The Devil and the Deep Blue Spy

by Tom Savage

  When she woke again, they were in Martinique.

  Chapter 14

  Marianne Lanier had been right, Nora decided: Martinique was prettier than Guadeloupe. At least, this capital city was prettier than the port city yesterday. Nora wasn’t sure exactly why, but it seemed to her that Fort-de-France was less eclectic, more uniform than Pointe-à-Pitre. The majestic Fort St-Louis towering above the harbor on a promontory at the eastern edge of town lent a sense of drama that the other city lacked. And if her suspicion was correct, much of this city had recently been given a face-lift. She could almost smell the fresh paint.

  She had only brief impressions of it at first. She and Jeff followed the Lamonts, the Dunstans, and a stream of other passengers down the long dock that jutted straight out into the harbor where the Tropic Star was tied, arriving at the big, multistory passenger terminal that had been a major part of the new renovation, by the look of it. She had been gazing around the crowded place for mere moments before a young native woman and man in smart red blazers and caps came to take charge of them.

  “Welcome to Martinique,” the woman said in French-accented English. “I’m Irma. Passengers arriving from the Tropic Star, you may follow my colleague, Leo, to our visitors’ center to join a walking tour of Fort-de-France, including Fort St-Louis, St-Louis Cathedral, two museums, lunch, and an afternoon in our famous shopping district, where you will find everything from local handicrafts to the latest Paris couture. Or you may follow me to the parking lot, where buses await you for a grand tour of the northern section of Martinique. This includes the seaside town of Ste-Marie, the St James Distillery and Rum Museum, a ride through a rain forest, and lunch in the former capital city of St-Pierre, from which you will see the dramatic highlight of our island, Mont Pelée. Passengers for the bus tour, please join me here. For the walking tour, please follow Leo. Enjoy your visit to our island!”

  Nora looked around. Many of the passengers from the Tropic Star had struck out on their own, leaving fifty or sixty people huddled before the tour guides, including Claude and Carmen Lamont. She glanced at Jeff, who shrugged, and they waited to see which option the Lamonts would pick. The Dunstans chose the walking tour, and—no surprise—Claude decided on that, too. Carmen surprised them: She opted for the grand tour, but only after what looked to be a furious whispered argument between her and her husband. She glared at Claude and went to stand resolutely in the group that was gathering around Irma. Claude shrugged, blew her a kiss, and joined the other couple behind Leo.

  “Here we go again,” Jeff muttered in Nora’s ear. “See you back at the ship.” He kissed her cheek and hurried off to catch up with the walking-tour people, who were now forging through the terminal.

  Nora watched him go, aware of the irony of their situation. Yesterday in Guadeloupe, she’d gone shopping while he’d taken the scenic route. Today, their roles were reversed. Well, so be it, she thought as she joined the line behind Irma heading out to the lot.

  There were two canopied, open-air safari buses there, much like the one in Puerto Rico, but after a quick head count—twenty-seven—Irma decided they needed only one. Nora waited until Carmen had boarded and sat near the front before proceeding to a bench three rows behind her on the other side of the aisle. She sat at the guardrail so she’d have a good view of the scenery and still be able to see her subject.

  The padded two-seat benches with padded backrests were roomy and comfortable, so Nora wasn’t particularly disturbed when a stocky, dapper-looking older man she recognized from the ship arrived in the aisle beside her. He had thinning white hair and a neat mustache, and his gray eyes twinkled in his jolly pink face. He wore a lightweight tan linen suit perfect for this climate, with a pale blue shirt open at the collar and tan loafers. A seasoned traveler, Nora decided.

  “Pardon me, is this seat taken?” he asked in a polite whisper.

  “No,” Nora said, smiling. “Help yourself.”

  The man carefully lowered his bulk onto the bench beside her, with an audible sigh. “Thank you. The bus is pretty full, and we seem to be the odd-men-out—I suppose I should say, the odd-people-out—though I assure you I’m not odd, and you don’t look odd, either. There’s a woman up front who’s alone, too, but she’s put this huge purse on the seat beside her, and frankly, you look a lot friendlier. My wife wants to hit every shop on rue Victor Schoelcher, and I’ll get the bills for it, so I exercised my right to take the bus tour and see Mont Pelée, which is what I’m really interested in. I’ve seen you around the ship a couple of times. I’m Wilfred Webber; my friends call me Freddie.”

  “Hello, Freddie, I’m Nora,” she said. “Nora Baron.”

  “Your husband was the tall, good-looking fellow who went off with the walkers? Funny, I would have pegged him for the explorer type.”

  Nora laughed. “He is, usually. But he just climbed all over Guadeloupe yesterday, so he’s taking it easy here.”

  “Yes, that’s right!” Freddie said, slapping his plump thigh, pleased with himself for remembering. “I was on that trek with him, but Arlene went shopping there, too, of course. I wanted to see that volcano, Soufrière—I have a thing for volcanoes. Today I’ll finally get to see Pelée, and there’s a museum in St-Pierre dedicated to the big eruption in 1902. Couldn’t get Arlene to come with me, though. Her only passion is shopping.”

  Nora relaxed back in her seat as the bus began to move. This outgoing, talkative man was a godsend. She hadn’t noticed that everyone in the bus was paired off except for the two of them and Carmen Lamont. If she stuck with Freddie Webber today, she’d be less conspicuous while she monitored Carmen, who was obviously the unfriendly-looking woman he’d mentioned.

  “Do you and Arlene travel a lot?” she asked, knowing the answer before he replied.

  “Oh, yes, we’ve been just about everywhere. I finally retired five years ago—financial law, that was my game in Pittsburgh for forty-two years. Our kids have kids of their own now, and we’d never been out of America till we stopped working. So Arlene and I just took off for all the places we’d always wanted to see. We started with England, of course, then France, Italy, Greece, Scandinavia…”

  She smiled, then looked out at the view as he continued his litany. The streets of Fort-de-France were crowded with locals and tourists, and the architecture was lovely. Everything here reminded her of Paris—which was natural, she supposed; she was in the French West Indies. They were driving in a northeasterly direction, according to Irma, who was quietly narrating their journey on discreet speakers from her seat at the front. They’d be making a counterclockwise loop, Irma explained: up the east coast of the island to Ste-Marie and the nearby St James Distillery and Rum Museum. Then they’d proceed west through the tropical forest to St-Pierre, then down the western coast back to Fort-de-France.

  The city slowly vanished outside, and soon they were on the open highway.

  “…but not Japan—we’re saving that for last. Next year we’ll go to Canada, and then the Pacific Islands…”

  Nora peered forward to see Carmen gazing out at the palm trees along the road. The space beside her was empty; her big shoulder bag had done its job and discouraged anyone from joining her. Nora looked around and behind her: Yes, everyone else here seemed to be couples. That’s the point of a “Second Honeymoon” cruise, she thought; you do everything together—unless you happen to work for the CIA…

  This reminded her. Freddie Webber had just told her that he’d been a financial lawyer. Perhaps he could help her solve a nagging problem she’d had with this case. She thought about it, working up a quick autobiography and slipping into a suitable acting role. She was wondering how she could introduce the subject when Freddie provided her with the perfect opportunity.

  “…but I’ve been yammering away since I sat down, and you haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise. What line of work are you in, Nora?” Freddie sat back in h
is seat, watching her expectantly.

  “I was an actor,” Nora said, “and then I taught acting for a while, but I’m retired. Now I’m working on a lifelong dream, but I’m almost embarrassed to tell you about it…”

  Freddie laughed. “Arlene’s lifelong dream is to buy a pair of shoes in every country on earth. Your dream can’t be as crazy as hers!”

  “Oh, Arlene’s dream isn’t crazy, Freddie—I have two girlfriends who’d be right there with her if they could. I—I’m writing a novel. A mystery novel. I’ve always wanted to write mysteries, and now I’m giving it a try.”

  “Well, good for you!” Freddie cried. “That’s wonderful! What’s it about? Is it like Agatha Christie? I loved her books when I was a kid.”

  “Um, not exactly,” Nora said. “My story is more of a thriller. It’s an international caper, and it’s all about money. Big money. I’m only telling you about it because you said you were in financial law, and—well, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use your advice…”

  Chapter 15

  The bus followed the curve of the highway, and now they were heading due north with the glistening Atlantic on their right. They passed seaside villages and long strips of crowded beach, and the bright morning sun made everything vivid. The breeze that whipped through the open vehicle brought with it the rich, salty scent of the ocean.

  Carmen Lamont stared out at the seascape, but she wasn’t impressed by it, as far as Nora could tell. She never seemed to be impressed by anything. She made a phone call at one point, a long one, but there was no way for Nora to hear what she was saying. She laughed twice into the phone, and she seemed to be relaxed, so Nora guessed this might be the kiss-and-make-up call after the marital spat she’d witnessed in the terminal.

  Nora interrupted her conversation with Freddie and quickly texted Jeff: Is CL using phone right now?

  The answer came in seconds: No. In cathedral w Mr & Mrs D. Why?

  Nora replied: Nvr mnd. Later. ILU.

  ILU more, Pal.

  “Sorry about that,” Nora said to Freddie, dropping the phone into her shoulder bag. “Anyway, the villain in my story needs to transport a lot of money—let’s say, a hundred million bucks—out of his secret offshore account in the Cayman Islands and into the United States. But he can’t do it electronically; he needs to move the cash in three or four bundles. You’re an expert, Freddie, so how would you go about doing that?”

  She assumed that Freddie would take a while to think about it, but he shook his head and answered her immediately.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said. “There’s just no way to get away with that, not if he’s shipping it to the United States. Does the money have to go to the States, or does he just want everyone to think that’s what he’s doing with it? Here’s a thought: How about if your guy pretends to send cash there, he even mails the phony crates full of Bibles or magazines or good old-fashioned reams of blank paper, but he sends the actual cash to another account someplace else? He’ll need an accomplice, waiting in New York or wherever, to claim the bogus crates and whisk them away before anyone’s the wiser. He’s in the Caymans, you say? He could just send it along to Panama or Bolivia or any one of these islands down here. A few of them have a very Swiss way of handling big accounts. Hell, a couple of them are famous for it. That’s what I’d do, anyway.”

  Nora looked around the bus to make sure nobody was paying attention to their conversation. Everyone was admiring the view, pointing excitedly and snapping pictures. She turned back to her companion.

  “Maybe I should lose the phony crates,” she said. “It seems so elaborate, so complicated, and it probably wouldn’t fool the Treasury Department, or—”

  Freddie laughed and shook his head.

  “Don’t believe that for a minute!” he said. “After forty-two years advising folks with big money, I guess I’ve heard it all, and one thing I know for a fact is that you can make money vanish if you want to. Treasury! They’re way behind the game nowadays. I’ve never fiddled my finances, and I wouldn’t want to, but I know of a few who have. Treasury never even got near them. Hell, if your story were to really happen, Uncle Sam would still be poking around, looking for those phony crates while your bad guy was knocking back Mai Tais on a beach in Fiji!”

  Nora had to turn her face away from him to hide her blush. Freddie had spoken more truth than he knew. That was precisely what Uncle Sam was doing. Mary Ross had sent the packages to Miami, and Treasury was still looking for them, but what if they’d been decoys? What if Diablo had done something like the character in Freddie’s scenario? The money could be anywhere, and it might never have gone through America at all…

  Traffic on the winding, hilly highway had been light, and the bus arrived at the turnoff to Ste-Marie ahead of schedule.

  “We’re supposed to have hot drinks and a snack here in Ste-Marie,” Irma said over the speakers, “what the British call ‘elevenses,’ but it isn’t even ten o’clock yet. Let’s go on to our tour of the St James Distillery first—it’s just up the road from here—and then we’ll come back here to see the town. How does that sound, everyone?”

  There was much raucous approval from the passengers, but Nora noticed that Carmen Lamont didn’t join the chorus. Carmen stood up, glancing over at the turnoff to the seaside town. She turned to look at the guide, apparently about to say something, but then she merely shrugged and resumed her seat. She made another phone call as the bus moved on.

  Nora speculated about this all the way to the distillery, and throughout the factory tour. She wasn’t particularly interested in the accompanying lecture by an engaging young man in a white smock. She’d been to a similar facility in St. Thomas on her first voyage to the islands, so she knew all about harvesting and pressing the sugarcane for molasses that was then fermented, and about the distilled liquor being aged in wooden casks. And she could have given the lecture on the notorious Triangle Trade between Africa, the West Indies, and the American colonies. The history of rum was inextricably linked to the history of slavery, and that depressed her.

  At the end of the tour they were handed complimentary glasses of the finished product. Nora took a polite sip and set her glass down, but Carmen Lamont tossed hers back and glanced at her watch. The woman was clearly anxious about something.

  Nora’s phone buzzed as she was reboarding the bus: Cecile Lanier. “Hello, Cecile.”

  “Bonjour, Nora. I have information for you. I have just come from tea with Yvette Marchand.”

  Nora resumed her seat on the bus, and Freddie Webber sat beside her. She murmured an apology to him and turned away from him on the seat, lowering her voice into the phone. “Marchand? Is that her maiden name?”

  “Yes,” Cecile said. “She does not want to hear the name Lamont ever again. We met for tea at a café, but only I am drinking the tea. Yvette has something stronger—several of them, in fact. This would seem to be her usual way of taking tea, you understand? She has much anger about Claude. Her conversation was most animated, and most enlightening.”

  Nora smiled as the bus began to move again. “I’ll bet it was! What did she say?”

  “Well…”

  Cecile Lanier spoke, and Nora listened.

  Chapter 16

  Ste-Marie wasn’t merely a seaside village; it was a substantial town. Much of the island’s corporate business was conducted here, and they couldn’t have found a nicer setting. Nora thought the seafront community was striking, with its predominantly white buildings clustered on steep streets that all seemed to lead down to the pointed, triangular beach at the waterfront. A small island floated in the harbor, with the wide horizon of the Atlantic beyond it.

  A beautiful white church on a hill above the central point was the tour group’s first destination upon leaving the bus again. Nora had barely entered the eighteenth-century building with Freddie when she saw Carmen Lamont break away f
rom the group and head outside. Murmuring something vague to her escort about finding a ladies’ room, Nora followed Carmen out of the church and down the hill toward the waterfront.

  She stayed well behind the woman this time. Her actor’s instincts told her that Carmen was being cautious here, much more than she had been the two earlier times Nora had tracked her. Carmen glided down the hill, looking furtively around her as she moved, even turning once or twice to cast a glance back over her shoulder. She came to the wide waterfront road that ran parallel to the water and crossed it, moving forward onto the gray sand. She stopped there, raising an arm to shade her eyes from the morning sun as she gazed out at the ocean.

  Nora stopped on the sidewalk beside the closest building to the waterfront road. There was no way to cross the road and walk out onto the beach without being seen; aside from Carmen, the strand was nearly deserted. Occasional cars passed by on the beach road, and an old fisherman and a little boy in matching red-and-white-striped T-shirts and blue shorts were busy with a beached boat in the far distance, but no other people were here.

  She turned to look up at the church on the hill behind her, scanning its front steps, but no one from the tour group had come out to look for them. She glanced at her watch: 11:20. No wonder there were so few people in sight—this was a hot day, and the sun was almost directly overhead. Anyone who lived here probably knew better than to wander around outdoors.

  Nora returned her attention to the woman on the beach. The heat shimmered above the sand around the lone figure, and Nora squinted in the glare, trying to determine where Carmen was looking. The lush islet in the harbor was almost directly in front of her, but her head seemed to be turned away from it, facing her left, which would be north. Nora peered out across the water. In the far north, just at the horizon, she could see a tiny smudge. Was that a ship? No, it didn’t seem to be moving. A body of land? Yes, it was definitely a landmass: Carmen seemed to be staring off at a remote island far out in the Atlantic.