Bluewater Vengeance: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 2) Read online

  "Ready about," Liz called, as they came within a few yards of the anchored boat close off her bow.

  "Ready," Dani answered, the working jib sheet in her left hand as her right hand felt for the lazy sheet.

  "Helm's alee," Liz called, shifting to the other side of the cockpit and changing hands on the tiller and the mainsheet.

  Dani cast off the sheet in her left hand and hauled in the one in her right hand as Kayak Spirit's bow passed through the eye of the wind. The sails fluttered for only a second or two as Liz found her new course, still playing the mainsheet and the tiller in the light breeze.

  "On course," she called.

  "Trimming for the new course," Dani answered as she gave the new working jib sheet a final tweak.

  They repeated this flawless, ancient dance about 10 times in the 10 minutes it took them to get clear of the harbor mouth. Once they were in the open water outside the harbor entrance, the breeze was a steady 20 knots from the east. By now able to anticipate each other's moves without speaking, they quickly trimmed the sails for a beam reach on the port tack and made the sheets fast. Kayak Spirit was boiling along at a little over 7 knots, lee rail down and spray flying. It was a clear day, and they could just make out Guadeloupe on the horizon to the south. They both settled in the cockpit, Liz sitting to the windward side, steering easily with her bare foot on the tiller. Neither spoke; neither thought words were fitting.

  Dani sat, smiling, thinking that Liz sailed beautifully, instinctively, especially considering that this was a strange boat for her. She really hoped that Liz could cook as well as she could sail.

  Chapter 8

  They had just finished a seemingly endless meal of island delicacies washed down with rum punch. Ozzie and Big Jim were now relaxing in the shade on the wide, old-fashioned porch that completely encircled the 18th century plantation house. Ozzie's family had occupied the house since the first Johnston had built it on the hill overlooking his cane fields back in the early colonial days. Ozzie still grew some sugarcane, but it was primarily to provide cover for his marijuana crop, which thrived in the lush tropical environment.

  They were smoking cigars and sipping glasses of 'shrub,' a sweet concoction of rum aged with spices and pieces of fruit. Ozzie was a connoisseur of the drink, and proudly served his own privately distilled and aged version. Their conversation was well lubricated by the various alcoholic beverages they had consumed steadily for the last several hours, and they were discussing Big Jim's dilemma.

  Big Jim trusted Ozzie as much as he trusted anyone; he trusted other people the same way he trusted poisonous snakes. He knew that he could depend on them to be true to their nature, and in his world, there were no benign creatures. Accordingly, he had told Ozzie only as much as necessary to secure his commitment.

  "So, my friend, of course I can bring some talent to bear on this problem," Ozzie said. "I'll put my best people to work on it this afternoon. If, as you suspect, the girl was from a wealthy family, surely they must have been looking for her before they connected her to your unfortunate associate, Julio."

  Big Jim nodded drowsily, slouched in a well-padded rocking chair.

  "Since Julio found her in the nearby waters, it's likely that she went overboard somewhere in the vicinity. Otherwise, how could she have survived for such a protracted period?"

  Big Jim nodded again, thinking that Ozzie could use a lot of words to say something that was already clear to anyone with common sense.

  "Therefore, my friend, someone must have been in touch with our friends in the police. Where else would any foreigner start?" Not waiting for Big Jim's response, he went on. "So, I'll have my people check our police sources to find out if any missing persons were reported in the last few weeks. I'll also have my associate in Grenada see what he can learn about Julio's demise."

  Big Jim roused in the rocking chair. Ozzie noticed his shift in position, and looked at him, waiting.

  "That's what I was hoping you could do, Ozzie. While your man in Grenada is asking about Julio's demise, see if the cops know anything about how he died, too. I rather think that there may have been foul play evolved." Big Jim was proud of himself. He'd been sitting there, pretending to be drowsy, working away to come up with the most complicated way he could find to make a simple suggestion. Two could play that game.

  "Of course, Big Jim. I should have thought of that myself, to find out what the police know about how Julio died. We make a good team, as the Americans always say."

  "Once we find out about his demise, and how he died, I'll need some of your local muscle. My guys are all Cubans -- outsiders, you know, so I don't want to use them. Too easy for somebody to notice."

  "Yes, of course," Ozzie said, thinking that the first to notice would be El Grupo. It was clear to him that this oaf was off on a frolic of his own, without his employers' knowledge. That was fine with Ozzie. He didn't want trouble with El Grupo, and he would just play along with Rodriguez; let the fool think that Ozzie didn't know he was just a hired hand for the Venezuelan mob. When the time came, he could leverage that to squeeze a larger share of the ransom from Rodriguez. All he would have to do is hint that he might go over Big Jim's head and call Juan Camacho. He suppressed a chuckle as he imagined Rodriguez's reaction when he discovered how much Ozzie really knew about him and his secret transfer point on Baliceaux.

  ****

  "It looks almost exactly like a baguette," Liz said as she struggled to break the slice of bread in two before spreading it with soft goat cheese.

  Dani smiled and nodded. Kayak Spirit was hove to, just north of the halfway point between Antigua and Guadeloupe. They still had a steady 20-knot breeze from the east, and there were regular whitecaps on the long, steady swells that lifted the heavy boat every 10 seconds or so. With the mainsail close-hauled on the starboard tack and the jib back-winded, the two sails were working against each other, holding the boat steady in the rolling seas and allowing it to creep forward at a barely noticeable pace. Dani and Liz were relaxing over lunch, and it was a typically clear winter day in the Caribbean.

  "Yes," Dani said after a moment. "The cheese and the sausage, even the olives, they import from France. There's enough demand from the high-end charter yachts, so that grocery store at Jolly Harbour keeps a good stock of gourmet foods. They bake the bread on the premises, but it's like a British imitation of a baguette. It looks beautiful and enticing, but the weight gives it away. The food in the U.K. has improved a great deal since '93, but traditional British cooking still survives out here in the commonwealth countries. The good thing is, you can always use those imitation baguettes to stun a big fish, or for cricket bats. They even sell them standing on end, unwrapped, in a basket, just like at home. The giveaway is the sign, though. It says 'Baguette,' and then underneath, in parentheses, 'French Bread.'"

  Liz smiled. "This wine is quite nice. French, I see. Did you find it there, too?"

  "No, I found it in the bilge. I'm sure Phillip bought it in Martinique."

  The two women, both hungry from the morning's exertion, fell silent as they savored the delicacies that Dani had spread out on the small, folding table in the cockpit. Sated, they stretched out on the two long seats at each side of the cockpit, protected from the wind and basking in the warm winter sun.

  As one large wave rolled the boat, the sun came from behind the mainsail and struck Dani's eyelids. She blinked and glanced over at Liz, noticing the slack jaw and the even rise and fall of her chest. She shook her head and sat up, scanning the horizon. There wasn't another vessel in sight, and they still looked to be equidistant from Guadeloupe and Antigua. She looked at her watch. It was only one o'clock. She didn't think that she had fallen asleep, but she wasn't sure. If she had, it was only for a few minutes. She reached over and put a hand lightly on Liz's shoulder.

  Liz jerked awake, sitting up immediately. "Sorry, Dani. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. You know, it's magical out here. I envy you, living like this all the time."

 
; "Well, it's nice, but it's not like this all the time, you know. Keeping a boat up, sailing it, catering to paying guests; it's all a lot like work, after the novelty wears off. My family owned a luxury charter yacht in the Mediterranean when I was a child. I started working my summers as deck crew when I was in my teens."

  "That must have been fun -- to work with your family, I mean."

  "I was the only family member out of a crew of about a dozen, and only the captain knew that my family owned the yacht. I was the lowest of the low; I got all the dirty jobs. It was my father's way of helping me to grow up and learn to make my own way. Sometimes the guests can be real jerks; believe me."

  "I suppose, but even if it's work, it must be nice to work in paradise."

  "It's not bad, Liz. That's why I do it. It keeps me here, out on the blue water."

  "Yes. I suppose we have to go back, huh?"

  "Unless we want to get in after dark," Dani said.

  Liz nodded. As Dani gathered up the remains of their lunch, Liz cast off the windward jib sheet and trimmed the leeward one as the sail blew across the foredeck. She eased the mainsheet and put a hand on the tiller as the boat accelerated, beam reaching toward Antigua on the starboard tack.

  "Would you like to go out to dinner, Dani?" she asked, as Dani settled back on the leeward side of the cockpit.

  "Well, we could, or there's plenty of food in the refrigerator, if you just want to forage. I've been eating out pretty steadily, but I'm easy. Whatever you'd like is fine."

  "Do you like to cook?" Liz asked.

  "I like to eat. Cooking is a necessary evil."

  Liz laughed. "Well, I love to cook, and I haven't gotten to, since I've been staying at Suzanne's. When we get the boat squared away, I'll just see what I can find aboard. I'll bet I can come up with something. We'll be too tired to enjoy a meal out, anyway."

  "Fine with me," Dani said, a smile on her face as she tweaked the jib sheet.

  ****

  Five hours later, Kayak Spirit was back in her space at the marina. Dani stowed the sails and hosed off the salt spray while Liz rummaged in the galley, working to assemble a meal. By the time Dani was finished, she was salivating from the tantalizing aromas drifting up the companionway.

  "Smells wonderful," she said, as she went below. "What are we having?"

  "Pasta putanesca," Liz said, "with a tossed salad, walnut and balsamic vinegar dressing, and some of this really ripe Stilton crumbled in it."

  "Can't wait until it's ready. I'll open some of Phillip's French bilge wine. Red okay?"

  "Great. Let's have a glass while this sauce simmers. The longer we can wait, the better it'll be."

  "Fine," Dani said, as she drew the cork and put the bottle on the table in the main saloon. She sat down and watched as Liz carefully adjusted the flame under the pot of pasta sauce.

  Once she was satisfied with the temperature, she took two wineglasses from a locker and sat down across the table from Dani. Liz poured them each a glass. Lifting hers, she said, "To new friends and a wonderful sail!"

  Clicking the glasses, they each took a sip of wine.

  "Liz, I have a business proposition to discuss with you."

  "Okay," Liz said, clearly puzzled at the shift in direction. She listened attentively as Dani outlined her plan to buy Best of Times.

  "Sounds like a great opportunity," Liz said, when Dani had finished.

  "I think so. I'm going to make an offer on her tomorrow. Liz, I'm looking for a partner in the business, if you're interested."

  Jumping to her feet and dashing to the stove just in time to keep the sauce from boiling over, Liz said, "Absolutely. Count me in." She ladled the sauce over the steaming pasta, tossed it thoroughly, and filled two heaping bowls.

  They spent the rest of the evening discussing their plans.

  Chapter 9

  "Well, Ms. Berger, I must say I'm surprised," the broker said, as he handed Dani a fax from Mrs. Simonson. "I really didn't expect that she would accept an offer that low on Best of Times. You got yourself quite a bargain."

  "Yes, I agree," Dani said, watching the man's facial muscles relax. She chuckled to herself. He'd obviously been expecting an abrasive response. She had him trained; he wouldn't underestimate her again. "I'll call the surveyor this morning, and see how quickly she can get over here. I'll want to haul the boat for the survey, and assuming the surveyor doesn't find anything I missed, I'll want a sea trial as soon as we get her back in the water."

  "That won't be a problem, Ms. Berger. Let me know about the surveyor and I'll book the haulout here at the yard, if that suits you."

  "That would be helpful. I'll give you a call as soon as I have an appointment," Dani said, smiling as she left his office.

  She restrained herself from skipping with excitement as she covered the short distance to Suzanne's to give Liz the news. She found the gallery crowded with cruise ship passengers, all vying for attention. She contained herself with difficulty, nodding her head and cracking a big smile when she caught Liz's eye. Liz smiled back, but she was clearly absorbed in whatever she was discussing with her customer. After 10 interminable minutes, the last customer signed her credit card slip and walked out the door.

  Checking to make sure she was alone with Liz and Suzanne, Dani bounced on her toes and shrieked, "I got it, Liz!"

  Liz gave her a hug and Suzanne smiled.

  "Liz told me this morning, Dani. Congratulations!"

  "Thanks, Suzanne," Dani said.

  "When do we start, Captain?" Liz asked, a wide smile on her own face.

  "I'm about to call the surveyor. Assuming her schedule is still clear and we can get the yard to haul Best of Times, we'll do the survey this afternoon. If she gets a clean bill of health, we'll do the sea trial tomorrow, and I'll wire the balance to my lawyer. It'll take a few days to get the paperwork all done, and then we can get to work, but I wanted to tell you first, partner. We're in business."

  "Can I be there for the survey?" Liz asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Only if you can spare me, of course." She turned to look hopefully at Suzanne.

  "Yes. You should be there, Liz. I think we've had our crowd for the day, anyway, and there's no ship scheduled for tomorrow."

  "Sure, Liz. You need to be there. You need to check out that gourmet galley -- it's all yours, now. The poor broker's going to cry if somebody doesn't show some appreciation for the china, and I'm counting on you for the sea trial. We have to make sure she sails to suit both of us."

  ****

  José Valdez was Juan Camacho's troubleshooter, and his nephew as well. He was a chameleon by nature, and it made him well suited for his work. He was deceptively slight of stature, and he had a mild squint, both of which he used to his advantage. Most people who didn't know him thought he was a bit simple, and he feigned partial deafness to further the illusion that he was of little consequence.

  Hector Blanco and Carlos Jones were the other two members of the team that Camacho had dispatched to Baliceaux to sort out Big Jim's mess. In public, Hector assumed the role of boss, and Carlos was the muscle. They appeared to treat José as a sort of pet, laughing at his ineptitude and using him as an errand boy. Among themselves, though, Carlos and Hector treated José with wary respect, bordering on fear. They had seen his intellect at work, and they knew at first hand his capacity for violent cruelty when he was crossed.

  Hector was the one that Big Jim saw as the leader, and it was Hector who had asked him the most questions about what had happened, ostensibly to be better prepared for any future incursions. Camacho's initial supposition was that whoever had killed the guards at Baliceaux intended to come back and take the cocaine, now that the defenses were neutralized. José was beginning to doubt that theory.

  First, the nature of the raid itself wasn't consistent with the behavior of a rival drug dealer. As best they could reconstruct what happened, two men had staged a commando raid, executed with military precision. They had killed the three guards and Rosa Sanc
hez, and the guards were no strangers to violence. Rosa was a hardened combat veteran, having participated in several of Castro's little foreign ventures. Further, they had accomplished their mission, whatever it was, in utter silence, according to what the two survivors had told Rodriguez. José found it telling that none of the six people guarding Baliceaux had even managed to fire a shot.

  Second, if the attack had been the first phase of a major drug heist, there would have been some follow-up by now, by José's reckoning. He had paid close attention to Rodriguez's behavior while Hector was asking his questions. The man was a bundle of nerves; he didn't want to talk about what might have prompted the raid, protesting his puzzlement a little too vigorously. José was sure he knew more than he had told them.

  There was also the matter of the cells. Based on José's surreptitious examination, the one adjoining the nurses' quarters had been occupied more recently than the others. The bed linens were soiled, and there were used dressings in the waste container. There were also empty IV bags in the waste. The other cells had been pristine, almost sterile. He thought that there had been a wounded person in that one cell recently, but Big Jim had said that no one had been in the cells since their last shipment of women passed through over a month ago.

  Finally, there was the damage to the door of that cell. The lock had been torn out of the frame, and was still hanging on the door. It was clear to José that someone, someone with a bleeding wound, had been held captive in that cell. He strongly suspected that Rodriguez had been using the facility for some purpose of his own, and that the attack might not be related to his activities on behalf of El Grupo. If that were the case, then they had no worries about a rival organization trying to take over their business, but it also meant that Rodriguez could no longer be trusted.