Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

of the dead are not satisfied with the initial investigation and have been reaching out to several news stations in several countries. In turn, the bad publicity is hitting the cruise line hard, so they want us to investigate,” Cutler explained.

“Christ, a cruise line asking us for help. Never thought I’d see the day,” Tuck replied.

“Put Basmati on your case, but get him some backup, as he’s not a muscle man,” Cutler ordered.

“I know a guy in Nassau, used to work for the local drug enforcement. Trained by us and now freelance. His name is Nathan Colton, an African American. He’s a big black guy, and he’s good in a situation,” Tuck announced.

“If you are recommending him, that’s good enough for me. Get him on a flight as soon as possible. Pay him his standard contract rate, and we’ll evaluate later whether he would be an additional asset to the team if he wants a full-term contract.” Cutler hung up, and called Cheryl.

“Hi, Max, what do you need?”

“Fabienne has been on the line; evidently, there was an incident last month. A lifeboat exploded, seven dead crew. Jon Deloitte, the chief executive of Jules Verne Cruise Line, has asked us to investigate the incident. Fabienne says she believes the company’s insurers are baulking at a multimillion-dollar payout to the families of the deceased, and pressure from bereaved families.” Cutler relayed.

“Yes, I heard about that on CNN news report,” Cheryl replied.

“The internal investigation was flawed, and no conclusions were drawn, although the report stated ‘accident’. Appears my old recruiter, Wyatt Rockman, is an advisor to the insurance company and passed our names over as ‘a company they could deal with’,” Cutler quoted Fabienne.

“Not what we precisely set up to do, Max. We wanted to investigate the failings in these companies, not work for them,” Cheryl said, a little irritated.

“Doesn’t matter how we get to the outcome; the end goal remains the same. Same horse, different jockey,” Cutler replied.

“What do you need me to do?” Cheryl asked.

“Send Stahmer over to Genoa where the ship is berthed for the next few days. Also, send Ghislaine, as some of the crew don’t speak English, and he’ll need a translator.”

“What about Tuck?” she inquired, knowing she was being kept out of whatever he was doing at the moment. Even though they were lovers, she would never compromise him by asking him directly.

“Tuck is on other duties at the moment,” Cutler replied.

“I know that Max; we’re partners, and we’re supposed to know what operations are going on. Keeping me in the dark is unlike you, so I can only assume the job has something to do with my husband’s case,” she continued, as Cutler grimaced at the words. My husband.

“Cheryl, I’ll let you know when we know something. Let Tuck get on with his job, and as soon as I have something to tell you, I will, but not before. See you when I get back, our plane from Liverpool goes in an hour,” Cutler stressed, before switching the phone to flight mode.

Tuck showered. Before he had time to dry off, his phone rang again.

“Hi, Tuck. Stahmer here.”

“I know who it is. I don’t know anyone else in the world with an accent like that.”

“Ah, very droll, Tuck. Anyway, I think you need to get your butt out here, a car has pulled up outside the Hilton residence, the men don’t look friendly.”

“On my way in five minutes,” Tuck replied and pressed ‘end’.

Tuck contacted Nathan Colton, who had just finished two slugs of local rum; what he called lunch. Colton was happy to get the contract and said he would be on the next plane bound for Miami, and should be with him before morning.

No more than half an hour had passed when Cheryl was ready to leave. She quickly tidied the crumpled sheets and bedspread, and went to turn off the television, when a breaking news headline caught her eye.

“Terrorist attack at Liverpool John Lennon airport. Twelve persons confirmed dead at the scene. Local police and army are at the airport,” the scrolling news bar at the bottom of the screen displayed.

Cheryl desperately tried to phone Cutler back, but received only the automated answer message.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Werner sat in his palatial villa; it was one of a pair of grand buildings sited next to each other at the highest point accessible by road on a hill overlooking the semi-circular bay of Akbuk, Turkey. The slope was like most hills around the area, strewn with olive groves and stone-domed, covered water wells. If you removed the sporadic villas, it would have looked the same as it had a thousand years ago. The general area was known as Didim, and was situated between Bodrum and Altinkum.

The area had been chosen with care, both for its beautiful panoramic view and the isolation from the major resorts: Kusadasi to the north, and Bodrum and Marmaris to the south. The resorts were densely populated, and there was the possibility of Werner being recognized.

The journey to Akbuk had not been comfortable. Bauer had purchased an American Winnebago for the trip. At some eight yards long and three yards high, it encompassed a large double bed so Werner could rest on the trip. There was an equipped kitchen with a new blender purchased to turn Werner’s food from solid to a more liquid state. There was also a fully stocked first aid cupboard jam-packed with antibiotics and sterilizing equipment to neutralize the infections.

Bauer had driven the Winnebago across the German border into France near Strasbourg, as there was less of a police presence in this area. They were expecting him to try to cross into Austria or Switzerland, according to information supplied by Delegate Frau Uebering.

Bauer had needed a rest break when they arrived at Chamonix, the French ski town nestled below