by Tony Lavely
“Sorry. Of course I remember Amy. Guppy too. My expression reflected my surprise, nothing more.” He consulted his computer. “The morning watch’s log noted she left the anchorage before six, but nothing since. Sit down, please.” He tapped the keyboard and looked again. “No, nothing. It’s not all that late, though. Didn’t she leave a note or something?”
“No, which isn’t unusual. But she always calls when she’s later than I expect. We talked yesterday, and today after lunch, we’d planned to begin her junior year courses.” She shook her head. “I’m worried, Shen. What could have happened?”
“Does she have a sat phone?”
Millie shook her head. “I tried her cell, but it went right to voice mail.”
He nodded and worked the computer’s keyboard again. “Yes. Unless she’s close to an island, there’d be no coverage.” He gazed at the display for a moment before spinning the computer to face the doctor. “Here’s the twenty-five mile radar image, with an hour’s tracking data. I can’t see any of these targets being her.”
“Do we have earlier data? Could we see her leaving?”
“Hang on, I’ll check. But don’t get your hopes up.” He picked up his phone. “Unless there’s something suspicious, we only keep an hour or so of this data.” He talked for a minute, confirming the display on his computer represented all the data they had. “Sorry.”
She caught her breath. “What else can we do, Shen? She must be in trouble. I’m certain she’d have contacted us if she could. You didn’t see her yesterday. She was excited about starting the new material, and my promise to take her to Disney if she did well.”
“I’ll ask if Jean-Luc is available to search—”
“Thanks. While you do that, I’ll talk to Ian, and Beckie.” Millie rose and headed to the door. “Amy was emailing back and forth with her; maybe she knows something.”
“They’re at Ian’s. I’ll meet you there after I see about Jean-Luc.”
As he walked her to the dock, he wondered about Amy. Disappearing didn’t feel like something she’d do; it didn’t fit her personality. But, getting entangled amorously with Abby Rochambeau didn’t seem to fit her either. I don’t know, he thought, and his worries slipped to his own adopted daughter, approaching the age of independence. With a sigh, he continued toward the airfield office on Port Cay to find Jean-Luc.
The Calm Dissipates
Inside Ian Jamse’s home, Beckie Sverdupe sipped her glass of champagne. She stepped aside to the lanai railing and looked over her friends, all there to welcome her and Ian back from their week in London tying up loose ends. The railing caught her at the waist; at five foot nothing and a smidge under a hundred pounds, she didn’t worry about it holding her safe from the four foot drop to the beach.
Their trip had been successful, if turning a miscreant over to the police for what would likely be a long, long time should be called successful. September had just begun. In the US, Labor Day had been yesterday; in the Bahamas, it had been another Monday.
The flute in her right hand, she reached back with her left to pull her chestnut ponytail around to trail over her bust down to her belly. She finished the wine and placed the glass carefully on the rail. Her lips curved upward as she observed their guests.
Ian stood nearer the slider into the house. Beckie didn’t see what he’d noticed; her attention was fully taken by him. His tan slacks matched her shorts; they had both chosen white polo shirts. His ice blue eyes contrasted with her bright green irises, flashing now with pleasure. She could feel her love flowing across the ten feet between them. He rubbed his short blond hair. No, it looks white this afternoon. She really enjoyed running her fingers through it, almost as much as tucking her head under his chin and cuddling him.
Her heart beat harder, and she clenched her jaws to calm herself. Don’t need that here, she thought with a giggle, what would the kids think? Ian turned to step into the house; with a moué of disappointment, she walked toward Shalin and Kevin deVeel, their special friends.
Across the lanai, Millie had collared Ian; she was upset about something. Before Beckie could decide she needed to join them, they approached her. The upset on Millie’s face had morphed into something else: her jaw trembled, her eyes were slitted and her brow was furrowed.
Beckie’s heart jumped. Why is she scared? Who… Her mind leapt to the teammate injured in the last operation. “Elena? Is she—”
Ian touched her arm. “Ms Rios is fine. It is—”
“Amy! Amy’s disappeared!”
Damn! Beckie thought. That’s the last thing we need. “Calm down, Millie. I heard what you said, but what?”
Ian took Millie’s arm and led her to the sofa. Beckie accompanied them, taking a seat next to the distraught woman.
Go Shen hurried across the lanai to them. “Talking about Amy?” When Ian nodded and both Millie and Beckie turned to him, he said, “I told Millie most of this, but… She sailed out of the anchorage before six this morning. Waved to the camera like she always does. We thought nothing of it. We’ve had no signals from her, and there are no reported weather issues for, well, anywhere within her range in Guppy.”
“There’s nothing, Ian. I’m afraid…” Millie’s lower lip was quivering, she had pulled her arms tight to her torso; Beckie grasped her around the shoulders and hugged tight.
“Right,” Shen said. “Specifically, no maydays. Jean-Luc and a crew are taking the copter, but with night coming on, they’ll only be able to search a little while.”
“Does it seem early to send Jean-Luc?” Ian asked, looking at his watch. “She’s been out less than twelve hours.”
“Millie convinced me.” Shen snapped a glance to the woman.
She pulled herself up and glared at Ian while reviewing the reasons she’d earlier given Shen.
“Very well,” Ian said to both the doctor and Shen. “Advise him to communicate anything needed to advance the search.”
Shen pulled a chair over and sat. “He’s got radar, and Amy had the reflector and the masthead antenna; Guppy should show up bright and clear.”
“So he’s actually looking… for… debris…” Millie broke down, sobbing into her hands.
The others at Beckie and Ian’s impromptu welcoming party, attracted by Millie’s cry, had been listening, but in the silence broken only by the woman’s sobs, drifted away. Kevin stayed, but Shalin helped nudge the others along.
Beckie mouthed “Thank you,” to her as they slipped through the door. “Is that true, Shen, that they are looking for… if she sank?”
“They’re using radar and the big binoculars, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Including,” he murmured, “a debris field. But if she capsized, it’s far more likely the mast is in the water, but the hull isn’t submerged.” He rose. “I can’t help find her here. If you want information thirty seconds earlier than I can call, the conference room is available.” He walked around the sofa and took Millie’s hands. “I’m sorry I don’t have any good information for you.”
Ian gazed at Beckie; his eyebrows were raised and his head canted slightly even before he spoke. “There was no hint of Ms Ardan doing anything unexpected?”
Millie stared at Ian, but said nothing.
Beckie clutched her tight again. “Not a word. You both know we talked, and exchanged e-mails while you and I were in London, but nothing to suggest this is more than Amy taking a day sail.” She looked at Millie. “You’re right; she was excited about the stuff you were gonna start in her classes.”
“I know,” Millie said, though her voice was breaking. “We talked about it all weekend, and I thought… I thought with Abby gone, she was ready to begin the year eleven lessons.”
“Ah,” Ian said. “Abby. The elephant in the room, perhaps.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Millie rejoined. “Amy was okay with her leaving and already planning a reunion for when she got back.”
Beckie sighed and gripped Ian’s hand. “Let’s go over to Shen’s co
nference room to wait.” She took Millie’s hand.
About ten, Jean-Luc returned with his eyesore crew. “Nothing but water. We circled the Nest in a spiral out to about fifty miles, then a grid from west to east. A few boats, but none like Amy’s.”
At first light, Beckie joined the crew when Jean-Luc again lifted off to search. Shen advised the Coast Guard of Amy’s failure to return or report, but without better information, they too were left to make wide area searches, searching for anything unusual.
By sunset, Beckie’s eyes were aching; she was ready to soak her head in drops. The rest of the crew felt the same, she was sure: grateful to be back at the Nest, worried sick over not having seen anything that hinted at Amy’s fate.
“I’m not ready to hold a memorial!” she snapped at Ian when he tried to ask how she felt. “You listened to the same boring radio traffic I did; you know there’s nothing!” He straightened; his face paled and his mouth dropped open. She buried her face in her hands and apologized. “I love you, guy.” She pulled him close for a kiss, then looked into his face. “I’m so worried about her. Is there anything else we can do?”
“Let us talk with Shen. He’s been in contact with the Coast Guard. Perhaps they have a new bit of…” He sighed. “I doubt it, having listened to them all day also.”
Hand-in-hand, they made their way to Shen’s office. Beckie said, “I’ve gotta wash my face,” as she turned off to the ladies room. Inside, she found Millie, crying over the sink. Beckie spent a few minutes attempting to comfort the doctor before taking her along to the conference room.
She filled two cups of coffee and set one before Millie. Just as she raised her cup to her lips, Shen ran into the room.
“She’s ok!”
Beckie cheered with the others, but quickly realized Shen hadn’t finished. “Where is she?”
Shen’s voice was now rife with hesitation. “This morning, she cleared Customs at Caicos Marina, Providenciales, in the Turks and Caicos. She probably arrived last night. The Customs officer said she told him she was headed to Blue Hills to visit friends.”
Millie almost dropped her coffee. “She doesn’t know anyone—”
“I guessed as much because at Providenciales International Airport, there’s video of her getting on a plane to Miami. Her ticket was booked in the name of Amy Rochambeau and the passport she used matched.”
Beckie fell back in her chair and let the voices flow over her. Well, what the hell? she thought. This came up over the weekend? While Ian and I were flying back?
By the time Beckie tuned back in, Millie was stomping out the door. While she appeared to be happy Amy wasn’t dead, Beckie saw no guarantee most of Millie’s relief wasn’t because she’d now be able to kill the girl herself.
The others, Ian included, came to rapid agreement Amy was a simple runaway, chasing Abby. Beckie shook her head. A runaway doesn’t fit Amy’s personality, but with love involved… Who knows? she thought, recalling the conversations she’d had with the girl about her relationship with the older team member.
Ian looked at his partner; Kevin deVeel reached for his phone. His brief conversation with Barbara Saunders in Peru provided one bit of news: Abby was working incommunicado in Arequipa, so Barbara wouldn’t be able to ask her about Amy until she checked in, “Unless you want me to interrupt the surveillance?” she asked.
“No,” Kevin replied. “Not for what we know now. But Abby should call either Ian or me once she reports in. We’d like to ask about the passport Amy used.”
Beckie stood and touched Ian’s shoulder. “Nothing more to be done here, is there?”
“I believe not,” he replied.
Quietly, they left the conference room. Out on the crushed shell walkway to the dock, Beckie took Ian’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“Thinking I had an inkling of what was going on in her head.”
“That blame is shared among many people, most closer to the girl than you. We were some distance away.”
“I know. Just, it seems like something should have given it away. I spent time with her; she’s not that good at hiding things. She’s pretty open, in fact, so I’m at a loss.”
He handed her into the skiff and motored across the channel. On the way, she smiled at him in the half-light of the setting sun, then looked at her phone. “Well, tomorrow I should head to Miami. University started classes last week, so I’m behind already.”
Chapter Four
Starring Amy
AT EIGHT FORTY-FIVE THE Saturday after Amy’d disappeared, Beckie skipped down the steps of the air taxi from Miami. School was out for the weekend, and with Tropical Storm Eight brewing off the coast of South America, it might be out for a week. Maybe Amy’s back. That’d make it a great weekend, she thought.
Until Maurice Boynton, Ian’s factotum, opened the door for her. His face, his body sagged before he straightened. She could tell he had no smile to greet her. He nodded his head toward the slider opening on the lanai. “Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said. “Ian did not sleep well last night… No one slept well. I’m not sure this was a good time to visit.”
“Why?” When the man didn’t answer, she said, “Don’t act like Ian, please.”
“No, no. It’s simply… You’ll see.” He sighed and turned away.
Beckie looked after him, completely befuddled. She shook her head and went to the lanai.
All conversation stopped when she stepped through the sliding door. She met each face in turn: Kevin. Millie. Shen. Ian.
Ignoring the message of the taut faces, she went to Ian and kissed his cheek. “Hello, love.” She looked him in the eye. “What the hell have I walked into?”
Faces turned away; gazes fell to the owner’s hands. She snorted and pulled the last chair out. Dropping into it, she looked, first at Ian, then focused on Millie. “If you’re here, this is about Amy. What?”
The silence held a moment more until Shen, still staring at his hands, said, “Amy was not the runaway we wrote her off as.” Beckie leaned against the table. Shen glanced over at her. “She is not a runaway. She’s being… tortured, somewhere.”
“Augh!” Beckie slammed a fist on the table, but then counted three slow breaths. “What happened? When—”
Ian touched her hand. “Shen intercepted a message addressed to Ms. Rochambeau. Do you have it there?” As he gestured toward Shen’s laptop, Beckie realized he was as angry as she. Boynton’s words made more sense, now.
“Yes.” Shen opened his computer, typed a few commands and spun it so the display faced Beckie. She spent a moment reading the short message:
Jolene, you haven’t answered any of your mail. That’s very naughty of you, and we need to find an adequate punishment. While we consider what that should be, enjoy the show at our favorite file-sharing site. You know what to do to free this girl and make us go away forever. If your memory needs jogged, just watch it again. I’m sure something will occur to you.
“‘Naughty?’ Who even talks like that anymore?” She read it again. “Jolene? Does that mean… Abby?” Shen nodded. Back to the note. What’s this mean? She read aloud: “‘You know what to do to…’” Her voice rose to signal her confusion. “What girl?” Silence followed, except for a choked sob from Millie. So, it’s Amy. Must be. Even as she said, “What’s the link to?” she slammed her finger on the touchpad. Got to stay calm, she thought, as she sucked on her knuckle.
However, when the video player opened, any calm Beckie’d pressed on herself evaporated like dew on sun-baked pavement.
The small image was too clearly a woman spread-eagled on a platform, and a man having brutal intercourse with her. Unbelieving, she expanded the window to fill the screen and clicked the start button again.
Beckie sucked in her breath and forgot to exhale. In the expanded picture, Amy Rose’s features showed through the bruises, cuts and blood. Her lips were split, as were her left eyebrow and cheek.
The shock of seeing Amy�
��s beaten face was overcome by the horror of her rape. Damn! Those guys are so dead! Her breath whooshed out and she grabbed at her ponytail, yanking it around to cover her chest. Someone touched her arm; she jerked away before seeing Ian’s hand.
She blinked tears away and tuned out the assault; it would have been boring if not for Amy being there and the brutality the men displayed. But she didn’t turn it off. After the window closed, she looked up. The others had been discussing ways to track Amy, to find her now.
“There’s something there,” Beckie said. “Something familiar. Not sure what. I need to think.”
While Beckie pondered the background scenery in the video, she listened with half an ear as Barbara reported Abby had requested leave, then left before receiving authorization. A few minutes later, Kevin phoned Derek to ask about Abby’s history. Derek’s not particularly informative, “Pure as the driven snow, isn’t that what they say?” brought her head up, but not for long as he went on about Abby’s vetting at Columbia University and at the U.N.
Until Derek’s voice rang out: “Ah! Wait a mo.” She heard keys clattering as he apparently typed at full speed. “I sent a link to you, Shen. If that’s not what we’re looking for, it’s buried deeper than anything I know about. You can ask Elena about ‘er training, but… No, that’s it.”
The Internet was not speed of light fast, but the laptop, still facing Beckie, dinged before anyone had time to react. Shen took it and typed. His eyes got large, and he rotated the computer so the others could also see.
“Columbia Student Star Witness in Murder Trial,” the headline read.
Beckie felt her heart jump again as she read the New York Times story. “I don’t understand,” she said. “According to the story, this guy’s been convicted and is in jail.”
Ian looked up. “If we believe the Times, the whole case turned on Ms Rochambeau’s testimony. Were her testimony to be discredited or recanted, the defense would argue the conviction should be dismissed. Were she to recant, it is likely the court would agree with the defense.”
