“He’s an amazing man. The most brilliant on earth, I think. A scientist. A humanist. A philanthropist. He’s made billions and given most of it away. He’s built schools and hospitals, not just everywhere in Russia but in every corner of the earth. India, Africa. He uses his money to try to make the world fit his view of it.”
“What is his view of it?”
“A natural philosopher’s view. That mankind should be in harmony, like planets orbiting stars, electrons around neutrons, like nature itself. That there should be peace, equilibrium, order. That the clouds of war need never blot out the sun.”
“A romantic idealist.”
“Perhaps. You might decide differently if you met him.”
“I should like that very much. Where does he live?”
“In the sky.”
“Ah. So he is God.”
Asia laughed. “No. He has an airship. A very special one that he designed. She’s called Tsar, which is the acronym of his scientific company, Technology, Science, and Applied Research. He travels the world aboard her. Of course, he has houses everywhere, including one here on Bermuda that you may have seen.”
“The converted fortress on Powder Hill. So that’s what the big mast is for. To moor his airship?”
“Yes. He spends some time here. And some years ago, he was kind enough to give me Half Moon House, where I live and work part of the year.”
“Where are you from, Asia?”
“Russia, obviously. I grew up in the country. A large estate we have outside St. Petersburg. It’s called Jasna Polana, which means ‘Bright Meadow.’ Tolstoy called his country house that, too. My father is a great admirer of Tolstoy. We have a lovely palace there. Orchards, meadows, stables, many streams. Do you shoot? Fish?”
“I do, occasionally.”
“Then you must come and stay with us. You and Father could have a nice business talk. Would you like that?”
“I think I should like it very much indeed.”
“Good. Consider yourself invited.”
“Asia?”
“Yes?”
“Stay here tonight. Stay with me.”
“What is that song playing now?”
“‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ The most beautiful song ever written.”
“And who is singing?”
“Charles Aznavour.”
“Shall we dance, Lord Hawke?”
“Please don’t use that title.”
“I forgot. Only Pelham is allowed to use it. Get on your feet and dance with me, Hawke.”
“I should be delighted.”
“Yes, you should be.”
A SMALL WINDOW directly above Hawke’s head proved accessible to sunrise; a fiery parallelogram now appeared on the far wall. The room was filling to the ceiling with the oils of sunrise, light containing extraordinary pigments, washing the whitewashed stone walls around Hawke’s bed with brilliant shades of gold and pink. He loved waking up in this room.
“Are you awake?” he asked her in the stillness of the early morning, stroking her thick golden hair. Her head was still on his chest, right where she’d last fallen asleep.
“Hmm.”
“Thinking of going for a swim.”
“Hmm.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Maybe later,” she said, her voice furred with sleep.
“No, now. It can’t wait. I have to ask you about Hoodoo.”
“Poor Hoodoo. A lovely man. He’s dead. Murdered.”
“I know. I’m trying to understand why.”
Asia sat up in the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What they said in the paper. You read it. He was killed by those awful Jamaicans living out on Nonsuch Island.”
“Yes, but why was he there?”
“It wasn’t in the papers?”
“No. You tell me.”
“My father sent him. To deliver a warning. My father wants those people off that island. It’s a nature sanctuary. They are living there illegally.”
“Why didn’t your father call the police?”
“My father never calls the police. He prefers to handle things himself. Besides, the police wouldn’t do anything anyway. My father says someone at the top in Government House is taking money from the Jamaicans. That’s why they’re allowed to stay.”
“I heard a rumor there were illegal weapons involved. That the murder was an arms sale gone awry.”
“Hoodoo? Selling weapons? Ridiculous. People say anything to sow discredit upon my father. I stopped listening long ago.”
“Ah.”
“Do you normally grill your suspects before they have a chance to wake up, detective?”
“Sorry. I’m a beast.”
“I’m beginning to wonder.”
“Come here. Look at this.”
Hawke rolled naked off the bed and lifted the ring attached to the circular section of flooring that concealed the top of his fireman’s pole and the blue grotto below.
“What’s that?” she said, flopping forward on the bed and staring at the hole in the floor.
“It’s called a fireman’s pole, for somewhat obvious reasons. There’s a hidden grotto just below us. You slide down the pole and into the water. I do it every morning. Great way to wake up.”
“Wait. Why are you so curious about Hoodoo?”
“Tell you later,” Hawke said, and then he disappeared through the floor.
“Hold on, I’m coming, too!” she cried, leaping from the bed. Grabbing the pole with both hands, she slipped down into his waiting arms.
32
Raining cats and dogs used to be true. Back in Robin Hood’s day, Stoke had read somewhere, the domestic animals used to sleep curled up inside the thatched roofs. When it rained really hard, down they came, wham on the dinner table. Hello, Sparky, hey, Ginger! It was raining that hard now. Luckily, except for a few Seminole tiki huts, there were very few thatched roofs in Miami today.
It was just after two in the afternoon when Stoke turned the GTO off Collins and onto Marina, headed for the Miami Yacht Group’s showroom. It was located almost kitty-corner from Joe’s Stone Crabs. Big glass showroom with red, white, and blue flags standing out stiff from the tall poles surrounding the lot.
The weather today, finally, was perfect for what Stoke had in mind. Blowing hard out of the southwest, a big tropical depression headed up from the Keys, the leading edge about over Islamorada now. As he drove slowly through Miami Beach, palm trees were bent over backward, crap was flying around in the streets-no cats or dogs, though, at least he didn’t see any.
He’d taken a good long look at the ocean from the balcony of his penthouse apartment. Blowing like stink out there. Huge rollers, whitecaps with the crests whipped off soon as they peaked. He’d been waiting all week for weather like this.
Today’s the day, he thought, smiling at himself in the mirror, sliding the knot on his Italian designer silk tie up to his Adam’s apple. He adjusted his wraparound sunglasses. Would Sheldon wear sunglasses on a day like this? he’d asked himself. Yes. He had the whole Sheldon Levy thing down now. Hell, he was Sheldon Levy.
Traffic was light on a stormy day, and he’d made good time getting over the causeway. Miami Yacht Group looked just like a car dealership, except it had boats where all the cars would normally be. Big boats, little boats. The littlest ones were out front on trailers. The medium ones would be inside on the showroom floor. The big go-fast ones he was interested in, those of the Cigarette persuasion, they were in the water at the docks located on the marina side of the glitzy glass and steel showroom.
Soon as he walked through the front door in his shiny sharkskin suit, Elsa Peretti tie, Chrome Hearts wraparound shades and pointy-toed alligator shoes, a salesman was on him like sucker fish on a mako.
“Good afternoon!” the guy said.