The Dark Tide

by Andrew Gross

  “Their hair,” Karen said, cupping Hauck’s curled hand close to her breast. “They both had the same red hair. You’ve been trying to make up for that accident all this time. By solving this hit-and-run. By playing the hero for me.”

  “No, that part was just my plan to get in your pants,” he teased, deadpan.

  “Ty.” She looked into his sorrowful eyes. “You are a good man. That part I could see the first time we met. Anyone who knows you can see that. We all do things every day—walk off the curb into traffic, drive when we’ve had a bit too much to drink, forget to blow out a candle when we go to sleep. And things just go on, like they always do. Until one time they don’t. You can’t keep judging yourself. This happened a long time ago. It was an accident. You loved your daughter. You still do. You don’t have to make up for anything anymore.”

  Hauck smiled. He pressed his hand to her cheek and stroked Karen’s face. “This from a woman who walked in here tonight having found out that her once-deceased husband was her new AOL pen pal.”

  “Tonight, yes.” Karen laughed. “Tomorrow…who the hell knows?”

  She dropped back onto the bed. Suddenly she remembered why she had come. The frustration that bristled in her blood. Hello, baby… It all overwhelmed her a little. She grasped his hand.

  “So what the hell are we gonna do now, Ty?”

  “We’re gonna let it drop,” he said, running his finger along the slope of her back and letting it linger on her buttock. “Anyway, it’s not exactly conducive, Karen.”

  “Conducive? Conducive to what?” she asked, aware of the renewed stirring in her belly.

  He turned toward her and shrugged. “To doing it again.”

  “Doing it again?” He pulled Karen on top of him, their bodies springing alive. She brushed her nose against his, her hair cascading all over his face like a waterfall, and then she laughed. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve heard those words?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  In the morning Hauck put on coffee. He was out on the deck when Karen stepped outside after nine, wearing an oversize Fairfield University T-shirt she’d grabbed from the drawer, wiping sleep from her eyes.

  “Morning.” He looked up, his hand brushing against her thigh.

  She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Hi.”

  It was a bright, warm, early-summer morning. Karen looked across the row of modest homes to the sound. Boaters were readying their crafts in the marina. An early launch to Cove Island was going out. A few gray gulls flapped in the sky.

  She went over to the railing. “It’s nice out here.” She nodded toward the painting, still on its easel. “Feel like I’ve seen this before.”

  Hauck pointed to a stack of canvases against the wall. “All the same view.”

  Karen raised her face to the sun and ran a hand through her tangled hair against the breeze. Then she sat down next to him, cupping her hands around the mug.

  He said, “Listen, about last night…”

  She put out her hand and stopped him. “Me first. I didn’t mean to throw myself at you. I just couldn’t face being alone. I—”

  “I was about to say last night was a dream,” he said, winking into her sleepy eyes.

  “I was about to say something like that, too.” Karen smiled back sheepishly. “I hadn’t been with anyone else in almost twenty years.”

  “It was crazy. All that pent-up energy…”

  “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.

  He shifted himself around to her. “You know that yoga move, where you arch your spine back like that and—”

  Karen slapped at his wrist, rebuking. “Oh, you’re a stitch!”

  Ty caught her hand. He looked at her, directly now. “I meant it, Karen. What I told you about why I started in on this. Because of you. But you knew that. I’ve never been much of a poker player.”

  Karen leaned her head on his shoulder again. “Ty, listen, I don’t know if this is such a smart idea for us right now.”

  “That’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

  “There’s just too much going on that I have to sort out. What we do about Charlie, my kids? My goddamn husband’s out there, Ty!”

  “Have you made up your mind?”

  “About what? Help me out. It’s like a fucking Costco of things to choose from.”

  “About Charles,” Hauck said. “About what you want me to do.”

  Karen drew in a breath. There was something firm in her gaze, replacing the coiled anxiety of last night. She nodded. “I’ve made up my mind. He owes me answers, Ty, and I want them. When he first started lying to me. When whatever it was he was chasing became more important to him than me or the kids. And I’m not gonna turn the page on almost half my life without hearing them. From him. By letting him off the hook. I’m want to find the man, Ty.”

  AFTER SHE GOT home and took a shower and brushed out her hair, Karen sat back down at the computer. All the anxiety she’d been feeling last night had hardened into a new resolve.

  She clicked onto AOL and found Charlie’s reply to her. She read it over one more time.

  Hello, baby….

  She started to type.

  I’m not your “baby,” Charles. Not anymore. I’m someone you’ve terribly hurt—beyond what you could ever imagine. Someone very confused. But you already know that, Charles, don’t you?

  You knew that when you wrote me back. You must’ve known that since the day you left. So here’s the deal—I want to see you, Charles. I want to hear why you did this. Why you used us, Charlie, the people you supposedly loved. Not over the Internet. Not like this. I want to hear it directly from you. Face-to-face. Who you really are, Charlie.

  She had to hold herself back.

  So you tell me—how. You tell me where I can meet you, Charlie. You make it happen, so I can go forward in my life—if that’s something you at all might still care about. Don’t even think about saying no. Don’t even think about hiding, Charlie. Tell me how.

  Karen.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Charles was inside the South Island Bank on St. Lucia when Karen’s message came in over his BlackBerry.

  Her words stopped him like a shot of epinephrine into his heart.

  No. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t see her. This wasn’t going to work. He had opened the door, but that had been a moment of weakness and stupidity. Now he had to slam it shut.

  He had made out an account-transfer form. Filled in the routing numbers and the new accounts. He was cleaning house here, transferring the funds he kept to the Banco Nacional de Panama in Panama City and the Seitzenbank in Luxembourg, and from there on to safer ground.

  It was time to be leaving.

  Charles waited for a brightly clad local woman to finish, then sat down at the manager’s desk. The manager was an amiable islander he had worked with before, who seemed pleased to see Charles again, as he did every few months.

  And she was disappointed to see him closing out his accounts.

  “Mr. Hanson,” the manager said, dutifully fulfilling his request, “so it seems we will not be seeing you here anymore?”

  “Maybe not for a while,” Charles said, standing up. “Thanks.” The two shook hands.

  As he left, his mind weighing Karen’s urgent message—resolving to tell her no, not to contact him anymore—Charles never noticed the manager reaching for a slip of paper he kept hidden in his desk. Or picking up the phone before Charles had even stepped out the door.

  KAREN WAS STILL at the computer when Charles’s reply came in.

  No, Karen. It’s way too dangerous. I can’t let that happen. The things I did that you may think you know about…you simply don’t. Just accept that. I know how you must feel, but please, I beg you, just go on with your life. Don’t tell anyone you found me. No one, Karen! I loved you. I never meant to hurt you. But now it’s too late. I accept that. But please, please, whatever you may feel, don’t write me anymore.

&
nbsp; Anger bristled through Karen’s blood. She wrote back:

  Yes, Charlie, I’m afraid you ARE going to let that happen! When I say I know about what you’ve done, I don’t just mean that you’re alive. I know…. I know about Falcon and all the money you were managing offshore, Charlie. That you kept from me all those years. And Dolphin. Those empty tankers, Charlie. That person in Pensacola who uncovered your fraud. What the hell did you try to do to him, Charlie?

  This time his reply came back in seconds—a tone of panic:

  Just who have you been talking to, Karen?

  What does it matter who I’ve been talking to, Charlie?

  Now they were going back and forth, real time. Karen and the man she had thought was a ghost.

  You’re not seeing it. All that matters is, I know. I know about that boy who was killed in Greenwich. The day you disappeared. The day we were up here bleeding for you, Charlie. And I know you were there. Is that enough yet? I know you came up here after the bombing. The bombing when you were supposed to have been killed, Charlie. I know you called him under an assumed name.

  How, Karen, how?

  And I know who he was, Charlie. I know he was that man from Pensacola’s son. What your own trader, Jonathan Lauer, probably found out himself and was trying to tell me. Is that enough yet, Charlie? Fraud. Murder. Covering it all up.

  Seconds later Charlie wrote back:

  Karen, please…

  She wiped her eyes.

  I haven’t told any of this to the kids. If I did, it would surely kill them, Charlie. Like it’s been fucking killing me. They’re away now. On safari with my folks. Sam’s graduation present. But people have been threatening us, Charlie. Threatening THEM! Is that what you wanted, Charlie? Is that what you wanted to leave behind?

  She drew in a breath and went on typing.

  I know there are risks. But we’re going to take those risks. Otherwise, I’m going to pass all this on to the police. You’ll be charged, Charlie. We’re talking murder. They’ll find you. If I could, believe me, so can they. And that’s what your kids will think of you, Charlie. That you were a murderer. Not the person they admire now.

  Karen was about to push send, but then she hesitated.

  So that’s the price, Charles, for my silence. To keep all this quiet. You always loved a fair exchange. I don’t want you back. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t know if I have any feelings for you. But I am going to see you, Charlie. I am going to hear why you did this to us, from your lips, face-to-face. So you just tell me how it’s going to get done. Nothing else. No apologies. No sorrow. Then you can feel free to disappear for the rest of your miserable life.

  She pressed send. And waited. For several minutes. There was no reply. Karen began to grow worried. What if she had divulged too much? What if she had scared him away? For good. Now that she’d finally found him.

  She waited for what seemed forever. Staring at the blank screen. Don’t do this to me again, Charles. Not now. C’mon, Charlie, pretend that you once loved me. Don’t put me through this again.

  She shut her eyes. Maybe she even dozed off for a while, totally enervated, spent.

  She heard a sound. When Karen opened her eyes, she saw that an e-mail had come in. She clicked on it.

  Alone. That’s the only way it happens.

  Karen stared at it. A tiny smile of satisfaction inched onto her lips.

  All right, Charles. Alone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Another day passed while Karen waited for Charles’s instructions. This time she wasn’t nervous or afraid. Or surprised when she finally received them.

  Just resolved.

  Come down to the St. James’s Club on St. Hubert’s in the BVIs.

  Karen knew the place. They had sailed around there a couple of times. It was a beautiful spot on a horseshoe cove, a cluster of thatched bungalows nestled right on the beach. Completely remote.

  Charles added:

  Soon. Days, not weeks, Karen. I’ll contact you there.

  There were many things Karen thought to say to him. But all she wrote back was:

  I’ll be there.

  RONALD TORBOR WRESTLED with what to do. That very morning he had looked up and seen Steven Hanson, the American, standing in front of his desk.

  Come to close out his accounts.

  The bank manager tried to camouflage his surprise. Since the two Americans had been to his house, he had prayed he would never see this man again. But here he was. All the while they talked and conducted business, Ronald’s heart was hammering out of his chest. As soon as the man left, Ronald rushed into the office bathroom. He splashed cold water all over his burning face.

  What should he do?

  He knew it was wrong—what those awful men had asked him to do. He knew it violated every fiduciary oath. That he would be fired if anyone found out. Lose everything he had worked for all these years.

  And Ronald liked him. Mr. Steven Hanson. He was always cheerful and polite. He always had a good word to say about Ezra, whose picture was on Ronald’s desk and whom Hanson had seen once before when Ezra and Edith had been visiting in the bank.

  But what choice did he have?

  It was for his son that he was doing this.

  The mustached man had promised—if he ever found out that Ronald had screwed him, they would be back. And if they had traced Hanson this far, they could trace him further. And if they found out his accounts had been transferred out, it would be worse for them. Edith and Ezra.

  Far, far worse.

  Ronald realized there was a lot more at stake than just his job. There was his family. They had threatened to kill him. Ezra. Ronald had vowed he could not see that look of fear in his wife’s eyes again.

  Mr. Hanson, please understand. What choice do I have?

  There was a pay telephone on the far end of the square outside the bank. Next to a bench, with an election poster on it, a picture of Nevis’s corrupt incumbent minister over the slogan TIME COME FOR DEM TO GO.

  He put a pay card in the slot and punched in the international number he’d been given. Make sure I hear from you, Ronald, the mustached man had said as he left, patting Ezra’s head. “Nice boy.” He winked. “I’m sure he’ll have quite a future in life.”

  The call connected. Ronald swallowed back his fear.

  “Hello,” a voice answered. Ronald recognized its tone. Just hearing it again sent a shiver of shame and revulsion down his spine.

  “It’s Ronald Torbor. From Nevis. You said to call.”

  “Ronald. Good to hear from you,” the mustached man replied. “How’s Ezra? Getting along?”

  “I’ve seen him,” Ronald said without responding. “The man you’re looking for. He was here today.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  “I’m going alone,” Karen explained to Hauck.

  They met for coffee again at Arcadia in town. Karen told him how Charlie had contacted her at last, and about his instructions. “He said just me. That was the deal I made. I’ve got to do it, Ty.”

  “No. You’re not.” He put down his coffee and shook his head. “That doesn’t fly, Karen. You don’t have any idea who else he may be involved with. There’s no way I’m going to let you put yourself at risk.”

  “That’s the deal, Ty. I agreed.”

  “Karen.” Hauck leaned in close, lowering his voice so people at the nearby tables wouldn’t hear. “This man walked away from you and your family. You know precisely what he’s done. You also know what he has to protect. This is dangerous, Karen. This isn’t some high-school stunt. You told Charlie exactly what you’d uncovered about him. People have died. No way in hell would I let you go down there alone.”

  “You don’t have to remind me what the stakes are, Ty.” Karen’s voice was strained, and growing louder. She looked at him pleadingly. “When I came to you, I trusted you. I told you things I could never tell anyone else.”

  “I think I’ve earned that trust, Karen.”

  �
�Yes.” Karen nodded. “I know you have. But now you have to trust me just a little, too. I’m going,” she said, her eyes lucid, unwavering. “This is my husband, Ty. I know him, whatever it may seem. And I know he would never harm me. I told him yes, Ty. I’m not going to lose this chance.”

  Hauck exhaled a deep breath, his stern gaze reflecting his resistance. He could stop her, he knew. He could blow the whole thing wide open today. Take the heat he had brought upon himself. But this was what he’d always promised her. From the beginning. To find Charles. And as he ran through his remaining options, he realized that in many ways he was already in too deep.

  “It has to be somewhere very public,” he said finally. “I have to be able to watch out for you. That’s the only way.”

  She widened her eyes. “Ty…”

  “That’s not negotiable, Karen. If the situation seems safe once we know all the details, you can go see him. Alone. I give you my word. But I’m going to be around. That’s the deal.”

  Karen’s face carried an admonition. “You can’t use me to get to him, Ty. You have to promise.”

  “You think I’m going down there to arrest him, Karen? What do you think, I’m going to call in Interpol and set up a sting like on Miami Vice?” He fixed on her. “The reason I’m going there is that I’m probably in love with you, Karen—don’t you understand that?—or something pretty damn close. I’m going there because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you get in over your head and get yourself killed.”