The Devil and the Deep Blue Spy

by Tom Savage

  Now Carmen moved. She pulled her phone from her bag and raised it to her ear as she turned around and started back the way she’d come. Nora ducked in through the glass doorway of the building beside her. It was an office building, with the names of businesses listed on a board beside a locked inner door. The tiny vestibule concealed her until Carmen walked by. Nora caught only a glimpse of her as she passed the building on the sidewalk, but she could see that the woman was angry. Carmen was shouting into the phone in Spanish.

  Nora allowed Carmen enough time to get back up the hill and inside the church before leaving the building and following. More people were around now, cars and pedestrians. Nora managed to slip back into the church and arrive beside Freddie Webber just as Irma announced that it was time for their morning snack. Carmen had rejoined them as well, and her phone was back in her purse. She still looked angry.

  To Nora’s amusement—and Carmen’s further annoyance—the bus was waiting outside to drive them down the hill to the waterfront, to a café on the beach road that was mere yards from where Carmen had just been standing. Nora hadn’t seen these buildings facing the water from where she’d been concealed when she watched Carmen on the beach. There were plenty of people out and about here, just around the corner from the empty side street. The café had tea and coffee waiting for them, along with plates of croissants and muffins and small cakes. Most of the tour group attacked the food, but Nora noticed that Carmen downed her tea quickly, then went outside to the sidewalk and lit a cigarette, gazing out over the water once again.

  “Now we’re on our way to St-Pierre,” Freddie said between mouthfuls of something that looked very much like a cinnamon Danish. “I can’t wait!”

  Nora stared at him, snapping out of her trance. St-Pierre? Oh yes; the volcano, Mont Pelée. She’d been so preoccupied with Carmen’s mysterious side trip that she’d forgotten all about it. And she was still absorbing the information she’d just received courtesy of Claude Lamont’s ex-wife in Lyon. Nora was working on a puzzle, trying to put the pieces together, and she had to force herself to remember that she was also on a bus tour of a beautiful tropical island.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Nora tried to be a tourist. She admired the thick green rain forest as they passed it on their way west across the island. She listened to Freddie Webber’s gruesome account of the events in St-Pierre on the morning of May 8, 1902: The great volcano above the capital city had exploded, flooding the city and several nearby towns with poisonous gas and molten lava that also poured into the sea, where it cooled and added to the coastline of volcanic rock on the northwestern section of the island. St-Pierre was almost completely buried, and nearly thirty thousand people lost their lives. Elapsed time of the incident: two minutes.

  The new city of St-Pierre, built on the ruins of the old one, was a pretty waterfront town facing the Caribbean Sea, with shops and restaurants and hotels. After Freddie’s story on the bus, she hadn’t expected the place to be so lively. It was a tourist destination, old-fashioned and picturesque, in sharp contrast to Ste-Marie, the industrial town on the east coast.

  They were served lunch at two long tables on the patio of a restaurant in the center of the seafront promenade, with black volcanic sand stretching away in either direction. During the excellent meal, Nora found herself turning to look up at the majestic 4,600-foot peak in the northern distance. Mont Pelée loomed over the town, a constant, frightening reminder of the implacability of nature and the ultimate fragility of life.

  After lunch, Nora walked around the town with her group, taking several photos of Freddie with Pelée in the background, but she waited outside, window-shopping in rue Victor Hugo and the surrounding streets, while he and the others toured the museum and watched a short documentary film about the disaster. She couldn’t face all those images of destruction.

  Throughout the afternoon, Carmen Lamont remained aloof and preoccupied. She dutifully ate the lunch and toured the museum in St-Pierre, but she took no apparent interest in anything; she was marking time, or so Nora suspected. She made one more phone call from the bus, a lengthy one, on the way back to Fort-de-France, and her air of anger or annoyance remained.

  On the ride back, Nora thought some more about the puzzles of this op. By the time the bus returned to the docks, she was certain that something was about to happen, something that would change the dynamic of her mission. When she boarded the Tropic Star and joined her husband in their cabin, she learned that she was right.

  Chapter 17

  “We intercepted another message,” Hamilton Green said, “about two hours ago. It was sent from a Nuestra Familia member in Colombia to one of their spies somewhere in the Caribbean area who’s apparently keeping tabs on Diablo, but they’re having trouble tracing the exact location. It was in Spanish, and here’s the translation: D meeting with CL tomorrow night 9PM IN. Watch and report. That was all, the whole message, sent at three thirty-seven this afternoon. I’ll let you know if they manage to pinpoint it.”

  Nora looked at Jeff across the cabin’s dining table, then down at the phone between them. She’d arrived here from the bus to find him waiting for her. He’d explained that Ham had called him half an hour ago and requested a meeting as soon as Nora walked in. Jeff had just recently returned from his day in town, but he’d had time for a shower and a change of clothes while he waited for her. He’d also made a pot of chamomile tea in the cabin’s coffeemaker. She’d have sold her soul for a hot shower, but the tea would help until then.

  She looked at her watch: 5:46.

  “Mr. Green,” Jeff said, “there’s new intel on our end, too. Mrs. Lamont is leaving the Tropic Star, effective immediately.”

  Nora stared at him as Ham blurted out, “Wait a minute—what do you mean, immediately? You’re in the middle of a cruise!”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff replied, “but she’s disembarking here, in Martinique, tonight. I heard her husband’s end of a phone call with her on the way back here from town, and when we reboarded he asked the officer at the gangway to arrange for his wife’s luggage to be collected from their suite at seven o’clock and taken ashore.”

  Nora opened her mouth, then shut it. This was the first she was hearing of Carmen Lamont’s new plans. She had several questions, but she’d wait until their employer had spoken. She glanced over at the cabin’s closet, wondering which things she should pack immediately.

  Ham surprised her. He was silent at the other end for a long moment, and then he said, “Nora, what do you think you should do?”

  Despite her surprise, she jumped right in, aware of her husband’s steady gaze from across the table. “I think I must stay with her, wherever she goes. Jeff needs to stay on Claude Lamont. If the two men are meeting at nine o’clock tomorrow night, that means Barbados. The ship sails from Barbados at midnight, so either it’s a short meeting or Claude is planning to get off the ship there. Either way, Jeff has to be there. But I have to follow Carmen, Ham. She’s obviously in danger, and I think her husband and/or his mistress is behind it.” She paused for a moment, thinking rapidly. “Is—is there any way for me to track Carmen once we’re on the island? It’s a big place, and—”

  Now Jeff jumped in. “I have an idea. Mr. Green, can I get authorization for a plant?”

  “I trust you both to do what you think is necessary,” Ham said. “Do you have the equipment on you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff said.

  Nora watched her husband, wondering what all this was about.

  “Okay,” Ham said. “I’ve alerted our people in Martinique and Barbados; they’ll be standing by in case you need to contact them. Jeff, make the plant, and stay with Claude. Nora, I guess you’re going ashore.”

  “Right,” Nora said. “Who is the contact in Martinique?”

  “Ken Nelson runs the station there—in fact, he is the station—but he’s away at the moment. His assistant, Ellen
Singer, is holding down the fort. She’ll help you; I’ll have her call you.”

  “Thanks, Ham.” Nora stood and moved toward the bathroom. She’d have to pack, but first she needed a shower.

  “Let Sam Friedman in Barbados know I’m going to need him there,” Jeff was saying into the phone as she shut the bathroom door and turned on the hot water. When she emerged ten minutes later, Jeff had ended the call and was rummaging through his suitcase. He looked up at her and said, “I need an actress for a brief performance.”

  She laughed as she got into her navy blue linen pants suit. “You’ve come to the right cabin, sailor. Am I going to be the ‘plant’?”

  “No, but you can help me with it.” He explained it as she packed. The beige dress from yesterday, the dark blue evening dress, a dark blouse, and jeans. Light clothes were fine for daytime, but she’d wear dark clothes at night, in case she had to be invisible. She put on her black sneakers and threw the dark blue slippers, a shawl, a bathing suit, and sandals into the suitcase. Her toiletries and makeup were in her shoulder bag. Everything else would stay here with Jeff.

  Her phone buzzed at six forty-five. She picked it up, unsurprised to see that the name “Ellen Singer” was now in her contacts. Ralph was on the job. “Hello, Ms. Singer, this is Nora Baron.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Baron, I’m Ellie. I understand you’re coming ashore. What do you need me to do?”

  A pleasant voice with perfect enunciation, friendly tone, efficient manner: Nora liked this woman already. “Okay, Ellie. I need you to follow Carmen Lamont when she disembarks sometime after seven o’clock. Find out where she goes. I need a place to stay in Fort-de-France tonight, as close to her as possible. I’d also like to meet you. Are you free for dinner?”

  “Of course. While you’re on this island, I’m working for you. Let’s see where she goes, then we can decide where to have dinner, okay? I’ll call you when I’ve booked you somewhere, and I’ll pick you up in front of the terminal.”

  “Fine,” Nora said. Jeff was gesturing to her. “My husband wants to talk to you.” She handed him the phone.

  “Hi, Ellie, Jeff Baron,” he said. “I’ll be sending you an app, and Mrs. Baron’s going to need a new phone. Do you have a fully loaded Company phone for her?…Good. I’ll send the app to both of you…Yes, that’s exactly what it is. You can show her how to use it. Got any trackers?…Good; you might need ’em. Watch out for my girl while she’s here, okay?…Thanks. And you be careful, too. I’ll put her back on.”

  Nora rolled her eyes and laughed as she took the phone from him. “Sorry about that, Ellie. My husband is just a tiny bit overprotective.”

  Ellie Singer laughed. “He sounds wonderful! If I ever find Mr. Right, I want him to be just like that. I’d better get busy.”

  “Okay,” Nora said. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “Will do. I look forward to meeting you.”

  Nora ended the call but kept the phone in her hand as she followed Jeff out of the cabin and up the stairs to the corridor of suites on the top tier. Then Jeff pulled out his phone, typed out a text, and sent it to her phone. They waited in the stairwell until exactly seven o’clock, when the service elevator at the nearest end of the corridor opened, depositing a steward with a luggage cart. He rolled the cart down the hall to Claude Lamont’s cabin, knocked, and was admitted.

  Jeff ran down the corridor past the Lamont suite, then ducked into a connecting corridor, peeking out from around the corner. Nora stationed herself in front of the service elevator and waited. Three minutes later, the door to the suite opened and the young man pushed the cart out into the hall, shut the door behind him, and started to make his way to the elevator. Nora began walking toward him, holding her phone up in front of her face, frowning as she squinted at it. She stopped ten feet in front of the cart.

  “Excuse me, young man,” she called to the steward. “I’m trying to read this damn screen, and I left my glasses back in my cabin. My husband wants to meet me somewhere, but I can’t for the life of me read this text. Could you possibly…?”

  “Of course, madam.” The young man left the cart and came forward. Behind him, Jeff sprinted silently up behind the now-abandoned luggage. As the young man reached out for the phone, Nora let it slip from her fingers.

  “Oops!” she cried with an inane little giggle. “Oh, damn, I’m always doing that! Sorry.”

  The steward knelt down to retrieve the phone from the carpet as Jeff thrust his hand down toward the smallest object on top of the pile, Carmen’s vanity case. He fiddled with the handle for a moment, then turned and sprinted back down the hall. The steward stood up, reading the screen.

  “It says, I’m in the Club Room, madam.” He presented the phone to her with a gallant little bow.

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet?! Thank you!” Nora grinned at him and took off down the stairs.

  Chapter 18

  Nora arrived at the street entrance to the cruise ship passenger terminal just as a sleek red sports car rolled to a stop at the curb in front of her. The driver’s door opened and a pretty young woman in a red minidress emerged. Nora’s first impressions were of a lovely face, brown hair curling softly to brown shoulders, and long brown legs. She also noted that the dress and wedged sandals matched the color of the car.

  “Hello, Mrs. Baron,” the vision said. “I’m Ellie. Let me put your bag in the back, and we’ll be on our way.” She picked up Nora’s suitcase, leaned in through the open door, and swung it over the top of the seat into the space behind it.

  “Thank you,” Nora said, moving around to the passenger door as Ellie Singer slid in behind the steering wheel. Nora placed her shoulder bag in the back beside her suitcase, climbed in, and buckled her seat belt. “What a beautiful car!”

  “Isn’t it?” Ellie said, shifting into gear and gliding away from the terminal. “It isn’t mine, of course. It’s Ken’s—Mr. Nelson, my boss. He lets me use it when he’s away. I’ve always dreamed of having a car like this, but on my salary, it’ll be a while.”

  Nora laughed, then gazed out at the lights of the waterfront. “I know a lot about this particular car—it’s an Audi RS 5 Coupe. My husband has magazines and brochures all over our house. He’s dreaming of it in dark blue.”

  “My second choice, after red,” Ellie said. “I’ve booked you into the hotel where Mrs. Lamont is staying. It’s one of the best hotels on the island, right near here. I don’t know how closely you want to watch her—do you want to dine in the same place? If so, we’ll have to wait and see where she goes. Otherwise, there’s a terrific restaurant off the lobby that does local dishes as well as the usual continental French fare. Here we are—I told you it was nearby.”

  The Audi pulled up at the entrance to a big, modern-looking hotel on a hill facing the harbor. A smiling doorman handed Nora out of the car, then a smiling bellman whisked her suitcase and shoulder bag from behind the seats and carried them inside. A third smiling man handed Ellie a ticket, jumped in the Audi, and drove away.

  The lobby was the usual faux–West Indian, international-chain-hotel setting, cavernous and overdecorated with wicker peacock chairs and ceiling fans among the bamboo-edged tables and potted palms and too much air-conditioning. She half expected a waterfall or a big cage of exotic birds, but they’d mercifully forgone those clichés. Nora hated tourist traps like this; she preferred small places. But it was only for one night, two at the most—or so she hoped.

  She signed in at the front desk and watched as her keycard was handed to yet another smiling bellman, who snatched up her suitcase while she shouldered her purse.

  “Un moment, s’il vous plaît,” she said to him. She turned to whisper to Ellie Singer. “Where is our friend right now?”

  “Room two twenty-one; she booked it for two nights, so I did the same with you. You’re in room three twenty-one. She’s in her room now, as far as I can t
ell.” She indicated the screen of her phone, where a green blip pulsated on a map of the hotel. This was the app Jeff had mentioned, and the signal emanated from the name tag on Carmen Lamont’s vanity case.

  “Where’s the restaurant you mentioned?” Nora asked.

  Ellie nodded toward the lobby behind Nora. Nora turned around to see the wide entranceway to a dark, candlelit room. Gold letters above the entrance announced its name: GRIL DE PORT. “The Harbor Grill. If we’re lucky, we might be able to snag a table on the terrace.”

  “That would be great,” Nora said. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

  “Right.” Ellie went off toward the dining room as Nora followed the bellman to the elevators. She dismissed him with a tip as she gave her third-floor room a perfunctory inspection: big, beige, and freezing, with rampant Caribbean décor and a firm bed. The windows overlooked the interior part of the port city, not the harbor, but it would do. Carmen Lamont, one floor below her, would have the same view. She went back downstairs.

  She was shown to a table outside the dark dining room, on a wide patio facing the water, where Ellie was waiting for her. There were a dozen tables here, and most of them were occupied. Nora noticed that Ellie had chosen a table at the very edge of the terrace, as far away from the other diners as possible.

  “I recommend a perfect French-and-Martinican meal,” Ellie said. “The langouste for starters, then fillet of beef with chanterelle mushrooms, and a banana tart for dessert. That’s what I’m having, and I know just the wines to go with it.”