Decroux clears his throat, interrupting our private little moment.
“As requested, I’ve got Chief Armad and his men escorting Monday Renot down here, as we speak,” he says. “While we wait, care to fill me in on what you’ve discovered?”
I light another cigar and shake my head. “Not quite yet. I want the whole party to be here when I make the big reveal.”
The Inspector isn’t overly pleased with that, but he agrees to do things my way for the moment. After a while, the police escort stalks down the dusty road from town, with Monday bound in handcuffs for his role in the death of Morris Grant. He glares at me as they approach.
“Don’t give me that look,” I say to him. “You’re the one who got in bed with the devil. I didn’t make you do it.”
He sneers in response and steps up to the gate, as Officer Marvin Conard unlocks and slides it open. Monday steps inside first, drawing the attention of the guard dogs. With a nod of his head, he sends the obedient mongrels away to disappear somewhere behind the building.
The dogs taken care of, we all make our way inside the Customs Office and to the secure door leading into the Vault.
“This is ridiculous,” Monday protests. “We’ve already been through these crates, high and low. There’s nothing here.”
Marvin proceeds to unlock the padlock, and he swings open the Vault’s door. The place hasn’t been touched since I was here last. The bloody chair. The crimson-stained walls. The splintered crates, broken glass, and foil-wrapped candy scattered everywhere. It’s all here. I suppose I can thank myself for that little blessing. Everyone was so busy trying to track me down, cleaning up the Vault was the last thing on anyone’s mind.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I say to the customs agent, as I walk into the tiny room and crouch down near the remains of the crate. Trixie, practically bursting with energy, scurries over to me and kneels beside me.
“So what are we looking for, Joe?” she asks eagerly.
Ignoring her, I start sorting the discarded candies, separating the pieces by brand, shape, and size. With everyone looking on, Trixie starts helping me and cuts the time I need in two. Within ten minutes, all the candy is sorted exactly as I’d planned, and now it’s time to see if my theory is actually correct.
I examine each pile, studying the wrapping, the logos, the colors—anything to help me decide the most likely answer to Morris’s riddle. I think back to our conversation in Angelique’s parlor. My old friend’s words to me.
His last words to me, in fact.
I couldn’t just fold it up and put it where it could easily be found, he’d told me. I got pretty creative in how I handled it. Used some stuff we learned in the war…
It’s the mention of the war that triggers the answer for me. Back in the day, Morris and I rarely ever got to see each other. I was usually either flying a mission, or he was off galivanting behind enemy lines, seducing dames for information or whatever it is intelligence officers did back then. But, we developed a nifty system for messaging one another during those times where Morris had to stay incognito for a long period.
Written notes would be left, scribbled on liquor bottle labels. My favorite whiskey. Morris’s favorite Chardonnay. It was a great system for just keeping up with each other as the war droned on.
Granted, the bottles inside the crate have all been smashed to pieces. Their labels trampled underfoot and covered by cracked, drying blood. But that’s not where I believe Morris would have hidden the list. He also said he’d gotten ‘pretty creative.’
“Well?” Decroux asks.
Monday, Chief Armad, and his officers all squeeze through the doorway, hoping for a better view of my big reveal. Problem is, I’ve got to stall a bit. I want everyone at this party, after all. Not just the coppers, Monday, and Trixie.
I make a big show of examining the glass shards, picking a few pieces up. Sniffing them. Setting them back down. I crawl over to the wooden crate splinters and do the same. When I feel like I’ve waited long enough, my hand takes hold of one of the candies on the floor. I hold it up.
“Anyone in the mood for a sweet?” I ask.
“Joe, stop teasing,” Trixie says. “Just tell us what you figured out, for crying out loud.”
Smiling, I hold out the candy to her. “Seriously. Want a piece of candy?”
She rolls her eyes, then nods while holding out her hand. I unwrap the foil from the candy and hand it to her and wait for her to pop it in her mouth.
“Monsieur Thacker, I really must insist you stop wasting our time,” Inspector Decroux says. “Do you know where this list is or not?”
I stand up, holding the candy wrapper out to the Inspector. “I think you’ll find this interesting.” Before he can take it, I take a look at the back of the wrapper. “You might want to let your government know they need to be on the lookout for some guy from Cuba named Fidel Castro,” I say. “He’s apparently one of the names on the list.”
It’s as if the Vault’s jaw drops instantaneously. Everyone is staring at me like I’ve just grown two antlers on my head.
“It was the wrappers,” I explain. “I got the candy I gave the kids a few days ago from the same wholesaler these came from. But the ones I bought personally had cellophane wrappers with company logos on them. These were just plain foil wrappers. Knowing Morris the way I did, I figured this would be the most likely place he’d hide his list in plain sight.”
“It’s so…so simple,” Trixie says, taking the wrapper from my hand and studying the handwritten script with admiration.
It’s precisely at that time that the guests I’d been expecting choose to make their presence known. KGB agents Vladimir Petrovic and Boris Usilov, along with a nervous Lamont Kingston, push through the entrance of the Vault, guns leveled at each of us.
“Thank you, Mr. Thacker,” Vlad says, pointing his gun at my gut. “Obviously, we couldn’t have found this without your help. Now, we’ll gladly take all this candy off your hands.”
I look casually from the gun to Vlad’s smug face, then back at the gun, as if I have all the time in the world. Then, I hold up my index finger.
“First, it’s Captain, not Mister.” I glance over at Trixie, who’s glaring the intruders down like a lioness protecting her cubs. Or, as I deduced earlier in the day, like a KGB boss playing the part of a lifetime. “Second…” I draw the gun from my shoulder holster, step over to Trixie, and wrap my arm around her—putting her between me and the gunmen. I then press the barrel of my .45 to her temple. “…you’re not about to shoot me while I’ve got your numero uno dead to rights.”
“Joe, what are you doing?” Trixie shouts, squirming to break free of my grip.
“Mon Dieu!” the Inspector cries out.
I feel Trixie’s body tremble against mine, and for a moment, I hesitate with doubt. Ever since figuring out that she’s the KGB’s Big Kahuna here on St. Noel, my heart has been breaking bit by bit. But I’ve had to maintain a brave face. I’ve had to go on like everything was normal. But I know the truth. I know what she is now. What she’s done. And as much as she means to me, I can’t let her get away with it.
The KGB men look at each other, confused. They’re not sure how they’re supposed to react. What they’re supposed to do. It’s the last thing they’ve prepared for, which is precisely why I’ve chosen it for my end game.
“Sorry, Trix,” I say into her ear. The involuntary whiff of her perfume nearly makes me falter for a second time in as many minutes. I tell myself I’ve got to be strong. “But the jig, as they say, is up. I know you’re the KGB top dog here, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. With what the Reds have done to your country…your people…how can you agree to work with them?”
She opens her mouth, as if to protest, but sighs instead. “How did you know?”
“Lots of little things, really.” I keep my attention fixed on her comrades while pressing the gun against her head. “The biggest clue was your constant insistence t
hat I go search for the list. Even after I was arrested, accused of Angelique’s murder, your first instinct was to send me on a search for it, rather than to try to clear my name. You’ve kept after me to find it ever since. That alone was kind of suspicious, but understandable for an adventurous spirit like you.
“But then there’s your eavesdropping. Spies are notoriously careful about where they talk business and who’s around when they do. Yet, you seemed to overhear an awful lot about what was going on. You were able to keep me informed about what your comrades were up to. Of course, I didn’t really think about it at the time. I had a lot on my mind, after all. But once the dust settled with the Candyman’s frame job, it gave me time to really think things through.”
Boris steps forward, aiming his weapon at us. “Enough of this! Do you really think threatening Miss Faye will stop us from completing our mission? No one is above Mother Russia. I’d just as soon put a bullet in her than…”
I turn my gun on him and pull the trigger. I’m aiming for his chest. The bullet splits his skull. He falls backward, into the arms of his compatriots, who both look at me with horror in their eyes.
“I’m. Not. Finished.” My eye could burn a hole right through them. My heart is aching. My soul is fractured. I love this woman with all my heart, yet I sympathize with Boris’s sentiment. No one is above sweet Lady Liberty. “Now, everyone. Drop your weapons unless you want to join him.”
Vlad and Lamont do as I say. Their guns clatter to the floor. Chief Armad and his own little gestapo seem to think my command is directed at them as well, because they follow suit. I don’t mind. Only Inspector Decroux is level-headed enough not to disarm himself in the little standoff.
So the man has more sense in his head than I first thought.
“Where was I?” I ask, letting Trixie go, but keeping my gun on her all the same.
“You were explaining how you knew about me.”
“Oh yeah. That.” For someone who’s been caught at espionage and possible treason, her soft narrow face is serene. If I’m not mistaken, there might be a hint of relief in her eyes, but that might just be me seeing what I want to see. “Well, you’re an excellent shot with a rifle. You proved that yesterday at the Candyman’s voodoo ceremony. Not only did you end the fat man’s life, but you put a bullet in Alexi’s head from a hundred yards away.” I look her in the eye. “You knew he was FBI, didn’t you?”
She nods.
“Thought so. So, it only took a little hindsight to also tell me you were the one dressed in Morris’s shirt, who shot poor Winston the night of my escape. You were too far away to have used a pistol. It had to be a rifle. Apparently, your weapon of choice. You wanted me to think Morris was still alive…to keep pushing me to get to the list, for the sake of my friend.”
“I felt horrible about Winston,” she says. “But I had to keep you free. To find the list.”
I offer her a nodding frown. I truly believe she means it. She does feel bad about shooting the man. But I need to press on before I lose my nerve.
“Then, there was the nail in the coffin’s lid. Out there in the Candyman’s ceremonial circle, Alexi told him that his boss didn’t want me harmed under any circumstances.” I shake my head, hating myself for feeling the way I do. “Even as a KGB spy, you loved me. You really do love me.”
Her eyes glisten. A single tear runs down her cheek, and she nods. “Yes. I do.”
They’re the two words I’ve wanted most to hear come from her lips since I’ve known her. ‘I do.’ And yet, hearing them now threatens to send me over the edge.
I take a deep breath, collecting myself. Wiping my own tear from my face and willing myself to become cold and indifferent to this woman.
“Anyway, when I figured out Morris’s little hiding spot for the list, I also knew I needed to lure your comrades out of hiding. I sent that note with Malik, making him promise not to tell a single soul where I was going.”
She smiles at that and laughs quietly. “Knowing full well that little monster could never keep anything secret. You knew he would tell me, didn’t you?”
I nod. “I really hoped I was wrong about you. But when you got out of the car with the Inspector here, I was crushed. But I knew you would have sent word to your goons to come. I just had to wait long enough for them to sneak into the building before I revealed everything.”
“You should have been a detective.” Her smile is warm and genuine. It’s also very sad. “You should know. I’ve never worked for the Soviets under my own volition. They’ve imprisoned some of my family. My grandparents. Cousins. I can’t say they forced me to work for them, but they’ve promised their freedom in exchange for my cooperation here. It was a bargain I just couldn’t pass up.”
I want to go to her. Take her in my arms one last time. But I tell myself I can’t. If I do, I doubt I’ll find strength enough to let her go. Instead, I turn to Inspector Decroux, and nod. At my signal, he places a whistle to his lips and blows. A few moments later, the sound of several boot heels echoes through the building. Ten heavily armed men—part of the task force from Martinique that was sent here to track down the Reds—appear in the Vault’s door to arrest Trixie, Vladimir, and Lamont.
I walk out of the Vault…shoulders sagging, hands in my pockets…as the officers busy themselves with handcuffing the love of my life. I won’t look back. I can’t. Instead, I walk out of the building and up the beach leading to the pier and my boat. And an alcoholic monkey with a candy fixation.
Epilogue
Port Lucine Jail
Two Days Later
Today’s the day. By dawn, Trixie’s fate will be sealed. From what she’s heard, the sea plane is currently on its way to St. Noel to transport her and her crew to Martinique, to face trial by a French court for espionage and treason. She’s even heard rumors that she might face charges by the Americans, too.
Although she lived in New York since she was barely a teenager before she moved to the islands, she never became a citizen there. She’s probably not entirely sure how they could try her as a traitor there, but then again, politics never worry about fairness, or their own laws, for that matter.
But as she sits with her back against the hard stone wall, knees raised to her chest and arms hugging her knees, she no longer seems to care what happens to her. She has no love for the Soviet Union. She harbors no loyalty to the communists. Nor does she care about the French or the Americans. The only thing she’s ever loved is now out of her reach. Forever.
Sure, she played it cool with me for years. Teasing me. Leading me on. Never daring to allow me to get too close. Always keeping me at arm’s length. She had to. She couldn’t afford to fall in love with an American ex-pilot-turned-charter-boat-captain. She failed miserably at that. She couldn’t help herself. Guess I was just too charming not to flip head over heels for.
Then, I discovered her dark secret. Her clandestine occupation. And she broke my heart. She could see it in my eye in the Vault. I was devastated, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. Trixie had hurt the only man she ever truly loved, and now it looks like it’s tearing her apart.
She shifts in her bunk, staring into the next cell over, where her ‘comrades’ now sleep peacefully. She might envy their commitment to the ‘cause,’ which allows them to sleep without worry, because of their own misguided delusions of patriotism.
She didn’t ask for any of this. Just as I said, she despises what Russia has done to her people. Reviles the prison camps they send Hungarian upstarts to…upstarts like her elderly grandparents.
In many ways, she looks like she feels as though she should curse me. If it wasn’t for me, she would have completed her mission, and her family would now walk freely through the streets of Budapest. But her feelings for me compromised her mission. Divided her focus, not to mention her loyalties.
She closes her eyes, probably hoping sleep will take her away from the turmoil rumbling in her soul. The hay that makes up her mattress is lumpy. Uneven. Digging in
to her back. I should know. The same lumpy unevenness did its number on my back just a few days ago.
She might even be thinking about how I hid in the cot to effect my escape. How I escaped into the night, with her help. She had no idea at the time that it would be the beginning of the end for her. Sure, she wanted the list. It was her mission. But she also didn’t want me to hang for a murder she knew Jacques Lagrange had committed.
She rolls over onto her side, facing the wall of her cell. She traces the cracks within the mortar with her eyes, probably letting the patterns lull her into twilight sleep. She’s just about to drift off when something drops down on top of her. She rolls out of bed, throwing what fell on her to the floor. But it leaps into the air, latches onto the bars of her cell, and hangs there with a sharp-toothed smile on its face.
“Moe?” she whispers. She glances over at her men in the next cell, who don’t seem to have been disturbed by the commotion.
The monkey scrambles up the bars, latches onto a cross beam with its tail, and hangs upside down. There’s something shiny in its tiny hands.
“What do you have there, Moe?” she asks.
She holds out her hands, palms up, and the monkey drops a key into them. The key to the cellblock.
She blinks. It’s just like what she did for my own breakout.
Excited, she leaps onto her bed and jumps up to the small window above her bunk, clinging to the bars with her hands.
I’m smiling back at her through the opening.
“The way I see it,” I say, nodding at the cell doors behind her, “we found the list. It’s safely being sent to the U.S., as well as the French government. We stopped the killer of a double murder. And we caught a bunch of KGB spies trying to turn the Caribbean against good ol’ Uncle Sam.”
She stares up at me, bewildered by it all. Unsure of what I’m getting at.
“And I’m neither a spy nor a law man,” I continue. “Heck, on the high seas, I’m as free as a bird.”
Killypso Island Page 16
