“Like what?” Theo asked.

Cole sighed. “Like she doesn’t have one.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Aboard Fish n’ Chicks

March 27, 2008

8:25 a.m.

Diggory awoke to the sound of a man’s voice shouting in French. In response to the Frenchman, he heard the whiny shrieking of the brother he had come to think of as the Freak.

He rose and pulled on the khaki pants that he had folded with care and hung up in the cabin’s tiny closet. He grabbed his wallet and slipped it into his back pocket. Shirtless and in bare feet, he climbed the steps, crossed through the main salon and opened the sliding door to the aft deck. Some four feet above the Freak, on the stone quay stood a heavyset man wearing a white uniform with brass buttons and epaulets. His face flushed red as he shouted that because they were docked there, he had to put his ferry boat on the end of the quay. There would be other ferry boats arriving soon, he screamed while shaking his fist at the blotchy-skinned barbarian, and they needed to move their boat now.

Diggory stepped out into the bright morning light and slid the door closed behind him. He introduced himself in his flawless French, then apologized to the ferry captain for creating such a problem. He assured him that as soon as they had taken on fuel, they would be moving the boat. From his wallet, he removed a crisp new hundred euro note and handed it to the man.

“I understand that it is only fair that you should be compensated for your inconvenience,” he said in French.

The captain snatched the note from Diggory’s hand and slid it into his pocket while mumbling about how he guessed he could wait a few more minutes before moving his boat.

Diggory turned to the Freak. “Where is your brother?”

“He took off at first light to go scout out the chick’s boat. Make sure she’s still there. He reckoned you’d want to know if the doc spent the night there.”

Dig sent the man off to find the dock master so they could start fueling. Soon, a young efficient Frenchman came down the pier dragging the fuel hose. He jumped aboard and began the process himself when it became apparent the Freak had no clue what to do. The half-breed was worse than useless, Diggory thought. He was an abomination, a crime against nature. When would the human race wise up and realize that not every child should be saved? This piece of excrement was a waste of resources. Diggory removed his wallet again and took out another bill. Handing it to the Freak, he sent him to a village café for coffee and croissants. Perhaps he could be made to have some use.

If the one called Spyder did not return in the next few minutes, Dig realized he would be forced to try to drive the boat out into the bay and anchor it himself. He climbed up the ladder to the bridge and sat in the helmsman’s seat as he had the night before. Before him was an array of buttons and switches, levers and screens. He understood none of it.

The French boy manning the hoses called up to Dig asking if he should fuel the port tank also. Dig looked around again for Spyder. Though there were a few locals riding bicycles down the village main street, there was no sign of either brother.

“Yes,” he called down. “Top it off.” If it turned out the tank was empty and the boy said something about his ignorance, Dig would just take it out of his tip.

He leaned back in the comfortable helmsman’s seat, rubbed his fingers across his day’s growth of beard and contemplated the sailboats anchored out in the bay. What the devil was Riley doing mucking about on a sailboat in the Caribbean? For a moment, a picture of her nude body lying on his bed flashed through his mind. He thought about what she had said when they met in Pointe-à-Pitre. He’d often wondered what she remembered about Lima. She’d answered that question last night. There was no longer any doubt that she had become a dangerous liability. Now that he had taken care of Caliban, he had to move, he thought. With the girl right here within his grasp, the next step was his for the taking.

“Monsieur,” the boy called from the lower deck. “The port tank, it is full. I will go make your receipt.”

Dig stood and walked to the ladder. Just before he turned around to descend, he saw the two brothers up at the head of the pier. They appeared to be arguing. The Freak was cringing as Spyder flailed his arms, pointed at the powerboat and shouted words that Dig could not understand at this distance. Then Spyder turned to look in the direction he was pointing, and he saw Diggory staring at him.

When the brothers returned, Spyder’s manner was so obsequious, it turned Dig’s stomach. Spyder said he had taken a long, hot hike over the hill, but he was pleased to report that her boat remained anchored in the other bay. “No sign of the doc, though,” he reported. Then, he asked if there was anything else he could do.

Dig ignored him and, after settling the bill, gave orders to get off the dock and anchor out in the bay. Meanwhile, he went below to shower and enjoy his morning coffee away from the sight of that human rubbish.  When he emerged from his stateroom forty-five minutes later, he had a plan.

Dig could feel the Freak’s eyes on him as he crossed the salon. The man didn’t even bother to remove the bulky headphones that made him appear like a giant insect from one of those old Japanese horror films Dig’s mother used to watch when he was a child.

It was Spyder, though, who spoke first.

“Too bad that machine of yours don’t work.”

“And what machine would that be?”

“You know, that satellite tracker thing over there.” He flung his arm in the direction of Dig’s GPS tracking unit.

“When we got up this morning,” the Freak said, “the fix was all wrong. That’s why Spyder went to check on her boat. Just to make sure.”

In spite of the air conditioning and his recent shower, Dig felt a flush of heat. He strode across the cabin and tilted up the screen of the small black unit. With one finger, he tapped the key to wake the machine, and he realized at once that his plans would have to change.

“How long has this machine been malfunctioning?”

“I dunno,” Spyder said. “It was like that when I first got up this morning.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to tell me about this?”

“I thought it’d be better to go check on her boat right away. I done that.”

“You’re a moron.” He turned to the Freak. “You both are.”

Spyder swung around from the galley counter where he had been slathering jam on a croissant. “Mister,” he said, his voice tight. He clutched the wood-handled knife in his right fist, his knuckles white from the strain. “That ain’t right. There’s no need to call us stupid.”

  “When you went to check on her boat this morning, did you happen to notice if her dinghy was there?”

“No, I ain’t seen it.  I wasn’t particularly lookin’ for it, neither.”

“And if her dinghy’s not there, the oars aren’t there either.”

“Shit,” the Freak said. He had pulled one of the earphones off his ear and it now dangled around his neck. “Last night when I walked over there, I seen another anchor light way out in the bay. What’s this about oars?”

“Your brother helped me place the GPS transmitter inside her oars. That’s why I had you return them to her boat. Which means there is nothing wrong with this GPS tracker, you moron. The other boat was likely Dr. Thatcher’s boat. Because of your stupidity, they are now,” he said, pointing to the screen, “somewhere down off the island of Dominica. If you two don’t get this boat moving in the next five minutes, I’ll be forced to shoot one of you, and I’d be hard-pressed to choose which one.”

Spyder glanced at his brother, and Dig saw the question pass between them. The Freak moved his head in a sideways twitch, but the tendons in the bigger man’s forearms relaxed. Spyder set down the knife, picked up the croissant and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. He walked past Dig without acknowledging him and stepped out onto the deck.