"Word is that you're asking questions about a charter yacht called Vengeance."
"Damn that hacker! You said I could trust the little bastard."
"What're you talking about, Pop?"
"If he didn't tell you, then how do you know?"
"You sent an email to the charter broker."
"So? How'd you find out?"
"Like I said, the word got around the community."
"What community, Rick?"
"You know who Mario Espinosa is, right?"
"Don't play me for a fool; what's he got to do with it?"
"I don't know exactly, but apparently the charter broker sends him blind copies of all the correspondence about Vengeance."
"Oh, shit. But wait. I used a new, anonymous email address."
"Come on, Pop. You know there's no such thing to a guy like Espinosa."
"Why the hell would Mario Espinosa care about that yacht? Makes no sense, unless… What do you think I should do?"
"Well, I don't know how to answer that without a little more background than I have, but I think Espinosa's sending you some kind of message. Somebody made sure that I knew that he knew you were asking. My guess is you'd better lose interest in that yacht in a hurry. Whatever's going on with it, your name's mixed up in it. I'd find a way to let Espinosa know that you're not part of it any longer."
Toby had thanked his son for the warning and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was bubbling with the possible ramifications of getting crossways with a man like Espinosa. The insistent buzzing of the cheap telephone on the nightstand finally got his attention.
"Yeah?" he grumbled.
"You ready to call Wallace?" Willie asked.
"Sorry, Willie. I'm in the middle of something urgent right now. You go ahead and call him; I think I may have to bail out on you and get back to Miami. I'll call Sam and let him know. Sorry I won't be able to help you anymore. Good luck to you."
Toby hung up the phone without waiting for a response from Willie and took his encrypted sat phone out of his briefcase. He forced himself to take a few minutes to think before he scrolled through the directory and placed a call to Sam Alfieri's secure number.
"What's up?" There was anxiety in Sam's voice.
"This is between you and me, Sam. Not for Wallace, okay?"
"Okay," Sam agreed.
"You've stepped in some deep shit, and I've gotten splattered. I can't help you any further."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.
"This yacht business. I don't know what's going on, and I don't want to know. I'm in some trouble about it back in Miami. I think I'll find a way to handle it without burning you, but if I were you, I'd forget about those diamonds."
"But Wallace is on the other line. Willie just told him you guys got the diamonds, and we told him to bring 'em back to Nassau. Willie said you were tied up. I was just about to call you…"
"Sam?" Toby interrupted.
"Yeah?'
"I'm out. If you stay in, I can't help you. I'll try not to hurt you, but family comes first. I mean real family, not the kind you are. I'm sorry." Toby disconnected the call and began packing his carry-on bag.
****
"You think she gave us the whole story?" Liz asked in a soft voice. She and Dani were sitting on the front end of the coach roof, up near Vengeance's bow, enjoying their first cups of coffee. Connie was still asleep in the aft cabin and they hadn't wanted to wake her with their private conversation. Besides, the early morning view was better up forward. The sun was still behind the ridgeline, and a rosy hue reflected from the clouds to kiss the glassy surface of the water.
"No. I don't think she told us any outright lies, but there are some missing pieces," Dani said.
"Do you think she just found those diamonds on the beach, like she said?" Liz prompted.
"I don't know. I can't get past the fact that she happened to have a whole new identity complete with a matching passport just lying around in case she needed it. I might believe she found the diamonds in a briefcase on the beach, but the way she immediately started covering her tracks with that false identity makes me wonder."
"What do you think we should do?" Liz asked.
"When Willie's boss finds out what's in that bag, I think we'd better be somewhere else. I don't like being trapped in the lagoon, stuck waiting on the drawbridge to open before we can leave."
"Yes, I agree with that, but what about Connie?" Liz asked.
"We're stuck with her, now. Even if we kicked her off the boat, whoever's chasing her is coming after us first anyway at this point, so we may as well deal with it. Besides, I like her; I meant what we told her last night, and so did you. You don't feel different now, do you?" Dani asked.
"No, but I wish she'd be a little more open with us."
"Since we're stuck with her anyway," Dani said, "let's see how she plays this out. She said friendship's a new experience for her. I don't get the sense that she's running a con on us. Give her a little time."
"You're the cynical one, usually," Liz commented. "You're probably right; she may not have figured out any more than she's told us. I'm going to probe her a bit on this Maria Velazquez thing, though. That's the thing that's most incongruous. I mean, finding a body and the diamonds is far-fetched, but somebody was going to find them. The odd thing is that she happened to be poised to cut and run."
"Why don't you cook us some breakfast?" Dani asked. "Make a little noise outside her cabin and wake her up to the smell of something wonderful. We can catch either the 9:00 or the 11:00 drawbridge and head for Île de la Forchue; do some snorkeling and be poised to go if we need to move quickly."
"What about customs clearance?" Liz asked.
"We'll stop in St. Barth's after we get tired of Forchue. The French never ask for clearance from the last port, and if they do, we'll just tell 'em the office was closed in Marigot. It usually is; they're used to it."
"Good idea. That'll make it a little harder if somebody tries to get our departure information from the database here, too." Liz took a last swallow from her coffee mug and got to her feet.
****
Sam was disturbed by Toby's abrupt withdrawal. Wallace had just dropped by Sam's office to gloat about Willie recovering the diamonds, and Sam had told him that Toby had run out on them and furthermore had advised Sam to forget the diamonds. Wallace was trying to break his partner out of his depressed mood.
"I know you felt close to the guy, Sam, but I thought he was a little squirrely. I mean, I never actually met him, but…"
"Back off, Wallace. He's been like my younger brother ever since we were kids. I mean, Toby and me, we were tight. I trust him just like I trust you. We're missing something here."
"You said he mentioned something about 'real' family. That shorthand for some kind of Cuban goombah shit? Like you Italians?"
Sam's face flushed. "You're a fine one to talk about family. It's all your damn 'yard children' and 'house children' shit that got us mixed up with dipshits like Willie and Joseph. Talk about shirt-tail relatives. One's a chickenshit and the other one couldn't keep it in his pants. Don't talk to me about family."
"Sorry, Sam. Willie is a chickenshit, but it sounds like your boy Toby's not much better."
"Bullshit, Wallace. Toby's not scared of anything alive or dead."
"Then what made him back off?"
"I don't think he's scared. He's got some conflicting loyalties," Sam said, "and that worries me. It should worry you, too. Somebody with some serious juice must have taken those diamonds from us -- somebody that Toby's connected to. It's got to be some heavyweight, probably Cuban. Could be somebody else, but his 'family' comment says Cuban. They got their own ways to clean money; they're sort of in the same business we are, but I can't believe they'd steal from us. We're not exactly competing with them -- just working with different customers."
"Well, Willie should be here in an hour or two. We can check out the diamonds and then figure out what we want to
do next. Maybe we should just see what the other side does; looks to me like we won this round, anyway."
Chapter 18
Toby spent his time on the flight to Miami trying to figure out why Mario Espinosa would be interested in Vengeance. There weren't many things that happened in Miami that Espinosa didn't have a hand in, but the connection to Vengeance was out of character by Toby's reckoning. Ricky was right, though; Espinosa was sending a clear message to back off from Vengeance. The only explanation that Toby could come up with was that Espinosa was behind the theft of Sam's shipment of diamonds, but that just felt wrong. Espinosa was long past being such an obvious crook, if he ever had been. He was a pillar of the Cuban-American community in south Florida, an extremely wealthy man who lived with his wife of 40 years in a modest, two-bedroom house in Little Havana. Toby was literally jolted back to the present when the airplane touched down and the pilot stood on the brakes.
"Damned Navy pilots," muttered the Air Force officer in the next seat.
Once they had taxied to the gate and the seatbelt sign was turned off, Toby stood up and retrieved his small duffle bag from the overhead bin. He shuffled along in the crowd, working the kinks out of his legs as they went through the blazing heat of the jetway and emerged into the chill of the terminal building. Toby absent-mindedly followed the signs leading to ground transportation. He was tired from his restless night and eager to get home and take a long nap; he was just drifting along in the crowd, not paying much attention to his surroundings. As soon as he left the secure area, he felt a gentle touch on his left arm, the one holding the bag. He whirled to his left and saw a small, dapper-looking man in a guayabera shirt smiling at him. He immediately felt someone take a firm grip on his right arm. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw another man who could be the first one's twin.
"Relax, Señor Rodriguez," the first man said, with an easy smile on his face. "Señor Espinosa would like to talk with you, if you have a moment."
Toby felt a chill run down his spine. "Here?"
"No, señor, of course not here. He will meet you for some lunch, so that you can relax and be comfortable after your trip."
"My car…" Toby began to protest.
"Your car will be parked at the restaurant, waiting for you after lunch. It is all arranged. Señor Espinosa sent us to drive you, thinking you are probably tired," the second man said softly, with that same gentle smile that the first man had.
****
Toby sat in the back seat of an ancient but pristine black Mercedes 450 SEL sedan with one of the two men who met him at the airport. The other man sat in the front seat, conversing softly with the driver. After a few minutes, the car glided to the curb in front of a small, nondescript Cuban restaurant on Calle Ocho in Miami's Little Havana. The man in the front passenger seat got out and opened the door for Toby, holding it as his companion followed Toby across the sidewalk. The two men escorted him through the nearly empty dining room of the little restaurant to a private room in the back, where they found Mario Espinosa sipping from a glass of water.
"Toby! It's good of you to join me on such short notice," Mario said, jumping to his feet. He extended his right hand, and Toby accepted his handshake. Still gripping Toby's right hand, Mario put his left on Toby's right shoulder and steered him to a chair.
Toby sat down as Mario released his hand, noticing from the corner of his eye that his two escorts stood attentively, one on each side of the closed door through which they had entered. As Toby waited for Mario to initiate the conversation, the door opened and an elderly man with a sprightly step entered the room and stood waiting expectantly.
"Would you like something to drink before we order?" Mario asked.
Toby shook his head.
"The usual," Mario said, and the old waiter nodded and left, closing the door behind him. "You are looking well, Toby. Your holiday in St. Martin must have refreshed you."
Toby inclined his head in a non-committal nod. "With respect, Señor Espinosa, I had a sleepless night last night and I'm very tired. What's on your mind?"
"I'm sorry, Toby. Of course, I understand. Let me be brief, then. I've learned that you and your friends Mr. Rolle and Mr. Alfieri have expressed an interest in the yacht, Vengeance. For a number of reasons, she would not be at all suitable for your purposes. As you are tired, I won't go into detail, but I would be most pleased to offer you and your friends a complimentary, two-week charter on a much more acceptable yacht, just to make up for any inconvenience this may have caused you."
Toby felt a weight lift from his shoulders at the mention of Sam and Wallace. He had been worried that Espinosa would want the names of his associates, but it seemed that he already had them, so Toby would not have to betray Sam's confidence, in particular. "I appreciate your advice, Señor Espinosa. I had reached a similar conclusion myself. Thanks for your kind offer, but I have already made other arrangements for my own needs. I can no longer speak for Mr. Rolle and Mr. Alfieri."
"A wise choice, Toby. They aren't suitable companions for men like us."
"I agree, Señor, and I thank you again for your concern and for your hospitality, but I hope that you will excuse my bad manners in leaving before the food is served. I'm exhausted."
"I can well imagine, Toby. Please allow my men to drive you to your house. I will arrange for someone to deliver your car. Ah, they may have just a few simple questions to ask, if you would be so kind as to answer them while they take you home."
"Muchas gracias, Señor," Toby said, with a resigned nod. Trust Espinosa to leave the dirty work and its associated risk to his minions.
"De nada, Amigo." Espinosa rose to his feet as the two men escorted Toby from the room.
****
"But I don't understand, Toby," Sam protested. His cell phone had interrupted him in Wallace's office, where the two of them were waiting for Willie to get in from St. Martin with the diamonds. Wallace moved around the desk and crouched next to Sam so that he could hear both sides of the conversation.
"You know who he is, don't you?" Toby asked.
"I know he's an all-American success story, poor Cuban kid who made it big in the construction business."
"Yeah. Any big job in the Caribbean or Latin America in the last 30 or 40 years, figure he had a hefty piece of it. Nothing happens in the Caribbean basin without him, but you'd never know it. Real low-key, nice guy. Scary nice."
"So what's his interest in Vengeance?" Sam asked, aware that Wallace was trying his best to hear every word of both sides of the conversation.
"He didn't say, and I didn't ask," Toby said.
"Okay. I give up. This is too damned subtle for me. What, exactly, did he say?"
"That as far as you and I and Wallace were concerned…,"
"You told him about me and Wallace?" Sam's voice rose in alarm as he interrupted Toby.
"I didn't have to tell him. He already knew. He said to tell you that Vengeance is unavailable. Forever. I'm telling you, it would be in our best interest to forget we ever heard of her. He offered to make a gift of a couple of weeks on another yacht, just to ease our pain."
"You think he's behind the heist, Toby?"
"Gimme a break, Sam. That kind of money is pocket change to his shoeshine boy."
"But what if he wanted me out of business?" Sam asked.
"Then you should retire. Look, you got your diamonds back. Quit while you're ahead. I'm done with this topic." Toby disconnected.
"What do you think," Wallace asked.
Sam shook his head, his teeth squeaking audibly as he ground them. "Shit if I know what to think. If we quit, we're dead. We know too much for them to let us walk away. If we don't quit…"
The buzz of the intercom on Wallace's desk interrupted Sam's thought.
Wallace swiveled his chair so that he could reach the keypad. "Yes?"
"Willie Davis is here," the disembodied voice of his secretary announced.
"Send him in," Wallace said.
The door opened and W
illie shuffled in, more bedraggled than usual. His arm was still in the makeshift sling, splinted with the magazines that Toby had used last night.
"Let's have the diamonds," Sam said, tension in his voice. He watched Willie reach into his left pants pocket and fumble out a small chamois pouch. Willie, unaccustomed to using his left arm, tossed the pouch awkwardly to Wallace.
Wallace hefted the bag for a moment, nodding. "Feels about right." He untied the drawstring and emptied the contents onto the leather-covered desktop as Sam lurched to his feet and leaned on the edge of the desk.
"What the hell!" Sam bellowed. Willie cringed as both of the men turned to glare at him.
"Moron! Don't you know the difference in diamonds and Heineken emeralds?" Sam yelled.
"Heineken emeralds," Willie repeated, parrot-like, looking puzzled as he studied the pile of rough, green-colored gemstones.
"Beach glass, shithead," Sam hissed.
Wallace pressed a key on the intercom. When his secretary answered, he said, "Ask Pietro to join us, please."
****
Vengeance sliced through the chop, wind-driven spray drifting halfway back to the cockpit. They were sailing close-hauled on the port tack, beating into the 25-knot southeasterly wind that blew almost directly from their destination. Connie had the helm and Liz was with her in the cockpit, cranking a winch occasionally as the wind shifted enough to require her to trim the sails. Dani was sitting on the windward side of the coach roof amidships, a satellite phone pressed to her ear. She had a frown of concentration on her face as she listened carefully, straining to pick out the caller's words over the singing of the wind in the rigging.
"How does she feel?" Liz asked, bracing herself on the high side of the cockpit. They were under full sail and Vengeance's leeward rail was dipping below the surface with the periodic stronger gusts.
"It's great," Connie said with a big grin on her face. She stood on her left leg, her right leg extended for balance to the low side of the cockpit, her right foot braced on the edge of the seat. "It takes a little muscle to keep the bow from turning into the wind when it puffs up and puts the rail under, though."
Bluewater Ice: The Fourth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 4) Page 10