Issach and Mary were ready to depart within the hour. Handing him three one hundred-dollar bills, I thanked him for this help. He appreciated it. Leaving Issach and Gus on the dock, I went into the salon where Mary was washing dishes. She raised her head up with a slow, deliberate movement, her big, soft, wide-set, brown eyes had a look of alertness, of eager interest; a look that expected the world to contain an exciting secret behind every diamond-topped wave. Folding three more hundred-dollar bills, I placed them in her hand. 'You take care of Issach, Mary. He's a good man. You two be happy.'
She bowed her head and spoke in a low, flat voice, looking at the money that shimmered green in her fingers. She showed no emotion, but her voice had the intense monotone of a prayer. 'Thanks, you a good man. We need this money. You be careful, Cop'um.'
Gus and I stood and watched the Hatteras ease out into the channel.
'Seems like a couple of good kids,' Gus said.
'Yes.'
'If that boy's anything like his Pa, he is all right. Shy little girl, though,' Gus laughed. 'Seems most too timid to make babies. What do you think?'
'Come on, Gus. I'll buy you a drink.'
CHAPTER TEN
We sat in the yacht club's second story bar overlooking the harbor and Paradise Island. Gus' weathered sun- scorched face was familiar and pleasant. Watching the traffic in the channel, we sipped the heavy, dark, Anchor Rode beer.
'I'm looking for a boat, the Sun Dog. Know anything about her?'
'Yeah, she's bad news. Why you interested in that smelly mess of flotsam?'
Telling Gus as much as I thought he should know, I asked about the crew.
'The boat belongs to a drug smuggler running Snowpowder from here up to Grand Bahama and Abaco. Buys fuel from us at times. Always pays cash. Never heard his name. They got a slip over in Hurricane Hole and keep a low profile. Never no trouble around here that I heard of, but they have a reputation as being a mean bunch.'
'They probably use it as the 'mother-boat.' Little boats come out and off load the stuff and run inshore.'
'Yeah, they use those cigarette boats. Slim, fast things go forty knots. Someone said they cold-molded the dope into the hull and cut it out when they need it.'
'Good way to hide it from the Coast Guard. Seems one would have to be careful removing it or you could end up with a boat full of salt water.'
'That's funny…boat full of salt water.'
'You got a car that I can borrow? I'm going to check in at a hotel on the island.'
'If you'll bring it back, not leave it parked at the airport, like last time.'
I drove over and checked in at the Paradise Island Hotel. It was a short walk from there to Hurricane Hole, a safe, natural, round, shallow bay the three hotels on the island used as a marina for guest's boats. Being registered at the hotel allowed free access to the docks.
My room was on the eighth floor with a view of Hurricane Hole and the boat channel. It was a big room and newly refurbished. The windows opened and a clean, fresh, salt-filled breeze wafted through the sliding glass doors. At the public docks across the channel on the mainland, islanders hawked their wares to visitors from all over the world. Automobiles crowded narrow streets, and Bahamian policemen in starched, white uniforms, gloves and military-style caps, directed traffic.
Placing a call to Glossman, I tried to pick out the Sun Dog in the marina. I could not. Glossman was out, but his secretary put me through to Bill Moran. 'Jay, I'm glad you called. Anything, yet?'
'I'm in Nassau. Rene was brought to Bimini from here aboard a sportfisherman named the Sun Dog. I've traced it to a marina on Paradise Island. How's Lynn doing?'
'Well, that's just it. We've been unable to locate her.'
'God, I didn't think about her being in danger. Whoever snatched Rene could do the same with Lynn. Get the police in on this.'
'Already have. Don't worry, Jay. We didn't think of that possibility, either.'
'Call me here at the hotel if anything turns up. I'm in room 816.'
'Someone will be in the office all weekend if you need to communicate. Let us know what you find out about the boat. Be careful.'
'Right.'
There had been no ransom demand from Rene's disappearance, so it never occurred to me Lynn could be a target. What's the motive? None of this made any sense.'
Taking a shower, I changed clothes, and walked down to Hurricane Hole. The Sun Dog was there, tied stern to the dock. Two men stood in the salon. One of them was big, well over six feet, and built like Mako, except more barrel-chested and light skinned. My guess he was a free diver from one of the northern islands. The other man was a small, Latin American with olive skin and silver-gray hair combed straight back. Both appeared in their mid- forties.
At first, I didn't see the women. Lying on deck, snake-like, just forward of the salon, they were flat, brown, lissome creatures wearing string bikinis that didn't contain enough thread to sew a button on a shirt. They had bleached blond hair with skin burned to the color of mahogany. Rounded buttocks, long, slim legs, and bare breasts glistened in the afternoon sun from coconut oil applied by the gallon. The pleasant smell of the oil drifted across me like a veil, stirring memories of other summer evenings, other women, and other islands.
Barrel-chest stepped out into the cockpit, fished an Anchor Rode from a cooler, and stood staring into the setting sun. He was even bigger than I thought, chest and shoulders like a fighting bull, and his neck disappeared under sun-streaked blond hair and a solid-looking square jaw. One of those that appear chiseled out of stone. His face was marked and scarred, eyes deep set. He wore a sweat-stained Guayabera shirt that was two sizes too small.
Walking to the edge of the pier, I stood directly behind the Sun Dog. She was almost exactly like the Lady Lorraine, except this boat was brand new, but looked in terrible condition. Her paint was chipped, railings bent and scratched, rust and corrosion was everywhere. She hadn't been washed down from her last trip, and sea salt clung to every wetted surface. It was a shame to see such a fine vessel treated so badly.
'Hey, you guys catching any fish? This looks like a really fine boat.'
Barrel-chest slowly turned to face me. We were less than four feet apart.
'What's those long poles sticking out from the sides? Are they radio antennas? What kind of fishing y'all do?'
Easing the Anchor Rode down from his mouth, he cracked a malignant smile. 'Bugger off, Mon. Get outta here before someone smacks your face.'
Acting insulted, I turned and walked away like an offended tourist. I did get a good look at the boat and those aboard.
Barrel-chest's accent was one I was familiar with on Abaco Island. I would bet he was a lobster fisherman from around there. The people of Abaco are ninety-nine percent white, and are descendants from Loyalists who left America after the war with England. Settling Abaco, they brought their slaves with them from the plantations. Blacks in the Bahamas are descendants from these slaves, and they now run the country. The Loyalists are honest, hard-working people who make their living from the sea, boat building, and what few crops that can be grown in the thin, sandy topsoil.
There was a good view of Hurricane Hole and the Sun Dog from my room. If they left the dock, there was little I could do, but the bet was that they would stay in port long enough for me to formulate a plan.
Surveillance is something I've never grown used to. It's boring, and if you have a lapse in concentration, that's the moment something will happen.
At sunset, the two women went below deck. By nine o'clock nothing had moved aboard the Sun Dog. It grew too dark to see.
Going down to the casino, I found it crowded with pre-show gamblers. The show started at ten o'clock, and
