The Warrior (36 page)

The house seemed a little stuffy, but that would soon be remedied. As soon as he had their bags in their room, he was going to open up the doors and windows and let the air blow through. Like Alicia, no matter where else he stayed or how many properties he owned, this was the place he called home.

T
he first part of the plan hinged on blowing up Richard's favorite yacht. He hated to do it. He loved this yacht more than the one in Miami, even though he kept it berthed in Nassau most of the time. About once a year he and Alicia would vacation on it, but those days were over. He knew the Feds had probably staked out the yacht, as well as every other personal possession he owned. The captain took it out weekly, as per Richard's orders, and he had no reason to assume he would stop just because Richard was persona non grata.

Last night Dieter had put on a wet suit and swum out to where the yacht was anchored. Within a short time he'd fastened a bomb beneath the hull and set the timer to blow in ten hours. By that time, it would be out to sea. There would be no witnesses as to who was on board, but when Richard brought the shark in later, the explosion would explain the bits of Richard Ponte that would be found inside the animal's belly.

Richard was sitting on the dock that morning with a
cup of coffee, ostensibly watching the boats, when the captain raised anchor and started out to sea. There was something to be said for habit and routine. Richard glanced at his watch. One hour to detonation.

He got up from his seat and strolled back to the car where Dieter was waiting.

“I'm going to get breakfast. You stay here and wait for the catch of the day,” he said, then grinned at his own wit.

“Yes, boss,” Dieter said, muttering beneath his breath as he watched Richard stroll off toward one of the local cafés. He would have enjoyed some breakfast, too, but that wasn't going to happen.

Richard had sent Dieter down to the docks yesterday with a message for the local fishermen. Whoever was the first to bring in a decent-size shark would get a thousand dollars. Since it was crucial that there was no connection between Richard and Dieter when the shark was brought in, that left Dieter to wait for the day's catch on his own.

He'd been there about an hour when there was a flurry of activity on the docks. A siren sounded, and Dieter saw a helicopter take off from somewhere farther down on the shore. A half-dozen boats started up their engines and quickly set out to sea.

“Hey, what's going on?” he asked as a man came hurrying past.

“Just got an SOS call from some fisherman. Said someone's yacht blew up about an hour south of here.”

“Good Lord!” Dieter said. “Are there any survivors?”

“They don't think so. Said the yacht sank before they could get close enough to help.”

“That's terrible,” Dieter said.

The man nodded, then hurried on. As soon as the coast was clear, Dieter called Richard. “It blew.”

“What a pity,” Richard drawled. “Any survivors?”

“Doesn't seem to be.”

“Call me when the shipment comes in.”

“Yes, boss,” Dieter said.

Four long hours later, his shark came in. Within minutes of its arrival, he had the shark loaded and was on his way to an empty building Richard had rented.

The shark wasn't a great white, but it was large enough for their purposes. The precious contents of the metal box that Richard had hauled halfway around the world were finally going to be put to use. Richard had brought the box from the hotel, and now he calmly dumped the contents out into a small tub filled with salt water. With Richard watching and directing the preparations, Dieter carefully destroyed every cleanly cut edge on the bits of skin and flesh. Nothing could be left to give away the fact that they'd been surgically removed. Once that was finished, the bits were dumped into another bin of sea water, along with Richard's wallet, some pieces torn from a pair of his slacks, and a piece of bloody shirtsleeve with a button on it. After everything had soaked for at least an hour, Dieter put on a fresh pair of surgical gloves and began forcing the salty mess down the throat of the dead shark, while Richard held the mouth agape.

Once the contents were down, Dieter flushed seawater down the throat, and at Richard's bidding, he also wedged some leftover pieces of flesh between the razor-sharp teeth.

Richard was beside himself with glee.

On the other hand, by the time he finished, Dieter was of the opinion that he might never eat seafood again.

“I think that's it, boss.”

Richard checked the carcass, making sure there was no trace of what they'd done. Then he took out his phone and made another call.

“Landis Taxidermy.”

“This is Anton Schloss,” Richard said, lowering the timber of his voice and assuming a German accent. “I called you yesterday for a quote on what you'd charge to mount my catch.”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course, Mr. Schloss. I assume you've caught your shark?”

“I have. It was a very lucky morning for me.”

“Congratulations. I have everything ready. Do you know where I'm located?”

“Yes. I asked at my hotel. They gave me directions.”

“Super. Then I'll see you soon?”

“Yes. I have the shark on a trailer behind my car. I'll be right there.”

 

Within the hour, George Landis had the shark lying on its side on his worktable, while Richard stood by with his video camera. He'd insisted on filming the first steps in the taxidermy process, although George hadn't seemed all that happy about the request until Richard handed over an extra five hundred dollars, which smoothed away any further objections.

The fact that Richard's video was intended to wind up on TV around the world was the ultimate in-your-face snub for those who'd tried to take him down. They would have no idea who he was, other than the
poor slob who'd landed the shark that ate Richard Ponte.

He was well aware that the bits and pieces would most likely have gone unnoticed, but for the torn pieces of his clothes, to show that the shark's last meal had been human, and his wallet, complete with driver's license, four credit cards and over a thousand dollars in cash, to show who that last meal had been. Just to put a little icing on the cake, he'd dug up an old snapshot of himself and Alicia at some charity event and put that in the wallet, too. He hoped it gave her nightmares.

“Are you ready, George?”

George nodded.

Richard turned on the camera, focusing on the man's hand as he made a careful cut along the belly in a place that would be invisible once the shark was mounted.

“Ugh,” Richard said as the contents of the belly spilled out, and it wasn't a fake reaction. The smell was disgusting.

He moved closer, continuing to film, making sure the camera lens was centered on what the man's hands were doing. When the wallet suddenly appeared among the offal, he cried out, “What's that?”

George paused. “I'll be damned,” he said, and then started poking through the rest of the stomach contents. “Oh sweet Lord,” he breathed.

“What?” Richard asked.

“I think this here is a piece of skin…human skin.” George opened the wallet. “There's an American driver's license for a man named Richard Pont.”

Richard rolled his eyes. No one ever said his last
name right. He moved closer, focusing the camera right on the license photo.

“I think that's pronounced Ponti,” he offered.

George frowned. “I've heard that name before. And here are some credit cards and…Holy Moses, look at all that cash. Wowie, Mr. Schloss. You sure landed yourself an expensive fish.”

“I think we should call the authorities,” Richard suggested.

George looked startled. “Oh. Yeah, of course.” He quickly washed his hands and ran to the phone. Richard could hear the excitement in his voice as he relayed his find to the police.

“You won't believe this. I just opened up a shark, and I think I found a dead man.”

 

Richard played his part to the hilt, right up to willingly giving up the video to the local authorities, along with all his rights to the shark. They never noticed that he'd wiped down the video cassette before he handed it over. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to take a chance on someone running the prints, even though there was no earthly reason why they should.

“Yes, yes, I will be at my hotel for a day or so longer, then I must return home,” he said as the officer took down Richard's information. “Needless to say, my taste for game fishing is gone. Poor man. Poor, poor man.”

The officer handed Richard back his passport, thanked him for his service and apologized that his vacation had been ruined.

“Oh…it is nothing on my part,” Richard said. “It is this Richard Ponte who is the unfortunate one.” Then he
shuddered. “I cannot imagine a worse fate than to be torn to shreds and eaten by such a fearsome creature.”

Within minutes, he was in a taxi and on his way back to the hotel.

“How did it go?” Dieter asked, wishing he could have been present to see their faces. But they couldn't have chanced it. Not after he'd been the one down on the docks buying a shark earlier in the day.

“They swallowed the whole story,” Richard said, smirking at the analogy, and then folded his arms across his chest and announced, “I'm feeling a little hungry. I think I could eat a whale.”

They laughed and headed down to the restaurant.

 

John and Alicia had been back in Georgia for two days. They'd slept late this morning, eaten brunch, and just after one o'clock, Alicia had opted for a little tanning session. She'd gone out on the second-floor balcony off John's bedroom, stretched out on her belly on a chaise lounge without a stitch of clothes and blamed her dwindling lack of decorum on John, who would happily stay naked if society would allow it. He'd gone inside to see if he could find some sunscreen, although it wasn't something he ever used. He finally found some body lotion with an SPF factor in it that he guessed would serve the purpose and was on his way back outside when the phone rang.

He paused, glanced longingly through the sliding glass doors to where Alicia was lying, admiring her long, toned legs and that beautiful backside. The phone rang again. He started to let it go to voice mail, then noticed the caller ID, and quickly backtracked.

“Hello?”

“John Nightwalker?”

“Yes.”

“This is Special Agent Joshua of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Corbin Woodliff gave me this number.”

“What's wrong?” John asked.

“Is Miss Ponte still with you?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going to have to ask you to bring her to Savannah.”

“Not until you tell me what's wrong,” John fired back.

“Richard Ponte's yacht exploded and sank off Nassau in the Bahamas a couple of days ago. A few hours later, a tourist brought in a shark to a local taxidermist. They found a wallet, some bits of clothing and some human flesh inside the shark's belly. The wallet belonged to Ponte. We're running DNA testing on the flesh, and we need to compare it to his daughter.”

“It wasn't him,” John said.

Joshua frowned. “What the hell do you mean, it wasn't him? What do you know that we don't?”

“Nothing. I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I meant it couldn't have been him. You know…that it's too simple.” He couldn't explain how he knew with every fiber of his being that Richard Ponte's soul was still on Earth.

“Oh. Yeah. I see what you mean,” Joshua said. “Anyway, can you bring her in, or should we send a car to pick her up?”

“No. No. I'll bring her. Tomorrow okay?”

“Yes. Got a pen and paper? I'll tell you when and where, and who you'll be meeting.”

“Go ahead,” John said, writing down the info and trying to stay calm, when he was screaming inside.

After they disconnected, John headed back to Alicia, trying to figure out how to give her the news. They didn't discuss the immortal business anymore, so he wasn't sure how she was going to take the fact that he was certain the Feds were wrong.

Alicia heard the sliding door open, then close.

“I thought you'd forgotten me,” she said.

John sat down beside her, then squeezed a little of the lotion into his palm and began applying it to her skin.

“Never,” he said, rubbing the lotion in a smooth, circular motion. Then he paused, looking down at her. His throat tightened with unspoken emotion. She might never know, and he was never going to tell her, how bonded they really were.

“I thought I heard the phone ringing,” she said.

“Yes. It was Joshua, one of the Feds who arrested Carruthers.”

Alicia rose up on her elbows, then gave him a sideways glance. She could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong.

“Talk to me,” she said.

“Does your father keep a yacht in Nassau?”

“Yes. Why?”

“They said it blew up. A few hours later some fisherman brought in a shark. When they cut it open, they found some human flesh, bits of clothing and a wallet.”