by Jerold Last
Detective Obregon nodded his agreement. “That would certainly solve some problems for me, General Aleman. I’ve been worried about the political implications. I doubt whether an officer from the U.S. Navy would be punished severely by Ecuador. There’d be too much politics involved.”
The general picked up a pen from the table and used it as a pointer to emphasize his next comment by aiming it in Suzanne’s and my direction. “Claro. Eduardo and I have some additional thoughts about the other three gringo suspects, who I think can and should be dealt with by Roger and Suzanne. It might save Juan a lot of political interference if there are U.S. nationals other than the Smarts involved in the tortoise poaching scheme.”
Suzanne and I were both a bit surprised by his remarks, but waited patiently to hear more.
General Aleman pointed his pen again, this time directly at Detective Obregon. “That should leave you with deciding which of the European and South American suspects to arrest for our Ecuadorian justice system to deal with. Hopefully you can do that quickly and carefully without any interference from timid politicians worried about the international implications of you doing your job properly, Juan. Speaking of which, you might want to get back to detecting. Since we will be discussing additional things now that will not be completely legal and you have already indicated your discomfort with hearing such topics, it would be best if you excused yourself at this time.”
Detective Obregon stood up, bowed to Suzanne, shook hands with the General, and carefully left the cabin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now that he was clearly in charge of the operation, the general took over and demonstrated how he had earned his high rank in the military. “When can you be ready to leave the Santa Cruz?” General Aleman asked Bruce.
Bruce turned towards us. “In fairness to Roger and Suzanne, I should look after Robert until the ship returns to Baltra. That would give you time to arrange for all the equipment and personnel we’ll need for our tortoise hunt, General. Would Friday when land on Baltra work? Suzanne and Roger will have to juggle Robert and all our suitcases and other gear on and off a couple of planes. Then they have to get themselves and Robert somewhere to live while they’re waiting for me to get back from Diego Garcia. They’ll have Sophia to help, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
General Aleman considered Bruce’s suggestion. I could almost see the wheels going around in his head while he calculated times and logistics. “I think we have the best chance for our mission to succeed if we plan to get to Diego Garcia just before or just after dark and leave there before first light,” the general commented.
Suzanne smiled at him. “Of course. Baltra and Diego Garcia are both within a few hundred miles of the equator, so days and nights are pretty much exactly the same length all year round. Sunrise should be about 6 AM and sunset around 6 PM every day of the year. Since you’re a professional pilot, I’d guess you know the exact times.”
General Aleman looked intently at Suzanne as if he was surprised she would know this. “Yes, Suzanne, you’re absolutely correct. Sunrise is actually at 5:41 AM and sunset is at 5:49 PM for the date we’re expecting to arrive.”
General Aleman cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention back to the task at hand. “Claro. We have to plan on about 20 hours flying time and a refueling stop of an hour or so somewhere near the halfway point, plus time to discuss our problem of low fuel with Diego Garcia over the radio when we request clearance to land there. With the 12-hour time difference, that means leaving Baltra in the morning if we want to make this work. The Santa Cruz is due to dock off Baltra some time shortly before noon on Friday. So we can’t leave early enough on Friday to be sure we’ll have the maximum time in darkness on the ground in Diego Garcia when we get there.”
The general checked some notes he’d made on his pad. “I can arrange for us to fly from Baltra on Saturday morning, which should leave us plenty of time to get everything prepared after the Santa Cruz delivers all of us there early Friday afternoon. How about you, Eduardo? Can you make all the arrangements from your end on that schedule?”
“I’m pretty sure I can,” he replied.
Suzanne had been scribbling numbers and calculations on her pad. “You’re suggesting departing from Baltra on Saturday morning, General Aleman,” she observed. “If my calculations are correct, you’ll be arriving on Diego Garcia Sunday night or some time on Monday on the other side of the International Date Line. Have you thought about how we’re going to reconnect with Bruce? We’d planned on flying home to Los Angeles that weekend. Or does this have something to do with those additional thoughts you and Eduardo had about Roger and me dealing with some of the suspects?”
The general exchanged a look with Eduardo. Some unspoken message passed between them and he continued answering Suzanne’s questions. “Yes, Suzanne, we’ve thought about that. And you have clearly earned your reputation for quick and thorough analysis of problems. The bottom line is Roger, Robert, Sophia, and you will be extending your vacation in Mexico for several days while Bruce travels around the world, before he rejoins you and your family in the Sonoran Desert. Does that sound OK to you?”
It was Suzanne’s turn to look puzzled. “I think so. How will we get there and then get home, and what do you have in mind for us to do while we’re visiting Mexico?”
Now that we were going to finally hear what Eduardo and Vincente had cooked up for us, I was once again conscious of where we were. There were currently five fairly large adults scrunched together around a small table in a very small cabin on a medium-sized cruise ship in the middle of the Galapagos Islands. It was getting noticeably warmer in the closed cabin. I hoped we were close to finished with this planning session.
General Aleman thought for a moment, picked up his pen/pointer, and scribbled on the pad of paper in front of him. He looked at the results of his scribbling for a few seconds before he answered Suzanne. “Si, Suzanne. I’d calculate the distance between Baltra and the civilian airport in Guaymas to be about 1,400 miles. That would be a 5-6 hour flight, plus or minus, on one of our less luxurious Air Force transport planes like the one Juan Obregon used to fly out to the Santa Cruz. I can arrange to put you, Roger, Sophia, and Robert on a military transport, flying directly from Baltra, some time early on Friday afternoon.”
The pen once again became a pointer, aimed directly at Suzanne. “If we just sent you on commercial flights you’d run up against the limitations of Latin American commercial aviation. You’d have to fly from Baltra to Guayaquil, catch a connecting flight to Quito, then another connecting flight to Mexico City. By that time it will be late at night and Robert would be jet lagged and irritable. You four would have to stay in Mexico City overnight, and you couldn’t get to Guaymas until the next afternoon. That’s too much to ask of you while you’re traveling with an infant like Robert. The military flight isn’t as elegant as the Gulfstream Bruce and I will fly on, but you should all be a lot more comfortable on a direct trip like that than having to take four different planes to Guayaquil, Quito, Mexico City, and Guaymas.”
“OK, we fly to Guaymas on a non-stop flight from Baltra, arriving some time Friday evening just about in time for dinner. Then what happens?” asked Suzanne warily.
“Once you get to Guaymas, you’ll stay at the old Club Med, now the Paradiso Resort and Beach Club in San Carlos, right on the Sea of Cortez. Eduardo has already made the reservations for your family and Sophia.”
Suzanne frowned. “I assume these elaborate arrangements are to get us to Mexico ahead of whoever we’re supposed to be investigating, as well as making things easier on Sophia so she doesn’t have to cope with an overtired infant with jet lag. Why all the elaborate travel planning, Eduardo?”
Eduardo smiled ruefully. “The standard military maneuver when you’re facing a battle is to get to the high ground first. We’re getting you there first. Of course it will give you
some credibility when you claim it’s just an amazing coincidence you all ended up in the same obscure resort right after the cruise since you couldn’t possibly have followed them there.”
Suzanne turned back to the general to ask, “How will we get home from Mexico?”
The general seemed relieved she was finally asking about practicalities and answered readily. “Claro. Getting back from Guaymas to Los Angeles is easy. There’s a non-stop flight two or three afternoons each week on Alaska Airlines. Eduardo has made reservations for all of you, including Bruce, on the Thursday flight. He’s also made arrangements so all of your passports already have the right entry and exit stamps from Ecuador and Mexico so there won’t be any issues clearing the passport checks in California.
“It’s less than 4 hours flying time to your home from Guaymas. The resort isn’t elegant, but it’s restful and shouldn’t cost you more than $100 a night for two rooms. There’s almost always space available on short notice, so they can accommodate Bruce whenever he arrives. The hotel has its own security, which is very good, so it’s peaceful despite the active drug cartels in Sonora. Eduardo assures me the refunds on your unused tickets from Baltra to Quito and Quito to Los Angeles will pretty well cover your additional costs for your Mexican vacation, and he will arrange for the refunds with the airlines.”
After another short pause, General Aleman continued, ”We’ll deliver Bruce back to you at the hotel while we return to Baltra from the Indian Ocean. That should be some time very early Tuesday morning in this time zone if all goes well, or on Tuesday afternoon if we return via Baltra, which we will probably have to do if we have a plane full of large tortoises or any wounded soldiers.”
Suzanne politely, but firmly, asked the obvious question. “I sense there’s something you’re still not telling us, General Aleman. What’s the attraction in Guaymas that we’ll be visiting while we’re there besides an inelegant resort, as you describe it?”
“Eduardo, would you please explain,” answered the general.
Eduardo put on his most innocent expression and winked at Suzanne. “The big attraction is three suspects. According to the computer, Raul Vonhorst and the two Kaufman sisters made reservations for the Paradiso Resort just before they boarded the Santa Cruz in Baltra. The way this is going I think Detective Obregon will be able to arrest or detain some suspects here when the Santa Cruz arrives off Baltra, but there’s not going to be probable cause to arrest any of those three in the next day or two.
“Maybe you can find something that justifies us continuing to investigate them or, better yet, clear them if you have a couple of days together with very little to do except talk to each other in Mexico. And who knows?” he asked with another wink, this time for me, “Maybe Suzanne can beat the truth out of Raul and get him to talk.”
Eduardo was referring to Suzanne’s skills in karate, which he had previously witnessed during some of the earlier cases we had worked together.
Our new travel plans were actually worth looking forward to. I would enjoy some sun and surf in the Sea of Cortez, and we were just at the end of the peak season for whale watching. The Sea of Cortez or Hawaii are where humpback whales came to have babies during the spring after their annual winter migration from Alaska. Eduardo had demonstrated several times in the past that he had connections with the airlines that I couldn’t hope to understand, but that got us upgraded flights to and from Montevideo with little or no waiting for seats when we needed to travel. I had every reason to assume he could do his magic with the airlines and get Suzanne, Robert, Bruce, and me from Guaymas, Mexico back to Los Angeles after Bruce caught up to us.
And finally, I had stayed at the resort for a week several years ago when the Paradiso Hotel was a Club Med and had enjoyed the facility and the location a lot. I was looking forward to sharing the previous experience with Suzanne.
Chapter17.Baltra, the planning phase
Darwin: In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.
The Santa Cruz was anchored offshore from Baltra when we woke up the next morning, Friday. Passengers could opt to sleep late this morning, or take a mini-tour of Santa Cruz Island, across the Itabaca Channel from Baltra, starting at 8 AM. If we opted for the Santa Cruz Island jaunt we had to be back on the ship by 11 AM for an early lunch and transfer to Baltra with all our luggage to make room for a new batch of tourists coming aboard from the same Guayaquil flight we had taken at the beginning of the week. The big cruise ship we were on rocked gently back and forth in the sheltered anchorage of the bay.
It was hard to see much detail of the ocean in the grey early morning fog. Santa Cruz island loomed to the south; the smaller Baltra was becoming more and more visible to the north. In this part of the world, everything is flat. There aren’t any mountains to block the sunlight. Sunrise and sunset happen very quickly, with little drama. One minute it’s pre-dawn gloom while the next minute it’s daylight. It would be another sunny day, but at this hour it was still grey and misty over the ocean. As the morning sun cooked away the marine fog, we abruptly had this whole vista illuminated in front of us. Details of the island’s topography became clear, Baltra flat with military and small civilian airplanes, buildings, and runways of the airfield visible in sharp detail. Santa Cruz had a lot more texture apparent from the ship: plants, bushes, sand everywhere, jagged volcanic rock formations that looked ready to bite the unwary tourist, and the small city of Puerto Ayora facing Baltra. Many of the passengers were already up on deck checking out our last day’s location, wake-up cups of coffee, tea, or cocoa clutched in their hands while they stared at the view.
After a quick breakfast we began our last organized activity in the Galapagos Islands. The tour of the island consisted of a water taxi ride across the channel to the harbor at Puerto Ayora, a bus ride to The Charles Darwin Research Station, and a guided tour of the tortoise-breeding center. Despite the rushed tour and all the hassles, it was worth the effort and a fantastic experience.
The breeding center facilitated and supervised hatching and rearing of young tortoises in a predator-free environment with optimal amounts of food and nutrition. The young tortoises were also prepared with all of the survival skills necessary for successful reintroduction into their natural habitat in the islands. There wasn’t anywhere else in the world where you could see that many Galapagos Tortoises in the same place at the same time. Most of the tortoises were small compared to what we saw in the wild. The adult tortoises were several hundred pounds, or larger. The youngsters were just a fraction of this size, but looked liked miniaturized versions of what they were destined to become.
Suzanne carefully explained all of this to Robert, who clearly wanted to play with the baby tortoises. “I’m sorry, Robert, but we can’t touch. We can watch them eat and play from where we are, but we can’t get any closer. Aren’t they wonderful?”
Robert gurgled his agreement.
Bruce had a much more practical perspective, but was careful not to say anything that might compromise his mission if the wrong person overheard us. “You know, Roger, I had my doubts about a lot of things as far as our plans for tomorrow might work out. Looking at these guys here makes me feel a whole lot better about the whole thing. If everything goes well, we might have a ton or two more freight to carry than I anticipated, but the freight looks like they’ll be pretty mellow.”
Sophia enjoyed the tortoises as much as any of us. Her sole comment was, “Too bad my workaholic husband had to miss this. He’d have been fascinated to see these little guys. Maybe he’ll get a chance to come over here while he’s still on Baltra.”
I looked around but didn’t see either of the Kaufman sisters or Raul. “It looks like the younger generation had a late night last night. Or maybe they’re just catching up on sleep in anticipation of a real long redeye flight to Mexico City tonight.”
Our guide efficiently organized us for our return to the Santa Cruz and
we were back on board shortly after. We’d packed everything except Robert’s essentials before leaving the ship, so we were all ready to disembark ten minutes after we’d grabbed a quick sandwich or two for lunch. Most of the ship’s passengers, those who like us had signed up for the 4-day cruise, disembarked with us. A smaller number, who had opted for the more expensive 1-week cruise, remained on board. We water taxied over to the pier on Baltra, where we were bussed to the airfield.
As arranged the previous night, a jeep picked up Bruce, and drove him past the small, crappy looking, one-story wooden frame building that housed the civilian airport facility. The jeep delivered him to another deceptively shabby looking building smaller than the civilian terminal in the military part of the airfield west of the civilian sector. The front of this shabby building featured an Ecuadorian flag and a small sign announcing Fuerza Aérea Ecuatoriana and Militar Sólo in bold letters. Following his driver’s instructions, Bruce entered the building and walked to a large office in the back.