Shipwrecked-Chapter 11
Paul and Ethan had set down in Puerto Vallarta a few minutes before the storm rolled in. After making sure the aircraft was secured, they headed toward shelter. The estate was owned by Margarita Valdez. She and her late husband Raoul were friends not only of Paul, but Perry as well. Paul had met Raoul when he had come to L.A. on the trail of the drug dealers who had killed his son.
In one of the kinds of twists for which Hollywood is renowned, Perry then had to defend Raoul after the dealer was killed in his hotel room. All had ended well when Perry proved it was all a set-up.
Tragically, the strain of his son's death, coupled with the stress of the trial, had proved too much for his less-than-perfect health, and Raoul had died of a massive heart attack shortly after returning home. Perry had helped Margarita straighten out the estate affairs and ensured she was protected from any further reprisals.
Now, as Paul stood at the windows watching the storm's wrath, he hoped his friends were somehow protected. Margarita told him there were several offshore islands that they should check out. He was privately hoping the search tomorrow would turn up something, anything. She had found one of her husband's old fishing charts which showed all the islands but had cautioned him about trespassing on some of them.
Presently Margarita sat in the living area with Ethan, watching her friend. He was scowling, his shoulders slumped and his brow creased. Ethan, seeing the way she studied Paul, grinned at her.
"He's really worried about 'em, ain't he?"
She smiled at the lanky Texan. "Si. Yes, he is. He and Señor Mason are as close as hermanos . . . brothers. And of course the señorita Della is very special to him. I pray you find them soon."
"I wondered 'bout that. About Della. Paul, he don't say too much about the gals in his life, but her . . . I could tell she was somethin' special. I sure would like a chance to meet her."
She looked at him directly. "You are thinking Señor Paul is in love with her?"
Ethan glanced over at Paul. "The thought occurred to me."
"This he does not tell me. But Señor Paul is no fool."
"No," Ethan agreed, "That's one thing he ain't."
Standing, he excused himself temporarily to go over to Paul. When he slapped his pal on the shoulder, the detective looked up.
"Sorry. I was thinking. Didn't want to bring my troubles over there."
"Better to let 'em blow out with the storm, Fella. Now, that fine lady over yonder is eager to make over y'all. Buck up, at least for the night, huh? We got leads, Paul. Things really are lookin' up."
Paul nodded and followed Ethan back to the living area. Margarita's eyes warmed as they met his, and he gave her a genuine smile of appreciation. Within ten minutes all reserve was lost, and they were all conversing as though there were not a care in the world, as though the two castaways were simply late for dinner.
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Tragg hung up his phone and ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. It seemed to him the news just kept getting worse.
He keyed his intercom, "Brice, get the district attorney on the line, then have my car brought around."
While he waited for the telephone call to go through, he entertained himself by shooting rubber bands at his favorite paper target. But assassinating Perry in absentia wasn't nearly as satisfying as verbally sparring with him. He tired of the exercise after only three shots. If he were being honest, the feeling of dread pooled deep in his gut made him hope against hope Perry had found a way to come up with weapons of his own, if only to defend Della against . . .
The phone rang, and he scooped it up and growled into the receiver. "Tragg."
"It's Hamilton. What's the news?" The district attorney's voice sounded strained, anxious.
"Hope your passport is current, Counselor, because we're headed to Mexico. I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
"Tragg, maybe I'm not the one to make this trip. I don't know that I can do anything in a professional sense, and I don't want to ruffle international feathers," he admitted, and the anxiety became more pronounced.
Tragg growled again. "Listen to me, Mr. Burger. You are going on this trip. I don't know yet what you or I can do, but I know damned well we will find out. Get your coat and hat."
When he'd hung up, he rose slowly from his chair. Taking his battered fedora from the coat rack, and placing it on his head, he muttered, "Politics. You can have them!" Then one additional thought crossed his mind—I am getting too darn old for this.
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Paul and Ethan finally turned in, hoping to get an early start in the morning. Margarita waited until she heard the bedroom door close before picking up the phone.
After several rings, the phone was answered. "Hola?"
"Miguel, it's Margarita. I need your help."
After fifteen minutes, she hung up the phone. She knew she must tell Paul what she had discovered, but she also knew she was placing him in terrible danger. Isla Clarion was where Miguel said the pirates met to exchange goods. And if that was where Señor Mason and Miss Street were, they were in even more danger.
She made up her mind and picked up the phone, making two more calls.
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Tragg and Burger sat in the backseat while Sergeant Brice headed for the airport.
Hamilton had listened without comment until Tragg finished filling him in on what he learned from the senior Mexican government official.
"So, this General Alvarez is convinced that these so-called pirates are working with Jack Danvers to smuggle heroin from Mexico to the U.S.?" Hamilton shook his head in disbelief. "How the hell did Mason get mixed up with this guy?"
Tragg grimaced. "That's not the problem. According to Alvarez, the pirates are looking for Danvers's boat. If found, no one knows if the storms have wrecked it, or if Perry and Della are still in the area, or if other scavengers have plundered her. If Mason and Miss Street are there and in one piece, it's not going to turn out well."
Burger looked out unseeingly as the sergeant pulled into a private airplane hangar. "What's this?"
"This," Tragg laughed, "is a high-end taxi. We're going to spend some taxpayer money. I have chartered a plane to get us to Puerto Vallarta. General Alvarez is going to meet us at the estate of a friend of Paul Drake's."
"And what is my part in all this again?"
Tragg sighed. "Hamilton, Danvers has been trafficking the heroin on our side of the border. In Los Angeles. Last I checked, we like prosecuting criminals. So . . . If at all possible, you're going to use that smooth politician's tongue and get us permission to take Danvers back with us."
"Assuming he survived. We are making an awful lot of assumptions, Tragg. Facts not in evidence."
That produced a grin. "Not the first time. Only, in this case, I seriously doubt Perry Mason would raise an objection."
With that they both stepped out of the car and headed for the Cessna 172 plane.