by Matt Lincoln
Holm rolled his eyes. “Since when did that stop you?”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer.
“We’ll have to get enough to share, but I guess we can do it,” I told everyone else. “Get me on the sat phone, and I’ll have a car ready for us.”
It wasn’t long before we saw Jamaica’s coast on the horizon. I had to wonder how long it’d been since Emily had been to the island. Airfare wasn’t as cheap as it used to be, and I got the impression that she and her father didn’t have a lot to spare. I couldn’t imagine that teaching history at the university would bring in the big bucks.
Muñoz and Birn deplaned us at a terminal and then taxied for the fuel load. Luci and Emily both wore wide sun hats. I hated that Emily had that bare spot where Ramos had taken her braid from her scalp. An idea hit me on the way to pick up the car, but I had to wait for the right time.
Emily sat shotgun, and I drove. She’d offered to sit in back with Luci, but Luci seemed to be getting more comfortable around us. Holm, however, was not so comfortable, as he folded his long legs into the backseat. Emily gave me the location, and we set out down the twisting causeway.
“When was the last time you were here?” I asked.
Emily was quiet a moment. A wistful look crossed her face as she watched the water out her window. I gave myself a mental kick to not keep staring at those perfect curves and lines that made up her features.
“Too long.” She spoke so softly I almost couldn’t hear her. “We flew in to bring Mom’s ashes to her hometown. Gramma and Grampa met us here at the airport.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I shook my head. “We lost my mom when I was a kid. It… it’s not easy.”
“No, it’s not.” She took off her hat and leaned her head on the window. “Especially when you’re a black girl with a white dad. In his way, he has been amazing, but other people? Not so much. A lot of people tried to get him to let my grandparents raise me here.”
“Seems to me he’s done a great job,” I told her. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is.” She looked over at me. “Gramma’s sister Esme lives in Barbados. She married a Bajan man and has become something of an archivist.”
“Sounds like a love for history runs in your family.” I met her gaze and smiled.
“More or less,” she said with a grin. She pointed at a small building as the GPS instructed me to stop. “A love for good food also runs in my family.”
Holm and Luci stayed in the car while we went in to make an order. The joint wasn’t big, but the aromas were. Bread, coconut, beef, turmeric, and fresh-cut soursop and breadfruit tickled at my nostrils.
“It’s been a while,” Emily grinned.
She nicked a bammy slice from one of the containers being piled up on the counter for us. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment as she chewed. I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat. She chattered on about her cousins and other relatives, but I didn’t get past the melody of her voice. At least, not until the food was all ready.
“Ethan, it’s all here,” she told me. “I’m not carrying it by myself.”
“I’m on it!” I carried three bags of goodies, and she had two.
We loaded up on all sorts of great stuff, like breadfruit and soursop, not to mention Emily’s beloved bammies and beef patties. People tend to think of jerk chicken and beef when it comes to Caribbean food, but there’s a lot more to it and a lot of good aromas. By the time we met Muñoz and Birn at a small space in the airport, I was ready to eat everything we carried in those carryout containers.
The refueling went faster than Muñoz predicted, and we were underway within ninety minutes of landing. In that hour and a half, I noticed Luci opening up more not just to Emily, but to Holm. That wasn’t a bad thing. As much as he liked to play at being a ladies’ man, he was one of the most decent guys I knew.
About an hour out from Bridgetown, Luci sat bolt upright with the tablet full of Barbados photos.
“I know this place,” she announced. She narrowed her eyes. “We had to learn which fork not to stab someone with,” she seethed. “This is one of the places they took us to learn those manners.”
She passed the tablet to Holm, and he swore under his breath. He handed the device to me. The photo was of a mansion with the edge of a greenhouse in the background.
That mansion belonged to Alvin Wright.
26
We landed in Bridgetown in late afternoon. This time, MBLIS arranged security ahead of time, and we got the plane into a hanger before setting out.
“Forde is meeting us at the hotel after we check-in,” I informed everyone before we deplaned. “Luci and Emily, you’ll be on a different floor so that you aren’t seen with us. Muñoz and Birn are going to be with you at all times outside of your rooms.”
“We don’t know all the players,” Muñoz told them. “The last thing you need, Luci, is to be recognized by the Trader’s people. We’ll do all we can to hide the tattoo with makeup and hats, but it’s not worth going anywhere unless we have to. We are hiding in the room for a reason.”
Luci nodded and stepped a little closer to Emily. They were sharing a room with Muñoz, and Birn was to have an adjoining room with a connecting door. For all her initial protests about guarding the women, Muñoz had really come around.
We had two vehicles rented out to us. Holm and I drove out to the hotel first, and the others were instructed to wait at least half an hour in order to prevent being seen at the same time as us. Even though we wouldn’t be able to interact much if at all, it was a relief to know we’d be close by part of the time.
Since the bill fell on MBLIS, we opted for one of the five-stars, the Palm Rise Hotel. Diane balked, but I made the totally salient point that if the Trader’s people were to believe our cover, we had to appear to be rolling in the dough. This undercover op looked like a lot of fun on paper, but the objective was a dark reminder that this wasn’t all fun and games.
The hotel wasn’t far from the airport, and Holm and I arrived less than twenty minutes after leaving the hanger. It was about three stories high and spread out like an oversized villa. Off-white and coral walls with aquamarine accents gave it the obligatory Caribbean vibe. Palm and bay leaf trees, aloe, and half a dozen flowers, including the Pride of Barbados, were neatly landscaped to welcome visitors. It was aromatic yet heady. I would’ve been happy with a few palm trees.
“Ready, ‘Ben’?” Holm joshed as we pulled up under the portico. “Bringing a little Winter to everlasting summer here.”
“Tell me you’re not going to do that to me the entire time,” I begged. “I don’t wanna have to kill my best friend.”
“Personal trainers are upbeat and motivational. I am a personal trainer. Therefore, I am upbeat—”
“And will motivate me to use enhanced interrogation techniques on you if it doesn’t stop.” I turned the car off with a roll of my eyes. “Dude, you’re slaying me here.”
Holm dropped the goofy demeanor. “Believe me, I know how serious this is. When I think about what those monsters did to Luci and are doing to other women, I wanna puke. But, dude, we have got to act like we’re here for a good time. And to buy more good times.”
“I hate acting,” I grumbled.
“You say that every time we go undercover, and yet, you sell it.”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t good at it, just that I hate it.”
A bellhop knocked on Holm’s window. We unloaded, checked in, and were up in our two-bedroom suite with more efficiency than most hotels I’d visited. Teak floors, damask fabrics in cream and deep reds, and a high ceiling with a lazily turning fan were complimented by potted palms and Caribbean art and statuary throughout.
Before unpacking, Holm took a small device from his messenger bag and scanned the suite for bugs. As he did that, I went around to make sure all the doors and windows were as secure as they could be. Overall, it was pretty well maintained.
“Clean,” he announced.
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“Pick a room,” I told him. “I’ll call Forde so we can get started.”
And just like that, Ben Winter and Carl Stevens arrived at the Palm Rise Hotel and Resort in Barbados.
27
Forde whistled when he entered our suite. I didn’t blame him. After about five minutes of ogling all the amenities in the main room, I decided not to tell him about the marble floors and ultra-plush linens in the bathroom. We might never have left the suite then. Besides, we had questions for our trusty inspector.
As I fetched a tablet, Holm invited Forde to sit in one of the four off-white wingback chairs in the main room of the suite. I took one, and Holm took the third, which left one chair empty. The setting felt out of balance, like someone or something was missing, but I dismissed the sensation.
“We want to know more about Alvin Wright,” Holm began. He shook his head at Forde’s aggrieved expression. “He’s dirty, and you know it.”
“No dirtier than anybody else on the island,” Forde insisted. “I’ll tell you again, this is not your man. He works with people to keep things in hand. Without him, we would have many more problems.”
“Then why did our witness recognize Wright’s mansion as one of the places her kidnappers took her and others?” I pulled up the photo on the tablet and showed it to Forde. “She was at Wright’s mansion while she was one of the Trader’s prisoners.”
Forde took the tablet and enlarged the photo. He kept shaking his head and saying “no,” but that did not change what he saw. Eventually, he handed the tablet back to me.
“That is Wright’s mansion,” he conceded, “but it is possible she only thinks that was it. Visitors get lost all the time, and they think, ‘hey, I know that house,’ but it wasn’t that house at all.”
I frowned toward Holm. Forde sure was going through a lot of rationalization to defend a suspect.
“She told us a few other things unique to that property,” I lied. “We have no doubt that it was Wright’s.”
Forde removed his hat and spun it forward and back in his hands as he looked at the floor.
“It doesn’t make sense,” the inspector said softly as if trying to convince himself. “Alvin helps people. Maybe he breaks the law sometimes, but he does not want good people hurt.”
“Have you considered that’s what he wants you to think?” Holm asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time a law officer put faith in the wrong person.”
Forde stood and put his hat back on. “It is not faith I have in Alvin Wright, Agent Holm.” He straightened his lightweight sport jacket. “It is from my years of watching him. Mr. Wright reformed from a common criminal to become a community pillar.”
I strode over to the door, casual as could be, but enough to get to it before Forde. “Ever look into how that happened?” I crossed my arms. “I mean really looked?”
Forde stiffened. “I did, and I found him to be who I’ve told you. A criminal who came here to start over.”
“How’d he get so rich then?” Holm wanted to know.
“He had money left from his inheritance.” Forde glared at us each in turn. “Alvin Wright is a good man. If you want to know more about him, I suggest you speak with him yourselves.”
I let him shove past me and leave the room with a slam of the door.
“That went well,” Holm muttered.
“Hero worship never ends well. What I can’t tell is whether Forde is really that blind or if he’s part of the operation.”
“I guess we’ll find out more later.” Holm opened his phone and started dialing. “At least we got Sealy’s number and don’t have to wait on Forde to help this time.”
“We better hope Forde’s white knight isn’t as dirty as we think,” I grumbled. “If Wright is the Trader, we’re wasting our time with Sealy and everything else.”
“It’s a hell of a risk to go forward with this,” Holm said.
“Yeah, I know.” I clenched my jaw and looked up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan. “Just… be careful, partner.”
“You too, brother.”
I walked off with a wave. While Holm set things up with Squealy Sealy, I went out to the balcony off our suite. The ocean and sky were so big I felt I could touch them. At moments like that, I often wished I was back in the Navy. Orders were black or white. Yes, Ma’am or No, Sir. Things sometimes got hazy in the SEALs, but we still had clear objectives and mission parameters. I loved my job with MBLIS, no doubt, but I’d had simpler days.
Holm joined me on the balcony.
“Sealy is going to arrange for us to run into one of the Trader’s people,” he told me. “He already passed on our cover stories, but they like to watch potential buyers before any official meets. We won’t know who it is, just that they’ll be watching.”
“Not creepy at all,” I grumbled. “Where are we headed?”
“It’s a club called ‘Zest.’ They’re supposed to have the best citrus cocktails and rum in the city.”
I frowned and looked it up on the MBLIS database that the tablet was hooked into via a heavily encrypted link. What I saw didn’t help my mood.
“It’s a popular prostitution venue,” I read. “The loud music makes it almost impossible to catch anything on a wire. A lot of trafficking victims work night clubs like this.”
“Yeah. Well, time to put the game faces on, brother.”
We wore seersucker shorts and thin cotton button-up shirts. Holm opted for sandals, and I chose lace-up deck shoes. When I started to shave, Holm stopped me.
“The girls go for the five-o’clock, man. We want whoever’s watching to see we mean to play.”
I growled but put the razor away. “Fine. Let’s move out.”
Zest was only three blocks from our hotel. I had that long to transform my attitude into that of a multimillionaire playboy looking to invest in human capital. Holm enjoyed the night scene, so it was easier for him to become Carl Stevens, Personal Trainer.
The sidewalk vibrated from the club music almost a block away. Its lime-green siding seemed to glow in the streetlights, and a yellow neon sign that read “Zest” faded on and off as if breathing.
If I hadn’t already had hearing damage from all my time on ranges and in gun battles, I would’ve worried about meeting the club’s sound assault head-on. As it was, I had to refrain from using our military hand-code to communicate with Holm once we paid the cover at the entrance and entered.
Clubbers gyrated and spun to heavy beats laid out by a deejay at the far end of the floor. Speakers taller than Holm stood to either side of the stage, and half-size ones were bolted at regular intervals to the balcony which went all the way around. I spotted stairs near the bar which was close to where we now stood, just inside the entrance.
“Where do you wanna start?” I yelled toward Holm.
He simply pointed to the bar. That, I agreed with. We ended up in line behind a bunch of adults old enough to know better than to be there. Kind of like us. At least we fit in. Until I got to the bar.
“Whiskey,” I shouted. “Straight bourbon.”
The bartender shook his head. “We only got rum, man. Dat’s our ting.”
“You got some Real McCoy?”
His smile showed all his teeth. “Do I ever! What you wan’ in it?”
“Two shots, clean.”
He whistled and answered with an incredulous, “Okay, den!”
I paid him for my shots and took them right there. One. Two. Done. The rum burned down to my belly, where I needed it the most. I had a feeling I might have to repeat the process, but not until later. A good burn was one thing. Getting wasted was not on the agenda.
Holm looked at me and shook his head. He checked the list of citrus-based cocktails and chose something that sounded like unholy fruit salad. I moved down the bar to an empty space. The club didn’t have stools at the bar. It looked like they wanted everyone either dancing or mingling on the second floor, where people could sit and have at least a chance to talk.
It only took a couple of minutes for Holm to rejoin me. That bartender worked quickly, and it appeared with a flourish. My partner’s drink looked like an oversized Hurricane until he got closer. Small chunks of pineapple were wedged on the large glass’s lip along with a speared maraschino cherry. The dark pink liquid promised its share of rum.
“Good thing the guys didn’t catch you with something like that back in the day,” I hollered at him.
Holm laughed. “Live it up, Winters. You don’t get to the islands every day.” He leaned closer. “Our friend is upstairs.”
I looked in the direction Holm nodded. There was Sealy, and he wore that same baseball jersey. We made eye contact, and he nodded. That meant that the Trader’s operative was in the club somewhere, judging us.
“Feeling a little lost, boys?”
A long arm draped across my shoulders. I turned my head and found a tall woman in a sparkly red dress looking up at me through thick lashes. She had thick, black hair, fair skin, and sea-green eyes. I matched her smile in the appreciative way Ben Winters would most certainly respond.
“If I was lost, I’m not now,” I told her.
From above his Hurricane glass, Holm raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple times. How much of that was Holm and how much was Carl Stevens, I couldn’t say.
“I’m going dancing,” I yelled over to him. “I seem to have found a date.”
Holm waved me off. We had a check-in plan for the likelihood of being separated in the crowded club.
“What’s your name, baby?” I asked.
“Lily.” She made a point of looking down and then up my body. “What’s your name?”
“Ben.”
I put my arm around her back and pulled her close. We danced close for a good long while. At some point, another girl took her place. This one was dressed in a simple teal shift that barely made it past her ass.
“I’ll go wherever you wanna go,” she promised. “Won’t cost a man like you nothing.”