Philip Kerr - The Five Year Plan (1998)

'But with the modified fuel tanks--'

'You could stretch her cruising range to about that distance. Maybe even 4,000 miles. But that would leave you with another dilemma. Where to put the coke. Assuming that the purpose of extending her fuel tanks is to--'

'Yes,' snapped Bowen. 'I take your point. She can't make the distance and carry the dope in her tanks.' Bowen picked up a paperweight from his desk top and began to toss it in his hands like a baseball. 'You know, I've been giving this matter some considerable thought, Kate, and I've come up with an idea of my own.'

'You have?' Kate sounded a little more surprised than she could have wished.

'Yeah. Wanna hear it?'

Kate shrugged. She hadn't explained the rest of her theory to do with the Britannia'?, fuel tanks. But at the same time she was aware of how little Kent Bowen knew about boats and reflected that she really couldn't afford to antagonize him. She

said, 'Sure. Go ahead.'

'Well, I was thinking.'

Good start.

'We know they can compress cocaine, color it, mix it with cellulose, even combine it with glass fiber to create a hard material that can be molded into any shape you like.'

'Ye-e-es.'

'Well, d'you remember a few years ago? The dog kennels?'

Kate nodded patiently. Bowen was referring to a narcotics seizure made by federal agents back in 1992. A Colombian drug cartel had manufactured fifty dog kennels made from cocaine. Ground down and treated with chemicals, the dog kennels had had a street value of almost half a million dollars.

'Suppose Rocky Envigado brain-celled a way to do the same with a boat hull. Polyurethane? Glass fiber?' Bowen shrugged as he waited for Kate to step in with an exclamation at her ASAC boss's genius. Instead she looked puzzled, as if she hadn't quite grasped the ingenuity of what he was suggesting. 'Well, you said yourself they were working on the hull in this dry dock of yours down on Thirteenth.'

Kate said, 'You know something? I would never have thought of that. Not ever. That is an incredible idea.'

Impervious to Kate's sarcasm, Bowen said, 'It is kind of sneaky, isn't it? I mean think about that.' He uttered a little chuckle of appreciation. 'Goddamn it Kate, when you think about it some more, it really begins to make sense.'

'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 #.'

' 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.