The sky on the bayside was glowing with the imminent sunrise, when Hildebrand joined Laura at the docks where the tenders from the yacht would soon arrive. Hildebrand was wearing one of his power suits and Laura had on a light blue pantsuit.
She gave Hildebrand a nod. “The Azeris have finished their dawn prayer and both security teams should be here shortly. The captain of the yacht just launched the tenders.”
“Yes, yes… good.” Hildebrand seemed distracted, glancing at his phone.
“Everything all right, sir?”
“Just some… business.” He pocketed the phone. “I’m not used to being kept waiting when I text someone.”
“Would you like me to…?”
“No. Personal matter. So! Are we ready for the big day?”
“I believe so,” Laura said. “Ah, here they come.”
The security teams for the two delegations approached, the Azeris on one side and the Armenians on the other. Monsieur Roux walked between the two groups, ensuring everyone behaved themselves. Both teams consisted of three men: two aides/bodyguards and one ambassador.
“Welcome!” Hildebrand said. “The captain of La Fiamma Azzurra is offshore and her tenders should be coming through Captiva Pass shortly.”
One of the Azeri security men spoke. “Whichever tender comes first, we will take that one. The Armenians had the first boat coming here. We will go first now.”
A burly Armenian bodyguard started to argue. The Armenian ambassador, a somber man with a heavy five o’clock shadow, placed a hand on his argumentative aide’s shoulder and shook his head. He spoke in accented English. “This is fine. It is fair. But we search the yacht at the same time.”
“Yes, that is the plan,” Hildebrand said. “The security sweep will be conducted simultaneously. Monsieur Roux will accompany you and ensure everything is done properly.” Both ambassadors nodded.
The argumentative Armenian acquiesced, then looked over at one of the Azeris who appeared to be the oldest of the three. He caught the Armenian’s eye and gave a single nod.
“See?” Hildebrand said, beaming. “Common ground already!”
* * *
“Permission to come aboard?” Angler asked. The captain of the Beeracuda looked up.
“Depends. You got a burger for me?”
“Cooked to order, medium rare,” Angler said. “But I’m fresh out of to-go bags, so let’s do that song-and-dance out of range of marina security cameras, what do you say?”
The skipper laughed. “Works for me. Come aboard.”
Angler stepped across and turned back to Foster, who started handing four gear bags across.
“Hey dude, welcome aboard,” a youthful voice said. “Where do you want these?”
Angler turned his head to see a young man who would probably be categorized as a “surfer dude” reaching down to grab one of the gear bags.
“Don’t touch that!” Angler roared, channeling his drill sergeant from basic training.
The kid jerked his hand back, like he’d touched a hot stove. “Whoa, chill dude, chill…”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Justin, man.”
“He’s my first mate for your little excursion,” the skipper said, intervening physically between the two. “He’s a good waterman, and he doesn’t ask questions.”
Angler gave Justin a hard look, then swung that gaze onto the captain. “You’re vouching for him, then?”
“Yes. I need him for the crossing to… well, to your ‘southerly destination.’ That still part of the plan?”
“It is. After we get back from the dive.”
“And if you want to operate the dinghy away from the Beeracuda while you two do whatever it is you’re going to do, then you need one of us in each boat. No way in hell I’m leaving the Beeracuda unattended.”
“We’ll be handling the dinghy on our own,” Angler said. “If you need him for the crossing… fine. But collect his phone.”
The captain nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Foster… run back to the SUV and get the rebreathers.”
* * *
“What is this?” the beefy Armenian asked.
“It is called a ‘dumbwaiter,’ I believe,” Roux replied. “It’s a small elevator that brings up food and drink from the galley.”
An Azeri bodyguard frowned at the curved door on the wall opposite one end of the conference table. “Why is it stupid?”
Roux looked at the man like he’d lost his mind, before realizing the double meaning of the word. “Oh… no… it is the English word ‘dumb’ that means unable to speak. A waiter that brings you food or drink but doesn’t talk.”
He muttered to himself in Azeri and the Frenchman instinctively knew the man was complaining about the complexities of English.
The other members of the security team were busily scanning for listening devices and cameras. This dining room would be the site of the actual negotiations, and was receiving a thorough examination.
The big Armenian punched a button on the side of the dumbwaiter and the doors slid open, revealing two cling-wrapped plates of grapes, cheeses, olives, and bread. “The word galley. Is kitchen?” the security man asked, frowning at the spread.
“Yes. On a boat, a kitchen is called a galley. And a bathroom is called a head.”
Overhearing this, the Azeri bodyguard rolled his eyes and muttered anew.
“You can’t blame all the English for that,” Roux said with a chuckle, “just the sailors. And if you think English words are a mess, you should see all the nautical terms.”
“I want to see this… galley,” the Armenian said.
“You shall examine every deck, if you wish,” Roux said. “I thought we should start here, in the conference room, since this is where the delegations will carry out the negotiations.” Roux leaned forward and pressed the button beside the dumbwaiter, sealing the door. “Let us continue to the bridge, then I will take you to the lower decks.”
Aboard the bridge, Roux introduced the men to the captain. Both teams asked the man a number of questions, until Roux checked his watch and cleared his throat. “Each delegation may assign one security member to the bridge, if you wish.”
The burly Armenian held up a hand. “What about the jamming you promised. No information of these negotiations may leak to the outside world.”
Roux nodded. “You will be pleased to know Mr. Hildebrand has outfitted this vessel with the latest in electronic jamming equipment. Once active, no cell phone or radio will function within five kilometers. Additionally, drones will lose their signal if they approach.”
Both teams seemed pleased and Roux gestured toward the exit. “We’re running behind. Let’s proceed to the other decks.”
Twenty minutes later, the sweep reached the bottom level. Roux took them through the galley, letting the teams check the kitchen, freezer, and pantry.
“Why is this door locked?” an Azeri asked, pulling on the handle of a hatch beside the galley.
“The room beyond is not yet complete, and there are hazards. Mr. Hildebrand ordered that it be sealed off. No one aboard has access.”
“What is there?”
“At the moment, nothing. Now, if everyone is satisfied, we should return to the shore and pick up your diplomats for the negotiations. Mr. Hildebrand has a precise timetable in mind.”
* * *
In the hotel lobby, Deek was nose down in his phone. A text from Nora had come in, confirming the money the tour guide had been given had indeed come from the funds that had been withdrawn in Grand Cayman. Furthermore, the phone number that belonged to a “Wayne Daniels” that had gone dead off the coast had not been active since. Neither of these data points were anything Deek hadn’t expected.
On the other hand, his own research had borne fruit late last night. With his buddy Pete’s help, they’d been able to examine flights coming out of the airports in western Jamaica yesterday morning, and there had been several commercial flights from Montego Bay… but Deek was now certain “Mr. Daniels” had not flown out of there. An unscheduled flight had landed in a small aerodrome in Negril, a coastal town that was much closer to Grand Cayman. The plane—a LearJet 36A—had landed at 9:57 a.m. and taken off again fifteen minutes later.
Then things got interesting. The plane flew across Cuba, which wasn’t something you could typically do on short notice. Then, it landed in Key West. At this point, Deek had felt a tinge of disappointment, until Pete pointed out that it had taken off twenty minutes later and flown to Fort Myers, but instead of landing at the main airport just out of town, it landed at Page Field, a general aviation airfield closer to the river.
“If this is your guy, why go to Key West first?” Pete had asked.
“He wanted to clear customs somewhere else,” Deek had replied. He’d asked Pete to see if that particular plane had done any other unscheduled trips in the last six months, and if there were any ties to Hildebrand or any of his companies. Then, he’d allowed himself to nod off in a plush chair in the lobby. A man from the front desk night shift came over to check on him, and Deek had explained that “marital troubles” had led him to seek solace in the lobby.
Now, after a fitful sleep and another lobby restroom sponge bath, he felt quasi-human again, as he sipped burnt hotel-urn coffee and looked at the blueprints for the super yacht. His attention was drawn to the superstructure, which had an unusually large number of antennae, above and beyond what he’d seen on most pleasure craft.
He was debating a coffee refill from the hotel’s complimentary breakfast nook, when he raised his head and found Kate and AJ looking down at him.
“Oh… hi. I mean… good morning.”
“You okay, Deek?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, no offense, mate,” AJ added, “but you look like shite.”
“Uh… problem with my room. Long story. Is it time to go?”
“No, we’re not due at the dock until 9:00 a.m.,” AJ said. “You’ve still got an hour, but…” She grinned and looked at Kate.
“Hold out your hand,” she said. When Deek did so, she dropped two pills in his hand.
“What are these?”
“Motion sickness pills. They take about an hour to take effect. You may be in a profession involving boats, but I have a vivid memory of the shade of green your face was, the last time we were on a boat together.”
Deek’s face turned a shade of red and he gave a rueful chuckle. “The irony isn’t lost on me. But it looks like I might be looking for a new line of work, anyway.” He looked at the pills. “One or both?”
“Two may make you drowsy, so maybe start with one.”
“Thanks.” He used the remainder of his cold coffee to take one of the pills.
Kate pointed at Deek’s chest. “You fish?”
“Hmm?” Deek looked down and realized he was wearing the Penn fishing gear T-shirt the booth presenter had given him yesterday. “Oh, this… no. Someone gave it to me at the boat show. I’m running short of clean clothes.”
“We’re going for breakfast at the restaurant by the water,” AJ said. Boone and Emily are already there, and Em said we’d better hurry or Boone’ll clean ’em out.”
Deek stuffed his laptop into the backpack. “Lead the way.”
* * *
“Good morning!” an older man in an Aventura polo shirt called out from the dock. “I am Ernesto, your captain for today.” He spoke with an accent of some sort, likely Dominican. Deek had looked them up last night, and had learned the company was founded by a French naval architect, and were based in the Dominican Republic. A young man was with Ernesto, wearing a logo shirt as well.
“Beautiful boat!” Kate declared, as they came alongside the catamaran.
“Thank you! I agree. The Arawak is my personal favorite. Fast… large, but not too large… and can handle very shallow water. I see you have your gear. How many of you will be diving?”
“Three,” Boone said. “Deek and I will stay up top and check out the boat, but these three ladies will be doing the diving.”
“Bueno. And I understand all of you are divemasters or dive instructors, yes?”
“We are indeed,” Emily said. “And we signed that waiver thingy, so you’re covered.”
Ernesto laughed. “Very good. Since you are all skilled, may I ask that you assist with the running of the boat? Young Carlos here, is needed on another charter.”
“Fine by us,” Boone said. “We’re hoping to do most of the skippering anyway. Test drive and all.”
“Yes, of course. And I understand you have requested to go out in the Gulf to test the top speed, and then dive up near Boca Grande?”
“Well… that’s assuming there are any dive sites up there,” Kate said. “This area isn’t exactly a hotbed of scuba diving.”
“Actually, there is a relatively new wreck dive up there!” Ernesto declared. “I asked around, and learned that a small pleasure craft sunk during Hurricane Ian. They added a dive mooring to the spot only last month. I have the coordinates.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Boone announced, stepping across to the Arawak and turning back to help bring aboard everyone’s gear.
* * *
“You see that buoy there?” the captain of the Beeracuda asked. “That’s the new wreck dive they just added.”
“What’s the depth?” Angler asked.
The captain glanced at his gauges. “Just over thirty.” He turned and called out, “Justin! Hook the mooring line.”
“Belay that!” Angler barked.
“Be-what?” Justin asked, boat hook in hand.
“We’re not diving now and we’re not doing it from this boat. That’s what the dinghy’s for.” Angler looked toward the distant shore. The houses along the beach were just visible. “I want you to take us further into the Gulf, eight miles from this spot.”
The captain raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “It’s your charter.”
Angler went aft and Foster rose from a bench. “I hear you right? Eight miles?”
“I want this boat to be completely out of view from any vessels close to shore. Given the height of the yacht’s superstructure, they’ll be able to detect it, but it’ll just look like a fisherman.” Angler checked his watch. “We’ll bring the dinghy back and tie up to the mooring. I want to be in the water by 10:45.”