“ 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.
“ Well, we’ve got our own little welcoming committee for the Night Crawler,” replied Jessica. “Let’s get airborne, gentlemen.”
Okinleye told the driver to “rush rush,” and soon they were at his cousin’s helicopter hangar, where a large sign read paradise flights. But there were immediate problems. His cousin Henri would not release his best helicopter-he had two machines-to “no udder man” without a signature on an insurance form and twice his double fee. Okinleye nearly took the man’s head off, and he settled for the usual fee and the signature, with Lansing taking up the better of the two birds.
After the haggling, Don Lansing took the helicopter up with Jessica beside him and Santiva in the rear. It was a large bird, with hatch doors on both front and rear seats, and Santiva’s view was almost as good as Jessica’s. They circled the island once on takeoff and then headed due north toward the incoming fleet of racing ships. Within an hour, they came into view of the racing ships, their tall masts and sails like miniature fingernails on the horizon at first, soon enlarging to half moons. The sun and shimmering emerald-blue waters here created a blinding effect of beauty and brilliance against which the sailing ships existed like cartoon cutouts. “Fly in low over those boats. Let’s be sure our guy hasn’t gotten smart and is camouflaging himself among them,” said Jessica over the headphones.
“ Why would he bother?” asked Santiva a bit sullenly, still feeling jarred by last night’s revelation that the killer might well still be in Florida. “He doesn’t know we’re here. If he has come to the Caymans, he’s got no reason to suspect we know that, right?”
“ We know he’s outfoxed any number of port authority agents, Eriq,” she countered. “We know he’s cunning. Maybe he’ll take the race for a way for him to slip into the Caymans unnoticed.”
“ And maybe he knew about the race all along?”
“ Maybe… either way, we best not take any chances. Go in lower, Don, please…”
Don did as Jessica instructed, and together they studied each boat for any sign of perversion-a ragged sail, a weathered-the-storm appearance, any sign of death, as if it would leave a pall over the ship. What they found on closer inspection was that there were many ships in the race with torn and stripped sails and a beaten-up look. It appeared they had all seen some rough weather since their last stopover.
The brilliant yellows, oranges, blues, greens and reds of the boat markings only added to the needle-in-the-haystack feeling of the search.
“ If he has chosen to hide among this flock, he couldn’t have selected a better one,” Jessica said, a sigh releasing some of her pent-up frustration.
“ There’re too damned many…” complained Eriq.
“ Look for a large ship, larger than sixty feet,” she suggested.
Lansing added, “A schooner class is sleek, smooth-lined, but I gotta tell you, most of those below are schooner class. You gotta be to be in a race like this. Santiva said through his teeth, “There’re too damned many. If he is among them, how can we know?”
“ He’s got to be farther out than this. If he’s trailing the race, he’ll be due north ahead, and he’ll be standing alone. Take us up and northward, Don,” Jessica suggested.
The ships below were beautiful, the sails flapping in the wind, their brilliant colors winking up at the sun and the passing shadow of the helicopter. The trio moved onward, northward out to sea and toward Cuba, looking intently at those straggling, losing boats at the end of the race line. But none called out to Jessica or to the others as the killer ship.
“ God, I hope we’re not out here on a wild-goose chase, Jess,” complained Eriq.
“ Whataya want to do now?” asked Lansing, the chopper continuing due north, no sails whatsoever on the horizon.
“ Keep going forward for another ten or fifteen minutes,” Jessica suggested. “You suppose he was among those boats back there, Jess?” asked Santiva. “Maybe we should just return to port, wait at the dock and keep our eyes peeled there.”
“ No, he’s out here somewhere, and we’re going to find the bastard. Don’t you see? If we can take him in international waters, before he gets to Cayman-’’
“ Then he’s our prisoner free and clear, sure… I see, Jess, but it’s not worth it if we miss him altogether. Trying to see from up here, well, it has its drawbacks.”
“ Give it a little more time, Eriq, please.”
“ Ten minutes, then we head back.”
“ Agreed.”
They spotted a stranded ship on the horizon. The mast was down, and looked like there had been a war aboard the craft. They flew in low and closely examined the markings and the overall appearance of the lame ship. It was a sixty- or seventy-foot schooner, exactly what they were looking for, but there were three crewmen aboard, all waving life jackets. Their engines seemed damaged and they’d jerry-rigged a small sail, but it wasn’t getting the job done.
Lansing dipped the chopper from side to side, an international sign that their distress was duly noted and that the pilot would send back help. They thought the chopper was very likely an official checker for the race.
“ Now, turn us around and let’s head back for George Town,” Eriq told Don.
Lansing frowned and raised his shoulders, waiting for Jessica to give him the word. When she did so, Lansing turned the bird around, and they headed back toward Grand Cayman, the cockpit thick with disappointment.
“ I want you to fly in lower over the boats as we come on them again,” Jessica instructed Don.
“ How close do you want to be?”
“ As close as we got to that disabled vessel. I want to see the crewmen aboard, the names of the boats, the registration numbers, the tattoos on their biceps.”
“ What’s the use, Jess?” asked Eriq. “Can’t you admit defeat? He’s not out here; he’s most likely back in Pensa- cola, for God’s sake.”
“ We’ve come too damned far for defeat.” Lansing brought the chopper down, skimming just above the water, and as they came in sight of a racing vessel, they buzzed it, making crewmen either shout or curse-it was difficult to tell which. Some likely thought them a camera crew trying to get some footage for the evening news, while others likely thought them race spotters or thrill-seekers.
They passed boat after boat, and each had multiple crew members. “We find a boat with a crew of one aboard, we’ll have Tauman, Eriq,” she promised, sounding like the psychic detective Dr. Desinor, “and if we find him soon enough, he’s ours free and clear.”
“ Are you that worried the Cayman government will cause us problems with deportation?”
“ I just got an uneasy feeling about Ja’s plans for cashing in on this whole affair. He’s a good man, but he’s also into taking care of himself.”
Lansing brought the bird up a bit and wheeled to the left, spotting a ship off in that direction. He glanced over his shoulder at Eriq to see if he was all right with everything.