Night Moves (Doc Ford) - By RandyWayne White Page 0,78

things in common, like you said. For instance, I have a lot of contacts in Central and South America—Cuba as well. I suspect you know that’s true.”

Yes, Diemer knew. He gestured in a way that said I’m listening while he removed his wire glasses and cleaned them.

“I’m a biologist, you fly for Swissair. Fine. Doesn’t really matter what we do for a living, but traveling is easier—and a hell of a lot safer—if a person has trusted assets scattered around. That’s what I have to trade—information when and if I can help you out. A month from now, five years from now, all you have to do is call.”

Diemer misinterpreted the offer—intentionally, I guessed. “Intelligence,” he said carefully. “Information provided by contacts from the National Security Agency? I’m confused about what you are asking in return.”

“No,” I said. “Just me. If you’re in a jam, I’ll give you a name or a contact number that might be helpful. I have nothing whatsoever to do with government agencies. Let’s make that clear.”

“Of course,” the Brazilian replied, said it the way it is always said by people in the black ops business. “And what do you want from me?”

I told him, “The man we’re talking about—the guy who offered me ten thousand dollars, then just threatened to kill me?—he’s Cressa’s brother-in-law. I don’t doubt he’s actually interested in Flight 19. Even a novice producer like him, a piece on those missing planes might sell to a cable network. Maybe even get him a deal for a guy’s adventure series. He owes his father a lot of money, apparently, but he’s also mentally unstable—a head injury puts him in and out of institutions. Two days before he made his offer is when my two friends and I were almost killed.”

Say something like that to most people, they will ooh and ahhh, then press for the gruesome details. Not Diemer. He tilted his head as if to declare neutrality, then responded, “An experienced man would handle the matter himself.”

“Do what, invite him outside to fight?” I said. “Don’t piss in your own pond—it’s a saying we have. If I did something about this, I’d have to leave the country. That’s why I need an outsider with the right skills to help.”

The Brazilian gave me an indignant look. “If you’re asking me to . . . eliminate your threat, the idea is stupid.” He spread his hands to indicate my lab, the stilthouse, everything I owned, and explained, “You couldn’t afford the minimum price that”—he caught himself—“that people say such work requires. From an expert technician, not some ‘Yo, dude’ viciado, a drug addict from a ghetto.”

The man, getting impatient, sat back in his chair. “This is a dangerous subject. Even to discuss such a thing is . . . well, here, you like old sayings? Pull the trigger, and you can never stop the bullet. Understand my meaning? Go to the police, Dr. Ford, that’s my advice. I can’t help you.”

When I replied, “That’s exactly what I plan to do,” I watched his impatience transition into curiosity. “Tonight,” I added. “I want to scare the brother-in-law off this island before someone really gets hurt. To make it happen, I need evidence the guy is making illegal videos of Cressa while she’s with male visitors. She’s been protecting the guy, so it’s better if she doesn’t know what’s up. This is a wealthy little town, and the local cops don’t tolerate the blackmailer types. Approach them in the right way, with the right evidence, there’s a chance they’ll run the guy off without arresting him. Everything nice and quiet and my problem’s solved.”

“He actually is filming her?” Now Diemer was interested, probably because there was a chance his visit had been documented by a camera.

“His name’s Dean Arturo,” I said, “but he also uses ‘Luke Smith.’ He sets up cameras outside her house and the pool area. Three cameras that I’ve seen, all activated by laser trip wires or sensors. With that many sensors, it’s likely that he appears in some of the footage—a shot that proves it’s him, that’s what I need.”

“Then he is blackmailing the woman.”

“In a way. I think the brother-in-law trades the videos to Cressa in exchange for protecting him, probably gives him money, too. When she doesn’t play by his rules—and it’s happened only once that I know of—the guy punishes her by delivering a DVD anonymously to her husband.”

“If she was filmed in bed with another man,” Diemer countered,

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