Night Moves (Doc Ford) - By RandyWayne White Page 0,64

that is typical of sailors. I heard the door of the master stateroom open, and didn’t hear anything else until the shower curtain rustled against my nose. The Brazilian had pushed a volume of air as he came into the room toward me but then stopped abruptly at the bathroom door.

He’s an articulate, precise man, Bernie Yeager had warned. If true, Diemer might have stopped because he noticed something different about the shower curtain. I shifted the flashlight from my left hand to my right and held it like a dagger.

“Humph.” Diemer said it with the descending inflection of a person who is puzzled. It suggested, yes, he had noticed the curtain. Now he was probably backtracking his steps that morning, visualizing his movements after exiting the shower. I would have done the same.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the curtain, I raised the flashlight to waist level, palm up—it would add the torque and lift needed if I used it to drive the Brazilian’s nose into his skull. And I would if he found me. What happened afterward, I didn’t want to explore, but couldn’t block the obvious: I might have to kill a man to cover the minor crime of trespassing. Sobering . . . No, I was sickened by the thought, never mind that Diemer might also kill me. One was as bad as the other, I realized in that instant. Either way, life in Dinkin’s Bay as I knew it would be over. Grab the false passports, pack a few things, then flee to Central America, where at least I’d be closer to my son. Or Cuba—a government in chaos that might welcome someone like me.

Dumbass!

The prospect of ending my years on Sanibel this way, because of my own stupid misjudgment, was as distressing as falling from the sky in an airplane. There was nothing I could do now, though, but let it play out.

Focus, I told myself. He’s coming.

Like a psycho in some movie, I waited behind the curtain, flashlight gripped, as Diemer voiced puzzlement again—“Humph”—then muttered a Latin profanity that had the ring of surprise. When his feet moved on the varnished wood, I got ready, certain he knew my location, when I heard the man say, “Hello?” Said it in a testing way as if he expected an answer.

I didn’t respond, of course—why make it easy for him? Still crouched, I coiled my body to the right so hips and thighs could generate power when the curtain was thrown open.

Then I heard, “Where are you?”

Why the hell was an elite killer asking me an absurd question instead of taking action? It made no sense until I heard Diemer say, “I didn’t expect you to call,” which is when I realized the profanity he’d muttered was in response to a cell phone vibrating in his pocket.

I released a slow, hushed breath and listened to a one-sided conversation. It was in English, which suggested the call was from somewhere in the U.S. No . . . the call was local because I heard Diemer say, “I see . . . Yes, I see . . . But why so important? Okay . . . yes, yes—I will be there in one minute!”

More Portuguese profanity, but not heated. The Germanic Brazilian wasn’t a man who lost control of his temper. Two staccato zipping sounds also proved his attention to detail—Diemer was confirming the fishing lures were in their case before he closed the door to the stateroom, then galloped up the stairs.

Seconds later, I could hear his footsteps above me, but I wasn’t in the clear yet. Was the jet-set assassin so compulsive that he would actually test the security system before reactivating it? If he did, the mysterious shower curtain would explain why the alarm had been silenced. I had used a portable jamming unit no bigger than a book, set on a frequency that didn’t interrupt cell service—a lucky coincidence that I didn’t fully appreciate until more seconds had passed and I watched the Brazilian exit the boarding ramp, then stride gracefully away from A-Dock.

I needed air, felt a dizzying oxygen debt that couldn’t be replenished until I was off the Brazilian’s damn boat and back in the lab. The logician that steers my behavior argued against abandoning a search I hadn’t yet started. Called me a fool, and explained quite logically that Diemer had probably left to deal with some irritating detail. Afterward, he would hurry straight to Hannah’s boat, eager to enjoy