Paradise - Part Four (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) (6 page)

“Are you just going to leave your shadow out in the cold like that?” I sneered.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the man standing outside. He punched some buttons on his Blackberry. His friend outside received the message and walked inside, eventually taking a window seat nearby.

“Are you sure you haven’t worked for the government before? Perhaps as a spy…”

Carter smiled a half-smile.

“The shadow’s blatantly obvious; if this were a movie nobody would find either of you believable.”

I figured I’d take some control of the situation by calling him out.

“But, then again, we knew you would expect him and definitely notice. We are not trying to hide him. It’s a matter of—”

“—Protocol. I know.” I cut him off.

“Of course. Nobody else here suspects anything.”

“Nor would it matter if they did.”

I looked around the restaurant. It was fairly empty at quarter past nine in the morning.

“Unless, of course, any of them worked for Mr. Stafford.”

“What’s the urgent matter you got me out of bed for?”

“We apologize if we have inconvenienced you.” His manner said the opposite.

“I don’t give a flying fuck either. So let’s come off it and get to the point, shall we?”

“No need for hard words, Ms. Durant. First, I must ask, are you alright? Do you feel your person to be in any danger?”

“No. I’m fine. You don’t have to like me. I’m just doing a job.”

“True. But you seem agitated. I need to know if there is anything on your mind…anything you need to tell us…”

I shook my head.

“I just want to come to the point. You probably already realize how awkward this is for me. I’m sure you know it adds certain pressures to my life that were never there before.”

He appeared sympathetic as he looked down into his coffee, stirring it slightly.

“I realize this can and will be difficult for you. I understand it adds, possibly, extraordinary pressures in your life. I cannot imagine how it is to be in your position. I’m not sure I could do it. I know few who could. And you’re free to get out at any time.”

Somehow I found this little speech of his uplifting. It furthered my resolve to “help” him. If I had missed my calling to a life of international intrigue, this would more than make up for it. If I lacked the skills for such a life, I would soon find out—and, of course, if that were the case, I could opt out whenever necessary. I decided I would go on playing the part of vulnerability and turn it to my advantage when I could. I certainly did feel vulnerable—but for far different reasons than he probably imagined.

“I…” I stumbled as I began, playing my part to the hilt, “I…I need to know. Can I count on you? When the going gets tough—if I proceed with this—can I rely on you to help me out and extricate me from the situation should the need arise? If my life were suddenly in danger?”

“As long as you work with us and abide by the law then I can say yes. You can. We will help. Don’t worry. Of that you can rest assured. But, on the other hand, if you cross us—and, if you do, we will find out—then you will be beyond help.”

“I’ll be a node outside of its charted circles.”

“You know your intel vocabulary,” he said slowly, almost suspiciously.

I winked.

“I do read, you know.”

“Apparently so. Apparently more than I do. I think I need to catch up.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I cannot guarantee I’ll be able to provide a sufficient answer.”

“Is there a task force involved? With this case, I mean.”

He hesitated, looked around, and leaned in.

“That I cannot confirm nor deny.”

“There is.”

“I have to comment once again, Ms. Durant, at the risk of repeating myself—you are impressively sharp, impressively well informed. In no way am I confirming or denying what you have asked.”

“Ten people, twelve…”

I thought I might as well try to build a rapport with him, to gain his trust, if we were going to get anywhere in fulfilling the purpose of the relationship—namely, my pulling the wool over his eyes.

“Ms. Durant…”

“—Sophia,” I corrected.

“Sophia…again you have succeeded wonderfully in diverting the conversation from the matter at hand. In answer to your question,
what is this all about
?
Why did I get you out of bed
? as you so aptly put it.”

I gave him my full attention.

“We have received word from a source that Stafford is about to take a little trip away from Eleuthera for a few days.”

“Where to? Or can you say?”

“The Seychelles.”

“That’s quite a little trip.”

“Indeed.”

“You want me to find my way aboard the plane he travels on…” I speculated.

“Precisely. He will be staying at the Four Seasons Resort. It is unconfirmed whether he will be flying his own jet or a commercial airliner, but he usually uses his planes when he travels.”

“A trip that far would require a rather big jet.”

“He does own a Boeing 767 that he uses on longer trips.”

“I didn’t even know that.”

“We didn’t expect you to. We know you flew on one of his Gulfstream jets.”

“Yes, on trips to and from Eleuthera.”

“We ask you to find your way to the Seychelles and to take something with you.”

He removed a small audio recording device from his trench coat.

“You want me to wear a wire?” I said, affecting distress.

“The Bureau feels…”

“I’m not gonna do it. There’s no way. You can use the audio off the mic on my phone if you want to get audio, but no—not that—I refuse.”

“While we probably could devise a way to get the audio from you phone, we prefer you to wear this. The sound quality is much higher. But you refuse. That’s that. Allowances will have to be made.”

“Fuckin’ right
allowances will have to be made
.”

“We will need you to attend the meetings, or get as close to them as you possibly can,” he said after a moment, sipping his coffee.

“I understand. Anything else?”

“We just need the audio. Secondarily, if you can, we would like you to extract any information you can about the meeting from Stafford himself—though you must do this in a roundabout way.”

“Try as I may—that is very likely impossible.”

“We understand the difficulty. The opportunity to discuss it may not arrive. Possibly you won’t even be included in this trip, but we’d like you to try. If you do make it to the Seychelles, an agent will be there to meet clandestinely. However, that agent will not be me.”

Chapter 16

Sophia Durant’s Diary

November 16, Mahé Island, Seychelles

The longest journey by air of my life was from Eleuthera to Mahé Island in the Seychelles. The first leg of the trip was a hop from Eleuthera to Jacksonville in the Gulfstream. From there it was an eight hour 767 flight to London, a refueling, and then the last leg to the archipelago of 115 islands comprising the Republic of the Seychelles. The approach to these islands was much like the first approach to the Bahamas, but stranger (considering how far I felt from any place with which I was familiar) and more exhilarating. The islands appeared to float serenely on the deep blue of the Indian Ocean. They were larger and more scattered than the islands of the Bahamas. They seemed like a true hidden treasure of the world, so beautiful and remote. The Four Seasons Resort was more of a scattered bunch of tree houses overlooking Anse La Liberte, a wondrous expanse of ocean perhaps even more enchanting than Eleuthera’s Anse Lazio.

For appearances, Stafford and I occupied adjacent rooms that opened out onto the same balcony, equipped with pools and luxuriant dining tables, all seemingly suspended in the trees. Setting my bags in the room, I ventured out onto the balcony to take in the view. I took a deep breath and noticed the air was cooler and less humid than that of Eleuthera. Stafford joined me.

“Safe to talk here?” Stafford mumbled.

“Maybe if we got in one of those pools next to a fountain.”

He started to undress. I followed his cue and in seconds we were naked and in the pool. We floated over to one of the fountains and kissed briefly before he started to talk.

“So what the fuck is going on? I’ve become extremely paranoid lately.”

“
You
are? I’m going fucking crazy over here.”

“One of us has got to keep our heads.”

“I don’t for a second believe you’ve lost yours.”

“We’ll see.”

We twisted in a circle near the fountain, holding hands.

“I have a theory.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Someone’s framing me with the deaths of all these girls. It could be some angry former associates, businessmen, a foreign government—could even be the American government. I wouldn’t put it past them. They’re bloodhounds. The lot of them.”

“Could be. You’d know more about that than I would.”

“It makes me mad. But the anger is good. It motivates me. Anger and jealousy have been some of the key motivational factors in my life—and revenge.”

My heart ran cold as he looked at me when he said this. I regained my senses and composed myself.

I had told him the FBI was following him on this trip and wanted me to spy on the exchange. This was our first opportunity to trip them up.

“I’m buying up a textile company based in Pakistan. That’s what this trip is for.”

“Legitimately?”

“As legit as it comes.”

“Are you having me sit in on it with you or watch from a distance or not at all?”

“You can sit in if you like. Other than that, I just want a relaxed holiday in the Seychelles.”

“You come here often?”

“This is only the second or third time.”

“Can I ask you a silly question?”

“Ask away. You can ask me whatever you want.”

“Why do you do what you do?”

“In business or in life—or both?”

“Business.”

“I suppose it always changes. It started mostly by accident. Growing up, I never intended to go into business.”

We got out of the water and dried off, continuing on the bed in his room.

“What did you want to do as a kid?”

“I don’t know. It always changed. I got into something. Got tired of it. Got into something else. Everything from painting to playing cards to studying animals and archeology.”

“You had money as a kid…or your parents did?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Paint costs money.”

“Not that much. Never received anything from my parents. If I needed paints I stole them. I stole animals. I stole pretty much whatever I wanted. I was a good thief and it was pretty much the only way I could get things.”

“And now—how do you get things now?”

“Pretty much in the same way.”

He winked.

“How did you get started in what you do?”

“I was in Africa, actually. On an adventure.”

“What in the world were you doing in Africa?”

“I’d saved up for a summer. I worked odd jobs and saved for a ticket to Angola. It was a country I randomly picked on the map. I’d dreamed of going to Africa since I found it on a map as a boy and was told the most interesting animals lived there. I was twenty-five when I went. From Angola I found my way into Nigeria. And there I found the oil business. I discovered local millionaires who had made all their money diverting the funds from the oil. What economists call the
natural resource curse
.

“I was deep in the jungle with some ‘friends’ I’d met there—thieves actually—wanted to kidnap me and make a fortune from the ransom. They were unsuccessful. But it was through them I discovered some very powerful natives. Rich natives. Politicians who had stolen the wealth of the country. I wanted to go into business in that country in order to divert some of the money away from the politicians and help the poor masses. Later I would realize what a futile
effort it would be; the people were no better than the politicians when it came to distribution of wealth. Nigeria is a nation of thieves. Not everybody, but most of them. But that’s beside the point.

“I wanted to go into business for myself and I came up with a plan. I had met someone there who I became friendly with. He was a local prince who had no money but had inherited an island off the coast of Bayelsa State. He believed it to be rife with oil just waiting to be plucked from the ground. He said he could prove it if I went there with him.

“I never went there with him. I was too scared of getting kidnapped and killed. Bayelsa was in the South where all the kidnappings and killings of Americans were happening at the time. But I trusted the prince implicitly. He had saved me from falling into the hands of the local police on more than one occasion, which would have resulted in a bad fate indeed. He had saved my life. And he had proven to me through his actions that he wanted nothing more than my friendship. Some Africans are very noble.

“He told me that if I could get ships down to his island, he would sell me oil at twenty-five cents a barrel. He promised the capability of producing up to five hundred-thousand barrels a day. In about two months I managed to convince an Italian oil company to provide two ships. I promised them great prices. Bonny Light Crude was on the market for about twenty to thirty dollars a barrel at the time. I told them I’d sell it to them half-price.”

“This was on the black market.” I cut in.

He smiled.

“I started selling to the Italians for their reserves and money just started pouring in. I took the profits and bought the controlling interest in an African oil company within two years. It cost over a hundred-million dollars. In two years I went from nothing to over a hundred-million dollars. On the advice of some business magazines I bought from street vendors with baskets on their heads, I decided to diversify. I talked to my friend, the prince, who by now was quite well off too, and he mentioned other business possibilities. The biggest one across Africa, apart from oil, is war.”

Weapons
.

“That’s something I can’t smile about.”

I dropped it. The conversation had come to an end and I drifted off. As I fell asleep, I was conscious of Stafford drifting around the room and the vague thought of wondering whether there was any truth to the story of the African prince and the hundred-million.

It was some time at night when I woke. I found Stafford with the light on gazing at an iPad. I got up and slipped off to my room. The soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the gutter outside was
pleasant and lulled me back toward sleep, which I would have entered nicely if it wasn’t for the sound of a knock at my door.

Expecting it to be Stafford, I got up and peered through the peephole. On seeing nothing but an empty hall I opened the door. No one was there. I closed it and sat down on the bed. Nearing sleep, I suddenly opened my eyes with the fearful thought that there might be a presence at the foot of the bed.

What I saw gave me chills. There at the end of the bed stood Emma Green. A mysterious faint light enveloped her and I noticed a second person step forward from behind her. It was Ava Madeiros. They both stared at me with expressionless faces. I lay paralyzed with fear.

In my thoughts I said, “What are you doing here?”

Emma communicated her thoughts directly without moving her lips.

“We are real. You were warned. Let the judgment begin.”

I looked at Ava. Her thoughts spoke to me.

“The judgment has begun.”

I finally managed to roll over, and woke up, realizing I had dreamed the whole thing. Still, the awful haunting feeling of the dream clung to me like a damp mist I couldn’t shake.

I got up and walked over to the refrigerator. I found a bottle of wine inside and several bottles of beer, plus a few bottles of liquor. I opened the wine and drank the whole bottle.

Sophia Durant’s Diary

November 17, Mahé Island, Seychelles

As Stafford and I sat down to breakfast in the hotel dining room, an enchanting woman approached our table. She was English and looking for company.

“Your first breakfast here?” she asked in a delightful tone.

“Yes,” Stafford obliged.

“I’m Emily—Emily Mordaunt. I own the hotel across the street. The Majestic.”

“Ah, it’s beautiful,” he exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“You must have quite a fortune, owning a hotel like that one.”

“Nothing like your fortune, Mr. Stafford.”

“You know who I am.”

“I’ve read about you in magazines from time to time.”

If she made him uneasy, he didn’t show it.

“All good things, I hope.”

“You’re incredibly wealthy. I’m sorry if I’m intruding. It’s just that I see so few English speakers come to Mahé and I’m starved for company. The staff pretty much shuts me out over there.” She laughed.

“Have breakfast with us. This is Sophia, my…my good friend.”

I smiled and took her hand briefly in mine. I got a small shock of static electricity on touching her. The shock surprised her and she jolted upright, recovering with a smile.

“I’m here on business. I should be meeting my man in not too long.”

“You’re welcome to come have a tour of the Majestic later on if you wish. Also, I can show you around the island. Show you the nice beaches. That is if you have time, of course.”

“I’d love it. We’ll be here a few days. We’ll have to exchange numbers. I’d love a tour.”

For a minute I wondered if she was the FBI agent I was to meet on the island. However, I reasoned she could not be, mostly because she was so clearly British and the agent would probably not pretend to own a hotel apart from not being British. I had the feeling Stafford would meet with Ms. Mordaunt privately and I looked forward to spying on them at least through the mic on his phone. As they conversed, my mind drifted further and I began to think about how I might eventually meet the FBI agent.

Ms. Mordaunt received a call and excused herself claiming she had some hotel business to attend to. Stafford didn’t say anything about her after she left but I could tell he was pleased to meet her. My heart sank. I was sure he loved me but if he had an affair with the woman it would add certain unpleasant complications to the situation I wasn’t quite sure how I’d handle. I was so distressed from the guilt of what had happened with Emma Green and Ava Madeiros that I didn’t really see myself handling matters in the same way again. But if I was pushed and became jealous, I would enter a fog of abhorrent emotion, and, in that case, I couldn’t really tell what would happen.

A crisp breeze came up off the sea, and we decided to take a walk on the beach and discuss the meeting that was about to take place.

“I want to see what you think of these gentlemen. Record the conversation. We can analyze it later.”

When we separated I decided to wait in the hotel bar and have drink, imagining that if anyone wanted to contact me it would give them ample opportunity. I looked around the bar, which was mostly empty. The few people I saw didn’t return a glance. Then a familiar man in sunglasses sat down at the bar next to me.

“So—as you can see, they approved my journey out here,” came the familiar voice of Glenn Carter.

He tipped his shades down and smiled.

“I was beginning to think no one was coming.”