Bon Bon Voyage

by Nancy Fairbanks

  I hung up on him, determined to find the captain of the USS whatever on the other side of the harbor.

  Carolyn

  I made my way safely to Owen’s cabin, although two different couples asked why they’d never seen me before. Nosy buggers, as Owen would say. “Of course, you have,” I replied in both instances. “I think we were at adjoining tables at breakfast the morning we made port at Gibraltar. Wasn’t that a wonderful tour? I bought a delicious handblown vase and had it sent home. Free shipping. Our guide arranged it.” One of the women was envious of my good luck and asked for a description of the vase, but I escaped from the elevator without exposing myself to any further danger.

  Owen, Luz, and Barney were huddled in the cabin, swigging bourbon and talking over the passenger list, checking off people who had volunteered, and discussing good prospects to be recruited at the bridge tournament. “No blue-hairs,” Luz insisted and waved to me as I poured myself a bourbon and mixed it with Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. They all watched that with looks of distaste, but I didn’t think it tasted too bad after my first experimental sip. If Vera knew how much whiskey I’d imbibed since my sojourn in the closet, handcuffed to a pipe, she’d tell Jason I was becoming an alcoholic. Good thing she wouldn’t be joining our conspiracy.

  I sat on the bed beside Luz and said, “Demetrios has agreed and very enthusiastically. He considers feeding the crew his famous cuisine akin to casting pearls before swine.” I passed the diagram of the dumbwaiter apparatus to Owen, who looked at it and passed it to Barney. “That’s how we can get the drug to Demetrios. He’s going to put it in cold avocado soup, which is green and uncooked.”

  “Bloody hell. Sounds disgusting!” exclaimed Owen.

  “I see just where this is,” mused Barney, studying the diagram and instructions. “I can get the stuff from Beau to the dumbwaiter if you people can create a distraction to draw the people with the guns away. A bar fight might do it.”

  “No fear, Commander,” said Owen cheerfully. “I’m your man when it comes to a bar fight. Probably you ladies should—”

  “I’m not so bad in a bar fight myself,” said Luz. “Why don’t we go together? I can complain that some ass-wipe—open your eyes, Carolyn. This situation calls for all the nasty language I can come up with.”

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes.

  “I’ll complain about being pinched or something. You can defend my honor, Owen. We knock a few heads, get the brawl started, and leave ’em to it.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Owen. “A bloody good plan.”

  I have to admit that I felt a bit jealous. He hadn’t congratulated me on having my way with the chef—well, not having my way—oh, rats. I took another big swig of my bourbon and Coke.

  Luz advised me to take it easy on the alcohol. “We need you sober and ready to manipulate at the bridge tournament.”

  “Since I haven’t had anything to eat in days, that may not be possible,” I responded tartly. Luz passed me a sandwich from which she’d only taken a few bites. Owen produced a few cookies, and Barney pulled some beef jerky from his pocket, brushed off the lint, and claimed he always carried it to tide him over in emergencies. I put the sandwich away for later and attacked the cookies. In my nervous state, they did me a world of good.

  Hartwig

  “They’ve caved,” Hartwig murmured to Hanna Fredriksen as they passed each other, one coming from, and one going to the crew dining room for a choice of scallop and walnut salad or truffle lasagna.

  Hanna turned right around and took Hartwig’s arm, drawing him toward a door that led outside. “What did they say?” she demanded when the two were on deck and away from a circle of grumpy-looking passengers, who had been fed bologna sandwiches and chicken with rice soup at eleven thirty.

  “The money goes into our account in Zurich at midnight, confirmation sent by one a.m. from two different sources. We’ll be off the ship before noon tomorrow. Pass it on to the others.”

  “The whole amount?” she asked anxiously.

  “Of course. It’s that or lose the ship and the passengers. They can’t afford to delay any more when tomorrow’s the deadline. Either they agree, or boom! They hear about the explosion, after we’ve left with everything in the ship’s vault. That wouldn’t be what we’d hoped for, but better than nothing. I think of it as our tip for engineering such a successful voyage.”

  “Huh!” said Hanna. “I want more than a tip.”

  “We all do, and we’ll be getting both. We’re cleaning out the vault tonight. Want to help? Women like jewels. You can have first choice.” Hartwig was feeling jovial.

  “You and Patek can do that. I’ll stay on patrol.” She patted her weapon. “I don’t want any last-minute slipups.”

  40

  Preparations

  Jason

  Using my spyglass, I focused on the gray destroyer moored at the far side of the harbor. A group of men in uniforms had gathered on the dock, talking to one another and various civilians. Fearing that the sailors might reboard before I could get to them, I hailed a taxi. After all the money I’d spent thus far, another taxi fare wasn’t going to make much difference. I threw some money at the driver on arrival and then tried to appear casual as I sauntered toward the ship and its officers; at least, I hoped they were officers.

  “Nice ship,” I said, joining them, uninvited. “What kind is it?”

  “Destroyer. Arleigh Burke class,” said one of them, possibly the oldest of the group, but not that old. “The USS Morgan Fallwell, out of Norfolk, Virginia.”

  “And you’re here on leave? Tenerife is a pleasant island.”

  “I wish,” said one of the younger men. “We’re in for repairs, and then we’re headed for home.”

  Good, I thought. Then maybe they could take a few days to find the Bountiful Feast and rescue my wife. “Have you heard about the missing cruise ship?” They hadn’t and didn’t seem much interested. “My wife’s on it. Supposed to have put into port yesterday and didn’t. I’m extremely worried.”

  “It’ll turn up,” said one of the younger officers. “Probably got lost.” They all laughed.

  “They haven’t answered a radio call since yesterday when they said they had Legionnaires’ disease aboard.”

  “That’s odd,” said the older one.

  I noticed he had more decorations on his uniform than the others.

  “Never heard of that aboard a cruise ship. Usually it’s that stomach virus, or the odd rape.”

  I tried to ignore the mention of rape, but found it hard to do. My poor wife, I thought. “And no other ships or fishing boats on their route have seen them. I’ve called the State Department, but they haven’t called back.”

  “Civilians,” said one of the officers disdainfully. “You’ll wait a long time to hear from them.”

  “The cruise line has told me repeatedly that nothing was wrong, but today they said it was just a labor dispute.”

  “A labor dispute?” exclaimed the older man, the one I hoped was the captain. “There are no labor disputes at sea. Even on cruise ships. A labor dispute would be construed as a mutiny.”

  “Ah. Then I wonder if you might be interested in investigating. I assume the Navy disapproves of mutiny.”

  “You could say that,” was the wry retort.

  “The Bountiful Feast is American owned. By a company in Miami. I don’t know about the registry.”

  “That won’t be American,” the presumptive captain assured me. “A labor dispute? No captain would allow that, even a cruise ship captain. Sounds to me like something fishy going on there. But we can’t help you. We won’t be fit to put to sea until tomorrow.” He looked extremely irritated. “Not that we’re unseaworthy in any usual sense of the word. But we’ve been accused twice now, while on duty with the task force monitoring Iraq and again off Morocco, of pollution. They say something illegal is escaping from our waste system.”

  “Really.” That was the only good news I had heard al
l day. “I happen to be a toxin expert.”

  “Yeah? Too bad you’re not in the Navy. No one here seems to know what’s going on.”

  “I’d be glad to help. No charge. In return, perhaps you could find out where my wife’s ship is. Don’t you have satellite monitoring and that sort of thing?”

  “Not on board,” said the captain thoughtfully, “but we could put in a request. Ship lost at sea, sickness on board. They ought to honor it.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “And now, why don’t I take a look at your waste system?”

  Carolyn

  While Beau mixed up the sleeping potion for the avocado soup, Barney was in Owen’s cabin giving Luz and me bridge lessons. “This is a stupid game,” said Luz after an hour of lessons. “I’ll never learn it, and I don’t want to.” Barney insisted that all she really had to do was learn the language and the basics. Beau would be her partner and wouldn’t criticize any mistakes she made.

  Owen was out talking to passengers, looking for likely countermutineers. He dropped back in once to bring me two more sandwiches and a piece of cake. I ate the cake first because helping Luz master even the basics of bridge was a thankless and nerve-wracking task. Owen also brought the news that Vera had convinced the gym employees to join the work stoppage, even though they worked more reasonable hours. Then she had moved on to the waiters.

  “If the waiters go out, who will serve the avocado soup?” I exclaimed. “Someone has to stop her before she ruins our whole plan.”

  Barney laughed heartily. “There’s no stopping your mother-in-law. You have to admire her spunk. She has a mind of her own.”

  “Don’t worry about the waiters. I heard the stewards, drunk in the bar, saying the waiters were too afraid of the chef to walk out,” said Luz as she stared morosely at a hand of cards. “This is a crappy hand. I don’t have any diamonds.” She threw down the cards in disgust. “They also said the kitchen workers were even bigger chickens. They’d never walk out.”

  “No diamonds is good, Luz,” said Barney. “Let me show you why. Carolyn, you play the opposing hands. We’ll say Luz got the bid for four spades.”

  While I fumbled around trying to play two hands, I was really paying more attention to the stewards’ opinion of the waiters and chefs. My mother-in-law was a powerful arguer, and a bully to boot, but Demetrios was a formidable opponent and the terror of any crewmember that entered his circle of influence. Maybe Vera would fail to cause any more trouble for us. Who cared if the gym attendants went on strike? They were muscular, but they’d be asleep. We just had to get the avocado soup made and served.

  Beau knocked at the door and was admitted after inspection through the peephole. “Okay, Barney, the stuff is mixed an’ poured into distilled water bottles. Those are in my office on a medical cart covered by some linen towelin’, all ready to go. You want me to help?”

  “We have to wait for Owen. He and Luz are going to start the diversion in the bar. Why don’t you take over teaching Luz how to play bridge? Maybe she’ll be more cooperative for you.”

  Beau was delighted and sat down, saying. “First, countin’ points.”

  “I’ve got that,” Luz snarled. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No one ever said you were, my darlin’. So we’ll move on to biddin’.”

  “Which is a real crock.”

  “No question,” Beau replied amiably. “But necessary. Bear with me, my lovely, brown-skinned beauty.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  He dropped a kiss on her cheek and sat down beside her with his arm around her waist.

  Lucky me, I thought. I turned over one of the hands to Barney, and I only had to play the other against two lovebirds. And Jason wasn’t here to give me support and a kiss for myself. He didn’t even know what was happening here, hadn’t sent me a Mother’s Day telegram, or any more bonbons. Now I was sorry I’d spurned his gift. Luz had eaten the rest of mine.

  Owen turned up a half hour later and went off with Luz to initiate the bar fight. Barney left as well to send the bottles of green knockout liquid up to the chef. That left me. All alone with nothing to do. I took a nap.

  Hartwig and Fredriksen

  Both Hartwig and Fredriksen received the page warning of a fight in the bar off the Grand Salon. They responded immediately and had to disable a number of crewmembers and several drunken passengers while working their way toward the center of the disturbance, where they’d seen a woman coldcock a muscular gym trainer.

  The trainer, once revived, mumbled, “I didn’t pinch her butt, I swear, Mr. Hartwig.”

  “Who was she?” Hanna Fredriksen demanded.

  “I don’t know,” said the man, groaning. “All I saw was the back of her. Then some guy knocked me flat on my back, and I think the woman kicked me in the head.”

  “I think she was that dress designer from Madrid,” muttered Hartwig.

  “Come on, Bruce,” said Fredriksen, as they hauled dazed men to their feet. “How likely is that?”

  41

  Early Recruiting

  Jason

  I got a call late in the afternoon from Captain Wickendon of the USS Morgan Fallwell. “Professor, Al Wickendon here. Thought you’d like to know that the satellite center got back to us. They’ve spotted your wife’s ship. Amazing stuff— satellite photography. They could see Bountiful Feast written right there on the bow and a few passengers walking on the decks. Didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the ship except that they were almost dead in the water and off course if they were coming here.”

  “Don’t you think that sounds ominous, Captain?” I asked anxiously. “Shouldn’t you sail out and see what’s happening? They may need assistance.”

  “Couldn’t if I wanted to, Mr. Blue. First off, the Morgan Fallwell, as I said, isn’t seaworthy yet. The Canarians pulled all our filters the way you told them to, but now they’re standing around scratching their heads. God knows when they’ll decide we can put to sea again without fouling their lousy harbor. Can’t expel certain things within the twelve-mile limit, and other stuff not at all.”

  “Captain, I’m coming down again. Frankly, I’m one of the foremost toxin experts in the country—toxins and how to get rid of them.” I found myself in an unusual position, having to force my expertise, without asking compensation for my time, on people who hadn’t asked. However, there was Carolyn to consider. “I’ll be right down. I won’t charge you anything, if that’s what’s worrying you. Except that if you sail out to check on the Bountiful Feast, I’d appreciate sailing with you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about—”

  “If you’re leaving a toxin trail in the ocean, it would help if I can do an on-site inspection and some testing.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’m on my way, Captain.” I planned to recruit the captain and his destroyer to rescue Carolyn, with myself aboard, even if I had to take the whole waste purifying system of the Morgan Fallwell apart by myself.

  Carolyn

  I was amazed. The Grand Salon now held twenty or more tables, presumably suitable for bridge. “Do we have permission to assemble this many people?” I whispered to Owen. I was wearing my wig, war paint, and my red blazer paired with navy slacks and a navy scarf. Very oceanic, I thought, although not an outfit I’d normally put together. I’m as patriotic as the next person, but I’d never consider wearing clothing imprinted with the flag, for instance.

  “Sure. I think Hartwig was happy to get so many people in one spot rather than have us all wandering around the ship while the crew ate our food. What’d you think of that dinner?”

  “Salmon patties aren’t one of my favorites. Certainly not those. They must have come straight from a package of frozen dinners, along with the withered green beans and mushy macaroni and cheese.”

  At that moment, a woman rushed up to us and clasped my hand in both of hers. “Here you are! Isn’t this exciting? I’m Rebecca.”

  I knew I’d never met her, although she looked vaguely famil
iar. But surely I’d have recognized that magnificent red hair.

  “I lent you the wig,” she whispered. “If you need another, I can lend you this one tomorrow.” She patted the red hair. As soon as I get back to California, I’m going to e-mail Rochelle Krich and tell her about our adventure. Maybe she’ll want to use it in a book.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that, and I am very grateful for your offer, but I have to ask: Will my wearing your wig make it, ah, non-kosher? I mean, I’m a non-Jewish person.”

  Rebecca laughed merrily and said, “It’s not as if I’m going to eat it, dear, after you return it. Anyway, I gave up keeping kosher when I divorced my first husband. So much dishwashing! I even eat lobster now and then these days.” She chuck-led as if lobster were a daring escapade, which I suppose it was for her. “But I did love the wigs, so I kept those, and my second husband—” she waved at a portly man shuffling cards impatiently at a nearby table “—Morty, is what we call an ethnic Jew, as opposed to a religious Jew. A much less trying form of Judaism, as you can imagine. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? I do want to play my part. Commander Levinson told us what happened to you. By the way, you look stunning in my wig. You should consider getting one of your own. I’d offer to give you that one, but it’s one of Morty’s favorites.”

  “Do you have any expertise in guns or hand-to-hand combat, Rebecca?” asked Owen, absolutely straight-faced.

  “Well.” She gave it some thought. “I once knocked out a burglar by throwing my jewelry case at his head. I used to play softball as a girl, and my aim is still excellent. And Morty was a boxer in his youth. He still likes to go into the basement and hit that bag that bounces around.”

  “Bloody good news, that is,” Owen exclaimed. “Maybe you and Morty would like to join us in taking the ship away from the hijackers.”