Десмонд Бэгли - Bahama Crisis

Now he said raspily, ‘This is a very strange business you’ve come up with, Mangan.’

‘We’d better discuss it later.’ I tossed the pictures before Perigord. ‘Carrasco probably made a rendezvous with a boat called Capistrano. Rodriguez took those last night.’

A little time was wasted while we discussed how Rodriguez could possibly have taken photographs at night without a flash, then Perigord twitched an eyebrow at Deane. ‘With your permission?’

‘Yes,’ said Deane. ‘Get busy. But you have a watching brief, that’s all.’

Perigord left, and Deane said, ‘As I started to say, you have come up with an oddity. You have suggested a crime, or a series of crimes, with no hard evidence — merely a chain of suppositions.’

‘No evidence! What about the ampoules taken from Carrasco?’

‘Those won’t be evidence until we find what is in them, and Perigord tells me that will take four days. We flew an ampoule to Nassau during the night. So far the whole affair is very misty. A lot of strange things have been happening around you, and don’t think my deputy has not kept me informed. Now, these events are subject to many interpretations, as all subjective evidence is.’

‘Subjective!’ I said incredulously. ‘My first wife disappeared and my daughter was found dead; there’s nothing bloody subjective about that. My second wife and I were kidnapped; I suppose we dreamed it up. There have been two cases of disease in hotels and that’s fact, Commissioner, bloody hard fact.’

‘What is subjective is your interpretation of these events,’ said Deane. ‘You have brought in a number of events — the breakdown of a baggage carousel at the airport, a fire, an air crash, and a number of other things, and the only connection you can offer is your interpretation. Just give me one piece of hard evidence, something I can put before a court — that’s all I ask.’

‘You’ve got it — the ampoules.’

‘I’ve got nothing, until four days from now. And what’s in the ampoules might prove to be a cough cure.’

‘You can prove it right now,’ I said. ‘Just take one of those ampoules, break it, and inhale deeply. But don’t ask me to be in the same room when you do it.’

Deane smiled unexpectedly. ‘You’re a stubborn man. No, I won’t do that because you may be right. In fact, I think you are right.’ He stood up and began to pace the room. ‘Your interpretation of events dovetails with a number of mysteries which have been occupying my mind lately.’

I sighed. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘A lot of telephoning was done during the night. We now know that Dr Luis Carrasco is unknown at 226 Avenida Bolivar in Caracas.’

That was disappointing. ‘Another lead gone,’ I said dejectedly.

‘Negative findings can be useful,’ observed Deane. ‘It tells us, for instance, that he was bent, that he had something to hide.’ He added casually, ‘Of course, now we know his real name all becomes clear.’

I sat up. ‘ You know who he is?’

‘When you sealed his hotel room you did well. We could make nothing of the fingerprints so we passed them on to the Americans, and their report came on that telephone just before you arrived here. Carrasco turns out to be one Serafin Perez.’

That meant nothing to me. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘Not many people have,’ said Deane. ‘He liked his anonymity. Perez is — was — a Cuban, a hardline communist and Moscow-trained. He was with Che Guevara when Guevara tried to export the revolution, but he broke with Guevara because he thought Guevara was mishandling the business. As it turned out Perez proved to be right and Guevara wrong. Since then he’s been busy and a damn sight more successful than Che. He’s been pitching up all over the place — Grenada, Nicaragua, Martinique, Jamaica. Notice anything about that list?’

‘The hot spots,’ I said. ‘Grenada has gone left, so has Nicaragua. Jamaica is going, and the French are holding on to Martinique with their finger tips.’

‘I believe Perez was here during the riots in Nassau. There was a certain amount of justification for that trouble, but not to the length of riot. Many of the rioters had no direct connection and I smelled a rent-a-mob. Now I know who rented it.’

‘So much for Carrasco-Perez,’ I said. ‘A white ant.’

Deane looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When I was at Cambridge I knew a South African. He once said something which had me baffled and I asked him to explain it. He said he had been white-anted; apparently it’s a common South African idiom. A white ant is what we would call a termite, Commissioner.’

Deane grunted. ‘Don’t talk to me about termites,’ he said sourly. ‘I’ve just discovered that my house is infested. It’s going to cost me five thousand dollars — probably more.’

I said, ‘You take a wooden post or a beam in a house. It looks good and solid until you hit it, then it collapses into a heap of powder — the termites have got into it. When the South African said he’d been white-anted he meant he’d been undermined without his knowledge. In his case it was student politics — something to do with the student union. Commissioner, the Bahamas are being white-anted. We’re being attacked at our most vulnerable point — tourism.’

‘A good analogy,’ said Deane thoughtfully. ‘It’s true that the Ministry of Tourism is perturbed about the fall in the number of visitors lately. So is the Prime Minister — there was a special Cabinet meeting last week. And there’s more political unrest. Fewer tourists means more unemployment, and that is being exploited. But we need evidence — the Prime Minister demands it. Any crack-down without evidence would lead to accusations of police interference in political matters. The Prime Minister doesn’t want the Bahamas to have the reputation of being a police state — that wouldn’t do much for tourism, either.’

‘Then investigate the sinking of that tanker in Exuma Sound last night. The report mentioned a twenty-mile oil slick only eight hours after she went down. If that’s true the oil came out awfully fast. If I were you I’d question the skipper closely — if he’s still around. Don’t wait for the official inquiry; regard it as a police matter.’

‘By God!’ said Deane. ‘I hadn’t made that connection.’

‘And find Robinson,’ I said. ‘What do you know about him ?’

‘Nothing at all. Your Mr Robinson is an unknown quantity.’

Perigord came in. ‘Capistrano just left Running Mon marina, heading east along the coast.’

East! ‘Making for the Grand Lucayan Waterway and the north coast,’ I said. ‘Florida next stop.’

‘What kind of a boat is she?’ asked Deane.

‘Sixty-foot motor yacht, white hull,’ said Perigord. ‘I don’t think she’s all that fast, she’s a displacement type according to the management of Running Mon. She put into the marina during the night with engine trouble. Had it fixed this morning.’

I looked at Deane who was sitting immobile. ‘What are we waiting for? You have a fast police launch, and Capistrano is still in Bahamian waters.’

‘So we put men aboard, search her, and find nothing. Then what?’ Deane stood up. ‘I’ll tell you what would happen next. We’d have to let her go — with profuse apologies. If your Mr Robinson is as clever as you say we would certainly not find anything because there would be nothing to be found.’

‘But you might find Robinson,’ I said. ‘He could be aboard and he’s wanted for kidnapping in Texas.’

‘Not so,’ contradicted Deane. ‘A man calling himself Robinson is wanted for questioning concerning a kidnapping in Texas. He cannot possibly be extradited merely for questioning. We would have to let him go. He has committed no crime in the Bahamas for which we have evidence — as yet.’