Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5)

by Michael R. Stern

  “I'll have a ship nearby. How much longer?”

  “Couple of weeks. Maybe I can get 'em to hurry it up.”

  Richemartel said, “Now you see what we can do on a small scale, for each other. Imagine offering combined services, or using our combined strengths to prevent others from taking business from us.”

  After the meeting ended, Dewhurst said, his voice low, “Maybe Weiss came completely unglued, Florian. Our host seems to be engaging enough, and his ideas sound quite rational. I wouldn't have conceived of joint contracts, one-stop shopping.”

  “He has some good ideas.”

  “You aren't enthusiastic?”

  “Malcolm, we have a meeting later, and more tomorrow. I'll withhold my comments until we see the whole picture. Have you read the entire outline yet?”

  “No, I expected to read it in my cabin last night, but after Weiss, and then…” Florian recorded the look. “I was otherwise occupied.” Dewhurst said.

  “Read it before dinner. I'd like some of his ideas to be clearer.”

  Florian stepped on deck. “Walk with me,” Brie said.

  “It would be my pleasure.” he answered, loud enough for surrounding ears to hear. She took his arm, and she placed his hand on her hip, which he pulled back. She reached back and returned it. “I forgot you were wearing a bikini.”

  “Florian, for another day, that's where your hand wants to be. But we have company.” Margaret Ahn and Grace Bellwood approached, their heads close.

  “Mr. Declercq, as our leader…” Ahn began.

  “I'm not, Ms. Ahn. I'm no different than you.”

  “We were just discussing that,” said Bellwood. “For some of us at least, we would like you to be. None of us know our host, and if we need to do something, you seem to have a sense about him. He is intimidating.”

  “We've spoken to Mr. Dewhurst. He agrees,” Ahn said.

  “I am flattered ladies, but I see no reason for a spokesman. We are small enough a group to discuss things amongst ourselves. I'm sure Mr. Richemartel will work out fine.”

  As the women resumed their walk, Florian said, “What bothers me is they keep pushing me up front. I have no desire to confront Richemartel.”

  “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.” She glanced around to see if anyone might be nearby. Taking his arm, she steered him to the other side of the deck, watching the camera follow them. She grabbed him in a bear hug, and then placed her hands on his face to keep him from turning. “Be still,” she said, her back to the camera, and then directed him toward the bow.

  “Are they watching us?”

  “I think they're watching all of us, everyone. Florian, Richemartel is a typical behind-the-scenes character. But for anything hands-on, he's got Joe. Sleight of hand.”

  “I understand. What did you want to say?” The answer had to wait. They reached the open area at the bow, now cluttered with chairs and chaises, and people in turbulent conversation, which stopped when they came around the corner.

  Florian said, “I hope we are not interrupting. Am I missing something?”

  “A continuation of our chat, Mr. Declercq,” said Grace Bellwood. “I told Mr. Dewhurst what you said, but Mr. Hammersley has agreed with us.”

  “That's right, Florian. I think it's a great idea. You should be our spokesman. And Joetta thinks so too, don't ya, honey?”

  While he listened to the recruitment speeches, he spotted another camera swivel. None of the others looked. “As I said to you, Ms. Bellwood, I don't agree that we need a representative. Now, only seven of us remain and we're all right here. We can each say what we like. But if you insist, I'll consider your proposal and give you my answer at dinner. But please understand that I regard that doing so is divisive. Now, if you will excuse us.” Turning away from the camera, Florian put his hand on Brie's waist, and after a couple of steps, pinched her bottom. She jumped and squeaked, to the amusement of those watching.

  “Well, that's more like it,” she said, when they were out of earshot.

  “Something for the video montage. Sorry. What do you think I should do?”

  “Do it. You better than any of them can ask pointed questions without challenging him. Maybe we can ruffle those arrogant feathers.”

  After an uneventful dinner, with Brie again next to Richemartel, Florian said he would do as they asked, but that he would tell Richemartel what they had decided. Like a gang of guilty children, not making eye contact, shuffling feet and staring at shoes, they accepted his deal.

  As promised, before the meeting started, Florian waited for everyone to be seated. The hum of the engines drowned out the absolute silence, all eyes on him.

  “Mr. Richemartel, I would like to say a few words before you start.”

  “We are all free to say whatever we like, Mr. Declercq. But if you are going to tell me you've been chosen as a spokesman, of that I have been enlightened. In fact, Ms. Sanderson mentioned it at dinner.” He rose, stretching to full height, close cropped white hair motionless under the fan above. “But let me tell you, your status became clear to me after you met with Peter Seymour.” He looked from face to face, pausing to meet each pair of eyes, and said, “None of you are reluctant in your own companies. You are here because of your progressive thinking and leadership. I am nothing more than a facilitator, and of course, your host.” He paused, having intimidated them without a harsh word. “Tonight, I would like to speak in more detail of my worldview and about money.”

  A screen rose from the shelf behind him, and he switched on a projector. He explained how a small investment would grow four-fold using his strategy. He told the how and what in general terms, not mentioning specific intended projects.

  Florian listened, watching the manipulation with an appreciation of how Richemartel's approach ensnared them. They would all be linked and their host would remain invisible. “You can do this with only one million dollars from each of us? And we will be part of the decision-making on the projects?” asked Travers.

  “Yes, to both questions. Does anyone not see? Let me give you an example. This vessel. It cost $173 million dollars to build. I bought it at auction for forty-seven million. I could sell tomorrow for one hundred twenty-five, with a phone call. By Monday night, the money would be in an untaxed and untraceable account.”

  Declercq sensed no financial risk, looked around the room, and said, “You asked me to be a spokesman. We are all in.” He scanned the worried faces. “I see no risk and tremendous reward. Do you doubt me? Or do you doubt your choice now?”

  “Mr. Declercq, I see what you see,” said Isaac Martin.

  “I'm not sure I do, but if you think so, I'm in,” said Hammersley. The rest, slow and reluctant, agreed one by one. Florian watched Richemartel, no joy in his eyes, as each convert joined.

  “I'm glad though not surprised that I made the right choices,” their host said. “But may I point out that you have all made this decision on your own.” The net had been well camouflaged, the trap well set, Florian observed. They had walked in without coercion.

  “Mr. Richemartel, I will collect the funds, but where shall I send them?” Florian asked.

  “I'll have an account address for you later.”

  The meeting ended at the perfect time. Facing the sunset and a stronger breeze, the wake of the ship's forward motion jostled the company as they stood mesmerized by the color changes over their little oasis in the massive desert of ocean. Florian and Brie leaned on the rail, holding hands. She could see the tension in his posture. He rotated his head to relieve the pressure. Until the others began to wander off, he dared not draw more attention.

  “I'll be glad to see land again,” Malcolm Dewhurst said, his comments seconded by some of the others.

  “But this is a beautiful sight,” said Brie. “I've never seen a sunset quite like this. It's like we're surrounded by a peach.”

  Florian agreed. “In all my years at sea, I've never sailed the Pacific. And as big a ship as this is, we are mere
specks.”

  “When we see it tomorrow, it'll be with my feet planted firmly at the hotel bar,” Hammersley said. “I hope.”

  When the sun finished its western sojourn, night rushed to take over. Although the temperature cooled, the deck remained occupied. City dwellers, which they all were, rarely see the glittering display they observed. No light interfered with the expanse of stars or the occasional streak of ancient worlds burning through the atmosphere.

  “We need to have a fight,” Brie told Florian. “You're jealous of his attention. Can you do that?”

  “Why?”

  “I'll tell you tomorrow, but can you be convincing?”

  “I can.”

  “Good, then let's get started.”

  They were loud and nasty, and they startled everyone nearby.

  Florian's early appearance before sunrise, rumpled and bleary-eyed, caught the attention of two crew members. He went to the dining room for coffee and back to the deck.

  Richemartel crept up behind. “Couldn't sleep?”

  “Bad night.”

  “So it would seem. You and Ms. Sanderson appear to have hit a wrinkle.”

  Florian turned to the bow. “We're heading east. When do you expect to reach port?”

  “Early afternoon. Some of you have flights to catch. I'm glad we have a private moment. I am not a poacher. My conversations with your guest have been about her business expansion. Nothing more.”

  “As I've spent time with her, the novelty is wearing off.”

  “My own experience predicts that characteristic often. Is your ship cleared of the Israeli harbor?

  “Not entirely. The port is open with warning markers. Divers continue investigating. Salvaging the cargo presents a particularly thorny problem. The investigation found explosive residue, but the salvage operation is disturbing the evidence. We may never find out who is responsible.”

  “Bad things do happen. As long as you're reimbursed, you will not be harmed financially.”

  “That may be. But when I rebuild, I want a design to prevent the possible loss of another ship, not to mention the potential loss of my crew.”

  “When you decide on a builder for the replacement, you will inform us all, I'm sure.”

  “Mr. Richemartel, as pleasant as this trip has been, not for a minute have I doubted the concept presented to us in New York. We are not friends. In fact I've never before heard your name. What I have observed is that you are wealthy and intelligent. And not afraid of risk. Let me assure you that facing oceans is not without risk and I've been so engaged for most of my life. I have lived comfortably and now, as a Caballero, I expect to make a great deal of money. I appreciate the invitation.” Florian hoped he been as convincing this morning as he and Brie had been during the night. He hoped also that his knack for reading reactions retained its usual well-honed edge. Richemartel seemed pleased, but Florian found him hard to gauge.

  “Then I am pleased. Breakfast will be available in about fifteen minutes. Walk with me.” Facing the rising sun, their host presented Florian with a new piece of information.

  An hour later, Brie strolled into the dining room, arm-in-arm with Joe. In a quick glimpse after checking the room, she winked at Florian, and then ignored him. Florian returned to their cabin, expecting to find disarray. Her packed bag sat on a chair next to the already-made bed. He showered and selected a shirt for the return to shore. In the pocket, a piece of paper rattled to his touch. He took the shirt into the bathroom, read the note, and, as he had seen in more than one movie, chewed and swallowed. Once packed, he joined the others in the dining room. Jeff Hammersley was red-faced, tears tracking his cheeks. Florian bent to Dewhurst. “What's happened?”

  His lips trembling, Dewhurst said, “We've lost another one.”

  “What?”

  “It seems Joetta went for a walk last night. He slept through until morning. He can't find her. She's not on the boat.”

  He sought Brie's eyes. As he took a step toward her, her indiscernible nod turned him to Hammersley.

  “Jeff, have you spoken to Mr. Richemartel yet?”

  “He said they would check the ship's camera footage. But she could be anywhere. I fell asleep before midnight and didn't wake up until almost seven.” Florian checked the faces surrounding them, noted the quiet whisperings. She would never be found. What will the cameras really show?

  Richemartel reviewed footage he had already seen, real-time, when her weighted legs hit the water. He replaced the video with old footage, which showed nothing, and returned to his guests.

  “Mr. Hammersley, I could find nothing untoward. I would be happy to show you the recordings.”

  “What difference will it make? You gonna go back and look?”

  “We hit some waves when we turned east. But that was eight hours ago, Mr. Hammersley, and one hundred and fifty miles behind us. We don't have enough fuel to go out and still be able to reach port. I am sorry. I have notified the authorities.”

  “You must be their best friend this weekend.” Hammersley sighed and walked away.

  Florian went to get his breakfast in line behind Brie. She turned on him, yelling, “Don't you touch me.” With her plate full, she sat down between Joe and John Travers. Florian took a small plate, added toast and bacon, and sat alone.

  By noon, a vague panorama became visible, small as yet on the horizon. Though a meeting had been planned, no one showed any interest in further discussion. But individual conversations kept the tension of the morning at its peak. Margaret Ahn said when she left the boat she planned to leave the group for good. Florian turned from the deck rail and called her to him.

  “Margaret, if I may, two things. First, I don't think it wise to leave the group. Second, you must be aware that your comments are being recorded.”

  “Mr. Declercq, as you said, we are free to make our own decisions. I've made mine, thank you. In two days, two people were lost at sea. I don't wish to add to the number.”

  He took her arm at the elbow and turned her to the railing. He told her she could disappear just as easily on land, and if she had reason to fear, she should keep her comments hidden. She yanked her arm free and glowered at him. “I expected you to represent us, to protect us. I was wrong.” He spotted the camera swivel as she returned to her conversation with Grace Bellwood.

  At two fifteen, the twin anchors were dropped, and Richemartel waited by the steps to say good-bye. Brie climbed down first and the launch filled in no time, everyone anxious to escape. The last to depart, Florian shook hands and thanked Richemartel for an interesting weekend. Richemartel wished him a safe trip home. “You will hear from me soon.”

  Although the hotel was a few blocks away, Florian crossed the street, Brie nowhere in sight. Walking at a brisk pace to avoid further confrontation, squeaking brakes and a loud thump sent him running back. Splayed on the pavement, with no visible movement, Margaret Ahn, faced the sky, seeing nothing through open eyes. Grace Bellwood leaned against Jeff Hammersley. She had been two steps behind as they walked between two parked cars. Sirens bleated nearby, and a cruiser sped around the corner. Florian walked back across the street and hailed a cab.

  “Aren't you going to stay?” Dewhurst called out.

  “I wasn't a witness. I only turned when the tires squealed. I'll see you later, perhaps.”

  A soft tap on the door separating their rooms got him up. Only her eye peeked through the crack. As he opened the door, she held her index finger to her lips. Brie wagged her fingers, and he followed her to the balcony.

  “Is she dead?” he asked.

  “Yes. I'm not staying the night. I booked a red-eye to New York at eleven. I'll take the first train to Washington.”

  “Do you want me to join you?”

  “No. Go to the Willard. I'll meet you in the bar. We both need to get out of here. Don't change your plane reservation, but take the first one you can. Do you have enough cash to pay for the ticket? We'll take care of it later.”

  “T
hat's fine, but I want to speak to you.”

  “It'll have to wait.”

  Sunday evening, October 9

  “Jim, Florian Declercq here. I'm flying straight to Washington tonight. I can't talk now. I'll make notes on the plane. I'll be at the Willard. We can take the next step when I'm settled.” With a few hours to kill, he walked the concourse, passed through security and sat at the departure gate, safe from prying eyes. Around nine-thirty, Brie walked past to her gate. Behind her, two men strolled toward the far gates, scanning the faces, and keeping close. He sent her a text, and received an answer a moment later, “my guys.” He sat back, relaxing for the first time in three days.

  * * *

  “MR. PRESIDENT, Florian just made contact. He's coming here overnight.”

  “How was the trip?”

  “He sounded anxious. They weren't supposed to leave until tomorrow. Brie is booked for New York tonight. Her email was terse. She sent '3 dead. More later.' I have agents on the plane with her. Just in case.”

  Chapter 31

  TIM MILLER RECEIVED a call in the suburban Cleveland office that he called his vacation home. The caller had made this call each week for more than two decades.

  “Morning, Tim,” said James Sapphire. “Any word from Emily?”

  “Hi Jim. Nothing new. She's trying to force Linda to go home. Says she'll come home when Linda does.”

  “Why don't you call Russell and tell him to come get her.”

  “I expected him long ago. I've talked to Linda, and I can say, not unhappily, mind you, this marriage is done.”

  “Kids today. Did you see the latest secret weapon story yesterday? Straight from Star Trek. No wonder no one trusts the media.”

  “They have a secret weapon, Jim. I've seen it, but you can't tell anyone. I swore an oath.”

  “Why didn't you say something before?”

  “Never came up. Fritz is the secret weapon. Well, not exactly. His classroom door is a time-travel portal.”