She wanted to trust Berto; he had treated her well, so far, unlike the other men she'd known. She'd been excited at the prospect of a business relationship with him. That was a flattering idea. It was a first for her — a man who valued her for something besides sex. Was he playing her? She shook her head. She didn't want to think that.
He trusted her enough to be open about using her to blackmail Velasquez. Why wouldn't he trust her with the knowledge that the blackmail scheme included planting drugs, if that's what was happening? It hadn't occurred to her to question Berto's motive for wanting to frame Velasquez.
She was frustrated with herself; she knew she was smarter than most women in her line of work. Smarter than most of the men she encountered, too. She should have wondered about Berto before.
She had assumed that he wanted leverage over the congressman, perhaps to shape legislation, or secure influence in some other form. Now she wondered if he planned to throw Velasquez under the bus, get him locked up in some hellhole of a third-world prison. She knew her role was to be bait, but now she wondered if she was destined to be roadkill as well. Berto had no reason to sacrifice her, personally, but he might have no qualms about her being caught up in Velasquez's downfall.
She set her jaw. She hadn't survived all she'd been through just to end up like that. As soon as she got a few minutes alone in their stateroom, she'd search it to see if the Coast Guard men had left a surprise. If they had, she was sure it would be in the space that she and Velasquez shared. If her suspicions were correct, any contraband would be linked as closely as possible to Velasquez.
Then she began to wonder about Dani and Liz. Were they in on Berto's scheme? She needed to get to know them before she could decide, but the surveillance equipment was a problem. She had to find a way to get them off the boat for a little while, so she could talk with them. Shopping, maybe? That could work, and Velasquez wouldn't have any interest in that. Was there shopping in Bequia? She could ask them about that now. It was a safe topic, even with the possibility of the recorder picking up the conversation. She raised the camera and snapped a few pictures.
Satisfied with her plan, she got up and went back to the cockpit.
"What did you say?" the leader of the surveillance team asked. He had been half asleep when his cellphone rang. His two subordinates were up in the cockpit with high powered binoculars, ogling women on passing boats.
"I said, there were no drugs on the yacht Vengeance."
"That's impossible. I put them there myself, taped to the underside of the drawers in the forward stateroom. Maybe 8 ounces of grass and a few ounces of coke. Your boarding party fucked up."
"I beg your pardon," the man said, his singsong island accent making him sound haughty rather than angry. "I led the boarding party myself. I showed the men the pictures you sent — two different men checked. One of them held up one of the drawers for me to see. There were remnants of adhesive, but that is all."
"Shit," the leader said. "They must have found them, somehow."
"Perhaps so, but there is nothing that I can do, now."
"Can we arrange another boarding?"
"That would be quite unusual. Berger is a regular in the islands. The yacht is in our waters often."
"What does that have to do with anything? I paid you your asking price."
"And we delivered our end of the deal; I can't manufacture drugs out of thin air, and at this point I dare not plant them during a search."
"Why not?"
"As I said, Berger and Chirac are regulars in the islands. They know how things work. A second boarding by the same crew this soon would be enough to cause them to escalate the situation. They know this doesn't happen. Once? Okay, this is not remarkable. Twice within a few days? That is something quite different."
"Not if you found drugs. I'm sure you could take some with you. St. Vincent is famous for — "
"Listen to me, sir. I know how these things work here; I've been in the Coast Guard for 15 years. The second boarding would raise eyebrows. If we attempted to plant drugs on the second boarding, it wouldn't be credible. We could have done it on the first boarding, but you chose to do it instead."
"We aren't talking about a case that would hold up in court, man. We want to set them up so that they'll bribe you, remember? I get all the reports."
"One phone call to a higher-up from Berger or Chirac, or one mention to the officer when they were clearing in, and it would be over. I am sorry, but I cannot help you."
"What if I plant more drugs?"
"There is still the matter of the second boarding. I cannot help you."
"Look. I paid you $20,000 E.C. So far, you've done nothing to earn it. Help me out here. I get what you're saying, but is there another way?"
"Perhaps. There is a man I know who is responsible for domestic drug enforcement. You understand the distinction between my job and his?"
"You're tasked with interdicting smugglers, and he's responsible for busting local dealers. Is that it?"
"Close enough. The yacht is bound for Bequia. Where are you now?"
"We're in Bequia, on a charter boat in Admiralty Bay."
"Is it possible that you could somehow plant more drugs on Vengeance?"
"Yes, I'm sure we could, if they leave her at anchor to go ashore, say for a meal. I think I can do that. What's your idea?"
"I will speak with the man who runs domestic drug enforcement. If he is interested, he could receive an anonymous tip which he could record. That would justify his raiding the yacht. You understand?"
"Yes, I think so. I could maybe pay you a little more."
The Coast Guard man chuckled. "For my assistance?"
"And for him."
"No, I don't think so. I will do this since our plan didn't work, but I do not wish to talk with you again. There is risk. If he is interested, he will call you soon, and you can work something out with him." With that, the man disconnected the call.
The leader of the surveillance team took a moment to organize his thoughts. As much as he didn't want to, he needed to report this problem to his supervisor. At least he had a backup plan to discuss.
Velasquez was sprawled on the queen-sized berth in the forward stateroom, assessing his chances with Liz Chirac. She was a knockout; both of the women were, for that matter, but Dani Berger was a little too sure of herself. He put her down as probably a ball-buster, better left alone. Liz, though, she was sweet-natured, accommodating.
And besides she had that ginger hair. He was a sucker for gingers. From the texture of her hair, that was her natural color, too. That was important; real gingers didn't have much body hair, and that was a turn-on for him.
Beverly was starting to wear thin. Too much of a good thing, he guessed. She was like having another wife. Always there, willing to do whatever he wanted, predictable. Not as much of a pain in the ass as his wife, but still, she was becoming boring.
He wasn't ready to ditch her; she was the perfect mistress. He liked the setup they had; she wasn't even a financial burden like some of her predecessors had been. With her trust fund, or whatever, all he had to do was pick up the tab for a few gifts and meals.
And she was discreet. He definitely didn't want to screw that up, not with the party's increasing demands on his time. Maybe in the run-up to the primary, he'd have to cut her loose, but until then, he'd hang on to her.
Liz, though, she was something different. A little treat for all the hard work he'd done over the last few weeks. Like going off his diet every so often. He knew it couldn't last, didn't even want it to last, not really. A big part of it was the challenge, the thrill of the chase. She'd probably put up a little resistance; they all did, except the pros, and he avoided them. They were too risky for a career politician.
Speaking of his career, that might make Liz a little more of a challenge; she didn't know who he was. He liked that idea. If you were somebody, women would let you do anything you wanted. It was almost too easy, like with Beverly. But Liz didn
't have any idea how powerful he was. He'd have to rely on his native charm with her. He chuckled. That made him feel younger; it was like turning back the clock to when he was just starting out, before he became somebody.
There were some tactical issues, though. First, there was timing. After today, he'd only have six days to score. Then there was Dani. She and Liz seemed to be pretty tight. He'd wondered for a moment when he'd first met them if they were partners in a broader sense, but after watching them, he didn't think so.
Dani projected a kind of tough-chick image, but not like that. She could be fun, too, probably. A girl like that could be a real kick, if you had the time to work with her, which he didn't. Besides, Liz was just more to his taste. A sweet girl, eager to please. He shook his head, hard, snapping his focus back to the task at hand. He couldn't let himself get distracted. He wanted to work through this while he had a little time alone to think.
"Let's see," he thought, making notes on a mental image of a chalkboard. "Timing — six days. Berger — get her out of the way," at least long enough to score. After the first time, Liz would no doubt help with that. And then there was good old Beverly. He had a fleeting thought of a threesome. That could work; he was pretty sure he could count on Beverly. Liz, though ... maybe, but he'd need to feel her out a little before he could broach that topic with her.
Then it hit him. He needed to figure out how to use Beverly to get Dani out of the way and leave him alone with Liz. He smiled. He'd work on that. Maybe he could plant a seed with Dani about taking Beverly snorkeling, or hiking. She liked both of those things, and Dani seemed like the type to do that. He'd watch for an opportunity, now that he had a plan.
11
"I see," Montalba said. He was livid, but he kept the anger out of his voice.
"These things happen, sometimes," the man on the phone said, "but our field manager has a backup plan."
"And what is that?"
"He will plant more drugs, and he has arranged for a raid by St. Vincent's drug enforcement squad. The plan is intact; it's just delayed by 24 hours."
"And how will he plant the drugs," Montalba asked, "with four people on the yacht?"
"I believe you said you could communicate with Beverly Lennox," the man on the phone said.
"I can send her a text message," Montalba said.
"You could have her take everyone to dinner this evening. There are some fine restaurants in Bequia. Our men will be watching the yacht. They'll plant more drugs while the people are ashore."
"Very well. I should send that text now. I'll be back in touch when I have confirmation from Ms. Lennox." Montalba disconnected the call and sent the text.
Checking the time, he decided it was too late for coffee and too early for wine. He swiveled his chair and put his feet on his desk. The drug bust wasn't essential; the recordings would be sufficient to control Velasquez. He wanted more, though. He wanted something to hold over Berger and Chirac.
They were close to Connie Barrera. Montalba didn't quite consider Barrera his nemesis yet, but she was a potential threat. Since his last run-in with Barrera, he had gathered a great deal of data. He now knew that Barrera and her husband shared a number of friends with the two women who owned Vengeance.
His latest information reinforced the rumor that Barrera ran a new cartel. She was working to control the movement of illegal drugs and other contraband through the Caribbean into the U.S. She had not yet caused him a problem, but he wanted to be prepared in case she did. Berger and Chirac were part of the same organization.
When he had discovered that their yacht was stored in Miami Beach while they were on holiday, he'd recognized an opportunity. He could compromise Velasquez and gain some intelligence about Berger and Chirac at the same time. As it developed, he would also have the ability to eavesdrop on them after he had finished with Velasquez.
Beverly was making her way back to the cockpit when she felt her phone vibrate. Her hands full between holding on to the boat and carrying the camera, she sat down on the side of the coachroof and slipped the phone from her pocket. She had a text from Berto, asking her to get everyone off the yacht this evening, and to let him know how long it would be unattended.
Putting the phone back in her pocket, she continued working her way to the cockpit. Dani and Liz scampered around the deck like there was nothing to it, but the slight movements of the boat disoriented her, causing her to stumble if she didn't hold on.
Berto had warned her in his instructions that her cell phone might not work at sea, but that it should function normally within a mile or two of shore. Maybe that was why he'd told her to have them hug the shoreline.
"Did you get some good shots?" Liz asked, as Beverly sat down in the cockpit.
"I hope so. It's amazing how green the hillsides are, and even from here, they smell lush and rich. I'm not sure photographs can do them justice."
"I know what you mean," Liz said. "I've been trying for years to capture that on canvas, and I haven't managed it yet."
"On canvas," Beverly said. "You're an artist?"
"It's a hobby," Liz said. "I try."
"She's being modest," Dani said. "She's quite good, actually."
"I'd love to see some of your work," Beverly said.
"Most of the paintings on the bulkheads below are hers," Dani said.
"Oh, I'm impressed! At first glance, I thought some of those were photographs with artistic filters. Except that one, the impressionist sunset. I like it, but it's so different from the others. You're really versatile."
Liz laughed. "Thanks, but I'm not that versatile. I didn't paint that one; a friend of ours did that."
"Well, she's talented, too," Beverly said.
She saw Dani and Liz trade looks, and Dani burst out laughing.
"Did I say something?" Beverly asked, frowning.
"No," Dani said. "It's just ... " She was overcome by another fit of laughter.
"Forgive her, Beverly," Liz said. "It's just that it was painted by a man. You'd have to see him to understand why she's so tickled."
"I take it he must not be a typical artist, whatever that is."
"That's for sure," Dani said. "Sorry, Beverly. Maybe we can find a picture of him. Then you'd understand."
"He's a Rasta man from Dominica," Liz said. "A literal giant, and very unassuming. He doesn't want anybody to know he paints; he's afraid his friends will think he's a sissy."
"How did you come to be friends? Through your art?"
"Not exactly," Liz said. "Dani has some deep roots in the islands. Her father's from Martinique, and she spent a lot of time down here as a child."
"Martinique? That's a French island, right?"
"Yes," Dani said. "It's actually part of France, what's known as a département."
"But I thought you were American."
"I am. My mother's from the U.S. I was born in New York, but I have dual citizenship."
"Do your parents live in New York?"
"My mother does. She and my father split up not long after I was born."
"I see. Does he live in Martinique, then? Is that why you're so familiar with the islands?"
"He used to," Dani said. "But he lives in Paris now. When I was growing up, he was doing a lot of business down here, and my mother was too busy to raise a child, so I ended up getting shuffled around to different friends and relatives down here."
"That can be hard for a child," Beverly said. "I had that kind of childhood myself. I never felt like I had a home, really. I didn't know any better when I was little, but as I got older, I began to see how other kids lived. I envied them. You probably know what I mean."
"I understand what you're saying," Dani said, "but it wasn't like that for me. Things are different down here, from a cultural standpoint. I felt like I was at home wherever I was; everyone made me welcome. I felt sorry for the girls I went to school with in New England. Their lives seemed boring to me."
"You went to school in New England?"
"For
a while. A private girls' school; my mother insisted on that. But I spent all my summers and vacations down here."
"That must have been some contrast," Beverly said.
Dani smiled. "Yes."
"How did you and Harry meet?" Liz asked. She saw that Dani's smile was forced and sensed her irritation with all the questions.
"Through mutual friends," Beverly said.
"In Miami?" Liz asked.
"Right," Beverly said.
"I always enjoy visiting Miami," Liz said. "It's so different from the rest of the U.S."
"It is that," Beverly said.
"Are you from there originally?" Liz asked.
"No. We moved there when I was in my early teens."
"I'll bet it was a fun place to be a teenager."
"There were a lot of distractions," Beverly said.
"I can imagine," Liz said, grinning. "What do you do there, if you don't mind my asking."
"I'm in the entertainment business."
"How exciting!" Liz said. "Are you some kind of star? Should I recognize you?"
Beverly smiled. "I'm nobody special, nobody you've ever heard of. I'm one of those anonymous people who manages to eke out a living among the rich and famous by doing all the boring stuff they don't want to be bothered with. I'm an odd jobs kind of gal, freelancing. It's pretty much hand to mouth, but I survive. It beats having a real job, I guess."
"You must have had some interesting experiences," Liz said.
"I suppose, but to me it's just work, and I can't really talk about it too much, or I'll be out of business. Discretion is a big part of what I offer my clients."
Liz nodded. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just always interested in our guests; everybody has a story."
"I'm sure," Beverly said. "Hey, I've read that there are some really fine restaurants in Bequia."
"There certainly are," Liz said.
"I'd like it if you ladies could join us for dinner ashore tonight, my treat."
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