After a little more thought we all came to the conclusion that a visit to Bishop’s house would not be in our best interest. With that, it was decided to head back to St. Maarten.
On the way back out of the harbor we motored close to the sailboat whose owner had lent us his spare dinghy. With a couple revs of the motors he was topside and accepting our gratitude and the toss of the line connected to his dinghy.
During the boat ride back it seemed we were all pretty much lost in thought. I just couldn’t believe that the first person we met was the one we were looking for. I attributed that fact to the boat which again drew the attention. At least now I knew what Bishop looked like and had an address.
The ride back to St. Maarten gave us time to explain to the girls our whole truthful story right from the beginning. I think they were more impressed with our willingness to take on the unknown adventure of search and rescue than they were with the money. For Tom and me it was all about the money.
I didn’t know Bruce well enough to be consumed with his care and well-being. After all, as far as I was concerned, he had lied to me from the get go. Only after my time bound up in the closet did I start to develop a taste for revenge towards these people involved with abducting Bruce.
It was decided that we would give ourselves a few days to figure our next move and the best way to deal with the situation before heading back to St. Barts. On the way back through the channel into Simpson Bay we talked about all meeting for dinner later that evening. The girls suggested a restaurant called Pinocchio’s. It was a restaurant on the main street in downtown Philipsburg. After tying up the boat we decided to meet at the restaurant around seven p.m. and with that the girls headed off.
“Now what?” Tom asked.
“Well, I think we need to talk to André again.”
It was now around four in the afternoon and I was hopeful that we could find André at his office at the airport. As Joseph turned into the airport I could see that both DC3s were parked on the ramp in front of André’s building. As we got closer I could see the door of the office open with just the screen door keeping the aggressive flies out. As we entered, André got up from his chair to greet us.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Well, you’re not going to believe who one of the first people we met there was.”
After telling André the happenings of our day, it was no big surprise to him. He reasoned that, on a small island such as St. Barts, word travels quickly - especially when unusually exotic speed boats make their way into those waters.
André wanted to know if any of our exchange with Bishop might lead him to be suspicious of us jeopardizing Bruce’s safety. I assured him that as little as possible was said. Still I knew that Bishop was a smart guy and one that was most likely suspicious of anyone and everything until proven otherwise. After all, you don’t do what he was doing with a trusting mind.
With that in mind, I asked André if Bishop knew that Bruce’s father was an exotic boat broker. He had a keen eye on that boat and with a Ft. Lauderdale registry it wouldn’t take much to get information on who owned it. Even with the registration in a corporate name, I was afraid our mission might be compromised.
I decided at that moment that the boat would not be used to go back to St. Barts and that whatever we were going to do had to be done soon. I then remembered that Joseph had mentioned Bishop having a very big and fast airplane. When I asked André about this, he informed me that Bishop owned two planes.
He kept a King Air here at the airport and a Cessna 210 that he used to get back and forth from St. Maarten to St. Barts. The King Air was used for the long distance flights to South American and the States. I asked if Bishop was a pilot or did he have a pilot that did the flying.
“Oh, Bishop does all his own flying. His crew of people are all just basically thugs. He’s the only smart one in that group.” he explained.
With the talk of airplane flying, a flash of thought gave me the notion of flying to St. Barts rather than going by boat. I then asked André about the possibility of using a plane.
“Do you fly?” he asked me.
“Well, I used to,” I informed him.
“Oh, yeah, he flies,” Tom added.
“Well, I have a 172 I leave over at the other airport.”
“Other airport?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s a little airport over on the French side of the island.”
In all our travel thus far on the island, I didn’t remember seeing anything that looked like an airport.
“Oh, yeah,” he assured me. “Over near French Cul de Sac. It’s small and pretty beat up but it’s there. You can check it out. There’s only two airplanes there. I actually own them both but only the 172 is flyable right now. The twin Apache has got some issues.”
“How’s the airport over on St. Barts?” I asked.
“Very, very challenging,” he informed me.
“How so?” I asked him.
”Well, it’s short and has a mountain at one end and the ocean at the other. Unless you’re real good at short field takeoffs and landings I wouldn’t recommend flying there.”
Short field landings and takeoffs, I thought to myself. As a teenager flying small airplanes, I would challenge myself with the task of getting in and out of the shortest airfields I could find. Although it had been years since I had flown, flying was like riding a bike. It all comes back to you pretty quickly.
With that thought in mind, I assured André that flying the plane there would be no problem. I reasoned that with just Tom and me getting in and out of St. Barts’ short airstrip would be easier than if André flew both of us there.
André confirmed that if we did get Bruce that the 172 would be unable to get back into the air off that strip with the four of us on board. Even with three he insisted it would be a challenge.
André agreed to have the airplane fueled and ready by the following morning should we decide to go back to St. Barts right away. I asked André if he knew the tail numbers on Bishop’s Cessna 210. I wrote them down on the back of one of André’s business cards and stuck it in my wallet. I wasn’t sure why I needed it but for some unknown reason figured it might come in handy.
With that, we headed back to the boat to get cleaned up for our dinner meeting with the girls. When we got to the restaurant, we found the girls engaged in conversation with one of the barmaids who was serving drinks to the many patrons sitting at the long bar.
Upon seeing us, the girls got up and motioned us towards the dining area where they had a table reserved. As we sat down, the girls informed us that they had some big news.
“Big news?” I asked. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Ava said, “Evonne and I just got hired here.”
“Hired here?” I asked.
“Yes, we both just got hired here and we have decided to stay here on this island for a while. The cruise ship is crazy work and this island’s atmosphere is much more laid back.”
Evonne went on to say that since both of them were Dutch, there was no problem for them to get work visas and the barmaid they were talking with had offered to share the house she had been renting. As it turned out, the barmaid herself had worked on one of the cruise ships before deciding to literally abandon ship for the island life. She had assured the girls with enough enthusiasm that they would not regret it, the girls, all within a fifteen minute conversation, decided to redirect their lives.
“So, here’s to the ’Island Life’,” I offered up as our drinks were delivered to our table.
“To the ‘Island Life’,” we all said.
Over dinner, the girls were anxious to know of our plans. It was like some Hardy Boys book mystery. In my mind, it seemed like I was writing and then rewriting just how all this was going to play out.
I wasn’t sure if a peaceful solution was even possible. Bishop had assured André that Bruce would be released only after three more smuggling trips into the States were completed. André had ment
ioned that the next scheduled trip would be in just a few days. I was feeling the urgency of getting done whatever it was we were going to do.
I tried my best to be engaging in the conversation at the table and assured the girls that we were not going to do anything stupid. Stupid, I thought to myself, this whole adventure seemed pretty crazy and perhaps stupid, if I thought about it long enough.
We enjoyed our meals and each other’s company. It was agreed that Joseph would meet the girls at noon the following day to help them move their belongings from the ship to their new residence high on a hill overlooking Philipsburg and the harbor.
After walking the girls to the dock from the restaurant, Tom and I waited at a local watering hole for Joseph to pick us up. He showed up, reliably as always, at a time we had agreed to on the drive back to the boat. He, too, wanted to know what our next move was going to be. When he asked the question, I got a sudden urge to decide right then on what to do.
“Take us to the airport,” I said.
“Airport?” Tom and Joseph asked in unison.
“Yeah, I need to speak with André.”
“Ok, mon, airport, it is.”
It was now around ten p.m. and I was hoping to find him there in his office. Once again he was and he greeted us in a worrisome way as we came through the door.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Well, Bishop was just here about an hour ago and he’s ready to move the cocaine on Thursday.”
“Thursday?” I said without even knowing what day it was.
Ever since leaving the States it was difficult keeping track of both time and the days. The days seem to just blend together with no difference - just another day in paradise.
“What’s today?” I asked aloud not directing the question to anybody in particular.
“Today Tuesday,” Joseph informed me.
“Ok,” I said. “So, damn, that’s only one day.”
I could feel my body getting nervous and my mind starting to flood with thought.
“Ok, André, can you get what we need to fly that airplane over to the airport early tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yeah, no problem. What’s your plan?”
Damn, I thought, everybody wants to know what my plan is. I didn’t even know myself but I knew that it had to be tomorrow that we did it. We came here to find Bruce and I had decided when André informed me that Bishop’s intentions that day were to kill both Kevin and myself that I wasn’t just going to call Bruce’s father and inform him of where to find his son but rather seek retribution and get our full payoff for bringing Bruce back to the States.
At this point I was getting pumped up for our next move. I just really needed to figure out what that was. I knew it had to happen in St. Barts, that it had to happen tomorrow and that we needed a way to get there and back quickly.
I told André we had a plan and assured him that it would not jeopardize him or Bruce’s well-being. Hell, I didn’t know that but it sounded convincing when the words came out of my mouth.
“I can have all you need there by seven,” he told us.
As we left it was agreed that if all went well we would meet there the following day around five in the afternoon. When Joseph pulled up to the marina to drop us off he asked about a time for him to be there in the morning.
“Around seven,” I said.
With that we said goodnight and headed down the dock towards the boat.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me?” I asked Tom.
“Ask you what?” he wanted to know.
“Well, everybody tonight has asked me about the next move except you.”
“Hey,” he said. “When you get it figured out you’ll let me know.” Yeah, Tom knew me well.
“Well, I’m thinking we’re just going to have to go over there and play rough. I don’t think that if we politely ask for Bruce and the incriminating evidence that he has on André’s trips to the States that he’s just going to give it up. It’s potentially many millions of dollars at stake here.”
“Are you ready for this?” I asked Tom.
“Yeah, let’s get this over with. “
“Ok, man. Let’s do it!”
Chapter 10
I awoke to the familiar sound of Joseph’s knuckle rapping on the hull of the boat.
“Yeah!” I shouted out. “I’ll be right there.”
As I pushed open the companionway hatch, the full blast of the sun just coming up on the horizon sliced through the interior of the cabin like a brilliant flood light. Wow, I thought as I covered my eyes from the rays of the sun. I then remembered that the previous day we had tied off the boat in the opposite direction that we were usually in.
“Hey, Tom!” I shouted out in the direction of Tom’s berth.
“Tom, he gettin’ coffee, mon,” Joseph informed me as he pointed in the direction of Tom making his way back from the marina restaurant.
“Now, there’s a good friend,” I said aloud to Joseph once I knew Tom was in earshot.
“Yeah, mon. Tom good,” Joseph asserted.
Over coffee we agreed to head to the little French airport where Joseph would drop us off and then meet with the girls to help them move. Once in the car I remembered I hadn’t spoken to anyone stateside in a while. Under the circumstances of entering the unknown, I decided it best to make calls back home.
“Joseph,” I said. “Let’s go to Philispburg first. I need to make a couple phone calls before we head out.”
“Ok, mon. Philipsburg, it is.”
I knew Linda would be at work so I called there first. Her secretary informed that she was on a field trip that day doing some research work. Damn, I thought. “Ok, well, tell her I called and that I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Next I called Bruce’s father. He was anxious to hear from me and when I had informed him that we would have definitive answers within a couple of days he seemed quite relieved. I made no mention of the real situation, only that I was expecting a good outcome to the situation at hand.
As I was about to leave I thought of Linda again and figured I’d call Pat. He and Linda were close friends and I felt the need to know she was ok. Besides, I could ask him about Tom’s and my motorcycles.
“Hey,” I said as Pat answered the phone.
“How’s it going over there?” he wanted to know recognizing the sound of my voice.
“Well, we’re actually down here now.”
“Down there?” he asked. “Aren’t you in the Bahamas?”
“Well, we ended up having to go a little further south. We’re now down in St. Maarten. Didn’t Linda mention that to you?”
“No, man, this whole ordeal is a bad one as far as she’s concerned.”
“Really,” I said, “She never mentioned that to me when I spoke with her last.”
“And, when was that?” Pat wanted to know.
“Well, about a week ago.”
“You‘re an asshole,” he said.
“Whoa, where’s that coming from?”
“Look, man, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you and you have her on some list that’s not even close to a priority.”
Now, my father had once told me to never be hurt by the words of a man I didn’t respect but Pat was the man I respected most. He was the most honest, hardworking, ethical man I knew. Besides being the most talented mechanic in my life, he was always there to give me an unbiased view of reality.
We are at any given moment the result of all the good and bad that has happened to us in our lives. I was who I was and not that I was always happy about that, I was true to myself. Unfortunately, it seemed that the things I held too tight got away from me and the things I cared about, that I should have given more attention to, I allowed to slip through my hands. Pat was right. As much as I would have liked to believe she was on my list of top priorities, my actions proved otherwise.
“Are we good?” I asked him before saying goodbye.
“We’re always good, man,” he assure
d me. “I’m always your friend. That’s why I can tell you these things.”
“Yeah, I know and you’re right. When I get back, I’m going to make some real changes. This time I’m serious.”
Walking out of the phone center, I vowed to make things right with Linda once and for all when I returned to the States. As I walked up to Joseph’s car my thoughts and focus quickly turned back to the task at hand.
“Everything ok?” Tom wanted to know.
“Yeah, all’s good and our bikes are done and waiting.”
“Great!” Tom exclaimed. “I’m looking forward to riding again.”
“Me, too, but let’s deal with this mess and get it out of our way.”
Joseph knew right where the airport was. When we pulled up we could see only two airplanes. As we got closer I couldn’t believe either of the two airplanes was airworthy. The twin Apache was obviously in need of a nose wheel. The front of the airplane was propped up on a couple of cinder blocks.
The 172 Cessna looked like it hadn’t been in the air in years. The paint was so worn thin by the sun that the zinc chromate primer was showing through all over the plane. The numbers on the sides of the airplane were so faded we each thought it read differently. Only after a little closer look did we decide the last three numbers to be 36Q.
Walking around the plane I noticed hydraulic fluid leaking from the nose wheel strut. The reddish color made it obvious. It was leaking or had leaked enough to cover part of the front wheel as it made its way to the ground where you could see it had soaked in the weed infested black top.
“Damn, man,” I said. “I thought André said this thing was ready to fly.”
André, or his men, had left six five gallon gas cans and a battery sitting under the wings as well as some hand tools. Great, I thought, well, let’s get this plane fueled up and see if this battery fits in the battery box.
I opened up the cowling hatch on the engine compartment and it actually looked better there than the outside. I checked the oil and it looked clean. Before putting in the fresh fuel I thought of checking the wings’ gas tank drains as well as the gascolator in the engine compartment. Each contained large amounts of water. We drained almost a quart of water and dirt from the system before the fuel drained clean.
Adventures In A Pair-A-Dice Page 13
