Cooks Overboard (10 page)

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Someone did
what
?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Actually, there’s nothing to explain—I have no idea who it was, or why. Oh, one other thing—would you take my tote bag, please?” she asked. “Having it lying around on the floor while we work seems to bother Mike Jones a lot.”

Even more puzzled, he looked from her to the bag. “Sure. I’ll hold it.”

The meal was every bit the success Angie had hoped it would be. The raves from the passengers and officers were lavish. Even the poached petrale—the fish was so mild Angie decided that’s what it had to have been—was praised as a masterpiece.

As the
pot de crême
was served with coffee that Angie had made a little stronger and more robust than usual, Captain Olafson stood and
invited Mike Jones into the dining room for applause. Jones walked to Angie’s side and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet to stand beside him. They both took bows to the pleasure and amusement of one and all.

Paavo opened the door to the cabin and stopped dead. To his right, the medicine cabinet was open, and his and Angie’s things were out of it and all over the bathroom counter and floor.

In the living room, desk drawers had been opened and cushions pulled off the couch and easy chair. In the bedroom, the bureau drawers had been opened and their contents tossed, and clothes from the closet had been pulled off hangers and lay in a heap on the floor.

“Oh, no!” Angie cried, stepping into the cabin behind him.

“Stay back, Angie,” he said. “Let me make sure whoever did this isn’t still here.”

In no time he did a check, then phoned Julio to get Mr. Johansen.

“My things! Yours!” Angie looked around in a daze. “Paavo, what’s going on here?”

He went over to her and put his arm around her shoulders as they slowly went through the cabin. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find out what’s going on. Mr. Johansen will help.” The first mate had just stepped into the cabin. Paavo’s eyes met his.

“I’ll send someone over to clean this up for you,” Johansen said, his expression showing how appalled he was by the sight. “Then you can see what’s been destroyed or is missing. We’ll get to the bottom of whoever is behind this, believe me. I’ll not have anyone on my ship…uh, on Captain Olafson’s ship who is capable of such blatant disregard for the property of others.” With that, he stomped out of the room.

When Angie and Paavo turned to watch him leave, they saw Julio and Dudley Livingstone standing in the doorway, taking in everything that had been said.

Mr. Johansen assigned one of the seamen who worked in the engine room to help Julio put the cabin back into shape. When Angie saw the seaman’s grease-stained hands and fingernails, she feared he might do more harm to her clothes than being thrown on the floor had done. She joined in to help, and so did Paavo.

It didn’t take them long to put the cabin back together again. The only long-lasting damage had been to her toiletries. It seemed everything she’d brought that could he emptied had been—into the sink or the toilet. Whoever
heard of a thief with a makeup and lotion fetish? She’d have been happier had he stolen the stuff instead of wasting it.

“Do you believe me now, Paavo?” was all she said after Julio and the seaman left.

“I still don’t understand why anyone would think we’ve got something they want,” he said.

“From day one it’s been this way, when everything in the bathroom cabinet was pushed around,” Angie said, equally puzzled.

“Day one, when the cook ran off the ship and the steward was carried off sick,” Paavo mused. “I don’t see the connection to us.”

“I’m a cook,” Angie suggested.

“But the cook left before anyone knew that, and it doesn’t explain the steward.” Paavo began to pace. “The steward fell ill right outside our cabin…was it after he took ill you found your things disturbed?”

“It was that night…yes, I think so. Oh! I just remembered that we first saw him out on deck, but then he came indoors. I had assumed he was going to take the elevator down to his cabin, but he didn’t. And we had left our door unlocked—just as Mr. Johansen said everyone did while at sea. Ingerson could have easily come in here. He was sick. Maybe he was looking for stomach medicine?”

“Which you keep in full view.”

“True.”

“That wouldn’t explain why someone else came in here.”

“You think more than one person searched our things?”

“There’s also that bug from the lamp,” he added. “If it was a bug. And that whole strange business with your tote bag.”

“Actually, Paavo, I’m not sure it was a bug. I mean, I’ve never seen one except in movies.” She didn’t want to admit that sometimes she went a bit overboard with her imagination. That might have been one of those times. Or, considering how things were going here, maybe it wasn’t.

“Did you talk to anyone about any of this?”

“Only Mr. Johansen. He thought I was just imagining things. He did ask Julio about it, but Julio had already thrown the strange thing away.

“This break-in isn’t your imagination. Whatever’s going on, someone’s becoming more desperate.”

“Time to get off the ship, I think,” Angie said.

“You’re right. Whatever this is about doesn’t involve us, I’m sure. It might involve this cabin, though. Anyway, the sooner we get off the ship, the sooner I can go back to practicing being a civilian again.”

Angie bit her tongue. She wasn’t sure she liked that prospect.

The Hydra entered the galley.

Mike Jones was bending over the sink, scrubbing out a pot used for dinner. What a nice little
chef he’d become, she thought. He’d make someone a good husband one of these days.

Maybe even her. She’d have to give that some thought. Probably she was just horny, but it was too dangerous to do anything about it in close quarters like this ship. If anyone walked in on them…my, what they’d think!

Mike was certainly good-looking enough to consider marrying. Not as smart as she’d like; but then it was hard, when one had a genius IQ, to find any man who measured up.

What was wrong with her? She hadn’t thought about marriage since her days as a debutante, and later at Vassar. She wondered if being around that Amalfi woman had caused it—Amalfi’s eyes all but sparkled whenever she looked at her man.

Once she, too, had been that innocent and naive; the world had been her proverbial oyster, waiting for her to pluck its pearl. What a joke. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn what life was really about.

“Michael, if I can tear you away from your Comet for a moment…”

He spun around. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting you.” He quickly washed the cleanser off his hands, then grabbed a blue-striped dish towel.

“You failed again, Michael,” the Hydra said, leaning back against the sink in the galley.

“Me? Since when is any of this my fault?” He tossed the towel into a corner, just missing her arm.

The Hydra glared at it, at him. “You had her here all day and you couldn’t get that stupid tote bag away from her!” She folded her arms. “That bag is our last chance. Since we know the formula isn’t in her room, it’s got to be in her bag. I want it.”

“You had her in the galley last night and did nothing!”

“She didn’t have the tote bag with her.”

Jones’s mouth tightened. “Well, today she had it, but I didn’t see you waltz through here and snatch it up as you danced out the door, either!” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “We arrive in Mazatlán tomorrow, and Colonel Ortega will want his formula. I’ll do all I can to hold him off. I just hope he isn’t too impatient. If he is, it’ll turn ugly fast. He may talk a big line about honor, but he’ll slit your throat as soon as look at you. We’re going to have to play this carefully.”

“You can do it,” Jones said.

She lifted one eyebrow, as if wondering whether his words were a compliment or sarcasm.

“It’s too bad Amalfi found the bug you left in her room,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had anything like that.”

“A bug?” he asked. “I didn’t bug the room.”

She stared at him as the full impact of his words hit. “If you didn’t, then who did? And why?”

She paced back and forth like a caged animal. “Tell me, can we trust Julio?”

“Julio? What does he have to do with anything?”

“He was friends with Sven. What if Sven gave him the formula? Or what if Sven told him where he put it? Julio keeps hanging around the Amalfi woman. He went in and out of the cabin a number of times carrying those stupid lamps and light bulbs. Maybe Sven put it in her cabin, and Julio used the lamps as a ploy to get in there and pick it up. Maybe Julio put the bug in there himself. Maybe he and Sven planned all along that he’d be involved.”

“I can’t imagine. What could Julio do with it?”

“The question is, how much did Sven tell him? If this deal falls apart, we can’t have any loose ends. We can’t have anyone around who might tie us to it. Remember, a man, a scientist, is dead. And the FBI is investigating who killed him.”

Mike nodded gravely. “So it’s
buenas noches
, Julio, even if he doesn’t know a thing.”

“We can’t take the chance.”

“Wait! I’ve got it! I know where the microfilm is!” Mike faced her, his face filled with excitement. “Ingerson passed it to the cook. That’s why Pete Lichry pretended to go nuts and got off the ship so suddenly. It all makes sense. The two were working together.”

The Hydra shook her head. “You’re completely wrong—as always. I caused Lichty to
leave the ship. He was getting too nosy; I’m sure he overheard one of our conversations. He might not ever have put all the pieces together, but I didn’t want to take the chance. So, a couple of notes made it clear he’d have to get off the ship or be killed. It was easy—you know how nervous he was to begin with. Finally, a butcher knife stuck into one of his clean aprons drove him over the edge. Almost literally.”

“You’re sure there wasn’t time for Ingerson to have passed it to him before he left?”

“From the time Ingerson stepped on the ship that day to the time Lichty tried to jump off, one or the other was in my view constantly. They didn’t have time to meet. Lichty didn’t have the nerve to gel involved that way, no matter what.”

Jones nodded. “You’re right about him.”

“Of course I am.” The Hydra leaned closer. “Now, here’s the plan. I want you to do something to the air-conditioning—put a hole in it, remove a part, I don’t care. But do something that will stop it from working and will take time to fix. That’ll buy us a day or two. Also, it’ll mean that the passengers will get off the ship. We’ll be able to go through all the cabins once again with a fine-tooth comb. Since Amalfi and Smith will take their things with them to some hotel room, we’ll find out which one and take all their belongings. If worse comes to worst, we’ll kill them.”

“Kill Angie? She hasn’t done anything.”

“Michael, you are too easily charmed by
women for this business. But maybe they’ll be lucky. Maybe we’ll find the formula without having to kill them.”

“One other question, though,” Jones said. “If we break the air-conditioning so the ship can’t sail, what if Amalfi and Smith don’t want to wait for the repairs and decide to fly to Acapulco right away?”

She shrugged. “If they’re dead, they can’t go anywhere.”

“The ship is not here yet!” Colonel Hector Ortega exclaimed, climbing out of his limousine almost before it stopped. Instead of the freighter he’d hoped to see out in the bay, only seagulls greeted him. A vendor rolled his noisy
churro
cart nearby. The colonel whirled about and glared as he passed.

Elsewhere, Acapulco harbor was abuzz with people, boats, cars, and cargo, but the area where the freighters came in, where containers were loaded and unloaded, was quiet as death.

“Damn! I thought you fixed it so it would not stop at Cabo San Lucas.” Despite the harsh, tropical sun, Ortega took off his sunglasses, hoping to spot the approaching ship on the horizon. But the sea was empty of anything larger than fishing boats.

“I started to, but someone had beaten me to
it, my colonel. It will get here soon,” Eduardo said. “The harbormaster is expecting it. An hour or two, even a day or more, does not mean anything in a freighter’s schedule.”

“I am sick of waiting,” Ortega roared. “If someone beat you, it must be her, the Hydra. Why would she want the ship to arrive here early, before I expect it? Does she plan a surprise? I do not like such surprises. Perhaps I need to plan a little surprise for her!”

“Let us go to the restaurant across the street. We will have something cold to drink, a little something to eat. It will make the time go faster for you.”

“Yes, you are right, as always, Eduardo.” The colonel and Eduardo got back into the limousine and the chauffeur drove them the few feet across the boulevard to a restaurant.

George Gresham took off his straw hat and laid it on top of the
churro
cart, then ran into a telephone booth outside the harbormaster’s office and quickly dialed a number. “He’s at the harbor,” he said without even identifying himself. “He’s looking for the freighter. It’s due anytime now.” He didn’t mention hearing the name Hydra. He’d keep that little bit of explosive news under his hat for now. He didn’t want to sound as if he was going overboard on this.

He listened. “He’s gone into a fancy restaurant, but there’s a cantina, Fernando’s, with out
side tables. I think we should all meet there. We can wait and watch. We know how to do that, don’t we?” He laughed so hard his fake mustache fell off.

“Okay,” he said after a while. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Johansen,” Nellie Nebler called. “My cabin is growing awfully warm.”

“There is a problem with the air-conditioning,” the first mate replied.

“Problem, indeed!” Livingstone snorted. “My dear sir, it isn’t working at all.” Dressed as always in a white suit, he rapidly fanned his face with his white Panama hat. “When will it be fixed?”

Catching part of the conversation, Angie and Paavo walked out to the main deck to hear the first mate’s explanation of the sudden heat in the cabin.

“A part is broken,” Johansen admitted. “The engineer needs to replace it. If no replacement is available in Mazatlán—and we doubt any will be—one will be air-freighted to us in a day or two.”

“Gracious,” Nellie cried.

“Two days? In this heat?” Livingstone was
shouting now. “That’s intolerable.”

“There’s much about freighter travel that is not for the faint of heart,” Johansen said. “When I began, there was no such thing as air-conditioning. The sea is a natural air conditioner.”

“But not when the freighter is sitting docked in a tropical port!” Livingstone bellowed.

“If you are uncomfortable, you can always get a hotel in town for a couple of nights. You must not expect us to reimburse you, though.” Johansen’s jaw was set, his voice never rising above a monotone. “We are making your accommodations available to you, as always. If you choose not to use them, that is between you and your pocketbook. It isn’t this shipping line’s concern.”

“But you’ve made the air-conditioning fail!” Nellie cried.

“We have not, Mrs. Nebler,” Johansen began patiently. “Mechanical parts fail now and then. Before you signed up for this cruise, you were warned that changes from planned itineraries often occur in freighter travel. This is one such change.”

“Let’s go,” Angie said to Paavo, turning away from the confrontation. “I’ve heard enough. Let’s just pack our bags and fly, or rent a car, or even take a bus, to Acapulco. I want off.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll join you,” Livingstone said, hurrying after them.

Angie couldn’t believe he intended to go with them.

“We’re going to Acapulco,” Angie explained.

“Transportation will take time to organize,” Livingstone said. “In the meantime, I know a very nice hotel here in Mazatlán. It’s in the old part of the city—lots of charm, away from the modern tourist sector. That’s where I’m staying. You should take a room there, too, and see how things work out on board. Johansen said the problem might be fixed sometime tomorrow. No need to give up your cruise so hastily.”

“There’s nothing hasty—” Angie began.

“Let’s talk to the man,” Paavo said, his gaze never leaving Livingstone’s.

“Excellent,” Livingstone replied. The three of them walked into the lounge, where it was a little cooler, at least, than the humid outside air.

Livingstone led them to a secluded table in a far corner of the room. They sat. “Now,” Paavo said, leaning close to Livingstone, “what’s this about?”

Angie looked with surprise from one man to the other. The way they spoke and regarded each other had changed perceptibly. She didn’t know why.

Livingstone sat straighter in his chair, his jaw firmer. Gone was the lackadaisical art collector. “What I’m going to tell you must never be repeated.” Even his voice took on a harder edge. His eyes quickly scanned the surroundings before he continued. “I trust you, Inspector
Smith, because you are, I have learned, an officer of the law of some distinction and repute, and I trust your lady because…well, because she is your lady.”

Paavo’s calm expression showed he’d expected that Livingstone wasn’t what he seemed on the surface. But Angie hadn’t imagined anything like that at all,

Livingstone took a deep breath. “I fear that if you leave Mazatlán, your lives may be in danger.”

What?
” Angie exclaimed.

“I work for Interpol. We’ve suspected for some time that this ship has been in some way connected with people who transfer…hmm, let’s call it information…from one person or group in one country to those in another.”

Paavo glanced at Angie. “Just where did your cousin learn about this freighter?”

“I don’t know,” she said, swallowing hard.

“In any event,” Livingstone continued. “Our friends in the FBI recently contacted us and told us they feared that a professor who had been working on a special U.S. government project had decided to sell his discovery to an international consortium. The FBI was watching him, but somehow the professor was murdered, and his formula and all the files he had on how to develop it were deleted. They had no idea how the deed was done.”

“That was Professor Von Mueller?” Paavo asked.

“Precisely. This ship was in the Bay Area when the formula was stolen. Since we’d been interested in everything happening on the ship, when Sven Ingerson was taken off, his photo was obtained by Interpol. On a hunch, we showed it to the FBI. It turns out that the FBI agent who had been watching the professor recognized Sven as a street musician the professor had given some money to in Berkeley. Apparently, the professor occasionally gave these street people money, so the FBI hadn’t thought much of it.”

“Oh, my God,” Angie murmured. Not that she understood much about the FBI or Interpol. But she did understand that her quiet, crime-free vacation had evaporated.

“You’re saying,” Paavo said, his elbows on the table, all his attention on Livingstone, “that the professor may have given Ingerson the missing formula? But then Ingerson got sick. Legitimately sick, do you think? Or does it seem someone wanted to get rid of him?”

Angie’s head swiveled to Paavo. He was following this…and seemed interested. Whatever happened to civilian life?

“Apparently it’s legitimate,” Livingstone replied. “Botulism. We haven’t heard of anyone playing around with botulism as a poison. But I guess anything is possible.”

Angie shuddered. Botulism was a cook’s worst nightmare, though easy to guard against with proper care.

“Once we learned about Ingerson,” Living
stone went on, “we were pretty sure the formula would be found on this ship. A few strings were pulled to get me on board to find out all I could. I’m glad I did.”

“What’s the formula for?” Paavo asked.

“Sorry. Classified. But believe me, it’s big. It can change the course of world history.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Angie said. “What could possibly do that?”

“I can’t tell you,” Livingstone said.

“Let’s back up,” Paavo said. “Whatever the formula is, if Ingerson had it and he’s now off the ship, what’s the problem and how are we involved?”

“Ingerson was just a courier,” Livingstone explained. “The brains behind all of this is a woman. We don’t know her real name. We don’t even have a picture of her. But everyone who has ever worked with her calls her the Hydra.”

“Hydra? From mythology?” Paavo asked.

“A many-headed beast,” Angie said, glad to contribute something.

Livingstone continued. “Instead of many heads, our Hydra has many disguises. We aren’t certain that she’s on the
Valhalla
—but she might be. In any event, whoever is on the ship and involved in this situation seems to think the formula is in your possession. Again, I don’t know why. But that has to be the reason why your room and your belongings have been searched.”

“But once they were searched and nothing found, this…Hydra…should know we don’t
have the formula. She should forget about us,” Angie said hopefully.

“Or,” Livingstone countered, “she thinks she hasn’t done a thorough enough search. The timing of the sudden breakdown of the air conditioner is suspicious.”

“Agreed,” Paavo said. “That and the fact that there didn’t seem to be any dockworkers’ strike in Cabo San Lucas.”

“I called to check on that strike,” Livingstone said. “As you suspected, it was bogus. It made me think that someone didn’t want any of us—and especially not you—to get off in Cabo. Looking at the alternative, it’s also possible that someone wants you, or all of us, to stay in Mazatlán for a while.”

“This sounds like something James Bond should be involved in,” Angie said, her head swimming. “You’re just speculating. Both of you.”

“That’s true,” Livingstone admitted. “But your belongings have been searched, and so far your persons have not been in danger. I believe the safest thing for you to do is to allow these people to get their hands on your luggage at will. As I mentioned, I can recommend a small hotel. The owner is discreet—I’ve already talked to him. He’s holding two rooms for us that are across the hall from each other. You can spend tonight there comfortably. By the time the ship is tied down and you go through customs, it’ll
be fairly late, and I can’t imagine anything would happen. But tomorrow, be sure you leave the room early and don’t return until nightfall. Sightsee or whatever else you want to do—as long as you stay away from that room. If someone comes to inspect your luggage, I’ll be there to catch them. It’s really extraordinarily simple.”

“But something might go wrong,” Paavo said. “I’m not putting Angie in danger.”

“What could happen?” Livingstone sounded completely confident. “Of course there are risks. Objectively, the worst thing would be if no one shows up to inspect your bags. In that case, I sail off on the
Valhalla
when it leaves Mazatlán, and you can fly to Acapulco and continue your vacation. It’s only for one day—that’s all I’m asking.”

“Angie’s a civilian,” Paavo said. “I can’t let her get involved.”

Livingstone folded his hands. “Interpol has been after the Hydra for ten years. She’s been a constant thorn in our side. Nothing major, just lots of little, niggling annoyances. Usually, the people she’s killed—”

“Killed?” Angie cried. “That’s a niggling annoyance?”

“Those people were the sort where, to be frank, we didn’t know whether to punish or commend her for their deaths. But this time is different. The victim was a professor, a chemist. A bit too avaricious, perhaps, but that’s not a capital offense. Killing him was. All I’m asking is
one night’s lodging—two at most—to help Interpol and your government. After all, it
is
the government’s formula. How can you say no?”

“It doesn’t sound that dangerous,” Angie said to Paavo.

“You’re both wrong. It’s not going to be that easy,” Paavo said. “You’ve already said this Hydra is dangerous and has eluded you for years. You can’t believe she’d be so stupid as to walk into a trap now.”

“She has no reason to suspect anything. You’re seeing ghosts where there are none,” Livingstone insisted.

The look that filled Paavo’s eyes for the slightest moment told her Livingstone was right—ghosts were bothering Paavo, were making him even more cautious and worried than usual. “You need a backup.” Paavo said to the other man. “You’re putting yourself in too much danger.”

“A backup? For this? I had no idea you Yanks had grown so tender. I can do a job like this with my eyes closed—and believe me, they’ll be open. It’s child’s play.”

“No,” Paavo insisted. “You’ve got to—”

“Stop. I’m an Interpol agent. I know this territory; I know these people,” Livingstone said. “What you need to think very hard about is that, if the air-conditioning breakdown was rigged, it could only mean that the Hydra doesn’t want you, us, or the ship to leave Mazatlán. If you try to leave, she might decide to stop you. That, my
friends, is when this little affair could become very dangerous indeed.”

“Paavo?” Angie said, unable to hide the worry in her voice.

He looked from her to Livingstone, his eyes grim and determined. “Where’s the hotel?”