A Blast to Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series

by Charles Dougherty

  "Hmm," Paul said. "Like you said earlier, they're serious, whatever it is they're doing."

  "Any chance that we're being used to distract you guys while they do something else?" Connie asked.

  "Yep. You got an idea of where to go with that line of reasoning?"

  "No," she said, "but it just occurred to me. There's nothing on the boat, so why the focus on us?"

  "That's the question, all right," O'Brien said. "There's still a chance that they plan to put something on the boat, especially now that we've checked it out so thoroughly. That's why we want to watch it."

  "You check out the Cohens any further?" Paul asked.

  "Oh, yeah. They're clean. Married almost 20 years, both from Chicago. Her parents are strict Orthodox Jews; they all but cut her off when she married him because he's what they call a secular Jew — not religious at all. His folks died when he was in college; they came to the States from somewhere in the Middle East in all the confusion after the Second World War. He was born here; as American as you can get."

  Kareem was struggling to hide his anxiety as he waited with the Caliph for the tea the old man had ordered. He hadn't been able to reach Rashid to find out what he had learned about the weapon. It had been 24 hours since he had updated the Caliph; he knew the man wanted to know whether Rashid had verified that the weapon was intact. The last message that he had received from Rashid outlined his plans to board the boat yesterday afternoon while the people were ashore. He found Rashid's silence ominous. Even if he had been forced to change his plans, he would have sent an update within 12 hours of his last message. He was six hours overdue.

  The tea was served; the Caliph broke the silence. "What is the news from Rashid? He has examined the weapon?"

  "He was waiting for the couple to leave the yacht when I last heard from him."

  "And how long ago was that?"

  "Eighteen hours, Excellency."

  "Eighteen? But you have told me before that you have scheduled reports from him every 12 hours, is that not correct?"

  "Yes, Excellency. In general, that is correct, but in field operations, things sometimes do not go as expected."

  "And is this one of those times, Kareem? Or did you expect this?"

  "No, Excellency. I mean, no, I didn't expect this, but — "

  "But some men are less than men; you know this, do you not?"

  "I do not understand your question. I — "

  "Your chief agent in the US is a man who is incapable of fighting even a woman. You have entrusted our cause to one who is not worthy of being called a man."

  "I do not — "

  "Rashid is dead, Kareem." The Caliph's gaze held no emotion; he might have been watching an ant crawling on the table.

  "Dead?"

  "He was discovered aboard the yacht by the woman; he tried to fight his way clear, but she bested him. A woman, Kareem. A woman disabled your chief agent." The Caliph's countenance did not change.

  "But — "

  "He was at least enough of a believer to take his own life, Kareem. Would you be enough of a man to do that, should it be required of you?"

  "If Allah wills it."

  "Good. I shall perhaps remind you of that. Do you have a contingency plan to insure our success?"

  "Excellency, you know I always leave as little to chance as possible."

  "Mm. That is reassuring. Since you seem surprised by Rashid's death, you may not know his last words."

  Kareem swallowed with difficulty and remained silent.

  "You may live a bit longer, Kareem. Rashid said the weapon was intact as he took his last breath. That part of your plan, at least, is still working."

  Kareem nodded.

  "Go. Go and implement your contingency plan."

  26

  “Norfolk looks like an interesting place," Connie said, flipping through a stack of tourist brochures that she had picked up when they checked into the marina at Waterside the previous evening. "I wouldn't mind a little extra time here, if it works out."

  "You've never been here before?" Paul asked.

  "No. I passed it by when I was taking the old Diamantista south, remember?"

  "Yes, but I thought maybe you'd been here some other time."

  "No. The only places where I spent any time on the East Coast before I knew you were Savannah and Miami. How about you? You been here?"

  "Not really. I've passed through a few times, but I never got to look around."

  "Maybe the Cohens will want to spend a day or two," Connie said.

  "Maybe," Paul said, "but we'd better spend today provisioning, just in case they want to leave in the morning."

  "Of course," Connie said. "We could come back, though, after we drop them in New York. It's a good spot to take off from when we're ready to head for the islands."

  "We could," Paul said, "if — "

  He was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. Checking the number and seeing that it was Bill O'Brien, he answered in hands-free mode and set the phone on the saloon table.

  "Morning, Bill. Connie and I are both here. What's on your mind?"

  "Good morning. How's Norfolk?"

  "We don't know yet. We're going to be busy today getting ready for our guests, but we were debating whether to come back here before we leave for the islands this fall."

  "You should. It's a nice place; lots of interesting things to see around there, if you're not tired of being tourists."

  "Hey, it's business for us," Connie said. "Gotta get to know the territory if we're going to run charters through here."

  "You guys have a hell of a job. Sounds like you're planning to come back up this way next summer."

  "If we can get some bookings," Paul said. "Gotta pay for this tub, somehow."

  "I'm betting that's not going to be a problem," O'Brien said. "I wanted to check in with you one last time before the Cohens show up, and I figured you might be hard to catch this evening, what with this being your last night alone together."

  "You got anything new?" Paul asked.

  "Not really. Whoever it is that's tracking you is still checking your position regularly. Morning, noon, and evening. But the surveillance team hasn't spotted anybody following you."

  "Yeah, but that's not saying much," Paul said. "Given that anybody following us could be watching from a mile or more away, you can't have a net big enough to catch them."

  "That's true. Can't fool an old cop, I guess," O'Brien said. "Speaking of the team, though, we're going to keep them on you while your guests are aboard."

  "Okay. Why not?" Paul asked.

  "Right; we're thinking that whoever's after you might be rattled by two new people coming aboard; it could provoke some action."

  "Damn," Paul said. "You're right. I've slipped into civilian mode for sure. I never thought of that while we were dawdling along for the last few days."

  "It's okay. That's all the better. Stay in civilian mode; it gives you good cover," O'Brien said.

  "Anything we should do or not do?" Connie asked.

  "Not really. I know it may be out of your control, but if you could keep me posted on your itinerary, it would help. I mean, we've got access to that tracker they put aboard, but with some advance warning, we can set up to look for anyone who might be tailing you."

  "That shouldn't be a big problem," Paul said. "As long as we're poking around in coastal waters, we can just send you a text message whenever we settle on a destination."

  "That would be perfect. So far, knowing where you were going in advance hasn't helped much, but that could change when you start hitting the out-of-the-way places. It was pretty easy to set up a perimeter around St. Mary's City, for example, compared to somewhere like Norfolk or Newport News. St. Mary's City's the only place you've been since Solomons Island that lent itself to that kind of work. Any clue where the Cohens want to go?"

  "Besides New York, no," Connie said.

  "That still seems odd to me," Paul said.

  "New York? Odd, wh
y?" O'Brien asked.

  "It seems like a strange destination for a sailing charter, for one thing."

  "Maybe," O'Brien said, "but it is the end point of their charter, right?"

  "Yes," Connie said. "As far as we know. Why?"

  "I was just thinking," O'Brien said. "They could be planning to spend a few days there in a hotel or something. You know, like take in a show, let the missus do a little shopping."

  "Could be, I guess," Paul said. "All I could think of was the huge coincidence factor."

  "Well, there is that," O'Brien agreed. "But the threat referenced a holiday, and that's come and gone. Keep me posted, if you can. Hope you enjoy these folks."

  "Thanks, Bill. We'll be in touch."

  "I'll let you get on with your day. Stay safe."

  "You, too," Connie said.

  "So long," Paul said, disconnecting the call.

  Kareem's anger had festered like an infected wound since his last encounter with the Caliph. In the time since then, Kareem had been busy reestablishing communications with his agents in the United States. The tedium of working through the diplomatic channels of several sympathetic countries had only increased his aggravation. It was done successfully, and he had a direct means of communicating with the deep-cover agent who had been activated by Rashid to complete the mission after Abe and Mo failed.

  Although the agent was a legend, Kareem didn't trust him. The agent had been born in the States and had been groomed from childhood for a mission such as this one. Kareem knew that, and he knew there was no concrete reason to doubt the man's dedication to the cause of Islam. Still, he had never been tested in battle. Kareem worried that the man would be too soft, too American, to carry out his task. He had no other choice, though, so he would use this person.

  Amal had taken over Rashid's responsibilities, and that was another source of anxiety for Kareem. He had made enough discreet inquiries to satisfy himself that Amal was the Caliph's spy. Once this mission was completed, the Caliph would have no further need of Kareem.

  The only leverage that Kareem had was that the Caliph and Amal didn't know anything about the deep cover agent. The agent had been an asset that Rashid had acquired in his various deals with older, more conservative Muslim organizations in the U.S. The agent had been put in place during the time when his sponsors had been brash and violent; now they were respected participants in the efforts to bring peace to the Middle East.

  When his cover had been established all those years ago, his sponsors had intended to use him to sabotage Israel's relationship with the U.S. Now their own interests were different, and by passing the agent to Rashid, they had absolved themselves of the responsibility for him. They were no longer in a position to take credit or blame for his actions, which suited their needs.

  Although Kareem was in contact with the agent, he felt estranged from the man. He had no idea how the agent felt about what he had been ordered to do. He didn't know the man, so he couldn't look for nuances in the reports. He had to take them at face value. The Caliph had demanded to know who the agent was, but Kareem had explained to the old man that he didn't know the agent's identity, that he was working through so many layers that he couldn't tell the Caliph anything except that the agent had accepted the mission to deliver the armed weapon to Manhattan, to the 79th Street Boat Basin, on or before 30 July. Kareem could tell from some of Amal's questions that the Caliph had charged him with discovering the agent's identity. Kareem would not have shared that information even if he had it; it would be tantamount to taking his own life.

  Instead, he had been busy closer to home, securing an injectable drug that would produce a heart attack within seconds. He had agreed to wait with the Caliph at the appointed time so that they could join in claiming credit for the destruction of Manhattan, which would cripple the Great Satan for years to come. Kareem needed only a second or two to administer the drug, and the old man would appear to die of the excitement of success. Or perhaps it would be the disappointment of failure that appeared to trigger his coronary incident. One way or the other, Kareem would be the last man standing.

  27

  “This is such a perfect opportunity for me, Connie," Miriam Cohen said, taking a sip of the wine that Paul had served with their welcome aboard dinner. "I confess to being skeptical of this whole thing when Sam first told me he'd chartered a yacht, but ... did he tell you I'm a writer?"

  "No," Connie said. She and the guests were still seated at the dining table while Paul was in the galley, doing the dishes. "What sort of writer?"

  "Historical romance. I'm thinking about a series set in the tidewater area during the early colonial era. Your idea of visiting all the historic sites couldn't be more perfect. It's like a tailor-made research program for me."

  "That's great," Connie said. "If we can make a go of this idea, we plan to spend our summers doing this. The charter business gets pretty slow in the Caribbean during hurricane season. If your books feature the places we visit, maybe we can do a little cooperative marketing."

  "That could work," Miriam said. "I'm self-published, so I have a lot of freedom when it comes to promoting my books. What made you think of that? You know something about the book business?"

  "Oh, a little that we've picked up from some friends. The women who got us interested in the charter business have a good friend who writes a series called the Bluewater Thrillers; they're set in the Caribbean. They always have a few of his books aboard. Their guests get a kick out of reading fiction that's set in the places they're visiting."

  "I'll bet. I can see how that might work for us. Let's keep that in mind."

  "Sure, we will," Connie said. "Any thoughts on your itinerary?"

  "Yeah," Sam interrupted. "Before you gals get carried away, we need to be in New York by the evening of the 29th of July. I've got a commitment there on the 30th."

  "New York's a pretty easy trip," Paul said. Standing at the galley sink, he was separated from them by a waist-high bulkhead. "The weather's settled this time of year, so we shouldn't have any delays on that account. When would you want to leave the Bay?"

  "How long a trip is it, time-wise?" Sam asked.

  "A little over 200 nautical miles, from the Chesapeake end of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal to the 79th Street Boat Basin. That's where our agent said you wanted to end up."

  "That's right; how long will that take?"

  "Conservatively, no more than 36 hours," Connie said.

  Sam studied her intently for a moment, looking into her eyes. He blinked and gave his head a quick shake. "Wow. Your eyes are mesmerizing," he said. "Bet you've heard that before."

  Connie glanced at Paul, noticing his frown at Sam's remark. She gave Sam a lukewarm smile.

  "So," Sam said, "we'd need to leave from there by the morning of the 28th to make it."

  "That's about right," Connie agreed.

  "How far is the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal from here?" Miriam asked.

  "Well, you're talking about the whole length of the Bay," Connie said. "Another 200 nautical miles, roughly."

  "That's another day and a half," Miriam said, her brow furrowed. "That only leaves a few days to see all the places I want to go."

  "They're on the way, aren't they?" Sam asked.

  "Yes," Connie said, "but Miriam's right. None of them are right on the Bay; we'll have to make side trips of at least a few miles for any of the historic sites, plus you'll want time ashore at each one. Figure one town every other day; that gives you a nice day of sailing between stops, and time to take in the sights when you get there."

  "That isn't going to work," Sam said. "Just pick one or two places, Miriam."

  "You could arrange to pick up a rental car at one of the stops and drive to New York," Paul offered. "It's much quicker by car."

  "No way! This is my trip too,” Sam said. "I want to sail into the city; it's something I've always wanted to do. I grew up hearing my parents talk about their first sight of America — the Statue of Liberty
."

  "Sam, please?" Miriam asked. "This is too good an opportunity for me. I could get some great photos of the towns for promo use. If you drove to New York, it would give me the chance to see maybe five different places, right, Connie?"

  "Yes. Maybe a few more. Some are pretty close together."

  "Out of the question," Sam said, his face turning red. "I was planning on having the yacht for a place to stay in Manhattan."

  "You could get a hotel room," Miriam said.

  Sam smacked the table top with the flat of his palm, rattling the remaining dishes and silverware. Miriam cringed and Connie and Paul both jumped, startled at his violent reaction. "No!" he yelled.

  "Okay, Sam," Miriam said. "Don't get so upset. Maybe we could extend the charter? Come back later?"

  Paul and Connie exchanged looks. Connie gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Paul nodded slightly.

  "Unfortunately, we aren't available," he said. "We have a pretty full calendar up until we leave for the islands."

  Sam nodded. "That's okay. I don't have the time, anyway."

  Miriam studied her fingernails, blinking back tears.

  "Come on, Miriam. I'm tired. Let's call it a night," Sam said.

  "That was some exchange they had," Connie said, as she and Paul walked along the dock at the marina hand in hand, out of earshot of Diamantista II.

  "Not a happy couple, I'd say," Paul responded, squeezing Connie's hand. "And I don't like the way he keeps looking at you; don't lead the bastard on. It wouldn't do for me to have to punch out one of our guests."

  "What do you mean? His remark about my eyes? I didn't do anything to encourage him."

  "Not just that. But when a man like him makes a remark like that and gets a smile in return, he'll read it as encouragement. I know you didn't mean it that way, but be on guard."

  "What do you mean by 'a man like him,' Paul?"

  "He's a bully, and a womanizer. Got all the signs."

  They paused, looking across the river at the lights in Portsmouth and watching a tug pushing a barge upstream.