She poked her head out the companionway, fire in the look she gave him. "What?"
"Everything okay down there?"
"Yes, from a seaworthiness point of view. Those bastards took our computer, and they tore the hidden strongbox out of the bilge, so they got my jewelry and our emergency stash of cash and diamonds. Not to mention all the paperwork for our bank and brokerage accounts. What's up with Johnson?"
"Checking with the Coast Guard to see if they know anything about this."
She shook her head. "Sharktooth will be here in a few minutes, so get off the phone as quickly as you can."
"Sharktooth? What's -- "
"The VHF still works. I asked him to bring Lightning Bolt and a couple of hands to take Diamantista II back to Portsmouth."
"Why? What are you -- "
"I'm going after those shitheads and get our stuff back. Besides, I have a score to settle with that animal that hit my husband."
"They'll be long gone, Connie."
"No way. That boat they were in is good for maybe 45 knots in flat water, and they were headed west. There's probably some kind of mother ship out there. With the sea that's running, they'll have to slow down to 20 or 25 knots. Lightning Bolt's good for over a hundred knots in this kind of sea state, and she's got all the armament we need. Those assholes are mine. Get through with Johnson. We need to get ready. Sharktooth's going to be here any minute. I need to gather up a few things." She ducked back below.
"Paul?"
"Yes, Noah?"
"Those weren't ours. Neither the FBI nor the Coast Guard. Anybody can buy one of those boats and trick it out, they said. It's happened before."
"That's not a big surprise. Any other news?"
"Oh, yeah. With the trail from the million dollars and the website info you sent, we've cracked the Lewises' scam wide open. Multimillion dollar Ponzi scheme. The arrest warrant just came through. Now we just have to figure out how to get to the Lewises."
"Yeah. Maybe we'll be able to help with that. Why don't you scan that warrant and email it to me, just in case?"
"On the way, but I'm thinking of bringing a team down. Where can I meet you, say this evening?"
"Portsmouth, Dominica. Just tell the locals you're looking to hook up with Sharktooth."
"Is that a joke?"
"No. Maybe I'll see you tonight. I need to go; lots to do here. I'll explain later."
****
Senator O'Toole was enjoying a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and his first cigar of the day at his desk in his West Palm Beach office, when his secretary cracked the door and poked her head in.
"Sorry, Senator, but there's a man on the line from the FBI's congressional liaison office, or something like that."
"Okay," O'Toole said, moving his feet off the desk and putting his coffee cup down. "Put him through."
She nodded and closed the door. O'Toole picked up his coffee and had swiveled to face the credenza behind his desk when the phone rang. He pressed the lighted button and said, "O'Toole."
"Senator, the Director advised that we should keep you updated on the Lewis case; it's being handled out of Miami."
"Yes, that's right. Is there some news?"
"Yes, sir. The case is breaking. They have definitive evidence that the Lewis couple was running a Ponzi scheme, not to mention violating a number of provisions of the Bank Secrecy Act. Arrest warrants are in process. And related to that case, there was an analyst in the Miami office who committed suicide after it was discovered that he was leaking information on the Lewis case. Are you interested in that one?"
"Have there been developments on that case?"
"Yes, sir. There was a video of a compromising nature found on the analyst's home computer. It appears he was being blackmailed."
"I see. And was the person blackmailing him somehow related to the Lewis case?"
"That's yet to be determined, sir, but it's likely. The forensic IT people are working on the video. They've been able to determine its origin based on metadata analysis, and they expect to be able to pinpoint computers that have been used to make copies. It's only a matter of hours, I'm told, before they have a list of the potential blackmailers. They already have a couple of suspects. One is there in West Palm, based on the IP address. They don't yet have an identity, but that's straight forward once they have the IP address and MAC address. Would you like for me to keep you posted on the progress there?"
"Sure. That would be great. Thanks."
"My pleasure, Senator."
O'Toole hung up the phone and took the last swallow of his lukewarm coffee, wrinkling his nose at the sour flavor. He'd let it sit too long. He opened the center drawer and took out a prepaid phone that had Jansen's new prepaid number programmed. He hesitated briefly, but then he shook his head and pressed the speed dial button.
"Hello?" O'Toole recognized Jansen's voice.
"Is this a good time? You alone?" he said, giving Jansen a chance to verify his voice.
"Yes. What's up?"
"We need to talk. Meet me at the fishing camp."
"When?"
O'Toole looked at the clock on the corner of his desk. "Two hours," he said, allowing time to track down Gator Jaw and then drive out to the Everglades.
"I'll be there."
"Good. See you then." He hung up the phone and slipped it in his pocket.
He thought for a moment and then pressed the intercom key on his desk phone.
"Yes, Senator?"
"Call Mr. Ryan's secretary and find out where I can meet him in the next few minutes, please. And cancel anything I have on my calendar for the afternoon. I think the fish are biting."
"Yes, Senator."
****
"Hey, Leon?"
"Yeah, Jorge. What's up?" Leon Contreras was on his way to the rental car counter in Miami's International Airport when he recognized Jorge's satellite phone number on his caller i.d. He paused to take the call.
"We just followed Jansen to some place that looks like an abandoned fishing camp out in the Everglades."
"Yeah? What's he doing there?"
"There were two guys waiting for him. One of them he knew -- named O'Toole. O'Toole introduced the other one to Jansen as Gator Jaw Ryan."
"Okay. What else?"
"Jansen called O'Toole 'boss' once, and 'senator' another time. And then the one called Gator Jaw killed him -- Jansen, that is. Shot him in the head, point blank, with a silenced pistol."
"Jesus! You still got eyes on them?"
"Not me, but Miguel's following them. I wanted to check in first."
"Following them where?"
"They dragged Jansen to this rusted out Jeep and drove farther down into the swamp."
"How's Miguel following?"
"On foot. They can't go very fast, driving through the muck."
"Did you get a good look at these two? Good enough to put together composites later?"
"Better. We got the whole thing on video."
"Great."
"I'd better catch up with Miguel; I just thought you ought to know."
"Yeah. I'll be at the motel whenever you get back. Be careful."
"Always."
Chapter 29
"How are we going to do this?" Paul asked, his knuckles white on the grab rail as Lightning Bolt leapt across the waves, spray flying. The three big V8 engines roared intermittently when their exhausts came out of the water.
Sharktooth, hands on the wheel, looked up from the small radar scope on the dash panel. "We catchin' 'em." He touched a big finger to the tiny smudge on the screen. Five more minutes, at mos'. They can't go as fas' as we. They makin' mebbe 20, 25 knots."
"Where could they be headed?"
"Ship out there," Sharktooth said. "Only one, though. Rusty little ol' freighter. Mus' be where they goin'."
"It's not on the scope," Connie said, fiddling with the range setting on the radar.
"No. Too far," Sharktooth said. "Mebbe when we catch them we be in range for radar."<
br />
"Why would they be so far out?" Connie asked.
Sharktooth shrugged. "We ask when we see them." He grinned.
"How do you know about the ship?" Paul asked.
"I call Clarence when Connie call me. One of his choppers from Martinique check it out."
"Is the chopper still up?" Paul asked.
"Mebbe. But I don' t'ink we need."
"So back to my question," Paul said. "How are we going to do this?"
"Connie?" Sharktooth said, "You got a plan?"
"I'm open for suggestions; I don't really care, as long as we get the Lewises and our stuff back. If it works out, I've got a personal score to settle with one of them, but that's not important."
"Okay, then. I t'ink we do this. We match their speed and hold about 200 meters to one side. One of you take the wheel, and I blow their engines off the stern."
"How?" Paul asked.
Connie took the wheel and Sharktooth disappeared into the forward cabin. He emerged, a grin on his face, in less than a minute. He gripped an oversized assault rifle with a scope mounted.
"Barrett XM500," he said. "Fifty caliber. Two-thousand-meter range. One round probably for both outboards."
"Will you be able to hold it steady enough under these conditions?"
"No problem. Mebbe have to shoot two rounds."
"So you blast their outboards," Paul said. "Then what?"
"They stop," Sharktooth said. "Prob'ly, they shoot back, but you say they got M-4s, right?"
"Yes."
"Harmless at 200 meters, I t'ink, but we take no chance. We see one of them lif' they rifle, I shoot him. Mebbe shoot another one, until they get the idea. Then we use the loud-hailer. Tell them throw they weapons over the side. After that, we close in on them an' take what we want."
"Then what?" Paul asked.
Sharktooth looked at Connie, waiting. After a few seconds he said, "I got plastique. Could have an accident; lots of gasoline on a boat like that."
"That's cold-blooded murder," Paul said.
"We could leave them for the Coast Guard and the FBI," Connie said.
"The ship might pick them up; no tellin' what happen, if we let them go," Sharktooth said.
"Yeah, and I'm not sure where the authorities would come out on this, unless we're prepared to testify somewhere," Paul said. "And even then ... "
"We could do both," Connie said.
"Huh?" Sharktooth said.
"We'll make them jump overboard and then tow their boat a few hundred yards away. Then you can blow it up," Connie said.
"And just leave them in the water?" Paul said. "We're 30 miles from the nearest land. They'll never make it."
"Maybe their mother ship will pick them up," Connie said. Seeing the look on Paul's face, she added, "It could happen."
"Not likely," Paul said.
"Life's full of risks. Remember Kathy's example? Why it doesn't pay to be overly cautious?"
"What's that got to do with this?" Paul asked.
"I think these guys we're worrying about are risk takers," Connie said. "Not overly cautious. But we could give 'em a choice. 'Swim for it, or go up with your ship.' I -- "
"There they are," Sharktooth said, pointing at an orange speck on the horizon.
"We'll see how they behave and decide at the last minute," Connie said.
Paul nodded.
Sharktooth opened a locker under the dash and pulled out a zippered canvas bag. He handed it to Connie. "Handguns for you and Paul."
Sharktooth's satellite phone rang. He glanced at the caller i.d. and took the call. "Hello, Clarence. We jus' about to engage. The chopper still up?" He listened for a moment. "Okay. No problem. I tell her before we start. She got a problem, we call you right back. You don' hear, then you good to do it."
Disconnecting the call, he turned to Connie. "Clarence jus' get the word from some part of the French government. They spotted these people we after somewhere 'roun' Martinique. They been lookin' for them. Clarence s'pose to handle it. He gonna wait 'til we finish before he give his people the go-ahead. That all right wit' you?"
"Yes," Connie said. "I guess that solves our problem."
"What part of the French government?" Paul asked. "And what does 'handle it' mean?"
"Those the kind of questions it's bes' not to ask Clarence," Sharktooth said. "I t'ink they jus' now see us. Who gonna steer?"
"I will," Connie said, moving behind the wheel as Sharktooth picked up the sniper rifle and dropped to a crouch on the port side of the cockpit.
****
It was late afternoon by the time O'Toole pulled into the parking lot outside his office. He had considered going straight to his house, but decided that one of his nosey neighbors might notice that he left home in a suit this morning and was returning in muddy fishing clothes. He was a cautious man.
He'd called his secretary earlier and encouraged her to leave work early. He'd kick back and have a drink from the bar in the corner of his office, then change back into his suit. Maybe he'd even go out to dinner on his way home. He was feeling pretty good about life in general; it was exciting to be free of Jansen. He'd never liked the man, truth be known.
When he rounded the corner of the building where his reserved parking place was, he thought at first that the big, black Mercedes was in his spot. As he got closer, he saw that it was in the handicap parking space next to his. The car had backed into the parking place, and its running lights were on, so somebody must be waiting in the car. "Probably figures to move if a cop comes," he mumbled.
Then he saw the handicap tag hanging from the rearview mirror inside the windshield. The windows were tinted, almost black. He couldn't see into the car except for the white shirt and tie of the man behind the wheel. He pulled into his parking place and set the brake, shifting into park and turning off the engine. He pulled the key from the ignition and opened his door.
As he swung his legs out, pivoting in the seat, he saw the rear window on the driver's side of the Mercedes opening. Before he could react, a smooth voice spoke from the adjacent car.
"Don't be nervous, Senator. I was hoping for a few minutes of your time, since Art Jansen has disappeared."
"Who?" O'Toole asked, swallowing hard. "Who's Art Jansen?"
"It's okay, Senator. Your secret's safe with me. It's not in my interest to expose you."
"Who are you?"
"We haven't met, but we have a number of things in common. Why don't you have a seat in my car and let me pour you a drink?"
"Are you a constituent?" O'Toole asked.
"No, Senator. I don't vote in the U.S. Look, I know this is strange, but think, man. If I meant you harm, you'd be dead by now. We're in the same business, you and I. Privacy in our personal dealings is critical to us both. Come, have a drink with me. We'll ride around a bit and get acquainted. I have a lucrative business proposition for you."
O'Toole thought about it for a few seconds. "Okay, but reach across and open the door, would you? I'd like to see you before I get in your car."
"Certainly. But be forewarned; my face is unforgettable. Don't be put off by it; I can't help it, and once you've seen it, we'll never have to meet again. We'll be able to transact our business remotely, by phone or email."
"Why is that? What are you -- "
The door swung open, and O'Toole looked at the hideously scarred face of the man who was still leaning across the back of the car. He forgot what he'd been about to say.
"I'd smile, if I could, to show you that your presence is welcome, Senator, but you see, I can't. Come on, please, before someone notices our strange behavior."
O'Toole held the man's eyes and nodded. He got out and closed his car door, remembering to lock it with the remote. He got into the Mercedes and closed the door. A politician to the core, he extended his right hand to shake and said, "William O'Toole. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr.?"
"My name doesn't matter. People know me by my face."
"But what about doin
g business by phone? You said -- "
"Yes. I always say that you'd know who I am if only you could see my face. It's sort of a trademark, you see?"
"Yes. But what if it's someone who doesn't know you?"
"I only speak on the telephone to people I've met. The same with email. It's safer that way, for both parties. I don't like using names. It's too easy for people to eavesdrop. I have a perfect memory for voices."
"Good enough," O'Toole said. "You mentioned lucrative business?"
"Yes. I like that, Senator O'Toole. That you are direct, I mean. So I'll be the same way. The people who are distributing certain products on your behalf have been giving you trouble. My organization can fix that."
"How?" O'Toole asked.
"Careful management, quality products, and on-time delivery."
"You're competing with my supplier?"
"I know competition is the American way, Senator, but it's terribly inefficient. Let's say we're buying up the smaller suppliers in the interest of stabilizing our market."
"I see. Say I was interested, what would it cost me?"
"Nothing. Not a penny."
"I don't understand."
"Think of yourself as a hands-off owner. We'll run your business, maintain or improve upon the margins that you're accustomed to, and ramp up the volume. You sit back and watch the money pile up in your offshore accounts. Clean money, by the way. And there won't be any more turf wars, or people trying to steal your dealers. That will all be in the past."
"That sounds too good to be true. How can it be?"
"It's the age-old power of a monopoly."
"What do I have to do if I want to make this happen?"
"Shake my hand. Talk to me when I call. Call me if there's something you think I should know."
"What's my value added? Why do you need me?"
"I'm surprised you have to ask. You built this business; you created value by doing that. We can enhance it, build on it, but we recognize your contribution. Your insight and experience are valuable to us, as well. We would expect you to impart your knowledge to us. And, you're a powerful man in the U.S. government. I know I don't have to explain how valuable that is."
"What if I say no?"
"You're a reasonable man, Senator -- an astute businessman. How could you say no to what I'm offering you?"
Sails Job - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 6th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 21
