Darkest Instinct Page 41

  “Yeah... my boss—partner—is going to be wondering what’n hell happened to me and his plane, so I’d better move it, yeah...”

  Jessica, Santiva and Okinleye rushed now for the waiting official car which would take them from the broiler plate of the asphalt. It must be one hundred thirty degrees in the shade, she thought. A glance back showed Jessica that pilot Lansing still could not believe he had been a part of all this. Maybe the little Cayman Island flags on Ja’s official car were too much for him, she mirthfully thought.

  •TWENTY-TWO-

  Appearances are not held to be a clue. to the truth. But we seem to have no other.

  —Ivy Compton-Burnett

  “So, now it has become a game of cat and de mouse, hey?” Okinleye asked Jessica and Santiva where they sat across from one another at his backyard patio table. There, they enjoyed a view of the ocean in the distance, the sun, the hibiscus trees, the birds chasing one another, the trade winds and the bright orange daiquiris which Ja’s wife, Aliciana, had just prepared for them. The Okin- leyes” home was, by island standards, a Grecian mansion, but Ja laughed uproariously when Jessica made mention of its grandeur.

  “This... this old place? It is our little hut.” Ja drew two of his three children into his arms while the third and oldest was ordered to answer an incessant door chime fil­tering out to them.

  Ja had done well for himself and his family, perhaps too well to be above suspicion of graft, Jessica thought. It was well-known the islands over that graft was the rule of law and order in most dealings here. However, middle- class American standards of right and wrong seldom ap­plied in foreign countries, where a man had to be concerned first for his family, and besides, here as in America, a complete absence of crime would mean peo­ple would have to go without food, clothing and shelter. Some just knew how to play the game better than others, it appeared. Jessica withheld her judgments of Ja for the time being.

  “It was a foreclosure, this house. The old couple died owing a great deal of money to the island government. It was put on auction. I was highest bidder.” It sounded good.

  “Were you able to find anything helpful in your records here about the disappearances, the deaths, any possible con­nections with our man Tauman?” asked Jessica.

  Ja sadly shook his head. “Very little of help, I’m afraid. We used both names you supplied, but nothing comes as result. Some notion here and there about some strange fel­low. I have my men working on it still.”

  It didn’t sound promising, and Santiva gave Jessica a frown.

  “In the morning, we’ll want a helicopter, very early, say six,” she told Ja. “Can you provide us with one?”

  “Ours is a small government agency, Dr. Coran, not like your FBI, no... I can only recommend to you my most talented cousin who operates a tourist line from George Town Airport.”

  “That will do just fine, but we’ll need a combat-ready pilot for what we need. If we get lucky.”

  “Combat-ready? Henri, he is such a man.”

  “He has flown in combat conditions?”

  “Bad weather, yes... combat, no,” confessed Okinleye.“Well, he’ll have to do,” said Santiva.

  “I’m certified on fixed wing and choppers,” came a deep voice from the patio doors. “I also flew a chopper in Desert Storm. Let me help you,” added Don Lansing, who had been shown through the house by Okinleye’s oldest boy. The boy had a wide grin on his face as though he had performed a miracle in making Don appear.

  “Don, I thought you had to get back,” Jessica replied.

  “I’d like to help out any way I can, now that I know what you people are trying to do.”

  “And now you know how much we pay?” added San­tiva.

  “Well, yeah... that, too.”

  Lansing stepped closer, his hand out for Eriq to take. Eriq pushed up from his chair and the two men shook hands. “But what about getting back? What about Pete?” Jes­sica asked.

  “Are you kidding? I’m in no hurry to see Pete. Besides, this may be my only chance in this life at ever doing any­thing... well, heroic. Hell, we pull this off and we’re going to be island gods to these people, right, Chief Okinleye?” Lansing smiled down at the chief. Obviously, Don had done some checking around.

  Jessica raised her eyebrows, confused for only a moment. Then, her eyes boring into Ja, she said, “It’s all over the island. Everybody knows about us being here and why we’re here, don’t they? Don’t they, Ja?”

  “Oh, good Christ,” moaned Santiva, whose eyes joined with Jessica’s to bore into Ja Okinleye’s.

  “It is a small island,” he weakly replied. “Word leaks out.”

  “It could leak out over the water,” Eriq complained. “Suppose a radio dispatch happens to say something to a ship out at sea.”

  “All the more reason to go out hunting tomorrow morn­ing,” replied Jessica, “bright and early. Make it fiveish.”

  “How’re we going to know it’s him—his ship—when we see him?” asked Eriq.

  “We will... we just will...”

  ‘ ‘Only boats we know of between here and Cuba are the racing ships,” said Ja.

  “Racing ships?” asked Eriq.

  “What about reports of any ships down at sea between here and the Gulf of Mexico?’’ asked Jessica.

  “Nothing reported, no,” Ja replied, pursing his lips in thought.

  Lansing joined them, taking a seat and accepting the of­fer of a drink from Aliciana. He found himself amazed to be involved in the FBI operation, and quickly settled in.

  “What race?” repeated Eriq, his voice revealing his ir­ritation with Ja.

  “Ahh, yes, that would be the Jamaica Run Sailing Boat Race. Our port is a stopover for them, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know. When do they stop over?” he pressed.

  “Sometime tomorrow morning.” Jessica, Santiva and Lansing glanced about at one an­other. “You don’t suppose he’s going to come in with the others, do you?” asked Lansing, voicing what was on Eriq’s mind.

  “Would he know of the race?” Ja sipped at his drink. “He knows the islands,” Jessica said, raising her free hand. “He has a state-of-the-art sailing vessel; he reads the sailing magazines. We know that. He has radio equipment. He may be listening to the other sailing ships and in com­munication with them and their whereabouts.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They rounded Cuba at between noon and two today, I am told.”

  “Rounded Cuba?”

  “Her northern tip.”

  “We’ll know the boat when we see it,” Jessica tried to reassure them, raising her daiquiri to the others, indicating that they should all drink to it.

  Lansing turned to Ja and asked, “Do you think you have room for one more here tonight?”

  “Oh, most certainly, Mr., ahhhh...”

  “Lansing, Don Lansing.”

  “Ahh, yes, with the Tiger airlines. I have heard of your services to and from the islands. Perhaps we can speak of more business for you and your partners here, after this trouble is complete.”

  The two men exchanged a knowing look. Jessica and Santiva glanced significantly across at one another, but both kept silent. Then Eriq said, “Look here, Chief Okinleye, it’s imperative—I mean imperative—that nothing goes out over the radio waves about our being here or about the possibility of the Night Crawler’s coming this way. Do you understand this? If he is communicating with the racing ships, if he is intending to be a sheep amid this flock, then no one on this island can convey these facts to the racing teams or anyone out at sea.”

  “Such as the cruise ships,” Jessica added. “I wouldn’t put it past Tauman to tap into the signals sent them.”

  Aliciana acted a mute to all this talk of a killer coming to the island and a trap being laid for him. The children listened in rapt awe. Their mother told them to go into the house and complete their chores and homework and say nothing to anyone about what they had heard. She then offered u
p another round of drinks.

  Jessica looked about the lovely island setting. “It’s so beautiful here. I don’t recall ever seeing such vibrant, alive colors anywhere on earth save Hawaii, Ja. You’ve got such a place here.”

  Ja grinned wide, showing his white teeth, nodding his appreciation and grabbing at his boys as they ran past for the house.

  Later that evening, during a lavish meal prepared for them by the Okinleyes, news came from Ja’s headquarters that an important break in the Night Crawler case had come about back in mainland America. The Pensacola Democrat was the recipient of a letter from the Night Crawler, the letter having been postmarked St. Petersburg, Florida. Ja announced the information after having looked it over thoroughly himself in a separate room when officers dressed in white uniforms—shorts and long socks—had in­terrupted him at his meal.

  Ja brought the news and the facsimile of the killer’s note back into the dining room with him, but he allowed every­one to finish eating and drinking before bringing up the disturbing news. “I fear perhaps you have come a long way for nothing,” he said after his bombshell.

  “Let me see that,” demanded Eriq, staring down at the facsimile, then announcing, “It’s him all right. The final verse in his perverse poem, Jessica.” Eriq could not control the glare he gave her as he passed the letter to her. Jessica stared down at the verse, which read:

  When audience cries,

  Lungs fill with venom

  And foam and lies,

  Momements before she dies,

  An applause a bow, arise!

  For it smiles down

  From tassers distant eyes!

  As it seems them all to be

  Flush with his breath,

  So washed by his empowering

  Hand they will be flowering

  And cleansed.

  T

  “This could be just another ploy to throw us off, Eriq.”

  “You really think this creep is that clever?”

  “Yes, he has been.”

  The others slowly, quietly vacated the room to allow the two FBI people to hash out this latest wrinkle in the case.

  “If we’re down here on a wild-goose chase. Jessica, it’s going to be damn near impossible to explain to D.C.”

  “It was my call, Eriq. I don’t expect or want you shield­ing me again on this case. You got that?”

  “What’re you saying? That we go through with our plans as if this”—he lifted and tossed the facsimile of the killer’s note back onto the table and continued to worriedly pace— “that this didn’t happen? That it doesn’t exist?”

  “I’m doing exactly that.” He fumed a bit and then said, “You mean we... We’re doing exactly that.”

  “Thanks, Eriq.”

  “For what?”

  “For hanging in with me……for trusting me.”

  “I’m going to turn in early... Get some sleep,” he ad­vised. “We’ll see what dawn brings.” Eriq gathered up the information provided by Ja and dis­appeared for his room upstairs. Jessica sat alone until Ja’s two youngest children crept into the room and begged her to come play with them. She knew she would be spending a restless night filled with questions she had no answers for, so the simplicity of a children’s game and perhaps a bedtime story held a tremendous appeal, and Ja’s children were lovely.

  Jessica allowed the children to pull her by her fingers away from all thought of the Night Crawler.

  Jessica had been up before dawn, and she’d had one of Ja’s sons—also up and watching a crude local television show for children—roust his father. Ja contacted the port authorities and asked if there had been any sightings of the ships racing toward Grand Cayman. There had been none.

  “Ask if there have been any ships to come in overnight, any at all,” urged Jessica.

  Ja asked in his native tongue, a crude concoction of old French, Dutch and pidgin English. He listened politely after asking the question, then turned to Jessica and replied, “Only another cruise ship standing off the island.”

  “What news have they on the race?” she asked quickly. Ja smiled at her and again in his native tongue asked her question of his port authority man. Jessica watched her friend as he unnecessarily nodded several times into the phone, when he then finally told her, “You may relax, my good friend. They are hours yet away.”

  She did relax, taking a walk about the garden which overlooked the ocean far below. It was a wondrous, ever- surprising place, this patch of sand lying in the Western Caribbean between Cuba and Belize—one of thirty-four is­land nations. The children had taught her how best to pro­nounce it the night before, training her to say Kay-Monn, and they wanted to know when and where she would be diving in the brilliantly green sea, as diving was done by everyone who came to Kay-Monn. She could only wish for the time.

  Before the famed and legendary six-thousand-foot drop to the ocean floor called The Wall, with its extensive barrier reef, had been discovered, no one had ever heard of the Caymans, but word had spread among divers the world over. As a result, divers were always arriving and dive out­fitters and excursions were one of the island’s leading tour­ist industries. Every other shop along the wharves sold to or outfitted snorkelers and divers.

  Jessica, on her earlier visit to the island in the company of Alan Rychman, had become familiar with the busy retail enclave here called Coconut Port and she and Rychman had outfitted themselves out of Aquanauts. Everywhere in Cay­man you heard the expression, “Sorry, mon, can’t help you tomorrow, ‘cause I’m doing The Wall.” She recalled her own sense of freedom forty and fifty feet below—over the legal limit for these waters—as friendly black-and-yellow angelfish, electric-orange fish and others of many colors swam past stalk after stalk of elkhorn coral and wave-spreading fan coral. There were dry alternatives to exploring The Wall, like booking a seat on the Atlantis submarine, which carried tour groups on dives to one hundred feet—eight hundred if you wanted the de­luxe treatment, which she and Rychman had opted for, at about what it had cost the two of them to learn to dive over the years. But The Wall was wondrous, magnificent, worth it, and Cayman—especially for the underwater enthusiast— was truly one of the few places on earth where the hype was not overkill and the reality disappointing. Still, to the naked eye and raw spirit, reality here seemed unreal, a mir­ror held up to another time, place, dimension—a colorful dimension like that of a cartoon. It was spectacular and breathtaking, reminding her of Hawaii, and of Jim, which all seemed now an illusion as well.

  Had Hawaii ever happened? she silently wondered.

  Only the wind coming in from over the ocean had an answer. It might be a wind that had traveled here all the way from Hawaii, she thought as she walked the lovely gardens where Aliciana had planted literally thousands of flowers of all color and variety.

  Yes, the wind affirmed to her... Hawaii had felt real, Jim’s touch and his love for her had certainly felt real, regardless of its near-magical qualities, its seeming like an illusion, just like this dreamworld place called Grand Cayman. It was quite as terribly real as it was beautiful. Nowadays, in fact, the orderly, tidy and superficially wealthy British colony was considered the Caribbean’s best place for an underwater getaway, and how much fur­ther from ugly reality could one get than to become a fish?

  Ja’s home and grounds were beautiful and ugly, dou­ble-edged remnants of a time past, when the colonials ran things here and no native such as Ja stood a chance at capturing a brass ring like a good job, a career, a well fed family and. least likely of all, a mansion, Jessica thought. Her walk at an end, she returned to the house to find Aliciana, still somewhat sleepy, preparing a native breakfast with much attendant fruit for them all. It ap­peared obvious that Ja had clamored until she climbed from bed and went to work in the kitchen, to fulfill her duty as a well-kept wife, but she was a kind lady, gra­cious and easily giving; she extended a genuine and lustrous smile for Dr. Jessica as she, Ja, and the children had come to call her.

 
Soon the others were finding their way downstairs from their various rooms, enticed by Aliciana’s cooking, the sweet, luring odors enough to brighten even Santiva’s day. Still, Jessica was anxious to get down to the airport and out over the water in search of their prey, and to this end, she hustled the others through their breakfast, despite Ja’s in­sistence that one couldn’t hurry an island meal.

  Sunlight buttered the island and the bays and the wharves. To get to the airport, Jessica and the others had to drive by George Town Port, where they saw a crowd milling about the boats moored in the heaviest tourist dis­trict. The floating docks were mobbed with reporters, pho­tographers, tourists and what Ja told them were friends and family. “Friends and family of whom?” asked Jessica. “The racers, of course—the sailboat racers who stop here today. They are touring the entire Caribbean Sea and now they stop over here, later today, tonight, depending on the sea and the condition of their sails, of course.”

  Jessica now realized what she was looking at, so she saw that not everyone on the docks and wharves were idle on­lookers, that many were shore-crew personnel, people struggling to prepare for the arrival of the boats. Amid the crowd she saw the bustle of business. She saw hoses, vacuum cleaners, water jugs, crates of food, folded sails, lines piled high, saws, drills, marine sealant, flats of card­board, all shining in the blood-orange glow of morning sun. It looked like the contestants had quite a welcoming com­mittee on deck.

  “How many contestants are in this race of yours, Ja?” she asked.

  “Oh, it varies now. Some have given up. It may look calm out there in the Caribbean, but there are surprise storms, problems no one can plan against.”

  “An approximation then.”

  “Hmmmm, maybe one hundred twenty, maybe more.”

  “That many?”

  “They will be spread about from here to Cuba this morn­ing.”

  “Damn, that’s going to make our guy hard to spot,” Santiva complained.

  “The Caribbean Classic is larger, but this one means big money, too.” said Okinleye with a wide grin. “And it brings in de money to de island, as they say.” His gesture was that of a penny-pinching banker or Scrooge as he said this.