Ja now opened another line to bark orders in his native tongue to other subordinates, telling them to be in place. “Nothing is to be left to chance,” he insisted. “Now be certain to cover every slip at every wharf. Coordinate with the port authorities at each port.” Even as he said it, he knew the meager resources of the PA here meant everyone working for it-maybe six men for the three islands-was so grossly underpaid as to make graft as common as tipping in a restaurant. He thought of bringing every damned one of these men in, grilling them until one of them gave him information on the killer’s first visit to the islands. They- one or more of them-had to have known something, seen something. If all else failed today, he would look into this.
Another of Ja’s men was now asking, “Are you certain, sir, you want to be including the hotels and restaurants?”
“ Especially the hotels and restaurants.”
“ But, sir,” replied the voice at the other end, “that will draw attention. What about the tourists?”
“ And the casinos?” asked another of his men.
“ To hell with the tourists and the casinos. I will worry about the tourists and the casinos.” And worry he would have to. After this was over, he’d deal with the Tourism Council and the local money-making interests as best he might. They were both like natural forces he had to always enter into any equation if he wished to survive, and he had already worked out a script they could both easily understand, one that meant more money for them as well as for many islanders. But for now, he hadn’t the time or the inclination to spend explaining his actions to anyone. “But we will get complaints,” the young officer at the other end of the line bemoaned. Ja realized that complaints translated into threats. “I will handle all complaints! Just distribute the sketch I forwarded you last night, and the information, and do as I say!” Ja slammed down the receiver of his car phone and looked out over the sea in the direction Jessica and the others had flown. He trusted they would be unable to pick out a single sailing vessel amid the morass of ships out there and heading this way. It seemed only too logical to him that the killer would camouflage himself amid the racers, if he was indeed as crafty and cunning as the U.S. papers had made him out to be, and if he was indeed actually on his way to the Caymans.
Ja momentarily thought of his children, what their adult lives would be like on the island. No more living off sunshine and air and sea. The island economy was in a horrid state of affairs. His children were likely to turn into chambermaids and waiters in the casinos. There was so little opportunity for a native-born child. What would be the fate of his children? What kind of changes were coming with the trade winds?
He locked up his vehicle now and joined his cousin Henri, who had fired up his second, more aged and battered, whirlybird. Shouting over the rotor blades, he said, “Let’s go, brother!”
“ What do you hope to gain, Ja?” asked his cousin.
Ja spoke in his native tongue, saying, “I want to be in a position to see what transpires, when it transpires and where it-”
“ Happens, yes, but if they are taking care of this business…” Henri fell quickly and easily into their home language as well, adding with a quick wave of his hand, as if disgusted by and dismissing his prominent cousin, “It has always been just the way with you, since the day of your birth, Ja.” He finished with a laugh as both men clambered aboard the triple-bladed, battered island helicopter, found their seat belts and put on their headphones, and readied for takeoff. “What do you mean, since my birthday?”
Henri was some eight years older than Ja. He now smiled and shook his head, and placing Ja Okinleye’s fist over the stick control of the chopper, he said, “You always must be with your hands here!” shouted Henri, grinning from ear to ear, his stained white teeth in need of capping. Henri’s meaning came clear to Ja.
“ I suppose you’re right, but sometimes it is a curse.”
“ How well the family knows this.”
They were about to lift off the tarmac when what appeared to be a madman ran out in front of them, waving his arms and hands, a brilliantly shiny gold badge held high over his head, proclaiming the American-looking, well- dressed man as some important official.
“ Damnit to hell!” cursed Ja. “Who is it?” asked his cousin. “More FBI, no doubt. Cut the engines.”
Ja popped the door and leaned out, taking the tall, good- looking American’s hand in his own and giving it a vigorous shake. The man introduced himself, but Ja was unable to catch the name beneath the rotor blades as they wound down. Ja caught only the badge and a quick glimpse at the ID, which told Ja only what he had suspected. Obviously, the FBI had sent additional agents to the island to back Jessica Coran’s move. Jessica, no doubt, had alerted Peter Kylie, the resident undercover FBI operative whom everyone on the island knew, a man who lived the good life here while ostensibly on the lookout for bad guys. Now there was no telling how many other FBI agents were crawling about the island. This man standing before Ja could hardly be heard above the still whirring rotors, but after introductions, he made himself quite clear. He was desperately seeking Jessica, wanting to know her whereabouts. Something about information that could not wait.
Ja breathed deeply and realized that this could be a stroke of good fortune. After all, with an American agent aboard with him, when the sailing vessel carrying the Night Crawler came within Cayman’s watery jurisdiction, the FBI’s own agent could attest to the fact that the monster- who had murdered young women on the islands as well as in the U.S.-was, technically speaking, a prisoner of the Cayman Island government, and so he would become the bargaining tool with which Ja could further his own personal and professional ambitions and help his community in the bargain. This tack might lose him some favor with Jessica and the FBI, but it could gain commerce, industry, money for the islands and his people-legitimate money. After all, it seemed the U.S. wanted this bastard badly enough to make some assurances…
Using the Night Crawler in this fashion seemed the preeminent path to take. It could open economic doors now closed to his island nation; it could mean more import/export trade, perhaps reduced tariffs. There was no end to what it could mean for the Caymans, and it would all be due to his excellent investigatory work.
And as for a witness to this, who better than the tall, suntanned American whom he now invited along with him- Mr. Upstanding American Police Officer.
“ We are following Dr. Coran’s footprints now. You are fortunate. Please, take a seat aboard.” Ja indicated the back hatch and the grateful agent climbed aboard.
Through their headphones, as the chopper lifted and took off, Ja and his pilot cousin spoke in their Dutch-French tongue. “If they take the Night Crawler in our waters, we can claim him as our prisoner,” Ja confided.
“ Do you want this scum to dirty your prison cells?”
“ It would mean great things for us, Cousin. Trust me…”
Ja’s cousin pursed his lips and nodded, accepting his kinsman’s words as gospel. Ja had never guided him wrong. “But I thought these people-the Americans-were your friends.”
“ Friendship is important, not to be denied, but so too is blood; besides, I do not make the laws in Cayman. I can only enforce them.”
“ Ahhhh,” the other man said, nodding, smiling as they made their way north across the emerald mirror below them. James Parry, fresh out of Miami, where he had jetted to from Hawaii in search of Jessica, had gotten as comfortable as his tall frame would allow in the small rear section of the cockpit. Seeing that the other two men were talking, Parry donned headphones. He only caught the tail end of the conversation, but he knew enough Dutch and French and innuendo to make out the tenor of what was being discussed.