Филип Керр - A Five Year Plan

Kate looked at Bowen. ‘There’s not much you can see up here when it gets dark,’ she offered by way of an excuse.

‘I guess not.’

Kate said, ‘I could show you some pictures, but right now you can see the live action.’

Bowen clapped his hands together purposefully. ‘Then let’s take a lookee-see what we can I-spy, shall we?’

The big lenses were focused on the opposite side of the Stranahan River and the Portside Yacht Club where some of the biggest and most expensive boats in Fort Lauderdale were moored. The cameraman who reckoned he knew a good Margarita when he tasted one, took Bowen through the cameras like a salesman in a Sharper Image store.

‘This one, the 500-mill, gives you a pretty good view of the whole boat and what’s happening on the mooring.’

Bowen swept off his Tilley hat and pressed his eye close to the viewfinder. At 110 feet long the Britannia was hardly the biggest vessel in the harbor. Not with Trump about. And she was dwarfed by the 150-foot triple storey moored alongside. But with her large flying bridge and elegant lines she was a graceful-looking boat. Fun too, if the small speedboat, Wet Bikes, Jetskis, and Hobiecat she had on board were anything to go by. Not to mention the naked female occupant of the Jacuzzi on the bridge.

Bowen grinned and said, ‘I’ll have me some of that. Who’s the little lady with the bubbles?’

Kate sighed wearily and said, ‘So far as we can tell her name is Gay Gilmore.’

‘Gary’s sister, huh?’ sniggered Bowen. The girl in the Jacuzzi rubbed some bubbles over her breasts. ‘Hey, let’s do it, babe.’

‘Actually, she’s from New Zealand. Until a few weeks ago she was working illegally as a table dancer at a joint on Collins. Right now, she seems to be the Britannia captain’s main squeeze.’

The Margarita man said, ‘You can see him on the 800-mill here. Name of Nicky Vallbona. He’s the ugly bastard on the aft deck.’

Reluctantly, Bowen changed cameras and found himself looking at a dark man with a pencil-thin mustache. He said, ‘You’re right, he is an ugly bastard.’

‘He’s clean as far as we’re concerned,’ said Kate.

‘What does a babe like her see in a hog like him?’ mused Bowen.

The second cameraman stirred on his chair to put out his cigarette. He snorted and said, ‘The boat, I shouldn’t wonder. Chick seems to like it as much as she likes him. Comes and goes pretty much as she pleases. Always in that Jacuzzi. I believe she’s quite popular with the folks looking through the telescope up on the Pier Top. She’s becoming a regular tourist attraction.’

Bowen moved back to the first camera to take another look at Gay Gilmore.

‘Me I prefer the boat next to the Britannia,’ said the Margarita man. ‘That one belongs to Sean Connery.’

‘007’s got a boat here in Lauderdale?’ Bowen’s voice betrayed excitement. ‘Any pictures of the big guy himself?’

The two cameramen exchanged a guilty look and then shook their heads simultaneously.

‘No,’ lied one.

Bowen said, ‘You’re right though. It is a nice boat. Sean Connery, eh? Matter of fact my own ancestors were Scottish. From Edinburgh. Just like him.’

‘I guess there are lots of other similarities,’ said Kate.

But Bowen was too interested in Connery’s boat and the naked girl on the Britannia to be aware of Kate’s sarcasm.

Kate said, ‘I checked out your theory, sir. With Palmer Johnson Yachts right here in Fort Lauderdale. They’re one of the biggest makers of boat hulls in Florida. The guy I spoke to, Luis Madrid, said it was possible that you might get a hull made of compressed cocaine that might look like the real thing when covered with a linear polyurethane coating. But that it would hardly perform to the same standard.’

Bowen had moved back to the 800-mill lens to get a closer view of Gay Gilmore’s naked body. She was touching herself all over now, almost as if she knew that people were watching. The thought occurred to him that maybe she was acting as some kind of distraction to keep people watching what was happening in the Jacuzzi and not somewhere else. But swinging the camera lens all around it didn’t seem that there was much else to see. Just Vallbona talking on the cellular.

‘I wonder who Nicky’s talking to on his Nokia,’ he murmured.

‘Right now, it’s his bookmaker,’ said Kate.

Bowen looked up for a moment, surprised.

‘You can really tell that from up here?’

‘Sure. We’ve got a Cellmate System,’ said Kate. ‘We have intercepted one call I think you’ll find is of particular interest.’

She went over to the man wearing the headphones and tapped him gently on the shoulder. The man, bearded and stale looking, as if in need of air and sunlight, lifted the headphones from his appropriately large ears.

‘Colin. This is Kent Bowen, the AS AC in charge of this operation. Could you play him the SYT tape we made?’

‘Sure thing, Kate.’

Colin drew his laptop toward him, pulled down a menu and chose a file from the list of recordings he had made. The Cellmate was connected to the laptop via an SCSI cable and to a digital tape recorder by means of a parallel interface. The Cellmate itself looked like a larger cellular telephone with some additional controls.

‘SYT file coming up,’ said Colin and hit the return on his laptop.

Kate said, ‘The first voice you’ll hear, the guy with the Spanish accent, is the shipping agent, Juan Sedeno. Nicky Vallbona is the second voice.’

Bowen nodded and pulled up a chair and listened as the tape began to play:

‘Stranahan Yacht Transport.’

‘I’d like to book my vessel aboard your ship for the March voyage to Palma, Mallorca. From Port Everglades.’

‘All right sir. Your own name, the name of your vessel, and the name of her owner?’

‘I’m Nicky Vallbona and I’m the captain of the Britannia. She’s owned by Azimuth Marine Associates in the British Virgin Islands.’

‘Virgin Islands... Can you tell me please, what are the dimensions of your own boat?’

‘Length is thirty-four meters, beam is 7.3, and the draft 1.8.’

‘One point eight... Any bow pulpit?’

‘No.’

‘Swimming platform?’

‘Yes, it’s three feet long.’

‘Three feet. What about tender storage?’

‘On-board.’

‘Hmmm. March, you say...’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, we can accommodate you, Captain Vallbona. The cost will be approximately 93,500 American dollars. That figure includes stevedoring on both sides of the Atlantic, diver’s assistance, all lashing and securing, keel blocks and chine supports, passage for two crew members, and all insurances.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘Do you have our booking form, Captain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you please complete it and fax it back to us as soon as possible?’

‘No problem. I’ll do it right away.’

‘Thank you for calling. Goodbye, Captain.’

‘Goodbye.’

The conversation ended and the tape turned itself off automatically.

‘Wanna hear it again?’ asked Colin.

Bowen said, ‘Hell no. Speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Obviously the boat isn’t seaworthy on account of how the hull’s probably made of pure cocaine. So they’re doing what I always suspected they would do. Getting someone else to ferry it across the Atlantic for them. Perfect cover too. When you think about it. Rocky Envigado’s boat rubbing fenders with what passes for high society in these parts.’