Clive Cussler - Pirate

“We’ll take care of it. Anything else?”

“Just that I took the liberty of picking up copies of the police reports in San Francisco. No prints on the fake cops you found tossing your hotel room. But there was a match on a print from the man who robbed the bookstore. Jakob ‘Jak’ Stanislav.”

“I take it he’s well known in the system?”

“Definitely a vast criminal history. From a crime family suspected in a number of missing persons cases where the bodies have yet to be found.”

“Duly noted.”

“If I discover anything further, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” He disconnected.

Remi reached for her towel and wrapped it about her, then sat next to him on the longue. “Who was that?”

“Archer. Bree appears to check out.”

“Hmm,” she said, her tone very smug.

“He’s doing some further digging into Larayne. Seems she’s having financial issues and is literally about to lose the farm.”

“But to set up her father?”

“People have done worse for less. The good news is that until Archer’s done with his investigating and Selma’s done with her research, we have nothing better to do than make headway on that vacation I promised you.”

“A lovely thought, Fargo, but we did promise to visit your mother this afternoon.”

His mother, Eunice, still going strong in her seventies, lived in Key West, where she ran a charter boat for snorkelers and deep-sea fishing. “Surely she’d understand.”

Remi arched a fine brow at him. “And what would you be telling her as the reason we had to cancel?”

Before he could think of something suitable, his phone rang for a second time that morning. It was Selma, and Sam placed it on speaker. “Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Mr. Fargo, but Lazlo thinks he knows how to find that cipher wheel.”

Tell us what you have,” Sam said, then sat back as Selma talked about the history of the ship that sank near Snake Island.

“It was a part of a fleet that set sail from Jamaica. We were able to find some of the records of the other ships on the Internet but hit a dead end. We think you’ll be able to find what you’re looking for in Jamaica.”

“Jamaica?” Remi said. “I love Jamaica this time of year.”

“Unfortunately,” Selma replied, “you’re headed to Kingston, not the beaches. Definitely some areas you want to avoid.”

“Kingston it is,” Sam said. “So what is it we’re looking for, Selma?”

“Records that trace the ownership of the fleet. Where it originated prior to the stop in Jamaica. That should give us a fair idea about where to start looking for that second wheel — or, rather, the original one. Just be careful. If we found the information this easily, chances are that Avery’s men may very well be there chasing after the same lead.”

The ever-efficient Selma made sure everything was ready the moment their plane touched down at Norman Manley International. A rental car employee greeted them at the office after they cleared customs. “Welcome to Jamaica, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo,” he said with a lilting accent. He gave them a broad smile, his teeth gleaming white against dark skin, as he held out a map, the rental papers, and car keys.

Sam eyed the map. “The car has GPS?”

“Of course. A very nice one, I assure you. The map makes a good fan on a hot day.”

“Thank you,” Sam replied, signing the paperwork.

The employee walked them out to show them the car, a blue BMW 528i sedan. Once the inspection was done, he asked, “Will there be anything else you will be needing this fine afternoon?”

“Recommendations on a good restaurant,” Sam replied. “We’re headed to Kingston.”

“Good as in expensive. Or good as in good?”

“The latter.”

“I know just the place.” He took out a pen, wrote down the name of a restaurant along with the address. “A lot of dangerous areas in Kingston. This area is not where I would normally send tourists, but not because it is dangerous. The people are very nice. Not like the bad parts. When you get there, you ask for Melia and tell her that Kemar sent you. It will be the best meal you have in Jamaica. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, tucking the address in his pocket.

“I forgot to ask. Were you meeting friends here?”

“No,” Sam said, thinking the question odd. “Why?”

“Two men came by and asked if you had picked up your car.”

“And what did you tell them?” Sam asked.

“The same as I tell all our other customers. We do not release that information.”

“Any chance you know what they were driving?”

“Unfortunately, no. They came inside the building, and I was with another customer.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, giving Kemar a generous tip, before getting into the car.

“Great,” Remi said, buckling her seat belt. “We’ve only just arrived and we’re already being stalked?”

“Only, this time, they’ll receive a hot reception.” He patted the Smith & Wesson in the hidden Velcro holster of his fishing vest. “One way to look at it is, we’re on the right track.”

“Unfortunately, it also means so are they.”

“At least we’re forewarned,” he said.

Due to the island’s British roots, the driver sat on the right, and, as always, it took Sam a few minutes to settle in to driving on the so-called wrong side of the road, especially when it came to the first few turns. As they left the airport, he kept watch in the rearview mirror. After a couple of miles a white SUV caught his eye. Everyone leaving the airport by the same route meant they were bound to see the same cars for a while. The SUV started to pass the vehicle behind Sam, then suddenly braked and darted back into its original position. The opposing lane ahead of Sam was wide open, with a large gap in traffic that would easily have allowed safe passing.

Whether a tourist deciding against making a lane change or Avery’s men trying to verify it was Sam and Remi in the car, he didn’t know. They were too far back for him to see who was inside. “We may have company.”

“Already?” Remi glanced out her window into the side mirror. “Which car?”

“White SUV. They were trying to pass the car behind us, then changed their mind.”

“Trying to see if we were here?”

“Possibly.”

“Now what?”

“The scenic route to the restaurant to see if we’re being followed.”

As soon as they reached town, Sam made a quick left and was glad to see the SUV continue straight. “Catch who was behind the wheel?” he asked.

“Tinted windows.”

He made another left, then pulled to the curb, parking about a half block down in front of a large truck that would, he hoped, block their view. He watched the intersection from his side mirror. When the SUV didn’t appear within what Sam thought was a reasonable amount of time, he pulled out, keeping to side streets as they drove to the restaurant. As Kemar had warned, they were in a part of town where tourists seemed to be absent. They drove past shanties and corrugated-metal shacks on streets crowded with pedestrians who darted into the roads certain that any vehicles would stop in time. Eventually the smaller buildings were replaced by larger structures. When they reached the right neighborhood, he drove past the restaurant, a bright purple building, tucked in between other businesses and restaurants, each painted a different color of the rainbow, some clashing garishly with whatever was built next to it. Distinctly Jamaica.

“Did we lose them?” Remi asked.

“Looks like it. Just in case, we’ll park away from the restaurant. No sense making it easy for them.”