A Blast to Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Hi, Luke. What can I do for you?"

  "Hey, Paul. Connie close by?"

  "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

  "Why don't you put us on the speaker. This is for both of you."

  Paul raised his eyebrows and said, "He wants both of us," as he hit the hands-free button and put the phone in a bracket on the steering pedestal.

  "Hi, Luke," Connie said.

  "Hello, Connie. Bill O'Brien's on the phone with me. He's in charge of the Analytical Branch of the FBI's Counterterrorism Division. He's up to speed on what's happened, and he's got some questions for you."

  "Hello, Bill," Paul said. "What can we tell you?"

  "I'm going to apologize right now for being abrupt, but time may be critical. Did Luke tell you who those two men were?"

  "Just that they were on a watch list — suspected of having linked up with ISIS in Syria."

  "Right. It goes beyond suspected. Never mind the details, but we can put them there with hard evidence. My concern is why they were on your boat."

  "You don't think they were just hitching a ride?" Connie asked.

  "Maybe, but there are a lot of coincidences. We've had a threat that I won't go into right now, except to say that it involves a nuclear weapon and an unnamed major east-coast city. Mohammed Ramiz is a nuclear engineer; he's got a master's degree and a lot of credit toward a doctorate. Given the timing and the location, we want to check things out. I don't want you to be alarmed, but to be on the safe side, I'd like to put a team on your boat and make sure they didn't leave anything behind."

  "No problem," Paul said. "When are you thinking about doing it? We weren't going to stop until we got to New York, but — "

  "No need to stop. They'll be there in about 10 or 15 minutes. Their chopper had just landed at Woods Hole when we called. They're loading up a Coast Guard RIB as we speak. Can you give me your GPS coordinates?"

  Connie pressed a button on the chart plotter above the helm. "41 degrees, 39 minutes North; 70 degrees, 40 minutes West. Course is 220 degrees, speed is 8.5 knots, and we're under sail."

  "Okay. Thanks," O'Brien said.

  They could hear a keyboard clicking as he entered the information.

  "Was there anything unusual about their behavior? Sorry, I know what happened. That's an inane question. Let me try again. Before your altercation with them, did you see them doing anything that seemed odd?"

  "No, nothing that I noticed," Connie said.

  "I didn't see anything, either," Paul added.

  "Luke wasn't completely sure what precipitated the problem. Did they try to get you to change course, or maybe meet up with another vessel, or anything?"

  "No," Connie said. "Abe got fresh with me while the two of us were on watch last night, and I beat him up a little. After that, Paul and I didn't feel comfortable with them aboard. They came on watch early this morning, and we told them we were going to drop them off at Sandwich. That's when Abe pulled the pistol."

  "And what did he want after he pulled the pistol?" O'Brien asked.

  "He told Mo to tie Paul up with duct tape, and he made it clear that he intended to have his way with me."

  "Uh-huh. And then?"

  "Connie had opened up the distance between us so he couldn't cover both of us. While he was leering at her, I rushed him. Connie took the pistol away from him."

  "Did he get shot in the struggle?"

  "No. I was pissed, and not in a mood to take any chances with him. He's a big, strong guy. So I put a round in his shoulder to keep him quiet," Connie said.

  "So you shot him? I figured Paul — "

  "Paul was struggling with him," Connie said.

  "And the other one?"

  "He was coming toward me, so I blew his leg out from under him to slow him down."

  "You have some experience with close combat?" O'Brien asked.

  "Some. Am I in trouble?"

  "No, not at all. I'm just trying to understand. See, I had the notion that they pulled the gun to try to make you change your sailing plans, or take over the boat."

  "There's no way to know at this point," Paul said, "but my take is that if it hadn't been for Abe's hormones, they would have been perfect crew all the way to New York."

  "Interesting," O'Brien said. "Okay, thanks. Let's hang up for now. The RIB's got you in sight."

  "Talk later," Luke said.

  Paul disconnected the phone and they both began looking for the RIB.

  The 22-foot orange RIB that pulled alongside carried two men in civilian clothes and four Coastguardsmen. Though similar in appearance to the RIB from the cutter, this one was smaller and didn't carry a machine gun, and the boarding party was more relaxed. One of the civilians held a medium-sized, mixed-breed dog on a short lead. As the boat matched Diamantista II's speed and course, holding steady at about 18 inches from the lee rail, one of the crewmen said, "Good morning, Diamantista. You're expecting us, right?"

  Paul stood on the side deck a few feet from the man. "Yes, we are. You want us to heave to?"

  "No, sir. No need for that. We'll just bump up alongside and step aboard; it's pretty calm." With that, he motioned to the man at the helm, who closed the gap between the two moving vessels.

  As the pneumatic tube of the RIB kissed Diamantista II's side, the man scrambled aboard, a second man in uniform at his side. They turned to assist the two people in civilian attire, first accepting a medium-sized, canvas duffle bag from one of them.

  Paul and Connie watched with interest as one of the civilians lifted the dog and passed him to one of the Coastguardsmen on Diamantista II. "Looks like he's done that before," Paul remarked.

  "Rex?" the Coastguardsman said, as he lowered the dog to the deck. "Yes, sir, old Rex is a veteran. If there's anything nasty hidden away, he'll find it." He held the dog's leash while the other Coastguardsman gave the two civilians a hand in boarding.

  When all four people were aboard, Paul led them to the cockpit and the RIB dropped back, holding station a few yards off Diamantista II's starboard quarter.

  "Good afternoon, folks. I'm Chief Petty Officer Rick Jones. I believe a Mr. O'Brien told you that we're looking specifically for an explosive device that may have been left aboard by your crewmen."

  "Yes," Paul said. "We haven't owned the boat long, so there's not a lot of stuff packed into the lockers yet. We haven't seen anything that doesn't belong here, but help yourselves."

  "Thank you, sir. It's best if we just go at it. I'll stay up here in the cockpit with the two of you."

  "Fine," Connie said.

  "That a Geiger counter?" Paul asked, watching one of the men unpack the canvas bag.

  "Yes, sir," the man said. "Basically, that's what it is. We're looking for any abnormal radiation that might indicate nuclear material, just in case."

  "Is that one of the newer ones? I remember false positives being a problem," Paul asked.

  "This is the latest and greatest, but false positives are still a problem. You have some experience with this?" The man stopped what he was doing and gave Paul a careful look.

  "Yes," Paul said. "Some." He summarized his career with the Miami P.D. "I was the local contact for the JTTF in Miami for several years," he said, in concluding.

  The man relaxed and went back to rummaging in the bag. "Miami, huh?" he said. "Guess you might have seen some false positives down there."

  "Bananas?" Paul asked, with a chuckle. "You worked down there?"

  "No. Just heard about it. It's amazing how many things will give false readings, but the notion of bananas triggering an alarm just blew me away."

  While they were talking, the other man was exploring below decks with the dog, accompanied by the junior Coastguardsman. The civilian climbed back into the cockpit and turned to take the dog from the man at the foot of the ladder.

  "Rex thinks you guys are clean," he said, as the dog settled himself on the deck.

  "Can he find drugs?" Connie asked.

  "No. He's an explosives dog; he's trained t
o ignore anything else. You think they might have left drugs aboard?"

  "No reason to think so, but it just occurred to me. The last time I had pickup crew, I ended up with druggies. I thought these guys were okay because they'd been working at the boatyard."

  "Sounds like you have tough luck with crew, ma'am."

  "So are these two terrorists?" she asked.

  "We don't know much about what's gone on, here, ma'am," Rick Jones said. "We just got orders to check your boat for explosives and nuclear devices. That's pretty much all we know."

  The other civilian had gone below with his instruments while they were talking. Connie could hear him speaking in soft tones to the Coastguardsman with him as they opened and closed lockers.

  "Beautiful boat," Jones said. "You said you just bought her?"

  "Yes. Well, we bought her several months ago, but she's been in a yard up in Maine, getting some work done."

  "I see," he said, stroking the varnished cockpit coaming beside him. "Hey," he said, turning to look at the coaming under his hand. "What happened here?"

  "Bullet," Connie said. "One of them was trigger happy."

  "One of your crewmen? They were armed?"

  "Yes."

  "You're lucky nobody got shot. Shame about the teak. It'll be easy enough to fix, though. Never notice it."

  "I hope so," she said.

  "So, how'd you two overpower these guys, if they were armed?"

  "Shot them," Connie said.

  Jones sat up straight. "You carrying weapons?" he asked, alarmed that he hadn't checked. "But Mr. O'Brien should have — "

  "Relax," Paul said. "We don't carry weapons aboard."

  "Then how did you shoot them?"

  "I took their pistol away," Connie said.

  "Wow. Dangerous."

  "We're done," the man with the instruments said, emerging from the companionway. "Looks clean. There's all kinds of background radiation, but nothing to worry about. Nothing that could be a nuclear device, or even a dirty bomb."

  "Thanks for your cooperation, folks," Jones said, standing and waving the RIB over. "Hope the rest of your trip is peaceful."

  8

  “Did Elaine give you any idea about their travel plans?" Paul asked, as Connie sanded the splintered area where Abe's bullet had struck the cockpit coaming. She had made a quick repair yesterday with some wood filler, and she wanted to get a coat of varnish on it. Otherwise, moisture would be drawn into the exposed wood fibers, causing the varnish on the surrounding teak to lift.

  "No, just that we shouldn't plan on them for dinner last night," she said. "I figured that meant they'd be here around nine, but that was just my guess." She put down the sandpaper and picked up a nail polish bottle which she had cleaned and filled with fresh varnish while they were at the boatyard.

  It was the morning of July the fourth, and Paul and Connie were up early. They had arrived as planned the night before last, and had spent yesterday cleaning up the boat and preparing for the arrival of their guests last night. She had patched the bullet hole, but she wanted the filler to cure overnight before she sealed it.

  Connie wiped the dust from the sanded area with a tack cloth and opened the nail polish bottle. Maintaining brightwork was an ongoing effort on a boat like this, even without bullet holes. She learned the nail polish bottle trick from her friend Dani Berger, when Dani and her partner, Liz Chirac, had taught her to sail on their yacht, Vengeance. She unscrewed the brush and touched it to the sanded surface, allowing the viscous fluid to flow out over the repair. She dipped the brush and applied a little more varnish, watching to make sure she left a mirror-smooth surface. She put the brush back in the bottle and screwed the top down.

  "That should hold it until we can get to somewhere like Annapolis. It'll be easier to find a little scrap teak there to lay in for a proper repair."

  "You have a magic touch with varnish," Paul said.

  "It's like doing one big fingernail," she said.

  Paul chuckled, then his expression turned serious. "I'm surprised that they didn't show up last night, or at least call."

  "Me, too. What time is it?" Connie asked.

  "Nine o'clock," Paul said. "You know where they were coming from? Maybe we could call the airlines and see if their flight was delayed."

  "No idea. I was busy trying to get Rick to commit to moving up our launch time when Elaine called. I didn't spend much time with her. Let's see if we can get hold of her; I've got her home number in my phone."

  She went below and put the varnishing supplies away before she opened the drawer under the chart table and retrieved her phone. Taking it back up to the cockpit, she sat down next to Paul and scrolled through her contacts, touching Elaine Moore's home number.

  Elaine answered on the second ring. "Connie?"

  "Hi, Elaine. Sorry to bother you at home."

  "That's okay. I was just getting ready to spend the whole day stretched out on the couch, reading. What's up? The Masons get there all right last night?"

  "No. We haven't seen or heard from them. I thought maybe they'd gotten in touch with you."

  "No, but hang on. I'll check my office email and voicemail. I'll call you back in a minute."

  "I hate for you to go to the office, but — "

  "I can do it all from here. No problem. Give me a couple of minutes."

  "Okay," Connie said, disconnecting the call.

  She turned to look at Paul. "She said — "

  "I heard," Paul interrupted.

  Connie's phone rang before she could say anything else. "Hi, Elaine."

  "Hi. This is getting strange. I haven't heard from them, but I sent them a reminder email yesterday. I always do that, just in case, you know? Gave them the details of where and when you'd meet them, and I included all your contact information — cell, satellite, email. Sometimes people lose stuff like that at the last minute. Anyway, the email bounced."

  "Bounced?" Connie said. "What's that mean?"

  "I got an error message back. It came in after I left the office yesterday, I guess. I can't remember all the jargon, but the bottom line was there was no such address as the one they gave me."

  "Think they made a mistake?" Connie asked.

  "No, because we had several exchanges before. All of them to and from that address. So I called the phone number they'd given me for emergencies just now, and it's not a working number."

  "That's strange. I'm assuming they sent you a deposit, because you sent us one, less your commission. You're not out of pocket on this, are you?"

  "No. They wired me the money; I never pay any of you guys before I get the funds from the client."

  "Hold on, Elaine. Paul's wanting to say something." Connie switched to speakerphone mode.

  "Hi, Elaine. I wondered if you had a street address for them."

  "Yes, but we did the whole thing on line. They filled in their home address on the online signup form, but I don't pay much attention to that if I get the deposit."

  "Any identification?" Paul asked.

  "No. It was a domestic charter, so I didn't bother with asking for the passport details like I do for the ones in the islands. I'm really sorry, guys. I don't know what to tell you."

  "Not your fault, Elaine," Connie said. "What do you think we should do?"

  "I don't know. I guess they're not coming. If you want to move on, just let me know how to reach you, in case I hear from them."

  "Well, we're here for now," Connie said. "The dockage is paid through tomorrow night, thanks to the marina's four-day minimum for the holiday, so we might as well chill, I guess. We'll call if we change our minds."

  "Or if they show up," Elaine said. "Please let me know. I've never had this happen before."

  "Hey, Elaine?" Paul said.

  "Yes?"

  "Do me a favor and copy all the info that you have for them onto a thumb drive; I've got a hunch there may be more to this."

  "Okay. You want me to send it somewhere?"

  "Not just yet
. I'll let you know. I want to think about it, but I'll probably ask my old partner to check this out. He may call you — Luke Pantene's his name."

  "What are you thinking, Paul?" Connie asked.

  "That somebody spent $35,000 to be damned sure that we brought the boat in here for the Fourth of July. I think it may be related to Abe and Mo."

  "Who?" Elaine asked.

  "Long story," Connie said. "Got a minute or two?"

  "Sounds more exciting than the book I'm reading. Tell me."

  Connie told Elaine what they knew about their erstwhile crewmen.

  "Well," Elaine said, "I can see why you think there might be more to this. Just let me know what I can do, okay?"

  "Will do," Connie said. "Have a good day off."

  "You, too," Elaine said.

  Connie disconnected the call. "What should we do now?" she asked.

  "I'd like to buy brunch for my lady love. That restaurant up there overlooking the marina caught my eye."

  Amal sat at the same table in the restaurant that he had occupied a few days before. He gazed out the window at the yachts tied to the docks in the 79th Street Boat Basin as he picked at his fruit plate and sipped coffee, killing time until ten o'clock.

  The remote triggering device for the weapon was in his pocket. It was housed in the case of a typical electric garage-door opener control; nobody would suspect that it was anything else.

  He wondered which of the yachts below carried the weapon; he thought a couple of them were new arrivals since he had been here last. He looked around as a couple pulled out the chairs two tables away from his. He recognized them; or, to be more accurate, he recognized the woman.

  She was stunning — an olive-skinned brunette, with thick, wavy hair. Her eyes were deep brown pools as they swept over him while she glanced around the dining room. She reminded him of the girls back home, except that something about her made him think she was Hispanic rather than from the Middle East.

  He shrugged. It was probably just the way she was dressed. If she'd been wearing a hijab, and loose, less revealing clothes, he wouldn't have thought that. He had noticed her earlier, when she was sitting outside on the large white sailing yacht. She had appeared to be working on the gleaming woodwork that sparkled in the morning sun.