She’d already relayed this information to her superiors in London, despite the captain’s stranglehold on communication with the outside world. But it had been easy for Jeanette. As chief steward she required access to ship-to-shore communications. It was her job to order all items that her rich guests desired or required.
The message had been encoded like she’d been instructed. Nobody would know that she’d just reported the sighting of “unusual activity” to MI6. She only wished that it could have been sent earlier. However, it had taken an unusual request for a rare brand of tequila from their thirty-something millionaire guest to allow the transmission.
As Jeanette closed the door to the master cabin, the captain’s voice came over her earpiece. “Jeanette, could you please come to the bridge?”
“On my way, captain,” she replied, hurrying to the nearest staircase. Little did she know that she’d just performed her final act as yacht chief steward.
Chapter 22
Off the coast of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
August 28th, 9:17pm
The yacht was anchored so when Jeanette entered the dimly lit bridge of Suprema the only person on watch was the captain. He was standing behind the wheel, hands at 10 and 2 like he was about to take her underway.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?” Jeanette asked.
His head turned slowly. He was the youngest captain she’d ever worked for. He was possibly in his mid forties. The heavily-bearded master of the vessel rarely yelled and never had to ask his employees twice to complete his orders. His eyes said far more than any curse he could have uttered.
As Jeanette waited for a response, she noted that the captain’s eyes had softened, looking wistful.
“How are our guests?” he asked absentmindedly.
“Preparing for tonight’s festivities, Captain.”
Their primary charter guest had requested a Mexican themed fiesta for their last night aboard the yacht. That meant Jeanette had to obtain multiple bottles of tequila and enough quesadillas to soak up some of the day’s alcohol.
“Good,” the captain said. “There’s been another request.”
Jeanette flashed a knowing smile. “Trying to milk every last minute of their charter, are they?”
The captain nodded, but he didn’t return the smile. Jeanette stared at him, waiting.
Finally, his hand slipped into his tunic. Jeanette’s body tensed. When the hand emerged again it held a folded piece of paper.
“Here’s the list,” the captain said, handing her the paper.
Jeanette unfolded the sheet and read the list. They all looked like items currently stocked in the ship’s galley, nothing out of the ordinary. There was an address under the list, not located in Mexico, but instead in the Bahamas. She almost looked up in confusion, but then she read the the final two words at the bottom of the page.
They know.
Jeanette’s breath caught as fear and panic swam over her.
“I would commit the list to memory, just in case,” the captain was saying even as Jeanette’s heart thudded in her chest. “I suggest you have Edison take you to shore now. The man at that address will assist you in obtaining the more obscure items.”
Jeanette nodded, her eyes wide. The captain’s eyes glanced in the direction of the digital display. It took a second for her to realize what he was trying to convey. The cameras, she thought. There were cameras all over the yacht. While that wasn’t uncommon, she’d always suspected that the video being taken on Suprema was being watched in some place other than the multi million-dollar craft.
She did her best to look unconcerned even as her stomach did somersaults. Then it hit her. If the captain knew, didn’t that mean that he was working for MI6, as well? No one had told her that the captain was in on the surveillance, but then again, why would they? And if he stayed, didn’t that mean that he would be caught? Maybe he had a contingency plan for that, or at least, that’s what she told herself as she said goodbye to the captain, who had already turned his attention to the wheel.
+++
There was a leak. That’s what the message had said. Carefully inserted into the package of Toblerone chocolate was a thin piece of flash paper. The decoded message, for security reasons, had been brief and to the point.
Leak confirmed. Two compromised. Good luck.
Montgomery Weir had been captain of Suprema for five years. He’d worked for MI6 for half of that time. The secret intelligence organization initially recruited him because of the growing number of wealthy Arabs Suprema hosted. As a former sailor and a devout British citizen, Weir had the perfect cover. Then the order had come suggesting that he put his name in for some undertaking that the billionaire Chance Baxter was organizing. The assignment was all very hush-hush. Weir was approved only after providing his credentials and after sitting through no less than eight interviews.
Initially, it seemed like more of a patriotic fraternity. The yacht captains, many of whom already knew one another, either from their time in the British Navy or from their yachting days, gathered twice a year at Baxter’s London headquarters. There they were treated like a brotherhood, and much was discussed about the future of the British empire. They lamented the loss of Hong Kong and India. Over endless cocktails, they shared the hope that one day their country might regain its rightful place in the world.
What had seemed like nostalgic camaraderie took a serious turn. Baxter had a plan to consolidate many of the world’s private yachts under his umbrella. With the help of their captains, he was able to accomplish this feat. So,in just under three years, Chance Baxter had control of some of the world’s finest private vessels. In short, he’d bought his own private navy comprised of 28 super-yachts.
That, in and of itself, wasn’t the problem. Until a few weeks ago, Weir had had little to report. However, then the team of engineers had arrived on his command and the retrofit had begun. And then, just before leaving port to pick up their guests, a large shipment was loaded onto Suprema.
He was never given a reason, just the order to comply with the engineers instructions. Then once the cargo was loaded into the modified hold a small team was left behind to tend to it. Captain Weir couldn’t be sure, but an educated guess marked the six-man team as former military, possibly special operations. The team volunteered to assist his crew. However, they reminded Weir of Soviet political officers who had boarded Soviet ships to ensure the Communist ideals were being met.
Fortunately, he’d saved Jeanette. The address on the sheet he’d given her was an MI6 safe house. They knew she was coming, and both a fake passport and plane ticket were waiting at the Los Cabos International Airport. Weir hoped she would make it. At least he’d given her a fighting chance.
As for him, he didn’t know how much time he had. They hadn’t received orders from Baxter in twenty-four hours. Maybe that was part of the master plan or maybe they were waiting until all MI6 agents were caught. Weir wondered how many agents there were. Were their orders the same as his, to watch and wait?
They’d been clear during his training. If the word ever came that his mission was compromised, he was on his own. As the captain of the craft, he did not have the protection that its chief steward had. It hadn’t seemed like much of a risk at the time, but now the knowledge of being disavowed weighed heavily on Weir like a lead life jacket.
It would seem odd if he went ashore. What business could he have in Cabo San Lucas? A yacht captain’s place was on his yacht.
Weir let go of the wheel and radioed for his first mate. The man appeared minutes later, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I thought you might like some, Captain,” the young man said. He was a good lad, always patient with the crew and wise beyond his years.
“I’ve already had some. Thank you.”
“Is there anything I should know, sir?”
“All’s quiet,” the captain replied. “I sent Jeanette ashore with Edison.”
“Another bottle of tequila for our yo
ung guest?” the first mate asked, grinning.
“Something like that. I told her to get a room at the usual hotel if it gets too late. We can always send someone to fetch her in the morning.” If the man was one of Baxter’s spies, he was very good. He showed no signs of worry over the chief steward’s absence. “I’ll be up to relieve you at two,” he said, with a nod.
“Good night, Captain.”
“Good night.”
Captain Montgomery Weir stayed in his stateroom for thirty minutes. It was long enough to hear that Jeanette had made it safely to shore. It also gave him ample time to retrieve a backpack from his private safe. With a decisive grunt, he strapped it over one shoulder and made his way aft. He could feel the thumping of the music as he got closer. The party overhead must be in full swing. No doubt the guests were dancing on top of the tables like kids on spring break.
But he wasn’t going to visit the guests, and when he got to the stairs leading up to the helipad he passed that too. When he got to his destination, he knocked on the heavy metal door. A moment later, one of the six men guarding the cargo opened the door.
“Yes, Captain?” the man asked politely.
“The chef had some leftovers from the party. I was on my way to bed and thought I’d bring them by.” He motioned to the pack on his shoulder.
The man put out a hand to take the bag but Weir didn’t move.
“There’s also been word. Didn't you get the message?”
The man’s face twisted in confusion.
“There’s been no message.”
“Damn. They said something like this might happen. Some issue with communications. May I come in? You can eat while I tell you what I know.”
Weir held his breath as the man mulled it over. The captain knew what he was thinking. On the one hand, the cargo cell was not supposed to talk to the captain about the operation without explicit word from London. But, on the other hand, if there was word, shouldn’t they listen to what the captain had to say? After all, he was one person against six of them.
Finally, the man nodded and opened the door.
Weir stepped inside and took in the modified space. Three of the men were stretched out on cots chatting. The talk ceased when they saw him. Two more men were staring at computer screens that had wires running into the large capsule taking up the bulk of the space.
“The captain says he has a message,” the man behind him reported.
One of the men at the computers turned.
“How can I help you, Captain?”
Weir saw annoyance in the man’s eyes. He was in their domain.
Weir stepped forward, shifting the pack on his shoulder. It felt heavy now, like someone had added a fifty-pound plate on his way below deck.
“Here,” he said, handing the pack to the man in charge.
“What is it?” the man asked, already beginning to open the zipper.
Six, five, four…Weir thought.
“A gift,” Weir said, all nervousness gone now. He could feel the ominous power of whatever sat inside the mounted capsule. It was the last resort but he was ready. He’d done his patriotic duty. Maybe this would put Baxter on his heels. Maybe…
Three, two, one.
The explosives detonated at the precise moment when the man had opened the main compartment. They hadn’t explained to Weir exactly what it was, but he had seen the video. This “gift” acted no differently. The explosives ripped Suprema in half and then like a supernova the explosion tore outward engulfing the entire vessel in fire. Suprema, its obliterated crew and guests all hit the bottom of the ocean two minutes later.
Chapter 23
Freeport, Bahamas
August 29th, 9:02am
It was pretty convenient having a company plane. After the decision was made to contact Chance Baxter, The Jefferson Group had chartered a flight to the Bahamas. They knew he was there and the best thing to do was get close. Besides, the TJG pilots said there was a storm coming in, possibly turning into a hurricane. Ergo, they had no time to wait.
Cal stroked his new puppy’s neck as they touched down in Freeport. Other than a quick pit stop in Miami, the newest member of the team, Liberty, had been calm and quiet. She snuggled against Cal's leg during most of the flight, perfectly content with just being near him.
“Cal, the authorities are heading over to check our passports,” Benny said, opening the door and letting in the warm Bahamian air.
“You heard the man, everybody up,” barked Trent, stretching, as much as the cabin would allow. He yawned deeply and was the first to the door when the man in the airport uniform arrived.
Cal followed Trent out of the plane, holding Liberty on a short leash. She was quick to find a spot to do her business, and after a glance down the runway as another private jet landed, she hustled back to his side.
By that time Jonas, Gaucho, Daniel and Neil had deplaned and were showing their passports to the airport authority who’d joined them and was conversing casually. He gave them each one last cursory glance and then walked over to take Cal’s passport.
“Welcome to the Bahamas, Mr. Stokes,” the man said after examining the passport. “Are there more visitors on board?” he asked, pointing to the aircraft.
“The crew and one more,” Cal answered.
The man nodded and made his way up the ladder. Maya was still in there gathering her things. She handed over the fake passport and tried to act like nothing was amiss. The man didn’t notice and moved on to the pilots.
When Maya finally made her way outside, Cal waved her over.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Why shouldn’t it be?” she replied, scanning the area.
“You were pretty quiet on the flight down.”
She shrugged. “I’d like to get this over with.”
Something had changed in the woman after they’d made the decision to confront Baxter. It was as if Maya, in an attempt to put her training to good use, was dealing with her grief. Cal understood that feeling and hoped they would find what they needed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy but maybe they’d get lucky.
“Hey, here comes our ride,” Trent said, pointing to a shiny stretch limo rumbling down the tarmac. It parked next to them and a thin black man stepped out.
“Mr. Layton?” he asked the small crowd.
Jonas raised a hand. “That’s me.”
The driver gave a half bow. “Mr. Baxter’s compliments, sir. May I take your bags?”
“I think we can throw them in ourselves,” Jonas answered as he made his way to the open trunk.
They all tossed their overnight bags in the back and hopped in. It was a short ride over to the private helipad on the edge of the airport. They had time for a complimentary snack and soda on the way over.
The driver opened the door and let them out.
“Gentlemen and lady, the first helicopter will be here in thirty minutes. If you would like to go to the lounge and have a drink, everything is paid for.”
They already knew from the message from Jonas’s assistant that they’d be taking two helicopters off the main island and from there to Great Sale Cay. Boats would’ve taken longer and there was no runway on the private island. In fact, Baxter had insisted on sending his own aircraft to fetch them.
I guess that's what fellow billionaires do for one another, Cal had thought as he’d packed his bag. There hadn’t been much time to speak with Diane after Maya’s dramatic entrance the day before. She had left quietly after giving him a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Be careful, okay?” she’d said.
He’d promised he would. After all, how much trouble could they get into on a tiny island in the Bahamas?
Two hours later, the whole TJG crew was safely on Great Sale Cay. They’d been met by a team of Baxter’s household staff who’d shuttled them to the main house in open-topped jeeps. The island was barely developed and the roads were rife with potholes. The bumpy ride wasn’t long though and soon they’d ent
ered Chance Baxter's massive mansion.
Cal estimated that the place must be close to 20,000 square feet. He wondered how they’d gotten all the supplies over from either the U.S. or Freeport. The construction must have cost a fortune.
“Mr. Layton, I am George, the house manager. Mr. Baxter has provided the east wing for you and your staff. Will you follow me please?”
They followed George through the colonial hallways and under the mighty pillars holding up massive ceilings.
“Now, I could definitely get used to this place,” Trent whispered in his ear.
Cal nodded. Baxter definitely knew how to live. Cal stopped counting after the twelfth house staff member he’d seen shuttling down side halls or half bowing to them as they passed. The place really was massive and Cal amended his initial estimate. Maybe the place was double the size. He wondered if there was an underground component.
When they arrived in the east wing, George first ushered in Jonas. As the guest of honor, he would have the largest bedroom. The rest of them would share rooms. Cal and Daniel left their bags in their room and followed Trent as he and Gaucho scoped out their room.
“Pretty nice,” Gaucho said, adding a low whistle.
“How come we don’t live like this, Cal?” Trent joked, flopping down on one of the two king size beds in the room.
“Don’t get started,” Gaucho said with a grin.
After everyone had stowed their luggage in their respective rooms, George once again escorted them, but this time into an enormous living area. One wall had a floor-to-ceiling glass window and the view of the ocean was breathtaking. Cal could only imagine what it looked like in the morning as the sun was peaking over the horizon.
The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) Page 11
