In Harm's Way (A Martin Billings Story Book 3) Page 23

  I found the door to the church open and went inside. A couple of women arranging flowers at the altar looked at me curiously. “How do I get to the bell tower?” I asked.

  A woman stared open-mouthed at me and pointed to a door with a robotic movement of her arm. I ran for the door and shot up the steps. The wooden steps were noisy, but going slower wasn’t going to be much quieter, and she couldn’t run off anyway, so I ignored it.

  Reminding myself to relax, to stay fluid, I shot up the last steps and into the light of the open floor. My eyes blinking with the transition back into daylight, I held myself at the ready, expecting an attack, turning in place. In a few short seconds, it became clear that I was all alone in that church tower.

  Disappointed that I’d come up short again, I took a breath and looked around, deciding that I might as well enjoy the view. There was a chance, remote, but a chance, that I might spot her moving down below. Movement is the enemy of stealth and you can often see someone moving when you wouldn’t notice them if they stood still.

  I scanned the buildings below me but dismissed them quickly — none offered as clear a shot as the church tower. They wouldn’t suit her purpose.

  In frustration, I looked down at the square, watching people swarming about. On the far side, a crew was making last-minute preparations on the stage, mounting huge speakers. No island party is complete without ear-shattering music. I watched them positioning the podium; around the stage people already began to gather, staking out their spots.

  The buildings in front of me blocked my view of anything and anyone on the near side of the square, but I doubted she’d take a position there. That would be even worse than being in the buildings. Given my vantage point, the diminishing returns of rushing off to search more buildings, and remembering Sally’s admonition to learn patience (island wisdom tidbit #456) I took a breath, and got out my binoculars. I scanned the faces of everyone I could see standing near the stage. Naturally, I saw a lot of familiar faces, but not hers.

  I widened my sweep, moving the binoculars in a lazy loop from one side to the other, taking in more faces, more territory. It was blur of people, for a small island, but suddenly, there she was!

  I caught my breath at the sight of her, standing at the top of the irregular stone steps that lead down to the water’s edge. She had a regal bearing, actually smiling, probably licking her chops in anticipation of her kill, like some African lioness lurking in the tall grass near a herd of impala. And it seemed as if she could see me watching her.

  It wasn’t me she was looking at though. Her attention was on the crowd and she calmly surveyed the scene. Without even being able to see them, I knew her sharp-eyed glances were taking in everything, automatically weighing opportunities, dangers, and obstacles between her and completion of her task. She was the complete professional, ready to finish what had evolved into a complex and messy job.

  I grabbed my phone and gave Bill the news. “She is down by the dock. I’ve got my eye on her. I’m going to get my ass down there now,” I told him as I ran down the steps and startling the altar guild as I burst into the church again.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. “I’m a bit further away than you are.”

  “And you are slower,” I said. “Watch my back.” Then I hung up and turned my attention to the task of getting to Donna as fast as possible. If I was going to do any good at all, I had to get to her before the VIPs reached the podium.

  27

  I ran headlong down the hillside, toward the water. Heading straight to her location might create a commotion that might attract her attention. That wouldn’t do at all. I couldn’t risk her shifting her plan, so I took a more circuitous route that had me ducking behind walls and running through backyards and alleys. It meant going a longer distance and losing sight of her from time to time, but it was my only option. I couldn’t do anything about it.

  I knew that if she moved again, I’d lose track of her and there wasn’t a lot of time left before she’d take her shot. That meant I had to move fast and hope that the place I’d seen her was the one she had settled on.

  Before I got to the square, I shot down a narrow side road that led directly to the waterfront at a short distance from the steps where I’d seen her. I came out at the seawall. Scampering up, I started running the wide stone wall, glad it was at least relatively flat.

  Just as I came to the spot where I’d estimated I needed to turn toward the square to get behind her, I saw a small speedboat with the name, DUFFY. I stopped and looked at her, tied to the pier, engine idling. I didn’t know who owned DUFFY, and no one was in sight. I hoped the owner was still alive. DUFFY looked fast — a perfect high-speed shuttle to freedom.

  I knew that Donna was near. I turned and looked up the steps. I’d seen her there and wouldn’t have gone far. I let my gaze take in this edge of the town square, seeing it filling with people eager for the party to start and willing to endure the speeches first. Already people were rocking to the high-decibel music coming out of the large speakers and interrupted periodically by brief, distorted, nearly unintelligible announcements that seemed to say little more than repeating that the big event would be starting soon.

  She was in close for a short-range kill and stopping her meant I had to get even closer to her. When I reached the steps, I’d have to risk running up them as fast as possible, trading surprise for stealth.

  The buildings just above me, the houses sitting on this side of the square had suffered a lot from erosion. Most had been built long ago, and as the seawall eroded, they’d be shored up by exposed concrete pillars. Looking up at the houses, scanning along that line, I caught sight of her moving slowly to the front of the growing crowd. She kept herself tucked slightly around the corner from the square, just out of sight of the square itself. The cars with the VIPs would stop to one side, and the way she positioned herself, I assumed she intended to take her shot as the men approached the stage from the cars.

  I smiled to myself at the deviousness of her plan. From her chosen spot she had a great view and her target would pass within easy pistol range. With the crowd paying attention to what was going on in front of them, no one would notice her as she took a shot. The kill would create immediate chaos, but she’d be outside of it and free to scamper down the stairs and jump into the waiting boat.

  With the Coast Guard cutter secured at the pier, she’d be out of the harbor and in international waters before anyone even figured out what had happened.

  If Donna wasn’t the villain in this story, if she hadn’t killed the constable without a glimmer of remorse, I might have admired her ability. Instead, I made note of what was there and who had the advantage — this was the time to stop her and I couldn’t spend too much planning.

  Dashing up the concrete steps, taking two stairs at a time while trying to be as quiet as possible, I closed the distance between us. Fortunately, her attention was fixed on her approaching target and the related task of keeping a small bubble of space around her so that she could move quickly.

  Just as I reached the top step, I heard the sound of cars pulling to a stop in the square and the slamming of doors. The VIPs had arrived. I didn’t have much time.

  If I’d harbored any doubts about her intentions, they were dispelled when I saw Donna reach behind her back, her hand moving under her jacket. When it came out, her hand gripped the now-familiar Glock.

  The time for thinking was over. Moving fast, I came up behind her, slamming my body into her and knocking her into a heavyset woman in front of her who began shouting at Donna. As Donna struggled for balance. I grabbed her gun hand, holding it down so she couldn’t bring it to bear on her target.

  As I said, I was acting without thinking, and that wasn’t the smartest move on my part. Donna reacted instantly, immediately spinning around, moving out of the range of my arms, to keep me from grabbing her. At the same time, she twisted her wrist in a standard martial arts move — an all-too simple wrist rel
ease that wrenched her wrist toward my thumb. Even with my large hands wrapped around that slender wrist I couldn’t hold her. She broke free, and continuing her fluid motion, pointed the gun at me.

  It was a stupid move on my part, and only would’ve worked on someone untrained, but it did provide her with a dilemma. She could shoot me, but unless she could snap off a second shot instantly, the police would have her target flat on the ground — safe. If she shot him, she had to figure a way to deal with me.

  She didn’t hesitate. In the blink of an eye, she spun, bringing the gun up. It was right at the ear of some unsuspecting local and already the VIP, her target, was coming into view.

  Now I had to deal with a dilemma and a heartbeat in which to resolve it. If I jumped her again, it was likely she’d shoot and keep shooting. I might not be able to keep her from killing her target, and innocent people would get hurt or even killed.

  At least, I’d like to think that’s what went through my mind, that she was endangering people who had just come to party, and I needed to stop her by any means necessary. Actually, that was a rationalization for doing what I’d known I’d have to do from the moment I spotted her by the square. I’d probably known it from the moment that I realized that she had killed Nick, shot at Gazele, and intended to kill this man.

  Whatever went through my mind, reflex took over. Clutching my knife, I closed in on her, moving against her back and plunging the knife into her, right alongside the spine and ripping upward.

  I saw shock and surprise on her face. Ripping the knife free, I took the Glock from her hand and pocketed. As she collapsed in a delayed reaction, I caught her and dragged her backward. Everyone ignored us as I took her around the corner of the building and dropped her down on someone’s concrete patio.

  The sound of applause rang through the square and a voice boomed out over the PA system. “My friends,” the voice said, sharing news with the phony enthusiasm of politicians everywhere, “this is a great day for St. Anne.”

  Donna let out a sudden, stricken breath, her last gasp. I dropped to my knees beside her and watched as the life rushed out of her lovely body. Even though she was a stone killer, I felt a sadness seeing her die, knowing that I had killed her. I stared at the surprised expression on her face and the glassy, empty look in her eyes — the hallmarks of finality that said this adventure was over; her adventures were over forever.

  “Who was fucking with my boat?” a man roared from the dock.

  I glanced down the stairs to where an angry young man wearing a “St. Anne Parasailing” tee-shirt fumed as he climbed into the boat called DUFFY and shut down the motor. “No one gonna be taking this boat nowhere,” he said.

  He was right. No one was going anywhere for a time, and the once pretty young woman who had intended to leave in that boat wasn’t going anywhere but the morgue.

  28

  When Inspector George asked us to gather at The Barracuda to talk over the recent events, I took it as a sign of how well he was adapting to being back in the islands. Not just his choice of venue, although it was incredibly suitable, but that he wanted to fill everyone in on what happened and explain the bits we didn’t know about and how it had all wrapped up officially.

  And so, I found myself in the congenial company of Walter, Bill, Gazele, Jeff, and Jackson, sitting at two tables that Sally had pushed together.

  Once the delightful lady ensured we each had a glass of rum, the inspector rubbed his hands together.

  “Well, I think we can clear things, the circumstances around recent event, at least a bit,” he said.

  “They’d have trouble getting any murkier,” Bill said.

  “We learned that these folks were fighting over a job. According to my contacts up in the US, the mob didn’t hire anyone to kill this Mr. Miller,” he said.

  That surprised me. “No? They came for another reason? They weren’t here on holiday. When she called me, Donna made it clear that she was looking forward to a payday for her work.”

  He grinned. “Well, she could count on one if she did the job and survived. The real story explains a lot of what was happening. Seems this mob did have a beef with Mr. Miller all right, but they decided it best to take the capitalist road — they just put out the word that he’d be on this island and that there was a sweet bounty available to whoever killed him. Then they sat back and let free enterprise determine the outcome.”

  That did explain things. “That’s why she worried not only about making the kill but ensuring that Nick wouldn’t take credit for it.”

  Bill laughed. “That actually makes sense now.”

  I agreed. “At the time, I didn’t quite understand what she meant about Nate being competition. She’d gotten a jump on Nate, getting her early. So now we know he was hunting her, eliminating competition, while he set up his own attempt on the man.”

  “That would fit with what we know,” the inspector said, “but it’s just a reasonable guess.” He looked at everyone. “Due to Martin’s enthusiasm for stopping Donna, and his thorough and efficient methods for doing just that, we are left with no living leads that we can follow. Nothing that will take us back to the mob. Sadly, that means we have nothing to provide to the law-enforcement folk up in the US.”

  My stomach tightened. “Sorry, but I did what I thought I needed to.”

  Bill chucked. “You want efficiency? Franz Kafka once wrote, ‘My guiding principle is this. Guilt is never to be doubted.’”

  With a sidelong glance at Bill, the inspector smiled at me. “You did just fine, Martin,” he said. “If that leaves some problems not dealt with, well, those little things are for the task force up there. Down here, we can say that the peace was restored, and the Minister’s event went off without a hitch, except for the length of his speech and Ugly Bill tossing a man in the ocean during the party after.”

  “He was rude to Sally,” Bill said.

  “An inexcusable act, for certain,” the inspector said, grinning. “But I figure we can let him off with time served.”

  Sally laughed. “That is the time in the water and the time spent climbing up that old seawall.”

  “Anyway, gentlemen, and including you Jackson, in case there is any confusion,” the inspector continued, “the minister gave me his thanks and asked me to tell you he appreciates your efforts. He also told me, personally mentioned, that he has had to rethink his estimation of this little island and its efficient police force.”

  “Did you get a raise?” Gazele asked.

  “He was not quite that grateful and all,” the inspector said.

  Walter chuckled. “Now I’m hoping that works out okay. I kinda liked things when he didn’t think much of us. It was good he did his planning and dreaming about the big island — we was getting along fine.”

  “He also mentioned that he saw no reason whatsoever to bring this episode to Mr. Miller’s attention.”

  Gazele looked at him. ‘He ain’t gonna tell the man that he’s got people trying to kill him?”

  The inspector seemed to enjoy the prospect. “When I told the US task force about that, they said that’s fine. It none of they business what the minister do. They said, it probably not our problem either.”

  “What the man do to get the minister so upright and vengeful?” Walter asked.

  “Well, he did get hisself on the minister’s bad side. Seems that the minister found out that Mr. Miller didn’t ever have a single serious intention of building anything on any of these islands. He came down for a free vacation, to be wined and dined on the government’s dime. When that came out, well, it made the Minister look foolish to all his friends. No politician is going to take to that kindly, especially as another man mentioned to me that this minister has been thinking of himself as the most likely man to be the next PM. Now, I know that folk in Asia talk a lot about the problems of losing face, but they ain’t seen nothing compared to an island politician who thinks he was done for.”

 
“Payback comes in strange ways when you get government people involved in things,” Jackson said. “Questions that got real answers get made into questions that got none.”

  “That about right,” Walter said. “And now I’m guessing that this means that officially not much happened here over these last few days?”

  “That seems exactly the case,” Inspector George said. “My instructions are to make a nice neat package of it all and bury it deep. So we are here to talk about a number of loose ends.”

  “Like that sailboat we have at anchor, the one that belongs to a rental company in Grenada, and all the dead bodies we got lying around?”

  “We have some unexpected help in dealing with those matters. The task force I’ve been working with in New York is interested in obtaining the bodies. They made some arrangements. The US Embassy over in Grenada has been instructed to ship the bodies, the remains of the four unfortunate tourists who died in a freakish boating accident, to Miami. There, they will be processed by some initial agency of the US government who gonna try to identify them, seeing as we sure as hell don’t know who they are.”

  “Four?” Walter asked.

  “Sure.” He gave us one of those obvious winks. “We have those four people we found offshore. I am sure you all must recollect how we discovered that boat and the bodies, every one of them with fake IDs claiming they was folk named Nate, Nick, Donna, and a fella named Walter Davis, who ain’t who he claimed either.”

  “Oh, them four,” Walter said.

  The inspector looked at me. “Martin, does that boat of yours have cold storage?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, the task force offered to instruct the embassy to hire you boys to bring the bodies north,” he said. “At your normal rates. For service above and beyond and all that.”

  “We can sure do that,” I said.