Dark Vessel (COIL Book 4), page 22
A new plan began to take form. I wouldn't wait to capture Forglade. His time was over now. Coleman might never show, but if he did, I'd be ready.
Starting my descent, I went down the hill from the lighthouse to the town. Under my arm was my telescope. God had proven Himself in me that evening by saving me from my own depraved ideas. Now, I would prove myself for Him, as His servant and laborer once again.
Agent Corban Dowler was back. And I was ready for battle.
*~*
Chapter 36
I woke the next day around noon. It was the most sleep I'd had in days. The gentle rocking of my forty-foot Bavaria sailboat anchored in the bay hadn't bothered me. For years, I'd slept in the best and worst conditions. More than anything, I attributed my rest of body to my rest of spirit. Remaining in God's will was paramount. Where unease had persisted, I was now enveloped in a calm surety of my Lord's hand on my mission. This was no longer about me.
My brown hair was shaggy again, but I kept a baseball cap pulled low over my forehead. If General Forglade used binoculars on the residents in the bay, I guessed he wouldn't recognize me with a slimmer midsection and slightly hollow cheeks.
In the galley, I drew fresh pineapple from the fridge and marlin steaks I'd bought the night before. Chewing slowly, I read from Psalm 120, a prayerful song of deliverance. My body needed to be in the right condition for what lay ahead, but so did my soul. How easily I'd fallen into darkness! The Lord couldn't use me as a vessel for Himself to my fullest potential when I disregarded His purposes. Yes, I'd still grieve for my family, but there was work to be done. Dark hearts that had nearly drowned me would go after others. They had to be stopped from killing the innocent, and destroying more lives. I'd been distracted from COIL business long enough!
Using the mirror in my stateroom head, I glued a droopy dark mustache onto my upper lip. My suntanned face with the mustache gave me a Mediterranean look, I guessed, or even Latino. St. Barts was part of the European Union as a French collective. Maybe I was now French. So be it.
On deck, I busied myself for ten minutes, re-rolling the mainsail and tightening the halyards. Meanwhile, I examined the shoreline. I was anchored midway up the peninsula, in the middle of the harbor. Though I couldn't see Forglade's cottage behind other residences, I could see the shoreline all around me. If someone were paying me particular attention, I didn't notice. The Bavaria had been at anchor for two weeks, since I'd sailed from Guadeloupe two hundred kilometers southeast. The boat wasn't new to the locals, or to the general, if he'd noticed it at all.
By means of an inflatable dinghy, I motored to shore. I had everything I needed in my vest pockets for the next stage of my new plan. Under the shadow of a bell tower clock, I exercised my French to rent a bicycle. The manager, a lad of fifteen, tempted me with every sinister and forbidden sin available in the shadows of Gustavia, but I paid him in euros for the bike and ignored his offers.
Riding the single speed bicycle, I first went up Rue de la Republique, away and across from the general's cottage. I was getting into character—smiling and waving, just being a citizen. For two weeks, I'd been the definition of an island castaway on the hillside, squatting in the bushes with a telescope, my heart hardening. Now, I was a French tourist, from Bordeaux, vacationing on my country's island territory. If anyone checked with the harbormaster, they'd find my sailboat registered to a dummy corporation out of Costa Rica. It would tell no one anything about Corban Dowler.
After I'd passed Shell Beach, I turned around and rode back into town. At the next available right, I sped down the end of the harbor toward the peninsula. Having watched the town for days, I knew well the local dangers—there were none. No US agents lurked, no government vehicles sped around with tinted windows. This was Gustavia, the ancient heartbeat of the Caribbean. The only risk was if it were discovered who I really was, and that was unlikely.
Next, I turned onto the straight road that ended at La Pointe of the peninsula. Slowing my speed, I sat up straighter, enjoying the sights as a tourist would. One, two, three, four—there was Forgalde's cottage. I dared not stop, or even pretend to crash, or visit with the locals in view of his windows. This was a man in hiding, paranoid already from years of clandestine maneuvers. He was a general, not someone to be trifled with—until I was ready.
Near the end of the road, I parked my bike in the small parking lot of the St. Barts Municipal Museum, which I knew from a brochure it also housed a library. It was a two-story building of stone, recently refurbished. I looked out at the mouth of the bay and saw a Predator speedboat arriving in town, motoring slowly toward the dockyard. Now that I wasn't up by the lighthouse watching the whole island, I couldn't analyze everyone coming and going. But I knew this motorboat was new, the driver unseen in the cockpit. So much for thinking there were no risks on the island. An unidentified stranger definitely raised my danger meter.
Having stalled long enough in the lot of the museum—with only one car in sight—I pedaled east, then took a right to cut behind the general's house. I knew the road led to the local military presence, the building founded on the site of old Fort Oscar, overlooking the sea.
I kept my chin down as I pedaled slowly up the lane. Someone opened a window on my right. A man used a handsaw to trim bushes on my left. Casually, I waved at him and he waved back. The islanders had nothing to worry about. But little did they know, a killer hid in their midst. True, I'd been selfishly dwelling on the loss of my own family, but now I thought of Flight 524 and that terrible loss of life. Forglade and Coleman had been behind those deaths and they would soon meet their justice in prison.
While applying the brakes, I took one final look around. There were a couple of dark windows on my right, but I saw no faces. Forglade's cottage was on my left. I drove the bike straight into an untrimmed shrub. With my transportation sufficiently hidden, I darted to the side of the house. Dark windows were on both sides of me. It had been years since I'd darted anywhere like this, due to my heavier midsection. But with the recent loss of weight, I felt lighter and more limber, even younger.
Edging my face up to the window, I realized with some anxiety that they weren't darkened windows at all, but were covered on the inside with tinting paper. Someone could still see out, but it would be impossible to make out details through the tint when looking in. There was a light on inside, but that was all I could see.
Ducking under the window, I approached the back door. Everything could end right here. One wrong step, and I could be shot. No doubt, Forglade was armed, and he probably wasn't too happy about the flame I'd held to his soaked lap a few weeks earlier, lighter fluid or not. What fugitive with military experience wasn't armed? He'd surely shoot me if he could.
The back door was locked. Kneeling there, I studied the lock, then the frame around the door. Technology on the island was modernized, except for residences. Communication satellites were bountiful, but I'd seen no evidence of alarm systems. Such a small community usually required only a neighborly, watchful eye. If Forglade had an alarm system, it was more sophisticated than I could spot from the outside.
From my right vest pocket, I drew a lock-pick set. The back door knob was an old foreign import, and its tumblers were rusty from twenty or more humid seasons. If Forglade hadn't bothered to change the main lock, I doubted he'd bothered with finer methods of security. It was a sign of arrogance. He was so confident in his own disappearance, leaving no trace behind, that he hadn't taken other precautions. Little did he know, Coleman had betrayed his general location when he thought I was about to die by my own poison. I'd figured out the rest by surveying Gustavia.
I pushed the door inward a crack, and moved aside quickly, my ear tuned for internal noises. Thankfully, no gunshot, no alarm, no footsteps.
Now, from my right pocket, I pulled a tranquilizer pen. I would end Forglade's secret reign in the next few minutes.
After nudging the door a little wider, I noted there was indeed no alarm. But the door hinges squeaked slightly. I couldn't risk opening it too wide. Barely eighteen inches would have to do. Turning sideways, I crawled into a type of coat room. Pivoting around, I eased the door closed, then locked it.
The enemy was in this house, but where? I prayed for calm, and for a heart free of vengeance. This was about justice, safety, and the preservation of life. Blood had been shed. If I weren't careful, my own blood would be next!
Somewhere, a door closed! Maybe it was a drawer. A rumbling of gears? Kneeling there, I felt something in my knees. Was it coming from beneath the floor? How was that possible? The island was volcanic rock. None of the houses had basements. All my days with the telescope on the hill flooded into my mind, searching for some clue that I'd missed. If this cottage had a sublevel, it had been carefully disguised, intentionally hidden.
I rose to my full height and stepped toward an open doorway. There was a dining table with food wrappers I recognized from meals purchased in town. Farther in, I saw the kitchen with a stove and fridge. Moving silently, I walked the length of the kitchen and stopped at a short bar where a rack was filled with French labeled wines.
The living room area was now in view. A sofa and card table were separated by a lamp. The lamp was on and oddly placed close to the window. I studied the scene for a moment, aware that there were two closed doors on my right—bedrooms, I guessed. The lamp was so odd that I couldn't look away. It was a reading lamp, which made it too small to adequately light the whole room. And it was too close to the window to be used by someone on the sofa. Where was Forglade? Had he left the lamp on?
From nights past, I recalled seeing—even through the tinting—the dim lighting that illuminated the window on that side of the house. The light had gone out at odd times, but only for a moment or two. If the light didn't illuminate anything while it was on, then it hid something when it went out. The tinted windows surely had something to do with this mystery; subterfuge was at play.
Moving carefully to the two bedroom doors, I stood with my back to the wall, a door on either side of me. Crouching low, I felt the air moving under each door. It didn't feel like cool air that a basement ventilation system would've produced. Perhaps I'd imagined the gears, or it had been a small tremor in the earth.
Gripping the doorknob on my left, I held my tranq-pen in my right fist. Gently, I turned the door handle and opened it. My senses were on high alert, my body and mind fully rested. But no noise met me, not even a rustle came from inside.
The bedroom light was off. Without moving in front of the door, I glanced inside the room—a bed, dresser, and window facing east. And a suitcase on the floor! The bed wasn't made. A bathroom door stood ajar, a small sink visible. But no Forglade.
That left the bedroom on my right, the only other space in the house I'd not seen yet. I closed the first door and adjusted my position for the next. He had to be in the last room. There was nowhere else he could be!
I turned the doorknob and readied myself to lunge inside. Suddenly, the lamp near the window went out. With the windows tinted from sunlight, the main room became remarkably dark. And next, the wall on my left began to open! A passageway was revealed! I glimpsed volcanic rock deeper within, but beyond that, I had no time to see anything else as I slipped into the second bedroom to hide. Cringing for fear of making noise, I closed the door behind me. If I couldn't sneak up on my target, then I'd have to hide until I could.
Had I been seen? I glanced over my shoulder to see I was alone in another empty room. Things were rapidly making sense. Of course there hadn't been security around the house. Why protect himself in an empty house when Forglade could simply enter an underground vault to hide? The light near the window now made sense, too, and the grinding of gears in the floor. The lamp was wired to turn off automatically when the hidden vault was about to open. That shrouded the room in shadows if anyone happened to be peeking through a window. And when Forglade was in the vault, the light came on, giving just enough indication that someone might be home. Ingenious!
Gears shook the foundation again, then ceased. The lamp blinked on, evidenced by lamplight shining dimly under the door that I hid behind. Footsteps on the floor! Were they coming toward me? No, they were going to the kitchen. I heard water running in the sink. Was it Forglade? Could there be others in the vault with him? That was certainly possible.
The unknowns caused me to pause. I couldn't tranquilize the man in the house. What if it wasn't him and I showed my hand? No one knew I was on the island, or alive for that matter. My secrecy was also my security.
A man hummed in the kitchen. He was cooking, I realized, when an exotic aroma wafted into my hiding place.
Thus, I waited. As a cautious spy, I couldn't close my net without knowing the angles. An underground vault changed everything. Forglade wasn't hiding in a standard cottage. This was a safe house, and such a gem wouldn't be only one man's secret. Forglade wasn't alone, even if I'd seen only him coming and going from the dwelling.
I had underestimated my enemy.
*~*
Chapter 37
Early the next morning, I was back on the brushy hillside with my telescope. The day before hadn't been a complete waste. True, I'd stood trapped in the empty bedroom for hours, but near sundown, the person who'd cooked the meal went back into the sublevel vault, and I'd slipped out through the back door to my bicycle.
Now, I studied the cottage with this new insight. In weeks past, I'd watched for people and approaches, as well as Forglade's movements. But I was tempting death if I missed again what should've been obvious to me earlier.
The cottage appeared perfectly rectangular from the outside. But inside, I should've noticed there was no apparent door behind the kitchen to access that space. Noticing such a fact would've saved me from standing around for hours.
From my vantage point on the hill, I noticed other things, and I pushed my mind past the sickening feeling of nearly making a fatal blunder—to focus with renewed intrigue on the blossoming puzzle before me.
The cottage directly east of Forglade's was remarkably close to it, as if the two had once been attached. Was there a passage underground that allowed Forglade to access the other cottage? Maybe under disguise, he'd even left from the other cottage. I hadn't paid much attention to the traffic there! And there'd indeed been traffic, now that I thought about it. Two or three natives—or so I'd assumed they were native Gustavians—had even gone fishing off La Pointe!
Just as perplexing, next to the second cottage was a satellite all but hidden in the tree next to it. From the ground, the dish probably couldn't be seen, but now that I knew the second cottage was probably joined underground to the other, that satellite could have special significance to Forglade's business on the island, or it might at least explain why he wasn't leaving the island. He was in contact with someone or something.
Suddenly, there was movement on the slope below me. Several paths led to the lighthouse. I could see them all, but no one was in sight. Yet someone had definitely been there an instant earlier, maybe crossing one of the paths, then moving into the bushes. Was one of the island boys spying on me? I'd ventured into the enemy's abode; it would be naive of me to write off a potential enemy. Forglade himself might know I was on the island—or at least that he was being stalked. Someone had evidently noticed. Assassins could be closing in on me.
Swinging my telescope to the water, I studied the area where my boat was anchored. It was my refuge of security, my only base of operations for the whole island. At the moment, there was no movement on board and it appeared undisturbed.
Folding up the tripod legs and tucking the scope inside my vest, I rose to my feet and immediately jogged east, down the spine of the island. I expected a silenced round to slash the shrubs around me, but I wasn't attacked. Had my enemy's noose not been sufficiently prepared? This changed everything. Forglade might relocate, if he knew someone on the island was onto him. It could possibly impact my primary hunt for Coleman, and my family's murderer would go free. And I had no immediate contingency. How foolish I'd been!
Still moving east as I left the vicinity, I moved around several red-roofed houses that sat above the town. A dog in a villa barked at me as I ran through low trees that scratched me, but I was quickly beyond the residence.
A small ridge gave me an elevated view of my backtrail. Not three heartbeats later, I spotted movement. Someone was actually tracking me, hunting me! Did they know who I was? My droopy mustache and shaggy hair wasn't a very elaborate disguise. I didn't wait around to be recognized, but soon, I'd run out of island. What then? Swim to the next volcanic island in the Lesser Antilles? The sharks would probably get me if I didn't drown first. No, I had to get back to my sailboat. Or did I? If someone had followed me that morning when it was still dark, he'd probably seen me leave the boat. The boat could've already been wired with explosives—by a scuba diver approaching on the stern!
I growled at myself. Now I was thinking crazy things, jumping to paranoid conclusions on little evidence. My emotions from the past month had made me pursue wild ideas already. It was taking time to settle back into my role as God's protector of His children.
Kneeling suddenly on the ground, I prayed through my panting breath. God was with me. He would guide me—one of His children. My heart was no longer filled with hatred for these killers. Now my pursuit was justice for my family, and a return to COIL where God had purposed for me to serve. COIL needed me, yes. Whichever enemy came after me now would get my fullest attention since my family couldn't be leveraged against me. They were already dead and I was alone. And since I was alone, I would use that liberty against my foes. Death wasn't my enemy. What else could they take from me?
