Dave was so sure Sanchez was going to attempt to steal back the cocaine that the whole plan depended on it. He always had a sixth sense about things like this, so I decided to rely on his instincts. He'd been wrong before, but not often.
We planned to pick up the ten kilos of Snowpowder from Sanchez, and take it back to the sailboat anchored in American Harbor at Man-O-War Cay. After stowing it aboard, we'd run back down to where we could watch the Sun Dog. Traveling under cover of darkness was extremely dangerous as the boats running to Treasure Cay would be without lights and the closure rate is almost a hundred miles an hour.
If Dave was right, someone from the Sun Dog would leave around two or three a.m. and head for his sailboat. Rip-offs like this occur all too often. A lot of good undercover cops are killed as a result of this each year.
Undercover narcotics agents have my utmost respect. It takes a brave and dedicated person to do what they do for the money they are paid.
Our plan was to stay hidden behind Bridges Cay until we saw a boat leave the Sun Dog, then we would follow them to see if they were heading to Dave's sailboat. If they boarded the boat, we'd take them down. After that, we'd return and do what had to be done with Sanchez and his crew.
There was no way to know how many people would be aboard the Sun Dog on this night. If two or three went to steal the cocaine, and we took them out, then it would improve our odds.
The reality of the world is that there are evil people living in it. Tonight we planned to battle some of that evil.
When it was time for us to pick up the ten kilos from the Sun Dog, Dave asked me if I was ready. I nodded, not knowing if it was the truth. Sweat poured down my face, and the mosquitoes were driving me insane.
We eased down toward the Sun Dog. As we drew up to the stern, two men emerged armed with AR-15s. One I recognized as Barrel-chest. Keeping my head bowed, I stayed seated in the cigarette.
Barrel-chest pointed his rifle at me. "Who's he?"
"He works for me."
"The boss didn't say anything about another person coming with you. Wait until I check."
Sweat ran down my forearms. We were unprepared for a confrontation, and would be at a great disadvantage if there were a problem now. Our weapons were stored out of sight.
Barrel-chest returned and motioned Dave aboard. He kept his eyes glued to me. Dave tried to distract him, but it didn't work.
When Dave entered the salon, Barrel-chest motioned with his head for the other man to cover me, and followed him inside. The man stood over me with the rifle pointed at my head. Having a lot of experience with this weapon, I knew that firing on full automatic, it would disintegrate my head in a split second.
After what seemed an eternity, Dave returned to the cockpit and started handing me the ten kilos of individually wrapped packages of cocaine.
Leaping aboard the cigarette, Dave started the engine and ran north for Man-O-War Cay. It was only then that I was able to breathe again.
"There were eight on board. Six men and the two women you saw in Nassau. It's too bad about the women."
They would complicate things. We did not want to harm innocent women, but in trying not to, we could give away the edge to Sanchez and his scumbags.
It was too noisy with the roaring of the engine and wind blowing to talk. The tide was high, and we were able to take a shortcut across the shallows. At low tide there is less than a foot of water on the lee side of the cays. We ran in calm water so clear that the white bottom glowed in the dark.
Passing abeam Hope Town, we could see the candy-stripped lighthouse looming out of the night like some phallic symbol. Rounding into the narrow entryway of Man-O-War Cay, Dave made a hard right and entered into American Harbor, a protected safe mooring on the south end of this idyllic cay.
We tied the cigarette to the stern of the sailboat and off-loaded the cocaine, stowing it in empty spaces beside the engine. We wanted them to find it, but didn't want to make it too easy.
When asked about the other forty kilos, Dave said he turned them over to the local doctor who he knew to be above reproach.
"What about the Police Chief, Robert Sweeting?"
"Bob resigned. Most of his men were on the take as were other local government officials. He was the last bastion of law enforcement on Abaco. Maybe the bad guys are winning after all?"
"So what about the women on board the Sun Dog?"
"Play it by ear, but remember, they can get you killed, and dead is dead." His face was cut by prominent cheekbones and by a few sharp lines, but it was not cruel, though it was unyielding and expressionless.
We headed back down to the Bight of Old Robinson and Bridges Cay to begin our surveillance of the Sun Dog. The peacoat felt good, now, running in the cool night air. Stars shined brilliant and we could see the outline of the cays off to our left, the mainland to the right. Passing the cuts to the open ocean, swells caused the cigarette to become airborne for seconds at a time. The sense of speed was exhilarating.
Nearing Pelican Point, we could see lights on in B.J.'s house. I thought of Kathy. Dave backed down on the power, and we idled along, hugging the shore of the mainland north of Bridges Cay. Easing by North Robinson's creek, we dropped anchor behind Riding Cay, which offered a good view of Sanchez's boat.
With binoculars Dave was able to see into the salon. We settled in for a long wait. At least the mosquitoes were gone. The hours passed slowly. We remained silent, drawn into ourselves, waiting for what was to come.
Watching the constellations make their way across the sky, I wondered at the imagination of the ancients who named them. My thoughts turned to Rene Renoir, seeing her face in the hospital, swollen and bruised, then in that cold, compassionless, steel-tabled morgue.
Dave lay half-stretched across his seat, his fingers drumming silently to an unheard tune on the steering wheel of the boat. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed, body relaxed and still, but tension stretched the shape of his mouth on the motionless face, a deadly shape drawn in lines of anticipation for things to come.
"You want to tell me why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you sent Lynn Renoir to me?"
"You needed the work."
"You had people in your office who could have handled a missing girl."
He did not move, sat there staring at for a long time. His face had the quiet earnest look of a man staring at a question.
"I sent her to you because I knew about Glossman's company handling Max Renoir's estate, and the terms of the Will. It was going to be a complicated case that needed someone with experience. You were the only one I could trust not to screw it up. But look where you are."
Shooting straight up in my seat like a spring uncoiling, I said, "How did you get access to Renoir's Will? I was only allowed excerpts."
There was a tense, cautious quality in the way he watched me. He made a single, brusque movement, and gripped the wheel of the boat tightly with both fists, like the gesture of some solemn pledge.
"I was still with the Bureau when the crash occurred. Max was involved with some top-secret work for the CIA in Central America. The NTSB asked us to investigate at the request of the CIA. That's when I got to see the Will. I thought it strange at the time, however we were looking for reasons an airplane crashed, not what a father left to his daughters. When the Renoir woman came to my office, I remembered the Will."
"You could have saved me a lot of work if you'd just told me all this up front."
His expression had a cracked hint of a smile, set and faintly suggested, but both veiled and purposeful. "No. It was better you dig it out for yourself. That way you might uncover something maybe overlooked if you had all the information to start with."
"Did you find anything unusual about the crash? Gene Arnold was a friend. I'd like to know if something happened he couldn't control."
"We didn't find anything. It appeared to be an accident. Look…" He pointed at the Sun Dog. "They're boarding the runabout. Two a.m., right on the money. We'll give them five minutes. Odds are they go straight for the sailboat."
We watched as two men boarded the small boat. As late as it was, there was no doubt what they were up to; the delivery operations at Treasure Cay had ended hours ago. Two people were silhouetted in the door of the Sun Dog. The curtains were partly closed, and there was no way of knowing how many people were left aboard. At least one person stood in the cockpit and watched the boat roar away in the dark.
We idled back out of the Bight of Old Robinson and followed, hugging the shore of the mainland until safe from being heard or spotted. Once north of Bridges Cay, Dave opened up the engine to full throttle. Ahead, maybe a mile, we could see the phosphorescent wake of the other boat. It would be a thirty-minute run to Man-O-War Cay. I got everything ready.