Tourist Trapped (11 page)

Someone named Marty had sent Trent a contact for a deep sea fishing charter a week prior. A Hector Hernandez and a boat called the Ocean Fox.

“Here’s one from a Hernandez,” Chad said. The message contained a confirmation for a fishing charter on December sixth. “Finally, we know where they went on Sunday.” He high-fived Amanda. “Let’s see where the Ocean Fox takes us.”

FOURTEEN

Saturday December 12, Midday

Finally a lead
they could pursue…but not yet. Knowing the boat charters wouldn’t return to land for a few hours, Amanda had suggested they hike to The Forum Mall to investigate the nightclubs. Maybe they’d pick up a story or two to flesh out what occurred prior to the disappearance—considering Trent’s overactive flirtation gland, someone had to remember him.

Although the fishing trip offered a trail, she doubted it led to the captors. “Cooper, do you think something happened to them on the boat or afterward? If a couple went missing on a charter, wouldn’t the police know about it?”

“I’m thinking the same thing. Maybe Trent scheduled an evening rendezvous with the guy he met at Buho’s—or the thugs caught up with the couple en route to the hotel.”

A kidnapper may have posed as a taxi driver and once Trent and Rebecca entered the vehicle, other goons could have jumped in. Amanda imagined the feel of a cold, steel barrel of a Beretta jammed against her sister’s temple and the corresponding terror.

Stop it. Focus on the facts.
Amanda needed to push aside her emotions and keep an objective eye. Thoughts marinated in worry would muck up her analytical abilities.

She concentrated on her surroundings to clear her mind. Cooper wore a pair of Birkenstock sandals. At least he didn’t pair them with black socks, so merely a touch of dork. Regardless of his fashion challenges, Cooper’s geek streak steadily moved them forward.

“How did you get into their laptop—and how did you find Trent’s passwords?” Amanda asked.

“Most people use obvious passwords—like Rebecca’s for Facebook—and assume they can hide a password file on the system with a misleading name. I ran a search on size and presto. It took about ten minutes to log into their laptop and another five to find the file.”

Who was this Cooper guy? There had to be more to him than a—what was it? A DB8 administrator? Or was it DB2? Hell, maybe he was an R2-D2—even she knew that one. “So why the sleuthing on the side?”

“Nope. Not until this is all over and we have a couple of cold beers in front of us.”

“Not even a hint?”

“El zippo.”

“As long as you’re not some double agent, I guess I’m okay waiting. But I have to confess, in all my years of hanging with the geek squad, this is the first time it paid off.”

Cooper’s eyebrows rose to the rim of his baseball cap. “Geek squad? You?”

“Three of my amigos live in your old world. Lauren’s my dearest friend—my Cancun buddy—and the other two, Dylan and Terry, come a close second.”

“You’ve been known to socialize with members of the techie tribe? And you admit it?”

“Only to another card-carrying member.”

“I noticed the picture of you at the Frog and Fox. It’s a popular place for those of my ilk.”

“They loved that dive and used to drag me there a couple of times a year. After each excursion, I incinerated my clothes and showered for a week to exorcise the stench of grease. But, over the years, the place has grown on me.”

They passed nondescript shops—drugs and liquor—and a reservations center for day trips to places such as Xcaret and Xel-há.

“Um, I was wondering, does Lauren knit?” Cooper said.

“What?”

“Your friend, Lauren, is she big into knitting?”

“What in the world—of all the questions to ask—what does knitting have to do with technology?” The feeling came back. She spun around, looking for the source of her unease.

“Boss, what is it?”

“Sometimes I swear we’re being watched.” She scanned her surroundings. Again, no one acted suspicious. “Never mind, it must be jitters. Family members being held for ransom doesn’t happen to me every day.”

Cooper and Amanda passed one massive hotel after another on their trek along Kukulcan. The structures sat atop the land like Egyptian pyramids, so immense they could be seen for miles, if others didn’t obstruct the view. Palm trees and lush grass surrounded the imposing structures, and many touted explosions of flowers that filled the breeze with scents of hibiscus and jasmine.

“Impressive buildings,” Cooper said.

“Most of these structures are built by hand. Every wall is erected through sweat and muscle. The people of Cancun work hard.”

Cooper paused and looked up at a ten-story building. “That’s incredible.”

A bus stopped at the corner and a mix of tourists and residents boarded.

“What’s the transit system like?”

“The buses are clean, cheap and come often.”

Lauren and Amanda usually stayed far enough north in the hotel zone to walk to most places, and the occasional bus ride to a destination barely took fifteen minutes. It had been many years since she rode long distances on mass transit. Not since Miguel. “I spent a lot of time on the bus when I used to stay in the southern area of the hotel zone.”

“In ‘the other life?’”

“Yeah, that one. I’d encounter every kind of tourist imaginable and usually some associated drama. Around the edges of the activity, locals would slip on and off the bus, heading to their shifts at the hotels or restaurants, or returning home after work. On Sundays, families rode the bus to a beach next to Casa Maya where they spent the day, the kids building sandcastles and playing in the water.”

Life in another time, when she snuggled next to Miguel on the hard plastic seats to ride toward some adventure. Loving every moment in Cancun. Loving Miguel.

Silly. Insipid. Young.

They neared the Forum area and the number of tourists strolling the street increased. Night owls had awakened to log a few hours of sedate activities before another evening of hard partying. In a couple of hours the buses and boats from day trips would unload guests who, after a shower and a drink or two, would also venture onto the streets—or as Cooper alluded to, the street—of Cancun.

While Cooper had been hacking, Amanda had checked out the photos from Ian. He had caught another influential member of the Ag Committee hot and sweaty and pumping his manhood into a bored looking hooker with her legs up in the air, the guy’s belly, pendulous above her. Amanda pitied the whores and the wives, the women these powerful men chewed up and spit out like cheap bubble gum.

“Ian’s starting a collection of Ag Committee adulterers. I can’t wait to see who turns up next. Any news from Art?”

“Not yet. I’ll follow up with him in a few days. Give him some time to dig into the corruption while we focus on saving a couple of lives.”

* * *

“Do you think
we’ll get a death threat at one of the discos? I’m hoping that was just part of the Isla Mujeres experience,” Amanda said as she and Cooper neared the nightclubs.

“I’d sleep a little better if we could bypass any warnings about slit throats today,” Cooper said.

Bulldog Cancun rose ahead of them, the first in a row of nightclubs she wanted to investigate. A beer truck sat in the unloading area. Amanda and Cooper tailed the delivery man and wandered through the building until they found an enormous auditorium. Speakers the size of steamer trunks hung high above, and the stench of stale beer and cigarettes filled the air. A cleaning crew swept up plastic cups, confetti and lord knows what. The bright lights made it difficult to imagine the cavernous room filled with beer-swilling drunkards.

“Is that a hot tub?” Cooper said.

“Probably better described as an incubator for every disease imaginable.” She walked over to one of the sweepers, a young girl. “Perdón, where do I find the manager—um, dónde el manager?”

She pointed at a man on the stage.

“Gracias,” Cooper said.

Normally throngs of partiers crowded at the foot of the stage. One large, writhing, drinking mass of humanity that sane mortals avoided. It felt odd to walk down the center aisle without enduring multiple jabs in the ribs and a daiquiri spilling down the front of her sundress.

“Excuse me, sir? Could you help us?” Amanda said.

The man squatted down at the edge. “How so?”

She handed him a picture of Rebecca and Trent from Señor Frog’s. “My sister and her husband are missing and we’re trying to trace their steps. Could we leave a picture of them with you to show your staff? If anyone remembers anything, there’s a contact number on the back.”

He took the photo. “No problem.” The man stood up. “Good luck.”

Amanda and Cooper did the same at The City, Coco Bongo and Dady Rock. They stopped at Dady O, and tracked down the manager.

She handed him the picture.

“This guy, I remember him. I didn’t see her, but he definitely was here.”

“Do you recall which night?” Amanda said.

“One minute.” The fellow disappeared into an office and emerged with a clipboard. He paged through a number of forms and scanned each one. “Here it is—last Saturday.” He pointed to an entry on the sheet. “Your pal tried to pick up the girlfriend of a biker dude from Texas. Instead of apologizing and backing off, he took on the guy—twice his size—and ended up knocked senseless. We called the ambulance, but this guy refused to go with them. They treated him and had to release him. He babbled about having a date with destiny the next day. We figured he was so stinking drunk he didn’t even know the day of the week.”

Cooper pulled off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair. “This is becoming stranger by the moment. A date with destiny? I doubt he’s talking about reeling in a marlin.”

Amanda sighed. “Damned peculiar.”

A violin began to play in her bag, a call from Jaz.

“Amanda, is Liam Evans working one of your cases?”

“Evans? Who is he?” Amanda said.

“Chad’s officemate—I came by to finish a couple of things and I caught him snooping around your desk. He claims he stopped in to pick up a file for one of your cases. He had a key to your office.”

“Jaz, change the locks immediately—and get him away from Cooper. This guy’s trouble. Notify Schaefer in security that we have a mole.”

* * *

“I’m not surprised
Jasmine nabbed Evans sniffing around one of our cases.” Chad said. He followed Amanda to the water’s edge, where a throng of tourists wandered the row of piers. “My officemate is too ambitious for his own good.”

“I wish I knew what he was after,” Amanda said. “Smarmy little pissant. I know the type, eager to get ahead without delivering anything of value to the firm.”

Crew members unloaded the day’s catch from the fleet of charter boats. “Now that’s a lot of fish,” Chad said. Fishermen slapped each other on the back and admired the red snapper, amberjack and grouper laid out on the docks, next to each watercraft. On shore, two shipmates hoisted a shark for a photo op. A crowd gathered and congratulated the proud angler, who stood about two feet shorter than his trophy.

“Wow, I didn’t realize deep sea fishing was so popular,” Amanda said.

Photographers made their way down the piers, capturing the moment for each tourist. For a mere twenty bucks, the day could be revisited ad infinitum. A framed photo on the office desk to remind these folks of the short but heady experience of taking on a beast of the sea. A day spent with their primal side, to balance out the string of months of conforming with audits, budgets and annual goals.

“I prefer to let the fish remain in the ocean. Snorkeling and scuba diving are more my style—you know, live and let live,” Amanda said.

“Don’t you eat fish?”

“I do, but it’s hard to keep track. Some species are being depleted, others contain high levels of mercury, and it’s a crapshoot if you should eat farm raised versions. Sometimes it’s easier to order tofu.”

“Tofu? I think I‘d prefer the mercury.”

“So that’s what happened.”

He wanted to call her a smart-ass, but he reported to her. He eyed up the flurry of activity around the boats. Each crew hustled to care for the yachts and their clients. “Do you see the Ocean Fox anywhere?”

Amanda shaded her eyes against the low sun. “Where do we start? There are so many boats and we don’t know what it looks like.”

A sandy-haired boy lifted two fish almost as big as himself. Chad remembered his fishing trips with Jason—wouldn’t his son get a kick out of hooking one of these babies? By god, Chad was going to get his kids back, damn it.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “Now I’m feeling it.” He inspected the adults milling about. “We’re somebody’s quarry, but I can’t pinpoint who’s following us.”

They weaved their way down one of the piers, tiptoeing around the trophy fish and squeezing by crowing tourists. A man whose dark, leathery face reminded Chad of dried prunes, stood on a boat deck, patting the shoulder of one of the tourists and congratulating him on the impressive barracuda he held up for a snapshot.

“Señor, can you tell us where we can find the Ocean Fox?” Chad said.

The smile faded from the rough features and the sailor hopped onto the dock. “Why do you want to know?”

Great, another death threat’s on its way
. “Her sister and husband booked a charter on the Ocean Fox last Sunday and they disappeared.”

“Hector’s missing, too. We haven’t seen him or the Ocean Fox in almost a week.”

* * *

“You knew the
Ocean Fox went missing the same day as Rebecca and Trent?” Amanda said, rising a few inches off of the seat across from Lieutenant Rodriguez. “And the possibility that the two incidents might be related never penetrated that titanium-hard, bony mass surrounding what little gray matter you have? Is this a second career for you—are you brand new to the force? Should we ask for an officer with some experience—and common sense—to handle this case?”

Chad cringed.
So much for using honey instead of vinegar.

The policeman squared his shoulders and set his jaw. “Señora. We get missing person reports for tourists all the time and usually the individual turns up by noon the next day, sporting a hell of a hangover. Most of them tell us they woke up in an unfamiliar room and couldn’t figure out how to get back to their hotel. Besides, we had two other missing person reports the same day. How would I know which tourist might be associated with an AWOL charter boat?”