The question now was, what was the mission? The original encryption data from Lloyd’s, or their cargo? She suspected the cases were extremely valuable, Mei Li’s presence probably tying them to China. Then there was Storm and Mako. What an odd couple, she thought. There was something between them that was more than the loathing they both showed for each other—some kind of rivalry. Storm, although a dinosaur, was an accomplished agent and could prove to be an asset if the conditions were right. Leaving the screen with Mako’s location open, she logged into the Agency email server and started writing a proposal for the director.
***
From the same spot as yesterday, Storm had been watching the yacht since just past dawn. He brought the field glasses to his face and carefully surveyed the quiet ship. Two crewmen were busy cleaning the top deck, hosing and wiping the brilliant white fiberglass and polishing the stainless steel, but that was the only sign of life he had seen. He knew from his past surveillance that these were not morning people and relaxed, knowing they were probably still asleep. He was about to nod off himself when the roar of the engines startled him. There was a flurry of activity on the deck now, and he thought he saw the Iranian on the bridge talking to a man he suspected was the captain.
Two crewmen retrieved the dock lines, and the yacht slowly pulled forward out of the slip. Using its bow thrusters, the captain turned the ship into the open water of the sound. Storm sprung from his cover, not concerned about being seen, and ran down the dock to Mako’s rented boat. It was close to noon now; he should be awake.
“Welcome aboard,” Mako said from the cockpit.
“What are you doing?” He watched him playing with the phone, the box, and instructions on the bench seat beside him. For a long minute, he just stared at him before taking matters into his own hands. “Never mind. We gotta go.” He went forward and untied the two bowlines, tossing them in the water instead of taking the time to slip them over the bollards, and went back to start the engine. “Get the stern lines,” he ordered Mako and turned his back to the wheel.
Storm pulled out stern first before Mako had the lines off, knowing he had a few seconds to spare before he passed the pilings. Four men came running down the dock to help, but Mako was able to release the last line just before it came taut, and Storm pulled the throttle back to its limit. The exhaust gurgled behind them as he backed into his own wake, but before it could flood seawater back through the exhaust, the bow slid free of the piles. He turned around and slammed the throttle forward.
The yacht was in the distance, threading its way between the green and red pilings marking the entrance to the sound. They were falling behind, the sailboat unable to get above six knots with its small engine.
“Can you get the sails up?” he asked. Mako’s look didn’t inspire confidence. “Never mind. Can you follow the channel out? Green is on the right.” He left the wheel to Mako and released the jib furling line. With the port sheet around the capstan, he pulled the jib out. He cranked on the winch, having to utilize its mechanical advantage to trim the sail. The boat jerked forward when the sail caught wind, the increase in speed immediate. It was not enough, though, and he grabbed the starboard stay and swung his body to the mast.
“Hold the course,” he called back to Mako with a look over his shoulder to see if he was still in the channel. Waiting until they were past the point at Prickly Pear Island, he called out, “Steady now, and stay to port.” His life was in Mako’s hands, and he glanced back at the cockpit to make sure he was paying attention. If he swung over to starboard and passed the bow of the boat through the wind, the jib would swing over, taking him over the side. He took one more look and hauled the halyard hand over hand until the sail was three-quarters of the way up. In order to control the boom, he had left the main sheet taut, and the boat heeled over sharply as the sail caught the wind. Somehow, Mako made the adjustment and turned to starboard just enough to allow him to crawl on his hands and knees under the boom and into the cockpit.
“Nice job,” he said and adjusted the sails. The yacht was out of the pass and steering a course that would take them to the east and seaward of Mosquito Island.
“You know that’s Richard Branson’s place. Ecolodge or something,” Mako said as they followed the yacht past the island.
Storm took the wheel and shook his head.
CHAPTER 13
Alicia did her homework. Since her earliest memories, she had always known that success came from doing the work. Drilled into her by her mother, probably before preschool, she had always done whatever was needed to reach the top of her field. While she waited for a response from the CIA, she studied a white paper on the Iranian nuclear program and then pulled up a treaty just signed to defuse it. In her opinion, there were glaring holes in the process. In order to comply, Iran had to stop enriching uranium and either dilute or remove its existing supply. There were no provisions for disabling delivery mechanisms. If they were to receive enriched uranium from another country such as China, it would not be subject to inspections and could be delivered directly to the military for weaponization. She now had an idea what the cases contained, but needed to verify it. Frustrated, she got up and left the dark room, wondering why this was so apparent to her and not the politicians who had negotiated and signed the treaty. Sunlight greeted her, shocking her into reality and reminding her that she had not slept, eaten, or even used the bathroom for hours.
The clock on the microwave told her it was late morning, and she looked at the dock through the hurricane shutters, partially closed to obscure the sunlight. Both boats were out on charters, a good sign for their bottom line, but she needed Cody’s help to decipher the mystery. He looked at things from an entirely different angle than she did. The difference between a gamer and an analyst. More often than she liked to admit, he had taken one look at a problem that had vexed her for hours and given her the answer. She filled a glass with water, drank it, and refilled it. The refrigerator yielded nothing of interest, and she lay down on the couch.
Sleep eluded her, and she returned to the war room. Pulling up Mei Li’s biography, she opened another screen and started a timeline on a spreadsheet, placing her known activities against their locations. She found her answer soon enough and closed the bio screen. Arabic was not one of her languages, so it took some time to go back and forth with a former analyst, but they soon found the records of her daughter—Mei Lan.
***
They saw the yacht turn, now just a glimmer of white fiberglass and polished stainless steel on the blue water ahead. There had been a few tense moments when they’d thought it was going to sea, but now her destination looked like either Jost Van Dyke or St. Thomas. Mako suspected the former. There was no reason he could think of for them to enter the United States. They looked at each other, a strange feeling of camaraderie coming over them, both relieved. With no food and daylight running out, they needed to find an anchorage.
“Nice job on the provisions,” Storm said. He adjusted the sails to the course change, and the boat settled on an easy beam reach.
“I was busy,” Mako replied, setting down the plastic glass. He stared ahead at the yacht, now set against the outline of the island. It was miles ahead, and he lay down on the starboard bench, letting the sail shield him from the late-afternoon sun. The yacht had stayed outside of the Dog Islands and turned to the west. The hills of Jost Van Dyke were directly ahead, indistinct in the afternoon haze. Mako was sprawled on the cockpit bench and was just about asleep when the vibration from the phone startled him.
He reached into his pocket and looked at the screen. After reading the long message from Alicia, containing more detail than he cared to know, he sat up and looked at Storm.
“What’s the matter? Your date for tonight canceled?” The older man laughed out loud.
Mako ignored the barb.
“Maybe you’d better let me see that,” Storm said, extending his hand for the phone.
Mako complied, finding it easier to let him
read it. Storm set the autopilot and read the message.
“So she found her. Mei Lan, offspring of the infamous Mei Li and Cyrus. Makes sense now why they were there. But why Jost Van Dyke?” he asked.
The chart was folded on the bench across from him, and Mako reached out and opened it. Storm stood beside him.
“Jost Van Dyke.” He pointed to the large island set by itself. “Nothing there but some burnt-out hippies and a bunch of bars,” Storm said.
Mako studied the chart. “There’s a customs dock there,” he said.
“The YCCS could have gotten them cleared from Virgin Gorda—for a few greenbacks. There has to be something else.”
“Could be a decoy. Stopping only in one place here is very unusual. Maybe they’re just covering their tracks—making it look like a vacation.”
Storm shot him a look that could have said he was either brilliant or an idiot. He decided on the former. There was a bright side to Jost Van Dyke, he thought, remembering Hillary’s challenge to leave a message on one of the bar’s walls.
“As much as this pains me to say, you might be right,” Storm said and went back to the wheel.
Mako lay back down and thought about his present circumstance. Being this close to Storm was a constant irritant. Not only did he feel like he was being judged every second they were together, he usually felt like he didn’t measure up to whatever scale the older man used to measure him against. Unable to sleep, he pulled the phone back and texted Alicia, asking her about the state of the contract and how to proceed.
It was a good half hour before she answered, and the sun now had full dominion over the deck. He put on his sunglasses and watched Great Camanoe slide by the port side. Looking ahead, he squinted into the setting sun. The outline of Jost Van Dyke was still visible, but their prey was lost in the glare of the sun on the water.
“You have any ideas now?” Mako asked.
“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend where they are? Surely she has the power to summon a satellite and get some real-time info.”
Mako pecked the request into his phone. What he got back surprised him. No, she couldn’t summon a satellite. The Agency had denied her request for funds, ignoring her theory. If they wanted to salvage anything out of this, they would have to get the encryption data from Cyrus.
“No go on all accounts,” Mako explained the message to Storm.
“Not surprising. Those pinheads at the Agency can’t see past their glasses.”
“Well?” Mako asked.
“Well, what? We’re stuck together—at least for now,” Storm said.
Shit, Mako thought. He had to figure a way to get rid of the older agent and find the encryption data. If he could only get the girl alone….
“Pull out the cruising guide so we can pick an anchorage. These bays are dicey.”
A small island was dead ahead, its white beaches gleaming. “Pretty sure you need to steer clear of that,” Mako said.
Storm didn’t respond, but glared at him and turned a few degrees to port. Mako found the spiral-bound book in the chart table and opened it to the section on Jost Van Dyke and Tobago. Instead of reading about the moorings, he concentrated on the nightlife. “Great Harbor looks good.”
“If I remember, that’s where the customs dock is, and there’s plenty of room for a yacht of that size too,” Storm said.
They passed Sand Cay and saw masts to starboard. “That must be Little Harbor,” Mako said after consulting the chart. Its narrow entrance looked intimidating, and he doubted the larger vessel would try it.
They passed a rocky point, and Storm cut the wheel to starboard. Great Harbor lay ahead, and tied up to a long dock on the far side was the yacht.
“That’s the customs dock they’re on,” Storm said.
Mako looked at his phone. “After five. I guess they’re stuck here until tomorrow,” he said, relishing the thought of going ashore and freeing himself from Storm. The harbor was busy, home to several popular establishments Mako had read about. He searched the shore for two of the bars in particular: Corsair’s, where Hillary had instructed him to leave a message on the walls, and Foxy’s were on top of his list.
“Can we find a mooring ball first?” Storm demanded.
After a brief squabble, they were tied up to one of the few remaining moorings, and Mako stood on the bow surveying the scene. Twilight was upon the harbor, and the party was just starting. “I’ll take the dinghy and run over to the marina to pay for the mooring,” Mako offered after changing.
“I’ll ride over with you and watch the yacht while you do whatever it is you do.”
That was good enough for Mako, and he climbed from the swim platform into the dinghy, careful to wipe the salt spray from the seat. Storm closed the cabin and joined him. Silently they rode through the mooring field, each contemplating their own missions. Storm eased the dinghy to the dock by Foxy’s, and Mako hopped out.
Mako started bopping to the reggae music coming from the bar the second Storm dropped him off. He deftly avoided a group of island children dressed in Catholic school uniforms looking for handouts, and ran directly in to the harbormaster.
“That’ll be twenty dollars for the mooring,” the man said.
Mako dug in his pockets and pulled out the requisite bill. “That yacht over there.” He pointed to the large dock. “Seen anyone come off her?” he asked.
The man looked him over, and Mako pulled out a five-dollar bill. Before he could offer it, the man’s agile fingers reached out and snatched it from his grip, the bill quickly disappearing into his pocket. “A young lady was by earlier.” He gave Mako the look again.
Mako was having none of it. “Where’d she go?”
He shook his head and turned away. “It’s a small town. You’ll find her.”
Mako brushed off the insult and strode down the dock to the sandy road that ran along the beach. The music came from a purple-and-green building on the right. Must be Foxy’s, he thought and headed toward the entrance. The bar was open to the night air and about three-quarters full. Local bartenders poured rum drinks which the deeply tanned tourists drank while swaying to the music. He cruised through the room, stopping at the corner of the bar near a stage where a band was playing. Several people were dancing, but the woman was not here. He thought about having a drink and waiting, but his stomach was growling and he had planned on checking out Corsair’s. Like the harbormaster had said, it was a small island—he would find her.
He headed down the road, having to dodge several local vehicles cruising the narrow street. After passing a handful of quieter restaurants, bars and gift shops, he found Corsair’s on the right. The colorful building had a Jimmy Buffet song coming from its open bar and dining room. Several couples were at long high-top tables out front, watching the boats bobbing on the moon-dappled water. He moved slowly past the crowded dining area, the smell of the food tempting him, but the bar was just ahead, and he froze when he saw her.
She was by herself at the small bar, sipping what looked like straight tequila. In a perfect world, he would have found a spot and watched her, to see if she was really alone and take the mood of the place, but the bar was less than a dozen seats, flanked by a fish-fighting chair off a charter boat. He took the straight-on approach.
“Well, hey there. From the other night, right?” he said, as if she didn’t think he would remember. In many places he could be accused of stalking, but cruisers circumnavigated the islands, often stopping at each to sample the bars and food. It was not uncommon to run into someone on more than one island.
“Mako, was it?” she answered and slid over a seat. “Join me?”
He wasted no time and sat next to her, wondering if he had ever told her his name. “I’m kind of hungry, mind if we skip right to dinner?” he asked.
“Suits me,” she said and looked to the dining room, catching the eye of a waiter who showed them to an empty table by the road.
Mako looked around at the notes scrawled in marker
all over the walls and ceiling, left by tourists over the years. He thought about what Hillary had said, but he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. They ordered, and Mako enjoyed the best seafood in the islands.
“You were hungry,” she said.
He finished the bowl of fish stew, soaking up the last of the sauce with a piece of bread. “Sorry. Didn’t do such a good job provisioning the boat.”
“Guess you need a woman’s touch,” she laughed and finished her fish. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” She got up, grabbed her phone from the tabletop and left in the direction of the bathroom.
Normally he would want to get her alone, but that was crossing a fine line between work and play. Besides, the sailboat was off-limits with Storm there, and the Iranian was on the yacht. The best he could do was to get as much information from her as he could. He sat back when she returned.
“Nightcap?” she asked.
He smiled, got up and held her chair, enjoying her touch as she brushed against him. Mako signaled the waiter and left the company credit card on the table. Alicia was going to love this one, he thought as they entered the bar and found two stools.
“Absinthe?” he asked the bartender. The decorative bottles holding red, green and yellow liquor had grabbed his eye.
“Name’s Vinny.” The man behind the bar looked like a pirate, with his grey-streaked hair tied back in a ponytail. With his gold earrings and multiple tattoos, he looked like the corsair the island was named after, until he spoke and his New Jersey accent belied him. “Slide back in the fighting chair and I’ll give you a taste.”
Mei Lan poked him in the ribs, urging him on. “I’ll do it if you do it,” he said as he got into the chair and leaned back. With his feet on the platform, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth and braced himself as the sting of the liquor hit his tongue. Vinny poured a heavy shot, stopping to allow him to swallow. The liquor was harsh, tasting of licorice, but sugary at the same time.
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