The Dark Tide

by Andrew Gross

  “So much for the conditions.” Karen groaned, brushing her damp hair out of her face.

  “Didn’t work too well….” Hauck exhaled, raising a knee up off the floor.

  “We could just leave,” he said to her. “We don’t have to wait around for him, Karen. I know there are things you want to hear from him, but the hell with it—all it’s going to do is hurt you, Karen, whichever way it falls. We could just leave. Let Charles go back to wherever the hell he wants to.”

  Karen nodded. She forced a smile. “That doesn’t exactly sound very policelike, coming from you, Ty.”

  “Maybe because I don’t feel very policelike. Maybe because for the first time in five years I feel whole. I’ve spent my entire goddamn life trying to do the right thing, and I’m scared—for once I’m scared—of what seeing him will do. What we’re doing here, Karen, this may be the biggest lie in the world. But whatever it is, it’s a lie I don’t want to end.”

  “I don’t want to end it either, Ty.”

  A sharp ringing cut her off. It came from the table where Karen’s bag was. Both sets of eyes flashed to it. She pulled her top over herself and ran and rummaged for her BlackBerry.

  It was vibrating.

  She looked up, anxious. “It’s him.”

  Karen opened the message. “‘A boat will be at the St. James dock at eight A.M.,’” it read. “‘The captain’s name is Neville. He’ll take you to me. You alone, Karen. That’s the only way. No one else. Charles.’”

  She came over and passed the phone to Hauck. He read it for himself. Inside, he felt everything slipping away.

  “He’s my husband,” Karen said. She slid down next to him. “I’m sorry, Ty, I have to go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  Forty miles away Phil Dietz sipped a black cactus margarita in the Black Hat Bar in Tortola. There was a band playing Jimmy Buffett and Wyclef Jean, a throng of young people dancing, spilling beers, their carefree brains buzzing with rum. Dietz noticed a pretty gal in a low-cut halter sitting at the other end of the bar and thought, what the hell, he might just make a move as the evening developed, even if, by the looks, he had to pay. He’d earned it. He’d charge it off on Lennick’s account, he decided. Sort of a celebration, because tomorrow the fun was over. It was going to get native again.

  He’d found his man.

  It had been a breeze to track the itinerary of Karen Friedman. Lennick had alerted him. He knew that the fish had caught the line. If she was heading to the BVIs, it was likely she’d pass through San Juan, so he called with a question about the reservation. Airlines still gave out shit like that. Made his job easy. So he had Lenz, who had driven the hit car in Greenwich, but whose face was unknown to them, watching out for her in Tortola. He tracked the Island Air single-engine to St. Hubert’s. There was only one place they could go there.

  What he hadn’t planned on was the cop. Dietz knew this wasn’t exactly a lovers’ getaway. Charles wouldn’t be far behind.

  He had led them there.

  Whatever would happen next, that part was right up Dietz’s alley. Charles would show himself soon. He had Lenz installed at the club, keeping a watchful eye on them. Dietz had a small plane rented. The rest was routine. What they paid him for. The kinds of skills he’d honed his whole life.

  Dietz took another sip of his drink. The girl with the boobs in the halter smiled his way. He grew aroused.

  He knew he wasn’t exactly handsome. He was short and stocky and had military tattoos up and down his thick arms. But women always managed to notice him, and they were drawn to him in a hard-edged way.

  He thought of the cop. He complicated things. If they knew about Dolphin, they might have found the old geezer in Pensacola. And if they had, coupled with Lauer, maybe it wasn’t as much of a fishing expedition down at his house as he’d thought.

  Charles knew things. More than they could let him divulge. He had been sloppy, but the sloppiness was going to have to end.

  Dietz scratched his mustache and pushed out his cigar. Time to pay up, Charles.

  But in the meantime he had this little diversion. He took another look at the girl and finished off his drink. He flipped open his cell phone. One last call.

  He dialed the number that was in his memory. A gravelly, accented voice picked up. Always play both ends against the middle, Dietz thought. He’d been told to give a progress report, stay in touch.

  “Good news,” Dietz said, keeping an eye on the girl. “I think we’ve found him.”

  “Excellent,” the voice replied. “Was it through the accounts?” The banks, the electronic transfers. The diamond merchant they had painstakingly tracked.

  “No need,” Dietz said. “Ultimately, I found another way. His wife led us right to him.”

  Dietz stood up and tossed a twenty on the bar. Tomorrow…tomorrow it was back to business. He’d take care of Hodges, too. But tonight…The girl was talking to a tall, blond surfer dude. He passed by a group of bone fishermen, bragging about their catch. When he got in front of her, she looked up.

  “Where are you?” Dietz asked into the phone.

  “Don’t you worry,” the brusque voice replied. “I’m around.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  The morning broke hazy and warm.

  Karen woke early and ate a light breakfast in her room. She sat out on the balcony and sipped her coffee, watching the sun rise over the calm sea. Trying to settle her nerves. A flock of birds circled out by the reef, honking and diving for an early meal.

  Around seven-thirty she saw a white launch pull up at the St. James’s dock. A captain jumped off. She stood and tried to relax her restless stomach. Here goes….

  She put on a print sundress and a pair of espadrilles. She clipped her hair up off her neck and applied a touch of blush to her cheeks and gloss to her lips, just to make herself look pretty. Then she packed her bag, sun cream, lip balm, a couple of bottles of water. She took along some pictures of the kids she’d brought with her.

  Downstairs, Ty was waiting on the walkway to the beach. He gave her a supportive wink. What else was there really to say?

  “I have something for you,” he said, taking her under the loggia to a private spot where he sat her down in a wooden beach chair. He pressed a small disk into her palm. “It’s a high-powered GPS receiver. Hide it in your purse. That way I can find you. I want you to call me on the hour. Every hour. Just so I know you’re safe. You promise you’ll do that for me, Karen?”

  “Ty, I’ll be fine. It’s Charles.”

  “I want you to promise,” he said, not a question this time, more of a command.

  “Okay.” She relented and smiled at him. “I promise.”

  From his pocket Hauck took out something else—a dark, metal object, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand—that made her shudder. “I want you to take this along, too, Karen.”

  “No.”

  “I mean it, Karen.” He pressed it into her hand. “Just in case something happens. It’s a Beretta .22. The safety’s off. It may be nothing. But you don’t know what you’re walking into. You said it yourself—people have died. So take it. Please. Just in case.”

  Karen gazed at the gun, her heart quickening. She tried to push it back. “Ty, please, it’s Charles…”

  “It’s Charles,” he said, “and you have no idea what else you’re walking into. Take it, Karen. It’s not a request, it’s an order. You can give it back to me this afternoon.”

  She stared at the gun, and it reminded her that no matter how she tried to play this, he was right—she was a little scared.

  “I’m reluctant to bring it, ’cause I just might use it on him,” she chortled. But she tucked it into her bag.

  “Karen, listen.” Ty lifted his shades. “I do love you. I think I have from that first day I came to your house. You know that. I don’t know what happens after this, between you and me. We’ll work that out. But now it’s my turn, and I want you to hear me clearly. You be careful, Karen.
I want you to stay as public as you can. You don’t go anywhere with him—after. You don’t take any risks, you understand?”

  “Yessir.” Karen nodded, a small smile creeping through the nerves.

  “What the hell would you want me to say, Karen? I’m a cop.”

  The captain of the boat, a black man of about thirty in surf shorts and a baseball cap, jumped off the launch. It was called the Sea Angel. He seemed to be checking his watch.

  Karen said, “I think I have to go.”

  She leaned close to him, and he hugged her. She gave him a kiss on his cheek and squeezed him tightly. “Don’t worry about me, Ty.” She stood up and did her best to smile. “It’s Charlie. We’ll probably be drinking a beer in some café by ten.”

  She hurried toward the dock, turning once and waving, her heart pounding all the same. Ty came out and followed her a few steps over the sand, a wave back. Then she ran up the dock to the Sea Angel’s captain, an affable-looking man. “You’re Neville?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He took her bag from her. “We should be heading out.” He noticed Ty, taking a step or two toward them. “He said just you, ma’am. Just you or we don’t go.”

  Karen took his hand and jumped aboard. “It is just me. Go where?”

  Neville stepped aboard, tossing the bowline back onto the dock. “He said you would know.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  She did know. Somewhere deep in her heart. It came to her on the water, the islands growing familiar. With a rising anticipation in her blood.

  They headed west. As they cleared the reef, the twin-engine launch picked up speed. Karen went to the back of the boat. She waved at Hauck, who had come out onto the pier. A minute later the boat skidded around a bend, and he disappeared.

  She was in Charlie’s hands now.

  It was a beautiful ride. Lots of white-beached islands, small, uninhabited slivers of sand and palms. The water was a soft green-blue, dotted with whitecaps. The sun beat down on them, clear and warm. The craft kicked speedily over the waves, leaving a wide wake, the captain clearly at home in the local waters. Karen’s hair whipped in the salty breeze.

  “Do you know Charles?” she shouted to Neville over the loud engines.

  “You mean Mr. Hanson?” he said. “Yes. I man his boat.”

  “This one?”

  “No, ma’am.” Neville grinned broadly, as if amused. “Not at all.”

  The boat passed inhabited beaches. A few towns tucked into coves. Places they had been to. All of a sudden, she knew why Charles had asked her to come here. Once in a while, they shot past a beautiful yacht in the open sea. Or little fishing skiffs, manned by shirtless fishermen. Once Neville grinned and pointed out toward the horizon. “Sailfish.”

  Whatever agitation Karen felt, it began to ease.

  The ride took fifty minutes. The launch started to come closer to tiny, uninhabited islands.

  Suddenly she realized that Neville had been right. A bizarre familiarity began to overtake her. Karen recognized a beach restaurant they had once pulled into—no more than a large thatched hut with an open-kettle grill, where they had had lobsters and chicken. A few small boats moored there. Farther along, a lighthouse she remembered, striped blue and white. The name came back to Karen.

  Bertram’s Cay.

  Now she knew where he was taking her. A last gulf of open blue sea and she saw it.

  Her heart expanded.

  The isolated cove where they’d once sailed, where the two of them had anchored. She thought of Charlie and his floppy hair and Ray-Bans at the helm. They had to swim into the beach, brought a basket of food and some beer, lay around like beach-combers on the fine white sand, protected by wavy palms.

  Their own personal cove. What had they called it? The Never Mind Lagoon.

  Where the hell did Charlie and Karen go? everyone would ask.

  Karen went up to the bow as the boat slowed, and she shielded her eyes. Pulse quickening, she scanned the small horseshoe beach. Neville guided the launch, which must have drawn around three feet, to within a few yards of the beach.

  It looked the same. Just as when they’d discovered it eight years earlier. There was a yellow inflatable raft drawn up on the sand. Karen’s heart beat faster. She looked around. She didn’t see anybody. Just heard a caw—a few gulls and pelicans hovering above the trees.

  Charlie…

  She didn’t know what she was feeling. She didn’t know what her reaction might be. Karen took off her sandals, crept up on the bow, steadying herself on the railing. She glanced back at Neville, and he gave her a cautioning hand to wait as he coasted in a little closer and came around sideways. Then he nodded for her to go. Now…

  Karen jumped off, her bag strapped around her shoulder. The water was warm and foamy, coming halfway up her thighs, soaking the bottom of her dress. She waded in to the beach. She didn’t see anybody there. She turned around to look as Neville started to back the Sea Angel away from the shore. He waved to her. Karen spun around again and for the first time actually began to feel afraid.

  She was alone. On this totally deserted strip. Hardly even on a map.

  What if he never even came for her?

  She realized she had not called Ty. Stay in a public place, he had insisted. Public? This was the most deserted spot in the whole fucking world.

  Karen stepped tentatively up the low dune. The morning sun had baked the sand, and it felt warm and fine underneath her bare feet. There was no sound, only some chirping from the trees and the soft lapping of the tide.

  She went to grab her phone from her bag as a tiny tingling of fear rippled on the surface of her skin.

  She heard the brush move and then his voice before she saw his shape.

  Soft, eerily familiar. It sliced through her.

  “Karen.”

  She felt her chest tighten, and she turned.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  Like a ghost, Charles stepped out of the thick, close brush.

  Karen’s heart came to a stop.

  There was a strange tentative smile on his lips. He looked at her and took off his sunglasses. “Hello, baby.”

  A knifepoint of shock stabbed through her. “Charles…?”

  Staring back at her, he nodded.

  Karen’s hand shot to her mouth. She didn’t know what to do at first. Her breath was stolen away. She just stared. He looked different. Completely changed. She might not have recognized him if she’d passed him on the street. He had on a khaki baseball cap, but underneath Karen could see that his hair was virtually shaved. He had a stubbly growth over his cheeks, his eyes hidden. His body looked leaner, more built. And tanned. He wore pink and green floral beach trunks, water sandals, and a white tee. She couldn’t tell if he looked older or younger. Just different.

  “Charles?”

  He stepped toward her. “Hello, Karen.”

  She stepped back. She didn’t know quite what to feel. She was a jumble of confused emotions, suddenly seeing the man with whom she had shared every joy and important moment in her adult life, whom she had mourned as dead, and feeling the disgust that now burned in her for the stranger who had abandoned her and their children. She felt herself rear back. Just hearing his voice. The voice of someone she had buried. Her husband.

  Then he stopped. Reflexively, she took a couple of awkward steps to narrow the distance. His gaze was tentative, uneasy. She stared through him like an X-ray. “You look so different, Charles.”

  “Comes with the territory,” he shrugged, a thin, wiry smile.

  “I bet it does. Nice touch, Charles, this spot.” Continuing to walk toward him, absorbing the sight of him, like sharp, uncomfortable light slowly settling into shade.

  He winked. “I thought you’d like that.”

  “Yeah.” Karen stepped closer. “You always had a good antenna for irony, didn’t you, Charles? You sure outdid yourself here.”

  “Karen”—his complexion changed—“I am so sorry….”


  “Don’t!” She shook her head. “Don’t you say that, Charles.” Her blood was hot now, the shock over. The truth came back to her, why she was here. “Don’t you tell me you’re sorry, Charles. You don’t understand where sorry even begins.” A powerful current of anger and disbelief roared through her. She felt her fists close. Charles nodded, accepting the blow, removing his sunglasses. Karen stared, teeth clenched, narrowing her gaze into his familiar gray eyes.

  She slapped him. Hard, across the face. He flinched, taking a step backward, but didn’t cover up.

  Karen hit him again—harder, confusion boiling over into unleashed rage. “How could you? Goddamn you, Charles! How can you be standing here in front of me?” She raised her hand and struck him again. This time in the chest, with her fist, sending him reeling back. “Goddamn you to hell, Charles! How could you do this to me? To us? To Alex and Sam, Charles, your family. It killed us. You took a part of us with you, Charles. We can never get that back. But you, you’re here…. You’ll never know. We mourned you, Charles, as deep as if it were a part of ourselves that had died.” She pounded his chest again, tears of anger glistening in her eyes, Charles now deflecting the blows, which continued to rain on him, but not moving away. “We cried for you every day for a goddamn year. We lit candles in your memory. How can you be standing here, Charles?”

  “I know, Karen,” he said, bowing his head. “I know.”

  “No, you don’t know, Charles.” She glared. “You have no fucking idea what it is you’ve stolen from us. From Sam and Alex, Charles. And for what? But I know. I know exactly what you’ve done. I know what a lie you’ve lived. I know what you’ve kept from me. Dolphin. Falcon. Those tankers, Charles. That old guy in Pensacola…”