“Cell phones don’t usually work out here, if you’re getting your instructions that way. Intermittent at best.”
“Great. Then we’ll keep making it up as we go along.”
They entered the elevator and stood in silence, and when the doors reopened Captain McBride led the way. The hallway that serviced Lake’s room was as long as any that Tom had seen, stretching out for what seems like a hundred meters either side of him.
“We’re close,” Tom said, eying the door numbers.
“Very.”
“Describe the room to me.”
“Narrow. The premium balcony staterooms, which this is, have a panoramic hull balcony with chairs and tables, a king-size bed, and a compact bathroom. That’ll be on the right as we go in.”
“As I go in,” Tom corrected. “If you don’t mind, captain, hang here a moment. You’ll have a good view of any fun and games.”
“He may not be in there.” McBride handed Tom the card key.
“I know, but I don’t want your people hunting high and low, letting him know we’re looking for him. Not yet.”
Tom paused in front of the door to cabin 4081 and knocked. He stood to one side so Lake couldn’t spot him through the peephole. He knocked a second time, louder, and waited another ten seconds before slipping the key card into the door slot and letting himself in.
A quick glance told Tom that Lake wasn’t in the room itself, and he cleared the bathroom in three seconds. But the sliding door to the small balcony was closed, as was its curtain. Tom put his hand inside his jacket and hesitated. He considered applying Hugo’s scruples to the situation but rejected the idea and pulled his gun. A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was in the corridor, then Tom moved slowly forward. He passed along the foot of the bed, and his stomach tightened as movement from the balcony caught his eye. He took four quick steps to the sliding door and pulled it open, stepping out onto the metal deck with both hands training the gun at the flash of white he’d seen from inside.
The balcony was empty, except for the furniture and a white towel that lay over the back of a chair, its corners flipping up at him as the sea breeze ran over the balustrade and swirled in the little space. Tom reached over and touched the cotton, damp from the wind and spray, but otherwise clean. He looked out toward the ocean, but saw nothing but blackness. The sea and sky had joined at some invisible horizon and the dark of the night seemed to seep over the metal guardrail toward him, surround the steel hull of the ship, and make its bulk brittle and weak. He shivered and took one more look at the two empty chairs and the lone table, small, round, and white, and as bare as the rest of the balcony. Or as Hugo would say in this context, “Silent.”
He walked back through the cabin and put his head out of the door. “Captain. You can have your crew look for him now, if you don’t mind.”
“Will do. And if they find him?”
“Have someone chat him up until I get there. Don’t get handsy with him though, no need for that.”
“Got it.” Captain McBride lifted his radio to his lips and gave specific instructions, then turned back to Tom. “That was the control room, our communications center. Most crew members will have a radio, and depending on their job it’ll be tuned to a certain channel. The control room will make sure the message is put out to each channel so that every employee on my ship will know to keep an eye out for the senator.”
“Thanks. I’m going to poke around in here for a bit, if you don’t mind hanging out with me in case he comes back.”
“Happy to. Looking for anything in particular?”
“Nope.”
The room was immaculate, the bed made and the senator’s clothes stashed neatly in the drawers and closet. His toothpaste, toothbrush, and shaving kit was laid out in the bathroom and his empty toiletries bag hung on a hook beside the bathroom door.
Tom took out his phone and tried calling Hugo. He wanted to check in, and hopefully he could get more information, like a clue as to what he should be looking for. The signal faded once but came back strong the second time, and his friend picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, Tom, I’ve been trying to get through. You’re on board?”
“Yep. In his room, as a matter of fact.”
“Not there, I’m guessing.”
“Correct. I’m going to have a poke around but I’d appreciate some idea about what to look for.”
“Sure. Anything that connects him to Alexie Tourville, for one. Also, and I know this will sound weird, but anything that has to do with Marie Antoinette or her son.”
“Seriously? Like a guillotine, or a piece of cake?”
“I’m not kidding. Something that would fit inside a sailor’s chest.”
“Guillotine’s out then. I’ll look for cake.”
“Tom.”
“What? Look, tell me what the fuck’s going on and maybe I can expand my search parameters.”
“Alexandra Tourville was blackmailing Lake over his past. His ancestors. I think the man himself is a descendant of Marie Antoinette, through her son. Anyway, he decided that instead of paying, he’d kill her.”
“Jesus, are you sure?”
“I found her body, so I’m sure about that part of it. And the rest, too.”
“She’s dead, huh?” Tom whistled through his teeth. “And that’s some theory.”
“Yep. Now I need the evidence to back it up, which is where you come in.”
“OK, I’ll see what I can find.” Tom paused. “Lake didn’t kill Raul, did he?”
“No, that was Alexie Tourville trying to cover her tracks.”
“And he killed her?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe he deserves a fucking medal.”
“Maybe, Tom, maybe. But that’s not our call, is it?”
“Never is.” Tom looked up as Captain McBride appeared in the doorway and jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “Gotta go, looks like our dear senator came home.”
Tom hung up and saw the captain stand to attention in front of the cabin door. The angry voice of United States Senator Charles Lake barreled down the hallway.
“Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in my room?”
Tom stepped out, next to Captain McBride. “Hello, Chuck. I think we need to talk.”
Thirty-Seven
Charles Lake brushed past Tom into the cabin and looked around. His eyes settled on his briefcase, which lay unopened on the small desk near the balcony door. He started to move toward it.
“Please don’t, Senator,” Tom said.
“Don’t what?” Lake paused. “This is my cabin and I’ll do as I damn well please.”
“I just want to talk for a moment.” Tom tried the friendly route. “Sit on the bed for me, would you?”
Lake didn’t move but Tom saw a tiredness in his face he’d not noticed before, a weariness that showed in wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a slump in his shoulders. On the left side of his neck, a dark red streak about three inches long hid behind his collar. “Who are you? I mean, who do you work for?”
“All kinds of people. CIA, FBI, the Mormon Church …” Tom shrugged.
Lake’s eyes narrowed. “The Mormon—”
“I’m joking. About the last one, anyway.” Tom checked over his shoulder and saw Captain McBride standing in the doorway, seemingly entranced. “Seriously, sit down. Let’s talk.”
Lake sank on to the bed, his eyes on Tom and still wary. “About what?”
“Alexandra Tourville.”
Lake’s eyes flicked toward the desk again, then back to Tom. “So talk.”
“She’s dead.” Lake didn’t respond, so Tom went on. “Our mutual friend Hugo thinks she killed the old lady at the Bassin place, then her own friend Natalia, and then my friend Raul Garcia.”