by Diane Rapp
Kayla rubbed Steven’s arm gently. “You’ll get them! It was a big mistake coming after you and expose the leak inside Interpol. You’ll catch the guys at the top.”
“If I’d only realized sooner . . . ”
“You can’t turn back time.” Kayla squeezed Steven’s hand.
Steven smiled and kissed her fingertips. “No, but I can extract a measure of revenge!”
“Tell me about the agent we’re picking up at the airport.”
Steven laughed. “Jason’s a real character. He looks like a slob—his clothes never seem to fit right, he’s got a pot belly, and his posture is atrocious—but he’s as sharp as they come. His sleepy half-aware demeanor takes a culprit by surprise, because he’s actually taking his opponent’s measure and rapidly deciding how to get the best of the situation. Jason’s got a photographic memory, speed-reads lengthy documents in a matter of minutes, and can recite technical information from documents he read years ago. He speaks languages like a native and, like a chameleon, changes facial expressions and body language in a snap.”
“Clark Kent move over!” Kayla said. “Why employ mere mortals to run the show when we’ve got Jason?”
“You may jest but Jason’s a legend in Interpol. They’re sending their best man.”
“I’ll bet this helps get your job back and everything will return to normal.”
Steven frowned. “I’m not sure I want my job back.” He slumped in his seat and stared out the window.
Kayla felt torn. The emotional part of her prayed Steven would quit Interpol and get a nice safe job stateside. The logical part of her argued that Steven’s profession was important to his self image. She believed in Steven, believed in his abilities, and believed in his dedication. His superiors are crazy, treating him like he’s done something wrong, instead of solving their own security problems. Steven must vindicate himself and then decide what job he wants for his future—our future together.
As the scenery changed from mountains to a rocky coastal shoreline, Kayla thought about the smugglers. Steven said there were artifacts from all over the Mediterranean. I’ve sailed the same waters, after all, hundreds of cruise ships land in those ports each year.
Kayla sat up. “They could be using cruise ships!”
“What?”
“The smugglers could use cruise ships to transport artifacts from port to port in the Mediterranean!”
“No. Our inspectors never traced any items back to a cruise ship. We decided the ships were clean—ship passengers never smuggled artifacts.”
Kayla smirked. “Doesn’t that seem a bit strange? Thousands of potential couriers move through port security and your clever smugglers didn’t snare a single naïve tourist? It sounds like the crooks deliberately avoid passengers to shield their operation. How many artifacts did you discover in freighters and fishing vessels?”
“Not many.” Steven rubbed his chin. “You think they allowed us to snag small shipments as a diversion while the major contraband slipped through unnoticed?”
“You never worked as a ship’s purser. Do you know how many crates of produce, linens, and beverages each ship takes onboard each turnover?”
Steven nodded. “Our people checked parcels coming off the ships very carefully and never found a single artifact.”
“Did they ever check the garbage?” Kayla grinned.
“No. I’ve never seen garbage coming off a cruise ship.” Steven raised his eyebrows. “Where does it go?”
“Ships offload tons of stuff—late at night or very early in the morning, so passengers don’t see. We contracted local operators to haul the garbage ashore on trawlers, barges, fishing boats. Years ago ships dumped garbage at sea but now they face big fines if they’re caught.”
Steven hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “What a bloody idiot I’ve been! After spending all this time on ships, I never thought about the garbage. It’s probably a simple matter to hide packages filled with artifacts in garbage and dead easy to retrieve on shore.”
Kayla nodded. “As a purser I handled the paperwork each week as part of our port papers. Local vendors might not know they were smuggling, since someone on shore could find the right packages after dumping the refuse.”
“They probably used low-level transmitters attached to the packages to guide their confederates straight to the merchandise. An occasional shipment lost to authorities was no big deal as long as their major shipments were safe.”
Steven’s deep blue eyes flashed with anger. “Jeremy spent a lot of time at the docks! The week before he died he acted cocky, like he was onto something, but the poor sod never told me what he found out. He got killed for getting too close to the answer!”
Kayla twisted a stray piece of hair tightly around her finger. “If one of the smugglers was on the Sea Mist when you boarded in Bermuda, he might’ve assumed you were investigating our ship. If they thought you were closing in on their operation, the attempt to kill you makes more sense.”
Steven shook his head. “The Sea Mist originated in America, not the Mediterranean. Why would a smuggler be on board?”
“This cruise is a publicity tour to announce our purchase and cross the ship over to the Mediterranean for its summer schedule. A smuggler might start on her first voyage to infiltrate the crew. After a few weeks no one pays attention to the odd behavior of a familiar friend, but if a newcomer dumped wrapped packages into the garbage, he might attract attention. They might have a source of artifacts from Mexico.”
“I’d bet our man works in the kitchen and regularly works the garbage detail,” Steven said enthusiastically.
Kayla nodded. “The entire kitchen staff is new. Emily’s quite proud of our new chef.”
Steven glanced at his watch. “We’ll discuss the idea with Jason and he can infiltrate the kitchen staff. Do you think Emily can work something out?”
“As long as we don’t arrest her prized chef, she’ll cooperate.”
Steven rolled his eyes. “I really hope it isn’t the chef. His cooking is splendid and would be wasted in the dock.”
“I’d bet we’re safe on that score. I can’t imagine a head chef regularly working the garbage detail.”
The taxi sped through picturesque villages, winding along the rugged coastline and pastoral tableaus. Once inside the city the driver enthusiastically pointed out historic half-timbered buildings and white plaster churches with ornate facades that rivaled European architecture. As the taxi passed the docks, Kayla craned her neck to spot a gang of smugglers lying in wait, but saw no one loitering. Would the goons wait on the ship, or are we wrong about the smugglers?
The taxi continued past the fort at the western end of the harbor and soon the driver parked in front of the airport. Steven vibrated with excitement, eager to greet his hero. A distinguished gentleman walked through the doors. He wore an expensive blue pinstripe suit, and his narrow mustache and gray hair were neatly trimmed—hardly the unconventional hero Steven described.
Steven laughed. “Jason, what have you done to yourself?”
“You should appreciate the disguise, my boy,” Jason said and tilted his head in a rakish pose. He saw Kayla and grinned. “Who is this vision of loveliness?”
“This is my fiancée, Kayla,” Steven said, “And she’s off limits to the likes of you, mate.” Turning to Kayla he said, “Darling, I hate to introduce Jason Briggs, but I must.”
Jason grasped Kayla’s hand with his gloved hand, brushing her fingertips with his lips. “Delighted, my dear, absolutely delighted. Steven’s taste in women has improved.”
“Thanks.” Kayla felt her face redden. “Steven didn’t tell me you were so…um…charming.”
“Steven doesn’t know everything about my persona. I enjoy surprising my fellow agents. Let’s retrieve baggage, my boy.” He bent his arm and curled Kayla’s hand over the crook. Sauntering along, Jason swung a cane in rhythm with his gait.
Raising an eyebrow at Kayla, Steven walked at Jason’s
side. Stopping at the baggage carousel Steven murmured, “We’ve got a new theory about the smugglers.”
Jason raised a finger to his lips. “Not here, my lad—too many ears about.”
Kayla glanced nervously at people standing nearby.
“I spoke with Emily Schultz, such an astute woman, and we concluded that I should join the ship’s crew. Her sommelier suddenly left the ship—at Emily’s insistence—so I’m slated to replace him.” He stroked the soft fabric of his suit. “I look the part don’t you think?”
“You’re going undercover as a wine steward? What do you know about wine?” Steven asked.
Frowning Jason said, “More than you might expect, my boy. I summered in one of the best European vineyards in my youth, so don’t cast aspersions on the depth of my knowledge.”
Kayla chuckled. “He’s certainly got the attitude. No one would be gusty enough to argue if he recommends a good wine.”
Retrieving Jason’s matching set of leather bags, they headed for the taxi. Jason greeted the driver in fluent Portuguese while Steven helped Kayla into the cab. He slumped into his seat. “That’s not the man I know!” Steven grumbled. “Jason’s really a free spirit, carefree and easy going, not stuffy and pompous.”
“I find him quite delightful.” Kayla tried to hide her grin. “You said he was a master of disguise and this one is great.”
Steven brightened. “Brilliant! He’s like a solder wearing camouflage—the real Jason is hidden beneath his façade.”
Jason climbed in and meticulously straightened the crease in his pants. He murmured, “I asked the driver to take us to a quiet place for a stroll and he suggested the university gardens. We can safely discuss the case there, don’t you agree?”
Steven nodded at the driver, “You think the driver understands English?”
Squinting, Jason frowned at Steven. “Do you want to take the chance?”
A chill crept up Kayla’s spine. How much did the driver understand of their recent conversation? Squeezing her hand lightly, Steven seemed unconcerned.
Jason asked, “Emily tells me you’ve got a ghost running rampant on ship. Tell me about it.”
The ghost was obviously neutral territory, so Steven described the supernatural manifestations and the potential danger to Paula. Jason rubbed his mustache thoughtfully and Kayla wondered if he believed in ghosts.
She glanced at the rearview mirror. Paula secured the cab. Was it waiting at the curb or did she flag the driver down? She tried to remember the scene. I didn’t spot any taxis at the pier. He seems genuinely unaware of the conversation going on. Did he understand more than he let on?
Leaning back, Kayla pretended to dose but watched the mirror through a fringe of eyelashes while Jason and Steven talked. The driver kept his concentration on driving, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror to check traffic. He didn’t appear to watch his passengers.
At the gardens Kayla pleaded fatigue and waited in the cab as Jason and Steven talked alone. She knew Steven would describe their theory about cruise ship garbage and admit discussing the case in front of the taxi driver. Kayla thought, Jason will chew him out for stupidity, so I’d rather watch our driver.
Pouring coffee from a thermos, the driver turned on his radio. A voice spoke rapid Portuguese until music filled the cab. As the driver sipped his coffee and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, Kayla pretended to nap.
The driver enjoyed losing the car that tailed them and stood talking with other drivers at lunch, hardly unusual. There was no cell phone signal and she didn’t see him go near the pay phone. If he understood our conversation, the damage is already done and the smugglers might know everything. But Steven’s a threat so they might try to kill him. We must proceed cautiously.
Wishing she spoke Portuguese, Kayla noticed a picture of three children clipped to the visor. Pointing at the picture Kayla asked, “Family?”
The driver grinned broadly and flashed a gold tooth. He pulled down the picture and handed it to Kayla. “Maria, Manuel, Esteban,” he said as he pointed to each child. Rattling off more words in Portuguese, Kayla got the impression the driver proudly told her the ages of his children. His eyes sparkled as she returned the photo and he clipped it onto the visor.
Kayla felt oddly reassured—he was a hard-working father whose eyes sparkled as he named his children—and she felt sure he couldn’t be a threat. We’re safe! Sure! We’ve gun-toting smugglers, an angry ghost, and her killer ready to strike again. How safe does it get?
When the men climbed into the taxi, Kayla greeted them with an encouraging smile. She said, “I think we should head back to the dock. The Sea Mist is scheduled to land and we’ve got lots of work ahead.”
Steven glanced at the driver and asked, “You don’t think we should have someone arrested?”
“On what charges, driving his cab?” Kayla shook her head. “I’m positive everything’s fine.”
Jason grinned. “Womanly intuition?”
The feminist in Kayla bristled. “If he’s a spy the damage is done. In my opinion he’s just a driver.”
Jason nodded and leaned forward to give the driver instructions in Portuguese. He settled back as they headed toward the port. “We’ll drop you both at the City Gates so no one will see us arrive together. Don’t speak to me directly when we’re onboard unless I’m suggesting a good wine. If we need to communicate we’ll use Emily as a go between.”
Jason spoke openly in front of the driver. Did he accept her intuition as accurate? With a twinge of fear, Kayla wondered whether she’d made another mistake. Will my opinion of the driver endanger our lives? Steven winked and she felt relieved.
The triple arches of the City Gates loomed above a plaza imbedded with gray and white mosaics. The intricate pattern seemed mystical and organic in design, like a roman forum at the entrance to the sea. After a brisk walk from the City Gates, Steven and Kayla arrived at the dock teaming with people.
They elbowed through a swarm of reporters who congregated on the pier. Few passengers stopped as they disembarked because anyone who offered a polite response found themselves deluged by questions. The feeding frenzy reached its peak when the captain stood at the top of the gangway to make a formal statement. Blinded by electronic flashes and nearly crushed by bodies pressing forward Kayla fought to catch her breath.
A powerful jolt shook the pier.
Wood creaked and the dock undulated as a violent wave rolled under their feet. The gangway bucked like a wild horse and passengers tumbled down the steps into the crowd. Ladies shrieked. Water splashed. The ship pitched against cables tied to bollards. Cameras flew into the air and crashed to the ground.
“Earthquake!” someone shouted. “Tidal wave!” another bellowed. “Run!” a nearby woman screamed. Clawing, punching, and scrambling over people who fell, the crowd moved in a mass of flesh.
Cold hands lifted Kayla and gently moved her to the edge of the pandemonium—the familiar scent of lavender flooded her nostrils—and she turned to stare. Contorted faces of reporters looked wild and terrified as an invisible whirlwind ripped through the crowd, tearing notebooks into shreds, smashing cameras, and tossing limp bodies like rag dolls.
Steven arrived at Kayla’s side, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” he asked, gripping her arm. His touch burned like hot metal against her icy skin. “What’s wrong? You’re skin is freezing and you’re shaking.”
Dizzy and nauseous Kayla slumped against Steven, her teeth chattering. “It’s Celeste! She hates reporters and is becoming violent.”
Steven wrapped his arms around Kayla protectively. “How do we stop her? She’s liable to kill someone.”
“I’m not sure! I think she blames reporters for everything bad that ever happened to her. Oh Steven! She blames them for her child’s death!” Tears streamed down Kayla’s cheeks. “I can feel her pain and despair. She’s lonely and angry. Celeste! Please stop. We’ll help. We promise to help!”
She felt an invisible h
and stroke her hair in an icy caress. Hesitantly Kayla touched the ghost’s fingers and everything stopped.
The ship settled into a gentle rock against the pier and the whirlwind died. An eerie silence left paralyzed reporters gazing at empty hands, their expressions filled with questions they didn’t dare ask aloud. The reporters melted away from the dock, subdued, stepping lightly over their broken equipment while their frightened eyes scanned the scene.
“Thank you, Celeste,” Kayla murmured. “She’s okay but we need to hurry.”
Steven asked, “Did you feel her fingers on your hair?”
Kayla nodded. “I felt more than her fingers. I felt her mind and she’s near the breaking point, holding onto sanity until she can complete her task. She’s afraid of sinking into madness, afraid she might kill.”
Steven glanced at the pier. “She could be right. I hope no one makes her angry again.”
When they reached Emily’s suite, Steven poured them both a glass of brandy.
Emily said, “You both look like you need it. Sit down, please.”
Captain Swenson entered the cabin a few minutes later and Emily poured him a glass of brandy without being asked.
“Okay! What happened?” Emily asked.
Swenson grimaced as he swallowed the liquor. “My girl, your ghost just performed for the international press and she’s got quite a temper.”
Kayla described the scene on the pier. “We don’t have much time left.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Kayla said, “We need to confront Vincent. If he killed Celeste, he’s endangering himself and the ship. She’s losing her grip.”
“What if Vincent didn’t kill Celeste?” Captain Swenson asked.
