Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  Paul grinned and shook his head. "Now you sound like an expert. I'm not sure I want to know how you ..."

  "You know about the diet clinic; that's exactly what I'm talking about. Instead of trying to lose weight, these two wanted ..."

  "Their quarter of a million dollars back, but you couldn't give that to them because we can't find it."

  "Well, that was only part of it, see. What they thought they wanted was to set up a smuggling operation that used the eastern Caribbean islands as transshipment points and to move the drugs on private yachts under the command of innocent people."

  "Right. I see how you pieced that together, but what could you offer them that ..."

  "Wait. That's what they thought they wanted. What they really wanted was to stay alive; immortality is the ultimate ticket on the plane to heaven."

  "Okay, but how did you ..."

  "I convinced them that my partners and I controlled drug transshipment in the islands, and that Giannetti and Murano had thoroughly pissed us off by not respecting our turf."

  Paul chuckled. "Wait a second. How'd Giannetti get into this?"

  "I heard them talking about him; it was clear from the conversation that he was Murano's boss."

  "I see. What next? How did you get them to untie you?"

  "I told that creep Ferranti that they had between 30 minutes and a few hours to live if he didn't get Murano below to talk to me. When Murano came down, I taunted him into releasing me before I told him where the money was."

  "So what did you tell him?"

  "That it was safe in my numbered account in the Cayman Islands, and that they'd never see it again; that it was a fine for their disrespect."

  Paul laughed. "And he bought that?"

  "Why not? The money wasn't his biggest problem."

  "What was?"

  "My partners and I set this up as a trap with me as the bait so that we could send Murano's head to Giannetti in an Omaha Steaks box."

  "How did you get from there to drinking the wine? What was the deal that Murano mentioned?"

  "I told him that I might be able to save his ass for a million dollars and fifty percent of their action; that we'd go into a partnership with them, but that the deal didn't include Ferranti. He just really pissed me off, and it was fun to make him beg after I got Murano on my side."

  "But Murano knows I'm a cop."

  "Yes, and they know you're a straight cop, too. Your Involvement was a problem for me. I had to waste you, just a little bit."

  "How'd you do that?"

  "I led Murano to believe that I'd seduced you to get information about the Greco task force."

  "What? How'd Greco figure in it?"

  "He didn't, until I brought him in out of desperation to explain why you were hanging around with me. I guessed that he'd heard of the Greco task force."

  "But Murano ..."

  "Yes. He asked me why I cared about Greco. 'Greco works for Giannetti,' he said, when I told him that."

  "Holy shit! I need to make some calls, fast." Paul got up and scrambled to the chart table to retrieve the satellite phone. When he turned back around, Connie's arms were crossed on the table, her head resting on them. The adrenalin had worked its way through her system and she had fallen asleep.

  He set the phone down for a moment and picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, her head falling against his chest. As he carried her to the aft cabin, she roused enough to wrap her arms around him and murmur something unintelligible. He eased her onto her berth, arranging a pillow under her head. He stood there for a moment, waiting to be sure he had not awakened her, and then he went back to the main cabin and picked up the satellite phone.

  ****

  Paul sat at the table in the saloon for a few minutes collecting his thoughts. The task force had been operating under the assumption that Greco ran his own operation, subservient to no one, but Murano wanted to cut a deal and give up Greco's boss. That in itself was enough to get Paul's attention, but Murano's statement to Connie that Greco worked for Giannetti would change the whole prosecution strategy. Everyone in law enforcement in south Florida knew Giannetti was dirty, but no one had ever managed to pin anything on him.

  He decided this information was worth waking up Mandy Cantrell, especially this close to Greco's trial date. The hard-driving prosecutor would be angry if he didn't call her. He looked up her home number in his cell phone, noticing as he did that there was no service. Thankful for the satellite phone, he entered her number and waited, listening to the ringing for what seemed like a full minute. He was beginning to wonder if she'd slept in her office and was about to disconnect and call her there when she answered.

  "Mandy Cantrell." Paul had been expecting a groggy answer, but she sounded wide awake and ready for business.

  "It's Paul Russo, Mandy. Sorry to disturb you so late, but I've stumbled across something that could change the whole game plan for the Greco trial."

  "Damn, Paul! I'm glad you called. I was just rehearsing my opening statement. The judge finished the case she was hearing a day early; the trial's been moved up. We start day after tomorrow. What do you have?"

  He gave her a concise summary of what had happened from the time Connie took on her pick-up crew in Annapolis up through this evening's excitement. "Murano and the other guy, this Ferranti, are being held by a friend of mine on a boat that's in international waters until I can hand him over; I'm still a Deputy U.S. Marshall, remember, and I caught the two of them red-handed kidnapping a U.S. citizen on a U.S. flagged vessel. They've only been in custody a couple of hours. I think it's a decent bust, especially if we act quickly. I'm guessing we want to cut some kind of deal, right?"

  "Oh, yeah! I see serious problems here, though. Murano's not got access to counsel, and it sounds like he could argue that you coerced him to talk."

  "Well, we were headed that way," Paul said, "but he pre-empted us and offered to give up Greco's boss. I put the brakes on at that point, and asked my friends to keep the two of them until I had time to talk with you."

  "And he gave up Giannetti already? He's a Harvard MBA -- new mob-type -- I figured he was smarter than that. Sure you guys didn't beat it out of him?"

  "No, Mandy. Nobody touched him, although one of the guys who helped me rescue Connie was about to shoot him."

  "Shit, Paul! A good defense attorney will cut us to pieces if I put Murano on the stand."

  "I've got an idea, Mandy. Have I given you enough to get a wiretap order for Giannetti?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Where are you going with this?"

  "Murano suggested that I listen in while he talks to Giannetti on the phone. He says he'll get Giannetti to incriminate himself. If you get that on tape, can you make it work?"

  "Maybe so. I'm liking that. You guys have any video recording capability out there?"

  "Several of us have smart phones. Why?"

  "Okay, here's the plan. I'll call you back when we've got Giannetti tapped. Meanwhile, tell Murano we're gonna deal, but I want video of you reading him his rights. On that same video, I want him to make the offer again, and I want him to waive his right to counsel. Think you can make that happen?"

  "Shouldn't be a problem."

  "Good. I've got a lot of work to do; I'll call you back in the morning. This number in my caller i.d., is it a good one?"

  "Yes. It's a satellite phone, and it's in my possession. Hey! Just occurred to me -- we'll place the call to Giannetti from this number, so you can monitor it when the time comes. That way, if Giannetti's got some unknown number for Murano to use, it won't matter."

  "Perfect. Now, I want to get this done as early tomorrow as possible. If it works, I'll be asking for a continuance on the Greco case while we sort this out. Figure on placing the call to Giannetti around lunch time."

  "Got it. I'll be in position with Murano and get the videos done by around ten tomorrow."

  "Okay, great. Paul?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Sounds lik
e you've got yourself one brave lady."

  "I wish. She's just a good friend, though."

  "Bullshit. If she doesn't snag you she's nuts. I'd have been after you myself if I didn't play on the other team."

  "Thanks, Mandy. Talk to you later."

  "G'bye, handsome."

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Diamantista and Fin Dancer occupied adjacent moorings in Francis Bay on the north coast of St. John. Paul had called Phillip early that morning and arranged the rendezvous. The set up with Murano had gone off flawlessly; Giannetti had jumped into the trap with both feet. The rest of the day had been filled with conference calls until about an hour ago, when a U.S. Coast Guard boat had arrived carrying two U.S. Deputy Marshals. Paul had done the paperwork to transfer Murano and Ferranti to their custody. Mandy Cantrell had sent them an arrest warrant for both men, and the prisoners would be flown to Miami on a DEA jet this evening. Paul had just disconnected from a last minute phone call with Mandy and was preparing to join the others on deck for a round of drinks.

  "Sorry about the delay," he said, emerging from the companionway with a tray that held six ice-cold beers in moisture-beaded glasses.

  Phillip and Sharktooth helped themselves after Paul handed a glass to Connie. Sitting down across from Freddy, Paul passed him one of the two remaining beers. They were seated around the fold-out table in Diamantista's cockpit, large bowls of chips and mango salsa in the center.

  "Freddy, I'm sorry we spoiled yet another day of fishing," Paul offered.

  "No problem, Paul. It's for a good cause, and there's always tomorrow. The fish'll still be there. Besides, I haven't had so much fun since Phillip and I were down in Central America a few years ago."

  "What's the latest from Mandy?" Connie asked.

  "They picked up Giannetti this afternoon."

  "So, this whole mess is really over, you think?"

  "Probably, but who knows? There's still the question of the missing quarter of a million dollars."

  "I'll bet those kids had some deal going to take off with it; maybe they gave it to somebody else," Phillip said.

  "Anything's possible in the drug business," Paul agreed, "but if they were going to run off with the money, why bother with sailing to the islands?"

  "Kirsten said that Jimmy wanted to set himself up as a pimp in St. Thomas; could be that he had some connections there," Connie said.

  "Speaking of Kirsten, they arrested the matron in Carteret County who gave her the coke. She said that Tony paid her to do it and provided the coke. She didn't know it was uncut until Kirsten died and she heard about the coroner's findings. She thought she was just helping out a junkie who was hurting for a fix, or so she says."

  "We 'bout to get one fine sunset," Sharktooth said, watching the light reflecting from the trade wind cumulus clouds. "Too bad we in this cove an' can't see the horizon. Bet we gonna miss the green flash."

  "It's a beauty, all right." Paul drained his beer as he gazed at the deepening colors. "Anybody hungry? Or should I set up another round?"

  "I'm starved," Connie said. "You get dinner going; I'll come down with you and get everybody another beer."

  As they stood, Sharktooth asked, "What's for dinner?"

  "Fresh tuna steaks, thanks to you guys. Seared and drizzled with wasabi-balsamic vinaigrette. But don't worry if that sounds too healthy, Sharktooth. Connie warned me that you're trying to recover your strength. There'll be a side of risotto with pancetta and radicchio, just for you."

  ****

  Two hours later, Paul and Connie were alone on Diamantista. Fin Dancer would be departing at first light to go fishing, so their three guests had made an early evening of it. After Paul had refused to let Connie help with the after-dinner cleanup, she had taken the satellite phone up into the cockpit. She wanted to call Dani and Liz and let them know that she and Paul were finally in the islands and would like to meet up with them somewhere. They still had a little more than two weeks before their first guests would arrive in Antigua, and Connie was hoping that their friends might have a break between charters so that they could meet somewhere between Antigua and Martinique.

  Paul knew that she wanted to show them Diamantista; she had consulted with them by phone numerous times during her search for a suitable vessel. She made no secret of the fact that she had really wanted to buy a Herreshoff 59 like Vengeance, and he had been surprised when she called to tell him she'd signed a purchase contract for this boat.

  He was struggling with the need to have his long-delayed conversation with her. Tonight didn't seem like the right time, but he wondered if he was looking for reasons to put it off. Drying the last of the dinner dishes, he put them away and decided to join her on deck and see where the conversation went.

  He dried his hands and mounted the companionway ladder, stopping when he saw that she was stretched full length on the starboard cockpit seat, the phone on the cushion beside her with her right hand on top of it. He climbed into the cockpit, moving quietly. As he suspected, she was sound asleep, her beautiful face completely relaxed for the first time in days.

  He thought for a moment about covering her with a light cotton throw and letting her sleep in the cockpit, but rain showers often blew through in the early morning. With regret, he roused her enough to help her get below and settled her in her bed in the aft stateroom. Spared from his dreaded conversation about their relationship, he mixed himself a stiff drink and retired to the forward stateroom, vowing that tomorrow, he would tell her how he felt, no matter what.

  * * *

  Chapter 28

  Paul woke up to the smell of strong, freshly brewed espresso. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, freezing when he saw Connie standing beside his berth, a cup of steaming espresso in her hand. She was wearing something almost big enough to qualify as a bikini; he saw her smile at the surprise in his eyes. He was glad it had been cool enough for him to sleep under a sheet, given his body's immediate response to her.

  "Good morning, sleepyhead."

  "Morning. Did I oversleep?" He reached for the coffee.

  "We're not really on a schedule. I figured you needed the rest."

  "Thanks. I guess I did. You been up long?"

  "Couple of hours, but remember, I crashed pretty early last night."

  "Yeah." He sat up on the edge of the berth, letting the sheet fall from his chest into his lap, surreptitiously checking to be sure he had slept in his boxer shorts. He didn't remember going to bed, but he usually slept in his underwear. His relief at finding that he was wearing them was short-lived, though. He was in no condition to get out of bed with her standing there like that. He inhaled the fragrant scent of the espresso and took a sip, studying her face to keep his mind off the rest of her. The bruising on her jaw was still noticeable, but the swelling had gone down.

  "You sleep okay? The jaw looks better."

  She touched it with her fingertips. "It's still tender, but it's not bothering me unless I touch it. I rolled over on it a time or two and it woke me up, but I was so beat that I went right back to sleep."

  "What time is it?"

  "Eleven."

  "Eleven? Wow! I did sleep in. We still going back to Caneel Bay?"

  "Well, I was thinking that unless you need to do a video conference or something, maybe we could stay here for a while and go back later."

  "Fine with me. You had breakfast?"

  "Some toast. I wasn't very hungry after that dinner you cooked. Even Sharktooth got enough, I think." She smiled.

  "Me, too. My grandmother's risotto's pretty filling. So what's on your agenda today?"

  "We're the only boat in the cove; everybody else left, and Freddy said that little reef just along the north shore is really pretty. Want to play tourist and go snorkeling?"

  "Sounds great." He slugged down the rest of his espresso. "Give me a few minutes to shave and get my trunks on?"

  "Sure. No problem. I'll go get our stuff out of the cockpit locker while you ge
t ready."

  Paul waited until he heard her open the cockpit locker, not wanting her to come back for some reason and see him in, or mostly in, his boxer shorts. He grabbed his baggiest swim trunks and stepped into the forward head. He shaved, careful not to make it too close. He didn't want any nicks that would burn in the salty water. He brushed his teeth and took off his underwear and the T-shirt he'd worn to bed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, noticing how pale his shoulders looked. He put the T-shirt back on, remembering how easy it was to get a painful sunburn while paddling around face down in the 82-degree water. The coolness of the water hid the damage until later. He snugged up the drawstring in his trunks and opened the door.

  He did his best to forget how Connie had looked in that bikini when he first opened his eyes. He had thought at first that he was dreaming, but then she handed him the coffee and he had burned his tongue. That was when he was sure he was awake. He knew he'd probably gawked like a teenager; he'd seen her embarrassed smile as she watched his face. There was nothing he could do about that now, but he definitely needed to find time to have that conversation with her today. Maybe after their swim; if not then, maybe he could work it in while they were sailing around to Caneel Bay.

  ****

  While Connie sorted through the locker picking out snorkeling gear, she thought about Paul's reaction when she had awakened him a few minutes ago. She had seen the look on his face before his guard came up. She was a little ashamed at how pleased she had been to see the undisguised lust in his eyes. She hadn't even thought about the bathing suit until then, but it was pretty revealing. She'd picked it up in a wild moment when she was hanging out in South Beach a few years ago and hadn't worn it since the day the Miami Beach police car ran over her foot.