"We gotta move, Wallace! They're after us," Sam had blurted, not appearing to notice that Wallace was on the phone.
Wallace covered the mouthpiece on the handset. "I'm on the phone," he admonished Sam. "Sit down and be quiet."
Sam's face flushed and he clenched his fists. He jerked one of Wallace's guest chairs around and sat heavily, glaring at his partner.
Wallace shook his head and swiveled his high-backed chair, turning his back on his irate guest. "Sorry, Pietro. Something's come up. I need to go; you and Davey just stand by in St. Barth's. I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything; be ready to move quickly." He put the phone in its cradle on his credenza, took a deep breath, and turned to face Sam.
"I'm sorry, Sam. What's the matter?" Wallace asked, projecting a sense of calm that he didn't feel.
Sam, having had time to collect his thoughts, responded in a level voice. "Something's changed in Savannah. I just got word that the cops have gotten active on my case again. There was mention of the Bahamas, and extradition proceedings."
"You're covered; you know that. It's too bad if they've found you, but the fix is in. Finding you isn't their biggest problem. Just stay calm. Any other news?"
"Yeah. That same cop that was after me is looking into somebody named Rolle, asking for an arrest warrant on charges of aiding and abetting me in my flight to avoid prosecution for murder," Sam said. Pleased at the look of alarm this information elicited from Wallace, Sam was inspired to embellish his report. "The word 'co-conspirator' was used. Looks like they want you and me both. If the Feds get involved, avoiding extradition may be a little tougher."
"Ah, shit, Sam. What have you gotten me into? This was supposed to be nice and clean. Low risk."
"Yeah, well, it's your idiot relatives Willie and Joseph that screwed it up, you know. It was cool until that damned Joseph started skimming. We got two big problems, now."
"I'm guessing that one of those is recovering the diamonds," Wallace said. "What's the other? You aren't really afraid they'll extradite us, are you?"
"Yeah, I am. There's some personal stuff between me and that cop, but that's a minor problem right now."
"So what's the other big problem?"
"If the cops start making noise, the cartels aren't gonna like it," Sam said. "They won't let either one of us live to see which way the extradition hearings come out. We know way too much about their business, and we won't be able to run any money while the heat's on us, either. You know those guys. Once you're in with them, there's no backing out. If you can't do your job, you die."
Wallace worked his jaws as he thought about what Sam had said. "I think it's time for a vacation," he finally said.
"What? Vacation? Did you hear a word I said?" Sam's face was flushed again.
"We can go a ways toward solving both problems, Sam. Let's take Rolle's Kate down island. We can deal with the three broads better that way, and we won't be around if anybody comes looking for us."
Chapter 27
Rolles' Kate surged through the ocean swell a hundred miles to the east of the Turks and Caicos. She was following roughly the same course that Vengeance had taken, but the big motor-yacht was moving at a much higher speed. Her course was also not influenced by changes in wind direction, so she was making far better time than Vengeance had. Her twin MTU diesel engines, each producing 3,650 horsepower, loafed along, pushing her at 25 knots. Wide open, she could exceed 30 knots, but Wallace had given the crew orders to arrive in St. Barth's at daybreak tomorrow morning, and the captain had set his speed accordingly.
Wallace and Sam had just finished a leisurely breakfast on the forward sundeck when Wallace's satellite phone chirped. He looked at the display as he lifted the phone. "The gal in customs in St. Barth's," he announced for Sam's benefit.
"Yeah," he said as he pressed the connect button. He listened for a moment. "So when did she leave?" he asked, irritated.
"How can you not know when she left?" he asked. He listened for a few more minutes before grumbling something unintelligible and disconnecting.
"Damned worthless woman," he said. "Seems Vengeance cleared in and out at the same time a few days ago, so they don't know exactly when she left. The next port of call was planned to be Jolly Harbour, Antigua."
"So we don't know when she got there?" Sam asked.
"No. I've got the fix in with one of the supervisors in the main customs office in Saint Johns. I should have gotten a call if she cleared in at Antigua."
"Could have changed their minds once they were underway," Sam said. "You got anybody in Guadeloupe? You said you had the Commonwealth islands covered."
"Yeah, the Commonwealth islands are pretty easy, but the French islands are different. Not that there aren't some corrupt officials, but they're hooked up with the French mob."
"Okay, but if they didn't clear in at one of the Commonwealth islands, Guadeloupe's the best bet, right?"
"Yes," Wallace muttered. He waved the steward over to the table and asked him to have the captain change course for Guadeloupe.
"I'm going to send Pietro and Davey to Antigua, just in case. We'll go to Deshaies, Guadeloupe. That's the next likely stop for a sailboat headed south from Antigua. Maybe we can improve our odds. They'll probably stop at one or the other of those places. Portsmouth, Dominica would be the next stop to the south after Deshaies, and I've got customs covered there."
"Makes sense to me," Sam said as Wallace picked up the satellite phone.
****
"This is the best sailing yet!" Connie remarked gleefully as she ducked her head to avoid getting salt spray on her sunglasses from a breaking wave. Liz couldn't help smiling at Connie's enthusiasm.
Dani was leaning out of the cockpit, peering around the underside of the mainsail as she trimmed their Yankee jib. They were on a beam reach in 20 to 25 knots of wind, about twenty miles south of Antigua on a course for Deshaies. She studied the sails for a minute and then settled back into the cockpit.
"We're going to have to start paying you crew's wages, Maria," she chided Connie. "You haven't let Liz or me steer in days."
Connie grinned. "As long as you're not charging extra for teaching me to sail, I'm happy."
They rolled along in companionable silence for a while. Liz went below and returned with three half-liter bottles of chilled water. "Need to stay hydrated," she cautioned as she passed one to each of the others.
Connie braced a practiced knee against the helm to free her hands and twisted the top from her bottled water. After draining a third of it in one long pull, she put the cap back on the bottle and returned her hands to the wheel. Dani got up and went below to the chart table, returning a couple of minutes later.
"We'll be off Deshaies in another couple of hours," she said. "Want to stop?"
"What's there?" Connie asked.
"It's a beautiful little town," Liz said. "Like a movie set for a French fishing village. Some nice restaurants and a few little shops; there's a great beach if you want to hike over the hill to the north, and a botanical garden if you want to hike up the hill to the south."
"How's the snorkeling?" Connie asked.
"It's fair," Dani answered, "but it's better in the Saintes."
"I'm more interested in snorkeling than shopping or eating out; nobody cooks better than Liz," Connie said.
"Thanks, Maria," Liz said. "You know, Dani, we could stop at Pigeon Island and do some snorkeling and come back to Deshaies if we need to. It's only about an hour or two out of the way, and it's early yet."
"What's at Pigeon Island?" Connie asked.
"There's an underwater park and marine reserve," Liz said. "It's named for Jacques Cousteau."
"Oh! That sounds great," Connie said. "Why wouldn't we just stay there for the night? Customs?"
"Right," Liz said. "We need to clear customs, and it's not always a comfortable anchorage for the night. It often rolls a lot there. Sometimes it's okay, though."
"We could clear in and out at the Sainte
s," Dani said. "We can go to Pigeon Island and do a little snorkeling and decide later. If the sea's rolling, we can come back to Deshaies for the night."
A little over two hours later, Vengeance was secured to a mooring at Pigeon Island, rolling dramatically from side to side while her crew enjoyed the sights underwater.
****
Sam was below in his stateroom, sleeping off a liquid lunch when Wallace's satellite phone rang. He was sitting in the shade on the aft deck, watching the wake from their passing recede into the distance. He saw that the call was from his contact in customs in Antigua.
"You have news?" he asked.
"Yas. The yacht Vengeance, she has come," the lilting male voice on the other end announced.
"When?" Wallace asked.
"Le's see, now," the voice muttered, accompanied by the sound of keys clicking on a computer. "Looks to be she check in three days ago."
"Three days ago!" Wallace shrieked into the phone. "Why are you just now calling me?"
"Because, Sah, jus' now the paperwork was put into the system."
"How can that be?" Wallace demanded.
"It happens this way quite often, Sah. Perhaps the agent who does the paperwork is quite busy, and to be more efficient, she will wait to put the paperwork in when she is not so busy, you see. We have many budget problems, so, we learn to use time most effectively."
"I want to know immediately when that yacht leaves. Immediately, you understand? Not the next day. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yas, Sah, it is most clear."
"Good. Don't forget, or I might forget to pay you. I'll be waiting for your call. Do NOT screw up again."
"Yas, Sah."
"Goodbye," Wallace muttered.
"Sah?" he heard, as he reached for the disconnect button.
"What?" Wallace barked.
"Sah, I regret that what you ask is not possible."
"Not possible! Why, pray tell?"
"Because, Sah, the yacht Vengeance, she has cleared out yesterday, bound for Deshaies, Guadeloupe."
"But how can…" Wallace let his voice trail off as he shook his head at the result of 400 years of well honed, passive-aggressive behavior.
"Sah?"
"Never mind," Wallace mumbled as he disconnected the call.
****
It was mid-afternoon by the time Pietro and Davey reached the rental car counter at V.C. Bird International Airport in Antigua. They planned to start their search for Vengeance at Jolly Harbour. Pietro had purchased a yachting guide to the Leeward Islands before they left St. Barth's, and he had studied it en route. The number of places that a yacht the size of Vengeance could find shelter in Antigua and Barbuda was daunting, but he reasoned that the most likely landfall for a yacht coming in from St. Martin would be Jolly Harbour. The entrance was simple to negotiate, night or day, and customs and immigration had offices at the customs dock there specifically for yachts.
Pietro's cell phone rang as he was about to sign the rental agreement. Glancing at the display, he saw that the call was from Wallace. He put the ballpoint pen down on top of the paperwork and answered the phone. Hanging up a few minutes later, he looked at the clerk waiting patiently behind the counter.
"Sorry," Pietro said. "Our plans changed. We won't be needing the car after all."
The clerk smiled stoically, nodded, and picked up the paperwork, disappearing through a door behind her.
"What happened?" Davey wanted to know.
"The women left here yesterday, bound for Deshaies, Guadeloupe," Pietro said, as he turned to scan the listing of departing flights on the video monitors across the hall. Squinting, he said, "Looks like we spend the night here; there's nothing to Guadeloupe until mid-morning tomorrow."
"Deshaies is at the north end of the island, right?" Davey asked.
"Right. So?"
"We'll be lucky to get there by late afternoon, by the time we fly in and rent a car. That's a long way from the airport. You speak French?"
"Well enough," Pietro said, "but Mr. Rolle wants us to go to Les Saintes. He'll be in Deshaies with Rolle's Kate by morning."
"What then?" Davey asked.
"We should be ahead of the women. We'll wait for them in the Saintes, and once we have the diamonds, we'll call Mr. Rolle. He will bring Rolle's Kate to pick us up."
Chapter 28
"Wow! Look at that," Liz exclaimed, pointing back along their wake toward the entrance to Deshaies.
They had just made sail; Vengeance was a couple of miles offshore – just far enough to find a clear breeze for sailing. Connie, both hands on the helm, was intent on finding the vessel's rhythm. She spared a brief glance over her shoulder. "Is that a cruise ship? The harbor at Deshaies didn't look big enough," she said.
"No," Dani answered, "it's a big motor-yacht." She picked up the binoculars from the rack at the helm and raised them to her eyes. "It's Bahamian flagged. I can't quite make out the name – looks like R something Kate, but it's in some fancy script." She offered the binoculars to Liz, who shook her head, as did Connie.
"I'm glad we're out of there; the anchorage will be claustrophobic with that thing in there," Liz said.
"That looks like the motor-yachts we saw in St. Martin and St. Barth's," Connie remarked, able now to turn and look for a few seconds. "How come there were none in Antigua like that?"
"Oh, I'm sure there were some," Liz said. "We just didn't see them. They were probably in English Harbour and Falmouth Harbour. That's where the megayachts hang out in Antigua."
"I don't like the way they look," Connie said. "They're clunky, like those oversized running shoes that preteen boys wear."
Dani and Liz laughed.
"Guess we've made a sailor of you, Maria," Dani said.
Liz poured coffee from a vacuum bottle into three mugs and passed them around.
"Thanks," Connie said. "When will we get to the Saintes?"
"If this breeze holds, we should be there for a late lunch," Dani said.
"Depending on what we find when we round Pointe du Vieux Fort," Liz added. "The wind is always unpredictable around the south end of Guadeloupe."
"But if it's blowing at all, it's usually right in your face," Dani said. "We'll finish up with a nasty beat into the wind and current for the last few miles, given this breeze. That's okay, though. Makes you feel like you earned the right to relax for a few hours once you're in."
****
Paul nursed a pint of bitter in a dimly lit pub in the old part of Nassau. He looked around, taking in the authentic, age-darkened oak of the furniture and the smoke-stained, peeling paint on the low ceiling. With the air conditioning maintaining a slightly chilly temperature, it was easy to imagine that he was in the English countryside instead of the tropics. He had flown in from Miami just an hour ago and had taken a taxi to his hotel at Cable Beach to drop off his luggage. In spite of his leisurely pace, he was a few minutes early for his meeting.
As he set his mug down, he saw a flash of light sweep across the dim interior of the pub as someone came in the door. A moment later, a tall, elegantly dressed man rounded the corner from the entrance hall, squinting into the darkness. Paul stood up and waved a hand, attracting the man's attention.
"Hello, Neil," he said, as the man approached his booth.
"You look to be keeping well," Neil Pinder said, extending his right hand as a smile split his handsome face. "Retirement must be agreeing with you."
"I can't complain. How's the law practice doing?"
"I'm making a living. It's mostly boring, to be honest with you. Being a copper was far more stimulating. Are you here on holiday? My secretary wasn't clear when she gave me the message yesterday."
"No, not exactly. I'm doing a little private work for some friends and I was hoping to pick your brain. Are you still in touch with your old mates?"
"Yes, of course. Nassau may be the nation's capital, but it's still a small town when it's home. What can I help you with?"
"Can I get you someth
ing from the bar first, Neil?"
"No, I'm fine. My afternoon is clear, so why don't we deal with your business before I muddle my great mind with alcohol? Then we have to catch up on some serious drinking. It hasn't been the same since that last sting we worked a few years ago. Tell me who you're after now."
"Two names: Wallace Rolle and Sam Alfieri."
"Mm," Neil mused. "You go for the big fish, don't you?"
"So I hear from the old crowd. At least in the case of Rolle. The DEA has nothing on Alfieri. Never even heard the name."
"That's not too surprising. From what I hear, Rolle and Alfieri don't deal in drugs. If you need to hide some money and make it look legitimate later, they're rumored to be the ones to do it. But I've also heard that they aren't taking on new business. Word is that they've got established arrangements with a few clients who don't want them distracted."
"They say Rolle's under somebody's wing pretty high up in the government," Paul ventured.
"More like the other way round," Neil said.
"How's that?" Paul asked.
"Some folks here claim that Rolle keeps the government afloat. They can't afford to let anything happen to him, or the country's finances might collapse."
"That bad?" Paul asked.
"Well, you know how these things get distorted. It's probably not that extreme. On the other hand, it just might be. If you're looking for a soft target in the Bahamas, Mr. Rolle would be at the absolute bottom of the list, I think. You should advise your friends not to tangle with him, in my opinion."
"I'm afraid it's past that point," Paul said. "He's already chasing them, but they aren't without resources of their own."
"Do I want to know who you're working with?" Neil asked. "Or would you prefer not to say?"
"That's up to you. It's nobody I'm ashamed to mention, but they aren't high profile, either."
"Government agency?"
"Private, but they occasionally ally themselves with selected governments if it suits their mutual purposes. You should know that I have a warrant for Alfieri's arrest, and I expect one for Rolle before this is over."
Bluewater Ice: The Fourth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 4) Page 16