Bluewater Revolution: The Twelfth Novel in the Bluewater Thriller Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida, Cuba, and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 12)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Sails Job?"

  "The latest book about Connie and Paul. Bud just released it a few weeks ago."

  "Suit yourself. You ready?"

  "Yes. Don't forget your lip gloss."

  "Trying to look like a girl on the make can be a pain. I hope David appreciates it," Dani said, turning to the mirror and puckering her lips.

  "I'm sure he will. You look stunning."

  "Thanks. I feel stark naked."

  "Stark naked? That sundress comes down to your knees."

  "But there's no back to it. I can't even wear a bra. And I'd rather be wearing shorts. Dresses are so ... "

  "So what?"

  "I don't know. My legs feel exposed when I sit down."

  "That's the idea, Dani. You have great legs; use them for something besides walking and kicking people."

  "And there's nowhere to put my multi-tool, or my rigging knife."

  "How about in your purse?"

  "No room, with my wallet and phone and all this girl stuff."

  "If you get in a bind and need tools, call me. I have mine."

  Dani put the lip gloss in her purse and turned to look at Liz. "You're wearing shorts and a polo shirt? I thought you were going to sunbathe."

  "I'll change at the club, if I feel like it. My suit's in my shoulder bag, with my multi-tool and rigging knife."

  "Oh, sure. Rub it in. Why can't I carry a shoulder bag?"

  "I told you. That canvas monstrosity of yours wouldn't go with your outfit. You'd look like a call girl with a bag full of sex toys."

  "How would you know?"

  "Movies. Blot your lipstick and let's go."

  "Are you driving the dinghy, or am I?"

  "I will. You'd break a fingernail."

  "And that's another thing. I hate these glued-on nails. Why do women do stuff like this to themselves?"

  "Men, Dani. Come on; it's time to get moving."

  ****

  Manny Cruz was eating lunch at his desk when Maldonado called. "What's happening, Willy?" Cruz asked when he took the call. He put his sandwich down on the wrapping paper and swung his feet off his desk to the floor, sitting upright, as if his boss could see him. For all he knew, Maldonado had a webcam right here in his office. The man didn't trust anybody, and reporting directly to him made Cruz nervous.

  "Is Ortiz in place yet?" Maldonado asked.

  "He should be having lunch with the girl about now," Cruz said. "He made a date with her for noon at the yacht club, I think. Why? Is something going on?"

  "Not yet, but the sooner he becomes part of her routine, the better. Martínez spoke with Davis early this morning. It's starting to move."

  "So soon? Where did Martínez -- "

  "You don't need to know that," Maldonado said, interrupting Cruz.

  "Right. I just want to be sure I'm positioned to help."

  "Do as I tell you and it will all work out," Maldonado said. "Davis has already called his former employers. He had a meeting with one of their field agents not long ago. Unfortunately, we didn't manage to get a recording, but that's okay. It's too early for them to have said anything important. But we'll need your help this afternoon."

  "No problem. Whatever you need," Cruz said.

  "A car and driver, non-descript, but classy enough to look like it should be picking up a passenger on Star Island."

  "You care about the plates?" Cruz asked.

  "Of course. It's picking up Davis and taking him to a meeting with Martínez. Davis will no doubt run the plates as soon as he gets back to the villa on Star Island. They should be a dead end."

  "Stolen okay?" Cruz asked.

  "The car? Or the plates?" Maldonado asked.

  "The plates. Car's too big a risk; I can send one of the company cars, but it'll come back to me unless we change the plates."

  "Stolen plates would be okay. Borrowed would be better, especially if you could return them before the owner notices. That'll send them on a false trail."

  "But wouldn't it make sense to have the plates lead back to someone in the exile community?" Cruz asked.

  "No. That would look sloppy. We want Davis and his people to think Martínez is with a serious organization. Plates that lead back to anyone who might know Martínez would look amateurish."

  "Got it. We can handle that. Where are we going to take Davis?"

  "That's your next step," Maldonado said. "You have a vacant rental property? Or one of your listings that's unoccupied for a few days?"

  "Sure, I can do that, but won't Davis trace the house?" Cruz asked

  "Blindfold him when he gets in the car."

  "Think he'll allow that?"

  "Yes. He's done this kind of thing before." Maldonado kept his impatience out of his voice. Now he had a better appreciation for why Martínez wanted him for a buffer. Cruz was a rank amateur. "He'll probably expect it," Maldonado said. "You can let him take it off once he's inside the house for the meeting; we want him comfortable. Just make sure there's nothing sitting around that will tell him where he is. No mail, no brochures, that kind of thing."

  "Right. Got it. When's the pickup?" Cruz asked.

  "I'll call you. How much lead time do you need?"

  "I'll send somebody to grab a license plate right now. Figure I'll have a car ready in thirty minutes. I've got a house ready now; we just staged it for showing yesterday. I was going to send Ortiz to put the brochures in it this afternoon after he's back from his lunch with the girl."

  "Good," Maldonado said. "Make sure Ortiz understands. He needs to seduce that girl; we want her under his spell. Besides what he can pick up from her and her friends, we may need her for leverage before this is over."

  "Got it. Ortiz is dumber than a stone, but the women can't leave him alone. Even Lupita thinks he's hot."

  "Why do you say 'even Lupita?'" Maldonado asked. "I always thought she was strange."

  "Me too, but I keep my mouth shut. I've seen what she does to people that rub her the wrong way."

  "Yeah. No matter. She's good at what she does. She still doing that cage fighting shit?"

  "Yeah," Cruz said. "She's good enough to turn pro, what I hear."

  "Don't lose her, Manny. Whatever it costs, keep her around. We need her."

  "No problem, Willy. I gotta get moving on the plates."

  "Good. You can tell me where the house is when I call you back, so I can get Martínez there."

  Maldonado disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Cruz called his secretary and told her to find one of the drivers and send him in. He picked up his sandwich and swiveled his chair, putting his feet back on his desk.

  ****

  Chapter 5

  "If you don't see me, just give me a call when you're done," Liz said, as Dani stepped onto the floating dinghy dock at the Miami Yacht Club. She chuckled as she watched Dani's barefoot walk up the gangplank, her high-heeled sandals dangling from her right hand. As Dani reached solid ground, she leaned against a dinghy rack and put the shoes on, wobbling away across the grass toward the clubhouse.

  As they had planned, Liz pushed off from the dock and motored out into the anchorage. They were early for Dani's date with David Ortiz, but Dani didn't want to chance having him see Liz hovering in the background. She'd asked Liz to drop her and then kill a little time before coming back to the club, in case Ortiz had arrived early.

  Liz smiled and shook her head at the memory of her friend's jitters. Dani could plan and execute a single-handed attack on a drug smuggler's boat with a heavily armed crew without showing the least anxiety. Going to lunch with a handsome man was a different thing entirely.

  Liz skirted the densely packed anchorage that extended from the club out to the first of the Venetian Islands. When she could no longer make out the club through the anchored boats, she checked her watch. It was ten after twelve; by the time she got back to the club, Ortiz and Dani would either be seated, or Dani would be devastated at having been stood up.

  As she wedged the dinghy in between tw
o others at the now-crowded dock, Liz spotted Dani and Ortiz seated at a table on the patio. She picked up the padlock from the pouch in the dinghy's bow and grasped the end of the 20-foot-long stainless steel security chain they used to lock their dinghy. She scrambled across another dinghy that was tied up short, blocking her path to the dock. After she stepped onto the dock, she crouched and looped the chain around the low railing, locking her dinghy to the dock. As Liz straightened up from her crouch, a flash of light from the parking lot caught her attention.

  She dropped back into a squatting position, pretending to check the lock as she studied the cars. She spotted a woman sitting in one, holding a camera with a big telephoto lens. As Liz watched, the woman snapped photos of Dani and Ortiz, the only people on the patio. The woman lowered the camera and sunlight reflected from the lens, replicating the flash that had caught Liz's attention.

  Liz stood up and mounted the gangway that led to the shore. Instead of taking the direct path to the patio and pool area that Dani had chosen, Liz turned left at the top of the gangway. She walked around the racks of stored dinghies, coming out into the parking area. With a clear view of the back end of the woman's car, Liz looked at her smartphone as if checking something. She snapped a photo of the license plate and put the phone back in her pocket.

  On her way to the women's locker room, Liz strolled past the driver's side of the car. With a sideways glance, she saw that the woman was young, with a mass of curly black hair. Looking at the screen on her camera, the woman didn't notice Liz.

  Once inside, Liz decided to skip changing into her bikini. Since Dani was sitting outside, Liz would sit at the inside bar where she'd be out of Ortiz's view. She wasn't sure if he'd remember her from their brief encounter last night when he'd approached their table at the nightclub, but she didn't want to chance it. She ordered a grilled mahi-mahi sandwich and a heart of palm salad from the bartender.

  "Great!" the bartender said. "Good choice. The mahi-mahi was caught just a few hours ago by one of the members. And what can I get you to drink?"

  "Iced tea, please," Liz said.

  "I'll get your order back to the kitchen and bring your tea right out, ma'am."

  "Thanks," Liz said.

  As the bartender left, Liz put her phone on the bar and sent a text to Paul Russo, asking if he could get someone to run the license plate number for her.

  "Are you meeting someone?" the bartender asked, setting a tall glass of iced tea on the bar in front of Liz.

  "No. Why?" Liz asked.

  "Oh, I was just going to suggest that you grab a table if you were. It'll fill up in a few minutes with the lunch crowd."

  "I see. Well, thanks, but I'm by myself today."

  "I don't remember seeing you here. Are you a new member?"

  "No, I'm an out-of-state member. My partner and I run charters down in the islands, but we get up here often enough to make the membership worthwhile. Did you need my club card?"

  "Oh, no. That's fine. Just making conversation. I like talking to visiting sailors; I'm going to take off cruising myself, one of these days."

  "What kind of boat do you have?" Liz asked.

  "I'm shopping. I was all set to go down island with my fiancé. We left from Annapolis last year and got this far before we broke up. The boat was his, so here I am."

  "Not a bad place to be shopping for a cruising boat," Liz said.

  "Not bad at all," the bartender agreed. "A lot of people get this far and lose their nerve at the prospect of finally going offshore. Then they put their boats on the market. Only problem is, most of the boats are way too big for me to single hand."

  "Newbies do tend to buy boats that are too big," Liz agreed. "So you know most of the members by sight, now?"

  "Well, most of the regulars. That guy out there on the patio with the pretty girl is in here all the time."

  "Handsome guy, isn't he?" Liz said.

  "Yeah, and he knows it, too. Thinks he's a real ladies' man, that one does."

  "One of those, huh?" Liz said.

  "Oh, he's not so bad," the young woman said. "I mean, he's polite and everything. Actually, he's a real nice guy, but he's got a different girl every time I see him. I went out to dinner with him a couple of times. He still hits on me every so often, but he's not my type."

  "Why's that?"

  "Not a serious sailor. He uses a company membership to entertain here."

  "What kind of company does he own?" Liz asked, fishing.

  "Real estate. But he doesn't own it. The owner's a guy named Manny Cruz. That guy just works there. He's like, some kind of sales agent, or something."

  "I see," Liz said.

  "Excuse me; that chime means your order's up." The woman stepped back into the kitchen and returned with Liz's lunch. "Well, nice talking with you. Guess I'd better get busy and set up for the crowd. Flag me down if you need anything."

  "Will do," Liz said. "Thanks."

  As she reached for her sandwich, her phone buzzed, vibrating on the bar top. She looked down and saw that Paul had sent her a text. She tapped the screen and read, "Car registered to Lupita Vidal. Cops know her; be careful. More when we see you."

  She tapped out a quick response. "Thx. Don't mention to anyone, esp. Dani. Will explain later."

  ****

  "Forgive the excessive caution of my associates, Señor Davis," Martínez said, handing Phillip a small cup of strong, sugar-laden coffee. "They trust no one these days, not even their fellow Americans. They treated you well, I hope -- except for the blindfold?"

  Phillip smiled and took a sip of the coffee. "Yes. Well enough. That's okay; I understand. My associates feel the same way about you, I'm afraid."

  Martínez chuckled and shook his head. "The one you met with on Lincoln Road this morning, he is too young to have much experience. I am surprised his superiors trusted him with such a sensitive mission."

  "They're all young, now, José. People our age have been put out to pasture."

  Martínez nodded. "Yes. Or buried. So what did this child have to say? Your meeting was quite brief."

  "He's just a messenger boy," Phillip said.

  "We have guessed this; it's not our first encounter with him. He had some questions, no doubt."

  Phillip nodded and took another sip of the coffee. "Yes. They wanted to know if I trusted you."

  Martínez laughed. "Fools. And I'm sure you told them you did not."

  "Almost. I told them I had no reason to trust or distrust you, that our acquaintance was casual."

  "Then, of course, he wanted to know what is your instinct about me, yes?"

  Phillip chuckled. "Were you listening in?"

  Martínez shook his head, smiling. "No, señor. But this is not my first time. What else do they want to know?"

  "The names of the organizations in the consortium you work with."

  Martínez looked away, a somber look on his weathered, brown face. After a moment, he turned back to Phillip. "No."

  "No?" Phillip asked. "It's a reasonable question."

  "Perhaps to someone not involved in this business, it is reasonable. I could, of course, name the 'usual suspects,' but that would prove nothing. Next they will want names of people."

  "You're worried that they'll arrest the people, or investigate them? Spoil the plot, somehow?"

  "No, señor. They have a track record of ignoring such activity, even though the rest of the world thinks they're allowing terrorists to operate with impunity. I don't think they would bother us that way."

  "What's the problem, then?" Phillip asked.

  "The problem is that the DGI has infiltrated all of these organizations, my friend. So has the FBI. Miami is overrun with double and triple agents."

  "You're saying you don't trust your own people, José?"

  "You and I are both alive after all these years because we are cautious men. They asked that question as a test, I think, not because they expected me to answer."

  "A test?" Phillip asked, frowning.
>
  "To see if I am a fool. This is what I think. To answer their question would be foolish. They know this. They are testing me. And to answer your question, I trust very few people. I don't trust any organization -- only a few individuals. You understand?"

  "Yes."

  "I knew that you would. You are the same, I think."

  Phillip held Martínez's gaze for several seconds. "I understand your position, but how can we move forward?"

  "I will send them a signal. They will recognize it, and they won't question my bona fides. Afterward, you will be dealing with someone at a higher level in their organization. I'm sure they won't trust that child with this, once they know I am serious. Did they have any other questions?"

  Phillip shook his head. "No, but I have one."

  Martínez grinned. "Perhaps I can answer it. Ask, señor."

  "Do you have funding for this?"

  "You mean, am I expecting your government to pay for it?"

  "Correct. That's my question."

  "The money is not a problem. What I need is for your government to stay out of our way. They have too many people watching us for me to do this without their blessing. As you no doubt guessed, we have staging areas in South Florida. They know where these are already. They must not interfere. That is one thing. The other is that they must allow our shipments to pass unquestioned. Our matériel will come from outside the U.S., to afford them deniability, as they call it. But it must reach our staging areas without U.S. Customs finding it."

  "You have a supplier already, then?"

  "In the fullness of time, my friend, we will discuss this. If you have nothing else, please put the blindfold on, and I will summon the car to take you back to the villa. And give Señor Espinosa my regards on his birthday, please."

  ****

  "I enjoy your company very much, Dani," Ortiz said, his demeanor matching the sincerity of his tone of voice. "I hope we can do this again, soon."

  "Oh, so do I," Dani said, annoyed as she felt the flush spreading up from her chest. She envisioned the red blotches that she could sense creeping up her neck. Her cheeks felt hot, and she fought down the urge to hop into his lap. Disgusted with her hormonal reaction, she reached for her water glass and knocked it over. "Shit!" she yelped, feeling her flushed skin burn with embarrassment.