Connie laughed, a deep, rippling sound that came from down in her gut, and the tense expression on Paul's face eased into a grin.
"Let's go get 'em," he said.
22
When Connie and Paul rejoined the group in the main cabin, Phillip said, "The guy in Fort-de-France just got a call from the contact. They're really impressed with Connie's picture. Once they take delivery, they're planning on taking off for wherever, but he said if there were any more like her in the pipeline, they'd hold for a day or two."
"What did Clarence's man tell them?" Paul asked.
"That he'd get back to them before the pickup to let them know," Phillip said. "Clarence has heard from Marie, in the meantime. She's on her way back."
"I don't think we should delay this," Connie said.
"Wait a minute," Paul said. "You're thinking we could get Marie here in time?"
"Not unless we convince them to wait," Phillip said.
"But we could offer to deliver Connie and Marie if they waited," Paul said. "How long before she's here?"
Connie looked at the clock on the bulkhead. "The pickup's in 45 minutes. We don't have time to screw around, waiting."
"Tell the man in Fort-de-France to make the call," Paul said.
"Shut up, Paul," Connie said, fury on her face. "I'm going in now. If you guys want to try to sell them on waiting for Marie, go ahead, but I'm not waiting for her; we could be done with this and have Julia home safe before Marie gets here."
"She's got a point, Paul," Phillip said.
"All I'm saying is ... "
"I told you, you don't have a say in this," Connie said, her voice rising in anger. "You do what you want about Marie, but Sharktooth and I are out of here. If you can keep them around for a day or two waiting for Marie, all well and good. It'll be a distraction for them, if nothing else."
"But, Connie, I ... " Paul started to say. He stopped when he saw the icy glare in her eyes.
"I'm through with your overprotective macho bullshit," she hissed.
She stormed up the companionway ladder. Sharktooth looked at Phillip and Paul, his eyebrows raised. They nodded in unison.
"Take her," Phillip said. "Paul and I will stay here and work this angle. Maybe we can delay their departure a day or two, just in case something doesn't go like we planned."
Sharktooth said, "I'll be back to pick you up soon as I make the drop. Be ready, 'cause we don' know how long befo' Connie gonna call fo' the pickup."
Sharktooth looked over at Connie as they cruised through the inky blue water of the moonlit Caribbean on their way to the rendezvous point. He could see the hard set of her jaw as the lights from shore put her in silhouette. He glanced at the dimly lit instrument panel, checking their ETA. They had plenty of time, and he didn't want to be more than a minute or two early; he knew from experience that being early or late would arouse suspicion in situations like this one. He adjusted his speed accordingly and turned to face Connie.
"He jus' worry 'bout you, Connie. Don' be too hard on him," he said, hoping he wasn't presuming too much upon their friendship.
"Because he thinks I'm a helpless female," she said, biting off the words. "If he were the one going and I ... "
"You know you'd feel jus' as worried 'bout him."
"But I wouldn't dare treat him ... "
"Tha's because you ladies had mo' experience wit' this kind of t'ing. You better at holdin' back yo' emotions. Maureen an' me ... " He paused as she turned to face him, interest on her face.
"What? What were you going to say about you and Maureen?"
"Well, we been married a long time. We been through this kinda t'ing, sometime."
"You have?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Has Maureen ever done this kind of thing?"
"You mean, put herself in danger?"
"Right."
"No, but I know how I'd feel if she did."
"And how would you feel?" Connie asked, an edge of antagonism creeping into her voice again.
"I 'spect I'd feel the same way she feels when I go out on some trip like this. She worries, jus' like Paul."
"But she doesn't try to stop you, does she."
"She used to, when we firs' together. But not now."
"Why not now?" Connie asked, increased tension evident in her tone.
"Because we learn to live with' one another. We work at it. She knows I gonna come home all right, mos' likely. But at firs' she dons' know this, you see."
"So the accommodation is all on her side, is it?"
"No. I wouldn't say that. I pass up some t'ings I used to do, 'cause I don' wan' to worry her. Only go when I have to. She knows that, now. An' I try to never surprise her 'bout this kind of t'ing. It's bes' if the other person know what you thinkin' befo' you tell anybody else."
"I see. Are you saying I surprised Paul?"
"I can't say that, but he sure looked like he surprised when you say you goin'."
"You're right. I did surprise him, I guess. I'm not used to having somebody else who cares what happens to me."
"Can be ver' difficult, to look out fo' someone else's feelings. 'Specially when you been a loner mos' of the time."
"What do you think I should do, then?"
"I t'ink you mus' forget 'bout everyt'ing 'cept you an' Julia."
"But, I ... "
"Clear this from yo' mind; thinkin' 'bout Paul get you killed, now. Tha's prob'ly the boat we meetin'." He pointed at a dim white light that flickered occasionally off their bow.
"Looks like all the other boats out fishing along here," Connie said. "Why do you think it's them?"
"They changin' their speed so they cut across our course right when we get to the rendezvous. You bettah get below."
When Connie complied, Sharktooth latched the companionway door, locking her below deck.
As the boat came close enough so that he could see the hull in the dim light of the quarter moon, the white light on it was extinguished. Sharktooth shifted into neutral and kneeled on the deck to fend off the wooden fishing boat as it bumped alongside. It looked like the same one they had seen earlier, but he didn't recognize the people aboard, except to see that there wasn't a woman with them this time.
"You got somethin' for us?" one of them men asked.
"Mebbe," Sharktooth said. "Le' me see what you got fo' me, firs'."
One of the men picked up a small duffel bag and unzipped it. Holding it out of reach but where Sharktooth could see into it, the man cupped a flashlight in his other hand and shined it into the bag, playing it over the stacks of banknotes. Sharktooth laughed at him.
"Mon, I don' know you from nothin'. We gonna have to 'stablish some trust."
"What?" one of the others barked, raising a pistol and pointing it at Sharktooth.
"Gon' have to count it," Sharktooth said. "My mama raise one fool, but I ain't him."
"Where's the girl?" the man with the pistol asked.
"She below deck, but she fight like a wildcat."
"Bring her up where we can see her, then you can count the money. Once you done, we take her. Either one of you try anyt'ing, you dead, okay, mon?"
"Yeah," Sharktooth agreed, grinning. He opened the companionway door and Connie screamed and charged him. Ignoring the fingernails that raked his cheek, he tapped her on the chin with his fist and caught her as she collapsed. He propped her on the seat beside him and reached toward the other boat. The man with the bag put the handle in Sharktooth's hand and backed away, careful to leave his friend a clear line of fire the whole time.
"Okay," Sharktooth said. "Look like you bought one wild-assed woman. Hope you ready."
"Pass her over here befo' she come to, mon."
Sharktooth picked up Connie, who was feigning unconsciousness, and handed her across to the two unarmed men. One of them quickly bound her wrists with a short length of light line while Sharktooth looked on, grinning. "Careful," he said. "She dangerous."
"We got her, mon," the man with the pistol
said. "Get yo' ass outta here."
Sharktooth put his foot on the gunwale of the other boat and gave it a shove. As the boats drifted apart, he put his three engines in gear and roared away.
23
Connie lay awkwardly on the floorboards of the boat where the two men had dumped her. Face down, with her wrists tied together under her abdomen, she was uncomfortable. As the boat lurched up onto a plane when the man at the tiller opened the throttle, oily bilge water that stank of dead fish splashed up into her face. Fighting against her gag reflex, she remained still, knowing that to move would invite trouble.
"The big mon, he put her out good," one of the men said with a chuckle.
The other two laughed. One said, "Look like he jus' touch her on the chin." He nudged her, putting a filthy foot on her shoulder and shaking her. She focused on staying limp.
"Big mon like that, he learn to be careful. He prob'ly kill somebody wit' one punch, he wan' to."
"This one look good, mon. Bes' lookin' one since that little girl them assholes on the sailboat bring."
"I still don' feel good 'bout that. $30,000, so some rich Arab get fresh meat. She don' look no mo' old than my little sista."
"Done now, mon. You already done spent yo' share. Besides, these women, they ain't nothin' to us. Skinny white girls. Now some of them they bring from Haiti ... "
"This one, she skinny, but she look like she mebbe Cuban. I 'member ... "
"Shut up, you two. Grab her and get ready."
The boat lurched to a stop, and Connie felt herself lifted by two men, one on each side, hands under her arms. She stayed limp, letting her head roll forward, chin against her chest, as they dragged her to the gunwale. More hands reached under her arms, and she was dragged across the gunwale of the fishing boat, the rough wood scraping her painfully through her clothing. Her upper body was lowered onto the tube of a big rigid inflatable, and somebody reached over and grabbed both ankles, swinging her legs into the RIB and allowing her to roll off the tube and collapse against the floorboards. She heard the fishing boat roar away. Someone prodded her with a foot, and she heard a woman's voice say, "She looks okay. May be coming around a bit. Let's go."
The RIB accelerated smoothly onto a plane, riding easily over the gentle ocean swell for several minutes. They decelerated smoothly, and Connie felt a gentle bump. She pictured the RIB coming to rest against a much larger vessel. A bright light flashed across her face and she saw red through her closed eyelids. Someone tapped her cheek sharply. "C'mon, I know you're conscious," the woman's voice said. "Get up so we don't have to drag you over the swim platform. No need in getting scraped up any more than you already did. Nobody's gonna bother you right now."
Connie looked up into a pair of pale blue eyes set into a round face framed by blond hair that was pulled tightly back into a very short ponytail. She guessed the woman was about her age. She was pretty, in a rather plain, fresh-scrubbed way, although she was shaped like a fireplug. She wore the ubiquitous crew uniform of white polo shirt with khaki shorts. "Aurelius," Connie said, reading the embroidered name stretched over the woman's left breast.
"Yeah. Welcome aboard, honey."
"What's ... " Connie started to ask.
"Shut up. We need to get you aboard and pull the RIB in. Think you can walk?"
"Yeah," Connie said, holding up her bound wrists.
"Promise to behave yourself and I'll cut you loose. Try anything, and the skipper'll give you to the boys to amuse themselves with. There's no escape, anyway."
"Okay," Connie agreed. "The boys any fun?"
"I wouldn't know, but from what the others say, they're pretty rough." The woman cut Connie's wrists loose and helped her to her feet. "Better off staying away from them; girl like you, with your looks, you'll end up with some old rich guy. Might not even be a bad life, if you don't mind men."
She steered Connie up onto a boarding platform and escorted her below. She gripped Connie's left elbow with a strong right hand as she led her down a passageway beside the engine room. They stepped through an open water-tight door; the corridor ahead had closed doors along the right side. At the third door, the woman stopped. Reaching into her pocket, she took out a key ring and unlocked the door. "Good luck with your roommates," she said, as she shoved Connie in and slammed the door behind her.
"What do you think's going on?" Paul asked. He and Phillip had been aboard Lightning Bolt for about twenty minutes, but Sharktooth had been running at high speed, and the noise had prohibited conversation. They were drifting now, about 10 miles from the tracker's last position. To prolong battery life, they had programmed the device to update every 5 minutes rather than continuously. Their assumption was that updates at that interval would keep them within radar range of the boat that carried Connie.
Phillip shook his head. Sharktooth traced the track on the dimmed screen of a laptop with an enormous index finger.
"This is where they picked her up," he said, tapping the screen.
"So they went out to the west for a ways; looks like maybe eight or ten miles," Phillip said, studying the display over Sharktooth's shoulder.
"Mm-hmm," Sharktooth agreed.
"That fits with what Goff and Stevens told you, right?" Paul asked.
"Yes. That's about where I'd guess the fishing boat would make the handoff to the big boat's RIB. But then the track turns almost 180 degrees."
"This say the tracker in Chateaubelair," Sharktooth said, tapping the screen again.
"And it's not moving," Paul said. "Should we go take a look?"
"No, I don't think so," Philip said. "If they've hunkered down there, they're likely to be watching for anybody entering the harbor. We might blow it. We need to stay over the horizon until Connie triggers that second tracker. Give her a chance, Paul."
"I don't like it. Why would they be in there?"
"It's probably their turf; it's a rough spot, too. Not many cruising boats stay there because of the petty crime."
"But why would the fishing boat make the pickup out of sight of land and then go even farther out to make the handoff if they're going to all end up back in the same place?" Paul persisted.
"Let's just say they made the handoff like we expected," Phillip said. "The guys in the water taxi head back to shore, and the RIB runs out a few more miles and gets picked up by a big powerboat. With me so far?"
"Yes."
"Now the people on the powerboat stow the RIB in their hold, completely out of sight, okay?"
"Yes."
"So the guys in the water taxi can't positively identify the powerboat. Probably no way anybody could get a warrant to search the powerboat, right?"
"Yeah, okay. I see your point. But why would the powerboat be hanging out in Chateaubelair?"
"Some of the rich locals keep their boats there, I t'ink," Sharktooth said. "Mebbe several in there. Nobody ashore see anyt'ing."
"Okay, but why not stay offshore?"
"A big powerboat hovering over the horizon for an extended period would attract a lot more attention than one in a harbor with a few others," Phillip said. "They took the bait on Marie, so they've got to wait another day or so."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Paul said. "I just hate stakeouts; I always did, and knowing Connie's exposed in there ... "
"She'll be okay, Paul. Remember how she handled herself when she got kidnapped a few months ago?"
"Yeah, I know, it's just ... "
"Soon come, she have all them under control, Paul," Sharktooth said. "When Marie get there, they surround them bad men; won't be anyt'ing lef' fo' us to do but give 'em a ride home."
"I hope you're right," Paul said. "Guess I may as well try to nap."
Connie blinked as she waited for her vision to adjust to the dim lighting in the cabin. She scanned her surroundings as best she could, making out a typical crew cabin with four berths and a small head with a shower that shared the closet-sized space with a sink and a toilet. Two dark-skinned women sat on one of the lower berths
staring at her; the other lower appeared to be occupied by someone sleeping.
"I'm Connie," she said, in a soft voice.
The women exchanged prolonged looks before one said, "I'm June," in a stage whisper. She nodded at the woman next to her. "She Hermione, from Martinique. She don't speak English."
Connie nodded. "Which upper bunk's not taken?"
June pointed at the one behind Connie. "The one over Martha. She in trouble."
"In trouble? Looks like she's sound asleep."
"She got beat up pretty bad; she talk back to Helga."
"Helga?"
"The big blon' woman bring you here?"
"That's Helga?" Connie asked.
June nodded. Connie turned, her eyes adjusted to the gloom, now. Crouching by the lower bunk, she peered at the woman who lay on her side. She took in the swollen features encrusted with dried blood. "Helga did this?" she asked, turning back to June.
June shook her head. "The men," she said. "She hurt bad. They beat her up afterward. Tha's what they do, you don' do what they say."
"Shouldn't we try to help her? At least clean her up?"
"Men bring her back say if we touch her, we get the same."
"How long has she been unconscious?"
"Mebbe one hour. Helga come to tell us they bringin' you; she tol' us make the bed. Martha say, 'you make the damn bed, you dyke bitch.' Tha's when they come got Martha."
"I'm going to clean myself up a little, if that's all right," Connie said, stepping toward the head.
"All right wit' me," June said.
Connie ran some water into the sink and washed her face with the perfumed soap from the dispenser, scrubbing until she didn't smell the dead fish scent. She saw that the front of her white polo shirt was soaked in the bilge water as well, and pulled it over her head. As she started to rinse it in the sink, she remembered the trackers. It wouldn't hurt them to get wet, but she didn't want to accidentally trigger the second one. She felt for the hem and ran her fingers around it, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she realized it had ripped out. The trackers were gone; it must have happened when they dragged her across the gunwale of the water taxi, she thought. She rinsed the shirt and wrung it out, folding it between two towels and twisting the bundle. When she was satisfied that she couldn't get more water out of it, she put it back on and hung up the towels to dry. She ran a little tepid water into the sink and wet a face cloth, stepping back into the cramped stateroom.
Sailor's Delight Page 16