Sink, Swim, Die Page 5

  Sloane’s urgency had skyrocketed at that point, too. He’d known whatever was now onboard and wanted no further delays. He had to be behind this and that surprised me. Planning something this elaborate was unlike Sloane. He wasn’t a schemer. He always tried to stay above the fray. For him to do something like this, he had to be desperate.

  Su picked that moment to visit me on the bridge. “How you doing up here?” She handed me a glass of iced tea and stood next to me looking out the front windshield.

  I tensed at her presence and willed myself to relax. “Good,” I said breezily. “Or as good as you can be on one engine.”

  “You surprised me continuing on, not turning back for Nassau.”

  “Yeah, well. It was a toss-up. If the starboard engine conks out, too, I’m going to be kicking myself.”

  She smiled. “We’ll make it.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx us.”

  She laughed and left to check on the chicken she was marinating for dinner.

  Much as I wanted to know what was in the table, I knew I couldn’t take it apart without her seeing and hearing me. There was a chance I could do it while she was sleeping, but even that was questionable. I needed time alone on the Venetian before I turned her over to Sloane.

  I began programming a new course into the autopilot. We were still going to arrive in Florida. Just not where Sloane expected.

  My new destination was Sarasota on the Florida Gulf, about an hour below Tampa. John Ringling put it on the map as the winter home for his circus, and since Ringling’s day it has grown into a good-sized city with a picturesque skyline of commercial buildings and condo towers.

  I’d been to Sarasota multiple times for court cases and knew it had two things I needed—a manageable harbor and a Ritz-Carlton Hotel.

  I timed our arrival for mid-morning, and it was just five after ten when we reached the north end of Siesta Key, one of Sarasota’s barrier islands, and made the turn east for Sarasota harbor. All morning, Su had been at the railing on the sun deck riveted by the changing shoreline.

  “Oh, wow,” she said as she got her first glimpse of the Ringling Causeway bridge and the city beyond.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief when we dropped anchor in the harbor. For the last hour, the starboard engine had been running hot.

  Since this was the end of the line, we’d packed our bags the night before. I put the bags in the skiff, and we rode it to the dock. On the way, I pointed the Ritz-Carlton out to Su. It was a tall tan structure with towers at the corners of the roofline and palm trees lining the entrance drive. “That’s where we’re headed. I figured, after what we’ve been through, we deserve some pampering, and no one knows how to pamper you like the Ritz-Carlton.”

  “Like what kind of pampering?”

  “I’ve signed you up for the full spa treatment.”

  “What about you?”

  “I want to get a haircut, maybe a massage, and I need to get some pants that fit.” I’d lost enough weight that none of my belts fit me anymore. My shorts were held up by a piece of rope. Not an attractive look. “I’ll rejoin you for dinner and then, maybe, we’ll see a little of the town. There’s some interesting places on Main Street.” I looked over at her and realized she hadn’t been listening. I’d lost her at spa treatment.

  At the Ritz front desk, Brittany, with long straight blond hair, gorgeous green eyes, and unfortunately short bangs, was happy to take my credit card and astute enough not to comment on our disheveled appearances. She summoned a bellboy wearing an old-fashioned pillbox hat to take our bags to the room.

  Su was stunned by our room’s amenities. “So luxurious,” she cooed as she went from thing to thing. She sat on the bed, clicked on the wall-mounted plasma TV, disappeared into the bathroom. “Oh, my,” she said and, a moment later, returned to the room wrapped tightly in a lush white terrycloth robe. “This feels so good.”

  “I think that’s what they want you to wear to the spa.” I glanced at my watch. Quarter after twelve. I had to get her moving. I had a lot to do before she returned at five from her spa treatment. “You ought to head on down. They’ll give you lunch. I understand it’s supposed to be very hoity-toity.”

  She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately. “You are the most wonderful man. I didn’t expect a treat like this. I can’t wait. I’m going to be gorgeous for you.” She shot out the door.

  Not wanting her to see me leave, I gave her time to get to the spa before I left the room and walked back to the skiff. On the way I called LeeAnn at the law office.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, “he is among the living.”

  “Listen, I’m in Sarasota—”

  “You’re supposed to be in Lauderdale.”

  “Change in plans.”

  “Oh. Good change? Bad change?”

  “Not sure yet. Here’s what I need you to do. Call Sloane and tell him his boat is here in Sarasota. When he goes bonkers that it’s not in Lauderdale, tell him I didn’t have any choice. I’ll explain when I see him. Tell him I’ll be waiting for him at the bar in Marina Jack’s, it’s a restaurant on the harbor, at one tomorrow.”

  “Oakie dokie.”

  “That’s not all.”

  “Oh.”

  “I also want you to call Garcia Cabrera and tell him to meet me in the bar, same time. His number is in his file. Don’t tell either of them you’re calling the other.”

  “What are you plannin’, Will?”

  “Nefarious things.”

  By the time I rang off, I was at Marina Jack’s. I went inside, ordered a cheeseburger to go and ate it as I rode the skiff back to the Venetian.

  Boarding her, I felt my heart rate increase in anticipation. I wanted to know what was so valuable that it was worth all the craziness I’d endured.

  Su had put the mallet in one of the galley’s drawers. I found it, got a glass of tea from the fridge, and carried both into the dining room. We’d never used the dining room table during the trip, which made me wonder if she’d been instructed to stay away from it.

  At Pena’s, when I saw the workman assembling the table, they’d had it lying on its top. I duplicated that, lowering it to the floor as gently as possible. With the four legs sticking up in the air, I began tapping on various spots with the mallet, trying to figure out which of the interlocking pieces needed to come out first.

  After several taps at the base of one leg, I was able to see it was fitted to the base with dovetail joints. I tapped and wiggled it off. Did the same to the other leg at that end of the table. That allowed me to lift off the shaped sidepiece that ran between the two legs. With that removed, I could see that the table’s pizza shaped bottom boards were held together by tongue and groove edges. I pulled out the first slice. In the cavity between the table’s top and bottom boards, I could see a flat, rectangular wooden box about the size of four cigar boxes put together. My heart sped up and there was a slight shake to my hands from excitement as I removed a second pizza piece so it would be easier to slide the box free.

  The box, like the table, was beautifully crafted. I wasn’t an expert on woods, but this looked like walnut, stained a dark brown and finished with hand-rubbed clear lacquer. On one side a custom-made brass hinge ran the length of the side. On the opposite side, were three male/female fasteners.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor with the box in my lap, I flipped the fasteners one by one. Took a deep breath. Raised the lid.

  Chapter 8

  Based on the size of the box, I knew it wasn’t going to be cocaine. Too small. Antiquities? I could imagine some beautifully crafted golden icons carefully resting in specially cut foam. That fit the trappings.

  What I wasn’t expecting was diamonds. The entire green felt-lined box was filled with sparkling cut stones. So many, it took my breath away.

  Carefully, I held one up to the light and judged it the way Tiffany had taught me. This stone I was holding was a round cut, maybe ten carats in weight. I wi
shed I had a loupe, but even without one, the cut looked to be very good, the clarity close to Flawless, and since it was colorless, probably a D or E on the GIA scale. I put it back and picked up another one and studied it. The quality was every bit as good.

  I sat there mesmerized looking at one stone after another while I tried to figure out how much this box in my lap was worth. Round numbers, I settled on two hundred million. Of course, since they’d have to be sold on the black market, they wouldn’t get full value. They might get half if they were lucky—still a nice chunk of change.

  Slowly the enormity of what I’d found sank in. I could take this box, disappear, and live a life of privilege. I could have townhouses in Manhattan and London, a beach place in Fiji, a yacht in the Mediterranean. I could collect modern art or vintage automobiles. I could buy companies around the world and have my own jet to carry me around.

  I thought about it and thought better of it.

  I used the sat phone and called LeeAnn. When she heard my voice, she said, “Goodness gracious, Will, I haven’t had time to reach them, yet.”

  “I’m not calling about that. I’m calling about something else. I need you to look in files for the Chatterjee matter.”

  “You want me to do it now, darlin’?”

  “Yes, please.” I heard her walking toward the files.

  I’d represented Jillian Chattergee, who owned an art gallery in Sarasota, in her divorce proceedings. During the time she and her husband were separated, her gallery was looted of its most valuable works. The investigating officer had impressed me. He immediately recognized the theft as an inside job, broke the husband’s alibi, and recovered the art. “In the file, you should see police reports. I need the name of the investigating officer.”

  I heard a file drawer open, paperwork I knew to be about two-inches thick land on a table, fingers flip through papers. Took a while, but she finally said, “Hammond. Tom Hammond. That him?”

  He was the guy. “That’s him. Look and see if there’s another name? It’d be his partner.”

  “Jason Ewers.”

  “Yep.”

  “That all you need? ‘Cause I’ve got phone calls to make.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  She groaned. “Listen, I haven’t done anything for a month, sugar. Now you want to load me up. I can’t change speeds that fast.”

  “I need you to file a claim for ownership of the Venetian. State she was obtained by fraud, and as such, the ownership is invalid. That she is currently in my possession and that I’m requesting the court recognize my claim and grant me ownership as reimbursement for services.”

  “Will, what’s going on?”

  “If you need help with the filing, call Jack Whitworth,” I said mentioning a lawyer friend. “It would be great if that filing could happen today.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Are you going to tell me?”

  “When I can, you’ll be the first to know.”

  I hung up, dialed 411, got the number for the Sarasota Police, and made the call. “Tom Hammond, please,” I said to the woman who answered. “It’s an emergency.”

  I’d like to tell you Tom Hammond remembered me. He didn’t. However, as soon as I told him I was reporting two hundred million in smuggled diamonds, I became his new best friend.

  He and his partner, Ewers, dropped whatever they were doing and met me at Marina Jack’s. Hammond was tall, a little stooped, with a thatch of unruly brown hair, thin face, and aviator-framed glasses perched on a big hook of a nose that gave him a bird-like quality. Ewers was a pretty boy. His blond hair was stylish and perfect, not a strand out of place. He had a broad face, straight nose, wide mouth, jutting chin, and deep blue eyes. If those eyes hadn’t been set quite so close together, he might have been in pictures instead of the police.

  “You’ve lost weight,” Hammond said, gaze scrutinizing me as we shook hands.

  “Personal trainer,” I said thinking of Su’s influence.

  Ewers, wearing a green Tommy Bahama shirt with palm trees on it and white linen pants, eyed the piece of rope holding up my cargo shorts, and shot me a snide look. “We’re talking diamonds, right?”

  I nodded and filled them in as I ferried them to the Venetian. Approaching the yacht, both of them stared at the bullet holes in her woodwork. “Somebody use you for target practice?” Hammond asked.

  “Two of my crew were killed,” I told him. “Happened off the coast of Brazil. This was no joy ride, believe me.”

  He regarded me with new seriousness. “I’m going to need a written statement of all this, you know.”

  “I understand,” I said as I brought the skiff to the stern ladder. I tied the boat off and held the boat to the ladder so they could climb up. I joined them on deck, walked them through the burned out salon to the dining room. The table was still legs up on the floor. The wood box, lid closed, sat on the floor next to it. I bent down and lifted the lid.

  Ewers gave a low whistle.

  Hammond’s gaze took in diamonds, table, surroundings, before settling on me. “You know who’s responsible?”

  I gave him background on both Sloane and Cabrera. “It could be one or the other or they could be in on this together. That’s why I invited them both to come tomorrow, to try and figure that out.”

  Hammond nodded several times like a bird pecking at something. Probably thinking how he wanted to play this. His head stopped bobbing; his gaze went to Ewers. “We’ll want to record their visit as evidence. We can train a video camera on the table and put listening devices in key spots. The monitoring we should probably do from another boat. Too much chance they’d discover us if we’re onboard.” His gaze shifted to me. In fact, he looked down his big nose at me for a long minute. “Think you can get them to incriminate themselves?”

  “I think so. But if I don’t, you just have to keep an eye on the Venetian and see who comes back for the diamonds.”

  Hammond nodded. “True.” His reflective expression turned confident. “As stings go, this seems pretty straightforward.”

  Smart as he was, he got that wrong.

  Chapter 9

  At twelve forty five the next day, Su and I sat at a hightop in Marina Jack’s bar waiting for our invited guests. I was nervous and hadn’t helped matters by quickly downing two caffeine-laden Diet Cokes.

  Hammond and Ewers had assured me they had everything covered. They’d let me know video and audio recording devices were onboard the Venetian and that the two of them would be close by. They’d even told me an undercover operative would be in the bar. If there was, I couldn’t pick out him or her. There were two men in ball caps drinking beers at the bar. A man and a woman in business attire having mixed drinks by the window. Our blond waitress with dark roots appeared and disappeared. It was one more thing to worry about.

  Sitting next to me, looking glamorous following her haircut, facial, manicure, pedicure, and herbal-wrap, Su fiddled with the straw in her tall glass of orange juice. “You told him the trouble we had,” she said thinking I was nervous about how Sloane would react to the physical condition of the boat. “He can get the damage fixed. You shouldn’t worry.”

  Little did she know, she should be worried. Depending on how things played out, Hammond might arrest her as an accessory.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall behind the bar. Both hands still weren’t straight up. Eight minutes to go. To fill time, I ordered a third Diet Coke, but Cabrera arrived before it did. I saw him in the doorway, his gaze trying to find me in the dim light. I raised a hand and he strode over. He was casually dressed in a white Polo shirt, dark-green shorts, leather sandals. On his head he wore a khaki visor. I stood, shook his hand, introduced Su, indicated a seat.

  He climbed up on his stool, rested his elbows on the tabletop, gave us his most charming smile. “Thank you for calling me. I cannot wait to see my boat.”

  “She’s a beauty,” I told him. “But I have a question?”

  “Si.”

  “
You spent money on interior decorating but not on replacing the engines? I wondered why?”

  He shrugged. “I was originally told the engines were in acceptable shape. Only later did they tell me they needed to be replaced.”

  Possible. “Well, Nina did a superb job with the furniture.”

  “Yes. I am looking forward to seeing it.

  “Where did—”

  Sloane was approaching the table. He wore a blue blazer with an embroidered crest on the breast pocket, pink shirt, white trousers with a dark blue pin stripe, and boat shoes, no socks. Preppy goes boating.

  “Don’t stand. Don’t stand,” he said. Meaning get up and pay homage to the man.

  I stood, knowing if I didn’t, he’d retaliate by denigrating me in front of Su.

  “Will.” He beamed and grabbed my hand. He eyed Cabrera less enthusiastically. “Garcia,” he said with a curt nod.

  I introduced Su and watched Sloane’s reaction. He gave no indication he knew her. In fact, he looked momentarily aghast when he saw her scar.

  His gaze came back to me. “Will, I need a word with you in private.” He forced a smile.

  “Sure. Excuse us for a moment.” We walked to the hallway.

  Sloane took me by the arm. “What’s he doing here?” He demanded angrily.

  I played innocent. “I wanted him to see the boat—your boat—the boat he isn’t getting. You should enjoy this.”

  “Oh,” he said, thrusting out his chest. “Well, it might be sport.”

  “I’ll run us out to the Venetian in the skiff. The four of us will fit.”

  He swiveled his head a bit, as if looking at his options from different angles. “No need for that. You’ve delivered the boat—” He gave me a frown. ”Not where I wanted, but my buyer can get past that, thank goodness. Now that I know where the boat is anchored, I’ll take things from here. You’ve been away a long time, probably anxious to get home.” He stuck his hand out. “Job well done, Will.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to go out to the boat. Worse, he was giving me the kiss off. As soon as I was gone, he’d probably beeline it to the Venetian. Hammond and Ewers would capture what happened. But I wanted to be there. I wanted to see him incriminate himself. I needed to get him on that boat. “Appreciate that, Ban, but there are things on the boat I need to go over with you.”