Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

53

The next morning, we were on a fishing boat captained by a very large man named Rex. I learned that ten years ago, he had been the strongest man in the Bahamas and had twice competed in the Olympics.

Watching him pilot the Hatteras named The Dead Reckoning with arms the size of howitzers, I decided against a mutiny.

The sky was a light blue and nearly cloudless. I considered the subtleness of the sea, knowing there was treachery hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure.

We were more than halfway to the Exumas, the ship making good time at forty knots an hour, which I understood meant fifty miles. Hawk and I had taken a run on the beach that morning. He didn’t mention his night, and I didn’t ask. We did one hundred push-ups, sit-ups, and a series of squat jumps on and off a concrete piling. We finished with a fast three-mile jog along the beach and back along the one-lane road. Stay sharp. Be sharp.

I cooked us bacon and eggs with black coffee before we met up with Godfrey and Rex. Rex wasn’t much of a talker, more of a grunter, as I assisted untying the ropes from the moorings and pushed us off. Hawk went below, where we’d stowed our guns, and returned, handing me a Browning nine-millimeter. It was nearly identical to the one I had back home, although this one didn’t appear to have ever been fired. Hawk had a Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum pistol slung over his shoulder.

“Any grizzlies on these islands?” I said.

“Never know.”

“Steiner better not whip it out,” I said. “Only a smoking crater would be left.”

“Damn shame.”

“Think we’ll learn anything today?”

“Nope,” Hawk said. “Big house. Nice beach. We shouldn’t get too close.”

“I’d hate to ruin the surprise.”

“Ain’t no surprise,” Hawk said. “Me and you know that. Only surprise is us showing up with Godfrey and his people.”

“How good is Godfrey?”

“Remember me telling you about the Sudan?”

I nodded. Hawk rarely shared details of what he did outside Boston.

“Godfrey was there,” Hawk said.

“What about Rex?”

“Don’t know about Captain Rex,” Hawk said, looking up to the pilothouse. “I heard he could bench-press this boat.”

“Might be useful,” I said.

“No doubt,” Hawk said.

I ejected the magazine from the Browning. I checked the rounds, slammed it home, and racked the slide to chamber a round, then placed it into a side compartment in my shorts. Susan had always hated the shorts, saying I looked like a suburban dad. I always told her only if suburban dads were holding extra bullets.

The closer we got to Bonnet’s Cut, AKA Pedo Island, the choppiness intensified. It reminded me of why after I left Holy Cross, I’d enlisted in the Army and not the Navy. Seated across from me, Hawk grinned as my face possibly turned green.

I held firm and tried to find land. If I could see land, I knew my stomach would settle.

“Godfrey packed us some sandwiches,” he said.

“No, thanks.”

“Nice and calm out here,” Hawk said. “Barely feel a thing.”

The bow cut into the waves, rocking the ship up and down. Hawk continued to smile.

I saw land. My stomach settled. Twenty minutes later, Godfrey appeared from belowdeck and handed me a pair of binoculars.

“Rex will get as close as he can,” he said. “There’s a long pier and a small marina for pleasure crafts. Steiner keeps a yacht in Nassau. He brings his guests in from there.”

“Do you know if he’s back now?” I said.

Godfrey nodded. “He’s back,” Godfrey said. “With a white woman with short black hair.”

“Poppy,” Hawk said.

Rex slowed the engines to a chug, maybe three or four hundred meters from shore. The beach stretched the entire length of the skinny cay. The cay had a humped back full of vegetation and the round house on top with a blue dome, as we’d been told. I could see the shimmer off a large oval-shaped pool and four smaller houses descending from the main house. All of them fashioned of stucco and mosaic tile, appearing more Greek than Caribbean. We continued south along the western shore and away from the island for thirty minutes before cutting through another string of small islands and doubling back.

Rex kept the Hatteras moving slow and easy, just some businessmen from Milwaukee out for a nice day of fishing, as we headed north again, this time along the eastern shore of Bonnet’s Cut. On this side of the island, we got within a few hundred yards of the long wooden pier and four boat slips. There was a stone staircase with several terraced gardens on the way up to the main house. From this side, I saw two more outbuildings, making six in total.

I didn’t use the binoculars until we’d gone well past. Godfrey pointed out the rocky tip that would make the best landing. It was a jagged jetty of sharp rocks but far enough from the pier and main house to slip onto the grounds.

“You can take a dinghy ashore and stow it just beyond the rocks,” Godfrey said. “I’m also working on getting us some help on the island.”

“What’s the layout inside the house and the outbuildings?” I said. “Where are the guards?”

“Patience, my friend,” Godfrey said. “Have someone for you to meet tonight.”

I looked to Hawk. He nodded.

Godfrey waved to Rex, and he pulled hard on the throttle. The engines whined and hummed as we headed from whence we came.

“You in a rush to get back to Cat Island?” I said.

“I always take my time,” Hawk said.

“If Ruger’s there,” I said. “He’s mine. Okay?”

Hawk grinned. The boat rocked up at time. “Wouldn’t have it no other way.”