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Even under these circumstances it was hard not to be impressed. There was a lot of high-gloss wood and polished brass. Fresh flowers in vases. The furniture was perfectly restored Biedermeier. Couches and comfy chairs were upholstered in the ship’s colors of navy and gold.
Salzar was waiting for us in the salon. He was at a writing desk. A laptop and a mug of coffee sat to one side on the desk. Puke Face stood behind Salzar. There were two chairs in front of the desk.
“Be seated,” Salzar said. As if this was some friendly little meeting. Like maybe he was a mortgage broker. Or a marriage counselor.
Hooker slouched into his chair and smiled at Salzar. “Nice boat.”
“Thank you,” Salzar said. “It’s quite unique. Calflex is very proud of it.”
“Nice of you to invite us on board,” Hooker said.
This got a weird little cat-playing-with-the-mouse smile from Salzar. “You have something that I very much desire. I’ve been on your boat. The object that I desire isn’t there. And I’ve just received a call from my associate. The object isn’t in Richard Vana’s house. And it isn’t in the Mini Cooper. So I have to assume you’ve hidden this object.”
“What object are we talking about?” Hooker asked him.
“A canister. Red cone. Black-and-green stripe. Sound familiar?”
“We turned that over to the navy when we arrived,” Hooker said.
Salzar shifted his eyes to an aide by the door, and the aide left the room. “That would be unfortunate,” Salzar said. “That would make me unhappy. And it would mean I’d have to torture you for no good purpose. Other than pleasure, of course.”
“What’s so special about this canister?” Hooker asked him.
“It’s filled with fear,” Salzar said, smiling again. “And fear is power, isn’t it?”
The aide returned and shook his head, no.
“My source tells me the canister was never delivered to the navy,” Salzar said. “You might want to rethink your answer.”
“Your source is wrong,” Hooker said.
Salzar hit a button on his laptop and a photo appeared on the screen. He turned the laptop so Hooker and I could see the photo. It was a picture of Maria. Her hair was lank and stuck to her face. She had a swollen lip and a bruise just under her left eye. She was looking into the camera, and she was spewing hatred.
“This picture was taken earlier this morning,” Salzar said. “The chopper picked up the Sunseeker leaving the island. Infrared technology is so helpful. It allows you to see all sorts of things, like people and very dense cargo such as gold bricks. Bottom line is, we followed Bill and Maria to Port Royal and paid them a visit. My men found the gold, but unfortunately, not the canister. As you can see, we gave Maria an opportunity to share with us, but it turned out she didn’t have much to share. Now you have a similar opportunity.” He leaned forward on the desk. The line of his mouth compressed, and his pupils shrank to pinpoints. “I want that canister. I’ll stop at nothing to get it. Nothing. Do you understand?”
Hooker and I didn’t say anything.
“I have another picture you might enjoy,” Salzar said. “The resolution isn’t as good as I’d like…picture phone quality. Still, I think it’s a compelling photo.” He clicked on an icon and a second photo filled the screen. It was Bill, sprawled on a carpeted floor, bleeding. He’d been shot in the upper arm and chest. Hard to tell if he was dead or alive.
I heard someone sob. I guess it was me. And then Hooker reached over and grabbed my wrist and squeezed. And that was all I felt. Hooker at my wrist. No thoughts in my head. No emotion. Just Hooker squeezing my wrist. How’s that for a defense mechanism? Can I do denial, or what?
There was absolute silence in the room. Time stood still for several moments. And then the silence was pierced by a siren. Everyone stood, me included. My first thought was police siren, but the siren was internal to the ship.
Salzar closed the laptop and handed it over to Puke Face. The door to the salon was opened, and aides were running outside the salon. The siren stopped and the captain came on over the intercom.
“We have a fire below decks. All guests are advised to leave the ship.”
Salzar moved from behind the desk. “Hugo, you come with me. Roger and Leo, take Ms. Barnaby and Mr. Hooker to shore and see that they’re safely transported to the garage.”
Smoke was beginning to seep into the salon, so we all migrated to the sundeck at the stern. Before we could get to the stairs, there was an explosion below decks and the lower deck was engulfed in flames. Salzar and Puke Face moved forward along the outside rail and were swallowed up in black billowing smoke. The smoke roiled around us, and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air. Hooker had picked me up and sailed me out over the rail like a Frisbee.
I splashed down and immediately kicked myself up to the surface. Hooker was a couple feet away.
“Swim for shore,” he yelled at me.
I did a couple strokes and an RIB pulled up to me. It was Todd. He dragged Hooker and me into the RIB and took off. I was choking on smoke and seawater, holding on for dear life as the RIB bounced through the chop. There were a lot of boats in the area now. Emergency vehicles screaming in the distance. The shoreline was filling up with gawkers. Todd aimed for a small sand beach away from most of the traffic. He rammed the RIB aground, and we splashed to shore.
“I have the Mini parked close by,” he yelled. And we ran after Todd.
