Amber Beach (10 page)

Conroy was waiting at a small table in the far corner, away from toilet traffic. Off-duty, he wore gray work pants and a flannel shirt with colors as muted as the bar itself. He looked tired and irritated. The beer in front of him hadn’t been touched.

Jake picked up a beer at the bar and went over to the table. No one took note of him beyond the uninterested glances regular patrons gave folks who looked local but weren’t part of the Salty Log’s hard drinking fraternity.

“I told you I was buying”, Jake said, sitting down.

Neither man had his back to the room. The bar might be long in the tooth but the teeth were still sharp. Fights were common, brutal, and ignored by the local law unless guns or fishing knives were involved.

Conroy lifted his beer in ironic salute. “Evening, buddy. I’ll buy my own, thanks. From what I can see, you’re way out from shore in a leaky skiff and small craft warnings are flying all over the place.”

“It could be worse.”

“How?”

“So far it’s just warnings.”

“What the hell have you done?” Conroy asked bluntly.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been told to keep the
Tomorrow
in sight.”

“I don’t own the boat, remember?”

“Then stay off it.”

“Is that official?” Jake asked.

“No. It’s a hangover from the days we used to fish and tear up bars together.”

“This whole talk is unofficial?”

“You have my word.”

Jake nodded, settled more comfortably, and took a sip of his beer. In the background he heard cigarette-roughened voices arguing over which was worse, tree buggers in penthouses or morons who thought a man could survive fishing seasons that were only open for four hours once every three months.

“Did your superiors mention Kyle Donovan?” Jake asked in a voice too soft to be overheard.

“Just as the owner of the
Tomorrow.”

“Did they say what you’re supposed to be looking for when you board us?”

“Nothing specific, so I assume Donovan is smuggling cigarettes north to
Canada
or Chinese south to the U.S. or dope both ways, or a combination of all three. Or worse. There are a lot of unsolved murders in Anacortes, particularly for a town
this size.”

“Murder? Is that what the local newspaper is saying now?”

“Dead man floating facedown with his throat crushed by an elbow or a karate chop, missing Kyle Donovan nowhere to be found, an expensive pile of Russian amber lost somewhere, government of Russia asking for help from its new ally the U. S. of A. to find the amber. The rest is typical infotainment crap to sell ads – insinuations about local boy Kyle Donovan, who might be murder victim or a murderer or both, hard breathing about fabulous wealth up for grabs, short stroking about murder in paradise and oh-ain’t-it-awful.”

Jake smiled at Conroy’s obvious disgust. “You’re more cynical than you used to be.”

“I’ve been in charge of search-and-rescue operations that I couldn’t recognize when I read about them the next day. Makes you wonder about the rest of the so-called
facts
behind the headlines.”

“I always knew you were bright. You get tired of the Coast Guard, you can work for me.” Jake’s smile faded. “If I still have a business.”

“Stay off the
Tomorrow.
Whatever Kyle Donovan did isn’t going to go away. He’s the biggest local interest story since the plywood factory shut down.”

“I’d love to stay clear of the whole mess. I can’t.”

“Try harder.”

Jake took a sip of his beer, decided that the risk of telling Conroy the truth was outweighed by the potential of gaining an ally, and started talking.

“The amber Kyle stole came from a government mine in
the former Soviet Union. Emerging Resources brokered the deal. The amber was being transferred from Emerging Resources’s care to the purchaser, Donovan International. The U.S. – and apparently the Russian government – believes that a piece of stolen art might have been part of the shipment. The Russians want it back.”

“Why are they breathing on you?”

“Either Kyle took it or I did”, Jake said flatly. “Donovan International is pointing the finger at me. All I know is that I signed over the shipment to Kyle Donovan. It was the last time I saw him. Donovan International says the transfer never was made.”

Conroy’s eyes narrowed.

“The Donovans have a lot more leverage with governments than I do”, Jake said. “My company is being set up to take the blame for the theft of the raw
amber and
whatever else might have been along for the ride. If I don’t prove my innocence, Emerging Resources goes under and I go with it.”

Conroy whistled softly through his teeth.

“The Donovans are slamming doors in my face all around the world”, Jake said roughly. “I’ve
already
been kicked out of the Baltics and Russia for asking too many questions. I want Kyle Donovan’s ass.”

“You think he’s still alive?”

“I was pretty sure he wasn’t. Now I’d bet on either side of the question. Frankly, I’m hoping he’s alive. I’d really like to have a talk with that boy.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

“Don’t tell me that he violated Coast Guard regulations”, Jake said dryly.

Conroy hesitated, then reached his own decision. “I wish it was that easy. This whole thing stinks of politics, the international kind where nobody wins and everybody loses.”

Jake grimaced and drank more of his beer. “I hear you.”

“Are you sure you can’t walk away?”

“I don’t have anywhere to walk.”

“Shit.”

Conroy took a drink, pulled out a cigarette, and set fire to
it with an ancient Zippo lighter.

“I thought you quit”, Jake said.

“Four times and counting.”

“Try getting off the light cigarettes. From what I hear, they have more nicotine than the regular ones. The better to keep you health-conscious sorts hooked, no doubt.”

Conroy looked at the cigarette with distaste but no surprise. “Figures.” He took another drag and blew out smoke. “If my superiors find out about this talk tonight, I’ll need that
job you mentioned.”

“Since when is having a beer with an old friend a crime?”

“Since I ran the registration numbers on the boats that
were playing tag with you.”

In the bar’s dim light, Jake’s eyes glittered like crystal. “You don’t have to say another word.”

“Just trying to even the odds. Any time nameless men in suits start giving direct orders to men in uniform, I get real nervous.”

“Politics.”

With a grunt, Conroy flicked ash into the smudged ashtray next to his beer. “Some Washington type – and I mean D.C. not state of – has been camped by a radio, waiting for me to call in every time you change heading.”

Without looking away from the other man, Jake took a drink. The expression of distaste he wore could have been due to the lukewarm beer, but it wasn’t. He was thinking about fairy dust and the fabled Amber Room.

“You don’t look surprised”, Conroy said.

“I don’t look like anything but what I am – pissed off and interested in equal parts. Did the suit say which branch of the government he works for?”

“No. He didn’t give me name, rank, serial number, or anything but a code name for this operation you don’t need to know. He could be military. The twenty-two-foot Bayliner hanging on to your wake – the one with the blue canvas – is owned by a navy captain based at Whidbey.”

“Was he driving it?”

“Couldn’t tell. The kid at the helm looked too young to be a captain.”

“Maybe we’re just getting old.”

Conroy blew out smoke. “Hell of a thought.”

“Or the boat could be on loan to the suit brigade”, Jake said, “complete with an enlisted navy driver.”

Abruptly Conroy stubbed out his cigarette, as though impatient with himself for being addicted. “The second boat, the beat-up little Bayliner driven by an amateur, is a local rental. I didn’t get the name of the renter, but I can.”

“Don’t stick your neck out. Tomorrow I’ll make sure I get close enough to look over the competition. I may recognize him.”

“A local boy, huh?”

“I hope so, but I wouldn’t bet a ruble on it.”

Conroy said something under his breath and looked at the dead cigarette with a combination of irritation and regret.

“If you have to board the non-navy Bayliner”, Jake added softly, “don’t take anything for granted. The corpse with the Third World dental work was a Russian killer. Where there’s one, there’s usually at least two.”

“Nice folks you run around with.”

“It’s a brave new world over there. You work with the survivors. The other people aren’t buying and selling anything anymore.”

Conroy shook his head. “I can’t wait to find out who was driving the third boat.”

Jake sat up straighter. “What third boat?”

“The Olympic with the big black dip net hanging next to the radar and the name
Tidal Wave
on the side. It could have been just a fisherman curious about who else was chasing salmon, but he looked you over with the binoculars real good. He looked over both Bayliners, too.”

“Who was the boat registered to?”

“I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

“Try me.”

“One of the Russian immigrants who settled around here two years ago. Vasily Baskov. I’ve checked Vasily before. I know what he looks like. He wasn’t driving the Olympic.”

“You’re right. I don’t like it.”

Conroy picked up the half-smoked cigarette, lit it, and made a face at the taste. Even so, he kept on smoking.

“What did the driver of the Olympic look like?” Jake
asked.

“Male, about my height and weight, more blond than I am. He had a line in the water but never checked it.”

“Then he wasn’t a fisherman. Anything else?”

“There was at least one other person inside the cabin. He was too coy for me to get a good look at and I had orders to keep you in sight.”

“Anything else?”

“The guy’s an okay boat driver, but nothing special. He hasn’t figured out how to handle Puget Sound’s short chop
yet.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’re going to shake his fillings loose, aren’t you?” Conroy asked, smiling thinly.

Jake’s smile wasn’t the one that comforted people. “Did you see anyone else who might have been too interested in me for my own good?”

“Just the pretty lady. Is she really Kyle Donovan’s sister?”

“She really is.”

“Does she know why you’re interested in her brother?”

“No.”

Conroy shook his head. “Well, shit happens, I guess. She looked like a decent person.”

“Stubborn, too.”

“She likes you.”

Jake looked at his beer. It was as flat and sour as he felt. “She’ll get over it as soon as she finds out why I signed on to help her.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet she will. Does she have a temper?”

“Amen.”

“Should be interesting.”

“Not for me.”

Smiling faintly, Conroy picked up his glass, drank until a swallow or two remained, then set the glass down with a thud. His cigarette hissed when it hit the flat beer.

“If I hear anything that might help”, he said, standing up, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Don’t say anything over my phone that you don’t want your superiors to know.”

For the first time Conroy looked shocked. “Is it that bad?”

“If it isn’t already, it will be.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a million bucks worth of amber.”

“Half a million, plus change, is what I turned over to Donovan International’s rep – Kyle Donovan.”

“Would that much amber fit in the
Tomorrow?”

“Not comfortably. Why?”

“My orders are to board you once a day, or whenever the goddamn suit grabs his phone and says the word. It sounds to me like they’re expecting you to pick up something.”

“Fairy dust.”

“What?”

Jake just shook his head. “Someone upstairs has been bitten by the lost treasure bug.”

“What does that
mean?”

“You know what the Amber Room is?”

“No.”

“With luck, it will stay that way. Good-bye, Bill. And thanks. From now on stay as far away from this foul-up as you can.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

“To keep”, Jake said softly. “When the suits question you about our little chat, tell them what they already know.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re old friends, and you’re the kind of stiff-necked, honorable man who doesn’t like screwing friends on orders from men in suits. So you met me, we had a beer, and I told you I thought Kyle might be hiding out in the San Juan Islands but I hadn’t found any trace of him or the amber. Then Honor Donovan showed up and I signed on with her, figuring she had a better line on Kyle – dead or alive – and the missing amber than I did. You listened to me and decided that whatever I was doing was nothing you wanted any part of. You left. End of story.”