Филип Керр - A Five Year Plan

‘It does?’

‘For instance. Most yachts are white, aren’t they? It’s the perfect disguise for a ton or so of cocaine. Jesus Christ, a motor yacht made of pure cocaine. Now that’s what I call a goddamn sports boat.’

Kate smiled thinly and wondered how many more weak jokes he might yet wring out of his hare-brained theory.

‘Now if that isn’t the last word in custom-built motor yachts.’

She let him ramble on for a minute or two before deciding to bring him down to reality again.

She said, ‘Yes, it’s certainly an interesting possibility. Albeit a remote one. However. Suppose there was a way to make the transatlantic shipment without using any fuel at all. Of course you’d need enough diesel to cover the secret compartments for the cocaine. But taking into account the dimensions of the yacht and the position of the engine room, which is aft—’

‘Aft? Where’s aft?’

‘Nautical term. It means in or near the stern of the boat.’ She paused for a second and then added, ‘The back of the boat.’

‘Oh aft, yeah, I know.’

‘Taking that and the construction of the interior bulkheads into account — it’s just light aluminium plate coupled with honeycomb composites — well, I estimate you could store up to 1,000 keys of coke and still have as much diesel as the boat was originally designed to hold.’

Bowen grinned uncomfortably, certain now that he was out of his depth. He replaced the paperweight on his desk and said, ‘So what are you saying?’

‘Just this. Maybe this time, instead of trying to sail the boat across on its own, via Bermuda and the Azores, they’re planning to book the yacht on a transatlantic yacht transport. They are kind of oceangoing ferry boats. For expensive plastic. If you want to get your twenty-four-inch beam Broward over to the South of France for the Cannes Film Festival for instance, you’d probably have it ferried across the Atlantic. It would be perfect cover for someone like Rocky Envigado. His boat rubbing fenders with what passes for high society here in Florida.’

Bowen said, ‘I had no idea—’

That much was true at any rate.

‘That you were so knowledgeable about boats, Kate.’

‘Before Howard, my husband — before he and I separated, we used to spend a lot of time together on his sport-fisher.’

Kate smiled as she recalled the fishing they had done together — marlin, tuna, even the odd shark — and the 78-foot Knight & Carver boat they had owned. Correction, he had owned. The Dice Man. With bait well, fish-freezer and professional tackle center, not to mention three large staterooms finished in rare Hawaiian koa wood, the Dice Man had been a really luxurious but true tournament fishing platform. She missed the boat more than she had realized. Certainly she missed it more than she missed Howard.

She said, ‘That’s where he’s been living since we split. On the boat.’

‘Well I’m from Kansas,’ said Bowen. ‘Reckon that’s as far away from one or t’other ocean as it is possible to be.’

She said, ‘I’ve never been in Kansas.’

‘It’s kind of a square-looking state when you see it on the map. A lot like a picture frame. You’d be hard pressed to recognize its outline if it came up as a question on Let’s Make a Deal. Now Florida — you’re from Florida, right?’

‘Titusville.’

‘Florida is the most recognizable state outline in the whole Union.’

‘Yes it is,’ said Kate. At least they could agree on something.

‘You know what I’m reminded of when I look at that outline, Kate?’

Kate shook her head.

‘A handgun. Short barrel, large grip. Kind of like that Ladysmith you carry. Every time I see that state outline on a road sign I’m reminded of why I’m here.’

‘And why is that, sir?’

‘To combat crime. This is the crime capital of the United States. Didn’t you know that?’

But Bowen wasn’t waiting for an answer.

‘Mostly on account of all the scum who’ve come to settle here from places like Cuba, Haiti and the Dominican Republic’

‘I think that’s all a little—’

He said, ‘Titusville. That’s up the coast, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you always into boats?’

‘Ever since Gemini 8 .’

‘ Gemini 8? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘When I was a kid we used to go out on the ocean aboard my daddy’s boat and watch the launches from the Kennedy Space Center. It was best view around for miles. Yes, I’ve been around boats nearly all my life.’

Bowen said, ‘Well, you know boats. But I know law enforcement. You probably heard I was deputy sheriff of Dodge City before I joined the Bureau.’

Kate nodded wearily.

‘Of course this was quite a few years ago. And Dodge was cleaned up before I ever got there.’ He uttered the familiar little chuckle that Kate had learned to detest. ‘Old Wyatt Earp saw to that. One of the reasons I joined the Bureau in the first place was to escape from there. But not before I learned the job the hard way. On the street. Only place you get to develop a nose for it. And right now my nose is telling me that we ought to at least check out this theory of mine. About the boat hull bein’ made of cocaine n’all. You say you know boats?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Then I want you to speak to some boat-builders and see if it can be done. I hear what you say about fuel tanks, Kate. But I think you’re down a gator hole. Those boys have got a lot more ingenuity than you give ’em credit for, Kate. Never underestimate your opponent.’

Kate smiled back at him as he tapped his temple with a forefinger. Underestimating her boss was beginning to look almost impossible.

He said, ‘Think big. That’s what they do. That’s what I do. These bastards don’t conform to the common order. Neither do we, Kate. Neither do we. And when you’ve seen if it can be done — and frankly I’d be very surprised if it couldn’t — well then maybe you can organize some kind of covert team to go into that dry dock and take a closer look at that hull. I’m willing to bet you’ll find some kind of an anomaly.’

‘Anomaly, yeah.’ Kate restrained herself on the edge of a remark she knew she would later regret. She wanted to tell him, yeah, there’s been some kind of an anomaly, all right. I normally get an ASAC for a boss with a brain in his fucking head.

Driving home that night, through the banyan-lined streets of North Miami, she was tuned to Magic 102.7, an oldies station, and there was an early Rolling Stones song she had always loved. And although she had heard the song a thousand times before and knew the words by heart she still found herself thinking of Kent Bowen and how she was going to prove him wrong as she sang along. Time was on her side.

In Dave’s suite, the telephone rang. It was Jimmy Figaro.

‘Got a passport?’

‘You’ve got it,’ said Dave.

‘I have?’

‘I had to surrender it before the trial. Remember?’

‘If you say so. Still valid you think?’

‘Should be, yes.’

‘OK, let me get Carol to find it and then I’ll come back to you.’

‘You know, I’m glad you reminded me. I was going to have to call you about it anyway. Does this mean the job is on?’

‘I don’t know anything about a job.’

‘Oh yeah, I remember. You’re on a need to know basis.’

‘All I know is what Al Cornaro told me.’

‘And that is?’

‘That you and he are flying down to Costa Rica.’

‘Costa Rica? What’s in Costa Rica?’

‘Some pretty good coffee, last time they looked. Maybe you could bring me back some beans.’