Black Horizon (41 page)

“How?”

“Run to a neighbor’s house. Go!”

A trickle of blood ran from Josefina’s mouth.

“You’re going to be okay,” said Jack.

“No, I’m not,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Just hang in there. An ambulance is coming.”

She grimaced from the pain and grabbed Jack’s hand. “Believe what I told you about Rafael,” she said. “He thought if he played along, the rig would shut down. He just wanted to be with his wife. They needed someone on board the rig to mess with the alarm system. They used him.”

“Who are
they
?” asked Jack.

Maybe she didn’t hear him. Maybe she didn’t know the answer. Or maybe she just had something more important to say.

“Funny thing is, I always did love Rafael,” she said. “But there’s something I want you to tell Bianca, because it’s true: her Rafael never loved another woman.” She smiled a little, fading. “He really was ready to swim to Key West. This wasn’t his fault. It’s just another love story.”

Jack watched the life drain from those dark, mysterious eyes, and then her body went limp in his arms.

“Josefina?”

“Ambulance is coming!” Theo shouted as he rushed back into the gym. Brunelli was with him, and it was clear to Jack who had fired the shot from the dark side of the open window.

“I followed him here,” Brunelli said, pointing with a nod toward Noori. “I was calling for backup when I heard the shots.”

“Ten seconds sooner would have been nice.”

Brunelli knelt down and checked Josefina’s pulse. “She’s gone,” he said.

Jack didn’t want to believe it.

“We have to leave her,” said Brunelli.

“What?”

“An ambulance is on the way. And if I heard the first and second gunshots when I was outside this building, someone in the neighborhood probably heard them, too. They surely heard mine. The Cuban police will be here any minute. We have to go.”

“We can’t just leave,” said Jack.

“They’re all dead, Jack. We can’t help them. We have to go. Now!”

Jack lowered Josefina’s head gently to the floor. Brunelli jumped up into the ring, went to Sicario, and placed the pistol that he’d used to kill Noori in the boxer’s open hand.

“This was a tragic love triangle,” said Brunelli, staging it, his gaze sweeping over all three bodies. “That’s our story.”

Jack kept Josefina’s last words to himself. “More than you know,” he said.

“Let’s go!” said Brunelli.

“I’m not leaving,” said Jack.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I won’t pretend that this is some love triangle gone wrong. I won’t dishonor her like that. The truth is going to be told.”

“Fine,” said Brunelli. “Tell your client, tell the press, tell the world. But do it from Miami, and do it tomorrow—after Operation Black Horizon closes.”

“Operation what?”

“Jack, we need to get you the fuck out of this country before you spend the rest of your life in a Cuban jail.”

“What about Theo? He comes with me. He’s not going back to the Bahamas.”

“Understood. Your wife has the Bahamas covered. Right now. As we speak.”

“Andie’s in the Bahamas?”

“You’ll see. Let our operation play out, and let’s get out of here.”

Jack checked with Theo—just a moment of eye contact—and they were in agreement.

“All right,” said Jack. “We’ll go.”

Brunelli raced across the gym and down the hall, pushing the door open at a dead run. Jack could almost feel the hole in his heart as he and Theo followed the agent into the Cuban night.

Chapter 69

A
ndie reached the marina in Nassau at nine p.m. She was focused on her mission, getting in role, but it was impossible not to take in the beauty of Albany Marina, so many yachts and so much luxury off South Bay. A half-moon hung above the palm trees. Running lights glowed on vessels across the harbor. A hundred-foot sailboat motored into a slip, its five-spreader mast so enormous that it needed a blinking red light to warn low-flying airplanes.

Backing up Andie were two international agents, legates from the U.S. embassy. It was a coordinated effort between the FBI and the Royal Bahamian Police Force. Andie and the legates were technically observers, lacking the authority to make an arrest on foreign soil. But the RBPF’s execution of a Bahamian arrest warrant in connection with the murder of Leonard Jeffries was fully in keeping with the objectives of Operation Black Horizon. As of Monday morning, the RBPF had ruled out Theo Knight in the Jeffries murder. But they had completely lost track of their new suspect. A tip from Andie had steered them straight. Brunelli’s team in Havana had tracked her to Nassau, where Andie picked up the trail. Vivien had led her straight to Albany Marina on South Bay, straight to the man who had murdered Jeffries—to the man who was Vivien’s accomplice in a much bigger crime.

The FBI’s efforts had earned Andie the favor of making one undercover contact with the suspects before the Bahamians moved in for their arrest. The RBPF moved into position in silence. Andie took a seat on the bench on the dock. Beside her was Long Wu, Noori’s boss from N.Y.C. Gadets. His cooperation in this final phase of Operation Black Horizon would earn him immunity from prosecution on counterfeiting charges that could have landed him in prison for the rest of his life.

“Got a visual on the suspects,” said Andie, her voice picked up by her wire. The FBI legates were out of sight, listening.

A dozen yachts rested side by side in long slips, each with the bow facing out, the stern backed up to the dock. From their seat on the wooden bench, Andie and Long Wu were looking directly at the stern of
Lucky Seven Seas
. Rick’s delivery of the seventy-foot Johnson from Key West to Nassau had been a one-way proposition, and his contract to deliver the even larger
Lucky Seven Seas
to Havana would get him out of the Bahamas in style, and closer to the big payoff. The FBI could add the boat delivery, a violation of the U.S. trade embargo, to Rick’s long list of crimes. According to Andie’s intelligence, Rick had been making the trip for years. It was how he and Vivien had hooked up and fallen into bed in the first place.

Andie waited for Rick and Vivien to draw even with her on the dock, then rose. “We need to talk, Rick,” she said.

He and Vivien stopped before stepping onto the yacht. “Who are you?” asked Rick.

Long Wu stepped forward and delivered his only line. “This Noori’s girlfriend,” he said in broken English.

Andie took over. “Vivien, I’m sure you remember Dawut Noori’s boss. You met on one of Long Wu’s business trips to Havana.”

“Yes, of course I remember,” said Vivien.

Rick and Vivien exchanged glances. There was some obvious apprehensiveness on their part, but Andie sensed that she had gotten past the first credibility hurdle.

“Dawut is dead,” said Andie.

She checked their reactions in the moonlight. There was none.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Vivien.

“We don’t doubt your sincerity,” said Andie. “I’ve seen the articles you wrote for the
Cuba Times
about Dawut and the other Uighurs detained at Guantánamo.”

“It was a gross violation of international law,” said Vivien.

“You were one of the few journalists to point that out. And you are one of the few people who could understand Dawut’s desire to get even with the country that held him in solitary confinement for seven years without a shred of evidence.”

“I don’t know anything about getting even,” said Vivien.

“Really? From the tone of your articles in the
Cuba Times
, I would say you hate the United States more than Dawut did.”

“Writing for the
Cuba Times
is not a crime.”

“That’s true.”

“But Dawut had good reason to be angry,” said Vivien. “I agree with that.”

Andie nodded. “I tried to convince Dawut to put it all behind him. Now that he’s dead, I know that I failed. That anger kept burning. He wanted big-time revenge. If the U.S. was going to detain him with no evidence that he was a terrorist, then, by God, he was going to be a terrorist. A major terrorist, one deserving of solitary confinement at Gitmo. I thought he was all talk when he said his plan was to blow up the Scarborough 8. Turns out, all he needed was one cooperative worker on the rig to pull off the plan.”

Rick and Vivien stood mute.

Andie continued. “You found his man, Vivien. You found Rafael Lopez.”

Neither of them responded. Finally, Vivien said, “I truly am sorry that Noori is dead.”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry or not,” said Andie. “This is business.”

“What do you want from us?” asked Rick.

“I know Dawut paid you fifty thousand dollars. I know he owed you a lot more for getting Rafael to pull this off. I’m here to tell you that we’re not going to pay you. You’re not getting it from me, and you’re not getting it from Long Wu.”

“First of all,” said Rick, “let’s get things straight. Noori paid Rafael Lopez fifty thousand dollars.”

“He didn’t pay Rafael anything.”

Andie held out her hand, illuminating it with a small flashlight. The tattoo above her thumb, just below the wrist, was identical to Rafael’s. Andie noted their reaction, which they couldn’t hide. But Rick still played it cool.

“A tattoo. So what?”

“The Eye of Our Lady,” said Andie. “Temporary tattoo. Very high quality, but it washes off easily. Same thing they use in the movies. Same thing you used when you were pretending to be Rafael Lopez.”

Rick didn’t deny it. “What do you want from us?”

“My sources tell me that you have been very busy. Not only were you working Dawut to cough up what he promised to pay you. But you’ve also been working the feds to pay for information about the cause of the explosion. We want half.”

Rick laughed.

“You think I’m joking?” asked Andie. “Dawut is dead. He can’t be prosecuted for anything. You pay us half, or I go to the FBI and tell them who Dawut was working with.”

“Tell them what?” said Rick, scoffing. “That Noori was working with Rafael Lopez? You have nothing on us.”

“Rafael was your pawn,” said Andie. “So was Josefina. You told them that the computer virus from Dawut would make the alarm malfunction in a storm. You didn’t tell Rafael the rig would explode. You told him it would be crippled, floating without power at the mercy of the seas in a hurricane. The entire crew would be evacuated to the nearest shore, which was Key West. It was Rafael’s ticket to be with his wife.”

Vivien’s expression went cold. The depth and breadth of Andie’s knowledge clearly scared her.

“I’m right,” said Andie. “I know I’m right.”

“Maybe we can work something out,” said Vivien.

“Shut up,” said Rick. “She’s bluffing.”

“I’m not bluffing,” said Andie, glancing at her tattoo. “You can buy Our Lady of Guadalupe temporary tattoos just about anywhere, but
The Eye
of Our Lady is pretty hard to find. Only a few online sources sell it. I happen to know that one of those websites shipped to you, Rick.”

It wasn’t a bluff; the FBI had it. Again, no denial from Rick.

Andie pressed further. “I also know that you made sure the bank employees saw the tattoo when you opened the accounts in Rafael’s name at New Providence Bank and Trust. You made sure Jack Swyteck saw it after Vivien helped you kidnap him from her apartment. All this was to deflect attention from you, making it look like maybe Rafael Lopez—the man behind the explosion—was still alive. Most important, you made sure Dawut saw it, so when he came looking for the guy who was squeezing him for more money, he wouldn’t think of you. Don’t deny it. I got Dawut’s phone after he died, and I saw the photograph that you e-mailed him—the one of the hand holding the deposit slip, just enough of the hand in the picture to show the tattoo.”

Andie was sharing information that went way beyond her “girlfriend” undercover role, but she didn’t care. At this point, she had them, and the look on their faces was worth it.

Rick turned and started to make a run for it, but he didn’t get far. RBPF officers jumped out from their positions of hiding in the neighboring boats, guns drawn, trapping Rick and Vivien.

“Freeze!” the team of officers shouted.

The suspects stopped and raised their arms on command, but Vivien quickly cracked.

“This was Rick’s idea!” she shouted. “I’m just a reporter.”

“Shut up!” said Rick. “Noori paid Rafael. This was all Noori and Rafael.”

“Rick forced me to do this,” said Vivien. “This man’s a monster.”

“It was Rafael, you stupid bitch. Nobody but Noori and Rafael.”

The RPBF officers cuffed Rick first, then Vivien. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Mr. Jeffries,” the Bahamian officer said. “And so are you, miss.”

“What did I do? It was all him,” said Vivien.

“All me, huh? Who was in Havana to collect the money?”

“You see?” Vivien shouted, imploring her arresting officer. “You see how he uses people just to keep from getting caught with his hands in the cookie jar? He’s a monster, I tell you!”

Andie gave a little salute of appreciation to the Bahamian detective, then watched with satisfaction as the RPBF took them away. She could hear Vivien’s shouting—
“It’s him! Not me!”
—all the way to the end of the dock, until they finally disappeared into the police van in the parking lot.

Epilogue

T
he news segments could have been written by Jack. All day, the “sad and tragic cause of the Scarborough 8 disaster” played out on American television. Jack watched one final report from the oil-tinged shores of Key West.

“It has nothing to do with the oil industry,” the reporter said, as cleanup crews toiled behind her. “It has nothing to do with the trade embargo against Cuba, environmental terrorism by the left or right, or industrial sabotage by one corporate giant against another. This was the desperate act of a young man who wanted to get to America to be with the woman he loved. He sabotaged the Scarborough 8, thinking that because the rig was closer to Key West than to Cuba, all those aboard would be evacuated to the United States. Once there, he planned to claim asylum and be with the woman he loved. There was just one problem: his actions caused a massive explosion way beyond anything he imagined possible.”