SKELETON

by Peter Parkin

  If looks could truly kill, Bill's cold stare into Bart's eyes was a weapon with no equal.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  "So, Mr. Cotterhill, are you visiting St. Kitts for business or pleasure?" Dennis leaned against the counter, his yellow and green tropical shirt flapping in the breeze that was blowing through the airport. "Strictly pleasure—I intend to enjoy your beautiful beaches, ride your Scenic Train, and maybe charter a catamaran. Can't wait."

  "We don't get many Americans down on these islands. You folks usually go to Puerto Rico or the Virgins. Why did you choose St. Kitts/Nevis?"

  "Puerto Rico's too noisy, and the Virgins are over-developed. I wanted something more peaceful."

  The Immigration agent nodded appreciatively. "Your occupation, please?"

  "I'm a lawyer."

  "What kind of lawyer?"

  "Tax law." Dennis figured that was boring enough to pass scrutiny.

  "I see that you live in Washington, D.C. Are you an American citizen?" "Yes."

  "Anything to declare?"

  "No, except for a few packs of cigarettes."

  She leafed through his documents. "I see here that you arrived by private aircraft—a Gulfstream?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it your airplane?"

  "I can only dream! No, it was chartered by someone else."

  "Are you traveling as a group?"

  "No, I responded to a query asking for another traveler to share the costs. I didn't know the other three people, although after a couple of drinks on the flight down here, I have to admit that we're much better acquainted now," Dennis chuckled.

  The attractive Customs and Immigration officer managed to crack a slight smile and handed Dennis his passport. "Have a nice vacation, Mr. Cotterhill."

  Dennis picked up his carry-on bag and headed towards the exit. He stopped at a kiosk, bought a local newspaper and pretended to read it while awaiting Fiona, Brett, and Avery.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as they too were questioned at the Customs counter. He had to be careful to make sure that no one saw that they were together. He was simply a lawyer on vacation, and the other three were supposed to be here on official American government business. Their interrogation would no doubt last longer than his.

  And it did. It took half an hour for all three to make it through. He watched as Brett, aka Doctor Gene Sikorsky moved confidently through the turnstile, wearing a conservative black suit and his newly donned pair of fake glasses—in reality a high-tech video camera.

  Next came Avery Duncan, known for today as Colonel Howard Wentworth—his hair now a shock of white, his cheek jowls puffed out with some putty-like substance that the makeup artist promised had a life of twenty-four hours, and his body now resplendent in the uniform and cap of a United States Air Force Colonel. Avery cut a handsome and convincing figure indeed. Dennis barely recognized him.

  Fiona followed with a flourish. She strode with an aggressive gait just like Brett had coached her, through the turnstile and into the concourse. Dennis had to admit that Fiona did look convincing as Doctor Angela Huntington of the Centers for Disease Control. Her hair was now blonde, and her eyes were a striking blue color that jumped out even from a distance.

  She swung her carry-on bag over her right shoulder and caught up to Avery and Brett. They chatted together for a second or two, and Dennis watched as they went out to the front promenade of the airport to hail a taxi.

  Dennis continued for a few more minutes pretending to read the boring local news, and then did the same as his colleagues—hailed a cab that would take him to Pier # 9 at the marina located in the harbor of the capital city of Basseterie. From there they would all cruise together to the sister island of Nevis.

  It was only 12:00 noon. While each of them carried overnight bags, those were only for appearances. There was no intention to stay overnight. They would be in and out of Nevis, race by boat back to St. Kitts and then fly back to Washington that same night. Their Gulfstream would be fueled and ready to go on a moment's notice.

  Time was of the essence.

  Dennis agreed with Brett that the more time they spent on the islands, the more likely it was that they might never return.

  *****

  The short cab ride from the airport to the marina gave Dennis his first good look at the island of St. Kitts. It was both beautiful and bleak; a paradox. Barren in some spots, lushly tropical in others. It was easy to see the abandonment by the government of St. Kitts/Nevis of the industry that had fueled the economy of the islands for the last couple of centuries. Sugar cane—the government had decided they could no longer compete with world markets, and with subsidies being dropped by the U.K. they had no choice but to find another economic engine. Dennis could see the overgrown fields of sugar cane; the neglected crops just withering in the tropical sun. Large dark patches of soil bore evidence of the fields that had been burned deliberately, either to clear the way to plant other crops, or, perhaps more importantly, to keep the incessant Vervet monkeys at bay.

  Tourism was the big thing now—these islands were late into the game but they were surging ahead desperately, trying to find themselves, define themselves. Every island in the Caribbean was pretty much the same, but some had managed to differentiate themselves more than others—such as the glitz of Sint Maarten, the history and sleaze of Puerto Rico, the gambling of Aruba, and the mountainous spice-fragranced splendor of Grenada. What would St. Kitts/Nevis become? The quiet laid-back islands?

  Dennis thought cynically—maybe the islands of alien creepy crawlers?

  The Federation of St. Kitts/Nevis is the smallest sovereign state in the West Indies and the two islands are separated by a two-mile channel known as 'The Narrows.' To the north lies the French/Dutch democracy of St. Martin/Sint Maarten, to the east the island of Antigua, and to the south the volcano-ravaged island of Montserrat. St. Kitts had been the home of the very first English/French colonies in the Caribbean, thus became known as the 'Mother Colony of the West Indies.'

  The name 'Nevis' came from the original Spanish designation, 'Nuestra de las Nieves,' meaning 'Our Lady of the Snows.'

  Christopher Columbus, back in 1498, named the island of Saba twenty miles to the northwest 'San Cristobal' in typical Christopher Columbus style—after himself. But a mapping error transferred that name to St. Kitts, which was then dubbed 'St. Christopher's Island.' It has been shortened since then to the nickname 'St. Kitts.'

  The infamous Vervet monkeys, otherwise known as 'Greenies,' were introduced to the islands by pirates. The creatures ravaged, multiplied, pestered, and now were quite simply out of control.

  Of the two islands, Nevis has had more experience with tourism—and resents its big sister St. Kitts for neglecting its unique needs. As a long-time destination for the rich and famous—including such notables as Princess Diana and Mick Jagger—Nevis feels it's owed some special consideration. And it doesn't feel it gets it.

  Nevis is small and beautiful—only thirty-six square miles, its centerpiece being Nevis Peak rising 3200 feet into the clouds.

  And right smack in between the pristine beaches and the towering peak is a laboratory known as the 'Behavioral Modification Foundation.' Nevis was apparently in the midst of building its own destiny now, with or without the help of its sister island.

  But there seemed to be no doubt whatsoever that it was receiving rather eager help from the good old United States of America.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  "Avery—you and I'll snap these onto our belts under our jackets. Denny, since you'll be on the boat, you won't have to worry about hiding yours. And Fiona, just shove your gun into your purse."

  Fiona fingered the heavy Glock pistol. "Do you really think we're going to need these?"

  "I hope not—but better to be safe than sorry, don't you think?"

  She nodded slowly.

  "Having some second thoughts?"

  Fiona shook her head. "No, it's just rather ominous now that we're here,
on the boat, ready to go."

  "Do you know how to use a pistol?"

  "Yes, I've had firearms training. All of us at the Pentagon have to know how to use a gun."

  "And Denny, I don't think I need to worry about you."

  Dennis snapped the holster onto his belt and slid the gun into place.

  "Unfortunately, no. Sad to admit that I've had to use mine a few times in my life."

  "But you're alive and they're not—that's the good part."

  Avery was pacing back and forth on the bridge, not one for small talk.

  "Brett, we'd better get a move on. Preferable if we're back before dark."

  Brett walked over to an inclined table, pulled a map out of his pocket and spread it out. "Okay, gather 'round. This is where we're going." He smacked his finger down on a spot on the map.

  "This is the northwest coast of Nevis, and there's a development here called 'The Hamilton.' This entire estate area is known as 'Nelson's Spring.' Lots of condos, villas, and all that jazz. Wealthy high-end residents from mainly Canada and Great Britain. However, either the recession...or perhaps fear of another monkey attack," Brett chuckled, "have kept sales at a low ebb.

  "So, the occupancy rate is only about thirty percent right now, which is perfect for what we want to do. We need a place to embark from that's not too isolated because we need to steal a car, but we don't want an area that's too busy either. There should be lots of high-end cars for us to choose from here. When we pull up to the gates of the laboratory we can't be seen driving a Camry. With our military and CDC status, we have to be in a car with some prestige. The villas at 'The Hamilton' sell from half a mill to well over two mill. So, the quality of cars they own will track with that."

  Fiona tapped Brett on the shoulder. "But this is the middle of the day— won't we be noticed stealing a car?"

  "We'll try our best to avoid that, but yes, we might. We'll just have to deal with that if it happens. We need to arrive at the lab during the day, because that's when the official inspection was scheduled. We can't vary from that itinerary otherwise we'll attract suspicion."

  Fiona frowned. "How will we react if we're caught boosting a car?" "Don't you worry yourself about those kinds of logistics. Avery and I will handle things like that."

  "I don't think I like the sound of that."

  Brett turned around to face her head-on. "Fiona, this isn't going to be a walk in the park, or some little investigative journalistic adventure such as you used to do with the Washington Post. This is the real thing—people have died in the quest to keep this thing secret. We're venturing into something here that without a doubt is explosive. And we're doing it because we want to blow it wide open and hopefully prevent a disaster. They won't hesitate to kill us, and we may need to kill first in order to survive.

  "This is the most serious thing that I've ever encountered, and we're probably dreaming in Technicolor even just thinking that we can expose it and stay alive in the process. So, maybe you should think about that before you come with us. I can't afford to have any one of us squeamish. There may have to be some collateral damage. Get me?"

  Fiona looked over at Dennis, who merely nodded. She turned back to Brett and pursed her lips in that cute, serious little way that Dennis adored so much. "I get you, Brett. Don't worry, I know how serious this is—the fact that we're on the precipice of doing this is just freaking me out a bit, I guess. And I don't want to think of anyone dying."

  Dennis kissed Fiona on the cheek. "Remember, hon, that the one big thing we do have in our favor is the element of surprise. They're not expecting us—and we're pretending to be the people who they are expecting. We have a huge advantage. All we're going to do is let Brett's fancy glasses take some videos and then we're out of there."

  Avery suddenly pointed down the dock—a man carrying a metal container was coming towards them. "Hey, Brett, looks like our delivery is here."

  "Ah, good. Right on time."

  Dennis watched the stranger struggle to keep his footing as he carried the apparently heavy object on board. He was black, tall, and heavy-set, dressed in trendy khaki pants and a floral tropical shirt. His face was unsmiling, not typical of the usually buoyant Kittitians.

  The man spoke. "Do you want me to connect this right away, Brett, or are you going to do it yourself?"

  "How long will it take?"

  "Shouldn't be more than ten minutes max, then you'll be good to go." Dennis noticed that the man didn't have the typical Caribbean accent—

  more like he was from Boston.

  "Go ahead and connect it then."

  "Okee-dokey. Will do. And you're familiar with this device, so you know how to activate it when you need it, right?"

  "Yeah, that won't be a problem."

  With that, the man disappeared into the plush cabin below. Denny heard him open the hatch and drag the box down into the engine compartment.

  "Brett, what was that all about?"

  Brett smiled. "Ah, just our little ace in the hole. This motor launch is an Ocean 62 Super-Sport. Aggressive as hell, with a 1500 HP engine. It cruises at thirty-one knots, with a top speed of thirty-seven."

  "What's that in miles per hour?"

  "About forty-three."

  "Hard to believe a boat this large can go that fast."

  "Yeah, it's sixty-two feet in length, and has a diesel fuel tank with a capacity of 1,450 gallons. So, it's not only swift but it can go a fair distance as well."

  "So, what's this ace in the hole that you're installing?"

  "Well, as fast as it is, it might not be fast enough. My research discovered that the lab has a fleet of 'Sea Rays' wharfed not far from the pier that we'll be docking at. If we're being chased, we're going to need a boost. Those little boats can hit about fifty-five miles per hour. The little gizmo Desmond is installing for us will give the engine a turbo-charge on command. It will thrust us up to sixty in a matter of seconds. All I have to do is manually activate it if we need it. But it only has a life of about fifteen minutes, so I can't take a chance on triggering it ahead of time. Desmond will have it ready to go—all I have to do is crawl down there and hit the switch."

  "Who is this Desmond character?"

  "Just an associate of mine. Former CIA—he works out of Puerto Rico now. A good man. He's the one who smuggled the guns in for us. He can get anything past anybody."

  "Okay, continue telling us the plan. You were talking about the 'Nelson's Spring' area."

  "Right. We're going to cruise to a long pier that 'The Hamilton' complex has for the use of their residents and guests. We'll dock there and then Avery, Fiona and I will head off. We'll steal a car somewhere in the complex parking lot, then drive to the lab." Brett pounded his finger onto a spot on the map. "Here's the road that leads to the lab—goes inland about five miles.

  "Denny, you'll simply tie up at the pier and wait for us. Give us three hours. If we're not back by then, you'll have to assume that something went wrong. And you'll have to suck that up and just leave. I know that will be difficult for you—leaving Fiona behind—but you'll have to. Get back to the States; get to the safe house in Norfolk—George has been instructed to allow you entry to get the microfilm. Remember, it's in my vault: combination 21-207-21. Get those documents reproduced and send them out to every god damned media outlet in the world. It won't be as good as having the video as the ultimate proof, but it'll be better than nothing and will probably save your life."

  Dennis just nodded in response.

  Fiona bit her lip.

  Avery donned his air force colonel's cap, and Brett cranked up the Ocean 62's engine.

  Desmond emerged from the engine compartment, jumped out onto the dock and cast off their lines.

  As they pulled away and started their journey south, Dennis noticed Desmond raising his right hand in a crisp salute. Brett and Avery returned the gesture.

  Dennis had always been comforted by the fact that his many years on the police force had allowed a certain level of desen
sitization to develop, which served to insulate him nicely from fear, worry, and pain.

  But suddenly that protective envelope seemed to disappear as he was driven to grab Fiona and hold her tightly to his chest. He squeezed her hard while feeling an unfamiliar shiver of dread and anticipation shoot up his spine.

  For just the briefest instant he felt the paralyzing panic of wondering if he'd ever see her again.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  Doctor Angela Huntington of the Centers for Disease Control wandered aimlessly around her apartment. It was Friday, and her weekend plans had been cancelled.

  A weekend on the island of Nevis. It would have been her first trip to the island, having just been brought aboard the Operation Creepy Crawlers project within the last month. Her boss, Doctor Gene Sikorsky, didn't care—he'd been there many times before and he was beginning to show signs of boredom. He seemed glad to have been let off the hook this time, giving him a rare weekend that he could spend with his family.

  But Angela cared—this would have been a romantic weekend for her, after the obligatory two hours she would have had to spend at the laboratory. She was going to spend one night with her lover after which he'd be flying back to Washington. Then she would have spent the next day lazing around on the beaches, daydreaming about her lover.

  And Colonel Howard Wentworth was a wonderful lover.

  Now she'd have to spend the weekend with her boring husband, a man whose idea of a thrill was cracking open a can of beer and watching the Redskins.

  No, she couldn't do it. She was psyched up for a weekend with Howard and that's the way it would still be. She had to see him—just had to.

  When she read his email yesterday it had seemed colder than usual. She knew he had to be careful to keep it official and all that crap, but he could have at least added a nice little smiley face or something. And he hadn't even phoned. She'd expected him to at least suggest they get together for a drink since their trip was now cancelled. Didn't he miss her? Long for her?