The Tahitian Pearl: A John Otter Novel (John Otter Novels Book 2) Page 24

  “Sir, of course. I mean she’s rude, I wasn’t even.”

  “John, please.” Alexi turned without another word and headed back to his cabin.

  Chapter 98

  Pierre walked down the dock of the Pink Coconut marina toward the Ivana. After his brief respite at the hotel, he had gotten up early to formulate a plan. This dinner might be his only opportunity to get Alexi on the record about the pirate attack and Abdul. He needed to make use of this interview. Pierre also had to decide whether or not to tell Alexi that Abdul was on the island. It was a risk either way.

  The sun was beginning to set over the Island of Moorea in the distance, and it was stunning. Pierre stopped to admire it before making his way down the Pink Coconut's dock. Walking toward him was another incredible vision: a short, but remarkable dark-haired beauty. Pierre couldn't help himself.

  "Excuse me, do you know where the yacht Ivana is?" he said in French.

  The woman looked at him coldly, onto his game. "That would be the large yacht right in front of you that has the lit sign that says ‘IVANA,’" she said, like he was an idiot.

  Pierre sighed. There was a reason he didn't date French women; he had no time for that much bad attitude. What a waste, he thought, as he turned to look at her ass anyway.

  Pierre arrived at the port side entrance of the yacht Ivana. A young woman in a white dress, with gold epaulets on her shoulder, waited by the door to greet him.

  "My name is Mary; I will be one of the servers taking care of you tonight. If you require anything at all during dinner service, please do not hesitate to ask."

  Pierre's suspicions were already aroused by the invite, but now he realized he was not the hunter, as he had suspected, but the prey. Nonetheless, an expensive dinner on a mega-yacht, in Tahiti? Why not enjoy it?

  Pierre was led up to the second level of the yacht. A massive wooden table filled the cavernous overhang of the large back patio deck. It could seat at least 16 people if not more. There were three sets of seats at the table. Fine crystal sparkled in the fading sun, casting prisms of rainbow light about the varnished wooden table. The table itself was a masterpiece, inlaid in gold. In the table's center was a filigree ship, sailing on a tossing ocean of golden waves. Pierre had no doubt the table cost more than his yearly salary.

  Mary pulled Pierre's chair out and he sat down to an armada of forks and knives. A sophisticate Pierre was, but even he was intimidated by such excessive amounts of cutlery.

  "Mr. Popovich will arrive momentarily. May I pour you a glass of wine to start with? I have a very fine Pinot Noir, which matches the first appetizer if you would like?"

  "That sounds perfect."

  Mary displayed the bottle to Pierre who struggled to not gasp. DRC Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru, Cote de Nuits, France, the ornate label read. It was one of the finest wines in the world with an average price of $15,000 per bottle. This was being served as the starter.

  With a bit of shame, Pierre realized that Alexi Popovich was already manipulating him, and he hated himself that it was working. The twinge of guilt was momentary as he raised the glass to his lips, and he realized that if grapes could go to heaven, this was it.

  Chapter 99

  Abdul sat sipping a cold Hinano beer at the Pink Coconut’s bar, watching the Ivana. It was strange to see the boat up close again. The last time he had seen it, shots were being fired from it. He shuddered thinking of his close call with the sharks.

  He could see that the repairs had been made to the starboard side wing controls and the boat looked no worse for the wear. The power of money.

  A shiny new Eurocopter sat on the stern, no doubt the rich Russian's spare. It seemed like a dream, the Ivana running him down in that speedboat, Faris getting killed by that kid. He felt a lump in his throat as he thought about Faris. Abdul shoved the lump down and braced himself. He would get his revenge.

  He saw a lanky man walking down the dock and boarding the Ivana. He couldn't spot anyone else, until he noticed John smiling on the back deck. The rage that hit him made his heart skip a beat. The kid just sat there, as if he hadn't killed Faris just a month ago. He found himself clutching the dinner knife at his table before he let it go. He glanced around briefly to see if he'd blown his cover, when a man caught his eye.

  The man was ex-military for sure. He was exiting a parked Mercedes when he turned in Abdul's direction. Abdul's jaw dropped. He knew that man. He quickly averted his gaze so as not to be spotted. The Mercedes man did not see him.

  Abdul racked his brain. Where did he know the man from? It hit him like a ton of bricks, the Egyptian Suez Canal pilot. Dmitry? He wasn’t sure about the name, but the man had hired Faris and him to capture and torture the Egyptian pilot that was shaking down oil tankers in the Suez. It must have been 5 years ago? The man hadn't changed a bit.

  Abdul immediately got up from the table and made his way for the exit with his brain racing at a mile a minute. Why was that man here? He turned and watched Dmitry walk down the dock toward the Ivana. It clicked. He worked for the Russian Alexi. Had he always? It made sense. The Russian must have owned the oil tankers that were being harassed in the Suez and he had his henchman, Dmitry, hire a local operator to grab the pilot to air his grievance.

  But what about the attack on the Ivana? Were they connected? Abdul beat a hasty retreat to his hotel. He needed to think and think fast. Who had harassed the oil tankers to begin with? He knew the pilot was told to stop the ships, which he now assumed were Alexi Popovich's ships. But who had ordered it? Someone powerful. Someone rich enough to pull that many strings. Someone like the Sheikh.

  Chapter 100

  "Inspector Geraden, I apologize for keeping you waiting," Alexi said, holding his hand out to Pierre.

  "Monsieur, it is no trouble at all. I am sure one must work a lot to earn enough to enjoy bottles of wine like that," Pierre said, pointing to the rare Pinot Noir that was half empty.

  "And what was the verdict?"

  "Since it is not my pennies, I would say it was worth every penny," Pierre said, holding up a glass.

  Alexi smiled and sat. "Should we eat?"

  Two hours later and five courses in, Pierre had a fairly hazy buzz going. He had just enjoyed quite honestly the best meal of his entire life.

  However, Alexi had kept the conversation skin deep the entire meal. But they both knew the pleasantries were now over.

  "You know I was quite surprised by your dinner invite. I did not know you even knew I was here.”

  "I have many ears. I'm just glad a member of Interpol is here to protect us," Alexi said.

  "I'm here to investigate you, but you know that already."

  "I am an open book, inspector. Please ask away."

  "Are you sure you don't mind? After dinner, these photos might be distasteful," Pierre said, pulling a manila envelope from his briefcase.

  Alexi had a sad look upon his face, "I can assure you I have seen worse."

  Pierre laid out the photos of the dead corporate facilitator, Mr. Dubois, on the table. "Do you recognize him?"

  "Yes, his name was Louis Dubois. He worked for me for many years as an outside contractor. He was well-placed in the French government, and he was invaluable for cutting red tape in Europe. The EU is not the easiest place to do business as a Russian. I paid him handsomely to show me the bureaucratic loopholes. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. I paid him millions."

  Pierre whistled. "That's a lot of money. And he didn't exactly pay his taxes."

  Alexi pulled a Cuban cigar from his pocket. He offered Pierre one, but he shook his head, and instead pulled out his pipe. "Whether or not he paid his taxes isn't my concern, I did. My office can send you the payments to his accounts and the invoices. We are above board even if the people we sometimes hire are not."

  "I will cut to the point," Pierre said. "Where were you when he died?"

  "I was in Yemen on the yacht, trying to close my refinery purchase. I sent Dmitry to close the deal
for the information from Mr. Dubois, as I couldn't leave Yemen until my business was concluded. There was another aggressive bidder, and I had to convince them that I was the better choice. According to the coroner's report, Dmitry was already flying home when Mr. Dubois met his untimely demise."

  "You are well informed."

  "I am. Money buys the one thing more powerful than even it, information. So why am I a suspect in his death?"

  "You paid him a lot of money and your employee, Dmitry, was the last known man to see him alive. Now you see why we have to ask the questions. It’s a formality."

  "I doubt you would have flown all this way for a formality. But I understand that you must do your job. However, you must understand that Louis was valuable to me. He could find information for me that no one else could. There was no advantage in his death for me. It was a terrible loss."

  "Pardon me, but you don't seem to be that upset," Pierre said.

  "Inspector, I am a man who has experienced great losses in his life. At my age, it feels like a bad knee. You get used to the ache over time."

  "You told me on the phone when we first spoke that, just a week after Louis was found dead, you that you had experienced a pirate attack on your yacht?"

  Alexi nodded. "Yes, that was when you first called with your questions. Some of my crew were hurt. Unfortunately, that part of the world is less than safe. We took all the precautions we could; but, obviously, the pirates were well prepared."

  "And do you believe the two incidents are related?"

  "How could they be? It makes no sense. I sent you the picture of our attacker, what did you find out?"

  "I happen to think the two incidents are related and I think you do too.”

  Alexi feigned surprise. "Why do you think that?"

  Pierre, instead of answering, pulled out another photograph and slid it to Alexi. It was the photo of Abdul that Alexi had sent him.

  "You sent me this photo of your pirate attacker. Remember?" Pierre asked.

  Alexi nodded. "I can't forget that face. He nearly killed my chief officer and myself and almost captured us all. No doubt to ransom us. This yacht would be an unmatched prize not to mention my wealth would have arguably gotten this man the biggest ransom in human history, had he succeeded."

  "I can tell you that it was not a coincidence, although someone hoped it would be viewed as such."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because this man, Abdul, one week before your pirate attack, was staying at the same hotel as Louis Dubois on the night that he died."

  Alexi frowned; this he did not know.

  Pierre leaned forward. "Now, can you tell me what you bought from Louis Dubois?"

  A thin man with wire-rimmed glasses stepped out from the shadows of the back deck towards Alexi at the question; but Alexi waved his hand impatiently at the man and the man slunk back into the shadows without a word.

  "My legal counsel is no doubt advising me to say no more. But I remember the days when I only had my wits and my Kalashnikov in Chechnya to guide my way, and I seem to have a good instinct on who to trust. I will tell you, understanding that it stays between us?"

  "Unless it is illegal, of course. I do not speak to the press."

  "He gave me the exact location of the treasure ship. The wreck of the Tahitian Pearl that we are now looking for. That's what I bought from him." Alexi lied.

  "A shipwreck location?"

  "Worth possibly a half billion in gold, yes."

  "Is that orange ship off the coast working for you?"

  "Yes, they are a surveying team I brought in from America. The best in the business at sonar work. I have used them before to locate other wrecks. They have been searching for over two weeks, trying to pinpoint the location of the ship."

  "It's hard to believe someone would kill Louis over a location of a treasure ship," Pierre said.

  "I agree, but I wasn't his only client. If I were you, I would explore who else he worked for at the same time. I think you will find it was a host of unsavory characters, any one of which could have reason to kill him, unrelated to my ship. This expedition to find the Pearl has cost me over ten million U.S. so far, easily forty million before a single gold coin is floated up from the depths. Assuming I find it at all. No, treasure hunting like this can only be conducted by very few people in the world; and I am the only one who could go after this particular wreck. The Pearl is in five thousand meters of water according to the location Louis gave me. It’s been sunk for four hundred years. What would be the point of killing Louis, for a location of a treasure that you can't possibly reach?"

  "Unless of course they have you to bring it up for them," Pierre mused.

  Chapter 101

  The Troy arrived at the dock earlier than John would have preferred. The truck from the research center resembled a trash truck. The only difference being instead of a trash compactor, it held on its back the round bubble of the Troy deep-sea submersible. John shuddered looking at it. It looked like a death trap.

  The Troy was basically one large piece of ballistic polycarbonate, aka a glass-like material that also made up Ivana’s helm windows. The Troy, however, was much thicker, at nearly two feet thick. Its only opening was on top where a military-grade hatch was installed. The submersible itself had two seats, side-by-side, facing the front of the craft.

  A large metal skid on the bottom of the Troy was the only thing that prevented it from endlessly rolling around like the ball that it was. The skid was filled with lead ballast, that could be remotely dropped in an emergency to allow the craft to rocket to the surface.

  John lowered the Ivana’s massive back deck A-frame towards the pier. The A-frame, while reaching well over the water, couldn't reach far enough over the truck and Troy to pick up the sub directly. The truck carrying the Troy luckily had its own crane that would be used to lower the sub over Ivana’s deck. That way the A-frame could hook up to it while suspended and lower the sub directly to the deck for stability until they were ready to launch.

  John walked up to the truck's operator, a grey-haired, scientist-type named Jimmy, when he noticed Sophia step out of the passenger side of the truck.

  "I said we could handle it," John said to her.

  "I'm here to supervise."

  John just nodded. It was way too early in the morning to banter with her. Sophia seemed disappointed that he had no retort.

  Two hours later the Troy was safely lashed to the Ivana’s deck. John stood, after cranking down the last deck strap, and he peered inside the sub for the first time.

  "That seat looks a little small," John said.

  "Why do you American's always want something big. Big car, big food, big house. The seat is built for Europeans."

  John sighed. "And here I thought we were getting along. Two hours and not an anti-American statement! I had hoped it was a broader shift in our working relationship."

  Sophia bit her tongue. She realized suddenly what she was doing. Treating him, how she really wanted to treat the man who had just left her. It was unfair. John didn't deserve it. He wasn't her ex.

  "I'm sorry," Sophia said quickly. "I'm not being professional."

  John raised his eyebrows in shock. "I…"

  "Please don't ruin my apology with something sarcastic."

  She had a point. John dropped what he was planning on saying and instead he tapped on Troy's glass.

  "Is this stuff strong enough for where we're going?"

  "Troy's structure has a max depth of 6,000 meters. It was designed specifically to handle these dives."

  Sophia motioned to John to come closer. He stood behind her, and suddenly became aware of their size difference. Her head was at his shoulder height, his width was three times hers. Even though they weren't touching, John was acutely aware of her slender neck and the smallest whiff of fragrance of some kind of berry. Sophia put her thumb up against the glass of the Troy.

  "This is one square inch, about the size of my nail. At 5,000 meters deep,
which is where we will be at the bottom, we will be at 500 atmospheres of pressure, or 500 times more pressure than you feel right now. Basically, right where my nail is, will experience a force in excess of 8,000 pounds."

  Sophia looked up at him behind her and suddenly felt the closeness of their bodies. She stepped out of the shadow of his body. John looked nervous.

  "Can you put that in layman’s terms?" John asked.

  "Imagine that truck's weight," Sophia said, pointing at the truck that had carried Troy, "pressing down on the space where my nail was. That's what the bubble will experience."

  "Sweet Jesus. You're not making me feel any better!" John said trying to grin.

  "It will be fine. But since you are diving with me, we must go over the safety procedures. Can you do that now?"

  "I can't today, I have sonar calibration, the dynamic positioning system reboot, the list is endless. I won’t get done till 7."

  "I understand, but we dive tomorrow morning. Let’s meet for dinner at 7:30 at the Pink Coconut and we can go over everything then."

  John was stunned. "Um yeah, sounds good."

  "See you then," Sophia said.

  Sophia walked up the dock knowing exactly what she had just done. She had invited him on a date. She was already formulating what to wear, but another side of her was asking: what are you doing? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result! Was she insane? Another American yachtie? Green, she decided. Her green sundress made her eyes pop, and it hugged her curves like wet tissue paper. That would make him pay attention.

  Chapter 102

  John struggled to keep his jaw from dropping when Sophia walked into the L’Instant Present restaurant. Sophia looked like a magazine cutout. An emerald green sundress stuck to her body like it was tailored around each of her small curves. Her hips flared out and the dress struggled to contain them until it tapered back to her tan legs and simple rope flip flops. There wasn’t a person in the restaurant that missed her.