CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Juan Morena had never led a fortunate or privileged life. He was thirty-one years old and had already lost seven teeth to advanced gingivitis. He had the dark skin of the working-class Mestizo, and his hair was matted to his scalp from sweating in the hot sun. His eyes were reluctant to meet a stranger’s stare, and he shuffled his feet in worn sandals when he walked. Juan Morena blended in perfectly with the other wharf rats living on the edge of the upscale marina in Puerto Vallarta.

Juan fingered the digital camera through his rags. He had never been entrusted with such an expensive piece of equipment, and he constantly touched it to ensure it hadn’t fallen from his pocket onto the dusty earth. Ricardo had paid for his plane fare and his hotel room and had given him the camera and a cellular telephone. All in return for watching a large boat docked in the marina. He had three hundred American dollars under his mattress in his small room in Mexico City. Juan allowed himself a small smile at the thought. Three hundred American dollars. Such a stash was unheard of. Ricardo had promised him another five hundred if he did a good job. Just watch the yacht and report back on any activity. Take pictures of everyone who boarded the boat. So far there had been no guests. But the digital camera came with a cord that attached to the computer back at the hotel, and the pictures could be sent to Ricardo through the computer. He would not do that. It was too complicated. The owner of the hotel would send the pictures, if there were any.

Juan touched the camera again. It was an expensive one, with a zoom lens. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his side, beneath his armpit, a nervous reaction to the thought of what might happen if he lost the camera. He wiped his brow with his right hand and swallowed. What if it was stolen? There were many other wharf rats about who would beat him and pull it from his neck if they knew he had it. He started to shake. Ricardo would be angry.

Juan watched a man walk up to the locked gate that serviced the pier where the Mary Dyer was anchored. He called someone on the intercom, and they buzzed him through. He was a gringo, with curly blond hair that hung to his shoulders. His shirt was loosened almost to his waist, and Juan could see the taut muscles on his chest and abs. His skin wasn’t pasty, but it also was not tanned. He looked like a recent arrival to the sun. Juan stiffened slightly as the newcomer slowed as he approached the Mary Dyer. He reached the gangway and hoisted himself up the plank.

Juan fumbled with the camera but managed to get it out from under his rags as the man he knew to be Edward Brand came into view. Juan kept the camera concealed from any prying eyes near him by draping his loose, ragged sleeve over the body but leaving the lens to point at the boat. He kept pushing the button, the camera loading image after image of the two men as they met at the top of the gangplank. They stayed in sight for only a few seconds, then disappeared below the main deck. Juan slipped the camera back inside his shirt and watched for a few minutes. When there was no further activity, he left the alcove where he hung out during the hot daylight hours and hurried to the main road. A bus pulled up inside five minutes, and he jumped on. The trip to his hotel took under ten minutes.

When he arrived, Juan gave the camera to the hotel manager and watched as the man downloaded the pictures into a file, then forwarded them to the e-mail Ricardo had given him. Juan knew Ricardo and the manager had an agreement in place, but had no idea how much money the man received for sending the pictures. He didn’t care.

Once the pictures were in the system and sent ahead to Ricardo, Juan returned to the marina and retook his position next to the Dumpsters that lined the rear wall of the hotel closest to the water. He slid into his alcove and waited. From what he had seen on the computer screen, his shots had been very good. He had managed to get both men’s faces on one or two of the shots, just as they were turning to go below to a lower deck. He hoped Ricardo would be pleased. Maybe there would be more money.