The Devil and the Deep Blue Spy Read online

  Ralph changed the picture on the screen to Mary Ross’s charcoal sketch of a handsome, dark-haired man with blazing dark eyes above a strong nose and full lips. Nora got an impression of overwhelming virility and sensuality, heightened by his trim mustache and goatee, and she could tell that the artist was in love with her subject. In the bottom right corner, Mary had written the letter D in quotation marks above her scrawled signature.

  “This sketch is the reason we’re here today,” Ham said. “The next-door neighbor thinks it might be the man she’d seen entering the house a couple of times. We ran it through our facial recognition system and found two possibles. One was a Puerto Rican drug dealer and bank robber—in Miami. We got excited about that until we learned that he’s been locked away in Raiford for the last three years. The other hit was more promising, and more worrying.”

  Nora’s attention was drawn to her husband. Jeff had leaned forward, studying the charcoal drawing with great interest.

  “I know this face,” he said. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “Yes, you have,” Ham told him. “You’ve seen it on our website, or on any board at Langley and in the field stations. Not Mary’s sketch, of course, but a police artist’s sketch from a victim’s description. There aren’t any photos of him that we know of. He’s been in our POI bulletins for several years.”

  “POI?” Nora asked.

  Ham nodded. “Persons of interest. We believe he’s connected to NF—that’s Nuestra Familia, the thugs who do dirty work for some of the drug cartels in South America. But he’s apparently up to something else, something not related to the cartels; otherwise why would he need the hundred mil? Claude Lamont is bankrolling him, and recent intel we intercepted from NF hints that the two men are planning to meet up soon. We need to know where this man is and what he’s doing, and Claude Lamont could lead us to him. That’s why we need you on that ship.”

  Nora looked from her husband to their boss and back again. Both men were thinking of someone, but they still hadn’t shared their suspicions with her. She looked over at Ralph Johnson, who was also clearly in on it. In exasperation, she finally cried, “Okay, guys, who do you think he is?”

  Ham Green said, “We think he’s an international terrorist with anti-American leanings. He’s suspected of at least four incidents in various parts of the world that have killed quite a few people, including Americans. Whatever he’s planning now is obviously bigger than anything he’s done before. He’s a ghost, a shadow. We don’t know his name or where he comes from or where he lives. All we know is his nickname.”

  Jeff nodded and murmured the word. “Diablo.”

  Nora stared at the handsome face on the screen, then at the one-letter title above Mary Ross’s signature: D.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s find the bastard.”

  Chapter 3

  The Tropic Star was a beautiful vessel. Nora and Jeff arrived aboard the small ship—actually a large yacht, Nora soon learned—just in time for the sailing. Gazing up at the gleaming craft, with its graceful rows of portholes and balconies, its aerodynamic lines and smart red trim, Nora felt a thrill of anticipation. She was working with Jeff officially for the first time, and they’d be together in this romantic environment. She squeezed his hand as they boarded.

  She’d been on only one cruise, not long after her graduation from the NYU theater department almost thirty years ago. That trip had been in these same waters, a ten-day tour of the islands at the top of the Caribbean chain: Puerto Rico, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and the Bahamas. The ship had been a floating city with two smokestacks and 1,800 passengers, and Nora and her two fellow-grad girlfriends had felt lost in the crowds. Nora preferred small hotels over big ones, and she liked this little ship much more than the other one. Puerto Rico was the only overlapping port of call on this trip, and it would be their first stop.

  The layout of the Tropic Star was easy enough to learn. Its capacity was only 240 passengers and half as many crew, a maximum of 360 people, and this cruise wasn’t sold out. There were eight levels, but only the five decks above the waterline concerned the passengers. Most of the 120 cabins had ocean views, and many had balconies, including Nora and Jeff’s. Two restaurants, two bars, a nightclub, library, game room, shopping arcade, gym, and two spas—one for men, one for women—were the communal areas, with the swimming pool at the stern.

  Jeff had been on several cruise ships in his fieldwork for the CIA over the past thirty years, and he’d been a Marine before that, so he wasn’t as curious as Nora about their surroundings. He was more interested in Claude Lamont, and he observed the man covertly. Lamont and his wife had one of the big suites on the top deck, and Jeff and Nora had a stateroom on the deck below them. Jeff spent his first three hours after boarding snooping around to see if the mystery man from Mary Ross’s sketch was aboard, but he didn’t see him anywhere. Of course, Diablo could very well be unpacking in a stateroom, possibly disguised, so Jeff and Nora both took to automatically scanning their fellow passengers at all times.

  Nora first beheld the beautiful Carmen Lamont in the Starlight Room during their post-sailing dinner. Nora and Jeff had guessed—correctly—that the Lamonts would have their first meal aboard at the nine o’clock second seating in the formal dining room. Jeff observed the Lamonts at their table across the room for their entire meal before stating his opinion.

  “Alpha Male, meet Beta Female,” he muttered, causing Nora to stifle a laugh.

  “Exactly,” she replied, studying the couple. “The rich misogynist and his obedient trophy wife. He drinks coffee and she drinks tea, but note how she’s constantly pouring his coffee for him, just like she did with the wine during the main course. She waits on him like a servant, and he obviously expects that. He’s doing all the talking, and she hunches her shoulders and bows her head to stare down at her plate every time he speaks. From the look of it, I’d say he’s criticizing her, and she’s mortified. Whatever he’s saying to her, please promise that you’ll never say it to me.”

  Jeff smiled at her. “Pal, we don’t know what he’s saying, so how can I promise that?”

  “Well, just don’t,” she replied in a perfectly logical tone of voice, and they shared a laugh. His nickname for her was the result of a coincidence that had delighted him when they’d signed their marriage license twenty-three years ago. Jeff had noticed that her married name, Nora Baron, was a perfect palindrome, spelled the same forward and backward, so he’d taken to calling her Pal.

  Being a professional actor and acting teacher, Nora was always slipping in and out of roles, even in everyday life. The part she assigned herself on the Tropic Star was The Invisible Woman. She had no worries that Jeff might give them away to the people they were tracking—he was even better at playing this game than she was. He knew exactly how to be The Invisible Man. Long before she’d entered his line of work, she’d occasionally helped him with disguises, accents, and physical movements for his undercover jobs.

  That entry had been two years ago, when she’d accidentally become involved in one of Jeff’s missions in Europe, the top-secret op that Ham Green had later code-named Mrs. John Doe. Since then, Nora had completed two more missions, one in Venice last January and one that had taken her to the Swiss Alps in April, three months ago. This was her third op in seven months: She was getting the hang of it. Jeff had helped her in Venice, but he wasn’t technically supposed to have been there. This mission was their first Company-sanctioned joint venture.

  The first morning aboard the Tropic Star began with breakfast in their stateroom. Then Jeff sneaked upstairs to observe the Lamonts emerging from their suite in bathing suits and tops, heading for the pool. He and Nora donned their fancy new beach togs and followed. She loved her green one-piece and white lace kimono, and she smiled at Jeff’s obvious discomfort in his madras-patterned trunks and matching windbreaker with a zipper down the front. Jeffrey Baron
wasn’t a natural fit for famous-label swim apparel, but he was playing a part here, so he had to dress like the natives.

  “Let’s take these chairs,” Jeff said as they arrived at the pool at the stern of the Promenade Deck, and Nora admired his choice. The pool was ringed by rows of chaises, and the Lamonts were already settled in two of them near the diving board. The Barons chose a pair on the other side of the pool, closer to the shallow end. They had a discreet, unobstructed view of their subjects; they could watch them without appearing to watch.

  The morning was bright and clear, so the activity Nora observed was hardly sinister, but there was something odd about it. Claude Lamont wore a skimpy blue Speedo that would only look good on a much younger, fitter man, whereas his wife wore a vibrant coral bikini that was perfect for her. He lay on his back on his chaise while she knelt beside him, slathering his pale chest and undefined limbs with sunscreen lotion. After a while he rolled over onto his stomach, and she went to work on his back. When finally he was suitably protected, she lay down on her chair and applied the lotion to herself.

  Nora studied the woman as she worked. Carmen was thirty-two, and she didn’t have any children, according to the CIA dossier Nora had read. She was in excellent shape, and she obviously took care of her body. Nora mused that if she looked like this woman she’d be delighted with herself, but she noticed that Carmen never seemed to smile. She also noticed something else: faint but definite blemishes on the woman’s tanned upper arms just below her shoulders.

  Nora had sustained similar bruising once, while she’d been performing in an off-Broadway revival of a classic Victorian melodrama. The villain had cornered her character and grasped her shoulders for a confrontation near the end of the second act, and Nora had borne the marks of the actor’s powerful fingers on her upper arms for the entire length of the run. Remembering the violent scene from the play, Nora could guess how Carmen Lamont had come by her black-and-blue scars.

  Carmen’s bruises tied in with the behavior Nora and Jeff had observed in the dining room the night before. Conclusion: In addition to being a shady businessman with ties to at least one terrorist, this pale, pudgy multimillionaire was also a bully.

  Nora looked over at her husband, who appeared to be reading his old, dog-eared copy of To Have and Have Not, by his favorite author, Ernest Hemingway. In reality, his brand-new Ray-Bans disguised the fact that he was looking over the top of the book in his hands, watching the couple across the pool. Nora knew without asking that he’d noticed everything she’d noticed about them, including Claude’s dominant, entitled behavior and Carmen’s docility and discolored shoulders.

  After an hour of sunning themselves, the Lamonts repaired to the gym and the his-and-hers spas, and the Barons discreetly followed them. Nora worked out on counterweights and a treadmill near Carmen’s, then sat near her in the crowded steam room. After that, Carmen showered, dressed, and went off to the hairdresser in the shopping concourse on a lower deck. Nora waited on the concourse, buying a couple of magazines, until Carmen came out of the salon and returned to her cabin, at which point Nora returned to her own. Jeff was already there, with a dull report of Claude’s activities: massage, sauna, steam, shower, cabin.

  The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful: lunch in the overcrowded Seaside Café, where Claude invited a young couple to share their table, to Carmen’s obvious annoyance; a long walk around the decks; dinner in the Starlight Room and drinks in the Club Room. Nora observed Claude and Carmen dancing to the music of the jazz combo. She noted the way Claude’s hands were all over his wife as they danced, a proprietary announcement if ever there was one, and how Carmen’s attitude seemed to be one of silent endurance. By the time everyone went back to their cabins for bed, Nora had formed a distinct impression of the Lamonts’ marriage.

  When they woke the following morning, the Tropic Star was docking in Puerto Rico. At breakfast in the Seaside Café, it was clear to Jeff and Nora that their subjects were planning an excursion on the island with the help of a Fodor’s guidebook. When the Lamonts descended the gangway to the crowded dock and the waiting taxis and tour buses, the Barons were right behind them.

  Chapter 4

  “A tour bus,” Jeff whispered. “Perfect!”

  Nora agreed. When they’d rushed down the gangway after the couple, she’d braced herself for running. Visions of dashing the entire length of the crowded pier to flag down a taxi had made her briefly panic. She was relieved when Jeff pointed at a bright red, open-air safari bus with a red-and-white-striped canvas awning gleaming in the Puerto Rican sunlight. The Lamonts had made a beeline for it.

  “Can we just hop in, or what?” Nora asked. “Maybe they made a reservation…”

  “Looks like it’s come one, come all,” Jeff said. He pointed again: A big, solidly built man was collecting cash from a makeshift line of tourists, who would then board. Jeff grasped her hand as they hurried over to join the queue, bumping their way through a throng of smiling fellow passengers from the Tropic Star and another ship that was docked nearby. Claude and Carmen Lamont were already aboard, settling themselves on a bench near the front, when the Barons quickly paid and climbed the steps.

  The Lamonts were bent over their Fodor’s guidebook; they didn’t so much as look up from it as Jeff and Nora passed by along the narrow central aisle and claimed a bench three rows behind them on the other side of the bus. Jeff picked these seats, and once again Nora admired his strategy. As with the chaises at the pool yesterday, Jeff always knew the perfect vantage point for surveillance. She made a note to herself to cultivate this expert talent.

  “El Morro Castle,” Jeff said as they settled in, he on the aisle and she at the guardrail. “That should be interesting. I wonder why Lamont chose a place like that instead of a more typical tour.”

  Nora stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  He laughed. “My wife the spy. Look.” He pointed toward the front of the bus. Next to the big rearview mirror behind the windshield hung a neatly hand-painted sign: CASTILLO SAN FELIPE DEL MORRO.

  “Oh,” Nora said, and she cringed inwardly. She really should have noticed that sign when they’d boarded. “El Morro—that’s the big fort on the cliffs overlooking the harbor, right?”

  “Yup,” Jeff said. “Seems an odd place to spend your one day in Puerto Rico, doesn’t it? He must be interested in military history.”

  Nora frowned. “Well, she isn’t, you can bet on that. He must have chosen it.”

  “Exactly,” Jeff whispered. “Now, why would he do that?”

  She smiled at her husband. “Perhaps he’s meeting someone there.”

  Jeff chuckled. “We’ll make a secret agent of you yet!” he said, which earned him a light punch on his arm. “Ouch!”

  The bus was now fairly full, and the driver climbed aboard, followed by the ticket-taker, who stood facing his audience.

  “Welcome to Puerto Rico, and welcome to Tony’s Tours,” he announced in a deep, Spanish-accented baritone. “I am Tony. We are going to Old San Juan, the earliest and prettiest part of our capital city. I will show you the streets and plazas of this quaint and beautiful neighborhood, and we will stop for lunch there. You have ninety minutes, with your choice of many restaurants and snack bars. Then we proceed to Castillo San Felipe del Morro, where you will see the most dramatic views of the harbor and the ocean. I will lead you through the fortress and tell you many things about the island’s history. Then I will return you to the docks at five o’clock. I am hoping you all enjoy your day in Puerto Rico.”

  His speech was met with enthusiastic applause from the tourists, but Nora noticed that the Lamonts didn’t join in the clapping. They didn’t even seem to have been listening to the man. Tony nodded to the driver, who started the engine, and the bus turned onto the road toward Old San Juan. A cool breeze arrived, and she was grateful for it. The temperature in Puerto Rico today was a sun
ny eighty-two degrees. She was glad she’d opted to wear a light dress and sandals. Jeff was in a short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, so he’d be okay, too.

  For the next two hours, they were driven around coastal San Juan, as their fellow passengers laughed and pointed and took cellphone photos of everything. All but the Lamonts: Claude sat facing forward in the bus, barely looking around at the beauties of the island, while his wife stared out at the ever-changing view. She didn’t seem to be reacting to it; she merely looked bored. After a while, she produced a Kindle from her purse and began to read.

  Nora had only hazy memories of her brief visit to Puerto Rico thirty years ago—the ship had docked at eight in the morning and sailed at midnight, as the Tropic Star was doing—so today’s sightseeing tour seemed like a brand-new experience. She admired the gorgeous Old World Spanish architecture, the yellow and pink houses with their corrugated terra-cotta tile roofs, and the wrought iron rails and balconies.

  There was a good deal of construction and repair going on as well, the result of recent hurricane damage. Occasional violent weather was the bane of living in the Caribbean, Tony told them—the price of Paradise. But these islands were survivors; the streets and buildings were slowly getting in shape again after the devastating storms, as they always had down through the centuries. Even the local vegetation had sprung to new life: Everything here seemed to be framed and fronted by palm trees and bougainvillea and lush green hibiscus bushes.