Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective (16 page)

“Because these days there is no such thing as a friendly bank account. No, better for someone like myself, who doesn’t create suspicion at borders, to collect the cash and bring it back.”

“So then what happened?”

“I met Rahmon’s man in Paris at the Georges V.”

“I’m guessing Edgar Bunya.”

She looked impressed. “Edgar is an international fixer, a man who gets the dirty things done for people like Rahmon.”

“What rock did he crawl out from?” Tree said.

“A rock somewhere in Liberia. Edgar got his start as a child soldier for one of the warlords there. By the time he was a teenager, he had made enough of a reputation for himself that MI-6 decided they could put him to good use for some of the dirty work they needed done in that part of the world. They flew him to a special training center in South Africa, taught him how to speak English and how to torture people. When they didn’t need him, they loaned him out to the CIA.”

“Now he’s graduated to the president of Tajikistan.”

“He became too much for MI-6 and even the CIA. They cut him loose and he’s been freelancing ever since.” She gave another wan smile. “His specialty is not being nice. That’s why people hire him.”

“So you met Edgar in Paris. What happened?”

“He gave me the down payment—two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not ten million. Then I flew back to Key West and I gave Hank the money.”

“So what makes Edgar think you stole ten million dollars?”

Her gaze was steady as it met his. “I have no idea,” she said.

She’s lying through her teeth, he thought.

“And why do you think Miram Shah hired me?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me the truth.”

She shrugged. “I may have neglected to say I was flying to Paris.”

“You mean Shah didn’t know about the money Rahmon was supposed to pay you.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“And neither did Zoran.”

She looked at him.

“So unless I miss my guess, you and Dearlove hatched a scheme to keep the ten million dollars for yourselves. Only something has gone wrong.”

“I keep repeating,” she said patiently, “there is no ten million dollars.”

“But something is wrong.”

“Shah and Zoran turned out to be frauds—ruined men, desperate to keep themselves afloat. So they made promises they could not possibly keep. They could barely help themselves, let alone anyone else, and certainly not the president of Tajikistan. When he realized these guys couldn’t do anything, he demanded his money back.”

“But you and Dearlove decided to keep it for yourselves. And now Dearlove is dead and you’re hiding out in case you’re next.”

“It’s not true, but I understand that’s what Shah and Zoran may be thinking.”

“I’m going to the police,” Tree said.

Elizabeth gave him a long, impatient look. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get the police involved, Mr. Callister.”

“Tough.”

“Stay away from the police.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because if you do, I will tell you all about Cailie Fisk.”

He looked sharply at her, trying to keep the surprise off his face.

Failing.

“What makes you think I want to know anything about her?”

“Come on, don’t try to pretend she’s not making your life hell.”

“Don’t tell me you’re behind what she’s doing.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “And I’m not responsible for the Kennedy assassination, either.”

“Only because you were too young.”

“Do we have a deal or not?”

Tree glared at her. She beamed. Elizabeth—electric blue and triumphant.

As usual.

22

Tree phoned Rex as he walked toward his car. “What are you doing right now?”

“There are two naked women in my office,” Rex said. “What are you doing?

“Selling my soul to the devil,” Tree said.

“That’s how I ended up with my third wife,” Rex said.

“How would you like to give me a ride in your new boat up to Useppa Island?”

“Given a choice between naked women and taking you up to Useppa Island, naturally, I would take you to Useppa Island.”

“I’ll meet you at the marina in an hour,” Tree said. “Incidentally, I don’t suppose you found where Cailie Fisk is staying.”

“No one named Fisk or Susan Troy is registered at any of the resorts on the island,” Rex said.

________

A gleaming white pleasure craft, sleek and shiny in the afternoon sun, roared past as
Former Actor
churned along Pine Island Sound.

Tree looked at Rex tensed at the wheel. He wore dark glasses and a lamp shade-shaped straw hat that made him look like a Mandarin peasant out for a cruise. He hunched forward to peer through the windshield, one eye constantly on the screen of the GPS unit he had installed after he ran aground the second—or was it the third?—time.

“We’re going kind of slow,” Tree said.

“I’m still getting my sea legs under me,” Rex said in an edgy voice. “As long as we keep her between the buoys we should be just fine.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then we do what I’ve already done a couple of times, we run aground. These waters are pretty shallow. Do you mind if I ask what we’re doing out here?”

“We’re two old friends out for an afternoon cruise together, off to talk to a Pakistani spy about his love life.”

That made Rex take his eyes off the GPS screen for a couple of seconds. “I like the part about two old friends out for a cruise.”

“What about the part where we talk to a Pakistani spy about his love life?”

“That part makes me wonder what the hell you’re doing.”

“You and Freddie,” Tree said.

“Doesn’t she know what you’re doing?”

“More and more I think she embraces the idea of me not doing this.”

“What? The new owner of Dayton’s doesn’t want you to get yourself killed?”

“How do you know about that?” Tree said, surprised.

“About getting yourself killed?”

“About Dayton’s.”

“I know everything,” Rex said.

“Freddie wants me to run away from the lions.”

“But you don’t want to be Francis Macomber in that Hemingway story. You want to stand your ground and prove what a man you are.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re siding with Freddie.”

“Perish the thought,” Rex said with a grin.

After an hour or so, the outline of Useppa Island appeared on the hazy horizon line. Closer, the gabled white rooftop of the Collier Inn came into focus. Tree directed Rex toward shore south of the inn, and Rex grew more nervous still, removing his sunglasses to more closely study the GPS screen.

“This is where it gets tricky,” Rex announced.

“How does it get tricky?” Tree said. “You’re headed for that long dock over there.”

“It gets tricky if we run into a sandbar,” Rex said.

Ahead, Tree could see movement on the dock where a low-slung powerboat was moored. As he watched, a couple of dark shapes pushed off the craft, its engines roaring to life. The bow rose high on the water before it came crashing down and the boat surged forward, coming directly for them at an alarming speed.

Rex swore and sounded a warning Claxton that howled across the bay but failed to deter the oncoming boat. Then, at the last possible moment, the boat veered left and came around the side of the
Former Actor.
Tree caught a glimpse of a muscular form in a white T-shirt aiming what looked to be a rifle.

“Get down!” Tree shouted.

Rex, at the wheel, looked at him blankly.

Something landed with a clatter on the
Former Actor’s
rear deck, not far from where Tree and Rex stood. It bounced and rolled around before coming to rest against the stern.

“What the hell is that?” said Rex.

Tree yanked Rex off the captain’s chair. Rex yelled, “What are you doing?”

“Get off the boat!” Tree said.

“What?” Rex said.

Tree wrestled him to the edge and pushed him over the side. He heard Rex holler something as he flopped into the water. Tree had a distinct memory of Rex bobbing in the boat’s wake still wearing his Mandarin peasant’s hat before putting his own foot onto the transom and launching himself forward an instant before the explosion erupted.

And the whole world turned red.

23

Tree under water, his mouth filling with the briny taste of salt water. His flailing feet struck sandy bottom—the bottom becoming a springboard he used to propel himself toward the surface.

When he broke above the waves, the view of the island and the hard blue sky was obscured by a black plume of smoke rising from the flames engulfing the
Former Actor
. Tree looked around, frantically calling Rex’s name. A moment later, Rex’s head broke the surface. Somewhere along the way, he had lost his mandarin’s straw hat.

“My boat,” he bellowed. “They blew up my boat!”

Already the
Former Actor
was settling into the water, stern down, emitting belching and gurgling sounds over the crackling of the devouring fire.

“Come on, Rex,” Tree said. “Let’s get to shore.”

“They blew up the boat!” Rex kept yelling as if, otherwise, he would never believe it.

The swimming didn’t last long. Their feet soon hit bottom and they were able to wade in the rest of the way. Shocked residents had gathered along the shoreline and huddled on the dock for a better view of the unfolding disaster. Helping hands pulled Tree and Rex onto the lawn fronting the houses. There was no sign of either Miram Shah or Joseph Trembath, the two people who should have been most interested in exploding boats.

Tree ignored everyone’s worried demands to tell them what had happened. He heard Rex announce, “Somebody blew up my damned boat, that’s what happened.”

One of the onlookers became particularly excited. “Aren’t you Rex Baxter? That guy who used to do the TV show in Chicago?”

Tree reached the steps leading to the porch of Miram Shah’s house. He expected security guards to appear, demanding to pat him down, the same as the last time. This time, though, no one stopped him as he opened the screen door.

He called, “Mr. Shah? Are you here? It’s Tree Callister.”

There was no answer.

He stepped into the entry hall, closing the screen door behind him. He stood there, dripping wet, the silence of the house roaring back at him, much as it had at Hank Dearlove’s place in Key West. Tree began to feel a similar sense of deep dread.

He forced himself along the passageway. Behind him, he could hear the screen door open and close. Rex said, “What’s going on?”

Tree didn’t answer. He reached a sitting room crisscrossed with impressive wood beams and big windows providing a panoramic water view.

Had he looked out one of those windows, Tree would have witnessed the final moments before the
Former Actor
disappeared beneath the waters of Pine Island Sound.

But Tree wasn’t looking out the window.

His attention was focused instead on Miram Shah, naked, hanging from one of the beams. His head was at an odd angle, probably because of the piano wire tied around his neck. Rex stood beside Tree, looking up at the body. “Gawd almighty,” he said in a low, wondering voice.

24

They blew up my boat!”

Rex kept reciting the same mantra to the detectives from the criminal investigation unit of the Lee County Sheriff’s Department. It turned out they had jurisdiction over boat explosions and murders.

Why
exactly someone would blow up his boat was the question Rex could not answer. He was not even certain, he explained to investigators, what he was doing on Pine Island Sound, other than the fact that his longtime friend Tree Callister wanted a ride to Useppa Island, and he and Tree had been friends for forty years, since way back in Chicago when they were a whole lot younger, and they didn’t own boats that blew up.

It was left to Tree to explain what had happened. “A grenade,” he said.

The original detectives by now had been replaced by the head of the criminal investigation unit, an intense, iron-jawed recruiting poster for law enforcement named Major Brent Lawson.

Major Lawson squinted at Tree and said, “Grenade?”

“At first I thought the guy in the other boat had a rifle he was pointing at us.”

“A rifle.”

“But then a grenade landed in the back of the boat. That’s what exploded.”

“Probably fired from a grenade launcher. Maybe an M32.”