Assumed Identity (1993) (65 page)

The cruise Buchanan wanted to know about had occurred during February. He found a tape for that month, put it into a player, and pressed the 'on' button, making sure that the sound was off. The video quality was remarkably clear, even when the images had a greenish tint. The cruise had been well attended. Various shots of various locations showed guests in their most intimate, revealing, compromising positions. Oral sex and sodomy were especially popular. Buchanan eventually counted thirteen men and twelve women. The men - in middle age - had an overbearing manner, as if addicted to wielding power. The women were attractive, well dressed, and treated as if they were hookers. All the men and women were Hispanic.

Buchanan noticed an ear plug and inserted it into the television monitor. After adjusting the sound, he was able to hear what was on the tape. As he concentrated to translate the Spanish voices, he realized from comments they made that the women were indeed hookers and that the men were high-ranking members of the Mexican government. At once he realized something else. These tapes weren't intended merely for Drummond's voyeuristic pleasure.

Blackmail crossed Buchanan's mind at the same time as he reacted with shock to the sight of Maria Tomez on the screen. At least, he believed it was Maria Tomez. Thinking about doubles, he couldn't be sure. He needed to study the image carefully before he was convinced that it was definitely Maria Tomez and not Juana impersonating her. The night-vision lens tinted the image green. It showed what appeared to be the sun deck at the rear of the yacht. The angle was from above, downward, as if the camera had been hidden in an upper wall or beneath an elevated walkway. A digital display indicated that the time the tape had been made was 1:37 in the morning. The sound track was somewhat crackly. Nonetheless Buchanan was able to hear distant party music, a woman laughing faintly.

Maria Tomez, wearing an elegant, low-cut, evening gown, leaned against the stern's railing, her back to the camera, apparently watching the wake of the ship. A man spoke to her in Spanish, and she turned. A tall, slender, thin-faced, hawk-nosed, Hispanic male, wearing a dinner jacket, stepped into view. He spoke again. This time, Maria Tomez answered. The quality of the sound became better, presumably because Drummond had used a remote control to adjust the directional microphone hidden on the sun deck. 'No, I'm not cold,' Maria Tomez said in Spanish.

The camera zoomed in as the man approached her.

Chapter 13.

'My God,' Holly said. She watched the tape and felt sick. 'Jesus.'

Dismayed, Buchanan had sealed the tape in a plastic bag that he'd found in the room. Muscles rigid from tension, he had made a copy of the tape but otherwise left everything the way he had found it. Then he had locked the door behind him and crept down to the main deck. His head continued to ache all the while he'd climbed down the anchor chain, retrieved his mask and fins from where he'd tied them, and swam back to shore, this time on his back, keeping the tape above water.

The tape ended, and Holly continued to stare at the screen in disgust. 'God damn him to hell.' What she had seen on a video player that Buchanan had rented when he returned to the motel was the rape and murder of Maria Tomez. Or possibly the sequence was in the reverse - murder and then rape, if it was possible to rape, as opposed to violate, a corpse. 'Rape' implied overcoming someone's will whereas a corpse couldn't object to anything, and perhaps the latter was what the tall, slender, hawk-nosed man had liked, an absolute lack of resistance.

The man had approached Maria Tomez, asking again if she felt cold. He'd put his arm around her with the pretense of warming her. Maria Tomez had taken his arm away. The man had persisted, and Maria Tomez had begun to struggle. 'Now, now,' the man had said drunkenly, 'you must not be cold to me. I forbid it.' He had chuckled, pinning her with his arms, kissing her face and neck, trying to kiss the tops of her breasts all the while she squirmed and twisted her face from side to side and tried to push him away. 'Be warm,' he had said in Spanish. 'Be warm. I am warm. Can you feel it?' He had chuckled again. When she shoved at him, he had laughed and shaken her. When she slapped his face, he had punched her. She had spat at him. 'Puta,' he had said and struck her with an uppercut that jolted her up, then back, then down. As she toppled, he grabbed for her, his fingers catching the top of her gown, ripping, exposing her breasts. As the back of her skull hit the deck, he lunged and kept ripping, exposing her stomach, her groin, her thighs, her knees. He tore off her lacy underwear. For a moment, he paused. The camera showed Maria Tomez motionless, naked on her back on the deck, her dress spread out on either side like broken wings. The man's paralysis lasted another second. Abruptly he opened his belt, dropped his pants, and fell upon her. His breathing was rapid and hoarse. His buttocks kept pumping. Then he moaned and slumped and chuckled. 'Now do you feel warm?' She didn't answer. He nudged her. She didn't move. He slapped her again. When she still didn't move, he groped to his knees, grasped her face, squeezed her cheeks, twisted her head from side to side, and breathed more hoarsely. Urgently he stood, buckled his pants, glanced furtively around, lifted Maria Tomez to her feet.

And with an expression that combined fear with disgust, threw her overboard.

As Holly continued to stare in dismay at the static-filled screen, Buchanan stepped past her to shut off the VCR and the television. Only then did Holly move. She lowered her gaze and shook her head. Buchanan slumped in a chair.

'Was she dead?' Holly asked quietly. 'When he dropped her into the water?'

'I don't know.' Buchanan hesitated. 'He might have broken her neck when he hit her. She might have suffered a fatal concussion when her skull struck the deck. He might have smothered her while he was on top of her. But she might also have been in shock, catatonic, still alive when he threw her into the water. The son of a bitch didn't even take the trouble to make sure. He didn't care if she was alive. All he cared about was himself. He'd used her. Then he threw her away. Like a sack of garbage.'

The room was dark. They sat in silence for quite a while.

'So what happened next?' Holly asked bitterly. 'What do you figure?'

'The man who killed her probably thought he could convince people that she fell off the yacht. He was drunk, of course, and that would have affected his judgment in several ways. Either he would have had the false confidence to report having seen her fall. Or else a part of his mind would have warned him to go to his cabin, sober up, and seem as confused as everybody else when Maria Tomez was reported missing. Then he could have plausibly suggested that perhaps she'd been drinking, had lost her balance and fallen over the railing.'

'Except that Alistair Drummond knew the truth,' Holly said.

Buchanan nodded. 'He'd watched everything on the monitor in his private video-surveillance room. And a tape of a rape-homicide is so much more useful than oral sex, sodomy, and drug use when you want to blackmail a member of the Mexican government. Drummond must have been delighted. I imagine him going to her murderer, revealing what's on the tape, and arranging a coverup in exchange for certain favors. The initial stage wouldn't have been difficult. All Drummond needed to do was order his pilot to fly the yacht's helicopter to the mainland. Then Drummond could have told his guests that Maria Tomez had left the cruise early. They'd have no reason to suspect differently.'

'After that, though,' Holly said.

'Yes, after that,' Buchanan said. 'Drummond must have felt inspired when he thought of Juana. Perhaps Maria Tomez had told him about the clever way she had of avoiding tedious social events by using Juana to double for her. Perhaps Drummond found out another way. For certain, though, he did find out. He needn't have told Juana anything incriminating. All he had to do was explain that Maria Tomez wanted absolute privacy and offer Juana an irresistible amount of money to impersonate Maria Tomez for an extended period of time.'

'So complicated and yet so simple,' Holly said. 'If I weren't so disgusted, I'd call it brilliant.'

'But what does Drummond want from the person he's blackmailing?' Buchanan said. 'Obviously not money. Drummond's so rich it's hard to imagine that money alone would motivate him, especially the comparatively small amount that even a wealthy Mexican politician could give him. You're a reporter. Do you recognize the man on the tape?'

Holly shook her head. 'Mexico isn't my specialty. I wouldn't know one of its politicians from another.'

'But we can find out.' Buchanan stood.

'How?'

'We're going back to Miami.' His voice was like flint against steel. 'Then we're flying to Mexico City.'

Chapter 14.

'This is Buttercup.' Clutching the phone, speaking urgently, the husky-voiced woman used the code name she'd been assigned.

On the other end of the line, a man's sleep-thickened voice was tinged with annoyance. 'What time is.? Lord, it's almost five in the morning. I got to bed only an hour ago.'

'I'm sorry. This was the first chance I had to call.'

'They've been looking everywhere for you.' The man had said his name was Alan, although he was probably using a pseudonym.

'That's what I was afraid of. Is it safe to talk?'

'This call is being relayed from another phone,' Alan said. 'The two phones are linked by scramblers. Why are you calling me? I told you it had to be an emergency.'

'I'm with Leprechaun.' The woman used the code name they'd agreed upon.

'Yes. I assumed.'

'You have to understand. He's been telling the truth. What he's doing has no involvement with.' She tactfully didn't mention Scotch and Soda.

'I assumed that as well. I believe he genuinely wants out. It's his superiors who need reassurance.'

'But how?'

'It's a little late to ask that,' Alan said. 'You're part of the problem, after all. If you'd stayed away from him.'

'But in Washington, he came to me.'

'Same difference. You're together. Guilt by association. His superiors believe that the two of you reneged on your bargain not to publicize their activities.'

'This has nothing to do with their activities. How do I get that across to.? Should I phone them? Give me a number to call and.'

'No,' Alan said sharply. 'You'll only make things worse. They can instantly trace any call you make. You'd be guiding them to you.'

'Then what do I do?'

'Sever ties with Leprechaun,' Alan said. 'Go to ground. Wait until I tell you it's safe to reappear.'

'But that could take months.'

'True.'

'Damn it, I wish I'd never listened to you. When you approached me, I should have told you I wasn't interested.'

'Ah, but you couldn't,' Alan said. 'The story was too good to ignore.'

'And now it might get me killed.'

'Not if you're careful. Not if you stop making mistakes. There's still a way to salvage things.'

'You son of a bitch,' she said. 'You're still thinking of the story.'

'I'm thinking of approaching another journalist, who might be interested in telling your story. That would draw so much attention to you that they wouldn't dare make a move to have you eliminated. I could bring you in. The two of us could still get what we want.'

'What you want. All I want is a normal life. Whatever that is. Lord, I'm not sure anymore.'

'You should have thought of that before you accepted my information,' Alan said. 'But I repeat, if you're careful, if you do what I tell you, I think I can eventually bring you in safely. For now, go to ground. Assume another identity.'

'And what about Leprechaun?'

Alan didn't answer.

'I asked you, what about Leprechaun?' Holly said.

'Sometimes we can't get everything we want.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I never wanted this to happen. Really. I'd hoped that. He's a soldier. He'd understand more than you. Sometimes there are.'

'What?'

'Casualties.'

As Holly turned from staring at the phone in the booth down the lane from her room in the Key West motel, she saw a man's shadow next to ferns in the pre-dawn gray. In the numerous palm trees, birds began to chirp.

'I can't talk anymore,' Holly said into the phone.

'Trouble?' Alan asked.

'Let's just say I didn't win the Publisher's Clearing-House Sweepstakes.'

Holly set down the phone.

Buchanan stepped out of the shadows. Despite a pre-dawn breeze off the ocean, the air was humid.

'I thought you were taking back the wetsuit gear,' Holly said.

'I was. I paid the motel clerk to return it for me when the dive shop opens.' Buchanan stopped before her. 'Who were you calling?'

She glanced away from him.

'At least, you're not trying to lie,' Buchanan said. 'And at least, you had brains enough not to make the call from the motel room where there'd be a record on the bill. Not that it matters. The area's so small that automatic tracing equipment will tell our hunters we're in Key West.'

'No,' Holly said. 'The number I called is private. Your people wouldn't know about it.'

'So you say. In my business, I don't take anything for granted unless I do it myself. All phones are suspect. It must have been really important for you to make the call.'