“You don’t like to be alone,” Kurt said. “You have pathological FOMO, and you won’t want me to have all the fun. And most importantly, after everything Ahab put us through, you want to see him locked up just as badly as I do.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Joe grabbed a mug from Kurt’s cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother with the sugar or milk. “What have you found?”
Kurt gestured to different parts of the evidence board he’d created. “Nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing,” he said. “Except for this.” He pointed to a photo showing Ahab standing next to a tall man with ginger hair and a scruffy beard. “His name is Rand; he’sa South African expat who worked with Ahab on a few things, but ultimately didn’t want anything to do with dumping radioactive waste.”
“Even smugglers have to have standards,” Joe said.
Kurt laughed. “I think his objections came from a place of self-preservation more than morality. He’s something of a germaphobe and that tends to include fear of other invisible things that might hurt you like toxic waste and radioactive material.”
“I like him already,” Joe said, swigging the coffee. “How does he help us?”
“He’s the one who ended up selling Ahab out to the Chinese. Under a significant level of pressure, Gushan was able to pry a few details out of Rand. Including the name of the freighter Ahab was using to haul the toxins. True to his word, Gushan kept it quiet. Rand stayed free. And as far as I know, Ahab never put the puzzle together.”
“So, he’s still out there?”
Kurt nodded. “And I think I know where.”
“Please tell me it’s somewhere warm.”
Kurt tapped the computer screen and clicked on one of the open tabs. An image showing a beautiful white-sand beach, dotted with palm trees and fronting a turquoise bay, filled the screen. A large house with several floors and multiple verandas sat back from the beach. It was partially hidden by the tall palm trees, but several cars could be seen in the looping circular driveway, including the latest version of the Hummer H3 and what appeared to be a pair of matching Ferraris. Several speedboats with fast profiles sat on the beach as if waiting for tourists to come and ask for a ride. An outbuilding that looked like an airplane hangar offered a partially closed roof and a tantalizing glimpse at something white and shimmery inside.
“Is that our hotel?” Joe asked hopefully.
“It’s Rand’s house in the Philippines.”
Joe grumbled at this revelation. “Once again, I find myself in the wrong business.”
“At least with our jobs we don’t have to worry about being shot, blown up, or dragged off to some far-flung prison colony by a hostile government.”
Joe offered a withering stare.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “You’re right. We’re obviously nuts. Are you ready to go?”
“To the beach house in the Philippines?” Joe said. “Sure. When do we leave?”
“As soon as you’re packed,” Kurt said. “I figure all you need are shorts and a couple of T-shirts.”
“I have an image to uphold,” Joe said. “Besides, if this guy Rand happens to be looking for a partner, I’m going to want some sharper attire to interview in. What about Paul and Gamay?”
Kurt expected the situation would end up with some form of direct combat, more like what they’d been through the last time they dealt with Ahab than the dangers the Trouts were used to facing. He shook his head. “It’s not their fight.”
Joe nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
Chapter 48
Despite Joe’s quip about bringing something to interview in, he was happily soaking up the sun in full beach mode within thirty minutes of stepping off the plane.
Kurt had arranged a ride to the marina and the rental of a boat. As they pulled away from shore in a V-hulled boat made for deep sea fishing, Joe was wearing swim trunks, flip-flops, and a faded T-shirt that complemented his quickly darkening tan. A ragged straw hat he’d bought from a vendor on the side of the road kept the sun out of his eyes, while giving him the look of a local, or perhaps a beachcombing surfer hunting for the perfect wave.
As Kurt drove the boat, Joe studied the shoreline through a set of binoculars. Two hours into their journey, he finally laid eyes on Rand’s palatial estate. It appeared even larger when viewed from the sea.
“What do you think?” Kurt said.
“His air-conditioning bill alone would put me out of business,” Joe said.
They were cruising slowly along the coast about a mile offshore. As the bay in front of Rand’s place opened up, Joe watched the wavescurl in from the south. They twisted toward the caramel-colored stretch of sand after rounding an extended point in the rocks, and then broke across a low reef, about two hundred feet from the beach. From there they flattened out, surging forward with far less power until they washed gently up onto the sand.
Joe spotted a man fishing from the rocks. He had a long pole and a cooler beside him, and a hat like Joe’s. Closer in, a pair of men worked on the engine compartment of one of the speedboats. Farther up the beach he spotted an attractive woman lying on the sand under a shade of a palm tree. Despite her beauty, it was the waves that interested him the most.
