“The Americano’s boat is fast,” Paulo said, standing on the bridge next to the captain.
“Yes,” Mauricio agreed. “However, he is stopped now.”
“But for how long, Capitão?”
“It does not matter, Paulo. As long as he leaves his AIS turned on and continues to broadcast it to the satellites, I will chase him down.”
“But what of our scheduled stops?”
Mauricio glared at the engineer. “Make no mistake, Paulo. I will take the rich Americano’s boat. And his women. Then I will use his boat to take his women to be sold in the Middle East.”
Under the red glow of the instruments’ lights, an evil smile crossed his features. “I will have my way with his women, right in front of him. And as I defile each one in that way, I will know which means the most to him. Then the crew will have her, and afterward, I will hang her body from his boat’s bow as a figurehead to ensure good weather.”
Mauricio knew his engineer had a sadistic side and saw him grin at the thought. “But a boat like that would cost a lot of money to cross the ocean. Even if we sold the whole crew, it wouldn’t be enough. And what about Juan and the cartel? Cutting them out would be dangerous.”
“Leave Juan to me,” Mauricio said. “The Americano had to stop for fuel after such a long run at high speed. When we take the boat, the tanks will hold enough to reach Syria.”
“He will leave once his tanks are full.”
“I do not think so, Paulo,” Mauricio countered, switching on the AIS, and looking at the icon on the chart plotter, still sitting on the south side of Grenada. “They went to Parque Nacional dos Lençóis Maranhenses for a reason.”
“To explore?” Paulo asked.
“To have fun on the beach, Paulo,” Mauricio said. “These are wealthy people. They do not work. They go around in that big boat and play. They will stay in Grenada, I think. There is fun to be had there.”
Paulo gazed at the green icon on the screen. “They will have called the authorities.”
“We’ve received no call from anyone,” Mauricio countered. “That means the rich Americano didn’t report the incident. How could he? After all, did he not have his men kill ours? Just because they were having a little fun? We are working people, Paulo. We are not permitted to have fun. Not in the way he and his friends do. They lie on the beaches in the sun, drinking expensive wine and liquor. They will stay. They came here to lie on a beach and the women won’t care which beach it is. They are lazy. We will find them on one of the more popular beaches close to the boat.”
“Grand Anse Beach,” Paulo said. “Or maybe Morne Rouge Bay.”
“We will arrive about this time in two days and anchor beyond the reef off St. George’s Bay. If the Port Authority asks, we will say we are awaiting a shipment coming to the cruise ship dock—something to make repairs to our engine. Grand Anse is two kilometers away. The lazy Americans will be there.”
“You wish to take them on the beach? During the day? What about the yacht?”
“I want to watch them on the beach,” Mauricio said with a lecherous grin. “See if we can pick out who is the owner and which woman he is closest to. Then, after midnight, our men will go ashore and scout their boat. It may prove to be easier to take it while at the dock than out at sea, where he can outrun us.”
“I may know someone who can help,” Paulo said. “Two men who will do anything for money. They are there—on Grenada—right now.”
I woke late, feeling stiff and sore, just as Savannah had promised. Or was it what she’d threatened? Either way, we’d taken advantage of having the cabin all to ourselves.
We’d made love under the stars on the patio. The flybridge and helipad, which were above and forward of the patio, were off limits after sunset. We’d spent most of the night on the patio, wrapped together in a blanket on a double lounge chair, retreating to our bedroom after sunrise to make love again. We’d both fallen asleep, and I’d only been awakened by my alarm, at 0900. I’d set it as a reminder that the fuel truck was coming.
Savannah stirred and sat up, the sheets tangled around her legs and waist. Her hair was disheveled and hung over one side of her face.
“Timezit?”
“Your flight leaves in three hours.”
“Huh? I haven’t packed. Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
“Let you?” I questioned with a grin. “That was you last night, right? The nympho contortionist?”
She threw a pillow at me as I was pulling on my boxers and nearly knocked me over.
“Be very careful, Jesse. You’ve yet to meet my dominatrix side.”
“Oh, really?” I said, feigning fear. “Should I be scared?”
“If you’re smart,” she said, tossing the sheets off and heading toward the shower. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll get the coffee and bacon on.”
I went into the galley and made coffee, then started breakfast. When she came out, she took the tongs from me, and I went back into our bedroom to get dressed.
We ate quickly. The fuel truck would be arriving soon, and she had to pack. After breakfast, I headed up to the bridge, while Savannah got her stuff ready for her trip.
“Good morning, Captain,” Val said cheerily when I walked in.
“Good morning, Val. What’s the status on our fuel delivery?”
“The first truck should be here any minute.”
Matt was leaning against the dash on the port side. “Myttin da, Cap’n. Thanks again for denner lass night.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for joining us.” I glanced from one to the other. “Where’d you two disappear to on the walk back?”
“’eard music back behind the marina office,” Matt said. “Me feet just sorta shuffled that way.”
“He asked if I danced,” Val added. “So, since we had nothing to do until now, we went dancing.”
“I see,” I said, taking the tablet from her and looking over the night’s communications log.
There was one from Charity that had an attachment.
“Have you checked the file Charity sent?” I asked Val.
“No, sir. It was addressed to you personally.”
The message said they’d arrived on St. Thomas and Tank’s body had been transferred to the care of a Marine captain by the name of Ray Megginson.
I tapped the attached file and a video opened. The image shook and moved around for a moment, then a Marine Corps honor detail appeared, marching toward a plane.
“Jesse,” I heard Charity’s voice say. “It’s amazing how fast they pulled this together. Tank and Chyrel will be taken directly to another waiting Armstrong jet for the last leg, straight to Marathon, with Captain Megginson escorting them.”
The honor detail came to a halt beside the Gulfstream. Two of the Marines entered the plane and a moment later, the flag-draped casket appeared near the door. The Marines climbed out and took their places by the steps. With help from someone inside, the two men pulled it out until all six Marines were holding the casket.
They sidestepped away from the door, holding the casket at shoulder level, then executed a facing movement and supported it on their shoulders.
“At slow time,” I heard a man’s voice command, as Val and Matt joined me, looking down at the screen. “Mark time…yarch!”
The six Marines, all staff NCOs in dress blue uniforms, began marking time. I didn’t hear a command, but they all stepped off at once, marching at slow time toward a building. Chyrel joined the procession, along with a Marine officer whom I assumed was the man Charity mentioned, Captain Ray Megginson.
When they entered the building, the image shook and turned, then Charity’s face appeared. Her eyes were puffy and glistening. “I gotta go now,” she said. “Tank and Chyrel have to clear customs, then they’re headed home. Take care, my friend.”
The video went blank. I looked at the email and saw that it was time- stamped jus
t a couple of hours earlier, at 0724.
From the shadows on the video, I could tell it was recorded not long before or after noon. My guess was it was early afternoon the day before and she’d only sent the email this morning.
“A right proper job, that,” Matt said. “Bleddy dress blues and all.”
“Yes,” Val agreed. “It was nice of her to record that for you, too. You and she go back a ways?”
I nodded. “We worked together for DHS a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“First met her in twenty-oh-six.”
“There’s the truck,” Matt said, looking out the starboard hatch. “I’d best get down there. Will you be takin’ the missus to the airport, Cap’n?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Then I think I’ll go and visit an old friend.”
“You know someone here in Grenada?” Val asked.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “But if you’re not busy, you’re welcome to come along. Both of you if you like.”
“Thanks, Cap’n,” Matt said. “But no tellin’ ’ow long the bunkerin’ll take, and you’ll need to get to the airport an hour ahead of the flight.”
“I’d be happy to accompany you,” Val said. “I’ll arrange for a van.”
Matt left the bridge, and I went aft to see how Savannah was making out. She was just pulling a suitcase through the hatch when I reached our quarters.
“All set,” she said with a smile. “I see the fuel truck is here. I just talked to Flo and they’re heading for the dock now.”
“Matt’s going to handle the refueling,” I said. “So, Val and I can take you to the airport.”
“Val?”
“We’re going sightseeing after we drop you off.”
“Any sights in particular?”
“LZ Fuel,” I replied. “It’s a long story.”
“All your stories are long,” she said with a smile, as I pushed the outer hatch open.
I carried her suitcase down to the work platform. A moment later, Val, Flo, and David joined us, just as a white Toyota van pulled up. The driver opened the back and loaded the suitcases, then opened the passenger door.
Alberto came running across the work platform and jumped up to the dock. “I thought I was going to miss you,” he said, hugging Savannah tightly.
“I’ll just be gone a couple of days,” she said, holding him to her side. “You be good and do everything Mayra tells you to, okay?”
“I will,” he promised, then turned to hug Flo. “Will you be coming back in two days too?”
She laughed and hugged him tightly. “No, I have to go to school, just like you. But we’ll see each other again real soon.”
“When?”
“Next week,” I said. “We’ll all meet up at home for a few days while Ambrosia is getting some work done.”
Alberto ran back over to the boat as we got in the van. I climbed into the front seat, noting the driver’s name on the business license displayed on the dash—Turi Joseph.
An hour later, David and Val stood with me at one of the airport terminal’s windows, watching the plane take off with Savannah and Flo. They’d fly straight into Miami, then on to Orlando.
When we got back outside to the van, I asked David if he’d like to join us for a ride up to Grand Mal Bay.
“Sure,” he replied. “What’s up there?”
“Just some old fuel tanks,” I replied.
We got in and I told the driver to take us to Grand Mal Playing Field.
He was an older man, with mostly white hair under his cap. He looked over at me, his wizened dark eyes studying my features. When he looked down at the tattoo on my forearm, his mouth broke into a smile, showing two missing teeth.
“Welcome back to Greens,” he said.
“I’ve never been here before,” I replied. “But some friends have.”
“Why are we going to a playing field?” David asked. “What’s there?”
The driver looked at my two young friends in the backseat. “Nuttin’ now,” he said. “But when I was about your age, dere was a bunch of tanks and liberators dere.”
“Liberators?” Val asked. Then realization appeared in her eyes. “The liberation of Grenada by U.S. and coalition forces in 1983.”
“Yes, Miss,” the man said, as he started to drive. “I was de governor general’s driver at de time.”
“Why’d you stop?” David asked.
“I am retired now,” Turi said. “I drive dis van a couple of days a week. Tings was difficult den. On de day of liberation, we had to go into hiding until de liberators come. De People’s Revolutionary Army held Mr. Scoon’s mansion. He was de governor general back den. De PRA had some Cuban men in suits with dem. I was dere, along with nine of Mr. Scoon’s aides, and his wife, Esmai McNeilly Scoon, a fine lady. I work for her father before dat. A beautiful woman she was.”
David sat forward in the backseat. “How long were you held?”
“Not very long,” Turi replied. “It was very late at night, close to midnight, if I remember right, on de twenty-fift of October when de liberators come.”
“I was in Lebanon,” I said. “The Marine barracks bombing was just two days before. We didn’t hear about the invasion for over a week.”
“What happened?” David asked.
I stared through the windshield. “A friend of mine, Sergeant Ramon Garcia, was a squad leader for Gulf Company, Second Battalion, Eighth Marines. He and I had gone through NCO school together. Gulf Company made a helo insertion south of Pearls Airport on the east side of the island earlier in the morning. Once Fox Company was on the ground there, Gulf saddled up and flew to the Manitowoc, a Newport class tank-landing ship. Their mission was to support Army Rangers, who’d taken the new airport, south of St. George’s.”
Turi nodded. “De airport and mansion was under control of Cuban military, who was posing as construction workers.”
“Gulf Company made the initial assault on the beach at Grand Mal in four amphibious assault vehicles. Ramon was in the lead AAV, which included his recon team. Later that night, they moved overland to secure the governor general’s house, which was occupied by Navy SEALS, who were trapped by the Cubans.”
“Wait,” Val said. “They captured an airport at one end of the island in the morning by air, made a shore landing in the evening, then marched on to take the mansion?”
I looked back at her and grinned. “It’s in the first sentence of the Marines’ Hymn—in the air, on land, and sea.”
“But all in one day?”
“Sometimes, all before breakfast,” I said. “Anyway, just after dark, Ramon’s AAV reached the beach without resistance. They set up a perimeter and waited for Fox to join them, with four M-60 Patton tanks.”
“Earlier dat day,” Turi said, “U.S. Navy men, de SEALs, come to evacuate Mr. Scoon and his people. But de Cubans came through de gate and we was confined to de mansion. I don’t tink dey knew de SEALs was inside wid us.”
“Ramon and his recon squad headed out on point,” I continued. “They encountered little resistance at first. Near the mansion, just about sunrise, they surprised a Cuban patrol. The firefight only lasted a few minutes, but Ramon was killed in action.”
Turi turned off the road into a small parking lot. Ahead was a soccer field. There was a game going on; boys dressed in blue and white jerseys kicked the ball back and forth across a verdant playing field. Beyond the field, I could see large fuel tanks painted a bright white, the reason the landing zone had been named LZ Fuel. To the left, the sparkling turquoise waters of the Caribbean met a white, sandy beach, with palm trees waving along the dune. It was hard to imagine tanks, AAVs, and 250 Marines hunkered down there.
“I am sorry,” Turi said, his head bowed for a moment. “It was a time of great strife here on Greens. Many people died and some just disappeared.”
“Here?” David asked. “This doesn’t look like a battlefield.”
“Socialism is a bad ting,” Turi said. “It develop slowly and can only be applied by force. My family was simple people. We grow spices in de hills and fished de sea, but we was happy. Maybe more happy dan de rich peoples, down in de city, wit deir busy schedules. Socialists say dat everyone must be de same. So, dey take from de rich. But while Bishop was in power, de poor wasn’t happy either. It become worse when Coard take over.”
“What happened to the governor general?” David asked as we got out of the van.
“By mid-morning,” Turi continued, turning to face me, “de men wit your friend got to de mansion. Dey blow up an armored car protecting de gate and shoot some of de PRA guards. De rest drop dere guns and run away.”
Turi helped Val out of the back and then turned to David. “Mr. Scoon and de rest of us was evacuated and he serve as governor general for nine more years. We welcome de liberators with open arms, let dem use our cars and trucks, and we show dem where de Cubans had guns and men hidden.”
Turi smiled with admiration. “Sir Scoon was knighted by de Queen, and dough he was a nobleman, he talk to me and ask me questions like I was de same as him. De people was happy again.”
We stood and looked out over the tranquil sea for a moment. Today’s Grenada was a far cry from what it was like in the early 1980s. It probably didn’t look a lot different, but people can be trampled and made unhappy, even in paradise.
“I hear de gunshots before dawn,” Turi said to me. “Dey come from Grand Anse, just up de road from de mansion. I can take you dere if you like.”
I turned my head and looked down at the slight, old man, imagining him forty years younger, helping to protect his leader. “Yes, Turi, I would.”
“And I will be honored.”
We climbed back into the van, and he started driving, trying to lighten the mood by describing the places we passed during the twenty-minute drive along the coast.
Finally, just after a traffic circle, he pulled to the shoulder.
Steady As She Goes: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 21) Page 21