Incitement (6 page)

Business had not been good in recent years. Chanet, as the owner-captain of the cargo ship, had handled affairs badly and fallen into debt. He had finally reached the point where it had been
necessary to sell a share in the ship or face ruin. Surprisingly, an offer had materialised quickly once he had put out feelers. He knew that he should have questioned why a top-class legal firm,
acting on behalf of a client, would have been interested in a share of the
Spirit.
At the time, though, he was in no position to examine any lifeline too closely. With the proceeds from
the deal, he had been able to refit the ship in time to win a number of commissions on the Puerto Barrios-Miami route. It was obvious now that his new partner had been instrumental in arranging for
the business to come his way and once again he cursed his stupidity.

The last time they had been in port, the lawyers had informed him he would be required to attend a meeting with their client. Over coffee in the plush downtown offices, he had learned the extent
of his indenture. The man he met had explained how, on her next voyage, the
Spirit
would carry something more than was stated in the official contract. Three thousand kilos of heroin was
to be hidden throughout the ship. To ensure there would be no difficulties, Customs in both ports had been taken care of. He had argued with the man until he was cut off and the consequences of
refusal starkly spelt out to him. Chanet had enjoyed authority of some degree or other for almost twenty years but when it had come to dealing with this mystery man, he had been made feel
completely inconsequential.

He had been informed that three men would be accompanying the voyage to ensure there were no problems. Any chance that the entire crew might not have realised the extent to which the
Spirit
had been compromised disappeared when these taciturn men had boarded. Once out of port, they made no attempt to conceal their automatic weapons and swaggered around the ship, daring
anyone to challenge them. A number of times headstrong members of the crew had been barely talked out of accepting this challenge by their shipmates.

On the bridge the radio crackled. “... If anyone can respond, please acknowledge ... We are adrift. Our engine’s failed ... last known coordinates ... Repeat, this is the
Marlin
... four crew ... situation dire ... ”

The first mate, Tiozzo, looked at Chanet who nodded to proceed. “
Marlin
, this is the
Spirit of Marseilles
. Please repeat those coordinates. Over.”

After a couple of attempts the complete coordinates were communicated.

“We’re in your vicinity and proceeding to your location. Standby to fire a flare on our signal,” the first mate instructed.

The guard on the bridge stormed over angrily and wrenched the radio from Tiozzo’s hands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, cabrón? You don’t deviate from
our course!”

“It’s enough your people have commandeered my ship and undermined my command,” said Chanet. “But if you think for a second that we’re going to ignore a distress
call in this storm then go ahead and pull the trigger.” He stared impassively into the furious gunman’s eyes. “Though you’d better be prepared to tackle the rest of the crew
and then, if you should handle that successfully, you and your colleagues can look forward to crewing a thirty-man ship safely to our destination.” For a moment the man looked like he was
seriously considering the plausibility of such an action. “No doubt, you’ll have a good explanation ready for the port authorities on arrival,” Chanet added.

The gunman lowered the weapon with a petulant expression. “Okay, Captain fucking Samaritan, but you can be damn sure I’ll be reporting this shit and then you better fucking believe
it’ll be you who’ll have to do the explaining.”

It took an hour and a half in the treacherous conditions before they arrived at the coordinates. No signal flare was released and with radio contact having ceased half an hour before, Chanet
feared the worst. At last, just as he was about to call off the search, one of the crew spotted a blinking light off their port side. Changing course swiftly, they came upon the
Marlin
.
She was a recreational vessel by all appearances, listing badly, her hull half-exposed and ready to go under at any moment. From the ship’s rail, Chanet could just about distinguish four
huddled figures perched precariously on the yacht’s stern. He wondered at the lunatics who braved these seas for fun and adventure.

Despite the difficult conditions, they managed to get alongside and haul the men one by one off the stricken
Marlin
. Three of them appeared to be in their early thirties and the last,
presumably their skipper, was a little older. Considering the ordeal they had endured, none of them looked too much the worse for wear. Chanet reckoned that, after some hot soup and rest, they
would be fine. The skipper insisted on thanking him properly before he would excuse himself. In spite of all attempts to dissuade the man, he persisted and Chanet reluctantly agreed for him to come
up to the bridge. Chanet was not happy about the armed guard there but figured that the yachtsmen would be with them until they reached Miami and were bound to see the gunmen at some stage anyway.
He had not thought of the problems this might pose when answering the distress call but he would have to address it before they docked.

Chanet called for some brandy to be brought up and guided the man to a chair. While they waited, he studied the skipper. He was a lean man, perhaps five-eight or -nine and appeared to be
recovering rapidly, his shivering subsiding noticeably as the seconds passed. Chanet could see his puzzlement at the presence of an armed guard on the bridge but there were no immediate
questions.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go below?” he asked after the man had drained his mug.

“No, no, we owe you our lives, if you hadn’t arrived ... I’m responsible for endangering my crew and yours. I have an obligation.” He spoke English with what sounded like
an Eastern European accent.

“If you insist. May I ask, what in God’s name were you doing so far from shore in a storm? Had you no warning of the weather?”

“We were –”

One of the crew from the
Marlin
appeared at the door, momentarily drawing their attention, and the skipper launched himself from his seat at the distracted guard. The gunman registered
the movement and tried to react but before he could do anything, the skipper had grabbed him under the chin and pressed a knee into the small of his back. The skipper produced a knife and plunged
it into the guard’s exposed neck. Blood spurted from the deep wound over the floor of the bridge. Letting the body drop, the skipper straightened up and retrieved a small plastic package,
secured by tape, from under his sweater. He opened the package and removed a handgun. He exchanged a few words with his crewmate, and although Chanet didn’t recognise the language, the gist
was clear. A progress report had been given and from the sounds of it things were going according to plan.

“Captain Chanet, you have been under duress for some time and I apologise that it must continue for just a little longer. If I may?”

The skipper took the radio, changed the frequency and began transmitting. In the same language as before, he issued instructions to whomever was at the other end.

“In a few minutes, a ship will pull alongside,” he said, replacing the radio. “We’ll relieve you of a portion of your cargo then dump the bodies of this one and his
friends overboard.”

“And after?”

“You’ll be free to continue on your way. I realise you’ll be facing a difficult situation with the owners of the cargo when you reach your destination.” A smile touched
the corners of his mouth. “If you prefer, I can sink your ship while you and the crew take to the lifeboats?”

“You’re taking the drugs?” Chanet asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“And leaving us unharmed?”

“We’ve no quarrel with you. The abuse of the mayday signal was unavoidable and we regret any danger you were placed in.”

Chanet could not take it in. With difficulty, he assembled his thoughts enough to ask another question.

“The ship, it won’t explode after you depart, will it? I mean, we’ve seen your faces.”

“Who would you describe us to?” he shrugged. “The authorities? I can’t see it. As for the owners of the cargo, feel free to be as descriptive as you like.”

A short time later, a smaller cargo ship pulled alongside and the crew of both vessels set about transferring the drugs. Within hours of the distress call being raised, no trace of the
Marlin
or its crew remained. Chanet could almost have convinced himself that he had dreamt it all.

After slamming the door then throwing her keys on the hall table, Mesi hurried through the apartment into the bathroom. She had hoped to return more relaxed from her 2,000
metres at the pool. She had been so nervous about what lay ahead today that she had hardly slept, and starting the day with some exercise to take the edge off had seemed a good idea. And it would
have been if maintenance had fixed the showers in the workout area as the residents had repeatedly requested. Living in the well-appointed apartment complex involved sacrifices. Besides the steep
rent there was a daily two-stage commute involving car and train. The only way she could justify these to herself was if all of the complex’s amenities were working properly. Stepping
hurriedly into the shower, she glanced at her watch again – fifteen minutes to get dressed and out the door. She would have some strong words for the building’s service contractor the
next time she spoke to him.

She lathered the shampoo through her hair while her mind raced. Director Marshall had come to her late afternoon the day before. In light of the latest incident, he had told her, they needed to
revisit one of her earlier predictive reports. While he may have discounted it at the time, he thought it was prudent to take another look in light of the Miami incident. It had been gratifying to
hear but then he had gone on to tell her about the meeting he had called for first thing the following day. He had invited an array of heavy hitters and he expected her to provide the main
presentation. He had given her a rough outline on what she should and should not concentrate on and while it all sounded straightforward enough at the time, it had entailed an enormous amount of
work.

The first thing she had done was call Jean, an old friend from college, to say she couldn’t attend her dinner party that evening. That had not gone well at all. Despite the fact that ten
others were expected, Jean’s primary reason for the party had been as an excuse to get her together with one of the other guests. Jean had decided that Diane’s total of just two serious
relationships since the divorce eight years earlier was pitiful and that it was time for her to get her love life sorted before it was “too late”. Diane wasn’t opposed to the
idea, quite the contrary, but for one reason or another their efforts had met with failure so far. Twenty minutes later, after having listened dutifully to the obligatory lecture about making time
for a personal life, she had been able to concentrate on getting the material together.

The meeting was important for more than just the obvious reason of making a good impression on her boss. It had been more than ten months since she had taken the position as head of TAIT and the
team had hardly progressed at all. By this stage, TAIT should have had a complement of fifteen agents and been on its way to establishing a profile throughout the DEA and beyond. Instead, the team
consisted of just herself and two junior agents. She had raised the issue with Marshall often but never seemed to get anywhere. She would walk into his office, determined to get some straight
answers regarding the reasons for the delay and a commitment for the future, but, somehow, he always managed to palm her off without providing either. Despite the plausible explanations about how
long finalising the budget was taking, it had reached the stage where it was becoming a little demotivating. True, she had learnt a lot in the time since she had taken the job but unless she had
the opportunity to apply it what was the point? As it was, the only function they served was as Marshall’s private three-man research team. If today’s meeting went well, she hoped all
of this would change.

Marshall had indicated that one of her earlier reports was the impetus behind the meeting; that was the first positive. Follow it up with a strong presentation and some momentum could begin to
develop. Maybe enough to shake the bean counters from their indifference. It was imperative, though, not to incur the enmity of any of the attendees. Unfortunately, the content of her presentation
had some potentially unpleasant implications for more than one of them. There was no avoiding that. The trick would be to ensure that her delivery was done in such a way to ensure that neither she
nor TAIT were associated with the unpleasantness.

She finished drying her hair and got dressed. Normally, she would have considered the clothes she was wearing far too dressy for the office, but, given the audience she would have today, they
were perfect. She checked the mirror one last time then took a deep breath and headed out the door.

The conference room was dominated by the large table at its centre. Its sheer size accentuated the fact that, as yet, only a handful of the expected attendees were present.
Robert Allenby sat in his chair, drumming his fingers impatiently as the others drifted into the room in ones and twos. Given the full schedule he had planned for that Friday, the meeting had
hardly come at an ideal time. The sooner they started, the sooner he could get away.

Allenby’s role as advisor to the Plan Coca congressional subcommittee had been a godsend when he had accepted it two years earlier. Certainly, basking in the reflected glory of the
Plan’s recent successes had been gratifying and had done no harm at all to his prospects. He had decided, though, that he had gotten all he could reasonably expect from the association and
that it was time to begin moving away from the Plan and on to other projects. Only fools pushed their luck; the Plan had served him well and even in the unlikely event it could sustain its current
run, there was no point in being greedy. A fringe benefit of removing himself would be an end to incidents like today. The subcommittee chairwoman had been unable to attend and asked him to sit in
for her. Given the lack of bearing whatever Marshall wanted to discuss would have on his career, he resented the imposition.