by Diane Rapp
Swenson nodded. “He’s got a job to finish. You or Mrs. Bollard may be in danger.” Swenson offered Steven his hand. “I’m glad to have a professional on board to help solve this problem quickly.”
Steven shook Swenson’s hand. “I hope I didn’t bring this trouble onboard.”
“If the assassin is after you, we’ll simply toss you overboard and let him chase you into the sea.” Swenson laughed—a full hearty sound. “As a captain I’ve always wanted to threaten someone with walking the plank. Get some sleep. I’ll round up our personnel records for you by morning.”
Back in their cabin, Steven paced. “I should have realized the danger. I cost the smuggling ring bundles of money. They’ve already killed so why wouldn’t they try to track me down to exact revenge?”
“You’ve been warned. It will be easier to protect yourself.”
“I’m not worried about myself; these killers might go after you and I should have thought of it myself. My boss is right. I’m slipping. Making mistakes like this can get people killed and I’m the one at fault.”
“Stop blaming yourself. Examine the whole picture and think about how the smugglers broke your cover. Who knew your identity?”
Steven plopped into a chair. “We followed procedure. There was only one local contact—the police chief who assigned Jerome to work with me—and he wouldn’t endanger his own man.”
“Did Jerome tell his wife?”
Steven shook his head. “She understood he couldn’t discuss his assignment.”
“How about the people at Interpol, how long did the smuggling ring operate? Could someone be working inside passing information along?”
Steven’s eyes widened. “Absurd! I trust everyone in my department. They’re friends! The agents are prepared to risk their lives for me, and the staff is completely above reproach!”
“Well, how about other departments? Maybe someone nosed around, gathered bits of information, and pieced things together about your investigation.”
Steven rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “People always mill about, popping in from other departments. There have been a frightful number of new faces. This case was assigned from customs division as their chaps are not trained to handle undercover work. I suppose someone from customs could have discovered I was the agent assigned to the case?”
“Have your superiors do some checking, right away!”
“You’re right. Other operatives could be in danger too.” Steven stood. “I’m going to call tonight. Thanks, luv. I keep so many secrets I often wonder if I talk in my sleep.”
Slipping her arms around his neck, Kayla kissed him softly. “I’ll keep one ear cocked to listen while you sleep.”
“As long as you’re the only one who listens, I’m safe.” Steven’s hands stroked the curve of her back. “Get some sleep. It might take some time for me to rouse my superiors.”
“Don’t let them deflect your concern! I’m surprised no one seriously considered the possible threat.”
Steven shrugged. “We tend to trust our colleagues. If someone knew I came on board, I’ve got reason to question security.” He kissed her and left.
Kayla pounded her pillow, rolling from one side of the bed to the other in an effort to get comfortable. Finally she slept and dreamed. Frantically swimming through tepid, fishy water, Kayla tried to escape a snarling, faceless enemy brandishing a silver gun. As a bullet erupted from the gun in a blaze of light, Kayla watched the bullet inch inexorably toward her chest. She screamed but no sound emerged. Suddenly a beautiful woman dressed in green velvet plucked the deadly missile from the water and waved a hand to banish the enemy. Floating in water surrounded by cheerful neon fish the woman smiled. Warmth enveloped Kayla like a fuzzy afghan and she slept without dreams.
Chapter 9 ~ Avoiding the Press
Waking to a loud knocking sound, Kayla drug herself out of bed and opened the door. “Natalia.”
Pushing past Kayla into the cabin, Natalia said, “Who said you could start the excitement without me last night? After spending all day on stakeout I missed everything!”
Kayla shrugged. “We tried to convince the killer to wait, told him an extra target was on her way, but he was in a real hurry. I’ll make sure he’s aiming at you when he starts shooting next time.”
“Very clever! I’ll wear a bulls-eye T-shirt.” Natalia plopped onto the overstuffed maroon chair. “So tell me the details.”
As Kayla dressed, she described dinner, Paula’s confrontation with Angela in the restroom, and the gunman’s attack.
Natalia said, “Whew, sounds like a bullet could’ve hit anyone! I was better off working. Drunks don’t shoot bullets, just insults.”
“Very sensible assessment,” Steven said as he closed the bathroom door. He tied the sash of his robe and rubbed his curly wet hair with a towel. “Good morning, darling.” He kissed Kayla’s cheek. “Hope you slept well. I worked until the wee hours with Captain Swenson.”
“I want to be included in your next adventure!” Natalia said.
Steven nodded. “Indeed, Swenson arranged for a seaplane to Sao Miguel, so you’re scheduled to keep Kayla and Paula company this morning.”
“We’re leaving the ship in mid-ocean? Where will you be?” Kayla asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I plan to snoop around the ship, see if I can spot a smuggler.”
Kayla said, “Absolutely not! If you stay onboard alone he might take another crack at you.”
“Smuggler?” Natalia sat up, suddenly alert. “What smuggler?”
Steven frowned. “Nothing to worry about, Tally.”
Kayla said, “Steven’s Interpol assignment was to crack a smuggling ring. When the smugglers killed his partner, Steven’s superiors sent him into hiding. It’s possible the crooks found him and took a shot at him last night.”
Natalia grinned. “I get it. Steven’s trying to send us all ashore so he can grab all the glory for himself!”
“The chances of smugglers finding me on this ship are remote.” Steven folded his arms defensively. “I still believe Paula was the real target and we should get her off the ship for awhile.”
Kayla said, “Paula and you should both leave the ship, then the shooter will be stranded with no targets.”
“I’m waiting for a phone call from Interpol, so I can’t leave,” Steven said.
Kayla put her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “Emily will wait for your call. The killer doesn’t know she’s working with us and it will give her an excuse to hang out with Captain Swenson.”
“I hate running for cover.” Steven chewed his lower lip and nodded. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
Natalia said, “I’m still going along! I can’t miss more of the action.”
Kayla said, “Go fetch Paula while Steven dresses.” She pushed Natalia out the door. She checked the corridor and whispered, “Meet us in Emily’s suite. I’m staying with Steven to make sure he doesn’t skip out. If he doesn’t go ashore, we won’t go.”
Steven leaned over Kayla’s shoulder. “Don’t try to make plans behind my back, I’m no fool. I’m going with you so I can spend the day with my favorite girl.” He nibbled her neck seductively.
Natalia groaned. “Get a room!”
Steven winked and Natalia sauntered down the hall.
Thirty minutes later everyone, including Captain Swenson, assembled in Emily’s suite. Paula looked bedraggled with dull puffy eyes and drooping shoulders.
Captain Swenson explained, “The ship is slowing down so you can transfer to the seaplane. When we dock, I’ll issue a statement to reporters. We’ll tell them that Paula left the ship mid-ocean and our passengers can verify your dramatic departure. After you spend a leisurely day on Sao Miguel, come back aboard the ship when everything’s quiet.”
Paula perked up. “This is great! We’ll beat those vultures at their own game! Be sure to tell Vincent I cooperated to avoid the press so he won’t be mad enough to—” Her eyes filled with tears. “I never thought he had
the guts to—”
Kayla interrupted, “The shooter might not be Vincent!”
Paula eyes widened. “Then who could it be?”
Steven rolled his eyes. “I work for Interpol and ran into a spot of trouble. The gunman might be after me, so it’s best we both stay out of sight for the day. I’m sorry to involve you in my problems.”
Paula’s thin lips curled into a tentative smile. “If that’s true, there’s still a chance Vincent will make up with me! How soon do we leave?”
Captain Swenson checked his watch. “I expect the seaplane shortly. It will land about twenty yards from the ship so you will take a lifeboat to the plane. It will look dramatic for you to leave the ship in mid ocean. Follow me.”
The captain led the group to deck four, where sailors stripped the cover from a lifeboat. Paula looked frightened. Kayla, familiar with the routine, explained the procedure to soothe Paula’s fears. “Everyone who works on a ship learns how to man the lifeboats.” Kayla pointed to a rope threaded in a figure eight pattern around a curved metal chock. “The sailors release lanyards that keep the boat braced against the bulwark during storage. They’ll swing the boat over the side using davits—those arm-like levers holding each end of the boat—until the boat drops to a position level with this deck. When the sailors secure the boat they’ll keep it firmly in place while we climb inside.”
Paula watched the process with round eyes. When the boat was secured, a sailor opened the gate along the railing, climbed inside the boat and held his hand out to Kayla. She gingerly stepped into the boat with an encouraging smile for Paula, who fidgeted with her handbag. Paula stepped into the boat followed by Steven and Natalia.
Kayla said, “Hang on tight while they lower the boat. If you move around it could set us swinging like a Ferris wheel.” Everyone gripped the bench, as the boat swung gently away from the deck.
Clang!
The lifeboat jolted and the capstan winch shifted into gear. The boat shuddered as cable uncoiled like a giant fishing rod to lower the small boat down the ship’s side.
Pop, zing, screech!
A bone-jarring sound, like metal grinding against metal, shattered their composure. The cable on the left side jerked taut, tilting the boat precariously as the cable on the right side continued to unreel.
“Halt the winch!” the boatswain shouted. The lifeboat twisted and banged as the motor squealed to a halt. The passengers clung to their seats, now leaning uphill. “Sailor! Belay those lanyards and haul a ladder from the locker.”
They heard muffled curses as rubber soles squeaked over polished wood decking and seamen scurried to snag the listing lifeboat with long hooks. They secured the lines, dropped a rope ladder and urged the frightened occupants to climb back up.
Clenching her teeth, Kayla reached for a life vest under the bench. The storage area was empty. She ground her teeth and told herself not to look down as she inched up the stiff rope ladder. Even so she caught a dizzying glimpse of waves before strong hands jerked her feet from the rungs, and dragged her onto the deck. Shivering she sat on the deck, tears dripping down her cheeks.
“What happened?” Natalia asked as she reached safety, smoothing her hair and checking her nails for chips.
“Bosun! I’d like an answer to that question myself.” Captain Swenson’s red face looked ready to explode as he glared at the boatswain.
The man said, “Sir, a stray piece of metal jammed the cable feeding through the left davit. It made a bloody mess of the gear . . . pardon the language, miss . . . sorry sir.” The sailor blushed and stared at his shoes.
“This kind of thing doesn’t happen on my ship,” the captain sputtered. “Didn’t you check the rigging, man?”
“Aye sir, I checked it myself first thing this morning and everything was serviced Tuesday last.” The boatswain rubbed the back of his neck with a meaty freckled hand.
Swenson’s lips formed a tight line as his cold stare scrutinized the equipment. “Check all the rigging in the other lifeboat stations yourself, bosun.”
“Aye, sir.” The boatswain saluted. “Right away, sir.”
“That will be all.” Swenson turned to his passengers. “I’m sorry for the scare.”
“Your sailors did an admirable job,” Steven said. “I’m impressed with their efficiency.”
The captain frowned. “They responded right quick to the emergency. Just the same, I feel like keelhauling the whole team. I’m embarrassed civilians were put at risk.”
“We’re fine but I’d rather not repeat the experience,” Natalia said. “Is there another way we can get to ocean level?”
Swenson nodded briskly. “We’ll break out a zodiac and lower the gun-port door. It’s irregular at sea but this whole exercise is irregular. Please wait in the lounge while I make arrangements.”
The foursome drank brandy in coffee cups, trying to ignore curious passengers peering through the windows. Kayla whispered to Steven, “Doesn’t it seem odd? A stray piece of metal doesn’t normally jam the gears and the metal should have been found during the morning inspection. I tried to get some life jackets out of storage, but it was empty.”
Steven clenched his teeth. “Someone sabotaged the equipment, hoping to kill us.”
Kayla said, “One sailor told me they used that same lifeboat for supplies in Bermuda without any problem.”
Steven frowned. “Who’d know we were going ashore?”
“Swenson radioed for the seaplane. If the wrong person got wind of his message, they staged the accident quickly,” Kayla said.
“It must be someone with access to the radio room! I’d better ask Swenson,” Steven said, leaving the lounge.
Sipping her brandy, Natalia said, “You think the smuggler did this?”
Kayla shrugged. “It’s hard to say but I’ll be glad when we’re out of here.”
Steven returned a few minutes later with Swenson. The captain escorted them down to an open hatch where a zodiac waited. The transfer went smoothly but Kayla felt relieved when they motored toward the seaplane. Decks were lined with spectators snapping photos and waving. Those photos will end up in this week’s tabloids. She imagined the headline: Vincent Bollard’s wife stops ship at sea to make a dramatic escape! How would Vincent react to the publicity?
They all donned headphones—to hear the pilot over the loud drone of engines—and the pilot introduced himself in heavily accented English. “We have nine islands in the Azores archipelago, clustered into three groups. To the north you may catch sight of Flores and Corvo the westernmost islands.”
A few minutes later Kayla saw two green blobs against the vast expanse of blue water. Larger shapes emerged ahead of the plane. The pilot pointed out his window. “Our central group of five islands is coming in sight. You see? Faial and Pico are just ahead.”
Craning her neck to look through the pilot’s larger window, mountain peaks inched over the horizon. Flying east into the morning sun, the dark silhouettes floated on a mirror of shimmering light.
“The first island is Faial,” said the pilot.
Rapidly rising from sea level, lush green slopes formed a low-rising mountain. The nose of the plane lifted to crest the summit and the mountain flattened into a bowl-shaped valley filled with cotton-candy clouds that drifted lazily over the edge of the escarpment. As the plane’s small shadow crossed the white expanse, the clouds undulated like a living creature that cringed at the shadow’s touch. Soon they saw spires of a Gothic cathedral and an ancient city at the foot of the mountain. Large white buildings, red-tiled roofs, and a harbor filled with sailboats hugged the western shore.
“Across the channel you’ll see Pico Mountain, the highest mountain in our islands. It’s nearly seven thousand feet tall and still has snow at this time of year,” the pilot proudly announced.
The white-capped peak rose majestically from the ocean, its snowcapped cone giving way to green slopes as the island smoothed into a lush plain. Cultivated fields, outlined by carefully cons
tructed rock walls, crisscrossed the lush landscape in a patchwork of mismatched geometric shapes. How many generations of farmers labored to define their ancestral patch of ground?
“We’ll fly up the channel between Pico and Sao Jorge,” the pilot said, banking the plane to the left and skirted the north side of Pico Mountain. The awe-inspiring spectacle of Sao Jorge became visible on the left while Pico Island stretched out to the right. “Sao Jorge is a series of mountain peaks thirty-four miles long but only eight miles wide. The villagers who live in small valleys herd livestock, grow crops, and make delicious cheese.”
The long narrow island welled up from the ocean floor, its rugged cliffs jutting vertically from sea level. The imposing panorama of Sao Jorge overshadowed the poetic symmetry of Pico’s snow-capped volcano. Clusters of cottages clung to small patches of land in valleys along the base of steep cliffs. Gardens stubbornly climbed near-vertical slopes at impossible angles to make use of every available patch of ground.
The pilot pointed north. “On the horizon you can see Terceira, which is famous for staging bullfights in the streets. We turn south here and land on Sao Miguel in about thirty minutes.”
Terceira looked round and relatively flat compared to the mountain landscapes of Pico and Sao Jorge. As the airplane banked, Kayla saw a ridge that stretched to the east of Pico Mountain like the fat tail of a dragon dipping into the ocean. Kayla wondered if local folklore included tales of dragons, ladies in distress, and knights in armor.
Paula stared out the window with tear-filled eyes, bloodless lips and nervous fingers twisting a ragged tissue. Paula looked vulnerable but her personality changed like a chameleon. After witnessing the scene with Angela, Kayla found it difficult to feel sympathy toward Paula. Why doesn’t Vincent simply file for divorce? Is murder a better solution to his problems? She’s an annoying woman full of contradictions, but Paula did not deserve to die! Was Paula really in danger or was someone after Steven?
Kayla felt queasy, her vision shifted, and she smelled the cloying scent of lavender. Paula’s image blurred, shifting from a happy youthful expression to a face filled with sadness. Finally Paula’s image looked angry. The engines vibrated Kayla’s bones, jarring her teeth. She closed her eyes to cut off contact with the ghost but reeled with dizziness. A noxious smell filled her nostrils and cold fingers stroked her hair. She could almost hear Celeste’s faint voice. “What?” Kayla gasped. “What did you say?”