Jordan Dane
The Echo of Violence
A Sweet Justice Novel
CHAPTER 1
Near Haiti
Not even the mesmerizing beauty of the sea at night calmed Luc Toussaint.
The moon dappled undulating waves with shimmer as his slow-moving trawler navigated the Atlantic toward the Canal de la Tortue. Haiti and Port de Paix lay dead ahead. The crew of the
He had other things on his mind.
To settle his nerves, he had smoked far too many cigarettes as he kept an alert eye on the horizon. He peered through the dim glow of the wheelhouse and beyond the reflection of the boat’s running lights on the water, searching for police on patrol.
Earning extra money for his family, he carried additional cargo in a special compartment known only to him and the men he worked for on the side. He played a small part in a smuggling operation with a splinter faction of a drug cartel, and his crew had no idea. His men knew nothing about any contraband on board.
For that matter, he didn’t know much more.
For the sake of his wife and children, he only cared about the money and merely played his part as blind courier between South America and Miami, Florida. What had been stowed below was none of his concern. And even though the Dominicans had cut into his action and ramped up their role by becoming wholesaler to many cities on the East Coast of the United States, Luc wanted no part in that.
On most nights, the limits he’d set made him feel absolved of the crime. A more palatable rationale.
When he first saw the city lights of Port de Paix—a distant glow that had robbed the skyline of stars—he had called in his position and estimated time of arrival using the special cellular phone he’d been given. As an agreed- upon security measure, he avoided using the high-frequency radio transmission, the equipment he had in the wheelhouse. Luc blew smoke from his nose and glanced at his watch one more time. When he looked up, he spotted a searchlight on the water dead ahead. The Haitian national police were about to intercept him.
After speaking to his South American contact, he had expected the marked patrol boat; but making it through an inspection at sea always made him nervous these days.
Luc only hoped his part would be over soon.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the familiar face of a Haitian inspector as the man boarded his vessel, an official he’d seen before and knew by reputation. The hulking man in uniform lumbered across the deck —Gerard Heriveaux—a big man with a pronounced slouch. He and his men knew how to look the other way. And knowing that allowed Luc to relax until the man pulled him aside.
“We must break protocol,” the inspector said in French. “I’m here to intervene on behalf of our mutual friends. Contact your man and confirm this. I will wait.”
One of the inspector’s men handed him a duffel bag. Luc had no idea why Heriveaux would need it.
“I do not understand,” he said. “What is happening?”
The Haitian officer looked over his shoulder and kept his voice low. “We’ve received word that the counternarcotics unit will raid your vessel when you dock. If you want to be held harmless, you will contact your man to confirm and let me do my part. Now is that clear enough?”
Luc stared at the older man, unable to control the escalating beat of his heart. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The threat of a raid would put him in the middle, between dangerous drug smugglers and an unforgiving Haitian government. Even the hint of an illegal operation would mark him by local officials. He had not been so foolish as to deny this possibility, but being faced with it turned his stomach sour.
God help him.
“Yes, very clear,” he nodded. “I will make the call.”
Luc headed for the privacy of the wheelhouse to use his cellular phone. When the man on the other end of the line made it easy for him to explain—offering his take on the raid—it made him more confident he would be doing the right thing and reinforced that he’d not be held accountable. His contact told him what to do.
When he returned to the Haitian inspector on the leeward deck, Luc made sure his crew was distracted by the official inspection and delegated the paperwork to one of his men before he waved the officer forward. “Come. Follow me.”
In privacy, he led Heriveaux to his personal cabin below. Behind a large wooden panel on the back of his bunk, he yanked at one side and opened a secret compartment. Bolted down and welded, a large combination safe was secured inside.
A safe he didn’t know how to open.
“If you have the trust of my contact, you will know how to access what’s inside. I do not,” Luc told the man. “And I have no wish to be involved. I’ll be outside my cabin until you have secured…whatever is in that safe.”
As he opened his duffel bag, Heriveaux acted surprised by his reaction, but smiled. “You are a smart man, Captain. Go. Do what you must. I will be with you shortly.”
Luc shut the door behind him and stood outside his cabin, waiting for the inspector. With the trawler adrift on the sea, the
Luc Toussaint prayed he’d done the right thing.
Once the
“Why are you here?” He shrugged as he stood before the Haitian official. “Has something else happened?”
“What are you talking about?” the inspector questioned. “I’m here to inspect your vessel and collect your port fee.”
Heriveaux scribbled on a document clipped to a board and prepared another inspection form—a form Luc already had signed and had in his possession, stuffed into his pocket. He retrieved the executed document, unfolded it, and pulled the man aside.
Lowering his voice, Luc said, “But I already paid you. And don’t you think it’s unwise to duplicate the paperwork? Someone might notice.”
With a confused look on his face, Inspector Heriveaux knitted his brow, cocked his head, and opened his mouth to speak. But the ringing of the private cell phone clipped to Luc’s belt distracted him.
When he recognized the number, he raised a finger and said, “Please…I must take this. Excuse me.”
Heriveaux grumbled and turned back to his paperwork with a show of indignation as the harsh voice of his
