When they got to the customs dock, he had the girls help him with the lines and told them to stay on the boat.
“Why?” Pam asked, looking around the harbor.
“Technically, until you’re checked in, you’re illegal in the Bahamas,” Mike said. “I have to go get us checked in.”
He carried his scanty log, well aware that there should be more entries — exited Islamorada harbor, took two slave-girls… no — and headed for the customs shed. There was a small Bahamas Coast Guard cutter tied by the shed and he noticed that the crew seemed unusually alert and sharp for Bahamas troops.
The shed was a small building broken up into a couple of rooms with a counter at the front manned by a bored clerk.
“Yacht Winter Born, U.S., out of Islamorada,” Mike said, handing over his log and passenger list. “Myself and two passengers.” Then he started pulling out credentials.
The clerk took the passenger list and made an entry, then glanced at the log in disinterest and picked up the credentials. When he saw the Federal Marshal certification and weapons cert, his eyes widened.
“Hold on, mon,” he said, getting up. “I gotta get an officer.”
“That’s fine,” Mike said.
Two officers came out of the back with the clerk, one that was clearly the station chief and another, a colonel of the constabulary if Mike remembered his insignia, who was a big, broad man in stiffly starched khakis.
“Mr… Jenkins,” the colonel said, shaking his hand. “Colonel Horatio Montcrief, Constabulary. Glad to have you in Bimini. Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” Mike said. “I have a couple of college coeds with me who have never been to the Bahamas. I hope to show them a very good time.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” the colonel said, grinning as he came around the counter. “May we, perhaps, step outside?”
“Much prefer it,” Mike said, following him out.
The colonel waited until he was outside and then lit a cigar. “Even here in the Islands, the stupid antismoking people reign,” he said, sticking the stogie in his teeth. “Those are interesting credentials. You are not here on business?”
“Not at all,” Mike said. “I’m effectively retired. The materials I carry are purely for reasons of… past experience. I hope to have no future similar experiences.”
“You were DEA?” the colonel asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Bite your tongue,” Mike said. “I don’t do the War on Drugs.”
“There is another war, however, that you don’t mention,” the colonel said, waving his cigar. “No matter. We have no problem with terrorism in the islands.”
“As I said,” Mike repeated doggedly, “I’m here for pleasure, purely.”
“And can I enquire as to the nature of the material?” the colonel asked delicately.
“I could show you a manifest,” Mike said. “But you’d shit a brick. I carry heavy.”
“For defensive purposes?” the colonel asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Sometimes the best defense is a good offense,” Mike said. “Colonel, I’m not planning on using anything here in the islands. They’re in a locker. I’m not planning on opening the locker in the islands. And if I have to, you’ll be the third to know.”
“The third?” the colonel said, interestedly.
“The first will be whoever I use them on,” Mike said. “The second… well, I’m sorry, you don’t have the need to know,” he added with a chuckle.
“Very well,” the colonel said dryly. “Try not to open your locker. Two college coeds, eh? Pretty?”
“Fricking gorgeous.”
“Have a very good time in the islands, then,” the colonel said, smiling. “I do ask one thing. We occasionally have situations which… are difficult to deal with alone. Frequently, we ask the U.S. government, quietly, to assist us in such things. Are you… ?”
“Not at this time,” Mike said. “But if you ask me, and I get an okay, anything for a friend.”
“And are you… formidable?”
“I’m pretty good,” Mike said. “I’ve got a ‘still alive’ track record. My enemies don’t.”
“Very good,” the colonel said, nodding. “I hope to meet you again some time. Hopefully, under equally good circumstances.”
“Agreed,” Mike said, smiling. “Have a good day.”
“All days are good days in the islands,” the colonel said, waving his cigar. “Hadn’t you heard?”
Pam was cleaning up in the lounge when she heard a faint beeping and followed it to something that looked like a small laptop on the closed bridge. It had a phone on it, though, so she picked it up.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Hello,” a man’s voice said. “Who is this?”
“Pam,” she said. “Are you looking for Mike?”
“Yes,” the man answered dryly. “I was a little worried I’d dialed the wrong number.”
“He’s over at the customs shed,” Pam said.
“Okay,” the man said. “When he gets back, ask him to give Bob Pierson a call, would you?”
“Sure,” Pam said.
“I take it you’re a… friend of Mike’s?” the man asked.
“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “I think the term would be ‘very good friend.’ ”
“Ah,” the man said and paused. “Where are you from?”
“Can I ask why you’re asking?” Pam said curiously.
“You sound Midwestern,” the man answered.
“I’m from Missouri,” Pam said. “Why?”
“Just curious,” the man replied. “Please ask Mike to give me a call right away when he gets back.”
“Will do,” Pam said. “Bye.”
“Mike,” Pam said when he got on board. “You’re supposed to call somebody named Person or something like that. I forgot to write it down and he didn’t leave a number.”
“Oh, great,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“Problem?”
“One of my former customers,” Mike said, shrugging. “The sort of people I do contracting for. But I am most definitely on vacation at the moment.”
Mike went down to the sat phone and found Pierson’s number on the speed dial.
“Pierson.”
“Jenkins, what’s up, Bob?”
“Mike, clear the room please and go scramble,” Pierson replied.
Mike frowned and hit the scrambler combination.
“There’s nobody in here at the moment,” he said.
“I guess I should have mentioned that you’re under very casual surveillance,” Pierson said. “And if you go out of the country you need to check in.”
“I wasn’t aware I was under surveillance at all,” Mike said angrily.
“The Coast Guard just has a general ‘keep an eye on’ on you,” Pierson said. “Half protection for you and half because if you go out of the country you’re treading in waters you’re not really familiar with, legally. The Caribbean is no big deal; we own it. But if you go to Europe or something, give me a call first, okay?”
“Sure,” Mike said, sighing. “Just another example of change of life, I guess.”
“That’s what it is,” Pierson said. “The young lady who answered the phone. She’s not from…”
“Nope,” Mike said. “Missouri, University of. And, lord, she’s good looking.”
“Glad to hear it,” Pierson said honestly. “I’d been getting a little worried about you down there doing your Travis McGee imitation.”
“Travis who?” Mike asked, confused.
“Oh,” Pierson said, chuckling. “I’d assumed it was intentional. Look up the Travis McGee books, some time. And have fun in the Bahamas.”
“I will,” Mike replied.
They stayed in Bimini that day and into the night, the girls dancing at one of the clubs, then made their way back to the boat. Mike had reciprocal rights at the Bimini Big Game Club and was docked there. The Game Club had good enough security that he didn’t feel he had to leave an anchor watch. Not that there was much theft in Bimini. The island was so small that if anything turned up missing, everyone knew who had stolen it.