Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  He’d lost control. He wouldn’t let it happen again. The cruise was only the beginning of the good things he’d planned for her.

  * * *

  Eve slipped out of her dress and hung it in the narrow closet. Thank goodness she’d already laid out a change of clothes on her berth. Captain Emilio had left the dining room sooner than she expected, and his wink as he passed her table had set her nerves to jangling. Up till now, switching from prosecuting attorney to field agent had proved fun. She’d worked on the crew by first ordering room service, then gaining a tour of the galley, and eventually a trip through the entire ship. The crew loved her interest in them and eagerly answered all her questions.

  But what had she discovered? Nothing. She shook out the cobalt blue, V-neck blouse and white, cuffed shorts and put them on, then plucked out the pins holding her hair in a French twist. Her visit in a few minutes with Captain Emilio had to look casual, like it was no big deal. No giveaways like trembling fingers or forgetting her name was Eva Gray.

  She squinted into the tiny bathroom mirror and settled on a light application of lipstick, no powder. Okay, so she hadn’t discovered the hold stuffed full of drugs. But she had unearthed two puzzling events that sat like lead in her gut.

  Why was the ship operating with a skeleton crew—maybe half what it needed? The men were scrambling from room service to meal preparation to the mechanics of running the ship. Then there was the fact that every member of the crew was sailing the Gateway for the first time. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Only Chester, the first mate, was an old-timer. She blew out a breath, remembering how unfriendly and close-mouthed the officer had been.

  She slid her feet into high-heeled sandals and buckled the straps. Somehow those two discoveries were important. They pointed to something, but what? Three more days until they docked in Manila. She needed to pull things together.

  She found Captain Emilio alone on the bridge, leaning over a map spread on a chart board. He had removed his jacket, and the back of his short-sleeved shirt was pasted in a line of sweat bracketed by his shoulders and running down his spine to his waist. He turned to face her as the wooden deck creaked under her sandals, his eyes constricted, hard, like a hawk sighting its prey.

  Her breath froze, and for a second she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Then he smiled, and the icy bullet in her lungs dissolved. Had she imagined animosity? She took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be as easy as questioning the crew.

  “We still on course?” She nodded at the map and forced a smile.

  “We’re right where I want us to be.” His voice was deep, confident, a man used to getting his way. He stepped around the chart board, his eyes sliding appreciatively over her body. His hand pressed lightly against her waist as he guided her to a tray offering an assortment of drinks.

  She stiffened at his touch, and his hand dropped.

  “An after-dinner drink?” His eyebrows rose—over her choice of beverage, or over her reaction to his brash familiarity?

  She delayed her answer, examining the offerings on the tray, regrouping to take over the reins of control. “How about a tour first?” She pointed to what looked like some kind of communication apparatus. “What’s this?”

  “A single side band radio.” He explained it in detail and moved to the next piece of equipment and then another.

  She lost interest at the third item. What she needed was some way to link him to the Romeros. The facial similarities weren’t enough, of course, to make a legitimate connection. But wasn’t it an interesting coincidence that Emilio, an Italian, commanded a ship that the feds knew ran drugs from Guam to the Philippines to Chicago, home turf of the Romero family?

  If she could tie him to the family, or even just to Chicago, she might well have found the link that could secure a win for the Justice Department. Eight years of chasing Danny Romero would finally end with his backside in a corner he couldn’t slip away from.

  The captain’s finger hovered over the last piece of equipment. “This is the radio locator beacon—the distress signal. It alerts other ships or aircraft that you’re in trouble and need help.”

  Enough about equipment or she’d have to send out her own distress signal. She infused fresh curiosity into her voice. “How long have you been captain of the Gateway?”

  Again, the man rattled on. Definitely oriented to details. Her interest perked as his autobiography moved backward through time. Vanity made one vulnerable. What question could she ask to lure him into a trap that would give the information she needed?

  Captain Emilio stopped abruptly. His eyes narrowed, focusing on hers. “Where are you from, Eva?”

  Exactly what she wanted to ask him. “Chicago. How about you?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Small world—my father lives there.”

  Her heart leaped. The trap had caught its mouse.

  * * *

  Captain Emilio smirked as Evedene Eriksson, alias Eva Gray, clattered down the steep ladder stairwell. How her eyes had danced after he’d shared the information she so badly wanted to hear. A rather pathetic game of cat and mouse on her part, but worth it to see her think she was the cat.

  He snorted. So, she should be done with her pitiful interrogation of him and the crew now that he’d revealed he was Danny Romero’s son. If only she’d been willing to offer herself in his bed to get the information out of him. He shrugged and picked up a microphone. Just as well. His mission tomorrow required all his attention.

  For a moment he tried picturing his father’s face when the old man received the news of his son’s death. Would he crumple into tears at the loss, or scowl at what he perceived as incompetence? Who cared? His father was a goner, whether through the Romero trial or through his emphysema. And without his father’s protection, so was Emilio if he didn’t make his escape now. Either he faked his death, or the other three Romero sons—the “legitimate” ones—would make it a reality. Their plans didn’t include him as part or parcel of the Romero empire.

  “First mate to the bridge,” he announced over the public address system.

  Chester appeared promptly. He had been with the captain five years, and his clenched jaw said he knew his performance had better be up to snuff.

  “The radio locator beacon can be moved now. Are both lighters set?” It was important to Captain Emilio’s purposes to not use the lifeboats. The flat-bottomed lighters rode high in the water and were used for brief sojourns of sightseeing in the shallow waters surrounding the outer Philippine islands. They weren’t necessary components for the sale of the ship.

  “Yessir.”

  “The keys?”

  “Yessir.” Chester reached into his pocket and produced two sets of ignition keys. His hand shook, and the keys clanked against each other.

  “Don’t go getting soft on me.”

  Chester shoved the keys back into his pocket and blinked several times. “We’re only supposed to take out the attorney.”

  “You want to back out, now’s the time.”

  “No, sir.” The first mate swallowed and looked the captain in the eye. “The explosives are ready, one on each lighter and an extra one for the locator beacon.”

  Chapter 3

  Sleep snapped at Captain Emilio like a shark attack. Awake he felt sure of his strategy, but the moment he closed his eyes, the sharp teeth of anxiety bit chunks out of him. He woke and reviewed everything—what could go wrong, what had to go right, all the contingencies—until finally he allowed his eyelids to slip peacefully down. Then the sharks started on his hide again. At last he gave up and went to the bridge to relieve Chester.

  The skin around the first mate’s eyes and lips was tight and pale, as if his face had been wrung out and shrunk. He grunted in acknowledgement when the captain appeared, but left without speaking. Nor did Emilio have anything to say to him. Tension was a monster they had to live with until they completed the last and worst part of the plan.

  He checked every instrument. The red and whi
te lights on the equipment glittered against the backdrop of night sky outside the windows. The ship was on course. Twenty-three passengers and half a dozen crewmen, gliding thousands of feet above one of the deepest and darkest troughs in the Pacific Ocean. The Philippine Trench—a bottomless pit. A bottomless trash can. He drew a long breath and exhaled it slowly. The muscles in his chest and shoulders remained tight. He refused to pace. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the chart board.

  They had been sailing over the top of the trench for two days. This evening the schedule called for their departure from the trench to the Philippines. He traced a finger over the route he’d always followed, a shallower channel that threaded its way through thousands of islands to Manila. Ahead and to the west lay the seven thousand islands of the Philippines. Beyond that and a bit to the south were the ten thousand islands of Indonesia.

  But he wouldn’t be going to the Philippines. He slapped the chart board and turned to pace the floor. Today he was changing course—both the ship’s and that of his own life. Nothing, nothing could go wrong.

  The crew assembled at 0600. Captain Emilio entered the engine room, and the men halted their conversations midsentence. A cocoon of noise enveloped the sudden hush—the rumble of the diesel engine, the softer chuffs of the gears turning the propeller’s drive shaft, the pulse of lungs pushing and pulling air through nostrils and tight throats.

  He faced them, his lips firm, and stared each man in the eye before he spoke. “Today we shanghai the Gateway.”

  The men murmured, shoulders taut.

  “Today you become rich. Rich beyond your dreams.” Captain Emilio relaxed his mouth into a smile, and the tightness in the men’s faces dissolved. They laughed, nodding at each other, united in a conspiracy of prosperity at little cost.

  “One last time, we review the plan.”

  They had the details down pat, but he wanted them hammered nail-tight. He started with the big picture. They would use the two lighters to abandon the passengers at sea. Chester had already placed the locator beacon in one of the boats. The castaways would be rescued while the Gateway fled to its black market purchaser in Hong Kong. The twenty-four-passenger cruise ship had excited a bidding war. Top dollar—that’s what they were getting. They’d all begin new lives, rich beyond belief.

  The captain’s gaze fell on the first mate. Among the crew, only Chester knew the real plan.

  * * *

  Prizes for everyone? Eve leaned against the railing and surveyed the passengers milling about on the lower deck. Who’d miss out on a drawing like that?

  The tables and chairs from the dining room were grouped in front of the first mate, who held a microphone in his hand. An assortment of packages wrapped in blue tissue paper lay on a table next to him. A crewman—Carlos, maybe?—walked among the passengers, distributing numbered slips of paper.

  She spotted a table of lone females and clambered down the steps to join them. She hated sticking out in a crowd. Scott would have taken care of that, at least for appearances’ sake.

  “Eva, come sit.” Ginny Chalmers patted the empty chair next to her.

  “I don’t want to take your husband’s seat.”

  “No, no, he’s got five books he’s reading. Please, sit.” She introduced the other two occupants at the table, Betty and Crystal.

  So, she wasn’t the only lone female on the cruise. Eve eyed the two with interest. Had they booked the love boat by mistake?

  The older woman looked to be in her late sixties. Nicely preserved, no surgical help. Wealthy, judging by her jewelry and clothes. The kid leaning on her, chair scooted close—her granddaughter, maybe? Ten or eleven, not yet into puberty. Pale, obviously not feeling well.

  Ginny she’d met yesterday, the second day out. Friendly gal, the chatty type. Fortyish and still attractive, no middle-age spread. She’d seen Ginny’s husband in the gym twice. He was one of the few who hadn’t gawked when she worked out. Nice, but he should be here. The cruise was meant for couples.

  Captain Emilio, hair rumpled, the armpits of his shirt damp with sweat, strode to the microphone and seized it from the first mate. Eve froze. Something was wrong.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please.” The captain’s voice was calm, but the stern look on his face said trouble. He waited until everyone had shushed each other. “We have a problem in the engine room.”

  A murmur of anxiety swept through the crowd. Several people nearest the bulkhead jumped up from their seats. They pointed at the door and yelled, “Smoke!”

  A thick, gritty cloud drifted out the doorway. A Filipino crewman emerged, scowling, his face pinched. Several women shrieked, and everyone shot to their feet.

  “Sit down!” Captain Emilio bellowed into the microphone. “Sit down and listen to me!” He flared his nostrils as everyone took their seats. “As a precaution for your safety, I need you to immediately vacate the ship.”

  Once again people leaped to their feet.

  “Sit down and listen to my instructions!” he roared. “Now!” Like a pack of trained circus dogs, they sat.

  “Do not go to your cabins for anything! Everyone must proceed aft—straight to the back of the ship. We will use the two lighters there. They are like lifeboats. There are life vests stored beneath the seats. Get into the boats first and then put on the life vests. It is urgent that you do exactly as I say. Two crewmen will be there to get you into the boats and out on the water, away from the ship.” He paused, his dark eyes sweeping the crowd. “Go, now!”

  The passengers jumped to their feet, eyes wide. The men grabbed their women and pushed them, pulled them, shoved them toward the fantail of the ship to the safety of the lighters.

  Eve heard Ginny’s cry in the din of stampeding passengers. Her voice bleated like a frightened sheep. “My husband! I’ve got to get my husband!” She held Crystal by one hand, while Betty had a firm grasp on Crystal’s other. The girl’s face was ashen. The three were being dragged along in the dash to the lighters.

  Ginny’s concern was understandable, but foolish. Her husband could take care of himself. Something far more significant bothered Eve. Her tour of the ship had included the engine room. It didn’t make sense that smoke from that part of the ship would come out this particular door. Nor did it make sense that they would be sent all the way to the back of the ship to use the lighters instead of the lifeboats. Most of all, it didn’t make sense that they weren’t putting on life vests. First and foremost, they should be putting on the vests.

  The crew had been diligent in showing her around the ship. She wasn’t sure what was happening now, but she did know the location of the life vests adjacent to the lighters.

  “Ginny, over here!” Eve grabbed Betty’s arm and hauled the trio to the door of a nearby locker. It proved to be a closet of sorts, filled with life vests and other safety equipment. “Put these on.” No one else was looking out for these helpless females, so she would.

  When they emerged from the locker, one of the two crewmen stationed at the lighters ran up to them. “No! No! These for crew! Yours on boat!”

  Eve shoved him away. He ran to the locker, where other people were now helping themselves. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she pushed Betty and Crystal into the closest lighter. Already, it was almost full. She turned for Ginny, only to discover the distraught woman pleading with the second crewman.

  “My husband, he’s not here! He’s still below!”

  The crewman’s mouth dropped open. “Not here?”

  “He left the drawing. He’s in our cabin, reading. Please, let me go get him!”

  The other crewman ran toward Eve. It wasn’t hard to tell he was angry about the invasion of the locker. He had managed to stop the other passengers from obtaining life vests, and it looked as if he were determined to secure hers and the other three that had escaped. She climbed into the lighter and shouted to the crewman attending Ginny. “Push us off! We’re full!”

  When the lighter landed in the water, Eve w
atched to see what would happen to Ginny. The two crewmen had their heads together while the remaining passengers crowded unassisted into the second lighter. Surely one of the crewmen would go with Ginny to fetch her husband.

  Across her own lighter, a few people down, Eve spied Betty and Crystal. The kid wasn’t doing well. The water was choppy, and the high riding lighter was kicking waves. When Eve saw someone pointing back at the Gateway, she turned to look. Surprise smacked her in the face at how far their boat had drifted away. Or had the Gateway moved away from them?

  The other lighter plopped into the water, sloshing its passengers. Eve spotted Ginny, still wearing the life vest, clutching the edge of the small boat. Her head was tipped back, her face upturned to the cruise ship. Eve’s heart skipped a beat. Ginny’s husband was still on board the ship.

  * * *

  Captain Emilio climbed to the bridge. Almost done. His footsteps rasped on the wooden deck as he crossed to relieve Chester at the wheel.

  “Time to radio the authorities that we’re in trouble.”

  “Yessir.”

  Everything was on track. The crewman attending the second lighter had already activated the radio locator beacon. It would guide rescuers to the ailing cruise ship—only now, of course, the beacon was on the lighter instead of the Gateway. The cruise ship would be halfway to Hong Kong before any rescue ships arrived. Once the crew destroyed anything identifying the ship, they, too, would be eliminated. Couldn’t have any witnesses around.

  Almost done. He allowed himself a congratulatory smile. Waiting in Hong Kong, safe from the threat of his brothers, were his wife and infant son. He’d pulled it off.

  The deck creaked. The voice of the crewman who’d set off the smoke bomb spoke at his back. “Captain, one passenger—he stay below deck.”

  Captain Emilio spun around to find himself face-to-face with Jake Chalmers.