Wreck of the Raptor

by Nicholas Harvey

  AJ passed the cemetery, her leg muscles quickly warming up as she searched for firmer sand to run on, close to the water. The beach was quiet this early, the tourists enjoying the luxury of sleeping in on their holidays. She crossed paths with an occasional runner and passed by a few folks enjoying a coffee on the beach out front of their condo or hotel, but otherwise the beach was hers. She was soon passing some of the older, two-level condo complexes like Discovery Point and Christopher Columbus. The Calling took over from Alanis and sang about being ‘Unstoppable’; she thought that was appropriate and her pace quickened a little.

  AJ hated drama and she struggled whenever her life felt out of control. Or at least out of her control. Her parents were both no-nonsense people who had showed her how to break situations down into elements. Examine the contents rather than lose yourself in the overwhelming chaos of the moment. As the sweat beaded down her face and her calves began to ache from the constant slope of the beach, her mind started to clear and sift through the components of her current challenge.

  Jackson. That was potentially the most complicated situation, yet easy to compartmentalise. She loved the man and wanted to be with him as much as possible. Time owned the answer as to how they would get there but for now she took solace in knowing the goal was clear. It felt good to wrap that up and set it aside in her mind; she knew she was missing him terribly and it added stress to the other problem.

  Which was Hazel. One of the downsides of being humble, modest and slightly self-deprecating, was she had a tendency to put others on pedestals. Hazel had arrived at the exact moment AJ knew she was more vulnerable: her turning thirty and Jackson leaving. The Frenchwoman had given her new energy and it felt good to have someone around that showed her how to be strong and confident as a woman. Hazel had a striking presence, not loud, not arrogant, simply powerful, and hard to ignore. She was many things that AJ wished she was and aspired to be. As usual, when you set someone up on that pedestal as a hero, there’s only one place to go from there. As Reg had pointed out, we all screw up. Was Hazel a caring and reliable friend with a true heart? Better Than Ezra tried persuading AJ by singing ‘Desperately Wanting’. Was she just desperately wanting a close friend, a woman she could admire? She had Pearl, and her mother – talk about tough women. She had good friends. But she didn’t have a close girlfriend, maybe she craved that and didn’t know it?

  She really missed her grandfather at times like this. She was only fifteen when he died but they’d been close. More than a young girl loving her grandparent, they’d shared a lot of time together and he had a calm wisdom about him that helped her sort through teenage problems. He never told her what she should do, he simply guided her through the trees of the forest to see an answer. A tear mixed with the sweat on her face and she cursed to herself. Damn, two days in a row I’m crying, I’m falling apart. But shedding a tear for Grandad Bailey didn’t count in her mind, the man deserved all the tears the world could cry.

  Live’s ‘I Alone’ kicked in another level of determination, and she told herself, indeed, I alone must decide the path this will take. Hazel has laid out her story and now it’s for me to decide how I allow myself to be involved, or not be involved, she voiced out loud to the pelican that bobbed in the water, staring blankly at her.

  AJ slowed her pace and looked around. She was surrounded by beach chairs and a young Caymanian looked over and smiled at her as he raked the beach. She realised she had run to the Westin hotel, halfway down Seven Mile Beach, where they were setting up for their guests. She apologised for messing up his freshly raked piece of beach, but he just laughed.

  “No problem miss, messing things up and smoothing things out is just a part of life, no big deal.”

  She looked at the young man in amazement. Is the universe giving me subtle messages? She smiled back at the guy. Not very subtle, she thought. Third Eye Blind added their two cents with ‘Semi-Charmed Life’ and AJ threw her hands in the air as she turned to attempt the three miles back home.

  “Alright, I get it, I’m a lucky girl,” she shouted to the amusement of the beach raker.

  Chapter 49

  July 1974

  The restaurant overlooked the patio and pool where Whitey had witnessed a man fall to his death a few weeks before. He was already apprehensive about the meeting and seeing the patio through the windows did nothing to settle his stomach. He saw Márquez at a corner table, positioned so he faced the room. Two bodyguards stood in front of his table, one watching out the window, the other scanning the room. A handful of other guests sat at tables on the opposite side of the room, clearly placed away from Márquez. The man had half the restaurant to himself. The goon watching the room walked towards Whitey and indicated for him to hold his arms up. Whitey complied and the man frisked him then nodded towards the table, a sign Whitey took as meaning he could go sit down.

  Márquez was a stern looking man in his late thirties with wavy, dark hair and a full beard. He was chewing a mouthful of breakfast, so Whitey assumed the invitation was to watch the man have his breakfast, rather than join him. Márquez glanced up long enough to regard Whitey with apparent disdain, then point his knife towards one of the chairs. Whitey sat.

  “Good morning Mr Márquez,” he tried, politely.

  The man continued to eat, ignoring Whitey, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He noticed the guard who had frisked him had now taken an adjusted position to cover Whitey and the room. After another awkward minute, Márquez shoved his plate forward on the table and tossed his knife and fork onto the empty plate with a clatter. He ran his tongue around his teeth and wiped his lips with his napkin before tossing the napkin onto the plate as well.

  “Why am I talking to you?” Márquez growled, finally looking at Whitey.

  “You requested the meeting, sir?” Whitey answered, somewhat confused, wondering if the man had a poor memory.

  “Why you? Where’s Cavero?” Márquez asked irritably.

  “Mr Cavero is in Peru sir, working hard to make sure your product is supplied as requested. He introduced us last month and told you I’d often be your Miami contact. Is that a problem, sir?” Whitey replied boldly, hoping he didn’t overstep the line with one of Columbia’s most notorious drug lords. He’d seemed amiable in the club when they’d been introduced but now the man was pissed off for some reason. Of course, in the club he’d had three beautiful women hanging on him which may have explained his better humour.

  Márquez stared at Whitey with cold, dark eyes and Whitey figured it was fifty-fifty if he was about to have a conversation, or be shot in the head.

  “I need twenty-five percent increase in supply next month,” he said as though he was ordering extra staples. “And another twenty-five percent the following month.” His voice was even and flat, almost sounding disinterested. But Whitey knew better.

  “I’ll speak with Gabriel today and see if we can meet that increase; that’s not much time, you understand. It is a plant after all, it has to grow,” Whitey responded with a smile.

  Márquez gave him the same blank, cold stare. “What I understand is I need more product and Cavero can either supply me with it, or I expand my suppliers.”

  Whitey noticed the man’s hands were clenching into fists on the table despite his voice remaining even. “If I expand suppliers, we’ll start a pricing war, which is better for me because you’ll be trying to undercut each other. How long the plant takes to grow, and how many plants you have, is your problem, mister...” He struggled to recall his name and Whitey let him struggle. “...Miami contact, you can either meet my order or not.”

  He leaned over the table and pointed a finger at Whitey. “But tell me you’ll supply, and come up short, and I’ll cut you into pieces while you beg me to end your life.” Márquez paused with his finger six inches from Whitey’s nose before finally relaxing and sitting back in his chair. Whitey knew he couldn’t be seen as weak but equally shouldn’t be antagonistic to the dangerous man. It was a fine line of macho
posturing that felt like a tightrope walk over a fire pit. At some point the rope would burn and you’d fall regardless.

  “I assure you, Mr Cavero will deliver what he promises,” Whitey said confidently. “I will speak with him and get you your answer on the increases within twenty-four hours.”

  Márquez frowned and Whitey saw his fists start to clench again. This guy will never see fifty, he thought, he’s wound tighter than a nun’s girdle.

  “If I find out you’re supplying those bastard Cubans I’ll burn the whole of Peru down, you understand me?” he growled, losing his even tone. “One ounce goes to those bastards and I’ll rain hell down on the Caveros, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Whitey quickly responded. “Believe me, we’re supplying to you, and you alone, Mr Márquez, you’re getting everything we produce, and our goal will be to meet your new requirements I assure you.”

  The Columbian sat back again and seemed to be appeased. He waved his hand at Whitey who sat there a moment unclear on what it meant. When the guard stepped over menacingly, he caught on he was being dismissed and got up from his chair. He started to thank the man for breakfast, but as he hadn’t been offered as much as a coffee, he stopped himself. Deciding niceties were a waste of time, he turned and walked out of the restaurant, happy to leave with his heart still beating.

  Chapter 50

  November 2019

  AJ pulled her fifteen-passenger van into the small car park for Harbour View Apartments, just before the traffic lights where West Bay Road became North Church Street. The small complex had been there since 1990, run by the same local family and these days the apartments were almost exclusively rented by the night or the week rather than long stay. She walked between the two small buildings towards the ocean and spotted Hazel reading a book under the gazebo by the shoreline.

  Confrontation was never AJ’s strong suit but putting issues behind her was something she never shied away from, so with a few deep breaths she strode boldly forward.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to sound neutral in her tone.

  Hazel looked up from Dawn Lee McKenna’s Squall Line and smiled.

  “Bonjour,” she said warmly, placing the book down. “I was hoping you’d come by.”

  AJ sat down on the bench opposite the wooden table and took her sunglasses off.

  “I don’t like leaving things hanging, better to get something like this resolved so everyone can get on, you know,” AJ explained. She could tell she sounded sterner than she intended but her guard was up.

  “I agree. I didn’t sleep much last night worrying about it. About us. I took a run along the beach this morning which always helps me clear my head,” Hazel replied and AJ looked at her, unable to resist a smile.

  “Me too, I’m surprised we didn’t meet halfway along. I turned at the Westin.”

  Hazel laughed. “Me too, I looked at my distance and I was four kilometres which was plenty on the sand, it’s hard to run on.”

  The exchange broke the ice and helped AJ relax a little, so she dived in while she felt confidant. “I’m not happy about how things have come about, Hazel, and I’m hurt you used me.”

  Hazel looked at the floor and AJ heard her take in a long deep breath. When she looked back up her eyes looked moist. AJ kept going, “But my instincts told me to trust you and I don’t think my instincts were so wrong. So, I’ll help you.”

  Hazel appeared stunned as though she hadn’t expected this response at all.

  “But there are stipulations,” AJ added quickly.

  “Okay,” Hazel finally managed. “Name them.”

  AJ held up one finger. “Firstly, you can charter me to take you back to the wreck so it’s on the books. That way if there’s any foul play involved, I was a hired dive boat, nothing more.”

  She held a second finger aloft. “Number two, I need a hundred percent honesty and transparency. If we’re doing something wrong, I need to know so I can decide if I’m okay with it.” AJ pointed across the ocean. “There’s a hundred dive and fishing operations on this island: you can find one that won’t ask questions if you try; I’m not that one. If you prefer to find someone else, no problem, I won’t say a word to anyone about your story.”

  Hazel started to respond but AJ held up a third finger, so she stayed quiet.

  “Lastly, we involve Reg. We need a third person for the boat, and I don’t want Thomas or Carlos wrapped up in this in case I’m making a mistake, so it has to be Reg. If he won’t do it, then I’m out too.”

  “You didn’t tell him already?” Hazel asked, seemingly surprised. “I thought he would be the one you’d go to right away.”

  AJ shook her head. “No. You told me your story in confidence. Doesn’t matter where we stand between us, it was still in confidence so, yes, I talked to Reg, but he doesn’t know anything about the key, the money, or Père Noël.”

  “Wow,” Hazel said softly. “You really are a strong woman. I don’t think I would have the fortitude to keep all that in.”

  AJ shrugged her shoulders, but the compliment felt good.

  “Well, those are my terms, do you want some time to think about it? Maybe check with some other dive boats?” AJ asked, the sternness fading in her tone.

  “No. Of course, I accept all three of your conditions.” Hazel looked her straight in the eyes. “But I want to know where we stand? I hurt you, and of course the Raptor is very important to me, but you’re just as important.” Hazel reached across the table but didn’t touch AJ’s hand. “Look, my mother raised me to be cautious with people, careful trusting anyone until I know them well. Especially as my life has crumbled around me lately it felt like everyone was out to get me. But right away I let my guard down with you. Believe me or don’t, but everything I did, we did, meant a lot to me, and I did from friendship, not from trying to get you to do something for me. As you said, I could find a boat to take me out anywhere here, that’s not why I chose you in the beginning and not why I want to go back to the Raptor with you. I trust you as a diver and I trust you as a friend.”

  AJ swallowed hard, she had a lump in her throat and wished she’d left her sunglasses on as her eyes moistened.

  “I... I want us to be friends,” AJ stammered and fought to find the right words. “I want us to be the friends I thought we were... but we can’t undo what’s been done and pretend everything’s like it was. Maybe we can get back there again, but I need some time.” AJ tentatively placed her hand on Hazel’s and gave it a light squeeze before pulling away again.

  Hazel smiled at her. “That’s more than I have the right to ask for.”

  Chapter 51

  July 1974

  Whitey set the two aluminium attaché cases by the door to his apartment and placed the newly released ‘Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’ hardback on top of them. He was eager to start reading the latest John le Carré novel and figured it would be a good way to clear his mind on the flight to Grand Cayman. He’d felt jumpy and nervous since his meeting with Márquez the morning before, and not being able to reach Gabriel over the phone was not helping. Having promised an answer for the Columbian in twenty-four hours he was about to be made a liar, unless Gabriel answered now.

  He dialled the international number and waited while the connection was made. The strange ring of the Peruvian phone system echoed and sounded distant. He let it ring for a while in case Gabriel was in another room, or outside, and just as he was about to give up, someone answered. He heard Marisol’s voice on the other end.

  “Hola, residencia Cavero.”

  “Mrs Cavero, it’s Whitey Snow. I’m calling from Miami, I’ve been trying to reach Gabriel.”

  Whitey waited through the silence, knowing it would take a moment with the delay on the international line.

  “Hola Mr Snow, Gabriel is not here I’m afraid, can you call again tomorrow? Or perhaps he can call you when he’s home?” Her voice sounded strained, but the line was crackly and he figured maybe he’d disturbed her in the middle of
something.

  “It’s really important I talk to Gabriel as soon as possible please, Mrs Cavero. I’m leaving my flat for the airport now and flying to Grand Cayman. He can reach me at the Royal Palms Hotel there.” Whitey tried to stress the urgency without worrying the pregnant woman.

  “Okay,” she replied after an extended delay. “He knows your hotel, he’ll call you there. Adiós Mr Snow.”

  The line went dead and again Whitey was left staring at the receiver. He wondered what it was with the South Americans and abruptly ending phone calls. Why the hell did he tell Márquez twenty-four hours? He could as easily have said forty-eight but like an idiot in his eagerness to appease the arsehole, he’d said twenty-four, and now he was a liar. Best thing he could do, he decided, was get on a plane and leave Miami as fast as he could. Maybe his note could be about meeting the Columbian again – Márquez may have more reason to put him in concrete boots than making up a Cuban angle, if Gabriel didn’t start answering his phone.

  Whitey locked his apartment door, took a Halliburton case in each hand with the book tucked under an arm and headed down the stairs. He’d left his clothes and toiletries in bag storage at the Royal Palms. It seemed pointless bringing them back and forth from the island and with two heavy cases to lug, he was glad he had. With no bags to check he was confident the airline personnel at the gate wouldn’t worry to look in the cases; they’d never yet checked his bags going to Cayman. If the rumours and articles in the press were true, the Air Transportation Security Act might be passed later this year, meaning all bags would be x-rayed and that would change everything. He couldn’t imagine the lines at the airport while every single bag went through a scanning machine, what a mess. Cavero would have to find another way to transport his money, avoiding America all together, or flying a private plane to avoid questions about the cash.