The Devil and the Deep Blue Spy

by Tom Savage

  “You’ve done excellent detecting,” Nora assured him. “Thank you, Eb. We’ll see you back at the house later.”

  He grinned and raced away down the beach. The Lab didn’t follow him, however; with a single bark of farewell, it trotted off in the opposite direction.

  Nora turned to Ellie, who was staring off at the speedboat, a worried expression on her face. Without a word, Ellie walked over to the main office and went inside. Nora followed. She watched as Ellie conducted a conversation in French with the sunburned young man at the counter. He frowned, then looked at a computer screen on the counter and spoke some more. Ellie thanked him, and she and Nora went outside.

  “Ken rented the boat five days ago, and it was returned two days ago—but not by Ken. A young Latino man in camo brought it here and delivered the keys to the office. Oh, God!”

  Nora placed a hand on Ellie’s arm. “If Zeb returned the boat here, that might be a good thing. They’ve obviously captured Mr. Nelson, but I doubt they’d kill him and then let one of their number be seen returning his boat to a marina. That would be a stupid thing to do, and these people aren’t stupid. My guess is that they’re holding him for some reason—maybe for ransom, or as a bargaining chip down the road. Don’t lose hope, Ellie. Let’s go back to the guesthouse. I need to talk this through, and I need you to help me, okay?”

  Ellie nodded, and they walked back the way they’d come.

  “They have a hundred million bucks from Claude Lamont,” Ellie said, “money that technically doesn’t exist. Now that he’s dead, they probably won’t even have to pay it back. Why would they need a ransom?”

  Nora didn’t have a sensible answer for that. Instead of replying, she said, “Let’s figure out who these people are. We have Diablo, of course, the ringleader. We have the two Carmens, cousins who have evidently switched identities. The girl from Andalusia allowed our Carmen to come from Colombia and take her place in Spain shortly after the death of her aunt—perhaps I should say their aunt. Our Carmen went to Spain from Colombia, perhaps for the aunt’s funeral. Shortly after that, she moved from the fishing village to Madrid, to the exclusive gentlemen’s club, with Andalusian Carmen’s ID. She found a rich-but-not-very-bright French tycoon and married him.”

  “What about Andalusian Carmen?” Ellie asked. “If Carmen Lamont became her, who did she become? Where did she go? Where has she been for the last five years?”

  Nora turned her head and gazed out over the unquiet bay, toward the mysterious landmass in the far distance. “I can make a fair guess where she’s spent at least some of that time. So, Carmen Lamont marries Claude and moves to Lyon, where she oversees the finances of a major French corporation, not to mention her husband’s private interests. I think she’s the one who got him involved with the cartels—she’s from Colombia, remember, and there’s a good chance she and Diablo have known each other since those days. Diablo could be related to both Carmens—a brother of one and cousin of the other, perhaps? Or maybe he’s Carmen Lamont’s true love, and this has all been a long-range plan between the two of them—”

  “Okay,” Ellie said, holding up a hand to stop the overflow of information. “Slow down, please. For now, let’s just zero in on where they are now and what they might be doing.”

  Nora nodded. “You’re right. I think I might be a frustrated playwright or screenwriter—I always try to come up with everyone’s motivations for everything, even when it isn’t the most important thing.” She pointed out toward the horizon. “Where they are now is on that island, Îlet Naufrage, and they regularly buy food for a lot of people. But I’m damned if I can guess what they’re—”

  That was as far as she got before the heavens opened again. With a cry of surprise, Nora reached into her shoulder bag and fished out her black Totes umbrella. Ellie did the same, and Nora was amused to see that Ellie’s umbrella was bright red. She remembered her first impression of the lovely young woman, emerging from the red car in her red minidress and sandals, and now her nails were a bold shade of red as well, Femme Fatale.

  They ran the rest of the way to the guesthouse, arriving breathless and giggling on the green porch. Nora’s dress was drenched, but she didn’t care—the sheer release of tension in their headlong flight was worth it. Nora shook the water from her hair and limbs, laughing as she closed her umbrella and burst through the green front door into the yellow lobby.

  And froze.

  Nora stared at the sight before her, blinked, and stared again. When the wave of shock passed, she stepped tentatively forward, into the room. There, on an overstuffed, paisley-patterned couch before them, sat Chloe, their serene hostess, chatting with a tall, handsome young man who sat beside her. He rose to his feet, smiling, and Nora stared some more. He was obviously the new guest Eb had mentioned, but he was the last person she’d ever have imagined seeing here.

  Ralph Johnson.

  Chapter 32

  “Ralph!” Nora cried. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Baron,” Ralph said. “I thought you could use some help.”

  She rushed forward and placed her hands on his arms. “Oh gosh, am I glad to see you! But, how did you find us?”

  In answer, he merely smiled. Of course, Nora thought: my phone; he can track me to the nearest square inch. This thought made her suspicious.

  “Did Jeff send you?” she asked.

  Ralph smiled again. “Um, no. And Mr. Green didn’t send me, either. In fact, they don’t know I’m here.”

  “They don’t—” She stopped, remembering Ham Green’s brief tirade on the phone last night. “Oh, I see. Well, welcome to Martinique.”

  She released her grip on him, dropping her arms to her sides. She suddenly felt foolish. She also noticed that Ralph was no longer looking at her; he was looking beyond her. Staring, actually. Nora turned around to see Ellie still standing in the doorway, dripping onto the welcome mat with the big peace symbol on it. Ellie was staring, too.

  “Ralph Johnson, this is Ellen Singer,” Nora said.

  “Ellie,” Ellie said, moving forward into the room. “Hello, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Ralph,” Ralph said, staring. “Hello.”

  As an actor, Nora was trained to pick up her cues, and she did so now. “We have a million things to tell you, Ralph, but we’re soaked to the bone. If you’ll excuse us for a bit, we really must change.”

  Chloe had observed all this from the couch, and Nora knew she hadn’t missed a thing. Now she rose and joined the performance.

  “You two go up and get into dry clothes,” she said. “You’ll find fresh towels in your bathrooms. Let’s all meet back here in half an hour for cocktails. Ralph, let me show you the rest of the house.”

  She took Ralph’s arm and led him away toward the dining room. Nora and Ellie went upstairs.

  In the hallway outside their rooms, Ellie finally spoke again. “So, that’s your husband’s assistant.”

  “Yes,” Nora said. “He’s actually a junior agent, just like you.” She smiled. “Before you ask, he’s thirty-two, unmarried, no girlfriend that I know of. He’s from Washington, D.C.—just like you—and he recently relocated to New York City when Jeff came out of the field and took a desk job there. He’s worked for Jeff for seven years. Jeff thinks the world of him, and so do I. Since I’ve known him, I’ve seen him stare at someone exactly once—that was about two minutes ago.” She smiled again. “I’m taking a hot shower and putting on my pantsuit. Did you bring any clothes with you?”

  Ellie shrugged. “I stuffed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and extra undies in my bag, but…”

  “Come on,” Nora said. “I have a dress that should fit you perfectly, and slippers to match if you can wear my size…”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nora went down to the lobby, where she found Ralph wandering around the room, taking it all in.

  “
This place is amazing,” he said.

  “Yes, I dig the groovy vibe,” Nora said. Ralph wore his usual gray suit and blue tie, and he’d been traveling for hours, but he didn’t seem the least bit tired. He was his usual self, awake and alert. She took advantage of their few minutes alone, leading him over to a couch and sitting with him. “Okay, Ralph, what’s going on?”

  He shrugged. “Mr. Baron is technically on vacation, and I’m supposed to be on vacation, too. Last night, I decided to take some of that vacation time.”

  “I see,” Nora said. “And why did you decide to do that without asking Mr. Green?”

  He frowned. “Mr. Green is working six ops at the moment, and as far as he’s concerned, this one ended when Mr. Lamont turned up dead on the Tropic Star yesterday. But you have other ideas, and I always like your ideas. With Ken Nelson AWOL and Mr. Baron held up in Barbados, I figured you could use a hand here. I didn’t tell them because they would have tried to stop me. I have new intel that might help, and here I am.”

  “Okay,” Nora said, “but now we have to tell them you’re here.” She glanced around the room. “Before we’re joined by the others, let me bring you up to date. Then you can tell me your news.”

  She quickly recounted everything of last night and today. She showed him her phone pictures and told him what Eb had seen and heard, ending with Ken Nelson’s presumed abduction and the return of his rented boat to the marina.

  “I like Eb,” Ralph said. “He insisted on taking my bag and laptop up to my room, even though they weigh more than he does. You should see the room—I think Peter Max threw up in there. Stars and rainbows, even on the ceiling.” Now his smile faded. “Îlet Naufrage. Hmm. How do you want to do this?”

  Nora smiled, feeling the first thrill of adventure. Ralph Johnson was here to help, and he hadn’t told her she was crazy or insisted that she abandon this nonsense and go home. He’d simply accepted everything she’d said and moved on to the next point: how to proceed. She liked this young man.

  “Before we continue,” she said, “one more thing. I saw that man, Marcel Arvide, getting ready to kill Carmen Lamont in Guadeloupe, and I thought Claude had hired him. Now, Eb tells us Marcel was part of this gang, working with Diablo and Other Carmen. So, who sent him to kill her?”

  “Good question,” Ralph said, “and my new intel might help to answer it. I have three things. First, Carmen Mendoza from Colombia—Carmen Lamont—left Colombia for Spain six years ago, right after her parents, her brother, and her brother’s wife and baby were killed in a war between drug cartels there. Her father and brother worked for one of them, and the murders were credited to a rival gang. Maybe the attempt on her in Guadeloupe had something to do with that.”

  Nora thought about it. “Maybe—and it explains why she wanted a new identity when she fled to Spain.”

  “Yes,” Ralph said. “And we’ve also learned that the other Carmen Mendoza, the cousin in Spain, was sent there from Colombia to live with the aunt and uncle when she was a little girl, and for the same reason—her parents were also killed by cartel people.”

  “Wow,” Nora said. “The Mendoza family has paid quite a price for being in the drug business. You said you had three things. What’s the other one?”

  Ralph nodded. “This is about Brian and Melanie Dunstan. They never arrived in London; they never even boarded a plane. They’re still somewhere in the islands. They issued that statement to the press this morning, and I wondered who could put a cover story like that in place in such a short time. The answer is, us. I called my British contacts, and sure enough, the Dunstans are MI6. And—wait for it—they’re not the Dunstans. They’re not even married—not to each other, at any rate. They’ve been under deep cover for almost a year now. MI6 even got the hotel chain to play along with Brian’s cover as an exec there.”

  Nora shut her eyes, remembering the scene at the empty pool three nights ago. “Dear God, please don’t tell me Melanie Dunstan was literally under the covers with Claude Lamont, just to keep tabs on him!”

  “Looks like it,” Ralph said. “For Queen and country. The Brits made the same mistake we made—they thought Claude was the focal point because it was his money.”

  “How did the British get involved in this?” Nora asked.

  Ralph Johnson frowned. “They found out about Claude Lamont a year ago. They traced the money behind a lot of anti-Brit activity to him, and they’re looking for Diablo too. So are the French, by the way, and Israel, and quite a few other countries. Everybody’s looking for Diablo.”

  Nora felt another thrill of anticipation. “Yes, and we might know where he is…” She trailed off, aware that Ralph’s attention was no longer on her. He was staring again, toward the staircase across the room. Nora turned to see.

  Nora’s midnight blue dress and Bally slippers looked good on Ellie Singer. As they watched, Ellie descended the stairs and came toward them, smiling. Just before she arrived, Ralph managed to tear his gaze away for a moment. He turned to Nora.

  “Not a word to her or the others,” he whispered. “We’re going to check out that island tonight.”

  Chapter 33

  Nora would later remember the dinner at End of the Beach as a delicious meal with charming people, but at the time she was overwhelmed with anxiety.

  She complimented Chloe on her vegan spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce, green salad, and garlic bread, and she noticed, unsurprised, that the ever-ravenous Ralph had two helpings. He seemed nervous tonight, too, but his reason was different from Nora’s, as evidenced by his constantly stealing glances across the table at the young woman who sat beside her.

  Nora smiled at this and chatted with Chloe and Dirk, the only others there. Norman the novelist had taken a tray to his room while he worked on chapter 2000, or whatever he was up to in his apparently endless masterpiece. It was Violet’s night off, so she was in the purple cottage for the evening with Saul and Eb. Nora and Ellie had helped Chloe bring everything from the kitchen to the table. After dinner, everyone helped her clear and clean up in the kitchen.

  Throughout the meal, right through Chloe’s homemade tamarind pie, Nora was on edge. She thought about Ralph’s whispered words, wondering how they would be able to effect such a mission. They’d need a boat, for one thing, and the marina’s rental office was probably closed at this hour. And in this weather, with sporadic rain predicted throughout the night and the next day, clear sailing was not in order. She wondered what Ralph had in mind.

  She soon found out, and his idea was scarier than she’d imagined. When they’d finished helping Chloe in the kitchen after dinner, Ralph casually announced to their host that a certain young bellboy had promised to show them the Harry Potter shrine in his bedroom. Chloe laughed as she started the dishwasher, then pointed to the kitchen door.

  “Don’t stay too long, please,” she said. “Saul is an elder spirit, not as healthy as he once was. He tires quickly.”

  When Ellie offered to go with them to the cottage, Ralph said, “I think just two of us—we don’t want to crowd them. Mrs. Baron and I will stay only a little while, then we’ll meet you in the lobby. Maybe some hot tea before bed? And if there’s a chessboard or a deck of cards around, that would be nice. See you in a bit.”

  A light drizzle was falling as they hurried across the back patio of the guesthouse to the cottage. A strong breeze was blowing, too, causing the raindrops to pelt their faces. This was definitely not a perfect night for all the ships at sea, Nora thought.

  “You’re quite an accomplished liar,” she told Ralph as he knocked on the cottage door. “I’d swear you had acting training.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I guess I’m a natural.”

  Violet opened the door, and she beamed when she saw them standing there.

  “Come in, come in!” she cried. “We’ve been hearing all about Eb’s adventures as a detective th
is afternoon. He was so excited, he barely touched his dinner!”

  Nora smiled, wincing inwardly, remembering the ice cream and cookies washed down with Coke. “We had a lovely time with him, and he promised to show Mr. Johnson his Harry Potter things, so…”

  “You’re just in time. I have made a pot of coffee, and Eb’s on his way to bed. Perhaps Mr. Johnson could go up with him? But don’t stay up there long, or he’ll never get to sleep. Then we’ll have coffee.”

  She ushered them into a charming living room that had clearly been decorated by her, not Chloe: cream walls, burlap curtains, a comfortable brown couch and matching armchair, a coffee table, and a beautiful brown-and-white area rug on the polished wood floor. Saul sat in a big brown leather reclining chair in one corner. He nodded to them as they arrived.

  “Monsieur Ralph!” Eb cried, suddenly materializing in the cozy setting, popping up like a jack-in-the-box in Harry Potter–themed pajamas. “Come and see my room! Bonsoir, madame! Thank you for my adventure today. I am for bed now. Bonne nuit!” He dashed off through an archway and up a staircase, with Ralph right behind him. Nora smiled as she sat on the couch, thinking that Eb was immature for a twelve-year-old. Themed pajamas? He definitely needed friends his own age.

  Violet went off to the kitchen for the coffee, leaving Nora alone in the cheerful room with the old man in the corner.

  “Bonsoir, monsieur,” Nora ventured.

  “Good evening, Madame Baron,” Saul said. His voice seemed stronger now than it had this afternoon; his nap had evidently revived him. “Welcome to my home. Let us speak in English—I do not get to practice my English much these days, and I am glad for the chance. Please to call me Saul.”

  Nora smiled. “I’m Nora. Mr. Johnson—Ralph—was hoping to have a word with you. Would that be all right?”