The most powerful man in Venezuela assessed her in silence. Her eyes not blinking, Annibel waited for his answer. He put down his cup and opened up to her.
“Shipments are way down. In one area, they are down to zero, completely cut off. People have gone missing on the high seas without a trace. Not one trace, and we don’t know why. We suspect the Americans, but maybe it’s another cartel.”
“Sinking your boats? Who would be so stupid?”
“You never know.”
“Then ask. Ask if they are experiencing losses, too.”
“You know it’s not that easy, and I don’t want them to see me sweat.”
“Fine then,” Annibel shrugged, exasperated. “You are concerned about business, yet plan to go fishing this afternoon.”
“Something is happening out there!” Daniel growled, careful to keep his voice down and temper in check. “And, if we don’t figure it out soon, the money is going to dry up fast. When it does, not only are your shopping trips to Caracas over, but we are over. The jackals will be on our doorstep. If I don’t keep the money flowing to the army and the politicians and my network, or if I show weakness for even a moment, then we’ll be surrounded. Fast. So, yes, I’m going fishing, as much to relax as to show that I’m not too concerned. Those jackals are watching.”
Annibel now showed concern. “How do you intend to find out?” she asked him.
“I think it’s the Americans. Pepé thinks it’s a rival cartel, that the yanquis are too inept at keeping secrets and that the American media will expose it for us anyway. But who else has the intelligence and sensors to find a damn skiff on the open and know what it is, destroying it without a trace before anyone can even radio for help.”
“Do your skiffs have radios?”
Daniel said nothing, not knowing the answer to her question. Such details were left to others. Even if they did have radios, the mules were conditioned not to highlight themselves in any way. They would die before they radioed for help.
“Better yet, just send girls to their bars. Men like to talk and boast, don’t they?” Annibel asked.
“American men. Down here, talking can kill you.”
“Yes, of course, American men,” Annibel snickered as she looked out to sea. “Well, then, you have a strategy.”
“Maybe, but I need more than that,” Daniel responded, lost in his thoughts.
Annibel got up from the sofa and moved toward him. “Then I won’t disturb you as you think about your multinational business.” She stopped in front of him and bent over to whisper in his ear, the lace neckline of her nightshirt hanging low.
“Think about business today, and think about me tonight.”
She walked away carefree and in charge. “I’ll take you up on your offer of Caracas,” she said over her shoulder. “If you call for the plane, I’ll be ready in an hour. Maybe I’ll pick up something for you.” She turned her head to leave him a coy smile as she descended the stairs.
Daniel smiled back, thankful for a moment of peace to dream about his firecracker wife before he turned his eyes out to sea — toward the Americans. He had some ideas.
CHAPTER 18
Macho entered the “dirty shirt” Wardroom with her tray of food and set it down at the unofficial Firebird table. Situated up forward under the bow catapults, the dirty shirt allowed flight deck clothing, and the olive drab flight suits of the aviators mixed with the multicolored flight deck jerseys of various maintenance and flight deck officers. The initial crush of hungry officers had, for the most part, melted away, and Macho, taking a late lunch, found herself alone at the squadron table.
Her roommate, Shane, was the talk of the ship. Stunning and knowledgeable about enemy threat systems, she was friendly, nice to everyone. Macho found this unusual in a young woman of such head-turning beauty, expecting bored-with-it-all aloofness rather than sincere interest and a willingness to pitch in. In the weeks since Shane’s arrival, Macho had watched as several airwing players rolled in on her, and Shane spurned their advances with her sweet smile and, in several cases, even gained their respect and friendship. Though no beauty queen, Macho wasn’t ugly, and was one of the few “available” female aviators aboard who were surrounded by dozens of available male aviators. The young officers — male and female — were all attractive to one another, more so as the days at sea built up one by one. If anyone tried to roll in on Macho — and some had — they were dispatched by her biting rejoinders, and the guys kept their distance.
After she took her first bite, Macho saw Trench, followed by sidekick Coach, pop through the knee-knocker opening and into the wardroom. Oh, great, she thought. Avoiding eye contact, she hoped they would sit with some of their airwing friends at other squadron tables. When they stopped beside her, thoughts of enjoying her own company at lunch were dashed.
“I see you sitting with all your friends. May we join you?” Trench said.
“Screw you,” Macho muttered into her plate.
“Why thank you, even though that’s against squadron rules. And, despite my endowment, I doubt I could accomplish that even by myself, but thanks for thinking I could. Lieutenant Madden, please be seated.”
Coach placed his tray next to Trench as they faced Macho, two poisonous snakes facing a mongoose. Trench continued to taunt his prey.
“And what do we have on the schedule today? Beat up on the Colombians? Find a fishing boat around the ship? Write a whiny letter to Navy Times crying about the mistreatment of women who call themselves warriors?”
Macho raised her chin, shot him a look, and answered his question with a question. “And what do you guys have on the schedule? Circle jerk in the bunkroom?”
Feigning indignation, Trench grinned. “Well, I believe there are certain rules, command directed and moral, against that sort of thing. So, no, that’s not on my schedule. How about you Coach? Circle jerk in the bunkroom for you?”
“No, thanks, and actually I have no experience with this. Macho, please explain,” Coach said.
“You guys wrote the instruction manual,” she replied as she wolfed down another forkful of rice.
“Oh, you got us on that one, Macho. Coach, we don’t stand a chance against her wit, and her brawn, and her big rippling eyebrows. And our enemies don’t either. Macho, you are a one-woman strike force, our secret weapon, the face that sunk a thousand ships. Glad we’re on the same team!”
Macho’s eyes narrowed on Trench as he smiled back at her, satisfied his blow had landed hard on her ego. I’m going to enjoy bringing your career to an end, she thought. Trench changed the subject.
“Where’s your roommate? She’s made a splash… professional, pleasant, helpful. Quite an addition to the junior league here aboard Coral Maru. You must be learning a lot.”
Macho smiled as she ignored the barb and, now that the opportunity had presented itself, was ready to spring her trap. Trench continued their sarcastic banter.