"To keep your sanity when it seems everything in your life has gone over-the-top crazy, you can step back from the action and try to gain an astronaut’s perspective of the world. But when you find yourself getting lost in the tranquility of that detached view it’s time to dive into a current and get back in the flow."
Darcy Farthing—Currents of Vengeance
Chapter 1
February 17, 2008 – Washington, DC
Michelangelo Clayton turned carefully onto his side to check the clock on the bedside table. With some relief he noted that this simple maneuver was a little easier to accomplish than it had been a few days ago. He raised his head and squinted at the digits in the dimly lit room; Sunday, 11:14 a.m. Mick sighed and fell back against the pillow. For the past two weeks he had spent most of his time in this pleasant blue and brown reproduction colonial-style bedroom. Now that he was feeling better, boredom was setting in and he was looking forward to having Bill around for some company at least for part of the day.
A door had closed quietly at the other end of the house and Mick was waiting to see whether it was Bill, or the nurse who was supposed to visit two days a week to check his stitches and help him with his personal care. He never knew exactly which day she would show up and assumed that Aetna would soon curtail the visits, which was fine with him because he didn’t think he needed her minimal efforts anyway.
Senator Bill Sawyer stepped into the bedroom with briefcase in hand. He wore a dark grey suit and a black and red striped tie over a dazzling white shirt, indicating that he had come from work. He glanced at Mick and walked directly to the window to raise the black-out pleated shade. Bright sunlight immediately penetrated the gloom, greatly improving the room’s overall ambiance. Then he returned to the foot of the bed and peered down at Mick.
Mick was thinking that his friend was still in decent shape for a guy who had little time to take care of himself. For some reason, at that moment he noticed for the first time that his sandy hair was beginning to thin a little in front. Otherwise, he still had the same freckled boyish look as when they met at Cornell more than twenty years ago. The two had been best friends since then, and after the events of the past seven weeks, their friendship had deepened.
“Hey buddy,” Bill was saying, “is there anything I can get you or are you going to get out of that bed? It’s almost noon and I’m taking the rest of the day off so I was thinking we should get you out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful day and not really that cold . . . and we can sit in the sun.”
“Yeah, good idea and anyway, I want to talk to you again about some of the stuff that happened on the cruise and ideas I have about Paul Denezza.” He pulled himself up as he spoke and had managed a sitting position on the side of the bed, when Bill stepped up and bent over to take his elbow. After helping him up, Bill let go and started for the door. Mick said to his back, “I’m so much better now. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for letting me stay here and for nursing me back to health.”
Bill turned around to see Mick struggling with his bathrobe and returned to help him put it on. The deep chest wound had made his left shoulder stiff and reaching behind him was still a chore. He answered with a chuckle, “I think if I had a big hole in my chest and had lost half my blood supply you would do the same for me, right?”
“Let’s hope you never go through anything like this, but yeah, I guess you could count on me,” Mick tried to laugh without taking too deep a breath.
Mick proceeded slowly down the hallway and across the polished oak-planked living room floor to a set of French doors. Out on the grey and black flagstone terrace he sat opposite Bill at a glass-topped iron filigree table. Before they became involved in a conversation, though, Bill suddenly excused himself and went to change into jeans and to get them both a beer.
Mick breathed deeply and looked at his surroundings, grateful that the pain in his chest was greatly diminishing. He gazed at the remaining red and gold leaves of the DC winter garden surrounding the perimeter of Bill’s postage-size back yard. The three million dollar two story brick row house on North Carolina Avenue had been beautifully restored, but only had seventeen hundred square feet. Bill had said it was plenty big enough for him, and besides, it was only about six blocks from the Russell Senate Office Building at First and Constitution where he spent much of his time.
Bill soon returned to his seat and held out an icy bottle. “Here, try this, from the Blue and Gray Brewing Company in Fredericksburg. Lately I’ve been trying to sample some beers from our great local micros.” They both chugged and leaned back stretching their legs out in front of them.
Mick held the amber liquid up to the light and studied the carbonation. Turning the bottle, he read the label—Blue and Gray Classic Lager—then took another sip and savored the smooth malty flavor. “This is pretty good and fairly light, which is probably a good thing for me right now since I’m out of training.”
He painfully drew in a deep breath and leaned forward in his seat with his elbows resting on the table. With a subdued tone, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can do to make sure Denezza pays for at least part of what happened on the ship. There is no doubt that he hired those two crew members to get rid of his wife and now they’re both dead.” Bill swallowed and waved his bottle for Mick to continue.
Mick nodded. “His involvement will be hard to prove with no one left to give direct testimony. It’s all so damned complicated because Sidney is still alive and four others are dead . . . I don’t know, maybe there’s no one left who knew about Paul’s plan.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“So what are you thinking you’d like to do about it?”
Mick seemed to perk up a little. “OK, Tom Smythe, the security chief on the Sea Nymph was fired by World of Seas Cruise Line because of everything he supposedly allowed to happen on the cruise. Well, he tells me he intends to continue working with the Vegas FBI to try and prosecute Paul.”
“Finally Bill set his bottle down and leaned toward Mick. “Really? That is a little surprising under the circumstances.”
“I thought so too, but I mailed him the keys to the Range Rover, still parked where I left it at the Miami Marriott, and he is driving up here to talk to me.”
Bill pursed his lips and pulled his legs under him. “Sounds like the two of you already have a plan in mind.”
“Well, one of the things we’re thinking is that someone needs to go back to the ship and talk to members of the crew to see if anyone else knew about Paul’s scheme. That’s the only way we’re going to get evidence to prove what he was doing, if evidence even exists.”
Bill stared across at his friend as he took another swallow of beer. Then he shook the empty bottle, pushed himself away from the table and jumped to his feet. “Want another one?”
“Sure, but that had better be it for me.”
A minute later Bill returned and lowered himself into his chair. “I get the feeling there is something you think I can do to help, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would be.”
“You’ve already done so much for us by making that arrangement with Ray Alosa. If Ray had not delayed Denezza at the Buenos Aires consulate causing him to miss the sailing, things would probably have been much worse.” Mick was feeling guilty about involving his friend even further, but he was desperate to make sure Denezza paid for his crimes. “And now you’ve done so much for me personally, I wouldn’t ask for anything else . . . only a little question and some advice.”
“Oh, oh, that even worries me.” Bill grinned and shook his head. “OK, what do you have in mind?”
“What Smythe and I have in mind is something I have already tried to initiate with Ken, but I didn’t get very far over the phone. He’s sympathetic to my situation, but in a way I think this is the last straw for him. Let’s face it, I haven’t been putting my full effort into the job for a couple of years and now living here with you is making it even worse.” As Director of State Law Enforcement Issues for the Government Accountability Office, Mick was responsible for the work of twenty analysts who conducted audits of federally funded law enforcement agencies. Even before his recent injury, he had not been in a normal emotional state and had not been carrying the full weight of his position.
“Of course Ken has always had a problem with our friendship. He thinks it’s a conflict of interest that I’m a member of Congress, and you work for the GAO and it doesn’t matter to him that we’ve been friends since college. In his mind we should not have a personal relationship at all . . . but what did you say to Ken about Denezza?”
“Nothing directly about him; just that I want to lead a review of crimes on cruise ships and use that opportunity to go back to the Sea Nymph to interview crew members about the death plot.”
“Wow, that’s huge—you would really get back on that boat?”
“Like I’ve said before, you wouldn’t have believed the situation on that ship, Bill. People were dying violently and the cruise line acted as if the most important thing was making sure there was no inconvenience to passengers. Even if I had not been stabbed and the rest of the shit hadn’t happened, I would still think we should do some kind of study of the situation.”
“Yeah, I know all about that. Lots of Americans are on those ships and more passengers are assaulted or disappear on cruises than most people realize. What did Ken say when you suggested the job?”
“He said no. He said that because GAO is not an enforcement agency and we don’t have much extra money in the budget for self-initiated work, it just isn’t feasible to go sailing off on a cruise ship . . . in his words.” Mick paused as if assessing whether he should say what he was thinking. He ran his hand through his dark wavy bangs and smiled at his friend. “But Bill, I’ve been wondering, what if you or your International Relations Committee requests the assignment? GAO usually accepts Congressional requests and after all, when I first came back to DC you told me about those hearings where victims and family members told stories about crimes committed against them on cruise ships . . . so wouldn’t it make sense if you were interested in determining how widespread these problems are?”
Before Bill could answer, Mick rushed to finish his proposal. “And one more thing; I want to bring Tom on board—so to speak—as a consultant. He used to be an L.A. cop and he worked on the Sea Nymph for ten years. Maybe the committee could request his assistance as well.” He sat back with a sheepish expression and waited for Bill’s reaction.
“That is a very interesting idea, Mick. Those hearings were held several years ago and now its 2008 and we haven’t done a damn thing about it. My committee and others have talked about drafting some kind of legislation related to passenger safety on cruise ships, but it’s one of those issues that just gets pushed down the list of priorities, mainly because there’s a big problem due to the lack of jurisdiction in international waters.” He paused and looked away from Mick for a few moments. Then he drew his long legs under him and leaned over the table giving Mick an earnest look.
“Maybe this could be a way to get some information to help us formulate something.” Another thoughtful pause ensued while he stared across the yard. Finally he nodded and grinned at his friend. “OK, tell you what, I’ll speak to Ken next week.” He saw Mick flinch and added, “I won’t tell him we talked about it. I’ll give him the history we already have on the hill, and try to get him to see that it’s only natural for my interest to be revived after all the press coverage of the Sea Nymph nightmare and your involvement in it.”
Mick smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Buddy, you’re coming to the rescue again. I can’t wait to hear what comes of that conversation.”
They chatted amiably about other current events, but after about twenty minutes Mick was obviously becoming restless. “I’m getting a little tired. I think I’ll go back inside and I really should call Darcy, anyway.” His brow furrowed and he stared down at the flagstone with a sad expression—then seemed to catch himself. “I haven’t talked to her much since we got back.”
“OK, say hi to Darcy for me. I’m hoping to actually meet her before long. Has Rachael flown up from Buenos Aires to see her yet?”
“No, but apparently she has a break from college in about a week and plans to visit Darcy in Colorado Springs. Bill, can you imagine what it must be like for a mother and daughter to be meeting each other after almost twenty years apart?”
“I know it all seems amazing.”
“I still can’t believe how the cruise brought them together like that . . . and our role in it. Darcy is really working hard to overcome the guilt she was carrying all those years.”
Bill’s face lit with a spontaneous thought. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe Darcy and Rachael can fly out here during her visit. Rachael can stay in my other guest room and it’s about time you and Darcy got to spend some time together.”
“Thanks, that really is a great idea, but I don’t know how she would feel about it. Part of me thinks I should back off a little for now, just to give her time to build a relationship with Rachael. But I’ll tell her about your offer when I call.”
Bill squinted into the bright sun behind Mick’s chair for a few moments. “Good enough, but you know, Mick, I should think Darcy would want both you and Rachael in her life now.”
When he did not get a response, Bill changed the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m making us a dinner reservation at Sam and Harry’s for Tuesday. It’s time you got out of the house and I’ve really missed our happy hours. It’s been since before you went down to the house on Marco Island, which was way before you went on the cruise.”
Mick felt a jolt of anxiety. “I’m a little anxious about how I’ll feel getting out in public, but I know I have to do it soon.” He sighed and pushed away from the table. “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to one of those rare NY strips not to mention the great wine selection.” Mick sincerely wished he felt as enthusiastic as he tried to sound.
Chapter 2
On Tuesday evening Bill and Mick were sitting at Sam and Harry’s bar sipping champagne and munching baked spinach and gouda with crab on baguettes. They were chatting about the approach Bill planned to take when he talked with Mick’s boss, Ken Worthford, U.S. Assistant Comptroller General for Law and Justice. They had already decided it would help their case if the FBI had a stake in the GAO request. So, Mick had called Special Agent Grant Murray in the Vegas field office to request his cooperation.
“Murray really wants to get him,” Mick was explaining without much enthusiasm. “It seems the bureau has had suspicions about his business operations for a long time or maybe something in his past, but they evidently haven’t been able to put enough evidence together to prosecute him. I’m thinking it might be a tax thing or maybe even a mob connection.” He paused to sip his drink and audibly sighed. “Anyway, Murray was very happy to sign on to our review and actually said that whatever methodology we come up with he wants us to use the Sea Nymph in our study.”
“Well, I can’t imagine Ken rejecting a request that has the interest of both the Congress and the bureau. I’ll try to talk with him tomorrow.”
Mick looked around at the familiar jazz motif. He couldn’t count the number of times he sat in this same spot after work with Bill, while congressional staffers and occasionally other members passed by, often stopping to greet the popular senator on their way to the dining room. The environment had always been comfortable and stimulating, yet this time he felt somehow nervous and jumpy in a way he could not recall feeling before. It must be something to do with the stress of my recovery. After all, he had come very close to dying on the deck of the Sea Nymph and then again in the Valparaiso hospital.
The hostess came to tell them their table was ready. Bill got up and waited while Mick eased off his stool. As he watched his friend, he worried; Mick was not himself at all and the change didn’t really seem related to his physical injury. Knowing Mick as he did, he noticed that his mannerisms—and seemingly his personality—had somehow dampened. He just seemed emotionally flat despite his supposed new love relationship with Darcy.
They slowly made their way to the table and were soon enjoying their meal of rare steaks, baked potato heaped with sour cream, and lightly grilled asparagus topped off by a bottle of 1998 Napa Valley Mount Veeder cabernet. As Mick slowly chewed, he leaned back and tried to relax. I can’t wait to get back to feeling normal. This uneasiness sucks.
My name is Darcy Farthing and I learned this lesson while trying to cope with the emotional upheaval that began in February 2008, when I returned from my now famous and ill-fated South American voyage. As I tried to sort out all the unbelievable events that had taken place over the four-week cruise, I really wanted to believe my life would be much better than before it all happened. After all, I had my beautiful daughter, Rachael, back in my life and I had left a lot of pain behind—pain I had kept locked in a psychological prison for years.
I had also found my old best friend, Sidney, who had become part of my life again, and of course I had met my Mick. Sure, he and I had many things to resolve before we could really get on with our relationship, since he lived in DC and I was in Colorado. But back then those problems just seemed like logistics. Well, as we were soon to discover, they were a little more than that and geography turned out to be the least of our problems.
First look at Currents of Vengeance
Chapter 1
February 17, 2008 – Washington, DC
Michelangelo Clayton turned carefully onto his side to check the clock on the bedside table. With some relief he noted that this simple maneuver was a little easier to accomplish than it had been a few days ago. He raised his head and squinted at the digits in the dimly lit room; Sunday, 11:14 a.m. Mick sighed and fell back against the pillow. For the past two weeks he had spent most of his time in this pleasant blue and brown reproduction colonial-style bedroom. Now that he was feeling better, boredom was setting in and he was looking forward to having Bill around for some company at least for part of the day.
A door had closed quietly at the other end of the house and Mick was waiting to see whether it was Bill, or the nurse who was supposed to visit two days a week to check his stitches and help him with his personal care. He never knew exactly which day she would show up and assumed that Aetna would soon curtail the visits, which was fine with him because he didn’t think he needed her minimal efforts anyway.
Senator Bill Sawyer stepped into the bedroom with briefcase in hand. He wore a dark grey suit and a black and red striped tie over a dazzling white shirt, indicating that he had come from work. He glanced at Mick and walked directly to the window to raise the black-out pleated shade. Bright sunlight immediately penetrated the gloom, greatly improving the room’s overall ambiance. Then he returned to the foot of the bed and peered down at Mick.
Mick was thinking that his friend was still in decent shape for a guy who had little time to take care of himself. For some reason, at that moment he noticed for the first time that his sandy hair was beginning to thin a little in front. Otherwise, he still had the same freckled boyish look as when they met at Cornell more than twenty years ago. The two had been best friends since then, and after the events of the past seven weeks, their friendship had deepened.
“Hey buddy,” Bill was saying, “is there anything I can get you or are you going to get out of that bed? It’s almost noon and I’m taking the rest of the day off so I was thinking we should get you out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful day and not really that cold . . . and we can sit in the sun.”
“Yeah, good idea and anyway, I want to talk to you again about some of the stuff that happened on the cruise and ideas I have about Paul Denezza.” He pulled himself up as he spoke and had managed a sitting position on the side of the bed, when Bill stepped up and bent over to take his elbow. After helping him up, Bill let go and started for the door. Mick said to his back, “I’m so much better now. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for letting me stay here and for nursing me back to health.”
Bill turned around to see Mick struggling with his bathrobe and returned to help him put it on. The deep chest wound had made his left shoulder stiff and reaching behind him was still a chore. He answered with a chuckle, “I think if I had a big hole in my chest and had lost half my blood supply you would do the same for me, right?”
“Let’s hope you never go through anything like this, but yeah, I guess you could count on me,” Mick tried to laugh without taking too deep a breath.
Mick proceeded slowly down the hallway and across the polished oak-planked living room floor to a set of French doors. Out on the grey and black flagstone terrace he sat opposite Bill at a glass-topped iron filigree table. Before they became involved in a conversation, though, Bill suddenly excused himself and went to change into jeans and to get them both a beer.
Mick breathed deeply and looked at his surroundings, grateful that the pain in his chest was greatly diminishing. He gazed at the remaining red and gold leaves of the DC winter garden surrounding the perimeter of Bill’s postage-size back yard. The three million dollar two story brick row house on North Carolina Avenue had been beautifully restored, but only had seventeen hundred square feet. Bill had said it was plenty big enough for him, and besides, it was only about six blocks from the Russell Senate Office Building at First and Constitution where he spent much of his time.
Bill soon returned to his seat and held out an icy bottle. “Here, try this, from the Blue and Gray Brewing Company in Fredericksburg. Lately I’ve been trying to sample some beers from our great local micros.” They both chugged and leaned back stretching their legs out in front of them.
Mick held the amber liquid up to the light and studied the carbonation. Turning the bottle, he read the label—Blue and Gray Classic Lager—then took another sip and savored the smooth malty flavor. “This is pretty good and fairly light, which is probably a good thing for me right now since I’m out of training.”
He painfully drew in a deep breath and leaned forward in his seat with his elbows resting on the table. With a subdued tone, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can do to make sure Denezza pays for at least part of what happened on the ship. There is no doubt that he hired those two crew members to get rid of his wife and now they’re both dead.” Bill swallowed and waved his bottle for Mick to continue.
Mick nodded. “His involvement will be hard to prove with no one left to give direct testimony. It’s all so damned complicated because Sidney is still alive and four others are dead . . . I don’t know, maybe there’s no one left who knew about Paul’s plan.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“So what are you thinking you’d like to do about it?”
Mick seemed to perk up a little. “OK, Tom Smythe, the security chief on the Sea Nymph was fired by World of Seas Cruise Line because of everything he supposedly allowed to happen on the cruise. Well, he tells me he intends to continue working with the Vegas FBI to try and prosecute Paul.”
“Finally Bill set his bottle down and leaned toward Mick. “Really? That is a little surprising under the circumstances.”
“I thought so too, but I mailed him the keys to the Range Rover, still parked where I left it at the Miami Marriott, and he is driving up here to talk to me.”
Bill pursed his lips and pulled his legs under him. “Sounds like the two of you already have a plan in mind.”
“Well, one of the things we’re thinking is that someone needs to go back to the ship and talk to members of the crew to see if anyone else knew about Paul’s scheme. That’s the only way we’re going to get evidence to prove what he was doing, if evidence even exists.”
Bill stared across at his friend as he took another swallow of beer. Then he shook the empty bottle, pushed himself away from the table and jumped to his feet. “Want another one?”
“Sure, but that had better be it for me.”
A minute later Bill returned and lowered himself into his chair. “I get the feeling there is something you think I can do to help, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would be.”
“You’ve already done so much for us by making that arrangement with Ray Alosa. If Ray had not delayed Denezza at the Buenos Aires consulate causing him to miss the sailing, things would probably have been much worse.” Mick was feeling guilty about involving his friend even further, but he was desperate to make sure Denezza paid for his crimes. “And now you’ve done so much for me personally, I wouldn’t ask for anything else . . . only a little question and some advice.”
“Oh, oh, that even worries me.” Bill grinned and shook his head. “OK, what do you have in mind?”
“What Smythe and I have in mind is something I have already tried to initiate with Ken, but I didn’t get very far over the phone. He’s sympathetic to my situation, but in a way I think this is the last straw for him. Let’s face it, I haven’t been putting my full effort into the job for a couple of years and now living here with you is making it even worse.” As Director of State Law Enforcement Issues for the Government Accountability Office, Mick was responsible for the work of twenty analysts who conducted audits of federally funded law enforcement agencies. Even before his recent injury, he had not been in a normal emotional state and had not been carrying the full weight of his position.
“Of course Ken has always had a problem with our friendship. He thinks it’s a conflict of interest that I’m a member of Congress, and you work for the GAO and it doesn’t matter to him that we’ve been friends since college. In his mind we should not have a personal relationship at all . . . but what did you say to Ken about Denezza?”
“Nothing directly about him; just that I want to lead a review of crimes on cruise ships and use that opportunity to go back to the Sea Nymph to interview crew members about the death plot.”
“Wow, that’s huge—you would really get back on that boat?”
“Like I’ve said before, you wouldn’t have believed the situation on that ship, Bill. People were dying violently and the cruise line acted as if the most important thing was making sure there was no inconvenience to passengers. Even if I had not been stabbed and the rest of the shit hadn’t happened, I would still think we should do some kind of study of the situation.”
“Yeah, I know all about that. Lots of Americans are on those ships and more passengers are assaulted or disappear on cruises than most people realize. What did Ken say when you suggested the job?”
“He said no. He said that because GAO is not an enforcement agency and we don’t have much extra money in the budget for self-initiated work, it just isn’t feasible to go sailing off on a cruise ship . . . in his words.” Mick paused as if assessing whether he should say what he was thinking. He ran his hand through his dark wavy bangs and smiled at his friend. “But Bill, I’ve been wondering, what if you or your International Relations Committee requests the assignment? GAO usually accepts Congressional requests and after all, when I first came back to DC you told me about those hearings where victims and family members told stories about crimes committed against them on cruise ships . . . so wouldn’t it make sense if you were interested in determining how widespread these problems are?”
Before Bill could answer, Mick rushed to finish his proposal. “And one more thing; I want to bring Tom on board—so to speak—as a consultant. He used to be an L.A. cop and he worked on the Sea Nymph for ten years. Maybe the committee could request his assistance as well.” He sat back with a sheepish expression and waited for Bill’s reaction.
“That is a very interesting idea, Mick. Those hearings were held several years ago and now its 2008 and we haven’t done a damn thing about it. My committee and others have talked about drafting some kind of legislation related to passenger safety on cruise ships, but it’s one of those issues that just gets pushed down the list of priorities, mainly because there’s a big problem due to the lack of jurisdiction in international waters.” He paused and looked away from Mick for a few moments. Then he drew his long legs under him and leaned over the table giving Mick an earnest look.
“Maybe this could be a way to get some information to help us formulate something.” Another thoughtful pause ensued while he stared across the yard. Finally he nodded and grinned at his friend. “OK, tell you what, I’ll speak to Ken next week.” He saw Mick flinch and added, “I won’t tell him we talked about it. I’ll give him the history we already have on the hill, and try to get him to see that it’s only natural for my interest to be revived after all the press coverage of the Sea Nymph nightmare and your involvement in it.”
Mick smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Buddy, you’re coming to the rescue again. I can’t wait to hear what comes of that conversation.”
They chatted amiably about other current events, but after about twenty minutes Mick was obviously becoming restless. “I’m getting a little tired. I think I’ll go back inside and I really should call Darcy, anyway.” His brow furrowed and he stared down at the flagstone with a sad expression—then seemed to catch himself. “I haven’t talked to her much since we got back.”
“OK, say hi to Darcy for me. I’m hoping to actually meet her before long. Has Rachael flown up from Buenos Aires to see her yet?”
“No, but apparently she has a break from college in about a week and plans to visit Darcy in Colorado Springs. Bill, can you imagine what it must be like for a mother and daughter to be meeting each other after almost twenty years apart?”
“I know it all seems amazing.”
“I still can’t believe how the cruise brought them together like that . . . and our role in it. Darcy is really working hard to overcome the guilt she was carrying all those years.”
Bill’s face lit with a spontaneous thought. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe Darcy and Rachael can fly out here during her visit. Rachael can stay in my other guest room and it’s about time you and Darcy got to spend some time together.”
“Thanks, that really is a great idea, but I don’t know how she would feel about it. Part of me thinks I should back off a little for now, just to give her time to build a relationship with Rachael. But I’ll tell her about your offer when I call.”
Bill squinted into the bright sun behind Mick’s chair for a few moments. “Good enough, but you know, Mick, I should think Darcy would want both you and Rachael in her life now.”
When he did not get a response, Bill changed the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m making us a dinner reservation at Sam and Harry’s for Tuesday. It’s time you got out of the house and I’ve really missed our happy hours. It’s been since before you went down to the house on Marco Island, which was way before you went on the cruise.”
Mick felt a jolt of anxiety. “I’m a little anxious about how I’ll feel getting out in public, but I know I have to do it soon.” He sighed and pushed away from the table. “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to one of those rare NY strips not to mention the great wine selection.” Mick sincerely wished he felt as enthusiastic as he tried to sound.
Chapter 2
On Tuesday evening Bill and Mick were sitting at Sam and Harry’s bar sipping champagne and munching baked spinach and gouda with crab on baguettes. They were chatting about the approach Bill planned to take when he talked with Mick’s boss, Ken Worthford, U.S. Assistant Comptroller General for Law and Justice. They had already decided it would help their case if the FBI had a stake in the GAO request. So, Mick had called Special Agent Grant Murray in the Vegas field office to request his cooperation.
“Murray really wants to get him,” Mick was explaining without much enthusiasm. “It seems the bureau has had suspicions about his business operations for a long time or maybe something in his past, but they evidently haven’t been able to put enough evidence together to prosecute him. I’m thinking it might be a tax thing or maybe even a mob connection.” He paused to sip his drink and audibly sighed. “Anyway, Murray was very happy to sign on to our review and actually said that whatever methodology we come up with he wants us to use the Sea Nymph in our study.”
“Well, I can’t imagine Ken rejecting a request that has the interest of both the Congress and the bureau. I’ll try to talk with him tomorrow.”
Mick looked around at the familiar jazz motif. He couldn’t count the number of times he sat in this same spot after work with Bill, while congressional staffers and occasionally other members passed by, often stopping to greet the popular senator on their way to the dining room. The environment had always been comfortable and stimulating, yet this time he felt somehow nervous and jumpy in a way he could not recall feeling before. It must be something to do with the stress of my recovery. After all, he had come very close to dying on the deck of the Sea Nymph and then again in the Valparaiso hospital.
The hostess came to tell them their table was ready. Bill got up and waited while Mick eased off his stool. As he watched his friend, he worried; Mick was not himself at all and the change didn’t really seem related to his physical injury. Knowing Mick as he did, he noticed that his mannerisms—and seemingly his personality—had somehow dampened. He just seemed emotionally flat despite his supposed new love relationship with Darcy.
They slowly made their way to the table and were soon enjoying their meal of rare steaks, baked potato heaped with sour cream, and lightly grilled asparagus topped off by a bottle of 1998 Napa Valley Mount Veeder cabernet. As Mick slowly chewed, he leaned back and tried to relax. I can’t wait to get back to feeling normal. This uneasiness sucks.
First look at Currents of Vengeance
Chapter 1
February 17, 2008 – Washington, DC
Michelangelo Clayton turned carefully onto his side to check the clock on the bedside table. With some relief he noted that this simple maneuver was a little easier to accomplish than it had been a few days ago. He raised his head and squinted at the digits in the dimly lit room; Sunday, 11:14 a.m. Mick sighed and fell back against the pillow. For the past two weeks he had spent most of his time in this pleasant blue and brown reproduction colonial-style bedroom. Now that he was feeling better, boredom was setting in and he was looking forward to having Bill around for some company at least for part of the day.
A door had closed quietly at the other end of the house and Mick was waiting to see whether it was Bill, or the nurse who was supposed to visit two days a week to check his stitches and help him with his personal care. He never knew exactly which day she would show up and assumed that Aetna would soon curtail the visits, which was fine with him because he didn’t think he needed her minimal efforts anyway.
Senator Bill Sawyer stepped into the bedroom with briefcase in hand. He wore a dark grey suit and a black and red striped tie over a dazzling white shirt, indicating that he had come from work. He glanced at Mick and walked directly to the window to raise the black-out pleated shade. Bright sunlight immediately penetrated the gloom, greatly improving the room’s overall ambiance. Then he returned to the foot of the bed and peered down at Mick.
Mick was thinking that his friend was still in decent shape for a guy who had little time to take care of himself. For some reason, at that moment he noticed for the first time that his sandy hair was beginning to thin a little in front. Otherwise, he still had the same freckled boyish look as when they met at Cornell more than twenty years ago. The two had been best friends since then, and after the events of the past seven weeks, their friendship had deepened.
“Hey buddy,” Bill was saying, “is there anything I can get you or are you going to get out of that bed? It’s almost noon and I’m taking the rest of the day off so I was thinking we should get you out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful day and not really that cold . . . and we can sit in the sun.”
“Yeah, good idea and anyway, I want to talk to you again about some of the stuff that happened on the cruise and ideas I have about Paul Denezza.” He pulled himself up as he spoke and had managed a sitting position on the side of the bed, when Bill stepped up and bent over to take his elbow. After helping him up, Bill let go and started for the door. Mick said to his back, “I’m so much better now. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for letting me stay here and for nursing me back to health.”
Bill turned around to see Mick struggling with his bathrobe and returned to help him put it on. The deep chest wound had made his left shoulder stiff and reaching behind him was still a chore. He answered with a chuckle, “I think if I had a big hole in my chest and had lost half my blood supply you would do the same for me, right?”
“Let’s hope you never go through anything like this, but yeah, I guess you could count on me,” Mick tried to laugh without taking too deep a breath.
Mick proceeded slowly down the hallway and across the polished oak-planked living room floor to a set of French doors. Out on the grey and black flagstone terrace he sat opposite Bill at a glass-topped iron filigree table. Before they became involved in a conversation, though, Bill suddenly excused himself and went to change into jeans and to get them both a beer.
Mick breathed deeply and looked at his surroundings, grateful that the pain in his chest was greatly diminishing. He gazed at the remaining red and gold leaves of the DC winter garden surrounding the perimeter of Bill’s postage-size back yard. The three million dollar two story brick row house on North Carolina Avenue had been beautifully restored, but only had seventeen hundred square feet. Bill had said it was plenty big enough for him, and besides, it was only about six blocks from the Russell Senate Office Building at First and Constitution where he spent much of his time.
Bill soon returned to his seat and held out an icy bottle. “Here, try this, from the Blue and Gray Brewing Company in Fredericksburg. Lately I’ve been trying to sample some beers from our great local micros.” They both chugged and leaned back stretching their legs out in front of them.
Mick held the amber liquid up to the light and studied the carbonation. Turning the bottle, he read the label—Blue and Gray Classic Lager—then took another sip and savored the smooth malty flavor. “This is pretty good and fairly light, which is probably a good thing for me right now since I’m out of training.”
He painfully drew in a deep breath and leaned forward in his seat with his elbows resting on the table. With a subdued tone, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can do to make sure Denezza pays for at least part of what happened on the ship. There is no doubt that he hired those two crew members to get rid of his wife and now they’re both dead.” Bill swallowed and waved his bottle for Mick to continue.
Mick nodded. “His involvement will be hard to prove with no one left to give direct testimony. It’s all so damned complicated because Sidney is still alive and four others are dead . . . I don’t know, maybe there’s no one left who knew about Paul’s plan.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“So what are you thinking you’d like to do about it?”
Mick seemed to perk up a little. “OK, Tom Smythe, the security chief on the Sea Nymph was fired by World of Seas Cruise Line because of everything he supposedly allowed to happen on the cruise. Well, he tells me he intends to continue working with the Vegas FBI to try and prosecute Paul.”
“Finally Bill set his bottle down and leaned toward Mick. “Really? That is a little surprising under the circumstances.”
“I thought so too, but I mailed him the keys to the Range Rover, still parked where I left it at the Miami Marriott, and he is driving up here to talk to me.”
Bill pursed his lips and pulled his legs under him. “Sounds like the two of you already have a plan in mind.”
“Well, one of the things we’re thinking is that someone needs to go back to the ship and talk to members of the crew to see if anyone else knew about Paul’s scheme. That’s the only way we’re going to get evidence to prove what he was doing, if evidence even exists.”
Bill stared across at his friend as he took another swallow of beer. Then he shook the empty bottle, pushed himself away from the table and jumped to his feet. “Want another one?”
“Sure, but that had better be it for me.”
A minute later Bill returned and lowered himself into his chair. “I get the feeling there is something you think I can do to help, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would be.”
“You’ve already done so much for us by making that arrangement with Ray Alosa. If Ray had not delayed Denezza at the Buenos Aires consulate causing him to miss the sailing, things would probably have been much worse.” Mick was feeling guilty about involving his friend even further, but he was desperate to make sure Denezza paid for his crimes. “And now you’ve done so much for me personally, I wouldn’t ask for anything else . . . only a little question and some advice.”
“Oh, oh, that even worries me.” Bill grinned and shook his head. “OK, what do you have in mind?”
“What Smythe and I have in mind is something I have already tried to initiate with Ken, but I didn’t get very far over the phone. He’s sympathetic to my situation, but in a way I think this is the last straw for him. Let’s face it, I haven’t been putting my full effort into the job for a couple of years and now living here with you is making it even worse.” As Director of State Law Enforcement Issues for the Government Accountability Office, Mick was responsible for the work of twenty analysts who conducted audits of federally funded law enforcement agencies. Even before his recent injury, he had not been in a normal emotional state and had not been carrying the full weight of his position.
“Of course Ken has always had a problem with our friendship. He thinks it’s a conflict of interest that I’m a member of Congress, and you work for the GAO and it doesn’t matter to him that we’ve been friends since college. In his mind we should not have a personal relationship at all . . . but what did you say to Ken about Denezza?”
“Nothing directly about him; just that I want to lead a review of crimes on cruise ships and use that opportunity to go back to the Sea Nymph to interview crew members about the death plot.”
“Wow, that’s huge—you would really get back on that boat?”
“Like I’ve said before, you wouldn’t have believed the situation on that ship, Bill. People were dying violently and the cruise line acted as if the most important thing was making sure there was no inconvenience to passengers. Even if I had not been stabbed and the rest of the shit hadn’t happened, I would still think we should do some kind of study of the situation.”
“Yeah, I know all about that. Lots of Americans are on those ships and more passengers are assaulted or disappear on cruises than most people realize. What did Ken say when you suggested the job?”
“He said no. He said that because GAO is not an enforcement agency and we don’t have much extra money in the budget for self-initiated work, it just isn’t feasible to go sailing off on a cruise ship . . . in his words.” Mick paused as if assessing whether he should say what he was thinking. He ran his hand through his dark wavy bangs and smiled at his friend. “But Bill, I’ve been wondering, what if you or your International Relations Committee requests the assignment? GAO usually accepts Congressional requests and after all, when I first came back to DC you told me about those hearings where victims and family members told stories about crimes committed against them on cruise ships . . . so wouldn’t it make sense if you were interested in determining how widespread these problems are?”
Before Bill could answer, Mick rushed to finish his proposal. “And one more thing; I want to bring Tom on board—so to speak—as a consultant. He used to be an L.A. cop and he worked on the Sea Nymph for ten years. Maybe the committee could request his assistance as well.” He sat back with a sheepish expression and waited for Bill’s reaction.
“That is a very interesting idea, Mick. Those hearings were held several years ago and now its 2008 and we haven’t done a damn thing about it. My committee and others have talked about drafting some kind of legislation related to passenger safety on cruise ships, but it’s one of those issues that just gets pushed down the list of priorities, mainly because there’s a big problem due to the lack of jurisdiction in international waters.” He paused and looked away from Mick for a few moments. Then he drew his long legs under him and leaned over the table giving Mick an earnest look.
“Maybe this could be a way to get some information to help us formulate something.” Another thoughtful pause ensued while he stared across the yard. Finally he nodded and grinned at his friend. “OK, tell you what, I’ll speak to Ken next week.” He saw Mick flinch and added, “I won’t tell him we talked about it. I’ll give him the history we already have on the hill, and try to get him to see that it’s only natural for my interest to be revived after all the press coverage of the Sea Nymph nightmare and your involvement in it.”
Mick smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Buddy, you’re coming to the rescue again. I can’t wait to hear what comes of that conversation.”
They chatted amiably about other current events, but after about twenty minutes Mick was obviously becoming restless. “I’m getting a little tired. I think I’ll go back inside and I really should call Darcy, anyway.” His brow furrowed and he stared down at the flagstone with a sad expression—then seemed to catch himself. “I haven’t talked to her much since we got back.”
“OK, say hi to Darcy for me. I’m hoping to actually meet her before long. Has Rachael flown up from Buenos Aires to see her yet?”
“No, but apparently she has a break from college in about a week and plans to visit Darcy in Colorado Springs. Bill, can you imagine what it must be like for a mother and daughter to be meeting each other after almost twenty years apart?”
“I know it all seems amazing.”
“I still can’t believe how the cruise brought them together like that . . . and our role in it. Darcy is really working hard to overcome the guilt she was carrying all those years.”
Bill’s face lit with a spontaneous thought. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe Darcy and Rachael can fly out here during her visit. Rachael can stay in my other guest room and it’s about time you and Darcy got to spend some time together.”
“Thanks, that really is a great idea, but I don’t know how she would feel about it. Part of me thinks I should back off a little for now, just to give her time to build a relationship with Rachael. But I’ll tell her about your offer when I call.”
Bill squinted into the bright sun behind Mick’s chair for a few moments. “Good enough, but you know, Mick, I should think Darcy would want both you and Rachael in her life now.”
When he did not get a response, Bill changed the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m making us a dinner reservation at Sam and Harry’s for Tuesday. It’s time you got out of the house and I’ve really missed our happy hours. It’s been since before you went down to the house on Marco Island, which was way before you went on the cruise.”
Mick felt a jolt of anxiety. “I’m a little anxious about how I’ll feel getting out in public, but I know I have to do it soon.” He sighed and pushed away from the table. “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to one of those rare NY strips not to mention the great wine selection.” Mick sincerely wished he felt as enthusiastic as he tried to sound.
Chapter 2
On Tuesday evening Bill and Mick were sitting at Sam and Harry’s bar sipping champagne and munching baked spinach and gouda with crab on baguettes. They were chatting about the approach Bill planned to take when he talked with Mick’s boss, Ken Worthford, U.S. Assistant Comptroller General for Law and Justice. They had already decided it would help their case if the FBI had a stake in the GAO request. So, Mick had called Special Agent Grant Murray in the Vegas field office to request his cooperation.
“Murray really wants to get him,” Mick was explaining without much enthusiasm. “It seems the bureau has had suspicions about his business operations for a long time or maybe something in his past, but they evidently haven’t been able to put enough evidence together to prosecute him. I’m thinking it might be a tax thing or maybe even a mob connection.” He paused to sip his drink and audibly sighed. “Anyway, Murray was very happy to sign on to our review and actually said that whatever methodology we come up with he wants us to use the Sea Nymph in our study.”
“Well, I can’t imagine Ken rejecting a request that has the interest of both the Congress and the bureau. I’ll try to talk with him tomorrow.”
Mick looked around at the familiar jazz motif. He couldn’t count the number of times he sat in this same spot after work with Bill, while congressional staffers and occasionally other members passed by, often stopping to greet the popular senator on their way to the dining room. The environment had always been comfortable and stimulating, yet this time he felt somehow nervous and jumpy in a way he could not recall feeling before. It must be something to do with the stress of my recovery. After all, he had come very close to dying on the deck of the Sea Nymph and then again in the Valparaiso hospital.
The hostess came to tell them their table was ready. Bill got up and waited while Mick eased off his stool. As he watched his friend, he worried; Mick was not himself at all and the change didn’t really seem related to his physical injury. Knowing Mick as he did, he noticed that his mannerisms—and seemingly his personality—had somehow dampened. He just seemed emotionally flat despite his supposed new love relationship with Darcy.
They slowly made their way to the table and were soon enjoying their meal of rare steaks, baked potato heaped with sour cream, and lightly grilled asparagus topped off by a bottle of 1998 Napa Valley Mount Veeder cabernet. As Mick slowly chewed, he leaned back and tried to relax. I can’t wait to get back to feeling normal. This uneasiness sucks.
urrents of Vengeance
Chapter 1
February 17, 2008 – Washington, DC
Michelangelo Clayton turned carefully onto his side to check the clock on the bedside table. With some relief he noted that this simple maneuver was a little easier to accomplish than it had been a few days ago. He raised his head and squinted at the digits in the dimly lit room; Sunday, 11:14 a.m. Mick sighed and fell back against the pillow. For the past two weeks he had spent most of his time in this pleasant blue and brown reproduction colonial-style bedroom. Now that he was feeling better, boredom was setting in and he was looking forward to having Bill around for some company at least for part of the day.
A door had closed quietly at the other end of the house and Mick was waiting to see whether it was Bill, or the nurse who was supposed to visit two days a week to check his stitches and help him with his personal care. He never knew exactly which day she would show up and assumed that Aetna would soon curtail the visits, which was fine with him because he didn’t think he needed her minimal efforts anyway.
Senator Bill Sawyer stepped into the bedroom with briefcase in hand. He wore a dark grey suit and a black and red striped tie over a dazzling white shirt, indicating that he had come from work. He glanced at Mick and walked directly to the window to raise the black-out pleated shade. Bright sunlight immediately penetrated the gloom, greatly improving the room’s overall ambiance. Then he returned to the foot of the bed and peered down at Mick.
Mick was thinking that his friend was still in decent shape for a guy who had little time to take care of himself. For some reason, at that moment he noticed for the first time that his sandy hair was beginning to thin a little in front. Otherwise, he still had the same freckled boyish look as when they met at Cornell more than twenty years ago. The two had been best friends since then, and after the events of the past seven weeks, their friendship had deepened.
“Hey buddy,” Bill was saying, “is there anything I can get you or are you going to get out of that bed? It’s almost noon and I’m taking the rest of the day off so I was thinking we should get you out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful day and not really that cold . . . and we can sit in the sun.”
“Yeah, good idea and anyway, I want to talk to you again about some of the stuff that happened on the cruise and ideas I have about Paul Denezza.” He pulled himself up as he spoke and had managed a sitting position on the side of the bed, when Bill stepped up and bent over to take his elbow. After helping him up, Bill let go and started for the door. Mick said to his back, “I’m so much better now. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for letting me stay here and for nursing me back to health.”
Bill turned around to see Mick struggling with his bathrobe and returned to help him put it on. The deep chest wound had made his left shoulder stiff and reaching behind him was still a chore. He answered with a chuckle, “I think if I had a big hole in my chest and had lost half my blood supply you would do the same for me, right?”
“Let’s hope you never go through anything like this, but yeah, I guess you could count on me,” Mick tried to laugh without taking too deep a breath.
Mick proceeded slowly down the hallway and across the polished oak-planked living room floor to a set of French doors. Out on the grey and black flagstone terrace he sat opposite Bill at a glass-topped iron filigree table. Before they became involved in a conversation, though, Bill suddenly excused himself and went to change into jeans and to get them both a beer.
Mick breathed deeply and looked at his surroundings, grateful that the pain in his chest was greatly diminishing. He gazed at the remaining red and gold leaves of the DC winter garden surrounding the perimeter of Bill’s postage-size back yard. The three million dollar two story brick row house on North Carolina Avenue had been beautifully restored, but only had seventeen hundred square feet. Bill had said it was plenty big enough for him, and besides, it was only about six blocks from the Russell Senate Office Building at First and Constitution where he spent much of his time.
Bill soon returned to his seat and held out an icy bottle. “Here, try this, from the Blue and Gray Brewing Company in Fredericksburg. Lately I’ve been trying to sample some beers from our great local micros.” They both chugged and leaned back stretching their legs out in front of them.
Mick held the amber liquid up to the light and studied the carbonation. Turning the bottle, he read the label—Blue and Gray Classic Lager—then took another sip and savored the smooth malty flavor. “This is pretty good and fairly light, which is probably a good thing for me right now since I’m out of training.”
He painfully drew in a deep breath and leaned forward in his seat with his elbows resting on the table. With a subdued tone, he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can do to make sure Denezza pays for at least part of what happened on the ship. There is no doubt that he hired those two crew members to get rid of his wife and now they’re both dead.” Bill swallowed and waved his bottle for Mick to continue.
Mick nodded. “His involvement will be hard to prove with no one left to give direct testimony. It’s all so damned complicated because Sidney is still alive and four others are dead . . . I don’t know, maybe there’s no one left who knew about Paul’s plan.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“So what are you thinking you’d like to do about it?”
Mick seemed to perk up a little. “OK, Tom Smythe, the security chief on the Sea Nymph was fired by World of Seas Cruise Line because of everything he supposedly allowed to happen on the cruise. Well, he tells me he intends to continue working with the Vegas FBI to try and prosecute Paul.”
“Finally Bill set his bottle down and leaned toward Mick. “Really? That is a little surprising under the circumstances.”
“I thought so too, but I mailed him the keys to the Range Rover, still parked where I left it at the Miami Marriott, and he is driving up here to talk to me.”
Bill pursed his lips and pulled his legs under him. “Sounds like the two of you already have a plan in mind.”
“Well, one of the things we’re thinking is that someone needs to go back to the ship and talk to members of the crew to see if anyone else knew about Paul’s scheme. That’s the only way we’re going to get evidence to prove what he was doing, if evidence even exists.”
Bill stared across at his friend as he took another swallow of beer. Then he shook the empty bottle, pushed himself away from the table and jumped to his feet. “Want another one?”
“Sure, but that had better be it for me.”
A minute later Bill returned and lowered himself into his chair. “I get the feeling there is something you think I can do to help, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would be.”
“You’ve already done so much for us by making that arrangement with Ray Alosa. If Ray had not delayed Denezza at the Buenos Aires consulate causing him to miss the sailing, things would probably have been much worse.” Mick was feeling guilty about involving his friend even further, but he was desperate to make sure Denezza paid for his crimes. “And now you’ve done so much for me personally, I wouldn’t ask for anything else . . . only a little question and some advice.”
“Oh, oh, that even worries me.” Bill grinned and shook his head. “OK, what do you have in mind?”
“What Smythe and I have in mind is something I have already tried to initiate with Ken, but I didn’t get very far over the phone. He’s sympathetic to my situation, but in a way I think this is the last straw for him. Let’s face it, I haven’t been putting my full effort into the job for a couple of years and now living here with you is making it even worse.” As Director of State Law Enforcement Issues for the Government Accountability Office, Mick was responsible for the work of twenty analysts who conducted audits of federally funded law enforcement agencies. Even before his recent injury, he had not been in a normal emotional state and had not been carrying the full weight of his position.
“Of course Ken has always had a problem with our friendship. He thinks it’s a conflict of interest that I’m a member of Congress, and you work for the GAO and it doesn’t matter to him that we’ve been friends since college. In his mind we should not have a personal relationship at all . . . but what did you say to Ken about Denezza?”
“Nothing directly about him; just that I want to lead a review of crimes on cruise ships and use that opportunity to go back to the Sea Nymph to interview crew members about the death plot.”
“Wow, that’s huge—you would really get back on that boat?”
“Like I’ve said before, you wouldn’t have believed the situation on that ship, Bill. People were dying violently and the cruise line acted as if the most important thing was making sure there was no inconvenience to passengers. Even if I had not been stabbed and the rest of the shit hadn’t happened, I would still think we should do some kind of study of the situation.”
“Yeah, I know all about that. Lots of Americans are on those ships and more passengers are assaulted or disappear on cruises than most people realize. What did Ken say when you suggested the job?”
“He said no. He said that because GAO is not an enforcement agency and we don’t have much extra money in the budget for self-initiated work, it just isn’t feasible to go sailing off on a cruise ship . . . in his words.” Mick paused as if assessing whether he should say what he was thinking. He ran his hand through his dark wavy bangs and smiled at his friend. “But Bill, I’ve been wondering, what if you or your International Relations Committee requests the assignment? GAO usually accepts Congressional requests and after all, when I first came back to DC you told me about those hearings where victims and family members told stories about crimes committed against them on cruise ships . . . so wouldn’t it make sense if you were interested in determining how widespread these problems are?”
Before Bill could answer, Mick rushed to finish his proposal. “And one more thing; I want to bring Tom on board—so to speak—as a consultant. He used to be an L.A. cop and he worked on the Sea Nymph for ten years. Maybe the committee could request his assistance as well.” He sat back with a sheepish expression and waited for Bill’s reaction.
“That is a very interesting idea, Mick. Those hearings were held several years ago and now its 2008 and we haven’t done a damn thing about it. My committee and others have talked about drafting some kind of legislation related to passenger safety on cruise ships, but it’s one of those issues that just gets pushed down the list of priorities, mainly because there’s a big problem due to the lack of jurisdiction in international waters.” He paused and looked away from Mick for a few moments. Then he drew his long legs under him and leaned over the table giving Mick an earnest look.
“Maybe this could be a way to get some information to help us formulate something.” Another thoughtful pause ensued while he stared across the yard. Finally he nodded and grinned at his friend. “OK, tell you what, I’ll speak to Ken next week.” He saw Mick flinch and added, “I won’t tell him we talked about it. I’ll give him the history we already have on the hill, and try to get him to see that it’s only natural for my interest to be revived after all the press coverage of the Sea Nymph nightmare and your involvement in it.”
Mick smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Buddy, you’re coming to the rescue again. I can’t wait to hear what comes of that conversation.”
They chatted amiably about other current events, but after about twenty minutes Mick was obviously becoming restless. “I’m getting a little tired. I think I’ll go back inside and I really should call Darcy, anyway.” His brow furrowed and he stared down at the flagstone with a sad expression—then seemed to catch himself. “I haven’t talked to her much since we got back.”
“OK, say hi to Darcy for me. I’m hoping to actually meet her before long. Has Rachael flown up from Buenos Aires to see her yet?”
“No, but apparently she has a break from college in about a week and plans to visit Darcy in Colorado Springs. Bill, can you imagine what it must be like for a mother and daughter to be meeting each other after almost twenty years apart?”
“I know it all seems amazing.”
“I still can’t believe how the cruise brought them together like that . . . and our role in it. Darcy is really working hard to overcome the guilt she was carrying all those years.”
Bill’s face lit with a spontaneous thought. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe Darcy and Rachael can fly out here during her visit. Rachael can stay in my other guest room and it’s about time you and Darcy got to spend some time together.”
“Thanks, that really is a great idea, but I don’t know how she would feel about it. Part of me thinks I should back off a little for now, just to give her time to build a relationship with Rachael. But I’ll tell her about your offer when I call.”
Bill squinted into the bright sun behind Mick’s chair for a few moments. “Good enough, but you know, Mick, I should think Darcy would want both you and Rachael in her life now.”
When he did not get a response, Bill changed the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m making us a dinner reservation at Sam and Harry’s for Tuesday. It’s time you got out of the house and I’ve really missed our happy hours. It’s been since before you went down to the house on Marco Island, which was way before you went on the cruise.”
Mick felt a jolt of anxiety. “I’m a little anxious about how I’ll feel getting out in public, but I know I have to do it soon.” He sighed and pushed away from the table. “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to one of those rare NY strips not to mention the great wine selection.” Mick sincerely wished he felt as enthusiastic as he tried to sound.
Chapter 2
On Tuesday evening Bill and Mick were sitting at Sam and Harry’s bar sipping champagne and munching baked spinach and gouda with crab on baguettes. They were chatting about the approach Bill planned to take when he talked with Mick’s boss, Ken Worthford, U.S. Assistant Comptroller General for Law and Justice. They had already decided it would help their case if the FBI had a stake in the GAO request. So, Mick had called Special Agent Grant Murray in the Vegas field office to request his cooperation.
“Murray really wants to get him,” Mick was explaining without much enthusiasm. “It seems the bureau has had suspicions about his business operations for a long time or maybe something in his past, but they evidently haven’t been able to put enough evidence together to prosecute him. I’m thinking it might be a tax thing or maybe even a mob connection.” He paused to sip his drink and audibly sighed. “Anyway, Murray was very happy to sign on to our review and actually said that whatever methodology we come up with he wants us to use the Sea Nymph in our study.”
“Well, I can’t imagine Ken rejecting a request that has the interest of both the Congress and the bureau. I’ll try to talk with him tomorrow.”
Mick looked around at the familiar jazz motif. He couldn’t count the number of times he sat in this same spot after work with Bill, while congressional staffers and occasionally other members passed by, often stopping to greet the popular senator on their way to the dining room. The environment had always been comfortable and stimulating, yet this time he felt somehow nervous and jumpy in a way he could not recall feeling before. It must be something to do with the stress of my recovery. After all, he had come very close to dying on the deck of the Sea Nymph and then again in the Valparaiso hospital.
The hostess came to tell them their table was ready. Bill got up and waited while Mick eased off his stool. As he watched his friend, he worried; Mick was not himself at all and the change didn’t really seem related to his physical injury. Knowing Mick as he did, he noticed that his mannerisms—and seemingly his personality—had somehow dampened. He just seemed emotionally flat despite his supposed new love relationship with Darcy.
They slowly made their way to the table and were soon enjoying their meal of rare steaks, baked potato heaped with sour cream, and lightly grilled asparagus topped off by a bottle of 1998 Napa Valley Mount Veeder cabernet. As Mick slowly chewed, he leaned back and tried to relax. I can’t wait to get back to feeling normal. This uneasiness sucks.