“I know that your motives are ideological. Or maybe a better word would be personal. I suspect you would gladly endure imprisonment or any other fate because you think your cause is just. Whether you believe it or not, I feel the same.” He stared past Hodges, a wistful expression alighting on his arrogant face. “Though I will admit to having a weakness where my sister is concerned.”
He brought his eyes back to Hodges. “Ophelia is a crazy dreamer, chasing after fairy tales. Unfortunately, she’s just told me that she’s not going to give up the search, and there’s a very real possibility that she’ll find what she’s looking for. That presents a problem for us all. I love her, but she’s out of control, and yes, if it comes down to it, I’m willing to do what has be done. I’d prefer it not come to that, but there it is.”
“Unless?” Hodges repeated, the word grating from his throat.
“Do what you were sent to do. Make this problem go away. It’s as simple as that.”
“As simple as that?”
Doerner took something from his pants pocket. He held up his fist and with a snick, a two-inch long blade appeared.
Switchblade, thought Hodges. This guy is a real piece of work.
Doerner leaned over him and sawed apart the zip ties. “We both know Andres was to blame for what happened here. I’ll see to it that the local authorities forget your name. It goes without saying that the Group will take care of you.” He took a step back. “Do we have a deal?”
“What about your sister?”
“I would prefer that she come to no harm, but as you say, no victory without sacrifice.” Doerner’s eyes glinted like the steel of his blade. “But if it should come to that, do yourself a favor and kill yourself, because I won’t be that merciful.”
PART THREE: DOORS
TWENTY-TWO
Jade felt a sudden misgiving as she stepped out onto the pier at the Nassau Harbor Marina. Directly ahead, moored at the first slip, was the bright yellow outline of the R/V Quest Explorer, a two hundred-fifty foot search and recovery ship owned and operated by Quest Maritime Incorporated. QMI billed itself as a private marine archaeological venture, but they were essentially treasure hunters on a grand scale, and not above renting their services out to paying customers; especially customers with the kind of money that Ophelia brought to the table. Yet, it was not the nearness of the search vessel that had shaken Jade’s confidence, but rather the enormous, city-sized cruise ships that were docked just beyond the Quest Explorer. There were three of them; eight hundred foot long behemoths, each capable of carrying nearly three thousand passengers and crew. These ships came and went daily, bearing tens of thousands of tourists, some arriving by sea, others flying into nearby Lynden Pindling International Airport, where Jade herself had landed only forty-five minutes earlier. Hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of visitors, roaming what were, if sensational reports were to be believed, the most dangerous waters on earth.
Somehow, the Bermuda Triangle didn’t seem quite so mysterious when you were in it. What had seemed like an earthshaking revelation just two days earlier, now felt more like a histrionic juvenile fantasy.
Did I get this wrong?
She cast a sidelong glance at Professor, whom she knew had spent the last two days undertaking a comprehensive review of incidents attributed to the Bermuda Triangle in an effort to focus their search. He had promised to present his findings as soon as they were aboard. His faintly smug expression told Jade there was an I told you so in her future.
A slender man with prematurely silver hair, wearing a bright red polo shirt with QMI emblazoned on the left breast, awaited them at the gangplank. He stepped forward and introduced himself, conspicuously directing his comments to Ophelia as if the rest of them were just hangers-on. “Welcome to Nassau. I’m Cliff Barry, VP in charge of special projects, and the Chief Mate aboard the Explorer.” He grinned. “Don’t worry about trying to remember all that. We all wear a lot of hats. If you need anything, just ask the first person you see wearing a shirt like mine, and if they can’t help you, they’ll find someone who can. Your equipment arrived earlier this morning, so we’re ready to cast off. The sooner we get on board, the sooner we’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Barry seemed more interested in getting everyone aboard than in learning names, so Ophelia merely thanked him and motioned for him to lead the way. Two crewmen met them at the top of the ramp and took their luggage, while Barry ushered them into the superstructure to a lavishly appointed salon that looked like a cross between the lounge of a five-star hotel and a nautical museum.
“Nice place,” Jade remarked.
“We had to dress it up a bit for the cameras,” Barry said with an airy wave. “I’m afraid the rest of the ship is a bit less luxurious.”
“Cameras?”
Barry’s friendly manner seemed to grow a few degrees cooler. “For the television series.” He gave an indifferent shrug. “If you want to get settled here, I’ll let Mr. Nichols know that you’re aboard so we can get underway.”
After he left, Jade turned to Professor. “Television series?”
He laughed. “Ask a red shirt.”
“QMI also produces a cable television series about marine archaeology,” Ophelia supplied. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s still on the air, and in any event, I’ve been assured that there are no cameras aboard. We don’t need to be worried about showing up on the History channel.”
“I’m a little more worried about the Norfolk Group putting in a surprise appearance,” Jade said. “This is all a little high-profile.”
“My brother has assured me that we need not worry about them anymore,” Ophelia said.
Jade did not feel assured, but before she could express her concerns, a faint vibration began to rise up from the deck. She felt a gentle rocking motion as the Quest Explorer began moving. Through one of the small porthole windows, which Jade suspected were more decorative than functional, the harbor and surrounding landscape moved by more quickly as the ship picked up speed.
A few minutes later, Barry returned, accompanied by two men. Both were older and had craggy weathered faces that bespoke a lifetime spent working in the elements. One man was tall and broad, with a mane of white hair, and wore a blue denim shirt that looked like working attire, but sported a conspicuous designer label. The other man was balding, and the gin blossoms flecking his nose made his already ruddy complexion look ever redder. He had the start of a paunch, which strained the lower buttons of his white uniform blouse with black epaulets.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Barry began, “This is Mr. Kit Nichols, president and founder of QMI…” The man in the denim shirt waved.
“And Spencer Lee, Master of the Ship.”
Lee’s demeanor was aloof, but Nichol’s effusive manner more than made up for it.
“Ms. Doerner. I’ve heard a great deal about you, but nobody told me how lovely you are. A pity we’re not filming. You’re about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen on this old tub. And who else do we have with us?”
Ophelia began the introductions. “This is Dr. Chapman…”
The two men shook hands. “Call me Professor. Everyone does.”
“Love the hat. Professor of what, exactly?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Nichols laughed heartily.