Covert Pursuit (7 page)

Horatio’s bushy silver eyebrows rose nearly to his thinning gray hairline. “Body?”

Obviously Decker hadn’t shared everything. Interesting.

Horatio turned to peer at Decker. “What is this about a body?”

Red faced, the chief said, “There was no body. I searched the area extensively and found—” he gave Angie a pointed, hard glare “—nothing.”

Angie focused on Horatio. “What about the armed men in the cove? Are they in your employ?”

Edmund spoke up. “Of course they are. We employ a small army of highly trained and highly legal
security experts. You would not believe the type of people who would like nothing better than to bring my grandfather and his empire down.”

“Yeah, right. Or maybe the old man is Picard. Or maybe one of the grandsons?”

Angie tried to concentrate on the conversation with the people in front of her rather than the one in her ear. “So each of the men in your employ are licensed to carry?”

“Yes,” Edmund said.

“The guns I saw weren’t legal weapons. How do you explain that?” she asked.

Erik frowned. “I’ll bring that up with the head of our security team.”

“Who would that be?”

“Who would that be?” Angie repeated Jason’s question.

“Enrique Morsi,” Edmund said. “He came highly recommended.”

“Good job, Angie.”

Jason’s approval warmed her.

“Please, please,” Karla finally spoke, her velvety voice soft yet commanding. “This talk of guns and security is upsetting. We invited the detective here for lunch. Please, everyone, sit.”

“Quite right. Please, Detective Carlucci, have a seat,” Horatio invited and motioned for Erik to pull out her chair. “When our meal is finished, the boys will give you any and all information you require to appease your sense of duty.”

“Well, well. How accommodating.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated before sitting. “Would you mind if I freshen up before we eat?”

“Of course,” Karla said and waved a hand toward the butler who hovered near the edge of the door. “Fred, please show the detective to the powder room.”

“Right this way,” Fred said with a stately bow.

“What are you doing?”

Angie ignored the question as she followed Fred down the hall, through the entryway and down another long hall. Her gaze searched the ceiling corners and fixtures for hidden cameras. She didn’t detect any.

Though she passed several closed doors, a set of closed double doors intrigued her. The den?

At the powder room, she waited for Fred to disappear from view back down the hall before she headed back to the double doors.

“What are you doing? Angie, you’re going to be caught. Don’t go in there.”

“Shh,” she hissed as she pushed open the doors. The room indeed was an office, with large picture windows overlooking the side yard. In front of the windows stood a large cherry-wood desk and leather captain’s chair. She closed the door behind her and hurried to the desk.

“WHAT are you doing?”

Flinching at the loudness of his voice, she said, “Looking. And stop talking so much. You’re bugging me.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Nonsense,” she replied and took a tissue from the square box sitting on the corner. Using the tissue to keep from leaving fingerprints, she opened drawers. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Something to make sense of the body bag and the illegal weapons.

“Well, if you’re going to do this, then at least make sure the camera is recording the contents of the drawers and the desk. What’s that beneath the file folder?”

She abandoned the drawer to move aside the file folder labeled Sanchez/Rodriquez lying on top of the desk. “A desk calendar.”

She skimmed her finger over the dates. On the day she’d seen the body bag dump there was a notation, “blasters p/u.”

“What do you think this means?”

“I don’t know. Pick up the file again. Flip through it.”
She slowly did as asked, to allow the camera to record the content. From what she could tell, they were photocopies of old handwritten pages, perhaps from a journal. Why did Jason want to have a record of them?

“You better get back.”

“You’re right.” She laid the folder down. Another notation on the calendar caught her attention but she didn’t take the time to ponder its meaning. She had to get back. They would be wondering what was taking her so long.

Heart pounding, she cautiously opened the study
door and peered out. The hall was clear. She slipped out of the room and shut the door just as Fred rounded the corner.

“Ah, there you are. Mr. Corrinda was becoming worried,” Fred intoned with dripping censure.

“Thank you, Fred,” Angie said with a smile and glided past him. Just before entering the dining hall, she whispered to Jason, “Now you be quiet.”

“Ma’am?” Fred said as he reached past her to open the door.

“It’s so quiet here. I can hardly hear the ocean,” she said quickly to cover herself.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Angie rejoined the Corrindas and noticed that Decker’s seat was empty. Her face must have shown her surprise.

“Samuel had to get back to work,” Karla said, her gaze demure, and yet there was a calculating shimmer in the green depths.

Without commenting, Angie took her seat, thanking Erik, who’d jumped up to pull out her chair.

A small cart laden with plates of fruit and pastries had been wheeled beside the dining table. As soon as she sat a plate was set in front of her filled with delicious-smelling eggs Benedict.

The conversation while they ate was congenial, with Mr. Corrinda regaling them with stories of his great-great-grandfather founding the island and the town of Loribel.

“Where did the name
Loribel
come from?” Angie
asked as she settled back, her appetite more than satisfied even if her professional curiosity wasn’t.

“Named after my great-great-grandfather’s ship, the
Loribel
. You see, Sanchez Corrinda was captain of the
Loribel
flying under the Spanish flag and carrying the dowry of a English noblewoman to her betrothed, a Spanish prince. When the waters turned bad, Sanchez made to anchor in the New World to await the storm, only to be attacked by the pirate Rodriquez.”

“Aha. I knew that name sounded familiar.”

Angie leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair and put her hand near her ear, wishing she could keep Jason from commenting. “And what happened to the
Loribel?
”

Erik said, “There are some who say that Rodriquez sank the
Loribel
and took the dowry to the Caribbean, where he wasted the gold on wine and women.”

“Ah, that’s what everyone thinks,” Horatio said with a gleam in his eyes.

“You don’t believe he did?” Angie asked.

“I know he didn’t. Rodriquez died a poor man, all right. Not because he spent the treasure. As I said, the weather had turned bad. The
Loribel
did sink, but Rodriquez sailed away empty-handed because my great-great-grandfather managed to escape with the dowry and washed up on the shores of this island. For hundreds of years my ancestors have searched Loribel Island looking for the treasure Sanchez buried.”

“Interesting story, but irrelevant.”

“How do you know this?” Angie asked, the hand
written pages flashing in her mind. She couldn’t wait to see what they said.

“The story was passed down through the generations. My great-great-grandfather couldn’t read or write but he made sure his children could. On his deathbed, he dictated his life’s story to his youngest son.”

“Can we get back to the matter at hand? Guns? Picard?”

“I’m very interested in this story,” Angie answered Jason aloud. “It sounds like the premise for a movie.”

Horatio snorted. “Where do you think the Hollywood types got the idea?”

Angie smiled and found herself enjoying this old man. “Was the island populated when Sanchez landed here?”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes. There was a Native American tribe living on the island. Sanchez married one of the tribe’s princesses. He used the dowry to claim the land and founded the town. He then buried the rest of the treasure in fear that Rodriquez would come back looking for it.”

Remembering the tunnel she’d seen in the side of the cliffs, she asked, “Did Sanchez tell his son where he’d buried the treasure?”

Horatio gave a beleaguered sigh. “Unfortunately, no.” Then he brightened and gave his grandsons a sidelong glance. “But we think we may know where it is, though.” From the breast pocket of his linen shirt he produced a round gold coin and offered it for her inspection. “We found this in the side of the hill.”

Taking the coin, she marveled at the piece of history in her hand. “This is real?”

“Yes, we’ve had it authenticated.” He took the coin back and redeposited it into his pocket.

“So you’re hunting treasure,” she stated.

“That’s why the armed security. They think the treasure is in the cove. This has nothing to do with Picard.”

Palpable disappointment echoed in Jason’s voice. Sympathy twisted around Angie’s insides like the jasmine winding around the trellises on the outside of the Corrindas’ house. She understood how much Jason wanted to find the gunrunner and bring him to justice. Though the look in his eyes and the note of hate in his voice when he’d talked of Picard made Angie almost glad they hadn’t found the man.

She really didn’t want to see Jason do something that could ruin his life.

A
deluge of rain fell as Angie left the Corrinda estate. She was no closer to finding Picard than before. But at least now she understood why the Corrindas had an army of armed men and their purpose. To guard the site where Horatio and his grandsons believed the treasure to be hidden.

But the question remained, what had been in that black bag that she’d seen dumped in the ocean? If not a body, then what?

Up ahead, Jason emerged from the tree line, now wearing the rain slicker with the hood pulled over his face. She pulled the car to the side of the road and he climbed in. Rainwater dripped onto the seat.

“That was a complete waste of time,” he stated glumly.

She peeled the earpiece from her ear and slipped into the pocket of her jacket. “So you didn’t find Picard yet. If he’s here on the island, you will.”

Angie drove on toward his condo.

“Yeah, from your lips to God’s ears,” he said.

She slanted him a glance. “Have you prayed about it?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Every day for the past six months. I don’t think God is listening.”

“Just because you haven’t received an answer doesn’t mean He’s not listening.” She slowed at a stop sign and turned to face him fully. “You know there’s a Bible verse that talks about time from God’s perspective.”

Amusement danced in his gaze. “Really?”

“Yes, really. It basically says that to God, a day is a thousand years, and a thousand years is a day. I think the point being, time, as we humans understand the concept, is irrelevant. God moves when He deems the time to be right and always to our benefit.”

“You sound as if you really believe that,” he said, peering at her with curiosity in his eyes.

Sadness for his obvious doubts about her faith—and, she suspected, about his own—flooded her. She tried for some levity as she eased the car through an intersection. “What? You think I’m just giving you lip service? Of course I believe it.”

He turned to stare out the window. “I wish I could be so sure. Garrett had faith like yours.”

The pain in his voice packed a wallop. He was still taking his friend’s death hard. Angie reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Faith isn’t so hard. It’s really coming to terms with our own inability to control life and knowing, believing, there is a loving God who can control everything.”

He looked back at her and took her hand in his. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Warmth from his skin sent ribbons of heat up her arm to burn in her cheeks. Forcing herself to concentrate on driving with one hand, she turned the car into the parking lot of Jason’s condo and halted in a space near the walkway.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Come up. We can look at the pictures from Corrinda’s office. At least the treasure story is a bit interesting.”

She nodded. He released her and climbed out. She followed him to his condo. Once inside, he removed the button camera from her jacket. Then he hooked up the handheld device he’d been using to a USB cable attached to his laptop. Within moments, they were watching video of her visit with the Corrindas.

When they reached the part where she’d entered the office, he slowed the frames down. The first desk drawer was uninteresting, filled with normal office stuff: pens, stapler, scissors. The other two drawers were deeper and filled with hanging file folders.

The desk calendar came into view. “What do you think the notation about the blasters means?” Angie asked, staring at the screen. “And it’s on the date I saw that boat dump what I still believe was a body bag.”

“I believe you saw a body bag, but like I said before, I’m doubtful there was a
body
in it. No way would a boatload of men chase us away from a dead body. More likely drugs, guns or even explosives considering the work being done in the cove’s tunnel.”

She frowned, not liking the eerie sensation stealing over her. “That was an awfully big and heavy bag.”

“Enough C-4 to blow the whole island to kingdom come.”

“Or at the very least a big hole in the side of the cliff. But how can they be using explosives without anyone noticing?”

“If they timed their blast to coincide with the storm, anyone who heard the boom would just assume the noise was thunder.”

“I’m not liking this,” she said. A bad feeling rooted itself in the pit of her stomach. What if something went wrong and the Corridinas brought the whole side of the cliff down on themselves? What a rescue nightmare that would be.

On the computer screen, the images of Horatio Corrinda’s journal entries appeared on the computer screen. Jason stilled each page and printed them.

He was about to shut the video off when Angie said, “Wait. Look at this.” She pointed to the screen, her finger over the desktop calendar.

Jason highlighted the area and enlarged the view. The word
Mabuto
and a time written in bold strokes appeared on a dated square.

“Mabuto,” Angie read aloud. “What do you think it means?”

When Jason didn’t reply she turned to find him staring transfixed at the screen. “Sounds like a Congolese name.” He turned to pin her with an excited
look. “My gut tells me something is going down at the cove in two days. And we’re going to be there.”

Two days later, after careful planning and consulting a topographical map, Angie and Jason set out by boat to scout the best position for the surveillance of the Corrindas’ private cove via the ocean and the beach to the west of the rock barrier. Unfortunately, the weather also decided not to play nice by brewing another tropical storm and threatening to turn into a full-blown hurricane. Jason quelled any nervousness about the weather. The mission was a go no matter what.

But he’d given Angie another chance to bail before they left the marina. She’d declined.

Despite the increasingly choppy water, Jason maneuvered the
Regina Lee
over the ocean to a short dock along a stretch of beach meant to be used by day picnickers. The Corrindas’ private cove wasn’t visible from the dock since the protruding land formation of rocks and foliage made a neat blockade. He cut the engine and coasted toward the wooden dock.

Angie stood beside him beneath the canopy over the helm, which provided little shelter from the slanting rain and whipping wind. He wore a waterproof, camouflage rain suit and had provided Angie a matching one. It clung to her in the wind, the green-and-brown-patterned hood revealing only the white oval of her face and her wide eyes and ruby cheeks.

“I’m going to jump onto the dock. I’ll need you
to throw me the rope,” he said. He moved to the side of the boat.

Just then a big swell lifted the boat. Angie stumbled into his arms. For a moment they stood toe to toe, her big brown eyes liquid pools he’d gladly drown in.

All around them the waves crashed. The boat bobbed and the wind howled, but for a brief moment it was as if they stood beneath a glass dome protecting them from the elements and nothing mattered beyond their beating hearts.

For two days, they’d talked, discussed and prepared together, and each moment spent in her company etched itself on Jason’s heart. He’d come to enjoy this woman’s sharp wit and agile mind. Her loyalty and bravery were admirable traits, but the flashes of vulnerability drew him in. As tough and capable as Angie was, Jason sensed there was a woman inside whose polished exterior longed to be cherished. And against his better judgment, he longed to be the one to cherish her.

The boat bumped against the dock. The reverberation knocked Jason slightly off balance. He reached for Angie’s shoulders to steady them both. She blinked. Her lips parted and her eyes beckoned him closer.

He didn’t even try to stop the impulse overwhelming him. He dipped his head. She drew in a sharp intake of breath just as his mouth covered hers. She was warm and pliant in his arms. It would be so easy to forget their purpose and just lose himself in the moment.

But the knocking of the port bow against the wooden planks demanded attention and forced him to realize his foolishness. Romance and undercover work didn’t mix. Letting himself get caught up in emotions could get them killed.

Pulling free from the kiss, he covered his lapse in self-control by flashing a grin at the disoriented glaze in her eyes.

“Steady now.” He eased his hands from her shoulders, ready to catch her if she wobbled.

Her gaze clearing, she stepped back and braced her feet apart. Color rode high on her cheeks. “The rope?”

From beneath the port-side bench, he pulled out a coiled, braided rope and handed it over to her. He then tossed three buoys over the side to buffer the boat against the wood before jumping onto the dock. He caught the rope she flung toward him. Quickly, using a round-turn two-and-a-half-hitched knot, he tied the port bow and the port quarter to the mooring posts.

Angie climbed from the boat without help, carrying the duffel bag they’d stuffed with all the necessary equipment they’d need for a stakeout and surveillance. He relieved her of the burden—grateful, she didn’t protest.

In tacit agreement, they headed down the beach to where the cliff jutted out to form a blockade to the cove. Keeping their heads bowed against the rain, they scrambled uphill, climbing over the boulders and through the thick foliage. The ground beneath their feet became slick mud as water sluiced off the leaves in little fountains.

Thorns of several sweet acacia bushes scratched at Jason’s pants and rain slicker. He glanced back to check on Angie. She trudged along, with no signs of slowing down. He smiled with satisfaction and admiration. She glanced up just then and smiled back. He felt the impact hit his solar plexus and smash into his spine.

Wow, he really needed to take a reality check. Getting emotionally involved with the pretty detective wasn’t something he could allow. He’d tried romance before with disastrous results. He didn’t want to hurt Angie.

Unfortunately, he had a feeling he was fighting a losing battle.

They neared the top of the hill and worked their way over the loose terrain of mud, rocks and inkberry plants to the other side of the hill from their boat where they could see into the cove below. Finding a relatively flat spot, he stopped and dropped to his haunches. Angie did the same.

“This looks like a good place,” Jason said, his voice carrying on the wind.

Angie nodded, her squinted gaze trained on the cove below.

Knowing they’d have a better view through the lens of binoculars and camera, Jason opened the duffel, shook out a camouflaged tarp and laid it on the ground. Then he handed Angie a pair of high-powered binoculars while he took out his long-lens camera, now wrapped tight in plastic wrap to protect its deli
cate internal parts from the pelting rain. Lying flat on his stomach, he positioned the lens for best coverage of the bay.

Far below, only one of the Corrindas’ boats, the
Courir le Soleil,
was moored at the dock. The cove was a hive of activity as men moved in and around the tunnel carved into the wall opposite Jason and Angie. Off to the side, more men stood beneath a canopy that provided some shelter from the raging storm. Waiting for what? Jason glanced at his watch. Nearly time.

“What’s this?” Angie said, tapping his shoulder and indicating seaward.

He swung the lens around to view a large, tri-deck motor yacht setting anchor out in the ocean directly facing the mouth of the cove. Jason let out a low whistle. The vessel reeked of money.

The mammoth boat listed with each wind-whipped swell but rode high enough to gently crest until the next one. Jason snapped off shots hoping to get some markers that could help identify the boat and its owner.

From the leeward side of the large vessel, the Corrindas’ other boat, the Bowrider, which had stopped them that first night, sped into view, entered the cove and headed for the dock. Jason continued to snap off photos, but the angle wasn’t right, so he couldn’t get a clear picture of the occupants. He’d have to wait until the boat moored.

Inside the cove, men scurried to the dock to help bring the Bowrider in. Lines were cast and tied off. Jason snapped off pictures as a tall black man wearing
white, loose-fitting pants and a lightweight windbreaker stepped off the boat onto the dock.

“Do you recognize him?” Angie asked.

Adrenaline pumped through Jason. “No. I’ll bet it’s Mabuto. His name didn’t ring any bells when I entered it into the database, but once I download his picture to Interpol we’ll know more.”

“Look,” Angie exclaimed. “Chief Decker and one of the grandsons.”

Jason widened the view on the lens to see two men emerge from the protective structure that connected the cove to the estate and greet Mabuto. There was no mistaking Decker. He wore a long rain slicker over his uniform but no hat to cover his silver hair. The other guy was younger, athletic-looking with a baseball cap pulled low obscuring his face, jeans and a rain coat.

“Decker, what are you up to?” Jason wondered aloud.

With rapt fascination, Jason watched through the lens as he continued to click off photos. The three men moved to the shelter of the canopy. Jason zoomed in for a tighter glimpse. After a moment, Mabuto produced a small pouch from the inside of his windbreaker.

Jason held his breath. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mabuto poured out the contents of the pouch into Decker’s outstretched hand.

“Are those…?” Angie trailed off, her voice echoing the disbelief and excitement Jason felt in his gut.

“Yeah, they are. Diamonds.”

Thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds glittered in Decker’s hand despite the cloudy and gray sky. They had to be conflict diamonds, smuggled out of the Congo or Sierra Leone or any number of other war-torn places throughout the continent of Africa. Blood diamonds, as some called them, because of the bloodshed the diamonds funded. Rage boiled in Jason’s gut. “A clear violation of the Neutrality Act.”

“Hey, hey, that’s the bag I saw.” Angie’s agitated voice brought Jason back to focus.

The Hispanic man, Hector Ramirez, carried the long black bag and laid it at the man’s feet. Mabuto bent, unzipped the container and peeled back the sides exposing something tightly shrink-wrapped with plastic. Obviously the wrapper had to be waterproof. Mabuto held out his hand. Ramirez offered him a switchblade. Another man opened an umbrella to cover Mabuto and the bag. With a long swipe, Mabuto cut through the plastic to reveal three long gleaming surface-to-air missiles. Seeming satisfied with the contents, Mabuto rezipped the bag and had it taken to his boat.