Bon Bon Voyage (26 page)

“That is no problem whatever,” said the beaming Demetrios. He looked so happy that I feared he might jump up and start to dance with glee, which would look peculiar, even suspicious, to the kitchen staff outside the glass windows. “Where cargo is loaded, there is a large—what would it be called? A sort of dumbwaiter. You can load it there and buzz my office. I shall get your signal and meet the bottles here in the kitchen. I will draw you a diagram showing how to find the apparatus.” Which he did, while telling me that he would prepare his famous avocado soup for the wretched crew. “Even when they are all in jail, they will remember their last meal with fondness. It is green. It is not cooked. And it is superb. No one can resist it. They will eat every spoonful and ask for more. And they will be given more if there is more to give. Why take chances that some may not collapse as soon as others?”

Great minds,
I thought,
run in the same channels.
Avocado soup was just what had come to me, not that I said so. I understood that Demetrios would want to think that the whole operation was his idea.

“Brilliant!” I exclaimed, and we engaged in a mutual beaming contest. Then I had a thought that had not occurred to me before. “Actually, there are some few foolish people who shudder at the idea of eating an avocado. What shall we do with them?”

Demetrios frowned. “I do not allow such foolish aversions at my table. They will eat the avocado soup, or they will get nothing else to eat. To make sure, their entrée will be steak and French fried potatoes—with ketchup. No peasant would pass up such a lackluster entrée. They
will
eat their soup! That is my final word, and on the
Bountiful Feast
, my word on cuisine is law.”

“Of course.” I wasn't about to argue with him when he'd agreed to the plan, even relished the thought of his own participation. Maybe Owen and I could subvert some waiter, who would be able to tell us if any of the crew, especially the dangerous ones, had refused the soup.

We parted happily, I toward the door into danger, Demetrios back into his kitchen, clapping his hands and announcing in the jolliest of tones that he had had a brilliant idea. “Avocados,” he cried triumphantly. “Bring me avocados.” Several workers rushed off in search of avocados, while others gaped at the unusual good humor of their leader. The assistant chef squeezed my hand as he escorted me to the door and called me a miracle worker.

39

I calculated that Mr. Mortimer Balsam, vice president of something at the shipping company, would be on his way home to dinner, unless he was still at work actually doing something to rescue Carolyn and the
Bountiful Feast.
Using the cell phone number Balsam had provided in response to threats of adverse publicity, I went back to the hotel and called him. He was driving in rush-hour traffic and was not pleased to be contacted, probably for a number of reasons. “If you have no news for me, Mr. Balsam,” I said, “I'm calling the emergency contact number at the State Department.”

“Good lord, man,” came Mr. Balsam's voice, blurred by traffic noises and sounding as if it came from thousands of miles away, which it did. “It turns out to be a labor problem. We're negotiating. Should be solved by tomorrow. Then your wife will be sailing into port.”

I didn't know whether to believe him. A labor problem? “Which port? Can you guarantee it will be Tenerife? You mentioned Casablanca when we last talked. Or maybe it was some other cruise representative I talked to.”

“Does it matter what port as long as she's safe?” he asked. “You have to give us time to solve this. It's not something the State Department can or will even consider getting involved in.” He sounded quite pleased with himself, and he might be right about the State Department's unwillingness to get involved. They hadn't left any messages for me after my call to them.

“Not good enough,” I snapped. “There's a U.S. Navy ship in port. I'm going to talk to them.”

Mr. Balsam laughed, but not very convincingly. “We're not at war, Mr. Blue. We're in touch with the
Bountiful Feast
and expect a resolution any minute. Petitioning the U.S. Navy would be a waste of your time and theirs.”

I hung up on him, determined to find the captain of the USS whatever on the other side of the harbor.

I made my way safely to Owen's cabin, although two different couples asked why they'd never seen me before.
Nosy buggers,
as Owen would say. “Of course, you have,” I replied in both instances. “I think we were at adjoining tables at breakfast the morning we made port at Gibraltar. Wasn't that a wonderful tour? I bought a delicious handblown vase and had it sent home. Free shipping. Our guide arranged it.” One of the women was envious of my good luck and asked for a description of the vase, but I escaped from the elevator without exposing myself to any further danger.

Owen, Luz, and Barney were huddled in the cabin, swigging bourbon and talking over the passenger list, checking off people who had volunteered, and discussing good prospects to be recruited at the bridge tournament. “No blue-hairs,” Luz insisted and waved to me as I poured myself a bourbon and mixed it with Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. They all watched that with looks of distaste, but I didn't think it tasted too bad after my first experimental sip. If Vera knew how much whiskey I'd imbibed since my sojourn in the closet, handcuffed to a pipe, she'd tell Jason I was becoming an alcoholic. Good thing she wouldn't be joining our conspiracy.

I sat on the bed beside Luz and said, “Demetrios has agreed and
very
enthusiastically. He considers feeding the crew his famous cuisine akin to casting pearls before swine.” I passed the diagram of the dumbwaiter apparatus to Owen, who looked at it and passed it to Barney. “That's how we can get the drug to Demetrios. He's going to put it in cold avocado soup, which is green and uncooked.”

“Bloody hell. Sounds disgusting!” exclaimed Owen.

“I see just where this is,” mused Barney, studying the diagram and instructions. “I can get the stuff from Beau to the dumbwaiter if you people can create a distraction to draw the people with the guns away. A bar fight might do it.”

“No fear, Commander,” said Owen cheerfully. “I'm your man when it comes to a bar fight. Probably you ladies should—”

“I'm not so bad in a bar fight myself,” said Luz. “Why don't we go together? I can complain that some ass-wipe—open your eyes, Carolyn. This situation calls for all the nasty language I can come up with.”

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes.

“I'll complain about being pinched or something. You can defend my honor, Owen. We knock a few heads, get the brawl started, and leave 'em to it.”

“That's my girl,” said Owen. “A bloody good plan.”

I have to admit that I felt a bit jealous. He hadn't congratulated me on having my way with the chef—well, not having my way—oh, rats. I took another big swig of my bourbon and Coke.

Luz advised me to take it easy on the alcohol. “We need you sober and ready to manipulate at the bridge tournament.”

“Since I haven't had anything to eat in days, that may not be possible,” I responded tartly. Luz passed me a sandwich from which she'd only taken a few bites. Owen produced a few cookies, and Barney pulled some beef jerky from his pocket, brushed off the lint, and claimed he always carried it to tide him over in emergencies. I put the sandwich away for later and attacked the cookies. In my nervous state, they did me a world of good.

“They've caved,” Hartwig murmured to Hanna Fredriksen as they passed each other, one coming from, and one going to the crew dining room for a choice of scallop and walnut salad or truffle lasagna.

Hanna turned right around and took Hartwig's arm, drawing him toward a door that led outside. “What did they say?” she demanded when the two were on deck and away from a circle of grumpy-looking passengers, who had been fed bologna sandwiches and chicken with rice soup at eleven thirty.

“The money goes into our account in Zurich at midnight, confirmation sent by one a.m. from two different sources. We'll be off the ship before noon tomorrow. Pass it on to the others.”

“The whole amount?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course. It's that or lose the ship and the passengers. They can't afford to delay any more when tomorrow's the deadline. Either they agree, or boom! They hear about the explosion, after we've left with everything in the ship's vault. That wouldn't be what we'd hoped for, but better than nothing. I think of it as our tip for engineering such a successful voyage.”

“Huh!” said Hanna. “I want more than a tip.”

“We all do, and we'll be getting both. We're cleaning out the vault tonight. Want to help? Women like jewels. You can have first choice.” Hartwig was feeling jovial.

“You and Patek can do that. I'll stay on patrol.” She patted her weapon. “I don't want any last-minute slipups.”

40

Using my spyglass, I focused on the gray destroyer moored at the far side of the harbor. A group of men in uniforms had gathered on the dock, talking to one another and various civilians. Fearing that the sailors might reboard before I could get to them, I hailed a taxi. After all the money I'd spent thus far, another taxi fare wasn't going to make much difference. I threw some money at the driver on arrival and then tried to appear casual as I sauntered toward the ship and its officers; at least, I hoped they were officers.

“Nice ship,” I said, joining them, uninvited. “What kind is it?”

“Destroyer. Arleigh Burke class,” said one of them, possibly the oldest of the group, but not that old. “The USS
Morgan Fallwell
, out of Norfolk, Virginia.”

“And you're here on leave? Tenerife is a pleasant island.”

“I wish,” said one of the younger men. “We're in for repairs, and then we're headed for home.”

Good, I thought. Then maybe they could take a few days to find the
Bountiful Feast
and rescue my wife. “Have you heard about the missing cruise ship?” They hadn't and didn't seem much interested. “My wife's on it. Supposed to have put into port yesterday and didn't. I'm extremely worried.”

“It'll turn up,” said one of the younger officers. “Probably got lost.” They all laughed.

“They haven't answered a radio call since yesterday when they said they had Legionnaires' disease aboard.”

“That's odd,” said the older one.

I noticed he had more decorations on his uniform than the others.

“Never heard of that aboard a cruise ship. Usually it's that stomach virus, or the odd rape.”

I tried to ignore the mention of rape, but found it hard to do.
My poor wife,
I thought. “And no other ships or fishing boats on their route have seen them. I've called the State Department, but they haven't called back.”

“Civilians,” said one of the officers disdainfully. “You'll wait a long time to hear from them.”

“The cruise line has told me repeatedly that nothing was wrong, but today they said it was just a labor dispute.”

“A
labor
dispute?” exclaimed the older man, the one I hoped was the captain. “There are no labor disputes at sea. Even on cruise ships. A labor dispute would be construed as a mutiny.”

“Ah. Then I wonder if you might be interested in investigating. I assume the Navy disapproves of mutiny.”

“You could say that,” was the wry retort.

“The
Bountiful Feast
is American owned. By a company in Miami. I don't know about the registry.”

“That won't be American,” the presumptive captain assured me. “A labor dispute? No captain would allow that, even a cruise ship captain. Sounds to me like something fishy going on there. But we can't help you. We won't be fit to put to sea until tomorrow.” He looked extremely irritated. “Not that we're unseaworthy in any usual sense of the word. But we've been accused twice now, while on duty with the task force monitoring Iraq and again off Morocco, of pollution. They say something illegal is escaping from our waste system.”

“Really.” That was the only good news I had heard all day. “I happen to be a toxin expert.”

“Yeah? Too bad you're not in the Navy. No one here seems to know what's going on.”

“I'd be glad to help. No charge. In return, perhaps you could find out where my wife's ship is. Don't you have satellite monitoring and that sort of thing?”

“Not on board,” said the captain thoughtfully, “but we could put in a request. Ship lost at sea, sickness on board. They ought to honor it.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “And now, why don't I take a look at your waste system?”

While Beau mixed up the sleeping potion for the avocado soup, Barney was in Owen's cabin giving Luz and me bridge lessons. “This is a stupid game,” said Luz after an hour of lessons. “I'll never learn it, and I don't want to.” Barney insisted that all she really had to do was learn the language and the basics. Beau would be her partner and wouldn't criticize any mistakes she made.

Owen was out talking to passengers, looking for likely countermutineers. He dropped back in once to bring me two more sandwiches and a piece of cake. I ate the cake first because helping Luz master even the basics of bridge was a thankless and nerve-wracking task. Owen also brought the news that Vera had convinced the gym employees to join the work stoppage, even though they worked more reasonable hours. Then she had moved on to the waiters.