Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Look, I don't know who you people are, but I was a detective for 20 years at Scotland Yard. You don't smell like coppers to me. I see how you've put the facts together, at least the facts that I know, and come up with that scenario, but it's wrong. I've obviously already blown any obligation of client confidentiality, so let me give you a missing piece or two."

  "We're listening."

  "First, call Scotland Yard and check me out."

  "That's already in process."

  "Good. While we're waiting on an answer, get me some water and food. Once you believe I'm who I say I am, we'll talk again."

  The man thought about Godfrey's offer for a moment. "We could let the police try again."

  "You won't get anything new, and you'd be wasting time. A young woman's life is at stake."

  "That almost sounds like a threat," the woman behind him said.

  "It's not a threat. One of the things you may not know is that Caroline Beale Delorme has been missing for several weeks. My job is to find her and reunite her with her family. I think she's in serious danger, if she's even still alive. That's all I'm going to say until you're ready to free my hands and legs and give me some food and water."

  The man and the woman looked at each other for a moment. The woman behind him broke the silence. "Why not? How long will the cops let us hold him?"

  The man thought for a moment, frowning. "They've already released him. According to their records, he's on a LIAT flight to Trinidad, with a connection to Caracas."

  Godfrey's heart sank at that. "Where am I?"

  They ignored him. He heard the door behind him open again, and the man and woman in front of him stood and walked past him. He heard the door close. A few minutes went by, and the door opened again.

  A woman holding a key ring stepped in front of him. He recognized her as the second blonde from Vengeance, the one without the reddish blond hair. "Our connections in Interpol confirmed a bit more of your story. I'm going to cut you free, and we'll get you some food, but if you make a sudden move, you may just disappear without a trace. Understand?"

  "Yes," he croaked. He heard the sound of a switchblade opening as she bent and cut the tape holding his legs. She stood, folded the knife, and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. She picked up his hands and unlocked the manacles.

  "Don't try to stand too quickly. You're going to feel faint from the drugs for a while yet," she said, as he massaged his wrists.

  "What did you give me?"

  "We didn't. You were picked up by a special anti-terrorist squad from La Direction Départementale de la Sécurité Publique. They interrogated you for several hours. I don't know what they're using these days."

  "Why an anti-terrorist squad?"

  "The bomb. You're not in the clear yet. If the police in St. Vincent change their minds about Delorme's suicide…"

  "Delorme? He's dead?"

  The woman nodded.

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Dani Berger. Liz Chirac and I own Vengeance."

  "I see. And why would the National Police turn me over to you and your friends?"

  "I'm not going to tell you any more right now, so don't ask. If you're ready to try to stand, there's food in the room next door, and a telephone. When you've eaten, we'll see that you're connected to Sir John Beale."

  "I'll obviously need privacy while I talk with him."

  The woman laughed. "We'll be listening. If you try anything funny, like asking for help, I'll kill you where you sit." She paused to let that sink in. "You understand?"

  Unnerved by her calm, sure manner and her cold blue eyes, Godfrey didn't doubt that she meant it. He nodded cautiously.

  "Feel like you can get up yet?"

  He nodded again and got to his feet, steadying himself with his hands on the table for a moment as she watched him. He noticed that every time he moved, she moved gracefully to maintain her distance -- beyond his reach, but close enough to strike him if she wished. He was reminded of a BBC nature video he had seen once of a mongoose stalking a snake.

  "Lunch is set up in the room down the hall to the left. I'll be right behind you," she said.

  Feeling a wave of empathy for the snake, Godfrey turned and took a tentative step toward the open door.

  ****

  "I don't understand why Clarence flew him to Trinidad," Connie said.

  "Insurance," Dani said.

  "Huh?"

  "Before Clarence got him, the police laid a false trail showing that after the interrogation, they put him on a flight to Trinidad," Liz explained. "That way, the police were in the clear, whatever we decided to do with him."

  "But I thought you said he'd decided to cooperate with us." Connie was frowning again. "I don't understand the 'insurance' angle."

  Phillip took up the explanation. "He's going to get on a plane and fly back to Martinique, just as if he had been on that original flight to Trinidad. If he tries to say the police turned him over to us while he was doped up, there will be ample proof to the contrary. If he doesn't come back, we'll know he was lying. But I think he's going to work with us."

  "Wow. You don't leave anything to chance," Connie said.

  "Fortuna always has a hand in man's affairs, but it's important to minimize her opportunity for mischief," Dani said.

  "Sounds like a quote," Connie said.

  "Paraphrased," Phillip said.

  "Who?"

  "My Papa," Dani said.

  "I'd like to meet him one of these days," Connie said.

  "Oh, I'm sure you will. He's overdue for a sailing holiday."

  "Okay. It is enough of this, the lazy chitter-chatter," Sandrine interrupted.

  "Idle chit-chat," Phillip corrected without thinking.

  Sandrine glared at him. "Connie and I, we have wait as the patient for you to reach the peak. We are ready to climax. Let us reach it with you, or ..." Her eyes took in the surprised expressions of the others as they tried to grasp her meaning. Liz and Dani both began to cough and Phillip suddenly smiled.

  "You think I am fracturing the humorous story?"

  "Fracturing the humorous story?" Connie looked perplexed.

  Phillip got it first.

  "No, love. We know you aren't cracking a joke. I'll…"

  "Cracking the joke! That is what I am meaning to say. Thank you. I never remember."

  Phillip nodded. "Shall I?"

  "Please," Connie said.

  "You okay with this, Liz?" Phillip asked.

  "Yes. I'm past being hurt or surprised by anything he did."

  "She means Delorme," Phillip said, beginning the narrative. "Most of what he told Liz was fabrication, including the part about having a big blow-up with Caroline while Liz was waiting for him to return to Brussels. According to Caroline's father, he had been begging for a job in the family business for over a year. They knew nothing about him wanting a divorce -- nothing about Liz at all.

  "Delorme and Caroline decided to take off on a circumnavigation about a year after Delorme started work, and Sir John was relieved. He told Godfrey that he had been trying to figure out how to fire Delorme without causing family problems. He set up a generous allowance for them for two years to fund the trip.

  "Delorme had a history of drug abuse, and apparently most of the allowance went up his nose. They last heard from Caroline as she and Delorme left Martinique for St. Vincent, and Delorme wouldn't answer emails or voicemails after that, so they hired Godfrey to find their daughter."

  "Was Beale surprised about Liz?" Connie asked.

  "Momentarily, but once he thought about it, he said that it wasn't the first indication they'd had of infidelity on Delorme's part."

  "So where does all of that leave us?" Connie asked.

  "We know Delorme is dead, and we know somebody tried to blow up Vengeance. Caroline Delorme is missing -- last seen here in Martinique. Liz thinks the guy in the picture, the one who most likely planted the bomb, is the same guy who delivered the backpack of drugs to Isis as sh
e and Delorme left Martinique," Dani said. "That's about all we know for sure."

  "There's the question of the charterers," Liz said. "They've got to figure in this somehow."

  "Could the bomb be unrelated? Maybe connected to the mess I brought from the Bahamas, or something?" Connie asked.

  "Unlikely, but possible," Phillip said.

  "More likely that somebody wants me out of the way," Liz said. "I'm the connection between Isis and Vengeance."

  "Okay, but who?" Connie asked.

  "The missing couple from the charter would be a good place to start," Dani said.

  "Aren't the police in St. Vincent looking for them?" Connie asked.

  "Probably not any longer," Phillip said. "Remember, Delorme's death has been reclassified as suicide."

  "Oh, yeah," Connie said. "And I guess the chances of finding the guy who planted the bomb aren't great, huh?"

  "Not before they try again," Dani said.

  "Try again?" Connie asked.

  "Nothing has changed since they made the first attempt," Phillip said. "No reason to think they'll back off."

  "What should we do?"

  "We should go sailing," Dani said. "Always best to be moving if you're a target."

  "But the engine's not running," Connie objected.

  "Vengeance sails well enough. We'll get a new injector pump in St. Martin. If the dealer there doesn't have one, we'll get one flown in from the States."

  "When will we leave?" Liz asked.

  "After dinner. Sandrine, can you get us clearance documents?" Dani asked.

  "Mais oui!"

  "And I'll get on the phone in the morning and have an injector pump waiting for you in St. Martin," Phillip added. "Maybe they can fix yours and ship it before you get there."

  Chapter 15

  The man swatted with half-hearted effort at the fly that buzzed around the sticky neck of his beer bottle. He had nursed the beer until it was warm, waiting for his boss to show up. He sat in the darkest corner of the dim, smoke-filled bar in Marin, peering into the gloom, watching the entrance. The door a few feet to his left opened and a heavyset woman with brassy blond hair emerged from the toilet, looking dazed as she surveyed the barroom. He wrinkled his nose at the stench that trailed behind her as she minced to the bar, her steps constrained by a short skirt that threatened to split where it stretched over her bulging hips and thighs as she wobbled along in her five-inch heels. He shook his head in disgust as the woman hefted herself onto a bar stool. She crossed her legs and swiveled the stool, positioning herself to display her wares to anyone who entered from the street.

  A few minutes later, the entrance door creaked open, admitting a burst of light from the street lamp outside. The bar patrons blinked, dazzled, as the door closed. The man watched as the newcomer's eyes swept the room, pausing for a moment on the hooker perched on her stool. The soft murmur of conversation stopped abruptly as the newcomer walked to the bar and slammed the flat of his hand down with enough force to rattle the glassware. The bartender, seated on a low stool in the corner behind the bar looked up, startled. When he recognized the man who had just entered, his eyes went wide. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the bar, cringing. He stood, trembling, as he awaited the man's order.

  "Bière Lorraine."

  The bartender reached into the cooler below the bar and set a frosted bottle and a small glass in front of the man, bowing nervously. The man nodded and picked up the beer and the glass, beginning to turn toward the corner where his underling waited. Before he could take a step, the hooker slid from her stool and slipped her hands into the crook of his elbow, pulling herself up against him.

  Grinning up at him suggestively as she batted her long, crooked, false lashes, she rubbed her ample bosom against his arm. He smiled at her and reached behind him with his free arm, placing the beer on the bar. His hand whipped back between them with lightning speed, forming a fist as it connected with her chin and sent her sprawling.

  He frowned and shook his head, reaching behind him for the beer. As he walked back to the corner table, the man waiting for him pushed a chair toward him with his foot.

  "She's not one of yours," the newcomer said, as he sat down and carefully poured some beer into his glass.

  "No." The man in the corner shook his head.

  "Why is she here, then?"

  "She makes my ugliest girls look like princesses, so I buy her drinks."

  "Anyone ever take her?"

  "A few. Some people have strange tastes."

  He lifted his beer and took a sip. "Strange, all right." He touched a napkin to his carefully tended mustache.

  The man waited for his boss to speak, although he had no doubt what had brought him to Martinique. After the boss had another swallow of beer, he said, "You know why I'm here, Guy. The yacht is still afloat; the woman is still alive. Why?"

  Guy shrugged. "The bomb didn't go off. Henri didn't know why."

  "Where is he? When will he try again?"

  "He won't. He knew the penalty for failure."

  The boss nodded. "You took care of him already?"

  "Never got a chance. He called me from a pay phone and blew his brains out in the booth while I listened."

  "Henri always was smart. Careless, but smart." The man drained his beer and stared at Guy until Guy's eyes began to twitch.

  "If you fail again, you might want to take a lesson from Henri." He slammed his empty glass to the table and dabbed at his mustache with the napkin before he stood and walked unhurriedly to the door.

  ****

  Dani leaned against the back of the cockpit seat with her arms draped along the tops of the cushions, the toes of her bare right foot loosely hooked over one of the helm's spokes as she applied gentle pressure to keep Vengeance on course. The moon had set shortly after she had come on watch, leaving her in nearly absolute darkness. Vengeance had left Ste. Anne last night on a westerly course and held it for several hours, until they were some 30 miles to the west of the islands.

  Without the diesel to push Vengeance through the calms, Dani wanted to be sure that the tall peaks on the islands didn't block their sailing wind. It was hard for the inexperienced to grasp how far out to sea the wind shadows reached.

  When she had come on watch at midnight, Connie had asked why they had gone so far to the west before taking up their northerly course. Dani had explained what she had learned from experience about the extent of the calm in the lee of the islands.

  "Why not go out to the east and turn north, then?" Connie had asked.

  Pleased that Connie had recognized that as an option, Dani told her about the prevailing winds and currents and pointed out that they needed to make over a hundred miles of westerly distance before they reached St. Martin anyway.

  "So it would be out of the way to head east, and against the current, as well," Connie had said.

  Dani complimented her on her grasp of the factors to be considered. "Besides," Dani had added, "you would want to be almost as far out to the east as we are to the west. The reflected waves from the east sides of the islands make it really rough out to the east. Besides that, without an engine, a wind shift from a squall could put us in danger of piling up on the reefs. Some of them stretch out a lot farther than you think."

  She knew it must be close to five o'clock from the hint of gray in the eastern sky. They had perfect weather for the trip, with 15 to 20 knots blowing steadily from the southeast and clear skies. A morning watch with no moon and no clouds made for an incomparable view of the stars. This far from land, she had barely been able to pick up the loom of Dominica, a soft glow on the horizon, so there had been little ambient light to dim her view. She was staring up, watching the blanket of stars that made up the Milky Way slowly fade as dawn spread across the sky. She smelled freshly ground coffee and knew that Liz must be in the galley, making a pot before she came on watch.

  Dani reflected on the luxury of having three people to stand watches; usually, she and Liz traded off every
four hours on overnight passages, but Connie was eager for the experience, unlike most of their charter guests. They would enjoy another five weeks of her company before they got back to the routine.

  Connie had come aboard with no sailing experience, intending to use a two-month charter as a way to find a place in the islands where she might want to settle. Her plans had been disrupted by some trouble that had followed her, but Dani and Liz had helped her sort it out. The three had become fast friends, and Connie had fallen prey to the charm of travel under sail. She had extended her charter by a few weeks and insisted on becoming a working crew member. She was determined to learn all she could from Dani and Liz and then buy a boat of her own.

  "Have a good watch?" Liz asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Dani sat up, feet on deck, and grasped the helm with her left hand as she reached for the steaming mug of coffee that Liz extended toward her. "Perfect. Never had to touch the sails; barely had to steer. You missed the best stargazing we've had in months. Sleep well?"

  "I did. I was afraid I wouldn't, with somebody still out there may be trying to kill us, but I crashed. I never even heard you get up to relieve Connie."

  "You were exhausted. You've been stressed out over Delorme ever since you first bumped into him. Then you guys pushed to get that crappy boat of his to Bequia and things went straight to hell. You needed a good night's sleep."

  "Yes. I'm glad Connie's standing watches."

  "I was just thinking the same thing. We'll miss her when her charter's up."

  "She's part of the crew. You think she'll buy a boat of her own?"

  "I think so," Dani said. "I'm not sure she knows what she's in for, though."

  "You mean taking care of the boat?"

  "No. She'll be on top of that -- already is, mostly. I was thinking about her having to put up with charter guests."

  "She's more easygoing than you are, and you do okay," Liz said.

  "Only because you keep me from losing it. I can think of several that I'd have made walk the plank if you hadn't reined me in."

  She paused for a sip of coffee, and then set the mug down. "Here it comes," Dani said, pointing to the eastern horizon.