‘You can really tell that from up here?’
‘Sure. We’ve got a Cellmate System,’ said Kate. ‘We have intercepted one call I think you’ll find is of particular interest.’
She went over to the man wearing the headphones and tapped him gently on the shoulder. The man, bearded and stale looking, as if in need of air and sunlight, lifted the headphones from his appropriately large ears.
‘Colin. This is Kent Bowen, the AS AC in charge of this operation. Could you play him the SYT tape we made?’
‘Sure thing, Kate.’
Colin drew his laptop toward him, pulled down a menu and chose a file from the list of recordings he had made. The Cellmate was connected to the laptop via an SCSI cable and to a digital tape recorder by means of a parallel interface. The Cellmate itself looked like a larger cellular telephone with some additional controls.
‘SYT file coming up,’ said Colin and hit the return on his laptop.
Kate said, ‘The first voice you’ll hear, the guy with the Spanish accent, is the shipping agent, Juan Sedeno. Nicky Vallbona is the second voice.’
Bowen nodded and pulled up a chair and listened as the tape began to play:
‘Stranahan Yacht Transport.’
‘I’d like to book my vessel aboard your ship for the March voyage to Palma, Mallorca. From Port Everglades.’
‘All right sir. Your own name, the name of your vessel, and the name of her owner?’
‘I’m Nicky Vallbona and I’m the captain of the Britannia. She’s owned by Azimuth Marine Associates in the British Virgin Islands.’
‘Virgin Islands... Can you tell me please, what are the dimensions of your own boat?’
‘Length is thirty-four meters, beam is 7.3, and the draft 1.8.’
‘One point eight... Any bow pulpit?’
‘No.’
‘Swimming platform?’
‘Yes, it’s three feet long.’
‘Three feet. What about tender storage?’
‘On-board.’
‘Hmmm. March, you say...’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, we can accommodate you, Captain Vallbona. The cost will be approximately 93,500 American dollars. That figure includes stevedoring on both sides of the Atlantic, diver’s assistance, all lashing and securing, keel blocks and chine supports, passage for two crew members, and all insurances.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Do you have our booking form, Captain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you please complete it and fax it back to us as soon as possible?’
‘No problem. I’ll do it right away.’
‘Thank you for calling. Goodbye, Captain.’
‘Goodbye.’
The conversation ended and the tape turned itself off automatically.
‘Wanna hear it again?’ asked Colin.
Bowen said, ‘Hell no. Speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Obviously the boat isn’t seaworthy on account of how the hull’s probably made of pure cocaine. So they’re doing what I always suspected they would do. Getting someone else to ferry it across the Atlantic for them. Perfect cover too. When you think about it. Rocky Envigado’s boat rubbing fenders with what passes for high society in these parts.’
Listening to Bowen claim her theory — or at least half of it anyway — as his own, Kate felt her jaw muscles tighten. She wanted to remind him, to tell him that he was so full of shit he made her sick. Only he kept talking, on and on, like some asshole politician on TV. In a perfect world she could have reached for the remote and hit the mute button. Or maybe just forced the remote into his big stupid mouth and battered it down his throat with the heel of her shoe. But all she did instead was turn her back on him in an attempt to hide her anger.
‘The only question is what we do about it,’ continued Bowen. ‘Whether we choose to pass the matter on to the Spanish police or mount some kind of undercover operation of our own.’ He paused and glanced around. ‘What do you think, Kate?’
Kate cleared her throat and tried to struggle out of the sea of resentment in which she had suddenly found herself. But when she answered him it still came out bitter and sarcastic.
‘Me? What do I think?’ A hollow laugh tumbled out of her mouth. ‘What? I tell you, so you can tell me later? Is that the kind of what-do-I-think you mean, sir?’
Bowen frowned and said, ‘Something bothering you, Kate?’
Even when she was being offensive he didn’t pick up on it. Kate shook her head, pitying him as she would have pitied a dog left in a car on a hot day.
Only Bowen managed to misinterpret that too. He said, ‘Good. Because, you know, March is just around the corner. There’s no time to lose here.’
Kate wondered exactly how Kent Bowen had got to be an ASAC in the first place and considering the possibility that there existed within the Bureau some kind of affirmative action policy on behalf of dumb deputy sheriffs from Kansas. Quietly, she said, ‘I’ve got some ideas.’
‘Well, I want to hear them.’
She led him through to the sitting room next door, waved him toward a big horseshoe-shaped sofa and went over to the mini-bar.
‘Want something to drink?’
‘Just a Diet Coke.’
Kate came back with two regulars on ice and put them down on a table that was a sheet of round glass atop a Corinthian capital. It wasn’t just the Pier Top that looked tacky; it was the furniture as well. But this was true of nearly everywhere in Florida. You just had to look in the copy of Luxury Florida Homes Kent Bowen had with him to know that.
‘Mind if I smoke?’ she said. She picked up a pack of Doral and lit one without waiting for an answer.
‘Go right ahead,’ said Bowen and winced in response to her first inhalation.
Still holding her cigarette she pushed her dark hair clear of her face and marshalled her thoughts. She said, ‘OK, this is my idea.’
Bowen nodded and said, ‘You made your point, Agent Furey.’
‘I did?’
‘It slipped my mind that you were the one who predicted Rocky would use the yacht transport. I apologize.’
Kate shrugged. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘It’s not important. What’s important is that we nail the perps. Here, and in Europe, right?’
Bowen looked doubtful. He said, ‘Can’t say I give much of a shit what happens in Europe. But please don’t tell any of those liaison officer friends of yours I said so. It would be bad for diplomatic relations.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of telling any of them anything I wasn’t supposed to,’ she said, aware of how earnest she sounded, but wondering if Bowen still harbored any suspicions about a relationship with the Dutchman. She took another life-threatening drag on her Doral and added, ‘Nevertheless, the Assistant Director has recently gone on record to say that he believes helping the Europeans win their war on drugs may be one way of helping us to win ours.’
This was news to Bowen. ‘He did, huh?’
‘It was in the FBI Foreign Intelligence Coverage folder last month.’
Bowen smiled, dismissively. ‘Oh, that.’
‘And in response, there was a Miami SAC memo. Presley Willard wrote to the Director just a couple of weeks ago, assuring him that Miami General Investigations would do everything it could to support this initiative.’
Bowen, who had no knowledge of this memo, closed his eyes briefly and said, ‘I remember that.’ He swallowed some of his Coke and began to crunch on a piece of ice as if it were peanut brittle. It was her turn to wince now.