The Devil and the Deep Blue Spy

by Tom Savage

  “What about the woman at El Morro?” Nora asked. “Does Lino know who—”

  “Whoa! Slow down, Pal! I was just coming to that. He didn’t get her name, but she arrived at El Morro in a taxi, and it waited for her and took her away. A few phone calls, and Lino found the taxi driver. He’d picked her up at a local marina, taken her to El Morro, waited two hours while she was inside, then returned her to the same place. She paid cash. On the way back, she told him that she was in a hurry to catch a sailing, and she asked him to step on it. The marina people didn’t know anything about her, but they had a list of three boats that sailed at about the time she returned there: two cabin cruisers and a fishing trawler that were just in for the day. All three are headed down-island.”

  “Down-island,” Nora said. “That’s where we’re headed, but it covers a lot of ground: hundreds of islands, not to mention South America.”

  This news about the mysterious young woman didn’t fit in with her theory. She’d been secretly hoping that the girl was local, perhaps from a Puerto Rican women’s group that aided wives who needed to leave their husbands. It had occurred to Nora that a Caribbean cruise with several ports of call was a perfect cover for a defection. The abused wife of a rich, powerful executive might reach out to a secret network, women who helped women. Nora had known a woman, a fellow cast member in a play years ago, who’d utilized such a group to get away from a violent man. Now she’d have to rethink her theory.

  Of course, none of this was helping to catch Diablo.

  Nora glanced over at her husband on the bed, unsurprised to see that he’d drifted off to sleep again. She was suddenly wide awake; she couldn’t sleep while her mind was racing. She stood up, draped her midnight blue shawl over her matching evening dress, switched off the lights, and left the room. The hallway and stairwell were empty, but she heard voices and music as she descended the two flights to the Promenade Deck.

  A cool breeze wafted in from the ocean, and the sky was alight with stars. Nora went directly over to the rail and looked out at the celestial show. She lived on a beach, so she was used to seeing the night sky above water, but not like this. Here in the equatorial Atlantic, the stars seemed to go on forever.

  The walkway that gave this deck its name circled the entire ship, and she decided to stroll all the way around at least once while she thought. She was working on the nagging problem of Carmen Lamont, wondering if she was even close to guessing what might be in the woman’s mind. There weren’t many people about at this hour, and most of them would be in the bars and game room. Two couples stood at the rail outside the entrance to the Club Room a few yards away down the deck, chatting and laughing. The piano-and-violin duo inside the room was playing an old Broadway song by Cole Porter, “It’s De-Lovely.” Nora and Jeff had just spent two dull hours in that room after dinner, listening to show tunes and watching the Lamonts. She didn’t feel like going in there again.

  Nora was turning from the rail to begin her walk when a pretty young blond woman in a red evening gown came out of the Club Room onto the deck. Her hair was up in a chignon, and the gown didn’t cover much of her upper body; she shivered in the breeze, wrapping her arms around herself. She turned to look back at the door to the club just as a man in evening clothes arrived from there and joined her. He took off his jacket and put it over the woman’s shoulders. She leaned against him as they walked away down the deck toward the stern, in the opposite direction from where Nora stood at the rail. The woman dropped her head to the man’s shoulder, and his arm circled her waist.

  Nora stared after them, making a decision. She left the rail and followed the couple, smiling over at the two couples as she passed by them. They smiled back. She walked faster, not wanting to lose sight of the two people ahead of her.

  The young woman was the wife from the couple who’d shared the Lamonts’ lunch table yesterday, and the man with her was Claude Lamont.

  Chapter 7

  Nora’s first, instinctive thought was to call her husband, but she hadn’t brought her phone with her from the cabin. Besides, what could Jeff do here, now? She might as well let him sleep. She could do this by herself, and one detective was less conspicuous than two. That was probably a fundamental rule of Espionage 101, she decided. If it wasn’t, it should be.

  The breeze seemed to become chillier as she moved along the deck, careful to keep a good distance between herself and the couple ahead of her. If they were to turn and look behind them, she would appear to be any old passenger out for a late night stroll, or so she hoped. She was grateful for the dark blue Bally slippers she’d worn to match her dress tonight; they were essentially ballet shoes, comfortable and blessedly silent. The intermittent pools of light from the wall sconces along the deck were also a plus: She could hide in the shadows.

  Nora didn’t need a crystal ball to tell her that Claude Lamont and the blonde were lovers. Their body language alone told her that, more than any words. She wondered who the woman was. Nora had seen her around the ship with that other man in the last few days—a young man like her, blond and good-looking. Nora had assumed that, despite the “Second Honeymoon” theme that the Tropic Cruise Line was advertising for this voyage, the two young blond people might be on their actual honeymoon. She’d noticed them talking to the Lamonts once or twice, and they’d shared the table with them at lunch yesterday. Now, here was the female half of that attractive young couple, snuggling with Claude Lamont. Hmmm…

  The pool area was on the open afterdeck at the stern, roped off with a CLOSED: NO SWIMMING sign, so Nora slowed, clinging to the wall beside her, as Claude unhooked the velvet rope and ushered the woman into the forbidden space. She wondered if they were planning to strip off their evening clothes and go for a swim, but they merely took a chaise longue near the diving board, the woman stretching out on it and Claude sitting beside her. Her arms circled his neck, and they kissed.

  Nora crept closer, moving to the end of the wall. From here to the stern was open space with nowhere to hide. The pool was lit from underwater, a shimmering turquoise rectangle, and the deck around it was dimly lighted by the reflected glow from the water’s surface. Claude and the woman were clearly visible on the chaise, perhaps twenty-five feet away from where she stood.

  Claude sat up, and the woman lay back against the chaise. It was quiet here at the stern. The lovers kept their voices low, but Nora could hear every word.

  “How much longer is this going to go on?” the woman said in British-inflected English.

  “How much longer is what going to go on?” Claude’s voice was deep and raspy, and his English was heavily accented.

  “This,” she said. “Sneaking around, meeting in that empty cabin you booked, pretending not to know each other. Your wife isn’t a fool, and neither is Brian.”

  Claude Lamont laughed. “We won’t have to worry about them much longer, chérie. My solicitor is already preparing the petition. I will speak to Carmen soon, when we return home. Are you doing the same in London, Melanie?”

  “Of course, the minute we get back there. I shouldn’t be so impatient, I suppose. It’s just that we’re here, on this wonderful cruise, and we can’t even be together—I mean, really together. Instead, we’re behaving like naughty children: avoiding each other, sending secret texts, crouching in doorways! It’s been nearly a year now, and we’re still—”

  Claude leaned down and stopped her rant with a passionate kiss.

  Without making a sound, Nora shrank back into the shadows beside the wall. When she was well away from the pool area, she turned and walked casually back the way she’d come, toward the bow. Crouching in doorways: That phrase had triggered an alarm in her. She’d been suddenly, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable she was there, how exposed. If Claude Lamont had peered over through the darkness to see her in the shadows at the corner, her usefulness to this mission would be at an end. A spotted spy is no longer a
spy: That was probably in the espionage rulebook, too.

  Ahead of her on the promenade, light poured out onto the deck from the Club Room, where the pianist and violinist were now playing “If I Loved You” from Carousel. As an actor, Nora approved of their repertoire. The two couples were gone, but others had replaced them. Several couples and small groups stood about the deck, their casual conversations mingling with the music. Nora went over to lean on the rail near the crowd, listening to the song as she processed what she’d just seen and heard at the pool.

  So, the CIA’s quarry was an overbearing wife-abuser who was also cheating on her. No surprise there; Nora all but expected it of him. His Caribbean cruise, presumably a cover for his illicit rendezvous with Diablo, was also a cover for his illicit rendezvous with Melanie, who was evidently well on her way to becoming the third Madame Lamont.

  And the banker at El Morro—where did he fit into all this? Not to mention the young woman Carmen had met there—who was she? Nora wondered if any of this soap opera had anything to do with Diablo’s presumed terrorist plans. She might do well to ignore all the distractions in this op and focus on the task at hand…

  A man’s loud laugh from above and behind her caused her to turn around. She leaned back against the rail, looking up at the indented rows of balconies and the few lighted cabins of the three passenger decks. She counted over from the stairs: Her own cabin was dark behind its balcony. A man and woman stood on the balcony directly above hers, on the top tier of the ship. They were in matching white terry bathrobes, laughing as they gazed out at the ocean. Nora was about to turn back to the view herself when a sudden, bright flash of light two balconies over from theirs arrested her attention. She stared.

  Carmen Lamont stood alone on her private balcony, lighting a cigarette. She wore a dark silk robe over her nightgown, and she contemplated the view as she smoked. Not the ocean, though; Carmen was leaning over her balcony rail, looking downward three stories toward the stern of the Tropic Star. Nora glanced down the deck, checking the sight lines allowed by the tapering curve of the ship. Yes; from where Carmen stood, she’d be able to see at least half of the open afterdeck, including the port half of the pool, and she’d have an unobstructed view of the deck beside it. She seemed to be looking directly down at the chaise where her husband and the woman named Melanie lounged.

  Nora watched the watcher. The ocean breeze ruffled Carmen’s dark hair and robe as she stood there, rigid, smoking her cigarette, peering down. Her free hand gripped the railing tightly, and Nora could practically see her white knuckles. After a while Carmen tore her gaze from the sight, turned around, and went back into her suite. Her lights remained on, and Nora wondered if she would sleep tonight.

  Nora left the rail and made her way through the crowd of night owls to the stairs. As she ascended two stories to her tier, the musicians in the Club Room below began to play “The Man That Got Away.” Perfect, she thought. It was the perfect sound track for the marital drama she’d seen tonight. She thought about her own marriage all the way back to the cabin.

  Jeff was awake again, still lying on top of the covers. She took off her gown and slippers and lay down beside him.

  “Where were you?” he whispered.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she whispered back.

  “There’s no reason to wait,” he insisted. “I’m awake now.”

  “Yes,” she said, rolling over on top of him, “but now we have other things to do.”

  Chapter 8

  “Wow,” Jeff said when Nora had brought him up to date. “Claude Lamont is a busy little bee, isn’t he? But, fascinating as it is, it doesn’t have anything to do with Diablo.”

  Nora nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. But we don’t know the extent of Carmen’s involvement in all this. Until we do, I think you should concentrate on Claude and I’ll stick with Carmen. I want to know what she’s up to.” She picked up her fork and started on her omelet.

  They were in the Seaside Café, the more casual of the two dining rooms, where they’d taken to having breakfast every morning, mainly because that’s where the Lamonts would usually be found. Not today, though: Apparently, Claude and his wife were still in their cabin. But Jeff had managed to learn the Lamonts’ itinerary in Guadeloupe, where they’d be docking in one hour, so he and Nora were ready for them.

  They’d be in Guadeloupe for the day, and there had been announcements about a hiking excursion in Parc national de la Guadeloupe, which included a tropical forest and Carbet Falls, at the base of La Grande Soufrière, the volcano that is the highest peak in the Lesser Antilles. Jeff had watched Claude sign up for it in the purser’s office, so he’d promptly joined as well. He’d also overheard Claude tell the purser that Mme. Lamont wouldn’t be joining him; she would be shopping and having lunch in the port city.

  “You definitely have the easier job today,” Jeff said. “I can’t believe Claude signed up for the nature hike; it seems out of character for him. So I’ll be hiking and climbing while you’re lolling around beautiful downtown Pointe-à-Pitre.”

  Nora smiled. “The things we do for our country!” Her smile faded when she looked beyond her husband’s shoulder and saw a couple being seated at a table for two across the room. “There’s the woman in question, Melanie, with her husband, Brian—her current husband, I should say. They had lunch with the Lamonts in this very room two days ago.”

  “Yes,” Jeff said, “and they were at El Morro yesterday. I don’t see why a young woman like that would be interested in Claude Lamont. It must be his money. Now, I’d better go find my sneakers so I can keep up with the others.”

  “Relax,” Nora said. “You’ve done a lot of hiking, right?”

  He shrugged. “Years ago, and definitely before this.” He indicated his right knee, which had been damaged in the line of duty. Nora winced, remembering the circumstances surrounding his detainment and torture two years ago.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go,” she said. “I doubt that Claude would arrange a meeting with Diablo or anyone else on a nature trail halfway up a volcano. And your leg—”

  “I’ll be fine, Pal.” He grinned. “Besides, the only alternative seems to be carrying your shopping bags, so I’ll take the forest and waterfalls, if it’s all the same to you. Finish your coffee. I’ll see you back in the room.”

  He rose and went out, passing the Lamonts, who were on their way in. Nora was amused to see that Jeff didn’t even glance at them, nor they at him. Good. She sat back with her coffee cup, looking idly around the café—at least, she hoped she appeared to be idle.

  Claude and Carmen were seated at a table for two behind Nora, across the room from Melanie and her husband. Nora would have to turn around in her chair to see the Lamonts, so spying on them would be awkward. But she knew where they were going after breakfast; she could relax the surveillance for a while. She finished her croissant and drank the last of her coffee, preparing to follow Jeff back to their cabin, when the blond husband across the room, Brian, rose from his seat, excused himself to his wife, and made his way directly toward her. For one tense moment, Nora thought he was going to speak to her, but he passed by and continued toward the Lamonts’ table. The actor in her felt a thrill of anticipation, and she braced herself for fireworks.

  “Good morning, sir,” she heard the young man say in a British accent that matched his wife’s. “Ready for the hike?”

  “Oh, yes,” Claude Lamont replied. “Hello. Chérie, you remember Brian Dunstan, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Good morning, Brian.” Nora had never heard Carmen’s voice before; it was low and clear, with a distinct Spanish accent.

  “Hello, Madame Lamont. Are you coming to the park?”

  “No, I’m going shopping—I’ll leave the nature walks to you boys.”

  Brian Dunstan said, “My wife is coming on the nature walk.”

  Carmen L
amont said, “Your wife is more adventurous than I am. I’ll stay in town.”

  “I hope you enjoy it. I’ll see you on the bus, sir.”

  “Yes,” Claude Lamont said.

  Nora watched the young man pass her table and rejoin his wife on the other side of the room. Melanie smiled at her husband as he sat down across from her.

  Well, well, well, Nora thought, this soap opera just gets more and more interesting! Suppressing an urge to laugh, she rose and hurried away to her cabin.

  Chapter 9

  Guadeloupe is known as the Butterfly Island, which isn’t quite accurate. Although it resembles the body and wings of a butterfly from the air, it is actually a cluster of several islands, and the two main ones—the butterfly’s “wings”—are connected by bridges. The eastern island, Grande-Terre, is where the largest towns are located, including Pointe-à-Pitre, where the Tropic Star was now docked. The western “wing” is Basse-Terre, home of Parc national de la Guadeloupe, the Jacques Cousteau Underwater Park, and an impressive tropical forest. The smaller islands of the archipelago are a boat ride away. Guadeloupe is a designated region of France, so Nora cashed in some dollars for euros and dusted off her high school French.

  Nora stood at the rail of the Tropic Star beside the gangway to the dock, watching her husband and the other adventurous passengers file into two safari buses near the terminal. Jeff took a seat at the back of his bus—behind the three people he was now monitoring—and waved to her. She waved back, and the bus rolled away. Nora watched it go, wondering if there would be any incidents involving Claude Lamont, his young mistress, and her young husband.

  She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her CIA phone. She and Jeff had discussed the scene in the dining room back in their cabin, and they’d agreed that they needed more information. She wore a beige cotton dress, a beige scarf covering her hair, sandals, and sunglasses, as concealing and inconspicuous an ensemble as she could muster. She’d positioned herself at the gangway because she didn’t want to miss Carmen Lamont’s departure into town. Nora would spend the day tracking the woman, but now she entered a number and raised the phone to her ear. Her call was answered on the first ring.