Caribbean Gold: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  Paulson raised his eyebrows, prying into Karl for an answer.

  “Okay, sure. Pour me a glass,” Karl said. “I’ve worked hard to get this far in life. What’s one sip?”

  Paulson couldn’t help the Cheshire-Cat grin that spread across his face. He set a shot glass on the bar, screwed open the top and poured. Reaching for the glass, Karl sniffed it, then swigged it. He sniffed it again.

  “Don’t be afraid. One sip, is all.”

  Karl threw his head back and set the glass down. The taste of the cool, refreshing beverage was, to him, so satisfying, as though he was white-water rafting on the Colorado River, scaling the heights of a mountain or being up close and personal with Niagara Falls. The next sensation he experienced felt like his head was being squeezed in a vice.

  “This is amazing,” Karl said, studying the glass and looking up at Paulson. “Unlike anything I ever experienced.”

  “Am I correct in assuming you would enjoy it?” Paulson took the glass away. “Now you may go on with reciting the serenity prayer, because you’re in control, correct? Isn’t that what they teach you in those recovery programs?”

  Karl regarded Paulson with curiosity.

  “I am in control.”

  Paulson ducked underneath the bar. The noise of clanking keys as he locked away the bottle was the only noise that seemed prominent within Karl’s earshot, amid the background noise of conversation and clanging silverware against plates. Paulson stood up again.

  “You should eat your breakfast. They’re about to wrap up soon,” Paulson said.

  “Yeah, sure. Thank you, Paulson.”

  Karl slid off the stool and stumbled toward the serving table in the back of the room. He sustained his body in the middle of the tidal wave of effects the vodka had caused.

  “Karl.”

  Karl spun around to look at Paulson.

  “Don’t be a stranger, all right?” Paulson said. “If ever you need anything, give me a call. You can trust that this will be our secret.”

  Karl nodded.

  “Our secret.”

  Karl approached the breakfast buffet table, where a lush display of fresh fruits, bread and meat tantalized his taste buds. He grabbed a plate from the top of a stack, and helped himself to the cornucopia, relieved to have some food to go with his vodka and calm his rumbling stomach.

  Chapter Seven

  “Agent Daniels, there must be some misunderstanding,” Masterson said.

  Detectives and officers were combing through the files and computers in his office with the assistance of his secretary, Mary.

  “If you’re inquiring about the death of Elijah Nathans and the others, I can tell you we already notified all next of kin.”

  “I spoke with his mother and brother. They said that they were not informed of his disappearance or death,” Daniels said.

  He made a note in his notebook.

  “Well, I can tell you for a fact that the men whose bodies disappeared either from the property or the local coroner’s office were given a ceremonial burial at sea and the family members were flown out to attend. I was there, Mary made all the arrangements, and I have pictures to prove it.”

  With that, Steve sat back smugly in his chair and put both hands behind his head.

  “Agent Daniels, I know that ‘big business’ always gets the bad name but if your people would stop tearing up my office for a few minutes, we could prove all of this to you in a matter of minutes.”

  Daniels pointed to an officer.

  “Call them off. Mr. Masterson is going to pull the information we need. I want everybody assigned to the exits. Until I’m satisfied, no one can leave this building.”

  Masterson laughed.

  “I have no intention of sidelining you, detective: I have two thousand residents in house and a Category 4 hurricane on the way. It’s my chance to show the world that I’m not full of big talk and that Samsara is everything we’ve touted her to be. We have reservations lined up and confirmed for the next year and a half, I plan to be here to successfully accommodate each and every one of those guests.”

  Daniels leaned forward.

  “Read my lips, Mr. Masterson. No one leaves the premises until I’m satisfied. Understand?”

  Masterson unclasped his hands from behind his head and sat forward in his chair, meeting the man’s eyes with a serious stare.

  “Very well. Mary bring the auto-frames; the one from the funeral and the one from the reception.”

  Mary scampered about outside the office door for a moment then walked in carrying two objects in her hands. They looked like large picture frames but there was nothing in them. Masterson gestured to the seats opposite him to indicate to the two FBI agents that they should sit down. They each took a seat as he switched on the first device and the screen flickered to life. He handed the first to Agent Daniels and the second to Agent Roberts.

  “As you can see, Daniels, there was a funeral ceremony held. If you look for the strange sense of fashion in the crowd, those will be the Jamaicans: Nathans’ and Brown’s people.”

  “That’s them all right,” he confirmed with a tinge of disgust in his voice.

  It was the tone of a man who had just realized that he had been taken for a fool.

  “Do you need to see the rest? It’s the pictures of us handing over the quarter million U.S. dollar reparation checks to each family for their loss, not to mention the thousand shares each in Samsara Resort as a sort of pension.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how long ago was all this done?” Agent Roberts asked.

  “That was almost two years ago, Agent. It was certainly before we opened up here.”

  The two looked at each other and shook their heads. They had been on a wild goose chase based on the lies of a few greedy people.

  “Wrap it up guys, we need to get out of here before this thing hits.”

  “There’s no rush, detective, you can’t get off the island. The airport and the marina are closed and nothing is going on that helipad until air traffic control gives the all-clear.”

  “Dammit, what are we going to do?”

  “You are going to stay with us. I’ll trade you room and board for you and all your men for your augmenting my security team. This is our first storm, we don’t quite know what to expect.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Roberts answered. “Your man, Paulson hinted as such this afternoon.”

  “He’s a smart one, that Paulson,” Masterson agreed.

  “You two can keep your room, the men can have rooms in the staff dorms. Everyone stays armed and in plainclothes. Eat in the guest restaurants, but do not touch my liquor. Deal?”

  “That sounds fair to me,” Daniels agreed.

  “Okay then, you and your men can report to Captain Stewart in the security offices on Basement level 2.”

  Agent Daniels walked away to speak with one of the officers. Masterson examined the scene before him: officers still stood stiffly at every doorway, rigidly guarding the exits. In a few more moments, they were all assembled and helping Mary to close filing cabinets and replace books and files on her shelves. When the office was spotless again, they all trooped towards the elevator and left the office floor.

  Masterson sighed.

  This is turning into a really shitty weekend, he thought, as he pressed the elevator call button.

  In the lobby, Masterson spotted Paulson at the front desk.

  “Paulson, may I have a word with you, please?”

  Both men went into Paulson’s office and he closed the door firmly behind him.

  “What the hell happened to Samuel Connolly this morning?” Masterson asked.

  “It seems the fat fucker suffered from a heart attack in his sleep last night. We put him in the morgue in the medical center.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “If it makes you feel better, that’s what Emergency Services told us to do. The whole island’s been on lockdown since this morning.”

  Masterson
slapped his forehead. He looked around the room and then back at Paulson.

  “Okay,” Masterson said, hesitating. “We have to somehow keep this quiet until the storm passes and we can get his body out of here. We’ll need an autopsy done to cover our asses for sure. Or else…”

  Paulson considered his boss for a moment.

  “Or else what?”

  A sour smile crept across Masterson’s face.

  “You know quite well what will happen if any of these morons find out that someone died here today.”

  Ideas zipped through Masterson’s mind. A thunderstorm boomed overhead. “See to it that Agent Daniels and the others are very comfortable here,” Masterson said. “Hurricane Freda is coming. I think we’re going to have to get very comfortable with each other for a while.”

  An hour later, Masterson got off the phone with an associate. Masterson’s hand shook as he lowered the phone.

  It’d be great to get them out of our hair as soon as possible, Masterson thought. The very possibility of them deciding to dig up anything involving that jackass Mike Morton could mean they might have more reason to try to implicate us. This whole business just seems to come back to haunt me over and over. It shouldn’t be difficult to keep them too busy to breathe for the next few days. Of course, there’s always the possibility that nosy bastard Daniels will think to dig deeper into those deaths to find out why the bodies ended up in the damn ocean to begin with. Nevertheless, as soon as this wretched hurricane is over, it’s straight on the jet for the whole bunch of them. Let them go back to the States and figure out their next move. Hopefully, he’ll be too busy trying to get back at those sons of bitches for sending him on a wild goose chase to be bothered with us anymore.

  Overhead, the storm had started flexing its muscle. The winds had started raging and what sounded like a crashing sound rumbled almost continuously overhead.

  Let the games begin, Masterson thought, as he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the control room on basement level 6.

  Chapter Eight

  Karl typed on his computer at the desk next to the window.

  “Did you know that a hurricane is the greatest geo-physically destructive force on earth?”

  “Next to your mother, I did not know that,” Rebecca said.

  Ignoring his wife, Karl continued as he read from the website.

  “Hurricanes always form over water.”

  As the professor described the climatic conditions necessary to form a hurricane, his uninterested wife flipped casually through a paperback copy of a Stieg Larsson novel. She’d watched the movie and decided to read the trilogy for herself…that had been a year ago.

  “Hurricanes always form over water,” Karl repeated to himself.

  Strong wind rippled the ocean, causing foaming whitecaps on top of every wave.

  “When hot and cold air converge near sea level, the warm air ascends, losing moisture and precipitation.”

  Karl opened the window and stuck his arm out. He curled his fingers to let the warm air stroke his fingers and palms.

  “Close the window, you’re going to get hurt! Or fall out or something!”

  Karl ignored Rebecca; he continued savoring the warm air and immersed himself in the fascination of the hurricane.

  “When this happens rapidly enough the upper atmosphere is warmed by the latent heat of vaporization….”

  Clouds formed and dispersed like they were living creatures fighting in the sky right before Karl’s eyes. They merged and swirled and moved menacingly in the skies. Thunder rumbled continuously and the building seemed to amplify the sound as if it were playing from the surround sound speakers of an entertainment system.

  “Wait a minute, it’s like …”

  Before he could finish his statement, Karl snapped his arm back and pulled his head back into the room. The hurricane was in full swing, raging and storming at what he thought were magnificent proportions. Karl closed the window. Lightning flashed and the rain pummeled the churning ocean far below. Raindrops splattered on the window glass, beading like crystals. From beyond the horizon of the Caribbean Sea, the dark, swirling clouds hulked over the landscape like a raggedy wet blanket.

  “This is frightening me,” Rebecca said. “I’m scared as hell here.”

  She ran her fingers nervously through her hair.

  “I don’t know how I let you convince me into coming here. Still, I should have checked the weather report beforehand.”

  “You did, don’t you remember?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We went over it so many times before coming here, and yet …” Karl fished hard within his memory. “Every time, the International Weather Data Services said it would be sunny with temperatures in 80s or 90s, not …” Karl turned back and faced the closed window and gestured at the weather outside with both hands. “Not this!”

  The wind beat relentlessly against the window.

  “I surmise we’ll never trust the IWDS again,” Karl said. “I’ll give Masterson credit for being brave enough to tell us this was on the way, as well as the other things about this entire situation.”

  The waves at the edge of the beach engulfed the sand and dragged it viciously back into the ocean. The wind ripped through the leaves of the palm trees. Everything the hurricane touched down upon had no choice but to bow and sway to its furious symphony of strength and brute force. The clouds that swirled within and around the hurricane disappeared into the sky’s complete blackness as a permanent state of dusk settled over the island. Lightning flashed everywhere as a tremendous downpour descended upon the island.

  Chapter Nine

  Paulson glanced over at the locked front entrance.

  Why hadn’t the shutters gone down yet? he wondered.

  On the monitor in front of him was the image of a woman running up to the door and knocking frantically on it. Inside the locked doors, he could hear nothing. Clutched in her hand was the handle of an open umbrella; the wind had flipped it inside out and was trying with all its might to drag it away.

  “Please let us in,” the woman said, pointing to three men and another woman shivering with cold. “My family and I need shelter.”

  Without leaving the desk or so much as looking up to acknowledge her, Paulson pressed the intercom button and said, “I’m sorry, but we’re not letting any non-residents into the hotel. We’re at full capacity. I suggest you seek refuge in one of the island’s shelters. There’s one at the hospital just down the road.”

  “Please, sir, you have to. The storm is coming and this is the only place on the island that is sure to withstand a natural disaster.”

  “I’m sorry, but we’re unable to accommodate any non-residents.”

  “Okay then, have it your way.”

  The woman quickly stepped aside from the door and got on her knees. She reached into her purse, retrieved a bottle and uncapped it. Curiosity overcame Paulson as he squinted at the monitor to see what she was doing. Instinct made him lift the telephone receiver and punch the button marked B6 at the same time.

  As the phone rang in his ear, he watched the woman pour the contents of the bottle on the ground in front of the main doors and step away from the puddle. She put her hand into her purse once more and pulled a tiny item from it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Paulson said.

  As the woman struggled against the wind she cupped her hand over the lighter and ignited it.

  “Carter, it’s Paulson,” he shouted into the phone, when the Chief Technician answered. “Shut the front entrance down right now!”

  Then, just as the woman tossed the object into the liquid and stepped back and the fire exploded over the puddle and obscured the entire brick walkway where the hotel’s logo was displayed, the indestructible aluminum shutters came crashing down in front of the hotel’s front doors, locking them outside permanently.

  That ought to shut them up and get rid of those dumb troublemakers, Paulson figured as he watched them shouti
ng at the metal blockades.

  After a few minutes of futile ranting, they all turned and walked away.

  That’s right, Paulson thought, as he watched them leave. Go hunker down in the shelter. Anywhere but here.

  Paulson looked longingly at the door to his office, wishing he could just sit down and engulf himself in the tranquilizing quiet of it for one solid hour. Anita was downstairs having her dinner and Greg was taking his allotted evening off. He shook his head violently to clear the cobwebs and pulled up the tall swivel stool that the front desk staff used when they weren’t speaking directly to a guest. With dinner in full swing, the lobby was wonderfully empty. A few people stood in the center of the space staring at the gigantic TV screen, watching the images of the storm and the outside of the hotel building. Paulson looked around at these strangers that lingered there as though they were watching the most amazing television show they had ever seen and wondered,

  What’s going on in those silly heads of theirs?

  Just then, the telephone at the workstation rang. Paulson snatched it up.

  “Good evening, front desk. Paulson speaking.”

  “Paulson! Just the person I wanted to speak to. We’ve got a group of people on the compound that seems to be trying to break into the outdoor sheds.”

  “Is there a rather large woman who seems to be instigating them, sir?”

  “Indeed so. How do you know?”

  “She just tried to set fire to the front doors, sir. I had Carter shutter them down.”

  “I’m alerting security, but let Mr. Daniels’ people know as well. You may need the extra support in the lobby.”

  “Thank you, sir. Will do, sir.”

  Paulson hung up the phone wearily and held his head in his hands.

  “Richards,” he called to a stiff-looking man seated nearby, reading a magazine.