Tortugas Rising, Page 2

  “I slap your friend. I get fired. That’s how it works.”

  Steve approached and leaned with his back against the rail next to her. He crossed his arms. The waves of the wake churned faithfully in time to the thumping of the engines.

  “That’s how it works?”

  “My boss is in the salon. Go. Get it over with.” She fought back a tear. After all the glad-handing she had done it was unfair that a latecomer would be the undoing of her career.

  “I’ve heard the limerick, Miss. I’m surprised you only slapped him. He’s limped home from several bars for that one.”

  She lost interest in the waves and turned to Bennett. He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t slim. He looked uncomfortable in his Armani, even though the fit suited him perfectly. There was a reassurance coming from his pale blue eyes that comforted her.

  “You’re not going to have me fired?”

  “I think you’re doing a fine job.”

  She wanted to smile but turned back to the wake “It doesn’t matter. Once my boss hears, he’ll let me go anyway.”

  “No. He won’t.” Steve stood from the rail. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him the limerick.”

  This time she did smile. “You’re not serious?”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “Warren Baxter.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “You are new here.”

  He shrugged and looked away.

  The ferry slowed and sank deeper into the water as the twin hulls settled into the Gulf. Steve was caught off guard and had to grab the rail to maintain his balance.

  She giggled to herself. “Does your friend really have a shirt that says ‘Hooray for Boobies?’”

  “Yes. But he also has one that says ‘No Fat Chicks.’ So it’s a toss-up as to which one he is actually wearing.”

  Katherine smiled. “I’ll take you to Mr. Baxter myself, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Call me Steve.”

  “This way, Steve.” She offered her arm.

  Steve smiled and moved to take her arm, when a movement caught his eye. A wall of water rose from the Gulf. The wash crested the railing of the ferry and found its way deep into the fibers of his new suit.

  Katherine was caught in the deluge as well. Dripping, she rushed back to the railing and shouted after the smaller craft that had caused the splash.

  “What was that?” Steve tried to shake the wetness from his fingertips.

  “Pacifists.” She spat the sarcastic comment from her lips.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s an environmental group. They’ve been protesting the site since before there was even a site.” She pointed and Steve’s gaze followed.

  The boat sped away, but not before Steve caught the middle finger being thrown his way. Two of the men stood on the rear deck. The shorter of the two looked frail and overeducated. He had thrown the finger as he laughed and mocked the wet couple. The second did nothing. This solid figure only stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Steve. As this stocky man locked eyes with Bennett, Steve could swear that over the whine of the smaller boat’s engine, the roar of the sea, and the booming of the diesel-powered water-jets, he heard the man growl.

  “Environmentalist? That guy looks like he could hug a tree into mulch.”

  “We were told that it’s a new group that formed in response to ImagiNation’s plan to build the island chain. That never made sense to me. We say the Tortugas Banks in the literature just for a point of reference. We’re not that close. And, even at that, the reclamation engineers went out of their way not to endanger the reefs or the national park.”

  “He looks like he wants to hurt me.”

  “They buzz the yachts and occasionally play chicken with some of the dredging ships. Aside from this kind of crap,” she shook more water from her hands, “they’re harmless.”

  “I don’t know,” Steve continued to stare at the man in the boat. “They don’t look harmless. You don’t get that big playing hackey-sack.”

  Steve broke the stare and turned to look at Katherine. Her white gown had turned transparent. Blushing, he removed his drenched suit coat and tossed it around her shoulders.

  Puzzled, she looked at him and then made the connection.

  It was Katherine’s turn to blush as she pulled the jacket closed and turned to leave. She turned back. “Thank you, Steve.”

  THREE

  “This is ImagiNation!” With the flair of a practiced showman, carnival barker, or pickpocket, Warren Baxter stood aside the windows of the main salon and presented the man-made islands on the horizon. The applause was inebriated and enthusiastic.

  Paul sipped his drink as he studied the view. From his seat near the bar, he could see seven islands – their man-made nature evident only from water muddied by unsettled sediment. He knew from the website that there were three hundred and ninety-seven others just like them.

  The audience erupted into conversation as everyone clamored to the windows for a better look. Paul remained near the bar as the line thinned out.

  “Where did you put the bags?”

  Paul turned, “Good news, Steve. They thawed out Walt Disney. This guy Baxter and his world of ImagiNation put on quite a show while you were gone.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The bad news is that the name ImagiNation isn’t just a placeholder. He really seems serious whenever he says it. He even looks to the sky when he says it, as if it were a stroke of genius. Other than that he didn’t say anything that wasn’t in the prospectus that Campbell sent us. He just added extra thanks for everybody’s money. You got a personal nod.”

  “It’s not my money.”

  Paul sighed, “It wasn’t your money. And, it wasn’t your investment. But, now it is your money and your investment. These are your islands, man.”

  Steve took the drink from his friend’s hand and drained the glass.

  “You still don’t get it, do you, Steve? You’re rich! Rich beyond belief. You need to start believing it.” Paul ordered another drink. “You’ve got so much money now that your job is to watch your money. And, even at that, there’s too much to watch. Lucky for you, I’m willing to help.” Paul took the drink from the bartender.

  “Lucky me.” Steve took the drink from Paul’s hand and took a sip.

  “You’d better believe it. Do you think I actually enjoy eating the finest foods, driving the fastest cars, and spending my working days traveling to brand-spanking-new paradises? No. I do it for you.” Paul ordered another drink.

  “Thanks.” Steve finished the drink and placed the glass on the counter.

  “The fact that you pay me to do it doesn’t hurt either. But, I’m starting to look at my job as making sure you realize what you have. And, that you start enjoying it. Take the new suit you’re wearing. You can’t be comfortable in that. Hey, you’re wet.”

  “I’m glad your watching out for me.”

  “What happened? You fall overboard?”

  “Never mind. Where are the suitcases?”

  “I’m not really sure. I gave them to some guy and that was several whiskeys ago.”

  “Great. I’m going to go stand on the bow until I dry out.”

  “I’ll join you. I could use a better view of the islands.”

  “Paul? If I was to ask you, as my self-appointed Director of Spending, what you thought of this investment. What would you say?”

  “Steve, it’s brand new dirt. They don’t make this stuff anymore. These islands are going to sell like mad. Forget all this ‘ImagiNation, your imagination is the limit’ crap, and you’ve still got a brand-new paradise, with the very large checks being made out, in part, to Steve Bennett of Delacroix Industries. With a friendly fraction going to me. Plus, it’s a great excuse to drink girlie drinks without feeling all gay.”

  “Just go find the suitcases and bring me another one of my fine new suits. And, tell Baxter I need to speak to him. I’ll be on the bow playing king of the world.” Steve took
Paul’s drink from his hand and walked onto the deck.

  “There’s a bar right here Steve!” Paul ordered a fourth replacement whiskey from the bartender. “Some manners, huh Isaac?”

  “My name is Roger, sir.”

  “Of course it is, Isaac.”

  # # #

  The wind blew cold through his wet clothes. The whiskey was warm in his stomach. And the thought of a multi-billion dollar fortune in his name made him shiver. In the end he felt that they all balanced out.

  “Mr. Bennett?”

  Warren Baxter extended his hand; the smile on his face was broad and genuine. Bennett offered his hand in return.

  “Warren Baxter. I am delighted to finally meet you, Mr. Bennett.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Baxter.”

  “Warren. I insist.”

  “If you say so, Warren.”

  “I do. I hear you wanted to speak to me. And, I wanted to speak with you, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Steve. I insist.”

  “Of course.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Miss Bernelli.”

  “Yes. An unfortunate situation.”

  “I would prefer it if no action was taken against her.”

  “She did slap your friend.”

  “My friend deserved it.”

  Baxter smiled.

  “He told you the limerick, didn’t he?”

  Baxter nodded. “Vulgar but amusing.”

  “So you understand?”

  “Consider the matter closed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Thank you for coming. Your last minute appearance was a pleasant surprise.”

  The conversation devolved into smiling and nodding. Steve was more uncomfortable than ever. He regretted that small talk was something he would have to learn.

  “It’s a nice boat. Ship?”

  “This is nothing. I actually got it off of eBay, would you believe it? An old ferry we had gutted and refurbished at the last moment. Actually, if you can keep a secret, some of the paint is still wet.

  “But, this ship is nothing compared to what you will see over the next couple of days. My dream of heaven on earth has come true on these islands. And you and the other investors have made it happen. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  “It was my father’s investment. Not mine. Though I must say that I am beginning to get excited about it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I can’t wait for you to see it all. The resorts built here are the finest in the world. Rivaling any you may have stayed in.”

  “Well, I would hope so, since up until six months ago I was staying in Super 8’s or anything next to a Shoney’s.”

  “Right, I’m sorry. This must all still be a dream for you.”

  “It’s a little difficult to get used to. I’ve been kind of easing myself into the role of heir.”

  “My boy, you can’t ease yourself in. You have to jump right in. And tonight you will experience the lavish lifestyle you now deserve. The main resort of the central island has no equal. You’ll finally get a taste of the good life, Steve.”

  He forced a smile to match Baxter’s, “That’s great, because so far it’s really just been a lot of paperwork.”

  “A terrible necessity. Tonight you will see the fun side of being filthy, filthy rich.”

  A hostess approached and spoke softly to Baxter.

  “Of course, I’ll be right there.” He turned back to his guest, “Excuse me. I’m needed in the radio room.”

  “Of course.”

  “I look forward to talking later. I’d love to hear more about you and your father.” With this, Warren Baxter, the dreamer behind the islands that now surrounded them, turned and walked back towards the ferry’s bridge.

  “That makes two of us, Warren.”

  Paul came around the corner with a dry suit in one hand and a drink in the other; he almost knocked the older man off of his feet.

  “Ah, Mr. Nelson. Thank you for the amusing story about the girl from Huntsville.”

  “No problem, Baxie.” Paul winked at the hostess as she lead Warren Baxter to the radio room then brought the suit to Steve.

  “Here, I grabbed the other Armani and the fancy pants that came with.”

  “Forget the Armani. I’m pretty sure I packed a pair of Levi’s.”

  “Yes! It’s about time.” As Steve walked away, Paul tore off his suit jacket and shirt and threw them overboard leaving only his ‘Hooray For Boobies!!!’ t-shirt exposed to the bright Gulf sun; it’s glow-in-the-dark design charging for a long night.

  FOUR

  David Jefferson had held the stare until the man in the wet Armani turned away. Confident he had made himself clear, he turned and climbed into the rear seat of the runabout. His large frame dropped deep into the cushion for the rest of the journey back to their ship.

  The Rainbow Connection sat at anchor on the far side of the man-made islands created by Warren Baxter and his myriad investors. The old freighter was a former merchant ship that had spent most of its life crossing the Atlantic. Now it held, not cargo, but men dressed in hemp shirts, cargo shorts and Birkenstocks.

  All it had needed was a quick cleaning and a few hand-painted rainbow flags to suit the new owners who were little more than a website and non-profit form. They had organized in response to the announcement that ImagiNation would undertake the largest land reclamation project in the world. Within weeks of the development’s press release they were steaming towards the project.

  They arrived shortly after the first surveyors, and irritated those plotting the islands with laser pointers. They played chicken with the dredges as the ships tried to empty hoppers full of sediment into the green-blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. And they kept careful records of everything they had seen.

  The ship’s on-board database contained numerous files on everyone who stepped foot on the islands. Terabytes of data stored detailed information on anyone associated with the project: builders, sailors, financiers and more. One file was missing from the ship’s computer.

  “Who’s the punk?” Jefferson asked the man settled in the bench seat next to him.

  “I don’t know.” Conner Fredericks was small and wiry; a camera hung from his neck. “He must be new. I managed to snap a few shots of him before we soaked them. I’ll start putting something together when we get back to the ship.”

  Jefferson’s eyes were cold. “I don’t like not knowing things. These islands are almost finished. Hell, half of them are mostly developed. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “As soon as I get back. I’ll run him through the system. Promise.”

  “No surprises, Fredericks. We’ve waited too long.”

  FIVE

  The islands of ImagiNation rose from the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. Each was elegant and finely cut, shaped and carved from the earth as if struck by a jeweler. The lush vegetation stood in stark contrast to the brown of the mottled water below and the blue sky above.

  Very little development could be spotted from the deck of the ship. What few rooflines that could be seen were obscured behind landscaped clusters of trees.

  The one exception lay directly off the bow. A single island, larger than the rest, was the foundation for a grand hotel. A Mediterranean-style building rose several stories above the flat waters and towered above the surrounding properties.

  “Master Key, the central island, will house our main facilities: the resorts and casino, the spa, shopping and services. There is even a race track on the island.” Katherine stood between the two friends, but leaned closer to Steve as she spoke.

  “Race track?” Steve, finally dry, had, at Paul’s badgering, asked Katherine to give them a personal tour as the yacht sailed through the island chain.

  She nodded, “Road and Track is actually doing a photo shoot there next week.”

  “It must be a popular place.”

  “The hotel itself isn’t set to open for a couple of months. Mr. Baxter insisted t
hat the investors see it before the public.”

  “Are we staying in the hotel? Because, I’m not sharing a room with the rich kid.” Paul threw a thumb at Steve. “He snores.”

  “No, Mr. Nelson, you’re not. But, due to your late arrival you will be asked to share a private villa.”

  “Private villa? I guess I’ll manage.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Steve was lost in the sight of Master Key. “Is it the only completed island?”

  “No. Most of the islands have been completely reclaimed. Only one outer cay is still being formed. Many of the private islands have already been developed.”

  “That’s a lot of tiki huts, Kat.” Paul had slowed his drinking but still leaned on the rail of the ferry for support.

  “Hardly. You should see these estates. Each island is developed by the owner to his or her own personal tastes. Even the shape of the island is customizable. One investor brought a castle from Europe. He’s having it rebuilt stone by stone. He calls it Avalon.”

  “A castle on an island...where do you put the moat?”

  “Many of the investors here are owners. Maybe you should ask them.” Katherine had been happy to agree when Steve asked her for a personal tour. But she had been certain that his friend would have found a cozy bunk to pass out in by now.

  “Maybe I will.” Paul turned to look back into the crowd on the deck. “Avalon, eh? So I just have to figure out which one of these guys would be into his own sister.”

  “This may sound like a stupid question, Katherine. Are any of these islands mine?” Months before the lawyer had simply handed Steve a brochure with a dollar amount scrawled across the top. It didn’t specify what the money had bought. They may have said more but the inheritance had come as such a shock and the paperwork in such a barrage that he couldn’t remember much of what the lawyers had said.

  “Yes. But it’s the final unclaimed island. Your father passed before he finished designing it.”

  “Oh. I guess I’ll be in one of the huts then.”

  “The villas are hardly huts. Each is appointed with the latest technologies, finest linens...”