The Atlas Murders (48 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

 They were underway within ten
minutes and outside the harbor caught a fresh westerly that gave the Amber
Witch eight knots under full sail. Henry wrote up the log while Kerstin settled
her on a straight smooth course; lying over to billowing canvas the
ever-willing yacht showed what a sea hound she was. They were on their course
at nine thirty hours so averaging eight knots they would be outside Basseterre
at approx. eighteen thirty hours allowing a bit of extra time in case the wind
might not hold as it was. They took turns at the wheel relishing in the
invigorating wind and spray as she hurled her way through the slight chop with
the salty backwash whipping along her deck.

 At fifteen hundred hours
Henry shouted, “land ahoy.”

 Kerstin put her head out of
the cabin and shouted over the wind, “is it on our port bow?”

 “No; it’s dead ahead.”

 She went and checked their
position and came back on deck with two mugs of coffee, she handed one to Henry
and stood out to the side of the deck to view the position of the land ahead.
“We’re just a little north east of our course, making about ten degrees leeway;
so alter course ten degrees to starboard.”

 “Ten to degrees to starboard,”
he repeated, “right on course now.”

 Kerstin looked up at the sky
and judged the clouds as they were being driven along by the wind. Taking a sip
of the hot coffee she shouted to Henry, “she’s bearing up better now; keep the
land on her port bow. I think by the drift of those clouds we’re not going to
have this wind for long.” She handed him a cookie and then went below and put
on a light sweater as the spray with the wind was making conditions a little
cool.

She relieved Henry at sixteen
hundred hours. He went along the deck checking the ropes and halyards to see
they were all taut and secure. He came back and reported all ok.

“What’s this St. Kitts like,
is it a very popular tourist destination?”

 She leaned over giving the wheel
a couple of spokes to port.

 “It’s a few years since I
was there and that was only for a couple of days, so I don’t really know that
much about the place. I know it’s not commercialized as the larger islands but
I have a suspicion it runs a sophisticated finance and corporate offshore
business. However, I briefly overheard this in a club through an alcoholic haze
so we’ll take it as hearsay until we find out for sure!”

 “That’s the kind of thing
this Tukola could be mixed up in, but he wouldn’t have to be resident there to
be running his business through it.”

 “Henry, I’m not that well
versed in business acumen so I’m afraid I can’t be of much help there.”

 “Oops,” he shouted as the
vessel took a lashing of sea and a heavy spray across her deck and cabin. “I
better close that cabin hatch.”

He went below and pulled the
hatch over him, then, stripping off his wet clothing he had a shower.

He lay down for a short nap,
and how long he slept he wasn’t sure but the yacht’s motion woke him. The yacht
was back almost on an even keel and the swish of the sea along her side was
slower and softer. He looked at the clock on the bulkhead; it was seventeen
hundred hours, so he went on deck, and sure enough the wind had dropped. They
were abeam of land and traveling at about four knots. Kerstin had put the
vessel on automatic and was waving to a passing yacht.

She turned to Henry, “wind
dropped but I think we should still get in before dark. I’ll check our position
although I can see the entrance to Basseterre with the binoculars.”

 The island looked beautiful
and Henry knew how Christopher Columbus must have felt as he discovered these
beautiful islands. He could see the white sandy beaches with their waving palm
trees below the rich verdure, climbing in gradual slopes against the delft blue
sky.

“We should be in the harbor
at sixteen thirty, good reckoning by you I must say.”

 Henry was chuffed with his
first success at navigation, “thank you.”

 They dropped the anchor and
decided not to venture ashore until morning; they reckoned their business
wouldn’t take long and they’d soon be underway to Antigua. They both dived in
for a swim and Henry remarked as they stood dripping on deck how few yachts
were anchored here.

 “Yes, I see what you mean.”

Kerstin looked around in the
fading light and saw the small lights coming on around the harbor, both ashore
and on the small flotilla at anchor. “It’s not a hugely popular place I reckon.
I can’t rightly remember what the shore life was like.”

 Henry finished drying and
started down to the little galley to prepare the food.

 “Any ideas for dinner?”

 “Not really, I’ll leave it
to you.”

 Henry was beginning to
improve his culinary skills and a commendable meal was served. Over dinner they
decided the next day’s itinerary.

 The morning brought the sea
birds gliding across the bountiful lagoon diving in white splashes and
surfacing with their silvery haul; their short sharp screeches the only sound
in this tranquil little spot. They rowed ashore on the mirrored surface of the
sheltered harbor, the light wake rippling like polished brass. On their walk
from the dock they watched the men carrying nets heading down to the shoreline
where some small boats were pulled up on the sandy beach. They came to the
market and saw native women in colorful loose dress and generous lengths of
fabric woven around their heads, hanging down their backs. The women worked
patiently and silent beneath the canopies setting up their stalls arrayed with
fruits and vegetables, fabrics, pottery, leather goods and an assortment of
everyday household items.

Kerstin stood admiring the
fruit.

“Remind me to stock up with
fruit and vegetables later on.”

 Henry bought two bananas and
handed one to Kerstin.

 “The pineapples look delicious;
I’ll certainly remind you to include a few of them.”

 The first hotel they came to
was open and the earliest guests were emerging with cameras and sunhats coming
out from the shaded interior into the bright sunlight they reached into their
bags for sunglasses. Kerstin and Henry bade them good morning as they walked
past into the hotel lobby. She asked the young girl at the desk for a phone
directory and ordered two coffees. Sitting at a low table they quickly found
the Ts. in the small book of names, and not too surprised, there was no Tukola.

 After coffee they went to
the local police station, a duty lady police officer showed them into the
senior policeman’s office. The officer listened to Henry’s story, and although
sympathetic to their mission, he didn’t have any further useful information for
them. Henry asked him about the island’s offshore banking sector.

“I know very little about the
banks and financial business on the island; only that it is our biggest asset
and generates ninety percent of our annual income. From what I hear the
accounts of these big corporate companies are very secret because I believe
they are mostly tax free. I’ll phone a few banks and see if they are able to
help. I’ll explain your situation and we’ll just have to hope for the best. Wait
here and I’ll have coffee sent in while I address this matter.”

Moments later a girl came in
with a tray and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted around the room.

After about twenty minutes
the officer came back and sat at his desk.

“I’ve spoken to manager of
one of the largest banks on the island. He explained that client
confidentiality was their top priority. However, when he learned of the nature
of your mission, with some reluctance, he searched their computer records.
These showed that your man had dealings with the bank involving large sums of
money, but because it was conducted anonymously via his numbered account in
Caracas, the manager wasn’t able to give further information such as an address.

Henry looked disappointed as
he thanked him for his help and they bade him good day.

Kerstin blinked in the bright
sunlight, “it’s disappointing but if we look on the bright side, we know he’s
surely somewhere in the Caribbean.”

 They sailed next morning
before a fresh westerly breeze and made good a course to St. Johns, Antigua.
They dropped anchor in the harbor in late afternoon after making an uneventful
and speedy passage. Next morning they went ashore and did their searches,
ending up in the police station, but came away with nothing to add to their
portfolio of clues. Before leaving the building, they left a photograph and
description with the Antiguan police.

Kerstin decided to stock the
larder and bought some fresh meat and fish, she also included some packs of beer
and when she came to the wine she turned to Henry who had been unusually quite
since leaving the police station. “You say you know a bit about wine, so you
can help me choose.”

They headed back fully loaded
and packed away their stores before going to the chart table and deciding on
their next port of call. Henry pointed to Guadeloupe and turned to Kerstin who
was fiddling with a pair of dividers. “French territory; not much point do you
think we should give it a miss?”

 She tipped Dominica with the
point of the dividers.

“Yes, I think all the French
and Dutch islands will be no go areas for him, so we could call in to here,”
she queried, pointing to Dominica. Then she hesitated. “However, it’s not an
island that would attract his type. It’s still a bit primitive with little
tourism, not really commercial enough I would think.”

Henry agreed and as he
studied the chart. “So where to next Kerstin?”

“I think St. Lucia, which is
much more developed would be a good choice.”

 He ran his hand across his
chin. “I’m in your capable hands, so with my newly acquired skills, is it all
right if I set a course for the island.”

 She handed him the dividers.

“Yes do, and I’ll drum up a
bit of lunch in a minute.”

 “It’s a short run,” he said,
measuring the distance, “about eighty five miles to Castries, the capital.”

 “Ok, lay off the course and
if we sail early tomorrow, we just might get in before dark, but even if we run
a bit late it’s an easy enough harbor to sail into.”

They turned in early that
night because they had decided to sail before sunrise. Henry woke to the smell of
freshly brewed coffee.

Kerstin banged the bulkhead.

 “Get yourself up, breakfast’s
ready.”

 After a light breakfast of
cereals and fruit, Kerstin readied herself on deck and Henry started the
engine; they were soon bidding farewell to the island. After losing the coast
of Antigua they made good headway as they sailed in turn past Guadalupe, then
Dominica. When they reached the coastal waters of the French administered
island of Martinique, they lost the wind as they came under the lee of the
island, and at thirteen hundred hours, Kerstin decided to give her a bit of
engine, mainly to keep her out from the shore. The sun was relentlessly hot and
the sails hung limp on the masts. Henry steered with a few easy spokes of the wheel.
They were hugging the coast and he was looking across his port, side enjoying
the view of the picturesque coastline; the sandy beaches and waving king palms
set beneath a lush verdure of rich tropical greens.

The first appearance was like
a dark shadow creeping up from the horizon, away to starboard. It enveloped the
bright blue of the sky like spilled ink. “Kerstin!” he called out. She was
below, but recognizing the urgency in his voice, she came hurrying on deck
where she saw at a glance the darkness as it blotted out the sun.

 “A norther” she shouted,
“starboard helm, steer off the land.”

She disappeared below and
came back up with life jackets and safety harnesses. After they quickly put on
the life jackets, she fastened Henry’s line to a ring bolt on deck and as she
went to haul down the sails, she shouted back to him, “give her full ahead as
much as she’ll take.” Kerstin then battened down the hatch to the accommodation
and went to stand with Henry at the wheel. “This is what’s called a norther; it
won’t last long but it will blow like hell for about ten minutes or so; the wind
will be gusting northwards, hence the name.”

She checked the dinghy’s
lashings and looked around deck to see if there was anything loose that might
break away. White caps rapidly formed on the big seas coming from the east and with
a shriek of wind the Amber Witch lay over on her starboard side as she felt the
weight of raging water. Kerstin clipped on her harness to a bolt. They couldn’t
keep the vessel’s head up to the sea and wind and she began to fall off, lying
broadside to the big combers which seemed to have been conjured from nowhere by
some magicians hand. The yacht rolled over in the trough as a big wave swamped
her; driving her under the foaming sea as she wallowed, rising slowly up onto a
monstrous white cap. The wind had now backed round to true north and blew like
demented banshees whipping the tops off the seas in a frenzy of confusion. The
next big wave covered them both as they held on for dear life, trying to see if
the boat was still intact through the salt water obscuring their vision.