by Matt Lincoln
Holm helped me pry the cannonball loose from its resting spot. There were a few barnacles and some corrosion, but it was in otherwise good condition. We wrested it into the mesh bag I’d brought down, wove a cord through the rivet holes in the bag, and then knotted said cord. Holm tested the weight and found it held. I held a spool for the cord, and we began our ascent.
We were pushing our time, but even after spending our three minutes at fifteen feet, we broke the surface with a few minutes to spare. I swam over to the boat and handed the spool up to the first person to appear, which was Birn. Holm and I boarded, and with Birn’s help to make it go faster, we pulled the mesh bag up from the deep.
Once the bag was out of the water, we eased it into a tub of ocean water Birn had waiting for it. I expected Emily to add the bag of coins, but she was up by the cabin with her arm deep in a five-gallon bucket.
“Ethan, this is wild,” she said as she pulled her arm out. “Those coins are silver. I have to keep them in the water until we can clean them. Otherwise, they’ll be destroyed when exposed to the air.”
I nodded. “I expected as much. Gold doesn’t tarnish like that.”
“It’s not just that.” She stood and moved so I could get in close to the bucket. “Count them.”
A chill ran down my back as I looked into the bucket. There were a lot of silver coins, and I only knew one story about counting silver coins. I gently moved the coins into a pile and then counted them into another pile.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered. “Guys, this is nuts. There are thirty coins here.” I looked Emily in the eye. “Thirty pieces of silver.”
39
We drove to the airport after the dive to deliver our finds to the King Air’s storage compartment. Emily directed us in sealing them in ocean water to prevent further deterioration until we could get it all home to Miami. She called her father to let him know about the coins and possible significance, and he was beside himself with excitement.
By the time we got to the hotel, it was time for Holm and me to get ready for a night out as Winters and Stevens, men about town and potential investors in human flesh. Our first stop was going to be Club Tiger Shark.
“Call if anything, anything, happens,” I told Muñoz. We were alone while the others watched a movie in the adjoining room. “Don’t assume we’re safe here.”
“You have that feeling still.” It wasn’t a question. In the two months since she transferred to be partners with Birn, she’d shown an uncanny skill for reading people. “I feel it, too, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Cyber hasn’t gotten back about who rented those villas or about Forde’s family,” I said as I drummed my fingers on my thigh. “The Trader’s hacker might be interfering, but Cyber hasn’t said anything about it.”
“Good thing Bonnie’s not here to remind you again that they’re a ‘cracker,’” Muñoz quipped. “But yeah, I think there’s more going on. If they aren’t finding anything, they need to dig deeper. I thought we were supposed to have NSA-level hackers ourselves.”
“We are.” I frowned and fought the urge to pace. “Let’s focus on Forde first. I don’t like the questions we’re having, but I don’t read him as more than an overeager guy trying to do his job.”
“Agreed,” Muñoz said as Holm wandered in.
“Serious faces mean serious happenings.,” Holm observed. He sat on the food of a bed. “Which part of this op is bothering you?”
“Forde,” I answered.
Holm nodded and wrinkled his brow. “The guy just doesn’t have the chops to be working with the Trader. He has some other thing going on.” His face cleared. “I don’t think he has a sister.”
“None of us are buying that,” I confirmed.
“Birn and I talked in the car, and he said the same,” Muñoz reported. “If Forde was setting us up, he could’ve wrapped it up yesterday with all of us. It would’ve been easy to feed us to the Trader’s goons.”
I ran my hands through my hair. The uncertainty about Forde smelled so bad I could taste it.
“He’s in bed with Wright. Maybe he’s afraid we’ll catch him breaking the law for his favorite community leader,” I suggested. “It could be that simple, and I honestly wouldn’t give a shit about that, but we don’t know.”
My phone buzzed and rang. I checked the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered and accepted the call. “Inspector, what I can I do for you?”
“Why did you not tell me about the meet in the morning?” he complained. “Agustin Sealy updated me a few minutes ago.”
“I thought he kept you in the loop,” I answered with complete honesty.
I turned up my volume and held out the phone so that Holm and Muñoz could hear. Putting the call on speaker would’ve let Forde know I wasn’t the only one listening.
“He did not, Agent Marston, and neither did you.” This was the first time Forde betrayed a sense of anger. “You have an operation tomorrow, and there has been no plan to notify local authorities that there will be MBLIS action on Barbados soil. Instead of your duties, you had to go on a diving trip?”
“Now hold on a minute,” I growled. “You made it clear that the local authorities are corrupt. We aren’t with INTERPOL and don’t want to mess with them until this is over, because they’ll block anything we try to do. Tomás, we are doing what we can, and we’re rolling with it.”
Muñoz and Holm shared a look that reflected my frustration.
Forde was quiet a moment. “You could have called to update me last night after you got your information from Sealy,” he said in a petulant tone.
“Which I thought Sealy would do,” I reminded him. “He’s your guy first. There must be a reason why he left you out of the loop.”
“There could be,” he admitted. “We had a disagreement the night I had to go see my sister.”
“That stinks.” I raised a brow. “By the way, how’s she doing?”
“My sister?”
“Yes, your sister, the one you just mentioned,” I said with a frown. “We wanted to send a card or something, but you forgot to text me her name and hospital.”
“I’ve been a little busy, Agent,” Forde answered with a frosty tone. “I will join your team in the morning to assist with the operation.”
“There isn’t going to be action,” I lied. “We’re going to the buy in order to find out where the hell they’re keeping these captives. We’ll go in later to liberate them and capture the Trader.”
“You have the cash to make a buy?” Forde asked with what sounded like astonishment.
“You’d be surprised at what resources we have.”
“What about the other two members of your team?” he asked. “How will you contact them if you need assistance?”
“We have our ways,” I chuckled. “Tomás, are you asking to be involved tomorrow?”
“As a member of the RBPF, I am requesting this, yes.”
“Do your bosses or INTERPOL even know you’re helping us?”
“I… I cannot confirm anything.”
“I’m not comfortable with that, Tomás.” I shook my head. “Look, why don’t you hang out in the hotel to keep an eye out for trouble while we’re on the op? We don’t have enough people to guard Luci and Emily.”
“You want me to guard the girls?” he asked with a brighter tone. “I suppose I could stay with them for the day.”
Muñoz mouthed, Women.
“Women,” I dutifully answered. “Not in their room. Luci is still jumpy and needs to have some space. The lobby, checking the stairs and hall. Watching for anything suspicious.”
“Oh.”
Holm barely smothered a chuckle as Muñoz rolled her eyes. They knew I was making this up as I went, but I handled Forde quite well, I thought.
“I could find someone else,” I suggested.
“No, this idea is fine,” Forde insisted. “I will be there at seven, yes?”
“Sounds good.” I looked around. “Anything e
lse?”
“No, no. That is all,” Forde answered.
The other two on my end shook their heads.
“Get some sleep,” I told Forde. “It’ll be a long day.”
“Heh, don’t I know it. Good hunting, Agent Marston.”
“And here’s to an uneventful day for you, Inspector Forde.”
We ended the call on that note.
“Get Emily and Luci another room in a different section of the hotel,” I ordered. “Birn will stay with them. Keep this pair of rooms on the tab, though. We don’t want innocent people coming in and getting caught up in whatever is going on with Forde.”
“Got it,” Muñoz said. She went to fetch Birn and talk with Emily and Luci.
“Well, partner, what do you think?” I asked of Holm.
He leaned back on his elbows. “I think Forde is a toss-up. He seems eager to be part of a team, but he’s also an outsider. Look at how far he’s gone offsides. I expected him to have brought a team to this by the time we returned, but it’s still him. Alone.”
“I have a few ideas about handling it.” I stood. “I’ll tell you about it on the way to Tiger Shark.”
40
Holm and I needed another night out on the town. What better choice than the place where the Trader’s people dragged their captives for those so-called lessons?
Club Tiger Shark was further from the hotel than Zest. We hired a taxi to pick us up from the hotel and drop us off a couple blocks away from the inconspicuous club. That put us at the edge of the red-light district. Unlike the last time we were there, we had time to look around. I almost wished I hadn’t.
There were the usual bold types who walked up to us offering services. Most were women, some men, and a few were, well, less clear on that. For the most part, those were the people who were present of their free will, as far as we knew.
The hard part was seeing some of the other people on the street selling sex. I had to look away from a couple of pimps offering out girls who could not have been of age. Others, skittish or worn down, subdued or aloof, as though they had disassociated from their bodies.
Holm and I had to assume we were being watched. We were buyers of a select level of “merchandise,” but it was fair to expect we’d check out other prospects.
“Hey, man.” One of the pimps appeared at my elbow. “You know what you’re looking for, don’t ya? I got a little of everything if you’re buying.”
I looked over the motley collection of girls and women who lounged against the wall behind him.
“We’re looking for something a little more… high class,” I sneered. “Get those bitches cleaned up, teach them manners, and maybe we could talk. But I doubt it.”
I pushed past him and stalked away. Yeah, this was one of the worst parts of the job.
The red-light district thinned out into more of a retail area. I spoke with Holm about my plans for the next morning as we drew closer to the club.
Tiger Shark was surrounded by understated shops, a tailor, and a small food joint, among other businesses. A small group had formed outside the club’s door. They were looking at something near the entrance. I slowed my steps in order to catch a few words.
“That’s one of the bullet holes from yesterday,” someone said in a northern States, maybe Canadian accent. “They took shots at a couple cute chicks who weren’t doing anything.”
“They who?” someone else asked.
The original speaker didn’t have an answer, because nobody did. Except us and whomever the Trader had involved.
“Think it’s gonna be exciting tonight?” the first speaker wanted to know.
“Yeah, no,” the second laughed. “Fun. All I want is fun.”
Holm gestured for us to go inside, and I couldn’t agree more. We were met at the entrance by a man about Birn’s size, but with a tight-fitting suit. The guy had to be melting, but he looked far from overheated.
“Club is full,” he announced. “Come back later.” He looked down on us. “Maybe bring dates next time. Cover is half off for couples.”
I moved close enough to not be overheard, but not so close in case the guy got rowdy. Holm stood between me and anyone who might be looking.
“I have cash, US,” I told the bouncer. “Will twenty get us in?” The bouncer folded his arms. Super. “Fifty? Come on, we’ve heard great things about the club.”
His brows twitched. “Seventy-five, and you don’t cause no trouble.”
“Sixty.” I pulled three twenties out and waved them a little. “Last offer before we go somewhere else with our cash.”
He looked left and right from the corners of his eyes. The man looked like a damned statue until he spoke.
“Go in and no trouble,” he warned. “You cause trouble, I will beat you into de ground.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
We entered the plain door beneath the simple sign. It led into a hall with red walls and a hardwood floor. There was an open arch at the end of the hall that led to stairs going up and going down. A burgundy velvet rope blocked the way down, so we went up to the second floor.
A steady, staccato beat caused the steps to vibrate, and a small stairway window to buzz. At the top of the stairs was a heavy door, and there was a small room next to it with a half-door. A smiling woman sat behind the door, cocked her head, and looked us up and down.
“Jackets and ties required, gentlemen.” Without losing the inane smile, she about-faced and retreated into the room, which appeared to be no more than a walk-in closet. She returned in less than a minute and held out a tie and jacket each. “These should fit.”
I glanced down at my khaki shorts and deck shoes and then up to her.
“We’re wearing shorts, miss,” I said.
She waved off the concern. “The rule states ‘jacket and tie’ are required. Shorts and,” she stood and raised a brow, “those shoes are permitted.”
I couldn’t tell whether “those shoes” indicated my deck shoes or Holm’s designer skate shoes. Probably both.
We accepted the jackets and ties. Under the light by the door, we saw that each piece was a different color. My jacket was royal blue and the tie orange. Holm had a green jacket and purple tie. Well, that was different. Once we were “properly” attired, she pushed a button. The gray, metal door clicked open, and the hard rock beat washed over us.
I couldn’t say I’d ever been to a club like this before. We stepped out into a throng of twenty- and thirty-somethings who jammed or swayed to “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd, and judging by the skunky smell, I’d say they were. Black-lights lit the edges, and some of the jackets and ties lit up as their wearers moved.
I couldn’t wrap my head around the contrast between the frat feel and the black hardwood that I finally saw in the light near the bar. The windows were covered with gold drapes, and the middle of the ceiling had crystal chandeliers with delicate trim. Like in the hall and stairway, the walls were red but with wainscoting that was painted in the same color. Vintage-looking settees and wingback chairs lined the walls, which were bookended by small ornate wooden trays to hold drinks. About half of the seats were occupied, some with couples working on states of undress, and others with people chatting.
I couldn’t decide whether the place was a nightmare or brilliant.
“I love this!” Holm yelled into my ear.
Of course he did. He admired the brass and wood bar as much as the rest of the space. Better still, the club featured some good whiskeys. The Four Roses bourbon looked interesting, and I ordered it neat.
The bartender was a white man who would’ve dwarfed Birn. He was bald, perhaps in his forties, and I guessed that his bulk was mostly muscle. It was in the way he moved in the white suit pants and a white short-sleeved shirt. I spied a white sport coat with gold buttons on a hook next to a light switch panel. His thick arms were corded with muscle, and he moved with the grace of a dancer as he set the whiskey on the counter before me. It went down smooth and warm, an
d I appreciated the mellow flavor. He watched as I enjoyed it and then leaned in on his elbows.
“Not what you expected, is it?” His soft, cultured voice belied the exterior picture. He sounded upper-crust British and looked like a street thug.
“I had no expectations,” I hedged as I watched Holm drift out toward the dance floor on the other side of the space. “This was a ballroom?”
“Yes. I had it restored when I purchased the building.”
I turned back to the bartender, who was, apparently, the owner. He pulled out the Four Roses and poured me another one. When I looked up, a kindly smile creased his face.
“Consider it a consolation gift for the shock of wandering into a private, er, event.” He laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have never hosted such a colorful bunch.”
“Private event?” I echoed. That, well, that explained it.
“How much did it take to bribe Harvey?”
“The bouncer?”
He spread his hands a little and shrugged. “I call him my doorman, but I can see where you might say he’s a bouncer. Now tell me, how much did he swindle from you?” His mild manner suggested this was an ongoing matter.
“Sixty.”
His laughter went deeper than his speaking voice and turned a few heads that dismissed him in short order. Holm returned to the bar, however, with a smile. He helped himself to a stool.
“Did I miss something?” he asked.
“No, son, not a bit,” the bartender answered. “I was about to tell your friend that he got in on the cheap. Harvey rarely accepts less than seventy-five. Party crashers have to be serious about entering our little club.”
“Busted.” I laughed. I wanted answers, and to accomplish that, I needed to keep the owner talking. “We heard about the place and thought we’d check it out before we return to Miami.”
“What brings you to Bridgetown?”
“We’re setting up a club of our own,” I ventured. The bartender pulled back, and his face darkened a little. “In Miami. No competition of yours, sir.”
He folded his arms. “There are two things club investors look for when they travel to Barbados.” He held up one finger. “Our rum distilleries are unequaled.” He held up a second finger, and I swear his eyes damned near vanished into shadows beneath his heavy brows. “The other is human flesh, gentlemen. Which kind of investors are you?”