Running Under Sail Page 9

  "Watch the bow, down near the water line." A low-pitched growl came from the direction of the superyacht. "That noise is the bow-thruster," Connie said. "See the whirlpool-looking motion at the waterline by the starboard bow?"

  "Yeah. Is that the thruster?"

  "Yes. That's the intake. The water will be boiling out on the other side. See the bow creeping around?"

  "Yeah. Do they have one at the back?"

  "They could, but my bet is that's a twin screw vessel, and they'll use prop walk to bring the stern in. Maybe not; they could ... " Connie stopped as the water behind the portside of the vessel's stern frothed. "Yes. They just cut the rudder hard to the port and gave the offside engine a powerful burst in forward, then took it out of gear. The prop wash hits the side of the rudder and bounces off at a 90-degree angle, and pushes the stern to port. They took it out of gear before they began to move forward. They may do that again; they may even put it in reverse, if they get any forward way on."

  "Wow. That's complicated. How'd you learn all that?"

  "I use the same technique to move the stern of Diamantista II around."

  "Do you have one of those thruster things on the bow?"

  "Yes. His name is Paul. He doesn't respond at the push of a button, like that one, but he's good for other things, too."

  "That's a huge boat," Sadie said. "What does something like that cost?"

  "It's hard to say; I'd guess tens of millions of dollars. Maybe more. The sky's the limit on those things. They've even got a helicopter."

  "That's amazing. I didn't see a name; did you?"

  "Morning Mist," Connie said. "Registered in Bikini."

  Sadie frowned and shook her head.

  "Something wrong?" Connie asked.

  "N-no. Just ... trying to imagine ... "

  "Are you about ready to head back to our little boat?"

  "Yeah, sure. I'm all shopped out. You going to call Paul?"

  "Yes, I will, when we get a little closer."

  "When we cleared out, you told them we'd be leaving in the morning for Deshaies."

  "That's right. Why?"

  "What if we change our minds?"

  "It's not a big deal; did you want to stay another day?"

  Sadie shook her head. "No, I'm feeling overwhelmed; I want to go. I just ... "

  Connie waited a few seconds. "What, Sadie?"

  "Do we have to leave a certain time in the morning?"

  "No. We're clear; we can leave now, if we want."

  "Can we?"

  "You want to leave now?"

  "Is it okay?"

  "Of course; it'll be a beautiful night to sail. Paul and I both like evening sails best. If we get moving, we'll even have a sunset at sea, maybe with the plume from the volcano at Montserrat, if it's doing its thing."

  "That would be great; I really liked it out there the other night."

  "It'll be an even better sail tonight," Connie said.

  "Because of being on a beam reach?" Sadie asked, smiling.

  "Yes. And we'll get into Deshaies by around midnight and get a good night's sleep. When we go ashore to clear in tomorrow morning, I'll buy you fresh croissants. There's a bakery with a wood-fired oven, and they have this distinct, smoky taste like nothing you can imagine."

  "Let's hurry, then," Sadie said, heading for the stairs.

  Chapter 12

  "It's a beautiful night," Paul said.

  "Mm-hmm," Connie said, snuggling against him as he steered with one hand, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Too bad Sadie got sleepy; she's missing the best part of the trip. But it's nice to have you to myself, too."

  "I'm glad for the time alone," Paul said. "I wanted to tell you what Luke found out."

  "I wondered if you'd learned anything new."

  "A little, mostly about Sadie. Her parents were killed in a private plane crash at the beginning of her senior year in college. They were high rollers, property developers from the 'live big, die broke' school."

  "Really? She said she was left with nothing, but I found that hard to believe."

  "From what Luke said, she was telling the truth. They were in over their heads, didn't own anything that wasn't mortgaged way beyond what it was worth. Typical Florida bullshit."

  "How sad for her; she's such a nice young woman."

  "Seems to be. She's got a clean record, but that's amazing in itself."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "The strip club she was working in is a real snake pit; it belongs to a scumbag named Jonas Pratt. He's bad news from way back. I remember him; we thought we had him several times, but witnesses always changed their stories at the last minute, somehow."

  "Sounds charming. How could somebody like that get a liquor license for a strip club?"

  "We're talking about Florida, here. No telling who he had in his pocket."

  "I wouldn't think a guy who owned a strip club would have that kind of influence. Politicians don't come cheap these days from what I've read."

  "Pratt's no shoestring operator. He's been under scrutiny for years. He's got two scuzzy little clubs that he uses for cover, but we were pretty sure he was a major player in the drug world."

  "We? You mean from your days on the task force?"

  "Yes. His bankroll is way too fat for a guy with a couple of strip clubs; he's got a private jet, and he hangs out on a megayacht that winters down here and summers in the Med, although nobody could ever figure out who it belonged to. It's registered in Bikini."

  "Really? Do you know the name?"

  "No, but I'm sure Luke can come up with it. Why?"

  "Just curious. We saw one coming into Falmouth Harbour this afternoon that was close to 300 feet, with a Bikini hailing port. Morning Mist, it was called."

  "I'll ask next time I talk to him. The really interesting thing is that Sadie was Pratt's girlfriend."

  "Was?" Connie raised her eyebrows. "How long ago?"

  Paul shrugged. "As best Luke could find out, she's been living at his place on Brickell Key for several months, at least. Maybe a year. Her music career is new in the last few months; this agent apparently picked her up and made her a star overnight. Luke didn't hear any rumors about a breakup, but then we're not talking about people who get write-ups in the society pages, here."

  "You think she ran out on him?" Connie asked.

  "Or not; maybe he got tired of her. Guys like that cycle through women pretty fast."

  "But it fits, doesn't it?" Connie asked.

  "It could."

  "It would explain all the signs that made you think she's on the run."

  "It could. It might also be that she's just trying to keep her relationship with him quiet. Luke says there's trouble brewing in the underworld — some kind of power struggle. Pratt could have just wanted her out of the way for a while."

  "Either way, it explains her reluctance to talk about the man in her life, I guess," Connie said. "She's bound to be embarrassed by any association with somebody like that, given her background."

  Paul nodded and adjusted his position behind the helm. "I guess."

  "Did you talk to your lawyer?"

  "For a few minutes. There's nothing new there, but he'll hire an investigator." Paul was silent for thirty seconds, and then he cleared his throat. "Luke picked up a little more on the Internal Affairs thing, though."

  "Yes?"

  "Yes. The Feds have some mid-level mobster jammed up, and he's trying to cut a deal to get into witness protection. Nobody knows who he is, but he's hinting at high-level corruption in the MPD. There's supposedly at least one department head who's on the mob payroll and can fix almost anything."

  "Did he point the finger at you? Is that what you're — "

  "No," Paul shook his head. "He claims he doesn't know who it is, but if they give him what he wants, he can tell them which cases were fixed, or at least enough of them to narrow the suspects down. He hinted that more than one involved killings."

  "So that's why they're foc
used on you?"

  "Maybe. Or maybe whoever's on the take is sending them my way to cover his own ass. Like I said, it would be better for the department if they can pin it on a retired cop — easier to hush up."

  "But won't the Feds keep them honest?"

  "Depends. All Feds are not Boy Scouts, either."

  "Are you worried?"

  "Of course I am. I'm clean, but that may not matter."

  "Then what?"

  "Then I'll have to fight dirty, too. I'm not going to take one for the team just so the team can stay crooked."

  "What do you mean 'fight dirty,' Paul?"

  "There are favors I can call in; I just don't like doing business that way. It's like wrestling with a pig."

  "Wrestling with a pig?"

  "Yeah. You both end up rolling in the mud, but the pig enjoys it."

  ****

  Jonas Pratt was sitting in the copilot's seat of the helicopter; Freddy was in the back, on the left-hand side. Pratt had instructed the pilot to fly about a half-mile offshore, and to circle Antigua in a clockwise direction. He was looking along the shore and into the coves, hoping to spot Diamantista II at anchor, while Freddy kept watch out to sea in case the vessel was on the move.

  At 130 knots, it wouldn't take them but a few minutes to make a circuit of the island. Just now, they were flying past the main harbor at St. John's. The pilot swung into the harbor, keeping his distance from the cruise ships. Pratt thought that Sadie might have wanted to hit the duty-free shops near the cruise ship docks, but there was no sign of Diamantista II among the few anchored yachts.

  They moved on up the coast, flying along above the reef that enclosed North Sound. Every so often, they would spot a big ketch under sail and swoop down for a closer look, but so far, they were frustrated in their search.

  "Okay," the pilot's voice crackled in Pratt's headset, "that's it for North Sound. We're over Guiana Island right now. There's a couple of miles of shoal water, and then that peninsula up ahead. It's maybe a mile and a half wide. After that, we'll be over Nonesuch Bay. The bay runs back into the island a couple of miles and it's pretty wide. I'm gonna make a pass along the reef to Green Island, where the main channel into the bay is. Then I'll swing inland and follow the shore of the bay in a big circle. People anchor in some of the coves around the perimeter; you can't see 'em from out here."

  "Good," Jonas said, speaking into the boom microphone attached to his headset. "You get that, Freddy?"

  "Yeah, boss."

  "We're past the peninsula now," the pilot said. "If you look straight below us, you can see the northern channel into the sound; it's pretty tricky, but some of the local boats use it in settled weather. Nobody there, now. That's Green Island just up ahead. The main channel's just on the other side."

  "Lots of boats anchored just inside that reef," Jonas said.

  "Yeah," the pilot agreed. "Holler if you see the one you're lookin' for. We'll get a second pass over that anchorage after I skirt the shoreline, okay?"

  "Yeah," Pratt said. "Most of those boats are bareboat charters anyway; it should be easy to pick out a gold-plater like the one we're lookin' for."

  A few minutes later, the pilot broke the silence again. "Nowhere to anchor along here, but I'm gonna swing inland again and fly up in Willoughby Bay. Sometimes people anchor in there, and it goes pretty far back."

  "Okay," Jonas said.

  "That's it for Willoughby Bay," the pilot said, after a minute or two. "This next one is Mamora Bay. Not much to it; I don't see anybody in there except a couple of local boats on moorings. I'm going up a few hundred feet and swing in over Indian Creek; you'll have to look almost straight down. It's kinda narrow and winding."

  A minute later, the pilot said, "And that's English Harbour, off to our starboard. I can try to get us in close, but you'd probably have better luck taking the tender in there from Falmouth. It's pretty tight quarters for us to fly in."

  "Yep. Take us back to the barn," Jonas said.

  "Roger that, unless you want to head up to Barbuda."

  "Maybe later. I'm betting on English Harbour. We can check the anchorage off Pigeon Beach on our way out of Falmouth, too," Jonas said.

  ****

  "What a gorgeous little village," Sadie said, as she sipped her coffee. She and Connie sat in the cockpit in the gray morning light, waiting for Paul to launch the dinghy. They were planning to go ashore to clear in and have breakfast before hiking along the Deshaies River. "It looks like a picture postcard of a French fishing village."

  "That's not a coincidence," Connie said. "That's exactly what it is — or was. It's gotten kind of touristy, now."

  "How pretty. That's where we're going, right? To clear in, and hike?"

  "Yes. We'll clear customs at an Internet café and have breakfast at the boulangerie across the street before we take off up the river."

  "It's a shame it's such a gray, gloomy day," Sadie said.

  "Don't worry," Connie said. "This is typical of early morning in any of the harbors along the west coasts of the big islands. The mountains block the morning sun, and there's a lot of moisture in the air over the land, so it's foggy inland. It'll be bright and clear in an hour or so."

  "Is there much to see in town?"

  "You'll get a pretty good look by the time we get to the river. We'll walk the length of the main street to get from the dinghy landing to the Internet café. If something catches your eye, we can stop on our way back from our hike. We should do the strenuous stuff before it gets hot ashore. The river will be shady, but it can still be sticky, once the sun gets high. There's a breeze off the harbor that will keep the town cool, though."

  "So then what?" Sadie asked. "Just hang out on the boat this afternoon?"

  "Well, that's up to you," Connie said. "What would you like to do?"

  "How about snorkeling? That sounds like a good way to cool off."

  "The reefs along the north shore are okay," Connie said, gesturing toward the rocky, high bank 50 meters away. "But if you want to snorkel, there's the Cousteau Underwater Park just a few miles down the west coast. It's well worth a stop."

  "So we could hike the river this morning and then have lunch on our way there?" Sadie asked. "Would that work?"

  "Sure it would," Connie said. "There's a decent anchorage there at the park. We could spend the night and move on the next morning, or even go a little farther south. There's a fishing harbor a few miles farther on that's a quieter anchorage than the park — flat water, and uncrowded except for the little local fishing boats."

  "I like the sound of that," Sadie said. "Where should we go next, after that? What's the normal next stop — you know, the 'must see' places?"

  "After the park?" Connie thought for a few seconds, sipping her own coffee. "Probably the Saintes."

  "The Saintes?"

  "Îles des Saintes," Connie said. "It's a group of islands off the south coast of Guadeloupe."

  "Are they a different country?"

  "No. They're still part of Guadeloupe, but they're interesting because they were never agricultural."

  "What's that mean?" Sadie asked.

  "The big sugar plantations in the colonial era were on the main island, where we are. The Saintes were settled by people from Brittany; they were fishermen, instead of planters. They also didn't have very many slaves, so the Saintes retained more of the cultural flavor of a French fishing village."

  "I see. So all of this area used to be French?"

  Connie smiled. "It still is. The French dealt with their colonies differently than most of the European countries. They just made them part of France. The people here are French citizens, just as if they lived in France proper; they vote in French elections and have French passports. You're in France now. The currency here is the euro, and a lot of people only speak French."

  "That's really cool; I didn't know that. Are there other French islands?"

  "Yes. The northern half of St. Martin is French. So is St. Barth, and Martinique."r />
  "The northern half of St. Martin? What about the southern half?"

  "It's Dutch."

  "Wow! But it's just a tiny island. Is there, like, a border and everything?"

  "Yes, but it's open. Nobody pays much attention to it except the tax collectors and the governments — police, and so forth."

  "You ladies ready?" Paul interrupted.

  "Sure," Sadie said.

  "Give me a hand with the RIB, Connie. Let's drop it, and we'll be on our way."

  Chapter 13

  Sadie was lost in thought for most of the hike along the Deshaies River. She feigned interest in the scenic, shady stream, half-listening as Connie and Paul described what they were seeing. She was pondering the presence of Morning Mist in Falmouth Harbour yesterday afternoon. She had no way of knowing whether Jonas was aboard, or whether the vessel's presence had anything to do with her.

  Finally, though, her survival instinct won out. She couldn't afford to gamble that the yacht's arrival was a coincidence. She slipped as she scrambled from boulder to boulder in the edge of the gurgling stream, saved from falling when Paul reached for her and grabbed the back of her shirt.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Just out of shape, I guess," she said.

  "Let's stop for a few minutes, then," Connie suggested. "We can sit under that tree over there and catch our breath." She climbed up the bank and dropped the day-pack that she carried.

  Paul gave Sadie a hand up the steep bank, and she sat next to Connie.

  "It's beautiful," Sadie said. "Just like it said in the article I read."

  "Glad you like it," Connie said. "There's a botanical garden up the hill on the way out of town, if you want to stay in Deshaies and take it easy for a day or two."

  "Oh. I don't know. Deshaies is a little like a tourist trap, isn't it?"

  "A little, but in a nice, laid-back way," Connie said.

  "It's probably the first place people stop when they head south from Antigua, I'll bet," Sadie said.

  Connie glanced at Paul. He was studying the girl with an intense look on his face. "Probably," Connie said. "Obviously it's where we'd recommend. It's an easy sail, and — "

  "And this Underwater Park?" Sadie interrupted. "Is that a regular stop, too?"