checking you out, Paul?"
"Sure. Talk to Captain Luke Pantene at the MPD. Tell him I sent you, and he'll no doubt want me to corroborate that. He's my old partner and he replaced me when I retired. He runs homicide, along with handling all the interagency coordination for MPD."
"Wow. Okay. I'll call him right now. I'm sure we'll talk again."
"No doubt," Paul said. "Give me a few minutes to give Luke a heads-up. It'll save some time. Meanwhile, I'd get some eyes on that analyst if I were you."
"Yeah. Will do. Call if anything changes." Johnson disconnected.
"He didn't go away happy," Connie said.
"Oh, I didn't get that. He's stunned; that's all."
"What do you think is going on, Paul? Are the Lewises in the drug business?"
"Could be. Let's not speculate just yet; we don't have enough facts. We need to keep doing what we're doing."
"I'm nervous," Connie said. "I didn't see this coming at all."
"Hang in there, skipper. We'll be fine. I'm going to call Luke and speed things along on his end. Why don't you dig out a bottle of wine and let's declare the sun over the yardarm?"
****
Noah Johnson's irritation had faded after he talked to Luke Pantene. He was still baffled by what he'd learned. Pantene corroborated what Paul had told him, explaining why Connie's name had been kept out of the records. Johnson shook his head at the notion of what a gutsy woman she was, and then remembered Luke's comment that she'd only done what she had to do to survive. She'd been trapped, according to Pantene.
"It wasn't voluntary," he had said. "She found herself caught in that situation with Alfano, which is where it all started. She didn't even know the man; it was her business partner who cut the deal with him. Once she figured out what was happening, she just wanted out."
From what Pantene had told him, Johnson understood that Alfano had told the world that Connie was a member of some mysterious, as yet unidentified Mexican cartel. Where Alfano had gotten that idea wasn't clear, but the rumor had persisted.
When Connie found herself in a bind with Giannetti's bunch, she'd used her skills as a con artist to bolster the rumors, keeping herself alive and leading the crooks into prison. Jonas Pratt had been the most recent heir to the legacy that had begun with Alfano, underestimating her to his detriment. It seemed her reputation as a drug kingpin had grown, at least among the drug dealers.
As Paul had suggested, a careful examination of the searches carried out by the analyst, one Harold Norris, revealed that his queries had assumed that Connie was involved in the drug business and had lead Norris to the data collected from the warrant for surveillance of the satellite communications hub aboard Diamantista II.
The big question that remained was Norris's motivation. The obvious way to determine that was to question him, but he'd left work early, telling his supervisor he didn't feel well. Johnson shook his head. Norris was one problem that he could hand off to the Inspection Division's Internal Investigation Section.
That still left him with a new problem, though. There was ample evidence that the charter guests aboard Diamantista II were violating several provisions of the Bank Secrecy Act related to structuring transactions. Before he closed in on them, he needed to understand what they were doing besides making illegal transfers.
Were they involved in fraud? Or were they laundering drug money? He needed Connie and Paul to participate in uncovering what the Lewises were up to. That meant keeping the Internal Investigation Section from dragging Connie into whatever Harold Norris was involved in. He cradled his head in his hands for a few minutes.
His thoughts in order, he picked up the phone and punched in Connie's number, hoping that she and Paul were still alone and free to talk.
Chapter 21
Connie tightened the boom vang and went back to the helm, resting her hand on the rim as she switched off the autopilot. She still felt a bit of weather helm. Hitting the resume button on the autopilot, she moved to the leeward side deck, where she adjusted the sheet lead blocks for the staysail and the Yankee. If flattening the headsails didn't relieve the boat's tendency to round up into the wind, she'd have to wake Paul and take a reef in the mainsail.
The wind had built steadily through the morning since their departure from Antigua. It was blowing from the east southeast at 25 knots, with gusts approaching 30. Diamantista II was in her element, charging along at close to ten knots with spray flying every time a wind-driven wave hit her bow.
When she got back to the cockpit, Connie was pleased to find that the helm was neutral again. No sail change would be required; Paul could rest. They'd had a bouncy night in the anchorage as the wind had picked up and the spring tide had allowed the waves to roll over the fringing reef from the Atlantic. There wasn't a big tidal range in the islands, but a couple of feet of extra water made the difference between a flat calm anchorage and a choppy one.
The anchorage had been crowded last night, and a couple of bareboat charters had been anchored too close. She and Paul, nervous that one of the neighboring boats might drag into them, had stood anchor watches for most of the night. They'd left early this morning and tucked into Falmouth Harbour long enough to clear out with customs and immigration. At their guests' request, they were on their way to the Grenadines.
Kathy and Frank had encountered scheduling problems with the resorts they still wanted to visit, so they weren't in a big hurry. They were planning overnight stops in Dominica and St. Lucia, which gave them some flexibility in their schedule. It would also give them a chance to see more of the islands. Although Connie and Paul had suggested visiting Guadeloupe and Martinique as well, the Lewises weren't interested in the French islands, complaining that they sounded too foreign.
"Hey, Connie!" Kathy said, climbing into the cockpit. "Mind if I join you up here?"
"Not at all; the sailing's wonderful. You should take time to enjoy it; you guys work all the time."
"Yeah, well. You know how it is."
"Is Frank coming up, too?"
"No, he's tied up with his money shuffling. Where's Paul?"
"Napping. We didn't get much sleep last night."
"I'd have figured you guys would be used to rocking and rolling at night; it didn't really seem that rough."
"Well, it wasn't that we couldn't sleep. It was that those two boats that came in at dusk were a little too close for comfort, given the high winds with that squall line that blew through early this morning. We were worried about whether their anchors would hold."
"I don't understand," Kathy said.
"If one of them had broken loose, they could have hit us, or dragged their anchor across our chain and broken us loose. It wouldn't have been life-threatening, but it could have resulted in enough damage to ruin our plans."
"Jeez," Kathy said. "That's stuff I never thought of."
"It comes with the territory," Connie said. "You and Frank slept okay, I hope?"
"Oh, yeah. Like babies. The thunder and lightning woke us a time or two, but we didn't have any trouble going back to sleep."
"Good," Connie said. "I always worry about squalls keeping our guests awake."
"We were fine, thanks."
"You were late getting back last night. How was your meeting at the other resort yesterday?"
"Good. It's a nice place, but I think if we decide on Antigua, we'll use the first one we visited."
"What tipped the balance in their favor, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Not at all. In fact, it's useful to talk it over with somebody besides Frank. I think he liked the first one more because of that event manager girl than for any good reason."
"But you liked it better, too, right?"
"Yes, I did. It's just ... more like we pictured an exclusive resort in the islands, I guess. The other one was great, but it could have been anywhere. That one being on its own island is what did it for me."
"I think you'll like a couple of the other places, then. Petit St. Vincent and Palm Island both have that kind of isolated feel, and they're all a little different from one another."
"Different how?"
"They each have their own ambience. Nothing I can put into words. They're all nice, but ... well, you're going to look at them. That's the best way to do it."
Kathy nodded, watching a frigate bird swoop past close to the masthead. "Wow! That thing's huge; I didn't realize how big they were until I saw him next to the sail."
"They're pretty amazing birds," Connie said. "They can stay aloft for months, literally. They're the ultimate seagoing bird. They'll venture way offshore; I don't think they have any particular urge to be near land. Which reminds me of something I meant to mention."
"What's that?"
"You said that you'd be picking up the tab for the guests at these seminars you're going to run, right?"
"Right. We will. That's kind of standard."
"I see. I was wondering, what kind of budget do you have for that? You were talking about a dozen people?"
"Yes, give or take. About a dozen, most of them with spouses, or partners, too. For four days, say. Probably $10,000 a couple for meals and lodging, and kick in another few grand per couple for entertainment of some kind. I'm guessing we'll spend $250,000, maybe. Why do you ask?"
"Have you thought of chartering a yacht?"
Kathy looked puzzled. "There are yachts big enough? We're talking like 25 or 30 people, here."
Connie smiled. "There are yachts big enough. For that kind of money, you could get one that would let you stay offshore forever, almost. Like a frigate bird, kind of. I'm thinking of some of the big motor yachts. That would definitely be an unusual experience for your guests, and it would put you in absolute control of the situation. You could have zero distractions, if that's what you want, or you could opt to spend an evening or two at some hideaway for the super-rich, for a diversion."
"That never occurred to me. Or to Frank, I'm sure. That's worth thinking about. Do you know somebody who does that?"
"No, not really. That's out of our league; it's a whole different kind of business. You won't find mom and pop operators there. I can ask around, if you'd like, and put you in touch with somebody. I think our broker would know how to find someone who specializes in booking high-end charters."
"Let me think about it. I need a little time to get used to the idea, but it might work. And I thought this was a high-end charter," Kathy said, with a teasing smile.
"No matter how rich you are, there's always someone richer," Connie said.
"You're right about that," Kathy said, putting an index finger to her chin and studying Connie for a moment. "Have you thought any more about what we talked about the other day?"
"What's that?" Connie asked.
"Selling," Kathy said.
"I'm not sure I understand, Kathy."
"I think you'd be really good at what Frank and I do. You and Paul, both. And your idea about having the conference on a big charter yacht, I mean, that's the kind of thinking that makes me believe you'd fit in with us."
"Fit in with you?"
"As one of our Global Regional Directors."
"Oh," Connie said, looking out over the indigo blue water toward the eastern horizon. "Oh, I don't ... we love this life, Kathy. I'm flattered, but -- "
"Think about it, Connie. You wouldn't have to give up this life. It's a great fit. Your clients for the charters would be perfect prospects. It's synergistic, don't you see?"
"But the investment -- "
"We could work with you on that, if you needed help. I'm sure you've got the kind of net worth that would enable you to participate. Don't forget, we'd be looking for syndication. We'll send you prequalified prospects that you could include in your syndicate."
"I don't know, Kathy, you said three to five million dollars, right?"
"Yeah, but that's a syndicate, see. You'd only put up some of that yourself. Say a million, or maybe a half-million. The rest would come from your investors. And with the kind of return we're talking about, you could get your money out in no time. I don't mean to push you. I've been thinking about you and Paul coming in since we talked about your experience the other day. I've had time to mull it over, but I know I just sprung it on you. Take a little time; think about it."
"Okay. I need to talk to Paul about it, too."
"Of course you do. It would have to be a joint decision. Just think it over, and if you have any questions, ask, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'd better go see how Frank's doing. See you later."
****
Art Jansen, feet on his desk, was reflecting on his conversation with O'Toole. He shook his head at the way the Senator had been ogling the women at the beach. The man was constantly in the gossip columns for his dalliances. Jansen shrugged; not his problem. He knew what he needed to do, and minding the Senator's morals wasn't in his job description.
He snatched the encrypted phone to his ear and thumbed the connect button before the first ring stopped. "Yeah?"
"I have a report from the resort. You understand?"
"Yes. Go ahead, please."
"Frank and Kathy Lewis are planning to host investment seminars for perhaps as many as 26 people in the next few months. They're looking for luxury accommodations and gourmet meals, as well as absolute privacy and as few distractions as possible. They are evaluating other resorts in Antigua and on other islands in the Caribbean. Okay?"
"Okay so far. How did your people get this information?"
"They spoke with the event coordinator at the resort. For a small fee, she was most co-operative."
"Okay. What else did you get?"
"She dealt mainly with Frank. They both came to the resort and took a tour, but Kathy had to leave for a meeting with their banker. We have the bank, and the man's name. Would you want us to follow up on that?"
"No, not just yet. Did you get anything else from the event manager?"
"Yes. She spent several hours with Frank Lewis
-- "
"Several hours? What the hell were they doing?"
"He had wanted to see several of their suites; she said he was quite taken with the honeymoon suite. Based on the way she came on to our agent, I suspect that she and Frank were getting to know one another on a personal level."
"I see. Why do you think I care about that?"
"You asked what they were doing."
"So I did. Did your agent learn anything else about the Lewises or the Barrera woman and her husband?"
"Yes. The Lewises own the yacht, Diamantista II, and Barrera and Russo are paid crew."
"Interesting. How did you get that?"
"The Lewises invited the resort manager and the event coordinator out to the yacht for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. She spent quite some time talking to Barrera, who appears to be a stewardess on the yacht. Her husband is the chef and the captain. Two men from the Second International Bank of Antigua and Barbuda were also at the cocktail party. I have their names, if you wish. The event coordinator knows one of them 'quite well,' as she put it. He's apparently a well-known ladies man. We could arrange a honey trap if you wish to know more about their banking connection."
"Not just yet. Anything else?"
"Not from Antigua. Should we keep our agents in place there, or bring them back?"
"Is the yacht still in Antigua?"
"As of early this morning, yes."
"Then have your people stand by there. When the yacht leaves, I'll want to know where they're going, and possibly have you follow them."
"Very well. That won't be a problem."
"Good. What's the news from Bakersfield?"
"We lost Contreras for a couple of hours last night, but we've got him under surveillance again."
"How did you lose him?"
"He went into a bar for dinner and went into the men's room. When he didn't come out after a few minutes, our agent went in. There was no exit, and no sign of Contreras. They can't account for it, unless there was a concealed exit from the men's room. We had the entire building covered; there's no way he left the premises, unless there's a tunnel or something."
Sails Job - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 6th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 15