Butler Did It! (20 page)

“When you say guns, do you mean selling
guns?” Butler asked, becoming alarmed. “Do you deal with
him?”

“I approached him about it once earlier
in my career, but he wouldn’t talk with me. He doesn’t do small
deals. He’s really more interested in large transactions, as in
enough guns for an army.”

“That confirms what Kobi said he
overheard. Apparently, the Egyptian antiquities are somehow part of
an upcoming deal. Who is this Levasseur anyway?”

“No one really knows. He took over the
gunrunning business from an old German back in 1979. He says he’s a
businessman, but he keeps up the image of a playboy for the
European tabloids. He donates to charities when it suits his
purposes. He spends much of his time here, but I know he also has a
residence in Dubai.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re going to
have to take him on, so Captain Z and I were hoping you could help
us out.”

“I think I’ve got a few things you’ll
appreciate,” said Joseph smiling.

After an hour of fierce negotiations
that culminated in the maxing out of a couple of credit cards,
Butler became the owner of enough firepower and ammunition to
foment a small insurrection. His final task was to arrange to have
his purchases delivered to the Pelican later that afternoon. That
is, all except for a couple of neat little Berettas, which Butler
picked up for Tommy and himself, just in case. Ten minutes later,
Matthew and Katherine were in a cab on their way to meet Tommy, who
had arranged for Trask to pick them up with the
helicopter.

It will be Christmas in March for
Trask when he opens the presents I bought him today.
Butler
thought to himself.

<<>>

“You know she’s watching. She won’t let
you be until you drink it,” Tommy laughed.

“I don’t know what’s worse, the
sickness or the cure.” Matthew made a face as he sipped the bitter
tea Mrs. Yan had forced on him after he staggered off the
helicopter, shaky and nauseated. “I really am feeling better; all I
needed was to get off that damn helicopter. Besides, I don’t have
time to worry about a little case of airsickness.”

“Good, because I have something new for
you to worry about,” interrupted Trask.

Butler settled back in his chair,
sighing. “Lay it on me,” he ordered.

“I think it is a bad idea to go to the
SUBIOS dinner tonight, taking into account the attacks, and that we
know we’re being watched.”

“I’ve got to agree with Trask on this
one, Matthew,” Tommy added, “after the Hotel attack and the
incident in the market earlier today, they have to be pretty pissed
off. It’s just too risky.”

Butler leaned back and considered both
men’s objections. “As much as I’m not in the mood for a food
analogy right now, I have to say this situation is like a pot of
gumbo; you can’t really tell what’s in it until you give it a good
stir. We need to get some solid proof that Levasseur is behind the
attacks. To do that, we’re going to have to get Katharine out in
public view. I’ve talked with her and she has agreed that she and I
are going to SUBIOS tonight to stir the pot. While we both
understand we’re taking a risk, we aren’t fools. We’ll take some
company.” Turning to Trask, he continued, “Give me two big guys who
look like bodyguards, to give their surveillance something to look
at. Then I’d like Joe and Jawid to come separately for backup. Have
them stay on the perimeter so that the baddies won’t know they’re
with us.”

“Just to be on the safe side,” Captain
Z decided, “After dark, I’ll reposition the Pelican closer to where
you’ll be, we’ll drop anchor two miles south of the main shipping
lane, halfway between Mahe and Praslin.”

<<>>

Mrs. Yan’s bitter potion must have done
some good. Matthew survived the helicopter flight to Victoria that
afternoon without upheaval.

The cool breeze played with wisps of
Katharine’s shoulder length hair as she and Matthew Butler mingled
with the SUBIOS crowd. Everyone was enjoying cocktails on the
beach, adjacent to the tent where a much anticipated seafood feast
was to be served. After the banquet, the awards would be announced.
Katharine’s eyes kept straying to the multicolored trophies lined
up on the presentation dais like a little army of oversized jewels.
Katharine’s photo was up for Best Image - People’s Choice. Despite
being recognized as one of the nominees and receiving
congratulations from many of her compatriots, she was having
trouble keeping her mind on the small talk going on around
her.

The gathering of photographers buzzed
with speculation about the nominated photos, videos and
documentaries that had been screened throughout the week. For those
in the business, SUBIOS was an international event. Many of the
great underwater photographers from around the world were in
attendance. It was also an important local event for the
Seychellois, with photography seminars, diving instruction, and
exhibitions for local schoolchildren. The ‘little islands,’ as the
locals referred to them, with their clear water and unusual granite
geography, attracted a widely varied group of artists. Tonight
everyone seemed to be ready to have a good time. Diving,
photography and hedonism reigned.

Katharine was grateful that Matthew was
keeping the group around him entertained with tales of the some of
the more interesting places he had dived, so that she, in her
distracted state, did not have to make conversation. Even though
Matthew knew little about underwater photography, he could hold his
own in any conversation on the subject of diving. He had begun
diving at a young age near his home town of Mobile, Alabama. The
Gulf of Mexico was rich with dive sites, including many wrecked
ships, which called to a young man looking for adventure. Later,
his job had allowed him to dive some of the fabled sites from
around the world. Katharine noticed how his blue eyes flashed when
he grinned as he told of a dive he had taken in his teens. She
realized his boyish charm and confidence was what made him so
appealing. His entertaining tale of woe, told in a smooth, slightly
southern accent, drew in women like kittens to catnip.

“So I had to call my Dad to come bail
me out for night-diving naked in a National Park, two hundred miles
from home,” he said, finishing his story with a flourish and
drawing appreciative laughter from his mostly female audience. He
gave a little bow and drew Katharine away from the
group.

“Don’t look now,” he whispered, “but
the Ice Maidens are back.”

“Dammit! I don’t want to leave,”
Katharine angrily reacted. “This is why I came to the
Seychelles.”

Immediately she regretted her outburst,
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she
apologized.

“I understand,” returned Matthew
sympathetically. “I don’t think we need to leave just yet. This is
why we brought bodyguards. They’ll watch our backs. For now, I want
to hang around and see what develops.”

Unlike the two bulky, military types in
ill-fitting suits who had come along to play the role of the
visible bodyguards, the invisible bodyguards, Joe and Jawid, easily
melded into the crowd of SUBIOS revelers. Joe was thin and short
statured with straight brown hair that lay flat against his head,
giving him a nondescript look. “I look like an ordinary Joe,” he
would say, laughing.

Jawid’s dark features stood out against
his pale skin and he had the thin, wiry build of his Afghan
heritage. Wearing tourist garb of polo shirts and blue jeans they
looked like a couple of slightly nerdy, ill at ease geeks. Their
deceptive air of social incompetence made it easy for them to
remain on the fringe of the group. As far as the partygoers were
concerned, both men were wallflowers. In truth, they were top
members of Trask’s security team who just happened to excel at both
armed and unarmed combat.

Using his cell phone, Matthew signaled
all four bodyguards, warning them of the presence of the two women.
Dinner chimes got the crowd moving toward the tent. Low square
tables, only six inches off the ground, were surrounded by beach
blankets and piles of cushions, so that the diners could sit or
recline next to them like Romans at a feast. The centerpiece of
each table was a huge metal bowl filled with the distinctive spiny
lobster of the Seychelles, grilled and drenched in butter. Everyone
eagerly filled their plates from these central bowls, while servers
ran a marathon circuit, offering delicacies from the barbecue
grills set up just beyond one end of the tent. As Katharine closed
her eyes to savor a fork full of silky ‘Crab Cari’ that Matthew
offered her, he found himself sharing her sensual enjoyment of the
wonderful feast. It was hard to keep his mind on any potential
danger.

Matthew had positioned himself
carefully so that he could see where the ubiquitous twins were
seated. They had joined a tall, strongly built man with a dominant
buzzard beak of a nose and casually elegant attire. He reminded
Matthew of a gleaming bird of prey.

I bet that’s Levasseur
, he
thought,
I wonder what he’s doing here
.

Levasseur had a prominent table right
in front of the stage and, as the banquet progressed, Matthew noted
how many people from the SUBIOS organization came by to speak with
him.
He must have made a substantial donation
, thought
Butler; having been with his father on many philanthropic occasions
himself.
They’re all coming by to make their ‘thank you' to the
important sponsor.

He stood, taking a moment to smile at
Katharine, elegantly reclining in her nest of pillows on the beach
blanket. “Please excuse me for a moment my dear. Its time to stir
the gumbo.” He kissed her hand and turned toward Levasseur’s
table.

He was impressed that Levasseur never
glanced in his direction as he approached. The two Ice Maidens
tensed, both fully prepared to leap from their cushions and kill
Butler on site. Matthew flashed a brilliant smile and held his
hands out away from his body. Levasseur noticed all the gesturing,
and in a surprise move waved his bodyguards away.

“Mr. Levasseur, I presume?” Butler
asked, leaning down over the man’s table, but not offer his hand.
“I’m sorry to inform you that the envoys you sent to my ship last
night won’t be able to do any ‘diplomatic work’ in the near
future.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re
talking about, Mr…?” Levasseur replied, easing backwards so that
Butler no longer loomed over him.

“My name is Matthew Butler, and you
know very well what I’m talking about. Your two assassins made it
very clear whose errand boys they were.” In truth, the two
mercenaries had not said a word, but Matthew wanted to see
Levasseur’s reaction. Levasseur didn’t rise to the bait although he
did look like he wanted to rip out Butler’s heart and roast it over
the open grill.

“What favor did you buy with your
little donation here tonight?” Butler pushed. “Or, perhaps it was
just a blind eye turned toward a certain gun deal?” The expression
on Levasseur’s face never changed, but Matthew caught the quick
dart of his eyes, checking to see who might have overheard the
comment.

“Oh my, those are such incendiary
remarks, coming from someone whose ship lies nearby.” Levasseur
returned, his voice as smooth as oil. “What is your ship’s name?
Oh, yes. It’s the ‘Sitting Duck,’ isn’t it?” Titters of laughter
circled the table. “It seems to me that your little ship is a
tempting target for pirates in these dangerous times.”

“No pirates around here, except the one
I’m looking at,” Butler rejoined.

“Pirates have ways of dealing with
people who stick their noses where they don’t belong. It is one of
the mysteries of the Sea; people suddenly disappear.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I have a most
irritating way of hanging around where and when I’m not wanted.”
Butler laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with
me.”

“Take care, you might find yourself
just hanging…” Levasseur suggested.

“Speaking of hanging,” Butler replied,
“Wasn’t the first ‘La Buse’ hanged? Be careful. You don’t want to
follow in his footsteps.”

“I’m so glad to have made your
acquaintance,” Levasseur suddenly announced, ending the
conversation.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again, real
soon.” Butler replied, nodding to the twins. As he turned away from
Levasseur’s table, he could feel the heat of their glares knifing
into his back.

Matthew returned to his place beside
Katharine just in time for dessert, a cool coconut
sorbet.

“What was that all about?” She asked,
having witnessed the cutting looks coming from Levasseur’s
table.

Before he could answer, an electronic
thump and the prerequisite squeal of the microphone directed their
attention to the dais.

“Good evening everyone, I hope you are
enjoying this fabulous feast. We’d like to thank Mr. Alexander
Levasseur for his great generosity in sponsoring this evening’s
dinner,” began the man at the microphone, opening the evening’s
ceremony. He clapped his hands high in front him in a grand gesture
designed to tell the audience ‘you need to clap now.’

Katherine began pulling at Matthew’s
shirtsleeve and hissing like a tormented cat.