Bluewater Voodoo: Mystery and Adventure in the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 3) Page 8

  "Just the two, I think."

  "Thieves?"

  Dani shrugged. "Not likely. They were speaking Spanish, and this guy’s got clean, expensive clothes in his backpack. Designer jeans, polo shirt. No i.d., and a silenced pistol."

  "When do you think the police will get here?"

  "Never, I hope."

  "Who did you call?"

  "Phillip."

  "Is he coming? Why not the police?"

  "Calm down, Liz. It’s all under control. Phillip will send someone soon. The police would just complicate matters. It wouldn’t do any good, and we’d spend the rest of the night answering the same questions over and over."

  "But what about this guy? What happens to him?"

  "He won’t bother anybody else. Don’t worry."

  Their conversation was interrupted by the soft sound of a powerful, well-muffled boat drawing alongside. Two men came aboard. One of them nodded at Dani, and they bent to lift the bound man between them. He screamed in pain, and they dropped him, stepping back. The smaller of the two swept his hand past his waist, ending the movement as a blackjack smacked the side of the bound man’s head. The larger one prodded the man with his foot, and when there was no response, they lifted him again and carried him up the companionway ladder, disappearing into the night.

  Liz gave an involuntary shudder. "Who were they?"

  Dani shrugged. "Not the police," she said, picking up her hammer and crawling back under the sink to finish her job. "You remember the stealth boat?"

  "The one you and Phillip used when you were looking for me?"

  "Yes. That one."

  "What about it?"

  "Those guys work for the man who owns it."

  "What will they do to him?"

  "We don’t need to know. He never existed."

  "But who was he? What did they want?"

  "That, we will find out. But probably not until sometime in the morning."

  ****

  Martinez was irate. The marine was stretched out on his bed, moaning with the pain from his injuries. Martinez had ripped up a sheet to bandage the gaping slash across the left side of the man’s rib cage. It was a long cut, painful but not serious. He had splinted the man’s upper arm using several tourist magazines, which he bound in place with more strips torn from the sheet. The commander in St. Lucia had dispatched a medic and a few more men to retrieve his wounded soldier and the boat the two men had used. Martinez figured they would be arriving in the next half-hour. Before they arrived, he needed information from this moron.

  "You and your sergeant, the big, tough special ops marines. Hah! I send you to raid a yacht with three girls aboard, and only one of you comes back. How is this? What about all your ‘extensive hand to hand combat skill, honed over years of practice,’ culo?"

  "She hit me with a hammer! We are not trained to fight girls with a hammer," the boy whined.

  "She hit me with a hammer," Martinez mimicked, waving an exaggeratedly limp wrist. "And what about your big, strong sergeant? She hit him with a frying pan? A rolling pin? Is he alive, even?" He shook his head in disgust.

  "I don’t know, señor. He started to go below deck, and then he screamed and fell down, all at once, and this blond devil, she was all over me, moving faster than a human could move. Then I am swimming, until I come to the beach where you found me."

  ****

  "Thieves?" the professor asked. "What else could they have been?"

  Liz threw a look of caution Dani’s way, giving her head a barely perceptible shake. "Indeed," she said.

  "I was right here at the table, working on my laptop. I heard a bloodcurdling scream and a crash. By the time I got to the back, I just saw Dani tying that man up. Then I saw all the blood," Lilly said, still sounding shaken.

  "Blood?" the professor asked.

  "He broke his leg when he slipped on the ladder. Compound fracture, too. Lots of blood," Dani contributed.

  "And what did the police have to say about this sneak-thief?" the professor asked.

  "Not much," Dani said. "At least, not to us. Thievery from yachts isn’t unusual, but it mostly happens when nobody’s aboard. It’s much less common in the French islands, though."

  She and Liz had conferred briefly while Lilly was incapacitated, before the professor had called them to pick him up. Dani had told Liz about the tattoos, and about her suspicions that the man was or had been in the Venezuelan Navy. They were both a bit concerned that this could be related to their previous encounters with Venezuelan drug smugglers over the past year, and they didn’t want to alarm their guests unnecessarily. Fortunately, Lilly had been dozing from the large shot of cognac Liz had given her. When Liz had roused her to tell her they were going to pick up the professor, she asked about the police. Liz just said, "You missed it. Hauled him away. No big deal."

  "Well, I guess I missed the excitement while I was off looking for zombies," the professor said, with a rueful grin.

  "Yes," Lilly said, becoming more animated. "Tell us about your meeting with the houngan. Did you see the zombie?"

  "No, but I’m not surprised at that. The houngan clearly wanted to size me up before he admitted that there even was a zombie. We spent several hours talking about his training, and Voodoo in general. He asked me a lot of questions about my studies. I haven’t felt so wrung out since I had to defend my Ph.D. dissertation. He’s an impressive man. The one thing that came clear to me is that he is committed to the well-being of his people. That was a recurring theme in our discussion. He kept probing as to what I could contribute to improving their lot."

  "So did you broach the topic of RDF’s show?" Lilly asked.

  "Absolutely not! At this stage, if he even had an inkling about that, he’d shut me down. We spent the evening getting acquainted; shared a few glasses of rum, lots of reminiscing on both sides. Lots of questions from him about how a middle-class American white guy came to be interested in Voodoo. He told me a lot about growing up in Haiti, and how integral Voodoo is to the culture. I think we have a good rapport, but it’s going to take some time before we get to the zombie thing. He needs to learn to trust me."

  Liz, reading the skepticism on Dani’s face, kicked her under the table and shook her head.

  "You think RDF will be willing to wait for that? Or is he going to want us to move on to somewhere else?" Lilly asked.

  "Well, I think I need to persuade him to wait. I’ve talked to a lot of houngans and mambos over the years. This guy is the first one who’s convinced me that he really was trained as a bokor. I’ve run across a lot of people who claimed they were practitioners of Petro, but this guy…" he paused, frowning, shaking his head, a faraway look in his eyes. "You could see the pain, and doubt, and maybe a bit of shame in his eyes when he talked about it. If he hasn’t done the black magic, he’s at least seen it, lived around it. But I think he’s the genuine article."

  "What’s our next step, then?" Lilly asked.

  "We left it that we would take a day and think this over. He will see me again the day after tomorrow, and he would like to meet you, as well, Lilly."

  "Well, that does sound promising," Lilly said.

  "Speaking of tomorrow, it already is," Dani said. "What with repelling boarders and fixing the plumbing, I’m beat. See you all in the morning." She stood and stretched, walking toward the forward cabin she shared with Liz when guests were aboard.

  "Me, too," Liz said. "Can I get you two a nightcap?"

  "No, Liz, go to bed. I know where everything is, if we want anything," Lilly said, making shooing motions with her hands.

  Chapter 12

  "Clarence’s men couldn’t get a lot out of that guy," Phillip reported to Dani and Liz. They were sitting on his veranda, drinking café au lait and looking out over the anchorage off Ste. Anne. Lilly and the professor were on an island tour, out of the way for the better part of the day.

  "Tough nut?" Dani asked.

  "Nobody’s that tough. He told them everything he knew. He just
didn’t know much," Phillip said, reaching for his coffee.

  Liz was frowning as she watched Vengeance swinging to her anchor in the distance, clearly trying not to imagine what had happened to their uninvited visitor.

  "Was he Venezuelan navy?" Dani asked.

  "Yeah. Actually, he was a marine, one of their elite, special ops guys. A sergeant. He was stationed in St. Lucia. They’ve got a good-sized contingent there. Working on a lot of goodwill projects, fixing up schools, playgrounds, that kind of thing. He and the other guy were loaned out for this job. They were briefed last night by a guy named Martinez, who’s some kind of spook. They were told that he works out of Miami, and he’s pretty high up in the food chain. Maybe even reports to Chavez. He told these guys to kidnap the professor and bring him ashore. Then they were going to help Martinez interrogate him."

  "So you don’t think this had anything to do with our problem from a few months ago, then?"

  "Sounds like it didn’t, but why would they want to interrogate the professor? Any indication that he might be something other than what he appears to be?"

  "I don’t think so. Do you, Liz? You’ve talked to him and Lilly more than I have."

  Liz shook her head, turning back to face the table. She reached for her coffee and said, "No, their story holds together pretty well. I think he’s a bit of a con artist. He’s working this television producer for all he can get, but I don’t think there are any mysterious depths to him. He’s just as shallow as he appears to be."

  "Yeah, that’s where I come out, too," Dani said.

  "So why the hell would a Venezuelan spy want to interrogate an anthropology professor who’s studying Voodoo and zombies?" Phillip asked.

  "Don’t know," Dani said, "but I think we need to come clean with him and Lilly. People like that don’t just go away; they’re likely to try again. Maybe he can figure out who’s after him."

  "Yeah, I think you’re right," Phillip said.

  "Shouldn’t we end this charter?" Liz asked. "I don’t think we need this kind of trouble."

  "Why, Liz?" Dani asked.

  "What if they want to get even with you?" Liz asked.

  "Oh, I don’t think that’s likely, Liz," Phillip said. "These guys are professionals, not like that bunch of drug dealers you guys tangled with a few months ago. If you’re worried about some kind of vendetta because Dani wiped the floor with a special ops sergeant, you can forget it. They’ll want that forgotten as soon as possible, for all kinds of reasons. They may come for the professor again, though. They’ll probably stay far away from Vengeance while they do it, because they don’t like to attract attention, and they probably assume that the police are involved after last night. I don’t think you should worry."

  "Yeah. I agree with that. We do need to fill in Lilly and the professor, though," Dani said.

  "We should hit the road if we’re meeting Sandrine for lunch," Phillip said, reaching for their empty cups as he stood up.

  ****

  The houngan was feeling less troubled this morning. Yesterday had been busy and stressful for him, with the anxiety of going to meet the mambo in the middle of the day and then the rush to get back to the bateye and prepare himself to meet the white man. His meeting with the mambo had gone better than he had hoped. The elderly woman had listened to him courteously without any evidence of judging him. To his surprise, she hadn’t been put off by the notion that he had been a bokor in his youth, merely observing that things had been much different in those days, especially in Haiti.

  She had made no comment on his having administered the potion to the crazy man, nodding her head and grunting softly, encouraging him to tell her everything. Once he had unburdened himself, they had prayed together and then discussed what could be done. They had decided that she would arrange for another houngan to come to the bateye this evening, late.

  This man, Richard DeMille, was a Haitian by birth, but a legal resident of Martinique, and he would take care of the houngan’s people for as long as necessary. Since he was a Haitian, the houngan’s people would accept this new priest into their community with no qualms. The houngan would then disappear with his creature, eventually turning the zombie over to some Haitian fishermen who made extra money by bringing people to Martinique. The mambo knew these men, and she assured him that they were kind men, poor and hardworking, and that they would care for the zombie and keep him on the boat, where he could be useful. One of the men was, like the houngan himself, a former bokor. He would know how to care for the creature.

  After a few weeks, the houngan could return to his bateye and his people. By then, the interest of the foreigners, Martinez and the white man, would have waned, they reasoned. The houngan was comfortable with this plan. He had told Claude-Michel that it would be necessary for him to stall Martinez until tomorrow night, and that he would then see the professor the night after that. He felt some remorse at lying to Claude-Michel, but he felt no regret at deceiving Martinez. He was saddened at the prospect that he would not see the white man, the professor, again. He had sensed honest interest and respect in the man’s demeanor, and he had hoped that the professor could somehow help to make things better for the people. He began to gather the few things that he would take with him into a rough cloth bag. He would travel light. Once he had handed off the zombie, he would need little to maintain himself.

  ****

  Martinez had moved to another hotel after last night’s debacle. He was confident that the captured sergeant wouldn’t talk, but he was a careful man. He sat at the small table in his new room, felt-tipped pen in hand. He doodled furiously on the pad in front of him as he revised his plans. He was still annoyed at first that the bartender had been unable to secure an appointment with the houngan for this evening. The man had insisted that Martinez must wait one more day. Martinez had immediately wondered if the houngan was planning to meet with the professor again tonight.

  He smiled briefly at the recollection of his good fortune yesterday afternoon. As he had been trying to suppress his annoyance over the scheduling problem, one of the hotel maids had apologetically interrupted his conversation with the bartender, claiming some urgent matter. She and the bartender had moved a few steps away, carrying on a hurried conversation in softly spoken Creole, glancing over at him frequently, not realizing that Martinez understood the patois. He had learned from the brief exchange not only that the professor must be rescheduled until tomorrow night, but also that the girl was the houngan’s niece. Now he had the leverage he would need to ensure the houngan’s compliance.

  Martinez had exchanged harsh words with the commander of the military detachment in St. Lucia, finally threatening to have him removed from his command if he didn’t comply with Martinez’s wishes. The man knew that Martinez could make that happen. He also knew that it could well terminate more than just his career, so he had acquiesced to Martinez’s demand that he personally lead 10 of his best men in a covert landing on the beach in Martinique this evening. In grudging response to Martinez’s questions, he acknowledged that most of his men were fluent in Creole, and that several were especially well-versed in the Haitian dialect. He agreed to include those men in his landing party. Martinez had refused to discuss his plans beyond that, telling the man that he, Martinez, would assume command once Captain Sanchez and his men were ashore.

  Martinez had then spent a frustrating hour dealing with the military attaché in the embassy in St. Lucia, arranging to have one of their nondescript ‘freighters’ standing by offshore in the St. Lucia Channel tonight. They maintained a small fleet of the rusty little ships for just such tasks as this, although Martinez knew that the corrupt officials often used the ships for their own profit. Based on the initial reluctance of the attaché to commit, Martinez was sure he was interfering with someone else’s plans to get rich.

  He turned to a fresh sheet of paper and went through his plan again, this time listing each milestone and estimating the time it would take to reach it. His big unknown was still
finding the village, but he reasoned that it had to be close to the hotel. They would force the bartender to lead them there, leaving behind a man to tend the bar in his absence. He would also pick the two brightest men from the detachment to stay behind in the village. He smiled as he thought about how much that would irritate Sanchez.

  Chapter 13

  Claude-Michel polished the glasses, getting ready for the happy hour crowd. He worked more diligently than usual, trying to distract himself from the uneasy feeling he had gotten from his encounter with Martinez. Something about the man frightened Claude-Michel, even as he thought of the 40 euros Martinez had paid him yesterday. That reminded him of the 50 euros he had gotten from the professor yesterday, which in turn reminded him that the professor was expecting a meeting with the houngan tonight. Claude-Michel was just thinking that they hadn’t confirmed any arrangements when he looked up and saw the professor and his lady coming into the bar.

  "Bonjour, Professor, Madame," he greeted them from across the room, stepping out from behind the bar as they chose a table. "May I get you something to drink?" He watched their body language as they settled themselves, wondering about their relationship. He could read the interplay of their glances at each other, and he wasn’t surprised when the woman ordered.

  "Some cold orange juice, please," she said.

  "I’ll have…" the man began.

  "Orange juice for him, as well," she said, interrupting him.

  Claude-Michel nodded, keeping his smile to himself as he turned to go back to the bar, wondering what the man had done wrong.

  "You don’t need a Ti punch, Chuck. You’re already complaining about being tired, and we’ve got a late evening ahead of us."

  "Okay, Lilly, damn it," he said. "I’ll buy you the earrings!"

  She shook her head. "That’s not the point."

  They both clenched their teeth as Claude-Michel returned with the orange juice.

  "Same time this evening?" the professor asked, looking at Claude-Michel. "You know the lady is coming, tonight, right?"