The Tahitian Pearl: A John Otter Novel (John Otter Novels Book 2) Read online

  Pierre had expected this reaction. "You are quite correct, inspector. However, you have failed as usual to see the forest for the trees."

  Frances turned furiously toward Pierre and stood up from his desk. "How dare you talk to me that way, you insolent rat! Get out of my office now!"

  Pierre stood, smiling. He knew that it had finally come to a head with his boss and he could care less. He was on the case of a lifetime and he knew it. "With pleasure, inspector. The filth in here makes my skin crawl." Pierre made as though he was dusting off his black suit and turned for the door.

  Frances could barely control his rage. His face was bloated and red as he desperately searched for insults to hurl at the French prick.

  "One more thing, Frances. The man in the photo, Abdul, was at the hotel Mr. Dubois was killed in. Not long after that Abdul was also in the middle of the ocean, attacking the very yacht Alexi Popovich was on. Even a complete idiot would realize that he went first to our deceased corporate facilitator for something, tortured him, killed him when he did not receive it, then proceeded after the principle man himself, Alexi, for the very same item. I have put out an ALL POLICE BULLETIN for Abdul with his photograph. And, when he surfaces, I will follow him and make the arrest of my career. Good day, sir."

  Pierre closed the door. Frances slumped down in his chair, hearing nothing but the sound of his hammering and out of shape heart, bounding in his chest. He picked up the photo of Abdul and took a deep breath. Fuck, Pierre had done it again.

  Chapter 91

  Two weeks and 9000 nautical miles later, the Ivana rested at the Pink Coconut Marina in Papeete, Tahiti. The journey from Mumbai had been calm up to the Arafura sea. But once they crossed out of the shelter of Papa New Guinea, it had been nothing but mountains of waves. A brief stop in Tonga had brought the crew some respite; but the final 1300-mile leg from Tonga to Tahiti was nothing short of miserable. People forgot how vast the Pacific Ocean was.

  John could hardly believe that the natives had traveled between the islands in canoes. But the Ivana was a stout ship and had managed to make excellent time despite the seas. John was still getting used to being the captain, after Captain Al Brown had resigned. It was odd to be a master of a ship again. His last command had been the sail training ship Beagle before the disaster took place on board. After the Beagle he had relished in not having the command and the responsibility that went with it. He had been first officer on Ivana for so long that he didn't know how to use his newfound privileges. He found himself fighting the urge to go on deck and help with the work. Now, instead, he was filing reports, clearing customs, and making berthing arrangements.

  John sat typing an expense report, trying to make sense of a two-thousand-dollar discrepancy when he heard a knock on his office door. Ingrid opened it, shyly, and looked inside. John looked tired and stressed. She knew he was sad; she could see it in his eyes. How much had to do with Claire leaving, and how much was his worries about the next few weeks, she didn't know. But she felt like reaching out to him; and, against her better judgement, she wanted to open herself up to him if he so chose.

  "Everything ok?" she asked.

  "Just trying to figure out the expense discrepancy. What's up?"

  "Everything is finished inside. I was going to let the crew go early today and have a break if that's ok with you?"

  John was unused to her deferring to him. Even though he was technically her boss, as first officer, she had run her department autonomously and he rarely had to interfere. That was the most difficult part of the captain’s job. Everybody now asked him for permission to do the smallest things. He sighed wearily. “Of course, we’ve had a rough delivery from Mumbai. Go ahead, knock them off."

  Ingrid smiled and closed the door softly. Ingrid, he didn't know what was happening with her. She seemed to be trying to lighten up, which was funny considering John was trying to do the opposite and toughen up.

  John had no idea what the plan was. All he knew was that people, bad people, were after them. Alexi had told him that he expected the people after the Pearl to give them room, and let them find it first before making their respective moves. Alexi had promised that, by then, law enforcement would be involved; and they would have destroyed the bomb. If they could even find it.

  They had the latitude and longitude of the barge that held the bomb known as the Pearl, in Alexi's metal briefcase as well as the schematics for the bomb itself. They did not have the location of the bomb itself. It apparently had stabilizing fins on the stern of the bomb and had endured a 5000-meter drop to the sea floor. According to John’s rough calculations that meant that the bomb could have gone anywhere in at least a 5-mile direction from the location of the barge.

  Not to mention because of the crushing depth, navy submarines couldn't come close to reaching it and recovering it, which explained why the French hadn't even bothered to retrieve it. Nobody back then had the ability to get that deep on the ocean floor. Alexi said he had arranged for a deep-sea submersible. How, and from where he got it, John had no idea.

  John heard another knock on the door. "Come in, Ingrid."

  The door opened and he saw the bushy, white beard of Alexi. "You have a moment?" Alexi asked.

  "Yes sir."

  Alexi took a seat. He looked at his hands carefully. "John how are you doing? Have you heard from Claire?"

  "No. I've left her messages for weeks and she hasn't responded."

  The truth was, John had stopped trying. After Claire had flown back to Australia, she had grown aloof. The last time they had spoken had been a massive fight. She thought he should stop working for Alexi, and he felt that he couldn't abandon him now. She didn't understand. She was also suffering from PTSD. She had not been sexually assaulted, but he knew the trauma she had endured wouldn't heal quickly. John had kept calling until Claire's mother had told him unambiguously to stop. He had a feeling she wouldn't forgive him for not protecting her.

  "When this is all over, I think you should go see her," Alexi said.

  "I don't think she wants that. I think whatever we had is over."

  "Time will tell."

  "What happens now, Alexi?"

  "John, I understand your concerns and frustrations. But it is my belief that everyone waiting for a chance to grab the Pearl, will do just that. They will hide and wait. They lack the equipment and expertise to retrieve it. And this island works to our advantage. They have few places to hide. And only a very small airport."

  "Do we know who is actually after it?"

  "We know for sure the Koreans; Mumbai's attack made that clear. The pirate attack used a mercenary called Abdul, so that tells me probably some Arab group as well. You forget that radioactive material today is tracked to the ounce. Instantly, governments can tell where and from when the radioactive material came from. Do you know what a windfall a forgotten nuclear bomb would be to extremists? Do you know how many dirty bombs you can make with the 15 pounds of weapon-grade plutonium in that bomb? Or if the Koreans get it, they can just copy the design, and become a full-blown nuclear state in a matter of months. The bomb would be their blueprint.”

  "I don't want to think about it. What's next step?"

  "I have arranged for a deep-sea submersible. Tomorrow the pilot will come down and speak with us. We have already been doing grid searches with our surface vessel, the C-Legend. They have already found some possible locations with their sonar equipment. We will only want to drop the submersible if we find something, we need to explore closer. The submersible pilot, however, believes we are looking for the original ship and we must keep it that way. Once we locate the device, we will send you down alone to work on it."

  “Work on it? I have no idea how to do that. And what exactly are we going to do with it? It’s a nuclear bomb that's been on the bottom of the ocean for more than 60 years, Alexi! It could be in pieces."

  Alexi shook his head. "John it was a test bomb, built far too heavy to ever fly. It was made of heavy metals, lead, and alum
inum. At those depths, in the cold with little oxygen in the water, it would have only broken down very slowly. You know that."

  “Why can’t we just leave it? Its stayed buried this long.”

  “John these other men won’t stop. They know where we are, they now know where to look for the bomb. It will be only a matter of time before it's raised by terrible men. If we don’t destroy it and its nuclear material, it’s a direct threat to world stability.”

  "And if we find it, when we find it, what are we going to do?"

  "We remove the plutonium core. I have a specialist who will tell you precisely how to do this and we have the schematics. And we will bring it to the surface. There is no sense in polluting these waters with more radiation than has already leaked from the device over 60 years."

  "Then what?"

  "I have a contact in the International Atomic Energy Agency. Once I call, they will have a recovery team here within a day to retrieve the plutonium and dispose of it properly."

  "And the bomb itself? Wouldn't it be easier to simply raise it whole?"

  Alexi nodded. "Yes, but we can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, I fear that if that technology is ever floated back up to the surface into the light of day again, a new nuclear arms race will begin. We must remove the plutonium core, and then we blow up the remaining bomb on the bottom, destroying it forever.”

  “You know this is crazy right?” John asked shaking his head.

  Alexi smiled a little. "Crazier than finding ships sunk for 500 years? John, if there is danger or any sort of attack, it’s over. I will call the ambassadors and pull the plug. No more threats. But I think this is best for the world."

  "And we start tomorrow?"

  "Yes."

  "You said act normal, right?"

  "I did, we don't want our enemies aware of our suspicions."

  "Good. Because today, I'm going surfing. Tonight, I'm getting drunk and forgetting I ever met you, Alexi!" John said standing up.

  Chapter 92

  Pierre sat four rows behind Abdul, which placed him soundly in economy. It irked Pierre that a criminal sat contentedly in first class while he, a beacon of law enforcement, was forced to sit wedged between a fat man with horrible body odor and a mother with a constantly drooling baby. Sometimes he hated his job.

  But he had caught a lucky break in finding Abdul at all. The Dubai government was as concerned with terrorism as the Western world, mainly because the opulence of the U.A.E. ruffled the feathers of hard-line Islamists. In response to the threat, the wealthy Arab state had innovated, as it made a habit of doing, by installing the latest in technology into its massive airport. Facial recognition software had picked up Abdul's face as he boarded a plane under the name Walid. Luckily for Pierre, the alias was flagged, and he was able to retrieve the flight connection information from the airports database. He had caught a connecting flight and been able to follow Abdul's path ever since.

  Frances had balked at the mere idea of Pierre going to Tahiti after their office blowup, but the evidence was impossible for even him to ignore. Not only was Abdul flying to Tahiti, but it had just been reported by French customs that none other than Alexi Popovich had arrived via his yacht earlier in the week. It was far too much of a coincidence even for Frances. Besides, having Tahiti as a French territory meant that Pierre had full jurisdictive powers to effect arrests and warrants should need be. Pierre could literally kill two birds with one stone, questioning Alexi in person about the death of the facilitator, and seeing what Abdul was up to. There was a case somewhere. Pierre just had to be there when it developed.

  Abdul was in deep thought as he sipped his Bloody Mary in First Class. He had ignored the obvious disapproval of the Sheikh's butler, or henchman, sitting next to him. He was sick of pretending to be a religious zealot. He had only used that tack to get out of the Sheikh’s grasp in Dubai.

  Abdul was still undecided about his next move. Part of him wanted to put a rope over his chaperone’s neck the second they touched down in Tahiti. Enjoy his vacation there, and disappear, somewhere the Sheikh had no reach. He had money, stored away, maybe it was time. But part of him wanted revenge. On the yacht, the Russian owner, and the man who had killed his only real friend.

  Part of him was also still greedy. After the Sheikh had told him about the case’s contents, a location and schematic of a lost nuclear bomb he realized how big a score it would be. That plutonium was worth a fortune to lunatics like the Sheikh. It would be enough to never have to work again.

  Abdul had no delusions; he couldn’t recover it himself. He would just have to wait until the Russian brought it up to the surface and steal it then. And take his revenge. Then he would sell it to the highest bidder. Either way the Sheikh’s companion would have to die. It seemed like the best plan he had at the moment. Abdul relaxed now that he had it all figured out. He waved at the flight attendant for another drink. It was time to get drunk.

  Chapter 93

  Otter dipped his hand into the cool blue water, marveling at the depth of its clarity. He could easily see the sandy bottom sixty feet down. His shoulders began their familiar ache that he always felt when he paddled his surfboard. He tried to ignore the new sharp pain in his left shoulder. The gunshot wound was not completely healed. He wondered if he would ever lose that pain. Somehow, he didn't think so.

  The ocean waves crashed into the barrier reef that surrounded the island of Papeete, Tahiti, like the deep drumming of Polynesian drums. Yet the water inside the reef was calm, almost always protected by the ring of viscous rocks that had sunk many a sailor in days gone by. There were only a few openings in the reef surrounding Papeete where a ship could enter and even with GPS and modern technologies, they were difficult to thread. The lagoons beauty was beguiling to say the least. Its promised shelter had led many a ship their doom.

  John felt the beat of the sun on his back and glanced again into the crystal blue water beneath him. He could easily make out the reef fish below him. Iridescent purple and yellow fish darted in and out of the coral, working on the day's feeding. A large sea turtle swept underneath John's board and once again he felt lucky. He reminded himself that he was in Tahiti, a place few ever were lucky enough to see in person. His pleasure was short-lived when he remembered that he was still in danger. In danger for something better left in the past.

  He looked out at the heavy ocean waves crashing onto the reef, and he wondered where it lay. The culmination of man's insatiable desire to destroy itself. He knew the bomb was there: in the depths filled with cold and darkness, awaiting its resurrection. Part of him hoped they would never find it; but he also knew if they failed, the others pursuing the Pearl would keep looking. He shuddered to think of what they could do with it. No, they had to find it, and destroy it forever.

  John paddled through the harbor until he saw it. Teahupoo break. It was early morning and not yet filled with surfers and he was glad for that. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. John wanted to think of a plan that would accomplish Alexi's goal of destroying the bomb and more importantly getting his crew out alive.

  The Teahupoo wave break was one of the most consistent massive wave surfing breaks in the world. Caused by large ocean waves coming up hard on the reef floor, they piled onto themselves nicely, creating a sweet rolling curl. It was an alluringly easy-looking break, but the break had a hidden danger. You had to surf hard to the left once you got on a wave and ride the waves out quickly. If you went right or straight, you ran into a reef that was only covered by a few feet of water. A fall there would be devastating as the power of the wave rolled you through razor sharp rocks over and over again, reminding you that you were only playing with the ocean so long as she wanted your company.

  John paddled out the channel where the waves remained gentle rollers and sat lazily on his board. He looked at Papeete, its volcanic origins were hard to miss in her rising mountain peak. It was a beautiful and lush island, only upstaged by her sister island
Moorea. Moorea was the undeveloped, virginal sister to Papeete. It was home to famous Cooks Bay and had none of the modernization of Papeete. Moorea was John's favorite island in the South Pacific.

  John turned and spotted a nice-looking wave rolling in and paddled quickly to get in front of it, but the ache in his left arm was too powerful and he missed his opportunity. The wave rolled underneath his board and completed its suicidal dash for the reef without John as a passenger.

  John told himself not to get frustrated, but he was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. The ever-present image of getting shot at was forcing its way into his mind over and over again. What the hell was he doing? He was no spy. Now he was in the process of recovering a nuclear weapon, or at least trying to. He contemplated calling Mr. Clark; but, somehow, he didn't trust that man either. Mr. Clark had his own agenda; and John wasn't sure they aligned with his own. But did he really believe Alexi's altruistic goals? All the talk about destroying the weapon so no, one, government could take advantage of it. He didn't know. He wanted to trust Alexi though. He knew he did.

  John spotted another suitable wave and this time he got an early start. He paddled through the pain and placed himself perfectly in front of it. As it began to crest, he stood up, and felt the rush of adrenaline he always felt when surfing. He began to ride the wave off to his left, toward the channel and away from the rocks, when he extended his left arm to balance himself. He felt a sudden stab of pain from the gunshot wound, and instinctively he swung his arm back in towards his chest. His balance was thrown off by his arms retraction and he knew his center of gravity was off. John's weight swung too far to the right side of his board and he felt himself fall off the front.

  He knew with horror that he was still at least 20 feet from the deep-water channel. He tumbled into the belly of the wave and felt her grab him soundly around the waist. The wave picked him up and began to roll him onto the reef. John covered his head with his arms and tried to pull himself into a tight ball, when he felt it. A sharp coral rock sliced into his upper thigh and he cried out underwater. The wave continued to roll him onto his back, and he felt another razor-sharp piece of coral filet skin from his back. Johns lungs screamed out for the surface, when he felt his board cord yanking his right leg back into the wave.