The Girl on the Yacht (11 page)

John entered his computer room, reached up to his remote on the shelf, and hit the play button. Bob Marley’s voice filled the tiny room with the reggae lyrics of
Stir It Up
while The Wailers pounded out the familiar beat.

He glanced over at the darkened monitor and hit the space bar. It flickered to life. Over the next few seconds, he felt his confidence drain while he scrolled through the hundreds of lines of coded script. Each one started with the same word––“error”––followed by what most people would consider gibberish. To a trained programmer, it was a digital road map to a destination somewhere on the far side of cyberspace with the direct routes blocked by washed-out bridges, blown down trees, and other hazards. He had to figure out a way to get to the other side.
I’m going to need coffee––a lot of coffee.
John turned and headed through the narrow corridor to the stairs leading up to the galley.
I need to think over everything that’s failed so far and find the way around.

The coffee maker began its rhythmic routine, and John strolled out on deck going over his possible course changes. His mind always worked in a mysterious way––even to him. It processed data in a linear mode almost like the mouse in a maze taking one route until it dead ended, then reversing and going about it in another direction. His synapses were all firing, racing at super speed through the road blocks and detours. He plopped down on the deck chair, closed his eyes, and saw the progress.

“Hey, you giving up?” Marin’s voice drifted over from the upper deck of her boat.

Startled, he sat upright and glanced over. “Just waiting for coffee.” He climbed to his feet and walked over to the railing.

“Hey, John,” a voice came up from the dock.

His attention was drawn down to Jackie Irwin, the District Attorney, standing with her right hand cupped above her eyes.

“Hey, Jackie.”

“We’re taking the dinghies out for a sunset run at half past seven.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“John, it sounds like fun.” Marin peered over the rail. “If you haven’t figured out the password by then, you should take a break.” She looked down at Jackie. “Who’s going, and what do we need to bring?”

“Raphael’s back. He’s in, and so are a couple of people you haven’t met yet. As far as what to bring––keep it simple––drinks and snacks.”

That’s it. Right in front of me
. John turned and charged for the stairs leading to his computers. “Jackie, we’re in––see you later.” He vanished from the upper deck.

Shooting down the stairs, he kept repeating to himself, “Keep it simple. Keep it simple.”

John rolled his chair up to the desk and banged away at the keys. He knew how to break in.
Simple, but elegant––a program is a work of art.
Once he found his way through the obstacles, he was sailing with his hands moving across the keyboard at high speed.

It was beautiful. The encryption opened like a springtime flower––each layer more interestingly elegant than the last. He studied the computer code intricacies. At varying intervals, the style of programming had changed. Then he understood its sophistication––it had been created independently in segments and ultimately sewn together by a genius programmer. None of the other individual contributors of a solitary piece of code had a clue what complete security program they were creating.

The screen opened to a folder with a series of files––each labeled with an individual’s name and title. John stared at the names and recognized about half of them––
who wouldn’t?
Could each of these people have been Laura’s patients––not possible. What’s going on here?

His finger scrolled down the list of thirty to forty names––Hu Jin Tao, President, People’s Republic of China; Bill Gates, former CEO, Microsoft; Ramadan Mohammad Shallah, terrorist, Palestine Islamic Jihad; Marco Cassini, CEO, Italian Shipping Inc.; Osama bin Laden, terrorist, Al Qaeda.
What the hell?

He opened the file of Osama bin Laden. Across the top of the page was the banner in red, “Deceased.” He read the contents of the file in disbelief. “Damn.” He shook his head and opened another.
Let’s try Bill
. A similar document appeared on the screen without the red banner, and his instincts told him to get rid of the hard drive––
now
.

He reached over and pulled the power plug on his computer without shutting it down. I have to call Cameron, but maybe I should talk to Marin first. He pushed his chair back and headed for the corridor. Before he reached the stairs leading up, he turned and walked back down the hallway in thought.
Should I get them involved, or not? Hell, they are involved, and they have a right to know what they’re up against.

John climbed onboard Marin’s boat and called up to her. “We need to talk.” He opened the sliding door and entered the salon.

A minute later, Marin came down from the upper deck and glided over the threshold. “What’s going on?”

He walked over to the door and closed it.

She stared at him.

“I . . . kind of . . . stepped into a big, steaming pile of something.” He paced in front of her.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure how much I should tell you. This is definitely serious—even possibly dangerous.” He stared out the window for signs of anyone watching from a distance.

“You’re acting strange. What do you mean, dangerous?” She checked outside through the glass as if she had some idea what he was looking for.

He slipped over to the chair and dropped down. “Laura’s computer has files.”

Marin sat across from him on the sofa. “So?” She shrugged.

“Not ordinary files––these are psychiatric behavioral profiles.” He shook his head in disbelief. “For the CIA.”

“I don’t see the big deal. Who was she profiling?”

“It looked like the Forbes list of the world’s most powerful people, with a bunch of terrorists thrown in for good measure.” He tapped his knee. “Check this out––she profiled Osama bin Laden as well as Bill Gates.”

Marin looked like she couldn’t connect the dots. “What do those two have in common?”

“Nothing, she just did profiles on maybe forty individuals at the CIA’s request.”

“So, again, what’s the big deal?”

“Don’t you get it? A professional assassin. That’s why she was killed.”

“But who killed her?”

“I’m afraid that’s going to remain the million dollar question––maybe a terrorist or a wealthy powerbroker with something to hide.” He pressed his lips together and let out more air.

“What kind of trouble or danger could we be in?” Marin asked.

“Well, first off, the CIA doesn’t like it when one of their own is murdered. Second, I just broke into highly classified files. And then, there’s you and Cameron.”

“You’re covered by your top secret clearance.”

“Maybe.” He looked out the window again.

“They’ve trusted you before.”

“Yeah, but not with spy stuff.” He jumped up from the chair.

“Anyway, Cam and I have no real exposure to the files—we don’t know what they say. How could the CIA have worries about us?”

“I’m not so certain that the CIA is the greatest threat. Someone knows that Laura was profiling them. If they think one or all of us has access to that information, whether true or not, they might want to. . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, turned, and paced back toward her. “I need to think about it some more—maybe overnight—I’ll probably have to go to L.A. in the morning to contact a friend in the Agency and find out what this all means.” He walked toward the door.

“What about Cameron?”

“I’ll call and tell her I need another day to break the password,” he said.

On the deck outside, Jackie and Rob appeared. They waved for John and Marin to come out.

John opened the door. “Hey, guys, do you have your phones with you?”

They each nodded.

“I need to make a call––can I borrow them.”

Jackie opened her purse at the same instant that Rob handed his phone to John.

“No problem,” Rob said.

Jackie started to close her bag.

“I need both of them.” John held out his hand, and Jackie gave him her phone.

Without a comment, John turned, went inside, and closed the door.

They appeared stunned and stared at him through the glass.

Marin opened the door again and went outside. “It’s important. John needs some privacy.” She pulled the slider closed.

John dialed Cameron. It rang.

“Cameron West,” she answered.

“Cam––this is John. Don’t say anything––just listen. I need another phone number to call you back––right now.”

“John, what’s––

“A phone nearby––now.” He heard her in the background talking to a man, then she read off a number.

John disconnected the call on Jackie’s phone. He dialed the new number on Rob’s phone.

“What’s going on?” Cameron demanded.

“Just assume that someone is listening in on your phone until we talk tomorrow. I need to see you, about noon, on my boat.”

“Did you get the password yet?”

“I need another day. Cameron––let’s make it brief in case they pick up this call on a cell tower link. Turn off your computer and iPad until we get together. Whatever you do, don’t turn them back on.”

“Okay, you’re the computer guy. I guess you know what you’re talking about. But, I’m totally confused. Is there anything you can tell me?”

John clicked off his phone.

With a phone in each hand, John Hunter paced inside of Marin Ryan’s boat. He stopped and took in a deep lungful of air.
Gotta relax
. He took another breath before opening the door and waving his friends inside. He handed the phones back to Jackie and Rob. “Thanks.” He raised his eyebrows—he wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Don’t worry. I use the same trick to keep people from knowing its me calling—grab someone else’s phone.” Rob smiled.

“Hey, Johnny boy.” A booming voice projected across the dock, not from the back of Marin’s boat, but over near
The Hunter.
John stuck his head outside.

Raphael Montoya, the six-foot-three movie star, dwarfed the two small women, one under each arm.

“Rafe, I’m over here,” John shouted while he came out on the deck of Marin’s Carver.

Raphael turned around with a huge smile. “Hey, buddy, when are we going to get the dinghy ride goin’?”

Marin came out of the cabin.

Rafe shot John a glance and nodded his approval. “Nice. Very nice.”

“You remember Marin,” John said.

“She was with the detective.” He grinned.

“Hi, Raphael.”

“My friends call me Rafe.”

Jackie and Rob came out on deck behind Marin.

Rafe started toward the Carver until the women under his arms slowed his progress. “Oh, let me introduce you to two actors I’m working with this week in a commercial.” He took his thin forearms off their shoulders. “They’re famous in China.” They were also beautiful, identical twins, with long-flowing black hair that fell to their waists. “This one is,” his finger lifted to the sky in a wafting movement back and forth between the women. “Lan.” He waited patiently until the one on his right raised a tiny hand. “That means,” pointing to the other, “this one is Luli.” He grinned. “Their names mean Orchid and Jasmine––isn’t that cool? At least that’s what the interpreter told me before we ditched him.”

“Interpreter?” John asked.

“They don’t speak a word of English, but four’s a crowd, if you get my drift.” Rafe winked, raised his shoulders, and dropped them again in his lovable fashion.

Marin shook her head. “Rafe, you’re something else.”

“Hey, what’s a guy going to do? I couldn’t disappoint one of them and leave the other behind. Plenty of Raphael to go around.”

A short time later, a disorganized procession of tiny boats wove their way through Newport Harbor. Far forward on the tube of John’s inflatable, Bailey stood tall—her ears flapping in the breeze. Every dog they passed on the water she greeted with an eye contact that seemed to convey a universal message among the species, “Life is good.” Her eyes caught and followed the movement of the shorebirds in the tall grass of the sanctuary until her nose picked up a familiar scent––barbecue from patio grills––at which point she thoroughly examined each of the beautiful houses along the journey for the origins of the delicious aromas.

The nine dinghies amounted to a small convoy heading toward the parallel jetties leading out to the open sea. Their ultimate destination—a perfect sunset vantage point outside the breakwater. In another twenty minutes, they would reach the tiny cove off Corona Del Mar Beach and tie up in a circle of floating rafts. From that stretch of water, the nightly ritual of the sun’s radiant dance into the sea would again be spectacular.

Marin’s sudden glance over John’s shoulder was followed by a quizzical expression on her face. She tapped his knee.

“Yeah?” John turned his head thinking that maybe they were in the oncoming path of a large boat.

“I think we lost Raphael.”

John scanned the channel until he spotted Rafe, adrift in the middle of the harbor with large yachts detouring around the motionless raft.

She pointed. “His dinghy isn’t moving. Maybe he’s in trouble.”

“Hey, Rob, what do you think?” John said into his handheld radio with an air of humor in his voice.

“Not again.” Rob laughed.

John also broke into a laugh, spun his dinghy around, and waved at the others. “Follow me.”

She looked perplexed. “It’s not funny if he’s in trouble.”

“Mare, Rafe’s an actor and a lover, and proud of both.” John cruised on toward his friend. “He’ll be the first to admit that he has no mechanical skills––whatsoever.” John zigged to his right to avoid leading his group into the yacht traffic. “The guy has the worst luck on the water. Whenever he takes out his fishing boat, one of us makes a point of being his backup buddy to take the inevitable call from him. During the past year, he’s blown out the electrical system, hit a log and took on water, run aground on the reef off Laguna, lost at least two anchors, and dropped his phone overboard half a dozen times.”

“Isn’t he afraid of getting into major trouble when he’s miles offshore?” Marin asked.

“He loves boating––it’s in his blood––you know how it is. Anyway, we always make sure he lets us know when and where he’s going.” John pointed to the open ocean beyond the breakwater.

“Really, you guys all look out after him?” Marin smiled at the thought.

“Everybody loves him––like a brother, but the guys also give him a hard time, because they envy his good looks and his luck with women. You’ll see.”

They arrived
en masse
and circled Rafe’s dinghy, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. The Chinese actors appeared anxious, and signaled that they needed help.

Then the comments started.

“Hey, Rafe, you okay?”

The circling boats narrowed their circumference.

“Are you having trouble with the motor?”

Tighter yet with ten feet separating them.

“Did you want to be alone?”

The inflatables could almost touch.

Raphael answered in an apprehensive tone, “We’re just enjoying the quiet time with the motor off.”

The two small women anxiously reached their arms toward the other boats.

“Well, if you’re not in trouble, I guess we’ll leave you three alone.” John looked over at the others. “Let’s go.” He grinned in Rafe’s direction.

Even through Raphael’s tanned skin, his face was a shade of red. “Maybe we could use a little help.”

“What did you do––run out of gas?” Rob asked.

Rafe’s face gave away the truth.

“This is gonna be a great story. Remember when we rescued Rafe and the Chinese twins?” Rob let out a boisterous laugh. “It’s only going to get better with time.”

“Just add it to the list,” Rafe said in his charming way.

The circling horde went in for the kill.

“Maybe we should rescue the women while you go down with the ship,” suggested one of the others.

Marin attempted to stop the onslaught. “Let’s help him.”

“Is your boat sinking?” John continued. “Maybe it’s losing air. I think it’s sinking.” He winked at Marin. “Rob, what do you think?”

Raphael was examining the pontoons.

“It could be,” Rob added.

Even Jackie couldn’t resist. “Do you want us to call the Coast Guard?”

“I know you’re screwing with me.” Raphael grinned from ear to ear. “But, I’m the only one with two girls in my boat.”

“Sinking boat.”

Rob gave out a huge laugh when Rafe went back to anxiously examining his dinghy. A moment later, everyone was laughing except the two women who didn’t understand a word of English.

“It’s getting late,” Rob said. “Let’s tow you out to watch the sunset, and then afterwards, we’ll head back to the dock.” He held out his hand. “Rafe, toss me your line.”

The handsome face turned redder.

Rob understood—no rope on board. He threw over his line.

In the disabled dinghy, the movie star and his crew lay back during the last mile of their cruise and admired the scenery without the sound of their annoying outboard motor.

Once the group reached the spot three-hundred yards off the beach, they tied their dinghies to one another until the inflatable boats made up a small floating island.

Over the next hour, they passed around munchies and drinks while drifting in the gentle sea and watching the sun drop over the Pacific. Hovering above the horizon, the underside of the distant clouds were brushed with shades of reds, yellows, and corals. Serenity. The calm, motionless water grabbed the reflected light and created its own shimmering light show.

“Why weren’t you rowing when we saw you?” John asked Raphael.

“I forgot the oars.”

“No lines––no oars––what was your plan?” Rob smiled.

“I was going to drift to a dock and call for help.” He held up his phone. The giant jovial smile turned to agitation as the damp phone slipped from his hand. “Damn!” He reached. It hit the pontoon and took a short skip toward the cold sea.

With the speed and accuracy of China’s Ten Tigers of Canton, one of the twins snatched the iPhone the instant before it hit the water.

“Thanks.” Rafe held out his hand.

She held it to her breast. “I’ll hang on to it,” the Chinese actor said.

Rafe stared at her. “You speak English? Does your sister, too?”

“What do you think?” the other one snipped.

He stared at the two women, then a huge smile filled his face. “Even better.” He put his arms around them. They both smiled. How could they resist?

“Rafe, you’re unbelievable,” John said. “You know, your plan might have worked if the tide was coming in—you could have drifted to one of the docks.”

“Did you check the tide tables today before we came out?” Rob asked.

Rafe shrugged.

“It’s a big one tonight and it’s going out.” Rob shook his head at the possibility. “If it had been a quiet night in the harbor, no one would have seen you in the dark. You could have been washed out to sea in a raft with no paddles. I don’t think the women would have been too happy.”

The two actors, like twins do, stared at the movie star simultaneously, before catching each other’s gaze.

“Will you be towing us back to the marina?” one of them asked.

“We’ll make sure you get back safely,” Marin said.

“Let’s get this party rolling. Who’s got the wine?” Jackie held out her glass and Rob poured. She began a toast, “To friends, spectacular sunsets, and the dinghies that get us here.”

Everyone raised their glasses to the sky, and almost instantly, there was sadness in the toast—Laura would never see another. A melancholy mood descended like a grey fog.

Marin lay back in John’s arms. “I missed you.”

He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. “I missed you more.”