The taxi he’d called was waiting by the kerb and he slid into the back seat and requested the airport. The driver pulled out into the city traffic and Whitey noticed a man folding a newspaper away, who was watching them depart. He glanced over his shoulder out the rear window and saw the man get into the passenger seat of a black Mercedes. He turned back and looked at the two cases next to him on the seat and his heart rate rose several points. He spent the next few minutes checking behind the taxi to see if the Mercedes was following them, before finally calming down and convincing himself he was being paranoid. He couldn’t see any sign of the car.
Whitey paid the taxi driver and with a cautious scan around the airport entrance he proceeded inside and studied the departures board for his gate number. Finding his Cayman Airways flight, he started walking towards his gate but, as he turned, he dropped the book from under his arm. He put one of the cases down and picked up the book, tucking it back under his arm. As he did, he looked outside past the revolving entry doors, and saw a black Mercedes parked at the kerb. He slowly straightened up, retrieving the attaché case and tightening his grip on them both. He stared at the vehicle, trying to decide if it was the same car he’d seen earlier. The Mercedes slowly pulled away from the kerb and blended with the circulating airport traffic. Whitey breathed a sigh of relief and continued towards his gate. How do these guys live like this? he thought, checking the time, relieved he only had twenty more minutes before he boarded the plane.
He couldn’t wait to order a rum and start his new book; he just hoped the flight wasn’t too smoky, it made his eyes sore. He’d made sure he had a seat towards the front, so at least it took longer for the smoke to reach him. He wished they could stop people smoking on planes. But he knew that would never happen.
Chapter 52
November 2019
AJ led Hazel past the outdoor bar at Macabuca in West Bay and spotted Reg at the farthest table overlooking the cut in the ironshore they often used as a dive entry. Reg looked up from under the broad sun umbrella and nodded as the women took their seats. The bar area was quiet in the mid-afternoon, just a few people at tables away from them, and a couple of divers who were carefully negotiating the metal steps into the water. Three Strongbow ciders sat in the middle of the table. AJ handed one to Hazel and took one for herself.
“Cheers Reg,” she said and tipped the bottle towards him before taking a cool, refreshing drink.
“Cheers,” he replied, picking up the third bottle, returning the gesture, and taking a sip. “So, AJ tells me you want to go back to the Raptor?” he said, looking over at Hazel. “And there’s a bit of a tale to tell about it?”
Hazel nodded and glanced around to be sure they weren’t in earshot. “There is, yes, and I owe you an apology too for not being straight right from the start.”
Reg held up a hand. “You two have hammered that out, I’m told, so let’s just get to the meat and potatoes of this thing, alright?”
Hazel didn’t bat an eye at Reg’s direct manner, she just nodded again and told the story just as she’d told AJ the night before. Reg let her get to the end before he tried to ask any questions, slowly spinning his cider bottle around on a beer mat as he listened carefully. AJ watched them both. She knew Reg well enough to know he was playing it hardheaded to see if Hazel would get intimidated and slip something she didn’t intend. She figured she’d been around Hazel enough to know the woman was too tough to be intimidated by a grouchy old sailor.
When Hazel was finished, Reg sat there a minute and gathered his thoughts before finally asking, “So where did the money come from? The bloke had to know, right?”
Hazel didn’t hesitate. “South American drug money.”
AJ was taken aback. “Wait, you never said anything about that; in fact you said he avoided telling you!”
“Rule two,” Hazel said pointedly. “You said full transparency, that was rule two, you’re getting it.”
AJ couldn’t argue and sat back in her chair and Hazel elaborated.
“The Cavero family were prominent cocaine suppliers in Peru. Most people don’t realise Columbia was late to the party at the beginning, the coca plant wasn’t common in Columbia and they originally started in the drug business by buying product from Peru, where it was. The Caveros were one of the biggest suppliers to the Columbians. The father, Mariano, ran the business with his two sons, Gabriel and Gustavo.” Hazel pointed to AJ’s mobile sitting on the table. “Do a search for those names, you’ll see.”
AJ picked up her mobile and had Hazel spell the father’s name for her and hit search. Sure enough, a bunch of hits came back all leading with ‘drug lord’ in the title.
Hazel continued, “The younger son, Gabriel, went missing here on Cayman, in 1974.”
“Wait,” Reg interrupted. “Was he one of the guys who went missing near the wreck? Boat and all disappeared?”
“Oui, that’s him,” Hazel replied quietly. “The older brother was killed by the Sendero Luminoso, the Peruvian radical communists who tried to start a revolution in Peru in the early eighties. Shortly after, Mariano died of a massive stroke. That was all of them. Gabriel’s wife and young son disappeared after he went missing, probably escaped the drug trade while she could, and the older brother never married.”
“In the mid-seventies money poured into Cayman, most from something illicit,” Reg added. “It’s how the islands got their reputation as the best place to hide unreported money. Now everything’s above board and legit and they still can’t shake that stigma.”
Hazel held her hands up. “So, that’s it, the money has been in a Cayman International Bank and Trust safety deposit box since 1974, just sitting there. At least according to Père Noël that is, I won’t know until I walk in there with the key and ask to see it. Maybe they’ll laugh at me.”
Reg looked over at Hazel. “And you’re going to charter AJ to take you out there, right?”
“Oui.” Hazel leaned in closer. “I think you guys realise I don’t have much money, so hopefully I can pay for the charter after I get into the safety deposit box? I can give you a deposit before then, say two hundred dollars?”
“It’s not about the money,” AJ quickly intervened. “What if you walk in the bank with the key and they call the police and arrest you? Maybe they’ve been waiting for someone to try and collect this money since 1974?”
“I doubt that, honestly,” Reg spoke up to AJ’s surprise. “There’s been all kinds of banks go out of business over the years with unclaimed money in boxes and accounts from them days; I don’t think they’re bothered about what happened in 1974 at this point. It’s odd that anyone with the key has access to the box though; usually it has to be a named person or persons that have access, show ID and all that.”
“Guess I’ll find out when I walk in,” Hazel offered. “But that’s a risk for you on the charter AJ, you okay with that?”
“Like I said, it’s not the money,” AJ said. “We just need to be able to say we didn’t know what you were up to; if things go wrong, we were simply chartered to take you diving.”
Hazel looked from Reg to AJ. “I’m happy to pay whatever you want to have you guys help me through this, I don’t need four million dollars to fix my life. We can split it however you think.”
Dollars flashed through AJ’s mind before she could even process what Hazel had said. Jeez, she thought, we’re all so programmed to think about money and getting more of it. She wondered if Jackson’s mind worked that way. It seemed in today’s world everyone’s did at a subconscious level. But she doubted his did, and scolded herself for being so shallow.
“Maybe some of the money could be donated to do some good? Keep kids off drugs on the island here, or something like that?” AJ suggested.
Hazel smiled. “I think that would be great.”
“Let’s see if there’s a key first. Then we’ll see if the key is even a box key. Then we can go from there,” Reg said calmly. “One step at a time.”
AJ nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon then? Plan to leave after lunch?”
The other two agreed and AJ felt strangely excited, with a sprinkling of apprehension thrown in.
Chapter 53
July 1974
With the key hidden in the wreck, and Whitey confident there was no local threat landing with the money, he’d called Ainsley and told him to waive the police escort. He stepped outside the front doors of Owens Roberts Airport terminal and looked around for the familiar Ford Capri. Terry Jacks’ ‘Seasons in the Sun’ assaulted his ears before he saw the bright red car and he knew it had to be Ainsley. Sure enough, he appeared from behind a tour bus and steered to the kerb with his huge smile greeting Whitey out the window.
“Welcome home, man,” he said as he jumped from the car and hugged Whitey, pinning his arms to his sides as he still held a case in each hand.
“Good to see you Ainsley,” Whitey said honestly. It indeed warmed him to see his effervescent friend and to feel the hot sun tempered by the island breeze once again.
Whitey manoeuvred the cases into the tiny back seat of the Capri and sat in the burning hot, leather passenger seat. First thing he did was hit eject on Mr Jacks, to Ainsley’s dismay – which turned to a smile when Whitey produced a new cassette tape from his pocket.
“Here you go mate, brand new album from Tower of Power,” Whitey announced, and slid the tape into the deck, “This’ll get your funk on, my musically misguided friend.”
The horns kicked in for ‘Oakland Stroke’ and Ainsley looked over at Whitey with wide eyes.
“You don’t like ‘Seasons in the Sun’? It’s a huge hit according to Radio Cayman, I thought everyone liked it.”
Whitey shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously? You do know you’re a black man, right?”
Ainsley laughed and put the Capri in gear. “I’m a culturally international man of diverse taste and experience, my friend,” he said and held his hand out. “Give me some skin, man.”
Whitey obliged with a hand slap and they both laughed. “Royal Palms you bloody fool, let’s get these cases tucked away before I lose my mind worrying about ’em.”
Whitey checked in at the front desk of the Royal Palms and asked if he had any messages while the bell boy retrieved his stored suitcase. The young Caymanian lady checked and told him there was nothing waiting for him currently. Whitey had her double-check, but she assured him there’d been no calls for him all day. Ainsley helped Whitey carry everything to his room where Whitey wasted no time changing out of his jeans and putting on some swim shorts and a tee shirt. It was late afternoon and too late to dive, so they walked down to the pool and found a shady table where they could talk while Whitey soaked up the ocean view. They ordered drinks from the waitress and settled into their chairs. He couldn’t believe Gabriel still hadn’t contacted him; it was starting to feel like something might be really wrong. Surely Marisol would have said if Gabriel was in trouble or he’d gone up the valley for an extended trip. It would cost a fortune to call international from the hotel, but Peru was in the same time zone as Cayman, so he decided he’d try calling again when he went back up to the room. He attempted to clear his mind and think about seeing Isabella tonight. It took visions of her in his mind, and two robust sips of his rum over ice, for Whitey to finally feel relaxed for the first time in weeks.
“So, the good news is, I brought more cash this trip, so you get your fee, mate,” Whitey started. “Bad news is, that’s the last lot I’m bringing down.”
Ainsley’s smile broadened and then turned to a frown. “What’s the problem man, did I screw something up?”
Whitey held a hand up. “No, no, no, it’s all on me, I’m getting out of this gig mate, but it’s going to take some doing. The Caveros aren’t the sort to let you just walk away, know what I mean.”
Ainsley nodded knowingly but Whitey knew he really had no idea how these men operated.
“Tomorrow we need to go out to the wreck, and I’ll get the key so we can put this cash in the bank. When I head back in a few days I’ll take the key and leave it in my flat in Miami.” Whitey checked around to be sure no one was within earshot. “Then I’m going to disappear.”
Ainsley looked at him, surprised and a little confused. “Disappear? Like I won’t see you again?”
“You will, but the Peruvians, the damn Columbians and the crazy Cubans won’t. I’m gonna stage a disappearance in Miami and then sneak back here on a boat so I can’t be traced. Lay low on the island till the dust settles, then I plan to stay here, make a proper go of it on Cayman.”
Ainsley’s expression slowly turned back to his usual smile. “You gonna move here? To live?”
“Yeah, but I gotta give these guys the slip first,” Whitey emphasised.
“What about all that money?” Ainsley asked, his eyes getting wider, and Whitey pictured a cartoon character with dollar signs in his eyes.
“That’s why I’ll plant the key in my flat; they’ll go looking for me there and find the key so they can get their money. Believe me, I don’t want the Caveros hunting me thinking I’ve nicked their cash – they’ll never stop until they find me.” The thought of it ruined Whitey’s freshly found relaxation and he felt his shoulders tighten. “They can have their damn money; I just want clear of them.” Ainsley seemed unsettled and Whitey could tell he still had questions. “What? You’ve got ants in your pants over there, ask it already.”
Ainsley fidgeted some more before stumbling out with it. “All of it? You sure you need to give them all of it?”
Whitey slid his Ambermatic Aviators down his nose and peered over them at Ainsley. “Yes, I’m completely bloody sure.”
Chapter 54
November 2019
On Sunday morning AJ and Carlos took the Newton out on the north wall with new clients on the boat, the Davis and Freeman families having finished their trips. Both dives went smoothly, and afterwards AJ hustled from the yacht club into town to get four fresh Nitrox tanks with the same custom 29% oxygen fills they had used before. She picked Hazel up from Harbour View on the way out of town and patiently sat in the midday tourist traffic along West Bay Road.
“What do we need to take down with us in the way of tools?” AJ asked, her mind checklisting through the upcoming dive as it had been all morning.
“Reg said he was bringing a wrench for taking filters on and off, right?” Hazel replied. “Hopefully that will undo it. Apart from that, just lights I think.”
AJ nodded and grazed over the edge of her lip with her teeth, the way she did sometimes when she was anxious.
“You hungry?” she asked.
“Starving,” Hazel replied quickly.
AJ indicated right and pulled to the centre lane and waited for a gap in the traffic. A local car coming the opposite way in the line of traffic stopped and waved her across. She drove into the car park of a small strip mall with a toot on the horn to thank the courteous driver. AJ pulled to the far end of the car park and found a spot in front of a shop called ‘Treats’. Five minutes later they pulled back out of the car park onto West Bay Road with steaming hot coffees and a scone each in a bag. Another car halted to let them exit and turn right and AJ honked a thank you.
“Polite around here aren’t they?” Hazel commented, seemingly surprised.
“Helps if you have local plates,” AJ replied.
“Huh? What do you mean?” Hazel asked as she tried carefully sipping her coffee.
AJ pointed to the car in front. “See that licence plate is yellow?” Then she pointed to a car coming the opposite way. “And that one is white?”
“Okay, I see now.” Hazel looked at the assortment of cars around them, picking out the two different coloured plates.
“White is a hire car, yellow is a resident’s car,” AJ explained, “so the locals know if it’s a white licence plate it’s almost certainly a tourist, who’ll probably be confused about which side of the road to drive on, and won’t know the rules and courtesies. Yellow plat
e is a local and everyone’s happy to let you merge, will stop and let you pull out – you know, the lost art of being polite when driving.”
Hazel laughed. “So true; whenever I had to go to Paris, I felt like I was in a race where they all bash into each other.”
“Try driving in Florida,” AJ added. “Indicating is a signal for the other cars to speed up to prevent you merging or turning.”
It felt good to laugh and feel relaxed around Hazel, something AJ had enjoyed so much before Friday night. She wasn’t ready to let her guard down, but sensing some of the tension evaporate was a relief. She knew only she could control that; she was the one with an axe to grind, but she was starting to see a way they might get back to how they were. Time was a catalyst.
They finished their snack as AJ parked the van by Reg’s West Bay dock and saw the big man had already brought AJ’s RIB boat over from its mooring. They carried two tanks each down to the boat and handed them aboard to Reg, who stowed them in the racks.
“Afternoon ladies,” he greeted them, and AJ handed him a coffee. “Thanks girl. We ready to shove off?”
“I think so,” AJ replied, looking around the boat. “Did you bring the wrench for the filter?”
Reg held up an oil filter strap wrench. “Got it.”
AJ fired up the outboards and Hazel freed the lines to the dock before stepping aboard as they idled away from the jetty. Conditions appeared to be on their side again. The water was flat calm, a gentle breeze brushed their faces, and a few clouds had begun forming to take away some of the sun’s intensity. Once clear of the shallows, where the boats were moored and snorkellers might be bobbing unseen on the surface, AJ opened up the throttles and the boat leapt up on plane and skimmed across the Caribbean Sea.
AJ brought the saved locations up on her GPS screen and after a few minutes slowed as she approached the two dots.
Wreck of the Raptor Page 18