'And where do you propose that we should sail north to ourselves, when we want to head toward Gib and the Med? Which is, after all, where we are ultimately bound.'
'Well sir, just north of the Canary Islands.'
'Just north of the Canaries, eh?' Jellicoe smiled bitterly and then pointed to the two brass cannon that were pointed out to sea. 'What about those?'
'How do you mean, sir?'
'In case you'd forgotten, we stole those from the island of Lanzarote. Which, if memory serves, is one of the smaller Canary Islands. Thus placing me and my ship in rather bad odor with the local government's chief budgerigar. You see my point?'
'Yes sir.'
Jellicoe took another look at the map.
'We can't possibly go anywhere near there.'
'No sir.'
'Here's what we'll do, Two. I've seen this kind of thing before. The storm will have largely blown itself out by the time it gets to us, take my word for it. No, we'll stick to our original course. However, just to be on the safe side, tell the chief engineer to give us maximum revs. We'll try to put some distance between ourselves and Louisa. It'll probably get a bit rough, but nothing we can't handle. You know, Two, contrary to popular opinion, the best place you can be during a storm is at sea. When Hurricane Bertha struck the American coast, US Navy officers ordered their ships to sea, to save them from being thrown against the harbor walls. That should tell you something.'
'What about the ladies on the Jade, sir?'
'What about them?'
'Tonight's their cocktail party, sir.'
'Oh, that.' Jellicoe took another look at the weather map and shook his head. 'Should be all over by the time the sea starts to get up.'
'You know they might not be used to this kind of thing, sir. I mean it's going to get pretty rough.'
'Oh, I don't think you need worry about Captain Dana and her crew. I'm sure they've encountered a bit of squally weather in their time.'
'Yes sir, but a boat like that. They'll be fitted with stabilizers, won't they? They're not much good to them while they're aboard the Duke, sir. The only stabilizer on this ship is the cook's coffee.'
'That'll be all, Mister Niven. Better tell the boys to go to blues. It's going to get cooler. And tell the helmsman it's steady as she goes.'
'Aye sir.' Niven started to walk away, shaking his head. 'Steady as she goes? Fat bloody chance of that.'
'Something to add, Mister Niven?'
'No sir.'
'Then get on with it.'
Jellicoe watched his second officer retreat. Calmly he folded away his sunlounger, then collected up his cool-box, his novel and the weather map. Heading back to his own cabin he was chuckling happily. It looked very like the supernumos were going to get a real taste of the Atlantic after all.
Kate had walked down to the stern of the ship to take a closer look at the Britannia and her crew, and to see if she could plant another listening device on the hull.
The captain, Nicky Vallbona, the other crewman, a guy named Webb Garwood, and Vallbona's girlfriend, Gay Gilmore, were nowhere to be seen. Kate strolled up and down the dock wall alongside the Britannia a couple of times, affecting a greater interest in the Duke's engine towers and open stern but there was nothing to see except a lot of seagulls picking over the garbage floating in the Duke's wake. The Britannia looked as shipshape as any other boat on the transport, and that included the Camera.
Kate looked both ways and then knelt down to tie the lace of her boat shoe. The listening device was no bigger than an earplug and it was a simple matter to lean across and stick the bug to the boat's coachroof. She was already walking away, when a man's voice behind her brought her to a halt.
'Talk to me,' said the man. 'Don't just stand there. I mean, have you given any thought to having kids, for instance?'
Half expecting to see Howard standing on the dock wall behind her, Kate glanced around. There was no one in sight.
'Your biological clock,' said the voice. 'Well, it's hardly slowing down, is it honey? I mean you leave it until you're in your thirties and it becomes a lot harder to conceive, doesn't it?'
Kate realized that the voice was coming from an open window near the bow of the Britannia. Who needed bugs when you had open windows? Not that there was anything about this conversation that was of particular interest to the FBI. It could easily have been Howard. How often had Kate heard him utter these same remarks?
'What's it to you?' answered a woman's voice. The accent was New Zealand. This was Gay Gilmore and Nicky Vallbona talking.
'What's it to me? Honey, I kind of thought that was one of the reasons why we were going to get married. To have kids.'
'Is that right? Well you can think again, mate. The only biological clock I've got is the one that tells me when it's time to have another fuck. And it's got nothing to do with having kids. It's just that I like fucking a lot more than I do the idea of having kids.'
'What about maternal instinct?'
'What about it?'
'Every woman's got some.'
'Like hell they have.'
Kate stayed where she was, fascinated. It was like hearing actors reading dialogue she might have written for them. Scenes from a Marriage, or something of the kind. So far, she liked the actress playing herself.
'Listen, Nick, I've got other plans, OK? If I've got a maternal instinct then it's fulfilled by you licking my nipples and me remembering my mum's birthday.'
Kate almost applauded: she would have to remember that line.
'Motherhood is definitely not for me. I've got enough problems just looking after myself.'
Nicky moaned, 'I just don't understand a woman who doesn't want to have children.'
There was a short silence during which Kate thought about what she had in common with Gay. At least, their choice to remain childless. She wondered how much Gay knew about the drugs that were hidden in the boat's fuel tanks. She hoped nothing at all -- Kate was already feeling sympathetic toward her. Enough to want to help her out when the time came to make the bust. It would be a shame if Gay had to go to prison. Nicky Vallbona's reaction, on the other hand, had been just like Howard's: unreasonable and selfish.
Gay said, 'Nicky, you haven't really thought about this. You and I. We're not the kind of people to be bringing up children. It wouldn't be right. When we get to Europe, when this is all over? We'll have lots of money. Why don't we just do what we do best? Enjoy ourselves. Have a good time. Just the two of us. No worries.'
'Yeah, OK. I guess you're right at that, honey. Shit, I'm not even sure why I mentioned it. But I'm chilled. You won't hear another word about this. I promise.'
Kate walked sadly away. Sad that her own husband couldn't have been as accommodating on the issue of children as a drug smuggler; and sad to hear that Gay probably did know what she was involved in. Not having children would be a lot easier for Gay when she was in prison.
Sometimes the job was difficult, in ways you could never foresee. Like discovering that dope smugglers could have the same conversations about ordinary human things as any law-abiding person.
Kent Bowen had just come off the radio and received the information he had requested -- some of it anyway -- when the man himself came knocking at the sliding glass door of the Carrera's skylounge.
Dave said, 'Hi there. Hope I'm not disturbing you?'
'Hell, no,' said Bowen, keen to meet Dave and get another look at the guy now that he knew a little more about who and what he was. 'Come on in.'
Maybe he did work at the Financial Center in Miami, they were still checking that out. But of greater interest was the revelation that before coming into the ownership of an offshore company in Grand Cayman Island, David Dulanotov's boat had been owned by a wiseguy by the name of Lou Malta, a small-time racketeer and former associate of Naked Tony Nudelli, one of the biggest hoods in Miami. It didn't prove that Dave himself was a mobster, but it was enough to be going on with. Bowen promised himself that before the voyage was out he would know everything there was to know about David Dulanotov. He was going to be right about this guy. Dulanotov was a crook.