China Jewel (17 page)

“The government owned those leases. Your company tried to steal them. They were helping us to protect our property.”

“The government officers you bought, you mean.”

Slidell sighed and said, “You mean we paid more than you. You’ve used a few bribes in your time, Cutter. As I remember bribes were your specialty, old friend.”

“I never killed people on purpose. You went after my wife with your thugs. No surprise what they would do.”

That day, he had been at the wells, working on the disposal fields for the drilling water waste, the pollution overflowing on the villagers’ farmland and infuriating the locals. He had his guards on the perimeter, expecting the usual snipers.

Back in the village where his family lived, Rosa had been preparing dinner and Jamie was just coming home. His son had been on the river sailing with the local chief who had befriended Jamie. Suddenly mortar rounds smashed into the muddy street and set the huts on fire. Flames lifted skyward and the porch of Cutter’s house began to burn. Jamie ran into Rosa’s arms as the chief was struck down halfway across the street.

Rosa hid with the boy in the dirt under the house floor, flames roaring above them. Uniformed government troops ran by, shooting everyone they saw. Some of them called Cutter’s name. Bursts of machine gun fire kept up for more than an hour.

A jeep roared through the village carrying several white men. Rosa was not able to see their faces but told Cutter she heard them order their soldiers to kill everyone, to leave no one alive.

The memory made Cutter tighten his fists again. He said, “I’ll hurt you if you go after my boat again.”

“Starboard tack had the right of way, friend.”

“Remember what I said.”

“Seems like I’ve heard that one before.”

Slidell was quiet for a long moment, then pointed to the car picture. “Not to say you aren’t a smart guy, Jimmy. Not as smart as me but smart enough. I wouldn’t mind being your boss. If we win, your company will take a great loss. Johnson will let you go and you’ll need a job. You’ll like working for us instead of Bill Johnson.”

At that moment, Strand burst into the office, his small body almost off balance as he did so. The door slapped the wall. He said, “You got something to say to my employee you talk to me first.”

Cutter said, “Your boy Angel and I are finished talking.”

Behind Strand came a middle-aged woman waving her arms. Cutter noted the large rings on her fingers. Must be his lawyer, he thought.

Strand tried to look tough, something Cutter knew he relied on his employees to do for him. He said in his weak voice, “Don’t bring your dirty lies in here. Your boat has enough bad history. That clipper will probably be disqualified long before arriving in China.”

Cutter showed his anger as he practically shouted, “Then tell your people to follow the rules.”

“We do,” said Strand.

“Yeah, like accidents at our shipyard, a sabotaged mast, and crowding the Peregrine into the rocky Cape Horn shoreline.”

“You’re a damn liar.”

Strand moved his head in the direction of Slidell for a long moment. “Tell him your people had nothing to do with his problems.”

“Sure, boss,” said Slidell with his crooked smile.

Cutter interrupted, “The media is going to know you hire killers, Strand.”

“Get out.”

Cutter shouted, “You don’t belong in a race with decent people.”

Strand said to his security, “Throw this bum out of here.” Strand’s soft voice did not give the command much power. However, the security men moved forward and the lawyer curled her mouth with hatred, lifting her fists as if she were going to strike Cutter too.

Cutter bent toward Slidell and said, “You push me again and I’m coming for you.”

Slidell sat back with his grin, “I don’t think you got that kind of guts any more. Maybe you never did. Some of the folks back in Africa said you left your family alone on purpose. Some thought you were a coward, afraid of getting hurt and stayed out there at the oil fields where you had your guards. Maybe that is why the people used to call you ‘flower’.”

“You lying bastard.” The guards restrained him.

Slidell smiled. “A little bit of truth hurts, doesn’t it? I don’t mind. I’ll be here anyway for that job you might want.”

Outside on the street, he called Bill. His boss answered right away.

Bill said, “No surprise to me how you feel. Jim, this is not the way. I got a threat of a very public lawsuit about you roughing up a security guy. You broke his jaw, man. They will use that news in the papers.”

Cutter replied, “I think Strand and Slidell are behind all the trouble we’ve been having. I think they hired a professional to tear up the mast and kill my carpenter. I think they have sabotaged our instruments and I think they tried to sink us there at the Cape.”

Bill said, “They found something on that mast wood.”

“The FBI lab?”

“Turns out the mast was soaked with stump remover.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a potassium nitrate compound used to rot out tree stumps. The search is on to find the purchase but it could have been bought anywhere in the US. The police think the bearded stranger climbed up that mast when no one was looking, maybe at night. Then he drilled some fine holes around the masthead where the mainmast and topmast are connected. The holes were drilled diagonal so the compound would infiltrate downward. The killer poured in this mixture and covered up the holes with putty. The current thought is that the carpenter somehow discovered the intruder and was murdered before he could report the sabotage. Afterwards the ship sailed and the chemical went to work. It would have weakened the mast enough to eventually break down the rigging at seas.”

“It’s Strand trying to sink the Peregrine.”

“Well, if it is Strand’s team, the motive is pretty obvious. He planned to have us lose the race. If it’s someone else, no one knows why the boat was sabotaged. Likely though it was to stop the Peregrine for some reason.”

Cutter said, “I bet they’d find gallons of the stuff at one of Strand’s warehouses.”

“Maybe so. Hard to get a search warrant. That’s all I can tell you, so get back to winning a race.”

Cutter said, “Angel took time to remind me we did our own underhanded work back in the old days.”

Bill answered, “Going into their offices and starting a fight is not helping our public image. We’ll do something but a little more carefully.”

“Remember, we planned this race to be clean, to be consumer perfect. We’re in the big leagues now, Bill. Dirty tricks are not for us. Let Strand get out on a limb and caught with his pants down.”

“Maybe.”

“Do it to them before they do it to us, you’re thinking. Remember, my boy’s out there.”

“You never had trouble with the dirty work before.”

“I’ve done a lot of it, that’s for sure. Seeing my son again reminded me just how much I have done for you. Besides, you never wanted me to hurt people. I carried out the payoffs in bribes.”

“Well, you think about it. I’m open. Let me know if you come up with something to get back at them but make sure it doesn’t lead back to us. The stakes are the highest they have ever been for Johnson Company.”

“You want me to order Captain Hall to ram their boat when he gets a chance?” He said this, knowing he could not give such an order.

Bill thought quietly then said, “Maybe not that obvious. We have to get rough though.”

“I’ll fill in the staff about the stump chemical.”

“You advise Katy she might want to watch her back while she’s helping us. Someone might not want us to know the truth about the Peregrine past.”

Cutter agreed. He was worried about her and thought that he might ask her to stop the investigating. He could get someone else.

Bill rang off and the phone immediately lit up with a new text.

“This is the latest location for the ship,” Doc Jerry wrote. Cutter read the coordinates. “58.36 by 78.04 degrees. She’s in the Pacific four hundred miles west of Punta Arenas, Chile.”

“Let’s hope nothing else gets in her way,” he texted back. “She’s in good weather now.”

“Yeah,” replied Doc Jerry. “The Brits are leading. The French and Strand’s America are further behind them. We’re last but we got our wind blowing from behind. Our boat likes that weather. She’ll catch up to the others pretty fast.”

Chapter 14

July 29, 10 AM

Staten Island

Katy had arranged an inspection of the original Peregrine nameboard.

He drove the road to the Staten Island Maritime Museum. It was bordered with porched houses, well-planted gardens, and many large overhanging trees. Mary Tolchester’s home had been in the poorer section of town. This area was not run down and was free of tourists. Behind the houses at the shoreline, Cutter glimpsed the remains of a few decaying sailing ships, some of them with masts still standing but collapsed at odd angles. Wartime steel tankers and freighters, rusted beyond use, filled in other shallow moorings or beachings. The road changed from a macadam surface to dirt and the surrounding area became rural as he followed the water. Older ship hulks appeared. The air took on a stench of dead fish and stagnant backwater.

Katy was waiting for him in the office of the director, Doctor Evers, who was a small busy woman with large glasses and a full smile. Her office was efficient and stacked with maritime books. The chairs she offered were new office furniture. An assistant brought tea for them and Katy compared museum notes with her.

Then Katy said, “You have the relic of the Peregrine wreck?”

“I did some research and I think we can help you,” Evers said. “Come with me.”

They went out into a large room which had filing cabinets along the walls and tables covered with sail and steam models of all descriptions.

“Lot to study,” said Cutter.

“Our members make them and donate them to the museum. Some are quite good,” Evers said. “We have exhibits where the craftsmen and women come here and show visitors the techniques of making the little ships. It’s very popular and draws many from the city. Of course the younger children like the plastic kits these days. That trend, I must say, is discouraging to our older members.”

“They won’t admit they also built the easy models when they were young themselves,” said Katy.

The director pointed at the wrecks outside on the waterfront. “They make up a first class research collection on boatbuilding styles. Those hulks are our real treasure.” Seagulls were flying over the full size ships, diving for fish in the shallows. Cutter thought of Pancake, the albatross. He wondered if the bird was still with the Peregrine, resting on that aft top gallant mast.

They entered a small room with brilliant lighting. Along the walls laboratory gear suitable for analysis of historical properties was stored in pristine order.

“We do all our paint analysis here,” she said. “I’ll have the relic set out here so you can examine it.” She pointed to several sets of cloth gloves. “Put these on before you touch it.”

“The piece is definitely from the wreck?” asked Katy.

“Documentation is very good on this,” she answered.

She left them. In a few minutes she came back followed by a staff member dressed in blue coveralls who carried a large flat blue cardboard box. The box was put on a nearby bench and they gathered around. Evers opened the carton and peeled back the protective acid-free paper. Before them appeared a piece of distressed wood, its surface wrinkled from prior exposure to sea water. It was gray and the ends showed cracks and rusty bolt holes from where it had broken off from its mounting. Cutter ran his gloved finger over the carved letters spelling out the name Peregrine.

“Can I get photographs of this?” asked Katy.

The director nodded. “We have file documentation.”

Cutter said, “Let’s fax copies to River Sunday. Pastor Allingham can compare the piece with the carvings at Reedy’s workshop.”

They waited in the Director’s office. Katy chatted on museum gossip with her fellow historian. It turned out that Katy’s program in Maryland was similar to that of the Staten Island museum. This Staten Island museum had also developed from several brick Victorian buildings. New funds had come along to expand the structures. They had just completed a modern steel building, properly climate controlled for artifact preservation.

Cutter was amused listening to them trading stories about fund raising and eccentric donors. Doctor Evers related that one of her donors insisted his name be put in red letters on one of the new museum windows to call attention to his donation. The letters were painted on the glass but had to be taken off after birds kept pecking at the red paint.

After about an hour, the phone rang. The Director answered, nodded, and gave the phone to Katy. She turned on the speaker so they could all listen. She said, “What did you think of the photograph, Pastor Allingham?”

“I took them to see my friend,” said the pastor, in his ministerial voice.

“What did he say?” asked Katy.

“I’m sorry but he insisted the carving was not the same. He looked at all the photographs and pointed out that he could find no signature alphabet letter. He was trying to find the R that his ancestor carved into the work of his shop.”

“Pastor,” said Cutter, “we noticed that. We thought that the signature might be on a part of the board that did not survive the shipwreck.”

“I suggested that to John Reedy. He said that in no way were any of the other carved letters the same. We went out to his barn and examined the old Osprey boards with the photographs in hand. He was right. I could see no resemblance either. The carvings you copied for us to look at were done by a different artist. My friend said the other artist, in his opinion, was not as skilled. Reedy could tell from the attention to the curves and the fine carving.”

After they thanked him and rang off, Cutter stared at Katy. He asked, impatiently, “So what ship sank out there? What ship is this wood from? I know it says Peregrine but it was not built in River Sunday meaning it can’t be our ship.”