Текст книги "Circle of Bones"

Автор книги: Christine Kling

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

Îles des Saintes

March 30, 2008

12:15 p.m.

It was another bitch of a hot day and Spyder’s fucking head was killing him. He’d managed to swipe a wallet out of a tourist’s beach bag yesterday, and he’d used the hundred euros he’d found inside to score some weed from the French wannabe Rastas with their blond dreads who hung out on the town beach. They’d passed around their jug of rum, too. It was some kind of island-made shit. Even the last doobie he smoked when he got up this morning hadn’t made the steel spikes in his brain go away. The Polaroid glasses he’d found on the boat were too big, and they did a lousy job of keeping out the sun’s glare. Spyder was getting sick and tired of hauling his ass up this hill and over to Marigot Bay to check on the fucking boats. They had the GPS tracker inside the bitch’s oars, but that asshole Thor wanted a phoned-in visual report on all three boats twice a day. He lit a cigarette, drew in a lungful of smoke, and blew it out through his nostrils. He woke up late this morning and dashed ashore to try to make his midday report. Didn’t matter. Nothing never changed.

Spyder reached the small dock and walked out to the end where he could see beyond the fishermen’s boats that were moored close in to shore. He saw the big white yacht that had entered the bay the day before – but the two boats he was supposed to be watching were gone.

“Shit,” he said, throwing the smoldering butt of his cigarette into the water. He ran off the dock and hurried farther down the beach for a better look into all the coves around the bay, but the change in vantage point did not change the facts. The doc and the bitch had got back to the island somehow and now they were gone.

Spyder turned around and started to run.

The inflatable dinghy was where Spyder had left it tied up at the town dock. He stepped into the boat, untied the painter, and yanked the cord to start the engine. He revved the engine and turned to round the big ferry boat at the end of the dock. That was when he saw the sleek, black Donzi tied alongside Fish n’ Chicks.

“Fuck,” he said aloud as he throttled back on the outboard. An ocean racing boat like that could only mean one thing. That asshole Thor or one of his goons was here. If it was Thor, he’d like to see what his face looked like after docking that sucker. Boat’s name was Fast Eddie and he could believe that baby was fast with her twin Merc sterndrives. Whoever came on that boat was already aboard Fish n’ Chicks and Pinky was in there, too. Much as Spyder wanted to turn around and wait ’til somebody left, he figured he couldn’t do that to his brother.

Spyder cut the engine and glided alongside the swim step. After tying up the dinghy, he climbed up to the aft deck. When he slid open the door to the main salon, he was already thinking that whoever it was should have money, and maybe he could get a cold beer.

Thor was sitting on the couch with his arms spread on either side atop the cushions.  His hair was messed up and his face looked a little white, so Spyder figured he’d driven the boat over from the big island on his own. He was lucky he made it. The dude was dressed like one of those guys in the ads for fancy watches that cost as much as a good boat. When Spyder came through the door, Thor lifted his left wrist and glanced at his own fancy watch.

Pinky stood in the galley holding a towel to the side of his face. Towel looked like it was full of ice cubes, and the skin under the towel was bright pink. His brother wouldn’t meet his eyes.

On the low glass coffee table in front of Thor he saw the black GPS box. The screen glowed blue, but Thor’s eyes were on him, not the screen.

“Nice boat you got out there,” Spyder said. “That your boat or a charter? You drive that here all by yourself?”

Thor crossed his legs and there wasn’t but one wrinkle on his pants – the crease straight down the front. For a minute Spyder wondered what Thor had looked like driving that black Donzi across the channel. Bet he almost crapped his fancy fuckin’ pants.

“Were you born a complete moron or did your mother drop you on your head?”

“What the –”

“Shut up. That was a rhetorical question. One only need look at your brother to know the answer. So, both boats are gone?” Thor asked.

Spyder nodded. He wanted more than anything to smash his fist into the asshole’s face, but this asshole owed him money, and Spyder knew from experience that men had a tendency not to pay after you hit them.

“I assumed as much. Half the day is gone, and you are just now returning with this news. You have no idea when they left, I assume.”

“Hey, you didn’t say we had to sit up all fucking night watching ‘em. We checked yesterday before dark and they was both there.”

Thor leaned forward and adjusted the screen on his GPS tracker. “We know she’s down at the south end of Dominica. Odds are he is, too.” He snapped the lid of the box closed and stood. “Let’s get moving.”

Spyder stood his ground in the middle of the salon. “We ain’t going nowhere ‛til we see some money,” he said.

Thor stepped out from behind the table and faced Spyder. “You are going to do what I tell you to do.”

“Hey man, it’s been four days since we bought that last food. It’s gone. We got no food, no beer, and none of your fancy wine neither. Boat’s gonna need both fuel and water. Me and my brother been working for you and your friends for more than a week now, and we ain’t been paid nothing. ‘Fore you go telling us what to do, you got to pony up, man.”

“Working?” Thor looked around the salon. A pair of jeans lay across the glass coffee table next to the GPS tracker, the ashtrays overflowed, and the galley countertops were invisible beneath the double layer of dirty dishes. “This boat looks like a garbage dump and judging from the smell in here, you’ve spent all your money on illegal drugs. I don’t pay for that kind of stupidity.”

“Fuck you,” Spyder yelled. “I ain’t stupid and I ain’t your boat nigger.”  Asshole could do his own work. Spyder headed for the sliding glass door.

He had no warning before something slammed into the back of his head. His knees buckled. He sprawled face first onto the carpet. Before he really understood what was happening, Thor’s fancy loafer slammed into his kidney. Spyder tried to yell fuck you again, but all that came out was another “ugh” as air was forced from his mouth by another kick. Spittle slid down his chin dripping onto the carpet. He started to push himself up onto his knees, when he felt hands come from behind and close around his neck. The hands yanked him up, straightening his back, though he was still on his knees.

Spyder had a perfect view out the glass door, blue water and white yachts, dark birds circling the sky. He had no air in him and those hands had cut off any hope of getting more. He struggled at first, flailing his arms, trying to strike at the body behind him, the body attached to the hands that now held his life in their iron grip. As he grew weaker he focused on those birds, vultures probably, circling over some dead thing. Flying away like he wished –

Then, he heard a thunderous bang and the hands released his throat as Thor was flung sideways. He heard the crash when Thor hit the glass coffee table, knocking it off the stand and shattering the glass. Then it was quiet except for the sound Spyder made as he gasped for air, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Over and above the noise of his own breathing, he heard a click. Followed by another click.

Spyder turned around. From the stairs that led down to the forward staterooms, Pinky came walking past the galley holding the stainless steel pistol in both hands, continuing to pull the trigger on the empty chambers. When he came within reach, Spyder stretched out his arm and took the weapon from his brother’s hands. He’d never checked to see if the magazine carried a full load.

Thor lay still on his right side next to the broken glass, and a pool of blood darkened the rug under his shoulder. The side of his face that had struck the table was covered with blood. The man’s eyes were closed, and Spyder hoped the fucker was dead.

Pinky got an arm under Spyder’s elbow and helped him to his feet. Spyder shrugged off Pinky’s assistance. His whole body hurt like a son of a bitch, but he’d had the shit kicked out of him before. It wasn’t the first time. And they needed to get the hell out of there. He knew that cops weren’t far off after the sound of a gunshot.

“I can walk. Let’s go,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Spyder stepped over Thor’s legs and headed for the sliding door. He turned to look for his brother. Pinky had stopped in the middle of the main salon and he was staring down at Thor. Spyder watched as Pinky slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out another magazine. He offered it to his brother.

Spyder shook his head. No more noise. The dude wasn’t going anywhere.  If he wasn’t dead already, he was gonna bleed out. It was time to get moving before the fucking French cops arrived. His brother reached down then and pulled the wallet from Thor’s back pocket. Then Pinky picked up the GPS black box off the glass covered carpet.

“Hey bro,” Spyder said as he slid open the glass door. “Come on. I always wanted to drive one of these fucking Cigarette boats.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Scott’s Head Bay, Dominica

March 30, 2008

1:00 p.m.

“You knew my father?” Cole asked as he shook the man’s small hand. The firm grip surprised him.

“Yes,” Michaut said. “He was a very persistent man. Typical English.”

Cole laughed. “I guess you did know him.”

“Please, sit down.” The old man dragged the chairs closer together. As he eased himself into the chair, he said, “We have much to talk about. I asked Julliette to bring us coffee.”

Cole looked at Riley, then back at the old man. “Mr. Michaut, we don’t have much time. There’s a man looking for us. Not a nice guy. I don’t want him to find you or your family.”

The old man nodded. “Mademoiselle,” he said looking at Riley’s face and neck. “He did this to you?”

Riley nodded.

“I understand. This will not take long. And please, call me Henri. It has been a long time since anyone called me by that name. Except your father. Like you, he wandered into my garden one day asking questions about the war. I did not know at the time that he would become a very dear friend.”

The back door to the house opened and the young woman came out carrying a tray with three glasses of ice water, mini cups of coffee, a bowl of sugar cubes and a small silver pitcher.

“That smells so good,” Riley said as she took a cup.

“My father didn’t make it easy to find you, Henri,” Cole said. He, too, took a cup and sat on the edge of a chair.

“Yes, that was to protect me.” Henri shook his head. “But when a man is ninety-two years old, there is not so much to fear. It is only for my family that I am afraid. I spent most of my life hiding here on this island, afraid they would find out that I knew their secrets. It was only when I met your father that I realized there was something I needed to do before I die. Something I needed to share. Your father said he would help me.”

“And now I will if I can.”

Michaut nodded. “As he said you would. Your father suspected something might happen to him after he wrote about the Surcouf. And he told me if that happened, then I was to expect you.”

Cole glanced at Riley and smiled. “For someone I only met once in my life, he knew me pretty well, I guess.”

“Your father said you are a good man. That you would do the right thing with all this. He said you are a scuba diver, and I need someone to dive down and retrieve what went down with Surcouf more than sixty years ago.”

“Are you saying you saw the Surcouf sink?” Riley asked.

“Oh yes,” the old man said with a broad smile that revealed several gaps where teeth should have been. The colored patch of skin on his cheek darkened. “I nearly went down with her.”

At first Cole wasn’t sure he had heard the man right. He set his coffee cup down on the small table. “You mean you were supposed to be on board for her fatal trip?”

“No, I was on board. I was the signalman on Surcouf’s last voyage, and I saw her go down.” He chuckled, then added, “From very close range.”

Cole started to speak but he didn’t know what to say. He felt Riley’s hand slip into his.

The old man continued to laugh. “You are very much like your father. He had the same reaction. He did not believe me at first.” Henri pointed to the coin hanging at Cole’s neck. “It was only when I produced that coin that he changed his mind.”

Cole reached for the coin and rubbed it with his thumb. “You gave him this?”

The old man nodded.

Cole struggled to wrap his brain around the idea that the man sitting before him had served aboard Surcouf. There was so much he wanted to know. But he knew that Diggory Priest was using every asset available to him to locate them. They didn’t have time for pleasantries. “Henri, this man who is looking for us right now. He wants something that is on Surcouf. We’re running out of time.”

“It will be easier if I tell you the story of that last day at sea. Then you will understand. I will make it as brief as I can.”

Cole saw Riley glance at her watch. But, from his many years of diving on wrecks, he knew how valuable it could be to know the events of that last day when he entered the wreck on the sea floor. Henri might be able to tell him exactly where to find what he was looking for.

“It was in February of 1942 and we had been at sea for five days. The men mutinied when we left Bermuda.” The old man told them the story of the bomb on board.

“Bomb?” Cole said.

“Cole,” Riley said, “let him tell it.”

“Yes,” the old man continued, “you see, they didn’t trust us. The Allies, that is. France had surrendered to the Nazis, and there were always rumors that Surcouf was refueling German U-boats and crewed by Nazi sympathizers. But the crew were not traitors; we were simply a bunch of French boys who were rounded up in London to crew the big sub. We had little training. There were three English on Surcouf when we left Bermuda, but on that last day, only one remained.”

“What happened?” Cole asked.

“That is a story for another day. Lieutenant Gerald Woolsey was the one who set the bomb. Woolsey told me the Allies no longer wanted to pay for the upkeep on this submarine with the Pacific war opening up. They wanted the world to think she was the victim of a Nazi U-Boat. He said he was only following orders. Woolsey was to set the bomb before we sailed and then leave with his secret documents. But the mutiny changed all that.”

The old man coughed a chest-rattling phlegmy cough, then reached for a glass of water and took a long drink. He set the water glass back down on the little table. “It was my job to bring food and drink to our English prisoner. During that last day, Woolsey told me about going to university in America and becoming a part of a secret organization. He said these men like war – not to fight, but to make money. He told me there were very secret papers in a diplomatic pouch in the safe in the radio room, and the Allies would sink Surcouf before letting them go to the Vichy government. Woolsey said these men had so much money and power, we could not hide Surcouf from them. He said they would come for us, and he was right. I took Woolsey to the captain, then retrieved the pouch. On the papers, I read the words Operation Magic. They were top secret decoded messages. When he read them, it was clear even Woolsey was shocked.”

The old man was trying to speak fast but his voice was growing hoarse. Henri took another drink. “A sailor came in then and told us that planes were coming.”

“What happened?”

“Everyone ran topsides. The captain told me to secure the documents. I took the waterproof bag from the lieutenant. He had already resealed it. I put it in the steel strongbox and placed the box in the bottom drawer of the captain’s desk.

“On the bridge, the Lieutenant explained the signals to me. We tried to signal the planes, but it was no good. They started shooting. I was resending my signals when I heard Woolsey call my name. I turned and saw I was alone on the bridge. Water was rising. Woolsey closed the hatch. I ran to it, screamed and pounded. In my pocket I had my knife, and I used it to beat on the metal hatch. I begged him to let me in.” The old man licked his lips before he continued. “The water came up around me, rushed up over me. Even under water I heard the planes roar overhead. I held on. The pressure of the water threatened to force my mouth open. I felt myself being dragged deeper.”

Henri took a deep breath. “So I let go. The turbulence spun me around and I nearly drowned. Then I saw the sunlight shining down through the water, and I swam towards the light.”

“They left you to drown?” Riley asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s awful, Henri.”

 “In reality, they saved my life. When I surfaced, I saw the planes tilting up in a wide turn. They came back over the path where Surcouf ran beneath the surface. I saw the small black shapes falling. They were one kilometer away when I heard the first explosion, saw the great upwelling of water and the fuel slick. Debris erupted at the surface along with many bodies, some men still moving, trying to swim. They waved their arms in the air, and I could hear their voices pleading for help.

“The American planes turned in another slow arc. They came back, their machine guns firing into the water, into the survivors. After that, nothing moved. I kept very still and they never spotted me. If I’d made it inside that hatch, I would have died with them.

“Once the planes were gone, I swam to the wreck site. The water was full of sharks tearing into the bodies. I expected to be eaten at any second. I found a piece of wood and began swimming toward the closest island which I now know is one of a group called Îles de la Petite Terre. I do not know why the sharks left me alone. Perhaps because there was so much food.

“When I reached the island, it was night and I was exhausted and cold. I spent three days on that island. I was near death when a fisherman found me. He was from Dominica and he took me home. He knew I was a sailor, but he kept my identity secret. Later, I married his daughter, and we told everyone my name was Jules and I came from Guadeloupe.” Henri’s body shook again as he struggled to cough up the fluid in his chest.

The young woman came out the back door and brought a wood box to Henri. Then she turned to Cole. “If you please, my great-grandfather is tiring.”

Cole nodded and stood. “That’s quite a story. Thank you so much, Henri.”

Henri raised a hand like a traffic cop. “The papers are most important. It is possible they are still in the captain’s cabin. But there is something else.” He pointed to the coin Cole wore. A mischievous smile played around his wet lips. “I took five of those from the hold the last time I visited Woolsey. There is more, much more. Through the years, I melted down four of them and sold the gold. The gold from those four fed my family for many months.” Cole saw the old man’s body tense as he struggled to quell another threatening cough. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I wanted more, but I was always too frightened to search for it. Didn’t want anyone to come searching for me. I spent my whole life in hiding. Then I told your father my story, and you see what happened to him.”

Henri’s pale eyes looked at him, and Cole felt him asking for forgiveness.

“You had a family to think about, Henri.”

The old man nodded, then opened the box and withdrew a sheet of paper. He handed it to Cole. “This is a sketch of what I could see on Îles de la Petite Terre and the other island Marie Galante. I went back on my father-in-law’s fishing boat after the war and came up with this best guess as to the position where Surcouf went down.” He pointed to an X on the sketched chart. “The water is thirty to fifty meters deep and then –” The old man lowered his hand to indicate the drop off. He started coughing again, and his granddaughter walked around behind him and patted him on the back. When he could speak, he reached out and grasped Cole’s forearm. “Do what I should have done years ago. Find her. Find Surcouf and Operation Magic for me and for your father.”

Cole knelt down in front of the old man and looked into his pale blue eyes, now red-rimmed and shiny with tears.

“I will Henri. I promise. And when I do, I’ll come back to tell you all about it.”