"Exactly when did he leave?"
"No one can say. The man who works on his engines finished up after a day, but he doesn't know exactly when Joseph left. Neither does anybody else. You know Bimini, Sam. The days run together; people don't use calendars and clocks. If they told you yesterday, that would probably mean yesterday, but anything farther back than that is pure guesswork."
Sam grunted. "So let's say it's been ten days. We can account for maybe five days of that. Where the hell is he?"
"We're looking, Sam. I got boats out, checking all the islands and cays. We'll find him. If he had engine trouble crossing the Banks, he could be anywhere. Depending on when he left and where he broke down, he could have gotten blown to the Berry's, or Grand Bahama, or Andros. If he got blown off the Banks and back into the Gulf Stream, there's no telling."
"He could have called, if he made one of the big islands," Sam mused.
"Yeah. Probably would have. He's got to be in the middle of nowhere, or we would have heard from him, unless he didn't make it. He was alone, remember."
"We think," Sam added. "We don't even know that, for sure. From now on, we need to give these guys sat phones."
"Come on, Sam. We've been through all that before. It's no good second guessing ourselves. Using sat phones out in that stretch of water would attract the attention of the NSA or whoever the DEA has listening in. Nowhere on that run is out of VHF range; their regular radios do the job, and nobody pays any attention to local fishermen chattering on the VHF, telling their wives when they'll be home."
"Didn't work this time, did it?" Sam groused. He knew Wallace was right, though. He was wasting time that could be better spent looking for Joseph or figuring out how to replace that shipment. He had already shuffled funds around in a number of his offshore accounts to make it appear to his client that the transaction had gone through, but he was over-extended now. He would need to replace the value of that shipment within a couple of weeks, or his finances would collapse.
"I've had two planes up since day before yesterday. They're checking everywhere, looking for Blacksnake, or any new wrecks. I'll let you know the minute I hear."
"Yeah. Okay, Wallace. We just can't absorb this one for very long. If we don't find him, we'll have to think about going back to the old standby."
"That would be tough. That's a lot of blow, even uncut, and we're rusty."
"We'll be worse than rusty if we don't cover the loss," Sam said, getting to his feet and walking his partner to the door of his office.
****
Connie was savoring a final cup of coffee in the dining room of the luxury resort, idly watching a family with three young children. She was no expert, but she thought the oldest child was probably nine or ten. The parents were trying to eat breakfast and get some food into the three little ones, who were intent on exploring the aquarium that was an integral part of the complex. From where they were sitting, the children could catch glimpses of the large sharks that circled in the tanks that made up the wall of the lobby outside the restaurant.
Finally, the parents gave up and let the children drag them out of the restaurant. Connie smiled wistfully, but she quickly reined in her well-suppressed maternal instincts. She knew she was destined for a different kind of life; a normal, middle class existence had never been an option for her. Born into a family of desperately poor, illegal migrant farm workers, she had chosen to do what she had to do to avoid hunger; only in the last few years had she managed to accumulate enough wealth to provide some comfort.
She thought about how to spend the day; her time here in the Bahamas was growing short. If this cold front didn't interfere, she would be leaving the day after tomorrow, sailing for the islands of the Caribbean. She was excited at the prospect of spending time on a private yacht, exploring the islands at her leisure. When she had come into a modest amount of money a few years ago, the Bahamas had seemed like paradise to her. She had only heard of them; she had never considered that she might visit them. Now she understood the truth in the old cliché, "a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there." She loved the climate and the pristine water, and the people were charming. The islands themselves were dry and desolate, though, and life was either a matter of subsistence or holiday distractions which quickly grew old. She had been researching the islands of the eastern Caribbean; she thought several of the larger islands offered the opportunity for a more balanced, productive life than she had found in the Bahamas. Certainly, they offered more varied scenery and cultural diversity, as well.
She had considered various ways to explore the Caribbean islands, ranging from cruise ships to traveling by air and staying in resorts, but she was looking for a way to get a more intimate feel for the differences from island to island. She also didn't have a fixed abode to use as a home base. She had been living in short-term rental properties in the various islands of the Bahamas; she was more encumbered with belongings than a typical traveler, and she wanted to take her belongings with her. She wasn't particularly acquisitive, but she couldn't live out of a suitcase or two, either.
She had watched the people on small yachts come and go in the Bahamas, and she had engaged a few of the yachting couples in conversation. That mode of travel appealed to her, at least as a means of exploring the islands, but she knew nothing about boats. Eventually, someone had suggested that she could charter a small yacht with a crew to take her wherever she wished to go, and she had quickly become hooked on the idea. It was within her means, at least for a few months, and it appeared to offer everything she wanted.
She had researched the charter yachts in her price range that were working in the islands in which she was interested and discovered a beautiful yacht owned and run by two young women. That had a special appeal to her as a single woman. She had not sworn off men forever, but she wasn't in the market for the foreseeable future either, and the idea of being a single female guest aboard a small yacht with a male crew or even a couple just didn't sound comfortable for an extended period. She had called the satellite phone number listed for the yacht Vengeance and had spoken at length with one of the women who owned and ran the boat. She concluded the conversation with a promise to think it over and get back to them in a day or two, being in no particular hurry at the time.
Things had changed when she picked up the briefcase from the red-haired man. She hadn't intended to take the diamonds for herself when she first got the briefcase; she hadn't even known that it contained diamonds. She was just going to pass it on to the proper people, but she hadn't been able to resist the temptation to look inside first. She forgot her intentions to do what was expected once she realized the opportunity that had befallen her.
She had called the woman on Vengeance back immediately after she discovered the diamonds and learned that the situation aboard Vengeance had changed as well since their last conversation. They were finishing a two-week charter the next day in the Virgin Islands and had just had a cancellation that left them free for over a month. They could pick her up in Nassau within a few days. She wired a deposit for a month's charter to their account that day, and they had settled on a date. She had been busy since then, putting her affairs in order and preparing to embark on a new adventure.
Chapter 3
Dani hung in her climber's harness, her legs locked around the mast 70 feet above Vengeance's deck. Before she removed the clevis pin holding the jammed roller furling headstay to the masthead, she paused to take in the panoramic view of Nassau's harbor. She inhaled the harbor's characteristic smells, a blend of tar and the sweet aroma of over-ripe fruit leavened with the tanginess of clean, salty air. Forcing herself to get to work, she glanced down into the bucket of tools which dangled from her harness, groping for a pair of pliers.
A flurry of activity on the dock below caught her attention, and she watched an attractive brunette strolling toward Vengeance, followed by a porter with a heavily laden dock cart. She saw Liz step onto the dock and greet the woman, shaking her hand. As Da
ni's hand closed on the pliers, she looked back at the clevis pin. She removed the pin and freed the stay, but her mind was on the pile of luggage that the porter was stacking on Vengeance's side deck. First-time sailors had no idea how little storage space there was aboard a 60-foot sailing yacht. She hoped Liz and the woman could find room for everything without cluttering their living space.
Having freed the top end of the stay, she checked to make sure that it would clear all the obstacles when she lowered it to the deck. Satisfied, she unhooked her safety line and descended the mast, using the block and tackle that she had used to hoist herself aloft a few minutes earlier. Once her feet were on deck and she had shed the harness, she walked back to the cockpit where Liz and their new guest stood as they watched the porter move his last armload of baggage aboard.
"Good morning. Welcome aboard Vengeance, Ms. Barrera," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Dani Berger."
"I'm Connie, please. Vengeance is even more beautiful than the pictures; thanks for sharing her." Connie took note of how rock-hard Dani's slim hand was compared to her own soft palm.
"Thanks for your patronage. We're glad to have you with us. Liz told me that you've been living in the Bahamas for a few years. Where's home?"
"Wherever I wake up, these days. I grew up in Southern California, and I lived in Savannah, Georgia, for a few years. I've been hanging out down here for the last three years. I'm ready to move on. I like living here, but the islands are almost like the desert; it's not what I expected from the tropics. How about you? Where are you from? You sound American, but I can't pick up a regional accent."
Dani smiled. "I'm French, mostly, but my mother's American. When it suits me, I can be American, like flagging Vengeance in the States. My father lives in Paris, but our roots are in the islands -- mainly the French islands."
"And you're Belgian?" Connie asked, turning to Liz. "How did you two end up owning Vengeance?"
"That's a story we'll tell you over the next few days," Liz said. "Dani has to finish repairing our furler, and we need to get you settled. I should figure out how much grocery shopping I have to do, especially if you want to leave Nassau tomorrow. Do you have an itinerary in mind?"
Dani smiled and nodded at the two women. She picked up her tool bag on her way forward and resumed her work on the roller-furling headstay, leaving Liz to make Connie welcome.
"Well, I've seen enough of the Bahamas. I want to get to the eastern Caribbean as quickly as we can, and then you two can show me the islands," Connie said, watching Dani.
"Then we're in good shape for provisions," Liz said. "I'll step over to Potter's Cay and see what kind of fresh fruit I can find once you're squared away in your stateroom. You're welcome to come, if you like. I was worried that you might want to stop off in the Exumas or the Turks and Caicos. I don't have enough in the fridge for that, but we'll be back in civilization in a few days if you want to go straight to the Virgins."
"That sounds fine to me; I've seen all I care to see of the southern Bahamas," Connie said. "How far is it to St. Thomas? That's in the Virgins, right?"
"Right. It's a little under a thousand miles, depending on the wind. Let's say five days of good sailing."
"Will we be out of sight of land?"
"Oh, yeah. It'll take us a day to get clear of the Bahamas, but then we'll head out around Eleuthera and ride this northwest wind as far to the east as we can. We'll hope that it stays north of east for most of the trip. It should, this time of year."
"What if the wind doesn't cooperate?"
"Then we'll have an extra day or two at sea; no big deal. Maybe we'll catch some fresh tuna along the way to keep us occupied."
"I think I could get used to this," Connie said.
****
"When was he here?" Wallace Rolle asked.
The dockmaster at the Chub Cay Club shrugged. "Well, le's see, Wallace. It was some days ago. The blond gals were still here, and they came in and filled up with water and diesel before they left. Le's look at the receipt book."
"What blond gals?" Wallace asked as they walked into the office.
"Two pretty gals on a little sailboat. Like to have drove all the single men crazy. And the married women, too." The man smiled and shook his head. "Named their boat Nautigal. Not too original, but it fit that boat better than most, I t'ink. Joseph, he spent him plenty of time wit' those gals. Plenty. Two, mebbe three days." He licked his callused index finger and paged through the spiral bound notebook by the cash register.
"Here we go. Nautigal. 30 gallons of diesel; 55 gallons of water. $200, they spent. That was seven days ago. Now Joseph left before that -- probably a day. I think mebbe he said he was going to Andros, see the wife."
"Joseph's wife is in Bimini," Wallace said.
"Well, you know that Joseph. If one wife is good, two is better. Or mebbe he was visiting some friend's wife." The dockmaster chuckled. "He did say he was going to meet them gals in Nassau, though. Joseph does like the ladies."
"The two blondes on Nautigal?" Wallace asked.
"Mm-hmm."
"Thanks, my friend," Wallace said as he left the office.
****
"You're headed to Andros, then?" Sam Alfieri was on the telephone with Wallace, who had just ordered lunch in the marina restaurant.
"Soon as I eat; wish I knew who he was going to see there."
"Yeah. That may not matter, though, if those gals are still in Nassau. What did you say their boat was named?"
"Nautigal. White boat, blue sail covers, maybe 30 to 35 feet long."
"That's helpful," Sam groused. "Fits about 90 percent of the sailboats here."
"You want to get somebody to look for them? Or you want me to make a call?" Wallace asked, ignoring Sam's sarcastic tone.
"I'll get somebody on it. You see what you can find out in Andros. It's a pretty safe bet that he got to Andros. It's no distance from the Chub Cay Club. Probably wouldn't have taken him but a few minutes."
"Yeah. Then less than an hour to Nassau from there. The women in Nautigal would have made it from Chub to Nassau the same day that they left, and Joseph left the day before they did. Even if he spent a day in Morgan's Bluff or somewhere else on Andros, he should have been in Nassau seven days ago," Wallace said.
"Weather was settled then; just got nasty in the last day. Even if he had engine trouble, he could have done it in a few hours with one engine out of the three. Think he skipped on us?" Sam asked.
"I don't think so, Sam. Even if he knew what he was carrying, he wouldn't have had a clue as to what to do with them. I figure he got in trouble of some kind – irate husband, maybe. Or got himself locked up for something, maybe in Andros, maybe Nassau. You check with your friend at the police station downtown?"
"No way. This is way too close to home. I don't want the cops to even know we know him. Somebody might decide he was worth watching, you know?" Sam frowned at the thought.
"Okay. Here comes my food. I'll call you from Andros. Let me know if you find the Nautigal."
Chapter 4
"Just your fingertips," Dani cautioned. "It's not like steering a car. You want to feel the changes in the pressure of the water on the rudder; if you keep the pressure constant, you'll keep the boat speed up with a minimum of wandering around our course line. Don't watch the compass. Pick out a cloud on the horizon and steer for that, but mostly, steer by the feel of the boat."
"Sorry," Connie said, a big grin splitting her nut-brown face as the wind blew her long, inky-black hair off to the side. "There's more to this than I thought. Is it okay? I'm not slowing us down too much, am I?"
"No. You're doing well. Sailing is a continuous learning process; I've been sailing all my life, and every time I take the helm, I get just a little better at it. Let me know if you get tired; I'm going below and mark our position on the chart."
Connie nodded, her lower lip caught lightly between her front teeth as she concentrated on all the subtle signals in the way Vengeance felt. Dani went bel
ow to the chart table, glanced up at the GPS, and marked a fix on the chart. In small, neat printing, she added the date and time beside the position mark.
"How're we doing?" Liz asked, as she finished putting away the breakfast dishes, bracing her hip on the galley counter to steady herself against the motion of the boat.
"Great. Nine knots, and we're a little high on the course line. Gaining a little north."
"Might as well take it while we can; you know the wind's going to come around before we make all our easting. How's Connie doing with the helm?"
"Oh, I think we've got ourselves a sailor, Liz. She's hooked. She's got a good feel for it, too; she picked right up on the rhythm of the boat."
"I'm glad she wanted to get out of Nassau. I don't much like it there," Liz said, pouring coffee for herself and Dani.
"It's not too bad for a commercial harbor, but I know what you mean. I'm just happy that she doesn't want to play in the southern Bahamas. All that shallow water makes me nervous, as pretty as it is."
"Yeah. She did seem to be in a hurry to get going. You notice that?"
"No, not really. Why do you think that?"
"It goes back to my first telephone conversation with her. She was pretty casual about the whole thing; then two days later, she called and wanted us to pick her up as soon as possible. I thought the sudden change was a little strange at the time, and then she seemed pretty tense until we got under way," Liz said, sipping her coffee.
Bluewater Ice: The Fourth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 4) Page 2