Buzzard Bay (29 page)

“That’s a long way,” I say. “Will it make it?”

“We figured it out,” Peter Norton said, “enough gas for three hours flat out. It’s about fifty miles, and the weather’s decent. Should be no problem.”

“Yeah, right.” I’d seen how quick a squall could come up. “Where’s the Sea-Doo?” I ask.

“I hid it in some weeds up French Creek,” Rikker said.

“So how do we get it out of there?” I ask.

“Peter here is going to take it out of Fresh Creek and meet us farther up the shore.”

“How do we get over there?”

“Same way we got here,” Rikker tells me. “We ride the motorbike over across the bridge. There’s a trail down to the beach.”

It sounds simple, and simple plans often work.

“Okay,” I decide, “Let’s go for it. Those who hesitate are lost,” is what I think of; if I wait too long, I’ll probably change my mind.

Rikker and I haven’t gone far when we meet a car with four men in it. We pass the car and keep going; as we turn a corner, I look back and see the car is turning around.

“Hustle,” I yell to Rikker, “I think they’re going to follow us.”

The resulting ride scares me nearly as much as the men chasing us. We cross the bridge and almost immediately turn off onto a narrow foot path. Rikker stops. In a minute, we see the car fly by on the road.

“They’ll be back,” I tell him, “We’d best keep going.”

We continue down the path stopping at the edge of the beach. We are pretty edgy by the time we finally see Peter riding in on the Sea-Doo through the pounding surf.

“I’ve got to do this alone, Rikker,” I tell him.

“Fuck, Dad, the only time you even rode a Sea-Doo was the first day we got it, and then you fell off just horsing around.”

I look up at the palm leaves blowing in the breeze. “I’m lucky to have you,” I tell him. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Mindy when she helped me. I have to have you here in case I need you. I’ll get a hold of you through the Nortons. I would like it if you would stay with them. They’re good people, and you’ll be safe there. If something happens to me, you’ll have to look after Mom.” I go on, “If I don’t get to her, I know you’ll try, just be careful and plan everything you do.” I take him by the shoulders and look him straight in the eye. “Promise me you’ll try to make something of these islands that your mom and I love so much.” It was a lot to put on the shoulders of a young boy.

He grabs me and holds me close, and his voice is full of tears. “You get Mom for us, Dad. So we can make this our home.”

My eyes fill full of tears as I feel the warm Bahamas breeze that July loves so much. “I love you, Rikker,” I tell him, holding him again at arm’s length. “It feels like we are always leaving each other, but someday soon we’ll be a family again, and we’ll always remember these moments. I’ll get Mom, Rikker, and the people who took her are going to have to pay along the way.”

uddenly Peter is standing beside us. He hands Rikker a compass which he in turn hands to me.

“I’m not going,” he tells Peter.

“My dad says not to forget what he told you about this Chamberlain fellow.” Peter hands me the address “Dad says it’s your only hope.

Now I get some instructions that make a lot of sense to me. The boys tell me the mail boat will be passing by in a half hour or so. I’m to go out and wait for it and then stay in it’s wake until I see Nassau. “They might even stop and help if you fall off” Rikker tells me.

“Watch out for the guys in the car,” I tell them.

“No problem,” Peter says, “we’re just two guys out for a ride.”

I smile, “Yeah, I guess I’d better worry about myself. You guys can handle yourselves.

I impress the shit out of them by falling off the Sea-Doo twice in the surf as it hit the beach. Out farther, it’s better going when I tuck in behind the mail boat. Two fishermen slip their boat beside me about half way across and together we follow the mail boat into Nassau.

The island of New Providence appears on the horizon much quicker than I thought it would. Soon, I can make out the multicolored houses running back up Spy Hill. As I come into Nassau, I worry about someone wondering who I am. My worries are soon pacified as there are other water craft running all over the place. I find a public beach where there are other Sea-Doos parked. I just pull mine in with them. I recognize the area; it’s part of Cable Beach. Too far to walk downtown, but the public buses run every five minutes or so. I mix in with some tourists leaving the beach as they walk back up to their hotel.

There is always someone waiting in front of the hotels for the bus. I stand waiting trying to stay in a crowd. Once on the bus, I feel safer. I get off near the Straw Market, the major center in Nassau for tourists. I would feel better if there were more people around. I begin to realize I really don’t want to go to Chamberlain’s house. I don’t trust anyone anymore, yet here I am in Nassau, where I had planned for weeks to get to and now that I am here, I have no idea what to do.

I wander through the market contemplating my next move, trying to get straight in my mind what Arthur’s brother and old Norton know that I don’t but the fact is I have to trust someone, and they’d always been straight shooters.

Just walking up to Waddell and killing him is the idea of a man obsessed with one goal in life. I now realize that that goal is unrealistic and it’s not necessarily going to get July back. To get her back to the family is really my goal.

I take a deep breath and start walking in the direction of Chamberlain’s address. On the way, I think, maybe I’ll watch the house for a while, or I could look in the windows to see what’s inside. I’d never met the man other than July pointing him out at a function we had attended once; plus her telling me that he had helped her leave one of Waddell’s parties. That’s all I know about the man.

The address turns out to be an apartment attached to the British embassy. I stand in front of the door, straighten my shoulders, and knock. An elderly black lady answers the door.

“Hello,” I say, “I have just had an accident down the street. May I use your phone?”

“Yes, come in,” she tells me. “I will get Mr. Chamberlain. He will lead you to a phone.” She is back in a moment. “Follow me, please.”

he leads me into a large room. I recognize Sir Harry Chamberlain sitting on a couch with another man. To my astonishment, the other man is Constable Novak from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

“Hello, Mr. Green,” Chamberlain says, “it’s about time you got here.”

I feel totally dejected to have it all end like this after what I have been through.

“There are a lot of people looking for you,” he smiles, “you are very lucky you were able to get to us.”

“Lucky for you I walked right into your house,” I retort.

“Yes, it took a lot of patience on our part, but Novak here assured us you’d be ingenious enough to get through.”

“Who in the hell are you?”

“I work for British Intelligence, and you know where Novak’s from. Right now, I’m part of the Interpol organization looking into the illegal drug trade. Novak’s on loan to us for a while.”

“So what’s this got to do with me?” I ask.

“For some reason, people who we believe are involved in this business are very interested in getting rid of you. That would indicate to us that you know more about them and their business than they would like,” Chamberlain tells me.

“Look!” I’ve seen a few things and know a few people who may be involved in some things they shouldn’t be, but what I really know is shit, I can’t prove any of it.”

“Sometimes it’s not what you actually know but what they think you know that makes you dangerous to them.” Chamberlain interjects, “The fact remains that someone wants you dead.”

I decide not to banter with him anymore. “There are a few things I want to know which are very important to me,” I tell him. “First off, I hear you might know where July is?”

“Yes, we do. Let us relieve your mind by telling you she is safe and in very good hands.”

“Whose hands?” I ask, although I do feel relieved.

“All in good time, Bob. I think we should go back and make sure we have everything straight in our minds before we go any further.”

Novak is still sitting on the couch. He’s been going through a folder.

“My information may be one-sided, Bob, so I’ll tell you what we have here and hopefully you can fill us in,” he spoke for the first time. “We presume you suspect the same person we do as to whose responsible in the attempt on your life?”

I smile, “I saw a newspaper with a picture of me in it wanted on suspicion of murder. Now you ask me if I am a victim?”

Novak looks up at me. “We always knew there were extenuating circumstances, and yes, at first, we did think you were involved in a local murder. Especially when you lied about where the Drinkwaters and the Shonavons were. You probably still don’t know for sure, but yes, those were their bodies discovered in your mother’s house. However, we discovered three more bodies. Two, along the run in Helek’s field, another along the White Fox Valley. They had been shot to death by an unknown assailant. Then later, we found Constable Reich shot to death, but we’ll get to that later. What I want to know is, did you kill any of these men we found shot?”

“I’m not even sure I know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.

Chamberlain quickly broke in, “Quit the bullshit, Bob. I could sit and bullshit with you all day, but I’m out of patience. So I’ll put it this way, and it’s no idle threat. If you want to see July again, you’d better play ball. We pretty well know what happened, we just want it confirmed.”

“Okay, all right,” I say meekly, knowing he means it. “No, I don’t know any of those men, but I think Manly Waddell sent them to kill all of us.”

“Then we’re on the same wavelength,” Novak nods in agreement.

I tell them the whole story as I remember it. “I felt if I didn’t get down here and help July, no one would,” I finish up.

Novak jots down a few notes. “Okay,” he says, “it took a while, but we sent pictures of the two men to Interpol. One of them they identified as a mercenary with links to a couple of terrorist groups. This confirms both our theories that these people were hired killers.” Looking at his notes, he then says, “Do you know anyone or hear these people talk about someone called Henekie?”

“Not that I can recall,” I tell him.

Chamberlain turns on a tape cassette. I hear my own voice talking to Ken Holmes. We listen for some time, my face incredulous. Waddell’s voice now comes on to the tape. After that Erik Grundman in Germany talks to Holmes.

“Grundman and Waddell know each other?” I can’t believe my ears.

“Oh yes,” Chamberlain answers me. “In fact, Grundman has now moved to the Bahamas.”

I begin to feel much better about coming to Chamberlain now. Without all this knowledge, I would have been sunk.

“Listen to this,” Novak tells me, “This is about a week and a half before those guys tried to kill you.”

I heard Holmes go to the door and then the agent wiretapping his house calling for assistance. “Henekie, the phone is tapped,” I hear a voice whisper and then the answer to get out.

“I tried to phone Holmes,” I tell them, “but his phone was disconnected.”

“His whole house was disconnected,” Novak tells me. “We believe it may have been the same people hired to kill you.”

“Why Holmes?” I ask.

“You heard the tapes, he knew too much, maybe they suspected the wiretaps too—I don’t know. However, he gave us the link between Grundman and Waddell.”

“Guess I can kiss our money goodbye,” I say.

“You were never going to get any money out of Grundman. That’s why we were investigating Holmes,” Chamberlain tells me. “They were coning people out of a lot of money, especially in the United States and Canada. We couldn’t do much about it though. It was always in cash.”

“Tom got his money through Holmes,” I tell them.

“We don’t think so,” Novak says. “We think Waddell financed it through the people he works for.”

“Would that be the APCO Company?” I ask.

“In a roundabout way, Bob,” Chamberlain answers.

“APCO is the legitimate front for a man they call El Presidente. Waddell doesn’t shit without him knowing about it. He’s a Colombian who controls the drug trade in this area.”

“I can’t believe all this,” I say, sitting down. “I wanted to get at one man, now you tell me there’s a whole cartel after me?”

“Not only that”—Novak frowns—“we believe the men who came after you were hired by Grundman.”

“Fuck me,” I sit looking off into space. “Why do you think that?”

“There is a thread through all this,” Novak tells me, “thanks to a very alert CIA agent. You remember that piece of necklace Constable Reich had in his hand that I showed you?”

I nod, and he goes on. “Well, we sent a picture through Interpol to all the police forces in the world, including the FBI. There was a fundraiser for the government the other night at the Crystal Palace. Lucky for us, it was there because we have an excellent surveillance system set up in cooperation with the Cruise line, who owns the hotel. We labeled the jewelry Reich’s necklace. That way people are more apt to remember it, and that may have helped. Anyway, the U.S. government is not pleased with the present government here. We had specific orders to watch who attended this affair. Manly Waddell’s name was on the guest list but didn’t attend.”

“We think we know why, but that’s another story. Grundman and an unknown lady showed up in Waddell’s car, so we assumed he was taking Waddell’s place.

Anyway,” Chamberlain continues, “the lady Grundman was with was real knockout. Our dedicated men took some fantastic close-ups.”

He flips a switch on the wall, and a huge TV screen comes into view. The picture of a dark-haired beautiful woman appears and the camera soon zooms in on her well-exposed cleavage. Chamberlain freezes the close-up.

“Do you recognize the jewelry, Bob? If you’re like the rest of us, we are looking a little lower, but if you look up a bit like our observant agent did, you’ll see what we’re talking about.”

“My God,” I say, “it looks like Hania’s necklace.”