"Interesting," Marie said. "I did not know this about Connie. So how did they come to launder money?"
"The doctor, Connie's partner, found an investor to finance their first clinic. The potential investor even had a suitable facility for them to use. It had been a nursing home, but it had gone broke. Connie and the doctor decided to do it, and they moved to Savannah, Georgia, where this place was located."
"Savannah, Georgia?" Marie asked. "This is a seaport, yes?"
"Yes. That's the place. That part of the East Coast has been a hotbed of smuggling since the colonial days. There's lots of marshland through there, with a maze of channels and inlets that are navigable under the right conditions. With local knowledge, it's possible to move a lot of freight in and out of places that look impossible to enter."
Marie frowned. "This has something to do with the clinic, I think. But what?"
"It has to do with the man who financed the clinic. He had a fleet of shrimp boats that fished from Mexico all the way around Florida and up the east coast. His family had been smuggling at least since the prohibition era. His father or grandfather had been bringing rum in from Cuba and the Bahamas. Then cigars and other stuff, I guess, until drugs became their major business."
"Ah!" Marie said. "So he financed the clinic so that he could funnel dirty money through it, yes?"
"Yes. Connie was running the business side of the clinic, and she discovered what was going on. By then, the doctor was part of the laundering scheme. Connie wanted out, but the doctor didn't have the cash to buy out her interest. She put together a package of evidence against the doctor and their investor to use for leverage, and the situation got ugly. The investor somehow got the notion that she was part of a west-coast mob trying to take over his operation. He had the doctor killed and was going after Connie. She somehow got out with a fair amount of money and brought down the law on the investor. She spent a couple of years in the Bahamas, and when she tired of that, she chartered Vengeance to see the Caribbean. That's how we met her."
"I know about that," Marie said. "But tell me again about how this cartel story grew."
Dani nodded. "The mobster's people ended up in jail in Savannah. He escaped to the Bahamas. Sam Alfano was his name. He had a relationship with a Bahamian crime boss. Alfano went into business with him. They were laundering money full-time.
"He and Connie ran into one another a second time right before she connected with us. To help the police arrest him, she pretended she was part of a cartel. She conned him into a setup and got him busted. He's serving a life sentence in federal prison."
"I see. Then other gangsters began to believe this story about a woman running a cartel moving drugs through the Caribbean? This is the story?"
"Yes. Alfano still thinks she's involved in the drug trade. He's one reason the rumors persist. She's admitted from time to time that she wishes she'd never come up with that story. It's gotten her into all kinds of trouble," Dani said.
"Including with the Montalbas," Marie said. "Now I understand."
"What do you understand about the Montalbas?" Liz asked, coming back into the cockpit with two mugs of coffee.
"Dani was telling me how the rumors about Connie and her cartel started."
"I see," Liz said, handing Dani a mug and sitting down across the cockpit from Marie.
"You have been thinking about what Connie said last night, yes?" Marie asked.
"I have," Dani said. "If her cousin is right and SpecCorp's behind the questions, I see two possibilities."
"Yes? And what are they?"
"Well," Dani said, "the one that seems most —"
The ringing of the satellite phone interrupted her.
"Connie?" Liz said, accepting the call after she saw the number on the caller ID screen.
"Hi, Liz. Paul's with me. Is Dani on the line?"
"And Marie," Liz said. "She forced herself to stay awake for your call."
"Okay. Hello everybody. I'll try to keep it short, Marie. Sorry I couldn't say more last night, but I wanted to let you know as quickly as I could."
"Thank you again," Marie said. "You gave us some time to think about what is happening, and Dani filled me in on this cartel ruse you have been using. I didn't know the full story on that."
"You've made good use of the time, then," Connie said. "We heard from Leon again after I spoke with you. He's confirmed that SpecCorp is behind the questions, but their interest is broader than he first thought. He thinks they're looking for another opportunity to launder money; his guess is that they depended on Montalba's cash as a source of working capital."
"Does that mean they're not looking for you? Or us?" Dani asked.
"No. They probably are, but his sources can't be a hundred percent sure. They haven't used our names, but they know your identity from when they stole Vengeance. And there was definite mention of a cartel that might be run by a woman. They're speculating that it's the one behind the attack on the Montalbas. They're looking for any leads on who may be picking up Montalba's business, and they want an introduction."
"That's why Leon thinks they're after financing?" Liz asked.
"That's right. Whether that's true or not is another question. Leon made the point that there may be someone in the shadows who was working with Montalba and that crooked senator, someone who could be taking over Montalba's operation. They could be out for revenge."
"Did he have any idea who that could be?" Dani asked.
"No, he didn't. As far as anybody knows, Montalba was the boss. And the senator's in prison. Leon did say that didn't necessarily rule out the senator. He wouldn't be the first crook to keep on top of his operation from behind bars."
"What are you and Paul going to do?"
"We're carrying on with our charter," Paul said, speaking for the first time. "And keeping our eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary."
"Hi, Paul," Liz said. "I'd forgotten you were on the line."
"Good morning, ladies. I'm here. I've just been listening. I think Connie covered everything. Phillip told us what you were up to. Sounds like the weather out in the North Atlantic's not cooperating."
"Have you been following that?" Dani asked.
"Not really, but the local forecast is for some heavy swells from the north starting in the next couple of days. We've heard about that storm system up north, so we're planning to head around to Nonesuch Bay in the morning to hide from the swell. Where are you now?"
"The north end of the Mona Passage," Dani said. "We cleared into the U.S. at Mayagüez. We left there maybe 45 minutes ago."
"What's your plan from there?"
"One step at a time while we watch that storm system," Liz said. "We're heading for the Turks and Caicos now. When we get there, we'll choose between the Old Bahama Channel and the Bahamas."
"Through them? Or around them?" Paul asked.
"Around them," Dani said. "If it looks too rough to the east to go around the Bahamas, I don't want to be caught up on the Bank in all that shallow water."
"Good choice. I've seen what 'rage' conditions are like. If you don't mind a suggestion from an old Florida-Bahamas sailor, I'd take the Old Bahama Channel. It can turn nasty, too, but at least you've got protection from the north until you get to the Gulf Stream."
"That's what we're thinking," Liz said. "Unless the storm blows itself out soon."
"Will you hear from your cousin again, Connie?" Marie asked.
"Yes, but we're not sure when. We'll keep you up to date; don't worry. Meanwhile, stay safe."
"You too," Dani said. "Thanks for the update. Talk with you later."
After they disconnected, Marie asked, "What did Paul mean by 'rage' conditions?"
"The Bahamians call it a 'rage' when the long-period swell from the ocean piles up on the shallow water of the Bahama Bank," Dani said. "You get short-period, steep seas, especially in the passes onto the banks. Waves you wouldn't notice offshore cause treacherous conditions in the shallows; a rage can close harbor entrances and shut
down shipping for days at a time. Even big ships can't manage the passes in a rage."
"Then we probably will go this Old Bahama Channel route?" Marie asked.
"Odds are strong that we will," Dani said. "It's interesting; it's ten or fifteen miles wide from north to south. It runs east and west between the Great Bahama Bank and the north coast of Cuba."
"And how long is it, this channel?"
"The narrow part, the Old Bahama Channel itself, is about a hundred miles long. The route from West Caicos to the Straits of Florida, where we'll pick up the Gulf Stream, is close to 500 miles. The narrow stretch is in the middle of that. It's still pretty narrow the whole way — between say 40 and 100 miles wide. The south edge runs along the north coast of Cuba. Along the north edge, there are lots of little islands and shallows east of Cay Santo Domingo. Cay Santo Domingo is on the southeast corner of the Bahama Bank. It's the east end of the Old Bahama Channel proper. The Bank itself is too shallow for safe navigation unless you have local knowledge. The channel narrows down west of Cay Santo Domingo and doesn't really open up again until you hit the Cay Sal Bank. That's where we'll turn north to run up the Gulf Stream."
"Okay," Marie said, yawning. "Time for me to go to sleep."
"Rest well," Liz said.
"I'll wake you in four hours," Dani said, as Marie went below, leaving Dani and Liz in the cockpit to finish their coffee.
"Do you trust him?" Delaney asked. He was on the phone with Larry Thompson, his intelligence officer.
"Trust him? Come on, Clayton. You know what these guys are like. He opted for an 'other than honorable' discharge to avoid a court martial for dealing controlled substances. He was guilty as sin. CID had a video of him doing a meth deal. Would you trust him?"
"You know what I mean," Delaney said. "Is he shooting straight with you on this? I'm not asking if you'd let him marry your daughter."
"Yeah, I think he believes what he told me. No particular reason for him to lie about this; he doesn't have a stake in the outcome, and he wants to keep working with us. Shit, if we let this bastard go, he's got no options but to get back out on the street, dealing."
"Why wouldn't he do that anyway? Sounds like he's been there. He a user?"
"No. No record of using; never failed a random drug test while he was in the service. Never failed one since he's been with us, either. And I asked why he didn't go back out on the street instead of coming to us. He likes the action, the stuff he can get away with when he's deployed with us. I checked him out with his team leaders. They're selective about where they put him when he's in the field. He's a sadistic son of a bitch, they said. So they put him where that suits our clients' needs."
"One of those," Delaney said. "Remind me why we have to hire sick bastards like that. Sometimes I think we've got more than our share."
"Of course we've got more than our share. We get the misfits. Once in a while, we get a good soldier who wants to rake in some bucks in a hurry so he can go do something else. But they don't stay long. You know that. You want to hear what he found out?"
"Yeah, but first, who did he talk to? How'd he spin this with 'em?"
"I coached him, Clayton. He's not the shiniest coin in the bag. He got hold of the people he worked with before he got busted by the CID. Told 'em he was getting tired of getting shot at. He asked how things were in South Florida. He told 'em he heard there was a major turf war going on. He asked if they knew anybody who needed some muscle — said he could bring some friends."
"And what did they say?"
"There's a war going on, all right. A guy named Montalba had squeezed all the big players out. Bought them up or blew them away.
"Things were fat for maybe a year, eighteen months. No gunfights over who was selling where, or who was moving product. Montalba made a nice, boring business out of it.
"Then a month or so ago, somebody greased this guy, Montalba, and all hell broke loose. They told our boy he'd probably be safer back in Iraq."
"Any word on who took out Montalba?"
"They don't know, but the rumor is it was somebody big enough to mount our kind of operation. This Montalba had escaped from the feds and was living on a damn big yacht — with a helicopter aboard."
Delaney already knew that, but he didn't say anything. Thompson was leading up to something; he reined in his impatience. "A helicopter, huh?"
"Yeah. Whoever it was, they blew up his yacht. Montalba got away in the helicopter. He didn't get more than a few miles before they nailed him with a SAM. Blew him right out of the sky."
"A SAM, huh? Heavy artillery, for drug runners. What about the woman? The one we heard was with a rival cartel. Did he ask about her?"
"Yeah. They told him people have been whispering about her for years. Maybe she runs her own thing; maybe she's fronting for some other organization. Or maybe she's just a folk tale. But that's all they knew.
"He asked them if they'd heard whether she might be the one who took out Montalba, and they laughed. 'A woman? You gotta be smokin' shit,' is what they told him.
"I had trouble even convincing him to ask about her, Clayton. He thought it was ridiculous himself, and so did his contacts."
"You think he really asked them, then?" Delaney asked.
"Yeah," Thompson said. "He wore a wire. You want to hear the recording?"
"No, that's okay. Whose idea was the wire?"
"Mine. I wanted to be sure we got our money's worth out of him."
"All right," Delaney said. "Thanks. Good work. I need to make some more calls."
Delaney hung up the phone and stood up, stretching his back muscles. He walked over to the bar in the corner of his office and poured himself two fingers of single malt. Taking it back to his desk, he settled in to think.
He was in a bind. The banks wouldn't loan SpecCorp enough to keep them solvent.
Legrand, the CFO, had a lead on lenders in the private market. "Mob, most likely," he said. "Less than savory."
Their rates were extortionate, but they weren't as nervous about who they were financing as traditional banks. Delaney told him to get their names.
Delaney wasn't ready to approach them yet. First, he would order background checks.
Delaney chuckled and took a sip of his drink. Those 'less than savory' lenders might be interested in picking up where Montalba left off. But first, Delaney wanted to make sure they were sufficiently unsavory.
8
"It is a gloomy morning," Marie said, as Dani joined her in the cockpit. "And the wind has backed about 30 degrees in the last hour and a half."
"Looks like a squall brewing down toward the Windward Passage," Dani said, pointing to the southwest as she sipped the coffee she had made herself before coming up to relieve Marie. She put her mug in the cupholder on the steering pedestal and took the helm. "Have you had a quiet watch?"
"Yes. There has been some freighter traffic along the shore of the Dominican Republic, but none out this far."
"They follow the lights along the coast," Dani said. "It's just as well we decided on this route. The storm filled in and picked up speed; it's headed for the central Bahamas."
Marie frowned in the gray light. "Will it affect us?"
"Not according to the forecasts. We'll be in the Old Bahama Channel by the time it hits the Bahamas."
"When will that be?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," Dani said. "Whoa! The wind's piping up and backing more all of a sudden."
"From that squall?" Marie asked.
"Yes. It's moving faster than I thought it was. And it's bigger."
"Is it going to hit us?"
"I don't know. I think it will, but it might pass off our stern."
"Have you been turning to the south?" Marie asked, looking off the starboard bow at the dark line on the horizon that was Great Inagua.
"Yes, just following the wind around as it backs. Once we're clear of this squall, it should clock back to where it has been, and I'll put the north back in our course. I'm trying to ma
intain boat speed right now to outrun the squall."
"The temperature's dropped," Marie said.
"Yes. Here goes!" Dani said, as the first gust blew a few raindrops in her face.
"Are we okay?" Marie asked, wiping the rain from her eyes.
"Sure. But you may want to get below. There's some serious wind and rain in this thing." Dani had no sooner spoken than a 60-knot gust and horizontal rain struck them. "Hold on!" she yelled, as Vengeance swung through a 60 degree turn to the port and put her rail in the water.
"Are we going to turn over?" Marie asked, her eyes round. She scrabbled for a handhold on the steering pedestal as she slid across the cockpit.
"We're fine," Dani said. "You still tethered?"
"What?" Marie yelled.
"Is your tether still hooked?" Dani yelled over the screeching wind.
"Yes," Marie yelled back as she crouched in the cockpit footwell, having lodged there as she slid off the seat. She stared at the green water boiling back along the leeward side deck and flooding into the low side of the cockpit. "We're taking on water, Dani!"
"We're fine, Marie. Just hang on." Dani scrambled out from behind the useless helm, her feet on the now horizontal back of the port cockpit seat.
"What's happening?" Marie asked. "Should I take the helm?"
"Just hold on. She's not answering the helm; the rudder's out of the water. We're okay."
"What are you doing?" Marie watched as Dani crabbed her way through the flooded cockpit to the mainsheet winch.
"Easing the main. Hang on. She's going to come back up."
She snatched the main sheet out of the self-tailing winch and let it run free. The mainsail flogged in the wind, and Vengeance rolled back upright until the mast was about 45 degrees off vertical. Dani turned her attention to the Yankee sheet, and the boat stood up farther. The water in the cockpit gurgled as it ran out through the drains.
By this time, the wind had dropped to 30 to 35 knots. The noise fell from a screech to a low howl. Dani pulled the mainsheet back into the jaws of the self-tailing winch and cranked in a few turns. The main filled and quieted. She repeated the process on the Yankee.
Bluewater Target: The 15th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers) Page 5
