Toward the end of the meal, while the rest of the crew was still enjoying the festivities, Juan returned to his cabin alone. To lend his quarters a classic vibe, he had re-created the furnishings from his cabin in the previous Oregon that evoked the style of Rick’s Café Américain from the movie Casablanca. He could hold small meetings in the anteroom with its authentic 1940s dining table, sofa, and chair, while his bedroom had a rolltop teak desk and a large vintage safe holding the Oregon’s valuables, including cash, gold bullion, and cut diamonds for untraceable purchases, as well as Juan’s personal weapons. An original Picasso oil painting on one wall was one of the pieces of artwork that was saved when the old ship went down. The large television screen on another wall currently displayed portholes straight out of a nineteenth-century ocean liner.
Juan took a seat at the anteroom table to review the files on April Jin and Angus Polk, looking for anything that might point out how to find them. Two convicts little more than a year out of prison couldn’t possibly be funding such an expensive operation without help from someone with deep pockets. Using their experience in the police and military, they certainly had the skills to carry out their attacks, but why? What was the ultimate target? Who was behind it all?
There was a knock at the door, and Juan said, “Enter.”
Maurice, the Oregon’s elderly steward, glided in holding a silver tray with a coffeepot, cup, and a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
“You left before dessert was served, Captain,” Maurice said, setting the dishes on the table. He was wearing his standard pristine white uniform with a napkin draped over his arm, an
affectation he’d brought over from his decades in Britain’s Royal Navy. He also insisted on calling Juan Captain instead of Chairman to maintain naval tradition.
“Thank you, Maurice. How are our guests doing?”
“I’m doing my best to make Ms. Chang and Mr. Parsons comfortable. I believe the young Mr. Stone has taken a shine to Mr. Murphy’s sister.”
Despite Maurice’s elegant demeanor, he was the ship’s go-to person for onboard scuttlebutt. If something was happening on the Oregon, Maurice knew about it.
“I hope it doesn’t cause a rift between Eric and Murph,” Juan said. “I’d hate to see their friendship blown apart by something like that.”
“I’ve been assured that nothing has occurred but flirting. They’re more concerned with Mr. Murphy’s unfortunate medical condition at the moment.”
“So am I.”
“Nonetheless, I am glad that Mr. Murphy has his sister with him at this difficult time. It’s always more comforting to go through something like that with family, although I like to think we are all his family. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Maurice left as quietly as he’d entered, leaving Juan to ponder his last words.
Who but family would trust disgraced felons like April Jin and her husband with a well-armed ship and a huge factory pumping out poisonous gas?
He rechecked Jin’s file and there it was, buried in a footnote. For several years, her stepfather had been a Chinese billionaire named Lu Yang. According to an internet search, Lu had died almost eighteen months ago. No information about his beneficiaries was available, but Jin had to be the recipient of the bulk of his estate.
He called Eric. “Stoney, I know it’s Christmas, but I have a question for you to investigate.”
“Actually, Chairman, we’re already back at work.” He didn’t have to say why. Julia had already told Juan about their time crunch related to the antidote for Murph.
“I believe Lu Yang, April Jin’s stepfather, might be the source of their funds. Check to see if Lu has any link to Alloy Bauxite or ever purchased a trimaran in the same class that Sylvia and Parsons described.”
“We’re on it,” Eric said and hung up.
Ninety minutes later, Eric, Sylvia, and Murph appeared at Juan’s door, and he asked them in. All three were still wearing the Santa hats they’d put on at the party.
“I guess you found something,” Juan said.
“You were right about Lu,” Murph said, his voice box mimicking Samuel L. Jackson. “He’s neck-deep in this, which is appropriate since he’s dead.”
“Alloy Bauxite was created through a series of Australian shell companies,” Sylvia said. “The intent was to make it look as if the Australian military had funded it.”
“But they forgot to completely cover their tracks on the purchase of the hovercraft,” Eric said. “Guess who Alloy Bauxite bought the Marsh Flyer from.”
“If it isn’t a subsidiary of Lu Yang’s companies,” Juan said, “I’ll be very disappointed.”
“Exactly. Not only that, the same organization that bought the hovercraft also supplied trimarans to various navies around the world, including China and Australia.”
“So now we know who we’re up against.”
“But that’s not the best part,” Murph said.
“We kept looking through the computer files you found at the factory,” Sylvia said. “Something very interesting popped up. A reference to an archaeological dig in Western Australia.”