Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (17 page)

“Information,
señor
?”

“A man named Thomas Dugan arrives there this evening. You should question him.”

Reyes sat bolt upright.

“Interesting,
señor
,” he said. “This implies advanced knowledge of the attack, yet we had no warning from the CIA.” His words held unmistakable menace.

“We knew nothing of the attack,” Gardner sputtered, “but Dugan works for us. I mean he’s supposed to, but I… that is, some of us… feel he’s been turned. A great deal of money recently appeared in his offshore account, and he supervised repairs to
Asian Trader
in Singapore last month.”

Gardner lowered his voice. “Please understand. Not everyone agrees with me. I’m warning you as a brother in arms. I appreciate your discretion.”

“I will treat you as a confidential informant,” Reyes lied.

“Thank you,” Gardner said, relief in his voice.

“On the contrary,
señor
, thank you.”

Reyes hung up without waiting for a response and thumbed through his notebook for Dugan’s flight number and arrival time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Iberia Airlines Flight 6307
Approaching Panama City, Panama
2125 Hours Local Time
4 July

Lights brightened and Dugan stirred, trying to focus on the announcement.

“…attack. The airport is closed. We are cleared to refuel and will depart for Miami, where agents will meet us. Nonresidents attempting to deplane here will be reboarded.”

A stewardess knelt beside him. “
Señor Dugan
?”

He nodded.

“You are to deplane. You will be met.”

Met by whom, he wondered minutes later in the immigration line.

“
Señor Dugan
,” a big man said, taking Dugan’s passport. “Come with me please.”

“What’s this about?” Dugan asked as he complied.

The man slammed Dugan against a wall and cuffed him, before dragging him toward an exit. A man approached, speaking unaccented Spanish.

“
Teniente Reyes
. I’ll take Mr. Dugan now. Thank you.”

“Regrettably,
Señor Carlucci
, he is under arrest,” the big man said. “Unless, of course, he has immunity?”

He smiled at Carlucci’s head shake.

“Then I will wish you good evening,” he said.

Judicial Investigative Directory HQ
Panama City, Panama

Reyes towed Dugan inside, rushing between glass walls through which could be seen rows of occupied desks. A small man gave a puzzled wave as Reyes shook his head and hurried by, hustling Dugan downstairs to an unmarked door. Dugan found himself in a concrete cube. Pipes crisscrossed the ceiling and cast odd shadows. The walls and floor were stained, as was a battered wooden table. Reyes shoved him into the single chair.

“Look,” Dugan said, half turning, “I think there’s some misunderstanding—”

Reyes slapped the back of his head.

“Yes,
Señor Dugan
. You misunderstand. You are here to answer questions. Clear?”

Dugan nodded.

“Good,” Reyes said. “Tell me of
Asian Trader
.”

“I’m here to attend an inquiry aboard. I was to board her at the Pacific anchorage. Why? Was she damaged in the attack?”

Reyes’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“The pilot announced an attack. You asked about the ship. Seems logical.”

Reyes changed tacks.

“Why did you buy a priority transit slot?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dugan said.

Reyes slammed Dugan’s face into the table and raised him by his hair.

“Enough lies,” Reyes whispered. “The truth. Or you will not leave here alive.”

Blood ran down Dugan’s face as he turned to Reyes with a cross-eyed stare.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Under the circumstances, an ill-considered remark.

***

“
Digame
,” Luna said.

“
Capitán Luna
. Frank Carlucci.”

“What can I do for you,
Señor Carlucci
?” Luna asked.

“Tell me what you know about Thomas Dugan.”

“Not much.
Señor Dugan
was to attend an inquiry on
Asian Trader
,” Luna said. “Reyes was to meet with him tomorrow, but now…” He paused. “You know of Reyes’s loss?”

“What loss?” asked Carlucci.

“Maria died today at Miraflores, and his boys were hurt. He is with them at the hospital.”

“
Capitán
,” Carlucci said, “Reyes arrested Dugan at the airport less than an hour ago.”

“You are misinformed,” Luna said.

“I saw him myself,” Carlucci said, “there is no mistake.”

“I will get back to you,” Luna said, hanging up to rush into the squad room.

“Perez,” he said. “Where’s Reyes?”

Perez looked uncomfortable.

“God damn it, Juan! Tell me!”

“With a gringo,” Perez said. “In the Hole, I think.”

Luna ran with Perez on his heels. They found Dugan lying on the concrete, Reyes above him, fists clenched, red faced with rage.

“Manny! No!” yelled Luna as they wrestled him away.

“Juan,” Luna ordered as he knelt beside Dugan, “get Manny out. Call a doctor.”

He touched Dugan’s face. Dugan winced and cracked an eye.

“Is he gone?” Dugan asked weakly, relieved when Luna nodded.

“Lie still,” Luna said. “A doctor is coming.”

“He’s not so fuckin’ tough,” Dugan croaked. “I was beat up worse than this by three guys outside a bar in Naples.”

M/T Luther Hurd
Gatun Lake Anchorage, Panama

“Seize my ship,” Captain Vince Blake said. “That’s piracy, by God.”

“Goddamned right,” agreed Chief Engineer Jim Milam, glaring defiance.

Rojas looked at Calderon and nodded. Calderon dialed his cell phone as Rojas turned back to the American captain.

“
Capitán Blake
,” he said, “to be clear, this was approved by your president.”

“Ray Hanley?” Blake asked, unable to picture the irascible president of Hanley Trading and Transportation parting with his brand-new ship.

“I refer,” Rojas said, “to the president of your country. You will, of course, need to confirm this. We have your embassy on the phone.”

Rojas nodded to Calderon, who passed Blake the phone. Blake put the phone to his ear and listened, thunderstruck, grunting an affirmation before hanging up and looking at the chief engineer.

“Son of a bitch. It’s true, Jim,” Blake said. “The president approved this.”

“And I voted for that asshole,” Milam muttered.

It was a done deal, thanks to Rojas’s preparation. He’d briefed the Panamanian president promptly, and when the inevitable phone call from the American president had come, asking “how can we help,” the answer had been “give us
Luther Hurd
.” The interests of one shipowner paled beside potential loss of the canal.

Blake took one last shot.

“But surely you have other ways to block the lock?”

Calderon shook his head. “Our temporary caisson gates are in Balboa. Even if we could somehow get them up into the lake, the damaged gates are obstructing placement. But a tanker just upstream of the damaged lock will work. We will ballast her until she grounds and build an earthen dam against her upstream side. Your ship is the ideal size, empty and clean. No danger from pollution or fire and explosion.”

“Hanley will do well,” Rojas added. “Above market rate during use, and a return to service at our expense plus five years revenue, guaranteed.”

Blake sighed. “When do we start?”

Rojas look flustered. “I’m sorry; I was unclear. There is nothing to start. We will remove the crew and place the ship with tugs.”

“You’ve discussed this with your pilots?” Blake asked.

“We’ve moved dead ships before,” Calderon said.

“Smaller vessels,” Blake said, “in still water with mules. We barely fit the lock; there’ll be current, no mules, and little room for tugs to maneuver. You’ll need the engine.”

“And you’ll need the plant up to ballast her down once in place,” Milam said.

“We’ll find a way, gentlemen,” Rojas said. “There are seamen among our employees.”

“Look, pal,” Milam said, “nobody’s gonna learn this ship in a few hours.”

“The chief’s right,” Blake agreed. “We’ll ask for volunteers. We won’t need many.”

The room grew quiet. “You would do this?” Rojas asked.

Blake shrugged. “We’re your only shot.”

Tocumen International Airport
Panama City, Panama

“Long day,” Ward said, shaking Carlucci’s hand.

“Not over, I’m afraid,” Carlucci said. “Let’s talk while we walk.”

Ward followed him away from the Gulfstream toward his car.

“Dugan was arrested on arrival. I couldn’t spring him and smelled a rat because a cop named Reyes drove off with him solo.” He paused. “I called his boss, who said Reyes wasn’t working because his wife died in the attack and his kids are in the hospital. I filled him in, and he hung up and called back five minutes ago saying Dugan had an ‘accident’ but is OK. Translation—he got there before Reyes killed Dugan.”

Carlucci continued as they got in his car.

“We’re headed there now. I expect Dugan’s a bit worse for wear.”

Ward groaned. “Jesus H. Christ. Does it get any worse?”

“Yeah, it does,” Carlucci said. “Seems Reyes got a ‘confidential’ call from that asshole Gardner that Dugan was dirty and hinting he should be questioned aggressively.”

“That stupid son of a bitch,” Ward said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Carlucci said.

Judicial Investigative Directory HQ
Panama City, Panama

The Americans sat across the table from Luna, Reyes, and Perez.

“You can see Dugan,” Luna repeated, “when you explain your failure to warn us.”

Damn Gardner, Ward thought, trying again.

“Captain, we didn’t know. Just let us see Dugan, and I’ll tell—”

“No,” Luna said. “Tell us now. Or we resume questioning Dugan. File your protest. We will know everything before it works through channels.”

Ward sighed and nodded at Carlucci, who addressed Luna in Spanish.

“
Capitán
. We have your word this remains confidential?”

Luna nodded. “Juan,” he said to Perez, “go turn off the recorder.”

He turned back to Carlucci. “Is that sufficient,
Señor Carlucci
, or would you like to accompany
Sargento Perez
?”

“Your word is more than sufficient,
Capitán
,” Carlucci said as Perez left the room.

Luna nodded his thanks, and Ward began the briefing, including Dugan’s role in the operation.

“So,” he concluded minutes later, “we thought this trip to Panama was a ruse to get Dugan out of the way. We didn’t suspect the attack.”

“I am confused,” Reyes said. “You do not deny the truth of the information provided by Gardner—the money in Dugan’s offshore account and the fact Dugan was involved with
Asian Trader
just before she departed Singapore for Panama. And yet you seemed convinced of Dugan’s innocence. Why?”

“Because,” Ward said, “I’ve known him for over ten years and know he would never do this. And even if I’m wrong about that, I know he is far too smart to leave such obvious evidence to be found. Also, Lieutenant, ask yourself this: If you were Dugan and you
had
committed this heinous act, would you board a plane for Panama and land in the middle of the chaos? Only God and good fortune are holding the lake back. If things had gone a bit differently, Dugan could have deplaned in Tocumen just in time to be washed into the Pacific.”

Reyes and Luna nodded. After a long pause, Luna spoke.

“Very well, gentlemen,” he said. “You can see Dugan. Beyond that, I promise nothing.”

“Captain Luna,” Ward said, “as devastating as this attack was, I don’t think it is the final objective. Braun is still in place in London, and that tells me he has more attacks planned. I need to go there, and I need Dugan. His expertise may be vital in preventing another attack.”

Luna looked Ward in the eye.

“Agent Ward,” he said, “my concern is bringing the murdering bastards that did this to justice. I am not yet convinced
Señor Dugan
is not one of them, despite your assurances. He will remain our guest for the time being.”

M/T Luther Hurd
Gatun Lake Anchorage, Panama
0120 Hours Local Time
5 July

Blake sat at the loading computer in the Cargo Control Room, cursing.

Milam turned from the window. “The magic box giving you trouble, Cap?” he asked.

Blake sighed. “No, but it’s anybody’s guess how much water we’ll have on the way in. I go in too deep and we ground before we get there. Go in light and risk getting sucked into the lock before we can get her down.”

“We need to get her down fast, all right,” Milam agreed.

“But how?” Blake asked. “We’ll need water in the cargo tanks, and the emergency storm ballast crossover’s way too slow.”

Milam looked thoughtful. “How ‘bout some new connections.”

“Breach the bulkheads?”

Milam nodded. “I got two cutting rigs. We can drop the water level in the ballast tanks enough to get into the top of the tanks, and the cargo tanks aren’t inert yet, so that’s no problem. The First and I can cut holes between each ballast tank and the adjacent cargo tank, then drop into the cargo tanks and open holes between them. We’ll make her one great big cargo tank. Open the sea valves and throw on the all ballast pumps, and you’re done.”

Blake frowned at the notion of intentionally destroying the watertight integrity of his brand-new ship. “But I won’t be able to control draft and trim en route,” he said.

“Yeah, you will,” Milam said. “We’ll cut the ballast-tank bulkheads up high. The ballast tanks won’t spill into the cargo tanks until they’re almost full. Trim her any way you want, then overflow the ballast tanks into the cargo tanks when we’re in position.”

Blake sighed. “Do it,” he said.

Milam moved for the door but stopped as he glanced out the window.

“We got company,” he said to Blake.

Blake moved to the window. “God damn it,” he said. “What are they doing back? Anyone the hospital released was supposed to go to a hotel.”

Second Mate Lynda Arnett was walking up the deck, trailed by three crewmen and a sheepish looking Pedro Calderon. Arnett’s right hand was in a cast, and the three men following her sported a variety of bandages. She entered the Cargo Control Room moments later with Calderon as the three sailors waited in the passageway, out of sight but within earshot.

“Arnett,” Blake said, “you OK? How’re the others?”