Part 19 (1/2)
The old man, clad only in a pair of baggy black shorts with skin as leathery and tanned as the sandals he wore, rubbed his head and thought.
”Well, I don't exactly know. But I think I can figure it out.”
”She folio wed him as he walked up the wooden steps to the rental shack and watched him flip open a notebook lying on the counter.
”He was here just after .I rented that pontoon rig ... let's see.
,.yeah seems like I was just getting them folks wrapped up when he came by. Now let's see, what time was that? Seems like it was three, but it coulda been closer to three-thirty ...”
As his clawlike finger skimmed the entries in the book, Tess stopped hearing his muttering, her attention completely distraetexi by the old man, s logbook, with its tight rows of numbers and dates.
The idea formed quickly and she wondered why it hadn't occurred to her sooner. If she could somehow duplicate Selena's journal, she wouldn't have to face her cousins' abductors empty-handed She'd be taking a desperate risk, but what choice did she have?
If the men holding Setena were merely hired thugs, as Reed had suggested, they wouldn't know one set of figures from another. It was worth a try, she decided. If nothing else, at least it would buy precious time. And right now, with the shadows of the giant palms already beginning to lengthen, time was a precious commodity..
If she'd found Reed, or if she'd had any money of her own, she would never have contemplated stealing Oman's logbook. As it was, the only question left now was how to take it without getting caught.
The answer came almost immediately in the form of a van load of tourists.
Orsnan was overjoyed at the sight of them pulling up to his shack.
”Excuse me,” he said ashe left the shack to greet them, ”but these folks reserved a fis.h.i.+ng rig for this evening and I need to help them get aboard.”
Two more' cars pulled up behind the van and Tess knew it was now or never.
With one eye on Oman and the other on the logbook, she picked it up, slid it under her blouse and started walking quickly back in the direction of the bar.
And when the hand clamped over her shoulder, she thought her heart would stop.
Chapter Fourteen.
”Excuse me, but does Mr. Oman know you're borrowing his logbook?”
The large hand planted authoritatively on her shoulder belonged to a tall, sandy-haired American with startling blue eyes and a finn, no-nonsense mouth.
”Well, I--I ... You see, that is ...” Tess stammered as her mind raced to find a plausible excuse. ”Please come with me, Miss. Elliot.”
If she'd been shocked by his sudden appearance, she was even more shocked by the fact that he knew her name, Instinctively she drew back.
”Who are you?” she demanded, clutching the logbook protectively to her chest.
He stared at her, his face pa.s.sive, but at the same time he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her with him toward a small foreign car parked behind the van.
”I wouldn't cause a scene if I were you,” he warned in a low voice.
”The Bodden Town jail is a nasty place for someone as lovely as you to have to spend the night.”
Tess dug in her heels but he continued to pull her forward with enough muscle to convince her that he wouldn't let her go without a full-fledged fight.
”Come on, Tess,” he urged her.
”I'm here to help.” She looked up at him and a vague recognition dawned.
”I know you--that is, I've seen you before, haven't I?”
He smiled.
”You're very observant.”
”Where?”
”At the hotel. I was staying at West Palm when you were. In fact, I was only there because you were, or more correctly, because that's where your cousin was staying.”
”Selena!” she blurted, struggling to break free of his grip.
”You have Selena!”
”No,” he said firmly.
”But I wish I did. Now get in the car, Tess.
And I'll tell you how your government is prepared to help you.”
Tess couldn't have been more surprised if the man sitting next to her in the rental ear had said he was King Neptune, just arrived from Atlantis.
As it was, her mouth fell open and she moved like a sleepwalker as he opened the car door and ushered her inside.
As her mind reeled with a thousand questions/ he produced a small leather ease. With a flick of his wrist it opened to reveal a silver badge and an official pie ture, identifying him as Nicholas Talbot, special agent, United States Government.
REED'S HUNCHES had paid off. At the open-air market in town he'd found lots of friendly locals who'd directed him to the home of the young man they referred to as ”Paolo.” Whether it was his first name or his last, Reed couldn't be sure, and at the moment didn't care. BUT that Paolo was widely known and widely disrespected had been clear.
”That would he him,” an elderly woman had said, nodding her gray head as she arranged colorful straw hats in her shop.
”He's a curse on him mother,” she'd declared.
”He's in jail more than he's at that mt's nest he calls home. And while his father is out fis.h.i.+ng, he's in Georgetown gambling away the family's money.”
Another local had confirmed the old woman's opinion of Paolo, remarking that as far as he knew, the best place to find Paolo was either in jail or just getting out. But the information that Reed found most interesting was the fact that Paolo had been seen lately driving a secondhand limousine.
After calling West Palm to check in with Gertie and Jake,” Reed headed out to confront Paolo. Armed with a pocketful of Cayman money and the impression' that Paolo would do anything for a fast buck, Reed rode the motorcycle to the outskirts of town where the dusty side road headed north.
Paolo's shack, if Reed had found the tight one, was a gra.s.s hut with trash piled outside the front door almost to the thatched roof.
”Charming,” he muttered to himself as he got off the bike and stood stating at the squalor.
A rusted out '55 Chevy, missing a hood and an engine, sat like a hulking steel corpse on blocks in the front yard. Approaching the house cautiously, Reed gambled that the absence of a road worthy vehicle meant Paolo was no tat home.