Chapter 8

Captain Morrison watched Mo and Lucius talk from his position on the bridge. He couldn't hear what they said, but he didn't need to hear to know what it was. The Somali was completely in Koenraad's thrall and parroted every word to the other crew members. Several men loyal to the captain had already reported back to him that Mo had tried to recruit them. It didn't surprise the captain. Mo was not one of his men. He was one of the replacements that Rex Allister had been helpful enough to provide to Morrison when half his crew had fallen mysteriously ill right before they were supposed to leave Santo Perdido. Like all but one of the men that Allister had provided, Mo was both vicious and stupid, easily manipulated.

The only one who clearly wasn't stupid was Koenraad. But, he made up for it by being twice as vicious. Captain Morrison had made the mistake of underestimating Koenraad when he first came aboard. It had been easy to mistake the man's naked ambition for carelessness. The captain had spotted his insubordination immediately, but let it run its course for a while, sure he could rein it in when he wanted to. But, Koenraad had known exactly how to get into the crew's confidence. Any sort of disciplinary action short of execution would start the mutiny he was trying to prevent. And, so far, Koenraad had been careful not to do anything that could make execution seem even remotely justified.

On the other hand, the captain had promised to throw any man who touched the prince's women overboard. At first, Koenraad had seemed ready to break that rule at any moment. But, it had started to seem more likely that he would prefer to provoke one of his followers into doing so and testing the captain's resolution. The captain had raised the ante by moving the women into safer quarters where he could control access to them.

If Koenraad went after one of them, the captain could kill him. There would be grumbling from the crew. But, he could probably get back to Santo Perdido without an armed revolt.

As he watched, Mo and Lucius separated, Lucius heading back to the crew quarters, Mo heading off to meet with Koenraad. The captain sighed and wondered once again if he might be able to regain Mo's loyalty, then shook his head. He knew he couldn't. The Somali wasn't a troublemaker, but he was definitely a trouble spreader.

Suddenly, an unexpected motion caught his eye. He could have mistaken it for an improperly secured tarp, but there was something too deterministic about the movement. Looking again, he realized there was someone moving under one of the blue tarps. As the captain watched, she emerged from under the tarp's cover. He recognized her immediately as Gayle Cooper, the woman he'd chosen to be the prince's bodyguard. He watched in fascinated silence as she crouched, judged her jump, launched herself into the air, and landed on Mo. The Somali crumbled to the deck, unable to get a sound out as he fell. Gayle slit his throat with silent efficiency. The guards for the overnight shift stood no more than a dozen yards away, but suspected nothing.

Although she didn't know it, the woman had helped the captain immensely. In spite of the fact that some of the men had seen her, many had begun to believe that she didn't really exist. Mo's death would be a grim reminder that she was real. And, while Mo was not really important on either side of the equation by himself, he'd been Koenraad's chief recruiter and had the potential to turn critical members of the crew against the captain.

Momentarily lost in thought, the captain glanced down and realized that the woman was still crouched over her victim, looking up at him, something feral and dangerous in her eyes. She could have tried firing the rifle she'd taken from Mo into the bridge, but she just stared at the captain.

Captain Morrison was not alone on the bridge, but he knew its ebbs and flows well enough to be able to tell without turning around that no one was looking at him. In a stately fashion learned from fifteen years in the Navy, he snapped off a salute to her.

The salute seemed to break Gayle's trance. She blinked in surprise before crouching down again and scampering across the deck to disappear into the shadows of another container.

The Captain lowered his hand and watched as his men walked towards their fallen crewmate. He tensed a little in anticipation of their discovery. But, just before they would have been able to see around the corner, Lucius called to them. They turned. After a few quick minutes of conversation, they headed off in the opposite direction.

Sighing, he turned to his first mate and long-time friend, Jov Kyznetsov, "Jov, raise the alarm, please. It appears Miss Cooper has killed another one of the men."

Jov had worked with him long enough that he started the klaxon before asking, "She's done what?"

The captain pointed down to the growing pool of blood on the deck.

Jov looked thoughtful, "That's Mohammed. Isn't it?"

The captain nodded.

Jov gave the captain an appraising look, "He's another one of the king's men."

The captain nodded again.

"Any chance she'll kill all of them?" Jov asked. He stood close and spoke in a low voice so that no one else could hear them over the alarm.

The captain shook his head, "We would never be so lucky. But, she has certainly given us an opportunity."

His first mate waited patiently for the captain to elaborate.

"When we collect our payload in Boston, I want you to go ashore and find me more men."

"I thought we rejected that idea," said Jov. "You said new men would be just as likely to fall in with Koenraad as with you."

The captain nodded, "I know. That's why I want you to do the recruiting. I trust you to size a man up quickly. I need you to find me men who will remain loyal to me, given the right incentive."

"What incentive should I offer them?"

"Whatever you have to," said the captain. "Whatever I have to offer. If we're going to make it out of this with our skins intact, we need more loyal men."

Jov nodded thoughtfully, looking down at the still-expanding pool of blood on the deck, "Understood."

Thule spotted Melinda as soon as he emerged from the house. More specifically, he spotted the back of her head. She was sitting in a pool chair, facing away from him. With the sun filtering down on her, he noticed for the first time that her hair, which he would have thought of as strictly blonde, had a reddish tinge.

She seemed to be engrossed in what she was reading, so much so that Thule was able to approach close enough that one more step would have left him casting a shadow on her.

When he saw what she was reading, he almost turned around, went in the house, and had someone else fetch her. Thule had written the "autobiography" as a way to cash in on all the media attention following the Vandevoort takedown. He'd set out to write a mostly honest book, but the end product had seemed to be half evasion, half outright lies, and very little in the way of honesty. Jake had called it "necessary mythology building." Thule agreed, but having a name for it didn't make it any easier to deal with people who deserved more honesty than the book offered.

Just as Thule was about to turn on his heel, Melinda looked up and smiled at him, shading her eyes from the sun so as to see him more clearly.

Thule took a moment to get a good look at her. Melinda was wearing a blue bikini that was small enough to be distracting, but not so small as to be indecent. If there was an extra ounce of flesh on her, Thule couldn't see it. Despite the fact that every detail of her appearance, from the way her hair fell around her face to the way her lips parted slightly when she smiled, had probably been carefully chosen for effect, Thule had to admit that the end result was very impressive. Even in an environment where female beauty was nearly everywhere you looked, she stood out.

For a few seconds, Thule forgot what he'd come out here for. But, it was only a few seconds, a minute at most. Melinda waited patiently.

"Kale and Anders are in town to be debriefed," he said finally. "This is probably the last time I'll have the whole team in one place for the duration of the case."

"Of course," said Melinda, extending her hand to be helped up. Thule took her forearm so that she could rise.

As she rose, Melinda said, "Sean did say I should put myself at your disposal." Allowing her momentum to carry her forward, she pressed herself against him just a moment before stepping away. She pouted at Thule, "You haven't been making much use of my talents. I can help here if you let me."

Thule had to do an abrupt mental shift as he realized she was talking about the case. Suspecting the effect was deliberate, Thule decided to ignore the double entendre, "We've got enough people to cover every substantial lead, but your assistance is certainly welcome. You've been fully briefed?"

Melinda nodded, "I could help you interview Prince Nabil. I've never met him personally, but I did some work for Sean with the queen of Hanish-Assab. If the Prince is anything like his mother, he will be a formidable character."

Thule nodded, "All right. Have Masha make arrangements for you to join us. Our flight leaves at eight twenty. We'll need to leave right after the..."

"Actually," said Melinda, managing to interrupt without raising her voice. "Sean's put a jet at my disposal. It's fueled up and ready to go now."

Thule gave a low whistle. Having priced even the short-term use of private jets, he knew what keeping one ready to be used on such short notice cost, "Mr. Medeforte seems awfully free with his money."

Melinda laughed. It was not an entirely kind sound, "You're seeing him from a very specific perspective. He runs a very efficient operation, but I've never seen him let a project fail because it's underfunded."

Thule nodded, "I just didn't think he'd made this case such a priority."

"It's a very high priority," said Melinda. "What gave you that impression?"

Thule paused and considered it, "Well, we haven't heard from him since the first day."

"I'm keeping him fully updated," said Melinda, her tone going from mildly seductive to completely professional in the span of a sentence. As the flirtation disappeared, so did the her accent, "He's satisfied with the progress you're making. If he weren't, I would certainly let you know."

"My mistake, then," said Thule. "We should get to the meeting."

Melinda nodded and bent down to gather her robe, "You probably don't realize how critical Sean considers his women to his organization."

Thule felt his eyebrow rise sardonically.

"You don't believe me," said Melinda, wrapping her robe around her shoulders. "Do you?"

"I'm sure you're a great comfort to him," Thule said, no inflection in his voice.

Melinda put a fist on her hip, "You really believe that's all it is? I thought you of all people would understand."

Thule scowled, "No, but that's just it. Everyone just assumes I'm going to be cool with the way Medeforte does things. Even the people closest to me assume that I would love to duplicate it."

"You don't approve?"

Thule's scowl became more pronounced, "I don't believe. I've heard the official story, but that can't be all there is. Medeforte's got a dozen women at his beck and call and..."

"Seven."

"Excuse me?"

"There are currently seven Medeforte women, six since I've already said my goodbyes. Alma has been offered a three-year extension, but she's still on the fence."

"Two a year, seven year contracts..."

"Sean's requirements are very specific. He doesn't choose the best two candidates every year. He chooses a maximum of two if he believes they're qualified. With seven, it was incredibly busy. I don't know how he's going to manage if it's just five."

Thule chuckled. Now, it was Melinda's turn to scowl, "Clearly, you still think this is about sex. It's not. It's about access. This is the first time since I was nineteen that I've gone more than a day without spending at least a few hours with him. If Sean died tomorrow, any one of us could pick up where he left off. We wouldn't have his brilliance for finance or the respect of his clients, but we're all fully informed and qualified. Fifteen years from now, if I'm only average in success among us, I'll still be written up as a 'credit to my gender.'"

"I'm sure the women who compile those lists would be distressed to hear that," said Thule.

"Only if their politics make them blind," said Melinda. "We don't become successful because we're Medeforte women. We just become successful sooner and have to make fewer of our own mistakes. Sean considers us the most essential element of his empire, even more so than himself. And that's not flattery. He doesn't do flattery."

Thule considered this carefully, "You're right. I had no idea how important you were to his operation. I apologize."

Melinda smiled. Her accent came back in full force, "I knew you were a class act, Thule." Laying a hand lightly on his arm, "But, you were talking about how you didn't believe the official story of how things happened among Medeforte's women."

"I didn't," said Thule. "I still don't. But, I want to think about it now before I say anything else I'll need to apologize for later."

"Fair enough," said Melinda, giving him a warm smile. "Now, let's get to that meeting."

Dawn lay in the crook of Thule's arm, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, trying to catch her breath. Thule lay on his side facing her, an inordinately pleased smile on his face.

"I thought..." she finally managed to gasp. "I thought you said you only had time for a quickie."

Thule practically purred when he spoke, "That wasn't quick enough for you? I wasn't watching the clock."

"I..." Dawn let her fingertip trace the musculature of his thigh for a few seconds as her breathing became more controlled, "That was amazing. Thule, are you sure you're only planning to be gone a few days? You didn't fuck me like that when you left for MIT."

Thule nodded down at her and licked a bead of sweat off her forehead, "We're interviewing Prince Nabil tonight. After that, we're flying right out to Hanish-Assab. Somehow, Melinda's arranged a full debriefing by their Deputy Minister of defense who's in charge of their anti-piracy and slavery efforts. Apparently, there's a lot of information he can't give over non-secure channels that I need to have."

Dawn nodded, "So, you're going to be in Africa..."

"More or less," said Thule. "Hanish-Assab is an archipelago off the coast of Morocco."

Dawn stretched against him, "Marigold is in Africa."

"It's a big continent," said Thule. "I'm sure we can share."

"If you get a chance to see her, I think you should."

Thule shook his head, "I won't get a chance. I told you. It's a big continent. Burkina Faso and Hanish-Assab are far apart."

"No further than Boston and Washington D.C.," said Dawn.

Thule gently disentangled himself from her, "Did you check an atlas between the meeting and here?"

Dawn shook her head, "I asked Melinda. She knew immediately. She's pretty amazing."

"She is that," said Thule, rising from the bed. "Listen, if I have a chance to see Marigold while I'm in Africa, I'll call her and ask if she wants to see me. But, I'm not just going to drop out of the sky on her."

"All right," said Dawn, still lying where Thule had left her. She lay silent for a minute while Thule did a last-minute check of his luggage, "I wish I were coming with you."

"So do I, Wildcat." said Thule. "But, I need someone I trust completely here and Vil asked for you by name. I would take that as a high compliment."

"Which one? You or Vil?"

Thule laughed, "Either, I guess. But, I was talking about Vil."

Dawn sat up and nodded, "Do you really trust me completely?"

Thule stopped what he was doing, leaned down, wrapped an arm around her waist, and drew her into a deep kiss, "Absolutely."

Dawn hugged him, "That's got to be a pretty exclusive club."

Thule laughed, "Very. It includes you, my father, and maybe Jonas."

"Only maybe Jonas?"

Thule started gathering his clothes, "I trust Jonas, but I trust him to put his family and his business ahead of my concerns. I would do the same in his position." He pulled on his pants, "I have to get going, Wildcat. Everyone's waiting for me."

Dawn nodded, looking glum. Thule gave her a questioning look. She waved him off, "I was starting to get used to you being around."

Thule nodded, "Me too. Don't worry. You'll be so busy, you probably won't even notice I'm not here."

Dawn frowned, "Do people really get that busy?"

Thule shook his head, "I never have. But, I did sometimes go for a good ten minutes without remembering you were back in Mannsborough once in a while."

Dawn grinned, "I guess that's something."

Thule finished buttoning his shirt, "Vil I definitely don't trust. But, don't worry about keeping an eye on him. Matika will do that as a matter of course. And Anne will be here if you need anything."

"And Lin," said Dawn.

Thule nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah. But, you might want to keep an eye on her, too."

"You don't trust her?"

Thule shook his head, "I gave you that list. She's not on it."

"It must get exhausting," Dawn said. "Not being able to trust people."

Thule nodded, "That's part of why you're so important to me, Wildcat. As much as I need someone around I can love, I need someone I can trust more."

Dawn smiled, "I love you, Thule."

Thule lifted his suitcase with one hand while wrapping the other arm around her for one last kiss, "I love you too, Wildcat. Take care of yourself while I'm gone."

Dawn nodded, "You too, Thule. Be careful."

As they stepped into the elevator, Kale said to Anders, "I know most of my job consists of standing close to this guy and being big. But, who is this Romeo Jordan exactly?"

Anders looked up from his PDA, where he was reviewing his notes, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were briefed."

"Briefly," said Kale. Anders didn't bat an eyelash. Kale was still trying to decide if the man had no sense of humor or just found Kale's too subtle. "I know he has something to do with PKE and Oliver Heinzen. But, that's about it."

Anders nodded, "He's Heinzen's go-to guy here in New York. And, as of today, he's our most solid link to what happened to your girlfriend. His company registered the phone number that was in her address book under "work." But, that number was disconnected when we called it.

"You don't think she was making porn. Do you?"

Anders shook his head, "It doesn't seem very likely. Why? Do you think she might have been making porn?"

Kale gave his head a half-shake, "Before I came to New York, I would have said no way. I still don't think so. But, I'm not so sure anymore."

Anders nodded, "We did some research. The number of Hawaiian women working in porn is really low and really specialized. If she was doing anything, it was either deep underground or she was cast as some other nationality."

Kale shook his head, "I really don't think she would have worked for Heinzen. The stuff she did was very... tasteful. It doesn't seem to be his style. Jake showed me some of Heinzen's stuff. I can't understand how any of that is supposed to be sexy."

Anders nodded again, seemingly deep in thought, as the elevator door opened, "Listen. I need you to follow my lead in here. Whatever I say or do, don't look surprised. This Romeo Jordan may have some very important information for us and he may not even know he has it. So, I need to gain his mistrust."

Kale stopped in his tracks, "His mistrust?"

Anders nodded, "Watch and learn." The former agent was wearing a charcoal gray suit, white dress shirt, and black tie. As had been the case every time Kale had seen him, he was so pressed and polished, he looked like he was on his way to apply for a job instead of about to interview a pornographer. As they walked, he unbuttoned the jacket. With one hand, he gripped the center of his own shirt in a tight fist, wrinkling it and pulling it unevenly out of his pants. He tucked it back in, but not all the way, leaving it slightly askew so that the line of buttons met his waistline about two inches to the left of his belt buckle. At the same time, his posture relaxed with each step. When they'd left the hotel this morning, Kale had seen Anders unshaven for the first time. But, with his neat, white crew cut and ramrod-straight posture, it had just made him look like an action hero. Suddenly, combined with the disheveled clothing and the slouch, it looked positively disreputable.

Kale stopped in his tracks again, "That's amazing."

Anders favored him with a rare smile, "If I go talk to this Romeo guy looking like an FBI agent, he's going to clam up. But, I'm betting he's dealt with low-rent PIs before. He'll be more comfortable if I look like one." He looked Kale up and down, "Can you scowl?"

Kale tried it. His scowl lasted about five seconds before he felt so self-conscious that he started to smile again.

"Get it out of your system," said Anders. "I know it feels silly, but it will make the right impression once we get inside. Although, in the right context, the fact that you're always smiling is pretty disconcerting, too."

"I don't always smile," said Kale defensively.

"All right," said Anders. "What was the last thing that wiped the smile off your face?"

Kale frowned, "Finding out what Ioke was up to."

"All right," said Anders. "That's good. Remember. This guy probably has something to do with that. If you want her back, we need to get information out of him. It would be good if he were a little scared of you."

Kale scowled, but said quietly, "I don't."

Anders looked puzzled, "You don't what?"

Kale shook his head in the negative, "I don't want her back. I want her safe."

After a momentary pause, Anders nodded, "Understandable. But, hold on to that thought. I have a feeling this is going to be an important interview." He kept looking at Kale, "Can you scale it back a little. You look like you're ready to rip his throat out, now."

"Sorry," said Kale. "I'm new at this."

Anders looked thoughtful, "It's too bad you didn't bring those shades you were wearing on the plane."

Kale reached down into a side pocket of his pants, "I did bring them." After a moment's hesitation, he put them on. He loved the dark wrap-around glasses because they fit like they were tailored to his face.

"Perfect," said Anders. "Hold that demeanor."

A few more steps put them in front of the door to PKE New York's offices. Taking one last deep breath, Anders opened the door. He and Kale stepped into the lobby.

The lobby of PKE New York looked more like a temp agency than anything else. Three black leather couches sat off to one side around a glass table. On the table were a dozen or so photography and video trade magazines. The receptionist sat behind a heavy, polished wood desk. While she was better looking than most receptionists, her hair, nails, and clothing would not have been out of place at an investment bank.

She looked up at Anders and Kale and said coolly, "Can I help you?"

Anders attitude changed instantly. Now, he stood up a little too straight, like he was trying to be respectable, but it was something he was unaccustomed to, "Yeah... uh, Anders Harter. We have an appointment to see Ro... Mr. Jordan."

The receptionist's face softened fractionally, "Please have a seat. I'll let him know you're here."

Kale looked around the lobby while they waited. The New York offices of PKE were nothing like what he'd expected. Anders fidgeted and looked around the office with exaggerated head motions, clearly still in character. Normally, he didn't fidget at all.

Romeo Jordan, like everything else in PKE, looked like middle management anywhere in the world. In his forties by the look of him, he had sandy blond hair, a face faintly lined by sun damage, and a smart gray suit. To Kale, he looked like nothing so much as the Brawny paper towel man with a day job.

"Hi," he said, holding out his hand to shake, "you must be the detectives from Bonderman. I'm Romeo Jordan." After shaking their hands, he seemed to draw a business card out of thin air before handing it to Anders. Kale got a glance at it before it disappeared into the agent's pocket. It looked very professional, even with the words "adult video distributor" emblazoned on it.

Anders was nodding even as he pocketed the card, "Thank you for seeing us on short notice, Mr. Jordan. I know that Mr. Heinzen was eager to get this investigation over with."

Romeo Jordan didn't bother to hide the amusement on his face, "Yes. Ollie did make that clear. He didn't tell me what it was you were investigating, though."

"I wish I knew," Anders shrugged dramatically. "I just do legwork. My part of the case has something to do with mail fraud, but my boss doesn't think I rate a big picture debriefing."

Romeo Jordan made a tsking sound, "Isn't that always the way. Well, why don't we head to my office and we'll see if we can muddle through what your boss wants from my boss?"

After they'd taken a couple of steps, Romeo Jordan turned to Kale and laid a hand gently on his arm, "Come on, big fella."

Kale raised an eyebrow and seemed about to open his mouth to say something, but Anders shot him a warning glance. He closed his mouth again and followed.

Romeo led them down a hallway with open office doors on either side then along the edge of a room full of cubicles. The conversation that flowed around them mostly focused on technical problems that needed to be resolved. Kale caught a couple of phrases that would never be used in most offices, but they were spoken clinically and clearly referred to PKE's products.

Once pleasantries were exchanged inside Jordan's office, Anders launched into a series of questions that had nothing to do with the investigation at hand. It was nearly fifteen minutes before he slid a list of phone numbers out of a thin folder and said, "We're hoping you could help us track some of these phone numbers."

Romeo took the list and squinted at it for a few seconds before he said, "Boy, have you come to the right place. PKE's phone system is a godawful mess. We had to create a system here in New York to track them. There was no oversight at all." As he spoke, he was clicking and typing on his computer. He handed the list to Kale, "Could you read those off to me, please?"

Kale took the list and looked at Anders, who nodded. One by one, he started reading off the numbers and noting what Romeo Jordan said they were. After about five, Jordan stopped typing and turned to Kale, "Have you ever considered doing voice-over work?"

Kale looked puzzled, "No."

Romeo nodded, "It's just that we've shot this film that's waiting in pre-post production limbo because the actor's accent is too heavy. He's supposed to be Hawaiian, but he's really Korean. If you were interested..." he let his words trail off.

Again, Kale looked to Anders for guidance. Anders gave an almost imperceptible shrug, indicating that Kale was on his own. So, Kale said, "One job is keeping me busy enough as it is."

"Fair enough," said Romeo, waving a hand at him. "In case you change your mind, take my card."

Kale took a card. It was easier than declining. Then, he started reading off phone numbers again. Taking a cue from Anders's overacting, he pretended to be exceptionally bored when he got to the one number that actually meant anything--the one that had been in Ioke's day planner for the day she'd most likely vanished.

"Hmmmm," said Romeo Jordan after typing it in. "This is odd."

"What is?" asked Anders. Kale hadn't noticed, but the former agent had somehow moved his chair around the desk enough that he could twist his body a little and be looking right at Romeo Jordan's screen, which he did now.

"Well," said Romeo Jordan. "We've got three broad categories of phone numbers we deal with here--incoming lines, contact numbers, and transfer lines. This number is listed as both an incoming line and a transfer line."

"What does that mean?" asked Anders.

Romeo Jordan looked thoughtful, "Incoming lines are those we answer directly. They're for business calls. Contact numbers are our suppliers and our business-to-business customers. Transfer lines are for our phone sex business. All of our PS operators work from home. You call a 900 number and it rings one of several thousand home phones. But, this number was purchased as an incoming line, then registered as a transfer line."

Anders looked thoughtful, "Does PKE ever fund these... transfer lines?"

Romeo shrugged, "It's possible. Like I said, our system for tracking phone numbers was pretty chaotic. But, if we did, this would be a really weird way to go about it. Unless..." He typed a few keys and his frown deepened. "Now, that's even weirder."