"Excuse me, Paul, but I must ask you to not continue with that on the open line. You understand?"
"Yes, of course."
"It is best if we have that discussion on an encrypted line; there are too many who could misinterpret such a conversation."
"Okay, no problem. I'm not sure how to — "
"You have the Internet service aboard? Like Dani and Liz?"
"Not yet. We're going to have that installed when we get to Annapolis."
"Ah, lovely Annapolis. You will perhaps stop somewhere before then?"
"Yes. We're planning to anchor in Cape May this evening, and we probably won't leave there until late morning tomorrow. We'll wait for a favorable current up the Delaware Bay."
"Yes. So probably you can find the Wi-Fi there?"
"I'm sure, but it won't be secure."
"That does not matter. Here is what we do. I send you an email, with the link to download some software, yes?"
"Yes," Paul said.
"Good. When you open this software, you will enter the date of birth of the woman who is my friend's goddaughter, yes?"
"One second, J.-P." Paul put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Connie. "You know Dani's birthday?"
She nodded, puzzled. "It's in my iPhone contacts."
"Okay, J.-P. We can do that. Then what?"
"The software will do everything else; it will take two minutes, perhaps, and then we will have a secure voice connection from your computer to my iPad. Do this around sunup, your time. This will give me time to get some answers. I must ask someone, because I do not deal in these things myself, you understand."
"That would be most helpful, J.-P."
"Good, then. We will speak in the morning. Please give my best to Connie."
"I will. We're hoping that you and Anne will come to our wedding."
"We will. We are overdue for a sailing holiday with Dani and Liz; so we can do both, yes?"
"Yes. That's great. Merci, mon ami."
"De rien. Au revoir."
"Au revoir."
11
“My source thinks it is unlikely that any one would smuggle a nuclear weapon into the United States," J.-P. said.
"With respect, J.-P., I don't understand how that's helpful." Paul took a sip of his coffee; he and J.-P. had been on the secure call for a few minutes — long enough for J.-P. to give Paul a vague idea of where he had gotten his information.
"Ah, because he had some more to say. It would be, he said, similar to smuggling hot coals into Hell."
"I'm not getting his point; it must be too early in the morning for me."
"He means that there are more nuclear weapons in the U.S. than in the rest of the world combined. Perhaps he exaggerates, but not too much, I think."
"But they're secured," Paul said. "How could the terrorists acquire one?"
"Everywhere nuclear weapons are secured, my friend. They are abominations; that's why I refuse to deal in them. All of the other ways men kill each other are not inherently so dangerous to innocent people."
"Yes, okay, but still, how would they get their hands on one in the U.S.?"
"The same way as anywhere else. They buy it, or steal it, or blackmail someone. People are people, even in the U.S. Your security is good, but it is no more infallible than any other government's. You must know this, surely, after your time with the police."
"I can't argue with that, J.-P. I'd just rather ignore it, I guess. It's too frightening to face it head-on."
"Yes, I agree. I am not sure if this helps, but this person has had some experience in these things — more than you or I have had."
"Are you telling me that he may have done what we're talking about?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"But you're not denying it, either."
"I cannot, Paul. You are asking me to speculate. He could have done this, but if so, I think he would not be talking so freely about it. As you Americans say, though, I don't know what I don't know."
"Right. Sorry to press you, J.-P. I'm in shock. Forgive me."
"I quite understand, my friend. You had some other questions, too. Perhaps we should move on to them."
"Yes, that makes sense. What can you tell me about actual devices?"
"Most of these so called 'man-portable' devices are derived from tactical warheads, so they are small, with a relatively low yield."
"That's encouraging, I guess," Paul said. "At least the low-yield part is."
"Relatively low, Paul. The frame of reference became inflated during the cold war years. Tactical weapons with low yield are more powerful than those used against Japan in the Second World War."
"But I've seen the museum displays at the Smithsonian, J.-P. Those things were huge. At least compared to Diamantista II."
"Technology has changed, my friend. Also at the Smithsonian, they have computers that filled buildings, but they weren't as powerful as a smartphone, yes?"
"Now I'm really scared. You're saying these things are that small, now?"
"No. My source explained. There are some limitations imposed by the physics; they cannot be smaller than a certain size, but still much smaller than Fat Man and Little Boy. Think of a small beer keg. Maybe what you call a 'pony keg,' over there. But much heavier."
"How much heavier?"
"Oh, two or three hundred kilograms – four or five hundred pounds."
"Something that size would fit on Diamantista II with no problems, but I don't think it could be hidden."
"No, it is bulky. You are correct. This is perhaps why those two men attempted to hijack you."
"Okay, J.-P. That's helpful. Thanks for your assistance."
"It is nothing, my friend. I am in your debt still, for the help you have given Dani. Give Connie my best. We'll talk soon about coming to your wedding. Bon voyage."
Paul sat, gazing at the blank screen of the laptop, until Connie put a hand on his shoulder. "What's next?"
"We need to pass this on to O'Brien, I guess. But I'm thinking it might be better done in person than over the phone."
"You don't think the FBI's phones are bugged, do you?" Connie grinned at her joke.
"Maybe not bugged, but the calls could well be recorded. And besides, if somebody is in a position to sell a weapon from our nuclear arsenal, there's no way of knowing who or where they might be. Or what contacts they might have."
Connie's grin faded. "Now I'm scared, Paul."
"Well, relax. It's probably all behind us at this stage. We just need to help O'Brien make sure there's no second attempt."
"It sounds lovely, Sam, but how can we possibly afford something like that?" Miriam Cohen was astonished that her husband, normally so careful with money, would consider such an extravagance.
"We have a special rate. The agent explained that this is a new venture; we would be their first customers, if you agree." No way was Sam going to confess that he had already sent the deposit; he'd been married long enough to know better.
"So we would be guinea pigs, then?"
"How do you mean, Miriam?"
"You said we'd be their first customers."
"Only for this kind of charter; they had another boat before. They worked down in the islands somewhere."
"We would be the first people on this new boat?" Miriam caught her lower lip between her teeth. Miriam felt his eyes on her as he pondered her reaction. She shook her head. "Will it be safe?" she asked.
"Of course. She's a captain, licensed by the Coast Guard, and the boat is practically new."
"She?" Miriam asked. "A woman is in charge of this?"
He laughed. "Don't be such a sexist."
"But what if something goes wrong? Something that, I ... how big is this boat?"
"Fifty-seven feet. It's a beauty. Let me show you." He moved around beside her and poked at his iPad, bringing up a copy of the brochure he had downloaded from the agent's website.
"It's huge," Miriam said. "She might not be strong enough to ... to ... "<
br />
"She has a man aboard as the first mate; he's also a gourmet chef."
"He cooks?"
"It's not unheard of," he said, smiling at her surprise.
"You don't cook."
"And you're not a captain."
"Where on earth did you get this idea, Sam?"
"From the Internet; it sounded so relaxing. I need a break after this last case, Miriam. Be adventurous; take a little risk."
"If you're sure we can afford it. What about your clients?"
"It's only for a couple of weeks. If anything hot comes up, Sylvia can reach me by phone."
"The cellphones will work on this boat? When Rachel and David were on that cruise ship — "
"We're sailing along the East Coast, Miriam, not across the ocean. We'll never be out of sight of land."
"Where will we go, then?"
"We'll board in Norfolk. From there, we'll visit some of the 17th-century seaports on the Chesapeake," he said, watching her reaction. He saw that her interest was piqued.
"Like Annapolis? Or Baltimore?" she asked. "There are some other places, small places, too."
"Anywhere we want. Their website mentioned places like Oxford, and Chestertown. Maybe Cambridge. If we wanted to, the agent said we could sail offshore to Boston and see some of New England. We'll end up in New York, either way. I have an important meeting there. What do you say?"
"If this is something you want to do, I'm with you, Sam. You know that."
"That's great! We'll have a blast. You'll see, trust me."
She smiled. "Of course I trust you. I'm happy to see you so excited for a change. Don't mind me; you knew I was a stick-in-the-mud when you married me."
Paul stood on the foredeck, ready to let the anchor chain run as Connie played the helm and the throttle, working Diamantista II sideways across the swift current. They had just passed the entrance to the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal after a fast trip up the Delaware Bay. They planned to anchor upstream from the canal entrance for the evening and go through the canal the next morning. He felt the change in the vibration of the engine as Connie throttled back and shifted to neutral. Anticipating her hand signal, he picked up the control for the electric windlass.
"Let her go!" she called. "Twenty feet of water."
Paul complied, watching as the heavy, galvanized chain rattled over the bronze roller on the side of the bowsprit. A quick glance at the marshy shoreline a few hundred feet away told him they were drifting backward with the two-knot current. When he saw the third group of cable ties that marked the chain go by, he stopped the windlass. He would let Diamantista II's momentum take the slack out of the chain and set the anchor. As the chain began to straighten out, he kept a careful eye on it to make sure that the tension didn't drop, as it would if the anchor dragged.
Satisfied with the initial set, he let out another 90 feet of chain, allowing some extra scope since they had the anchorage to themselves. That way, the anchor was less likely to pull out if a squall blew through during the night. Waiting for the chain to tighten again, he rigged a snubber to take the load off the windlass. When he saw the chain straighten, he gave Connie a wave and saw her shift into reverse and begin applying power. He watched the shoreline as she increased the throttle, verifying that they were stuck. After a full minute, he looked back at Connie and gave her a thumbs-up sign. She responded with the same, and throttled back, taking the engine out of gear and shutting it down.
"Fast trip," she said, jotting the time down in their log book. "We averaged 11 knots over the ground."
"Here's to a favorable current," Paul said. "What say I bring up a couple of glasses of wine and we watch the sunset?"
"Sounds good, but don't forget you were going to call O'Brien."
"Right. Bet we've got cellphone service here; I'll check."
He disappeared down the companionway, returning in a few minutes carrying a tray that held wine and cheese with a package of water crackers on the side. He set it on the cockpit table and took his iPhone from his pocket. As he settled into the cushions next to Connie, he looked at the screen on the phone.
"Voice mail from Elaine," he said. He touched the button to retrieve it and switched to hands-free mode.
"Hi, you two! It's Elaine. Hope you're having a great sail. I'm guessing you'll be in Annapolis tomorrow, so you can just give me a call from there. I've got a booking for you. Nothing urgent; pickup's in Norfolk on the twentieth, so you've got almost two weeks to get your work done. It's a couple — Sam and Miriam Cohen, from Reston, Virginia. He's a lawyer, and she's a writer of some kind. They want to do that historic seaport thing you put on the web page. Pickup in Norfolk — oops, I said that — and drop in New York. They want to arrive there on the 30th and spend a couple of days shopping — maybe take in a show. Talk to you tomorrow. 'Bye."
"Wow," Connie said. "I didn't really think we'd get anybody this year, and we've had ... well I guess we can't count that first one. But still, there may be a business here."
"Sounds like it. I'd better call Bill before it gets any later," Paul said.
He touched O'Brien's cellphone number and went immediately to voice mail. "Hey, Bill. It's Paul Russo. We'll be in Annapolis by early afternoon tomorrow. Probably too late for lunch, but if you're free, come on out and we'll give you a tour of the boat and have an early dinner. I have some information from my friend that I'll pass on in person. Oh, and Connie's reminding me, we have a charter booking. Sam and Miriam Cohen — he's a lawyer in Reston, Virginia. Don't know if that's enough to get you started, but I can get more details tomorrow if you need 'em. Give me a call and let me know when to expect you. 'Bye."
He put the phone down, took a sip of his wine, and draped an arm over Connie's shoulder, pulling her to him. "Now, captain, about this sunset ... "
She turned her face up to his and parted her lips. "I think we're going to miss it." She sighed as she put her glass down beside his.
12
“That thing's huge!" Connie's face was pale as she stared up at the container ship that was approaching them in the confined space of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. "I don't think there's room for us to pass, Paul. What should we do?"
"It's an optical illusion. The channel's wide enough for two of those monsters to pass side by side. We'll be fine; just keep to the starboard. There's plenty of depth for us, right up to the bank."
As they drew even with the ship's bow, Connie relaxed; she could see that Paul was correct. "I don't think we've ever been this close to a ship before; at least not underway."
"I don't know. Being in such a narrow space really does mess with your perception, doesn't it?"
"No kidding. How about pouring us some coffee, now that I know we're going to live?"
Paul chuckled as he filled two mugs from the thermos. He handed one to her and moved around behind the helm to sit beside her. "About that kind of thing ... "
"What kind of thing?" She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Ships?"
He shook his head, lips curling into a wry smile. "No. Knowing we're going to live."
"I'm lost," she said. "What are you talking about?"
"I've been thinking about what I learned from J.-P. yesterday."
"Oh," she said. "That's all you've had on your mind since you talked with him. You might as well still be a cop."
"Well, you did distract me for a little while last night." He patted her thigh.
"Thank goodness it worked. I was a little worried at first; dealing with rejection isn't my strong point."
"Glad you took the risk; I'm not sure rejecting your advances is within my power."
She looked at him and saw that his smile had changed to one of happy recollection. As she watched, his features hardened again. She gave a sigh, and said, "Okay. Tell me what's going on in that cop's brain of yours."
"I'm still trying to get my head around what Mo and Abe were up to, that's all."
"What puzzles you the most?" she asked, glancing down at the engine in
struments and adjusting the throttle. They were required to be under power while transiting in the canal, and as the engine had warmed up, it had sped up a little from their normal cruising RPM.
"Why they involved us," he said. "If J.-P. is right, they could have been picking up the weapon from almost any kind of boat. There are a bunch of harbors along the mainland side of Cape Cod Bay; it could have been coming from any of them."
"Yes, I can see that, but what's that got to do with them picking up the weapon? What does it matter where it came from?"
"I'm not sure it does matter where it came from. What I can't figure is why they would transfer it to Diamantista II. Why wouldn't they have just taken it straight to wherever they wanted it to go?"
"Oh," Connie said. "I see. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe because of Mo?"
"Huh?" Paul asked. "Because of Mo? I don't get it."
"Because he was with us. O'Brien said he'd studied nuclear engineering, remember?"
"Yeah," Paul said. "Maybe ... you're thinking that he ... what?"
"That he had to do some work on it, for some reason. Like modify it or something?"
"Hmm," Paul said. "But then why wouldn't he have just skipped sailing with us? He could have gone straight to wherever the weapon was."
"They needed a boat big enough to conceal it?" Connie said.
"I don't know," Paul said. "If J.-P.'s right about the size and weight, any medium-sized sport-fishing boat would have done the job."
"Mo and Abe were fugitives," Connie said. "They couldn't risk getting arrested. Those little harbors north of Boston are probably a lot more crowded than the yard in Maine."
"Yeah, maybe. Those are all good ideas, but nothing's tripped my trigger yet."
"Well, here's a thought for you. Whoever was delivering it must still have it."
Paul leaned back a bit and turned to look at her. "Yes. Good point. I was overlooking the whole question of what happened to it after Mo and Abe failed to make the pickup, if that's what they were trying to do."
"Right. And if somebody was waiting out there on the water to deliver it, they could have seen the Coast Guard board us," she said.
A Blast to Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 9