Miami
What a crazy business, Sophia James thought as she waited for the traffic to move off the Causeway and into Bal Harbour. She hit the retract button and lowered the top of her new Jaguar convertible. A gentle evening breeze ruffled her hair as the top slipped into its hiding place. She smiled contentedly. The car was made for Miami Beach and was a statement about who she was and that she had definitely arrived. The traffic moved, and she savored the moment. She was aware of the image she cast for the tourists and wondered if she should charge the chamber of commerce for advertising. She laughed at the thought of Miami Beach’s stodgy burghers paying beautiful women just to be seen. It would never happen.
Fortunately she didn’t need the chamber of commerce’s money to live in the style she had always dreamed of. Between the hundred thousand a year that Marsten was now paying her, the parsimonious 40,000 or so that ARA kicked in, and the money she skimmed off the top of what she was funneling to Luis Barrios and his group of crazy Puerto Rican loonies, life was indeed good. But how much longer would it last? She didn’t care and would find something else when it dried up. What a crazy business, she repeated to herself as she accelerated off the Causeway.
The man from ARA whom she now only thought of as Jogger was waiting for her at the corner. He slipped into the passenger’s seat and they kissed, a perfect scene for the snowbirds and elderly shuffling by on the sidewalk. He handed her an envelope. “Twenty thousand dollars, as promised. Our man in Dallas hopes he’s getting his money’s worth.”
“They haven’t blown up any more of his businesses,” Sophia replied.
“He needs them to blow up an offshore oil platform.”
She sucked in her breath. “So that’s his game. Eliminate the competition.”
“I think it’s one of his.”
“I see,” Sophia murmured. “Insurance.”
“That’s what I figured. Get them working on it.”
“It won’t be easy,” she warned.
“That’s what we’re paying you for.”
She nodded. How much further can I ride this? she wondered. She wasn’t ready to give up her new lifestyle. At least not yet. She coasted to a stop, and he got out. She pulled into traffic and headed south into Miami Beach. When she was safe in her new condominium, she opened the envelope and extracted five thousand dollars. The remainder was more than enough for Luis and the Group. She reached for the telephone.
The contact had gone wrong from the very first, and Sophia cursed herself for breaking with their normal routine. They should have met on neutral ground, and she should never have gotten into his car. The word “overconfidence” flashed in her mind. “Where are we going?” She asked. Luis Barrios only stared straight ahead and crossed a double set of railroad tracks. She calculated they were on the western side of Fort Lauderdale, but she couldn’t be sure. The convertible in front of them slowed and turned down a side road. As the car turned, the woman in the passenger seat pulled off her T-shirt, revealing a well-tanned body.
“That’s a nudist resort,” Luis said, also seeing the woman.
“How boring. Where can you go without clothes?” Sophia murmured, more to herself than to Luis.
Luis turned onto a county road and headed west, away from Fort Lauderdale. They drove in silence for twenty minutes before he turned off onto a dirt road that led to a dilapidated mobile home set on cinder blocks. A mangy dog barked at them. Luis yelled at the dog in Spanish, and it shut up. They got out, and she followed him inside, where Eduardo Pinar was sprawled on a couch watching TV. He was wearing boxer shorts, and, as usual, his dreamy eyes were half closed. His mustache seemed even more limp than normal. “Where’s Francisco?” Luis asked.
“At the supermarket,” Eduardo replied.
Luis jerked his head in acknowledgment and disappeared into the small bedroom at the far end. He was back in a few moments and, like Eduardo, was only wearing boxer shorts.
Sophia’s inner alarm bells were all ringing. “Luis, I have an important appointment this afternoon. I do need to get back.”
“As soon as Francisco returns,” Luis replied. He opened an overhead cupboard and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and a shoe box filled with rags and a gun-cleaning kit. He sat at the kitchen table and slowly unwrapped a submachine gun. It was spotlessly clean and gleamed with care. Luis carefully disassembled it as he lovingly touched each part. “This is a Heckler and Koch MP5 nine-millimeter submachine gun.” He stroked the silencer, his eyes gleaming. “Such a beautiful weapon,” he murmured. “It has an incredibly smooth roller-locking bolt system and never jams.”
She became increasingly uneasy as he played with the submachine gun. Finally a car pulled up outside. Eduardo stood up. “That’s Francisco,” he said. “Help us unload.” She followed him outside and stared in amazement. The car was filled with shopping bags. “This is the last,” Eduardo said. She helped the two men carry the bags into an aluminum shed behind the trailer.
“My God,” she said, “you could supply an army here.” The two men didn’t reply as they finished unloading the car.
Luis came out and looked in the shed, apparently satisfied with what he saw. They all filed back inside. “We’re ready,” he announced. “From this moment on we have absolutely no contact with the outside world. We talk to no one, we make no phone calls, we only listen and wait for our moment.” Eduardo and Francisco nodded in understanding.
Sophia fought the panic that threatened to engulf her. “What is the moment you’re waiting for?” she asked.
Luis didn’t answer her question. “We must watch each other,” he said, “to make sure no one makes a thoughtless or accidental slip that could be our undoing.”
“Undoing of what?” Sophia asked loudly, almost screaming.
“Of our plans,” Luis replied. “We must support each other and give of our understanding. Each must do his or her part for the common good. We must all sacrifice.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re planning, so how can I accidentally reveal it?” There was no answer. “Besides,” she said, “you need someone on the outside to help if there’s an emergency. I’m that person.”
“We may be here a long time,” Luis said. “And we all have our needs.” She shivered at the way he looked at her. “You must do your part.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“For now, take off your clothes.
“Why?”
“We are men,” Eduardo said, “and have the needs of men that must be satisfied.”
“Where can you go without clothes?” Luis said, an echo of her comment in the car.
She started to undress. “So what are we all sacrificing for?” They watched her as she shed the last of her clothes.
Eduardo stood up, his languid look gone and his face hard. “We’re going to—”
Luis cut him off. “No! She doesn’t need to know.”
19
Newport News
Stuart and Jane worked at the kitchen table on Sunday morning, transferring the ownership of Temptress to Jane. As usual, Stuart had everything organized—a detailed inventory, an equipment list, the location of all the spare parts, instruction manuals, and all the necessary documentation that went with a long-range cruiser. “I feel guilty about what you’re paying,” Stuart said.
“Forty-two thousand is a fair price for your equity,” she told him. “Trust me, with the way you equipped Temptress, I’m getting a good deal.”
“It does get me off the hook. Thank goodness the Air Force is still paying me. I just might survive all this—if they let me retire. Until they make a decision, I’m on administrative leave. It’s almost like house arrest, since I have to call in every day and can’t go anywhere.”
“That’s too bad. I’m starting a charter business, and you could help. There’s a couple who wants to sail to Bermuda and see if they’re cut out for cruising. They want to leave next week. We’re shooting for Wednesday.”
“Isn’t December a
bad time to make a Bermuda run?” he asked.
“It can get rough, but they want to see if they can hack it.” She touched his cheek. “Just like you wanted to see if you could do it.”
“Will you be back for Maggot’s wedding?”
“I plan to,” she said.
Behind them, Martha and Eric did the breakfast dishes. “I really liked it, Grandma,” Eric said, still bubbling over with excitement from Friday’s flight in the Lightning.
“Well, I don’t know,” Martha said hesitantly. “It seems like that plane is a lot of trouble.”
Chalky Seagram wandered in from the family room to refill his coffee mug and heard her comment about the Lightning. “I wouldn’t call it troublesome,” he said. “It certainly requires expert maintenance, but given that, it’s probably no better or worse than any other complex military machine.”
Eric joined in. “And we’re getting better at maintaining it, aren’t we?”
“If you mean the Gray Eagles,” Seagrave said, “you’re absolutely right.”
“A bunch of silly old fools, if you ask me,” Martha mumbled under her breath. A loud shout echoed from the family room. “What’s upset him now?” she asked.
“He’s watching one of your Sunday-morning talking-pundit shows,” Seagrave said. “Some discussion about President Turner’s new gun-control legislation.”
“Oh, Lord,” Martha said. “That will set him off.”
“Why does Gramps hate President Turner so much?” Eric asked.
Another shout from Shanker. “You dumb bitch! Didn’t you read the Constitution!”
“I’m not sure why,” Martha answered. “And I’ve been married to the man for forty-six years.”
Shanker stomped into the kitchen, his face beet red. “That crazy woman,” he growled. “She wants to outlaw all semiautomatic weapons.” He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Congress will hand her her head on this one.”
“We’re going to church,” Martha announced. “All of us. You go get dressed.”
“Ah, what for?” Shanker groused as he headed for the bedroom to change.
“To pray for a little understanding,” Martha said to his back.
Jane held Stuart’s hand. “Can I come, too?”
“When Mom says ‘all,’ she means ‘all,’” Stuart said. No one disobeyed Martha Stuart in her own home.
“You Yanks do take command and control seriously,” Seagrave mused, also going off to change.
A man was waiting in a parked car in front of their home when they returned from church. He got out as they did and walked directly up to Stuart. “Michael Stuart?” he asked as he handed him a white envelope.
“What’s this?” Stuart asked.
The man walked rapidly away, looking over his shoulder at Shanker. “I believe it’s a subpoena,” he said, thankful when he reached the safety of his car.
Shanker rushed up. “You step on my property again and I’ll blow your ass away!” he shouted.
“So much for church,” Seagrave muttered.
Stuart read the subpoena. “It’s a summons to appear in family court and show cause why Eric should not be immediately returned to his mother’s sole custody.” He looked forlornly at Eric. “What do I do now?”
“Honor the threat,” Shanker said.
“And how do I honor the threat here?” Stuart grumbled.
“You can start by getting in her face,” Shanker shot back.
Annapolis
Stuart and the marina’s manager cast off the dock lines and watched as Jane backed Temptress out of the slip. The middle-aged couple chartering the boat stood in the cockpit and waved at the friends and family who had come to see them off. As usual, Jane was all business and only turned to wave good-bye at the last moment. An inner voice warned him that she was a sea gypsy and now she was gone, returning to the sea and following her heart. A loneliness welled up inside of him. “Damn,” he whispered to himself, certain that he would never see her again.
“You shouldn’t let that one get away,” the marina manager growled.
Dallas
Shugy saw the two FBI agents on the security monitor the moment they entered the Fountain Plaza Building. She immediately buzzed L.J.’s office as her fingers flew over her computer, calling up Marsten’s schedule. “The two FBI agents who interviewed Mr. Marsten on”—she hesitated while she pinpointed the exact date—“Thursday, October third, of this year, are downstairs waiting for the elevator.”
“Why did they talk to him, and where was I?” L.J. asked.
Shugy called up a confidential file on the computer. “They interviewed Mr. Marsten about the bombing of RTX Farm Supplies, and he gave them access to RTX’s personnel files.” She checked L.J.’s schedule. “You left that day on the Sabreliner for Houston and then on to St. Louis for the weekend.”
“Where’s Lloyd?”
“Mr. Marsten is taking Duke to the veterinarian and will be gone the rest of the afternoon.”
“Do a slow roll for a few moments before you show them in,” L.J. replied.
The elevator doors opened, and the two FBI agents stepped out. Shugy deliberately called Marsten’s voice mail and carried on a businesslike conversation while the two agents cooled their heals. “Yes, Mr. Marsten does understand,” she said. “Please tell the senator thank you for his cooperation and we are most appreciative.” She paused. “Yes, I’m quite sure they didn’t mean to overstep their bounds. Yes, I assure you Miss Ellis also understands and is not angry.” Another long pause. “Thank you again.” She hung up and smiled at the two agents. “How may I help you?”
The two agents presented their identification cards and said they were there to see Lloyd Marsten. “Mr. Marsten is out of the office for the afternoon, but I can see if Miss Ellis is free. She’s the president and chairperson of the board, you know.” They said that would be fine as Shugy buzzed L.J. “Please, go right in,” she said, rising to escort them. The two grateful agents trailed along like puppy dogs.
L.J. came around from behind her desk and played the perfect hostess for the two agents. She joined them on the couch and flashed her long legs, distracting the junior agent. Shugy hurried out to bring coffee and tea. “How may I help you?” L.J. asked.
The senior agent dug out his notebook and flipped pages. “Are you aware that Mr. Marsten was in Cuba for four days just before Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“Travel to Cuba is restricted,” the senior agent said.
“Unless I’m mistaken, can’t he travel under his British passport, since he maintains dual citizenship?” No answer from the agents. “Also, Lloyd is an admirer of Ernest Hemingway and has one of the best Hemingway collections in the United States. He has wanted to follow the Hemingway trail in Havana for years. Before it’s too late.” She lowered her voice to speak in confidence. “His health has not been the best, you know, and he is sixty-four years old.”
“Are you aware that he also visited a house of prostitution?”
“I didn’t know that,” L.J. said, looking very concerned. Marsten hadn’t told her, and she suspected that was how he had made contact with the Guardians. But if the FBI learned about his physical condition, they might become suspicious and start asking the wrong questions. She needed to get them looking in another direction. “Oh, the poor man. I know he’s very lonely. That must be it, you know.” She made a show of thinking. “I’ll look into it and make sure he hasn’t been harassing any of the staff. You can’t be too careful these days about this type of thing. I would appreciate knowing if there’s anything wrong so I can take action. Lawsuits, you know.”
Problems with sexual harassment were very low on the FBI’s agenda. “There’s another item,” the senior agent said, flipping more pages and turning to a problem worth their time. “Do you know a Dr. Emil Steiner?”
“Of course. He’s one of our independent contractors.”
“What is the exact nature of your relationship with Dr
. Steiner?” L.J. never hesitated. “He’s developed a new exploration technique for us.”
The younger agent consulted his notes. “What exactly is Seismic Double Reflection?”
“I’d rather not discuss it. Trade secrets, you know. If our competitors learned of it, we’d stand to lose millions of dollars.”
The senior agent took over. “In conversations with the Department of Energy, Dr. Steiner accused Mr. Marsten of physically threatening his life when he was negotiating with RayTex.”
L.J. leaned forward, letting her blouse fall open to reveal her cleavage.
“That’s ridiculous.” Her soft Texas accent was more pronounced. “Lloyd would never do anything like that. I was involved in those negotiations, and while we had a major disagreement over the dollar value of Dr. Steiner’s process, I assure you no threats were made. Dr. Steiner has an overactive imagination.”
The two agents exchanged glances and, as one, closed their notebooks. They stood up. “Thank you for your time,” the older one said. “Would you have Mr. Marsten call us to set up an appointment? We need to talk to him before forwarding our report.”
“Of course,” she murmured, walking them to the door.
After they were gone, she paced the silk Persian rug in front of her desk. She strode back and forth, her arms clasped to her breast. Her chin was down, her eyes half closed. Suddenly she locked the door and turned to the blank whiteboard that had become a permanent fixture in her office. She quickly filled it with a series of arrows linking information boxes. The final vector she labeled “Steiner.” Then she picked up a red marker.
She kept repeating, “You bastard! You bastard!” as she slashed a series of X’s across the vector. Her anger spent, she started drawing new connecting lines, trying to bypass the void left by Steiner. Slowly an idea came to her as she drew in a new vector with a new set of connected boxes. She stood back and stared at what she’d created. “It might work,” she murmured to herself. She called her comptroller, a glamorous CPA she had shanghaied from Sacramento, California. “Marcia, what would it cost to obtain a lease option on every deep-water drilling ship? I want to have the right of first call whenever one comes available.” She listened for a moment. “That’s more expensive than I thought, but it is doable.” She walked to her bathroom and dampened a towel to scrub the whiteboard clean.
The Trojan Sea Page 24