~ Means To An End ~

by

Carol McPhee

Sam chuckled, then turned serious. "Lori, have you heard of the Coastal Watch Program?"

"Isn’t that where anyone seeing strange activity along the Canadian coast is supposed to phone in the information?"

"Yes. To the RCMP. I think you should do that."

"You know how I feel about the police. I don’t want to get involved with them."

"If you don’t report your suspicions, you’re condoning the selling of drugs to young people."

"I know."

"From what you told me, this sounds like the men are spotting a place to unload a drug shipment. I’ll bet they have four-wheeled vehicles scheduled to pick up the drugs, and your yachtsman is in up to his neck as a go-between. Have you been on his boat?"

"Yes... It did have a lot of electronic gear on board." She thought about the chart and remembered noticing at the time how nervous Rand seemed about her seeing the map. The memory of the dark shadow crossing his face made her shudder even now. Her heart skipped a beat. "Sam?"

"Yes?"

"I saw a nautical chart on board and it had circles and arrows."

"Make the call, Lori. I can tell you if Malcolm Warner is involved, they aren’t planning a picnic. Be careful, he’s a killer. Report what you’ve seen, then get out of there."

"Okay, okay. I know you’re right. But I don’t want to get tracked down."

"You could call from a payphone and not give your name. Wait a minute. I’ll look up the number."

Lori tapped her fingertips against the bedside table. There were many guests at the resort. If she disguised her voice and made the conversation short, surely it would be safe enough to call from the payphone near the spa.

As soon as Sam gave her the number, she thanked him begrudgingly. Needing change, she exchanged a five-dollar bill for coins at the gift shop. By the time she reached the phone booth, the coins were slick with sweat. She was taking a big gamble, not only in the possibility of being wrong, but in sacrificing a chance to develop a relationship with the most interesting hunk of maleness she’d met in a long time.

Lori lifted the receiver and dialed.

Five

Stationed at the helm--both hands on the wheel in the rough seas--Rand kept the Destiny on course. George answered the yacht’s ship-to-shore phone and passed the receiver to Rand. "It’s for you--Headquarters."

"Thanks." Rand balanced his weight against the roll of the boat and clicked on the receiver. "Hello?"

"Rand. I have a call on line one," the voice on the other end answered. "I think you’re the one that’s better able to take charge of it. Since you’re working undercover in the area of the call, try and disguise your voice when I transfer you through."

"What’s up, Dave?"

"I’ve got a woman on the phone who says she thinks there are suspicious things going on at Lochaber Haven. Can you take the transfer?"

Rand’s stomach plummeted. The drug dealers, currently confined below because of the storm’s lingering rough seas, wouldn’t take kindly to him carrying out police work if they knew. Since they weren’t within earshot, he’d risk handling the call from a spotter, prepared to hang up should any of the men be brave enough to come topside. "Patch her through."

It would probably turn out to be either a crank call or one from an anxious woman with too much time on her hands. He peered out to the deck and saw no one there. He’d make short work of this call.

"I can take it, but it has to be quick." When he heard the click of the transfer, he kept his eyes on the wheelhouse door and lowered his voice to a raspy timbre. "Hello? This is Sergeant McCormick. I understand you have some concerns, Mrs..."

"I don’t want to get involved," a soft voice whispered. "I’d prefer not to give my name."

Keeping his new pitch steady, he answered, "Yes, ma’am, I understand." Rand shook his head and rolled his eyes at George as the yacht heaved with the choppy waves. Hearing a muffled sigh, he strained his ears and waited for the woman to speak. He heard shallow breathing instead. "Ma’am? What did you want to tell me?"

The caller cleared her throat, then finally spoke. "There’s a yacht called Destiny docked at Lochaber Haven."

Rand’s mouth dropped; his hand tightened on the phone. "Please, go on." How much did this person really know? Had he somehow made a serious slipup?

"I have suspicions about it."

"Suspicions?" Blood rushed to his head. His fake voice sharpened, losing the coaxing manner of his usual encouraging tone with informers. The faint voice on the other end was hauntingly familiar. Ocean-swept salt stung his dry lips.

"Five m-men are staying at the l-lodge. One of them is Malcolm Warner. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes," Rand answered, "we know of him." Rand shuffled his feet and leaned his elbow against the wall, bracing for support.

"I’m p-positive they are up to no good."

Rand’s skin crawled in anticipation of what was to come. A cold sweat streaked across his forehead. He’d heard the stammer before somewhere. Lori’s face loomed in his mind. Dammit! The delicate broken rhythm of the voice was the same as she’d used in court. He grinned at the irony of her call, mighty thankful he hadn’t used his first name when he introduced himself. He should probably have picked one other than his own, Rand, for undercover work, but with several near misses when on a mission, he’d learned he responded better to his own name.

Rand kept his voice steady; Lori’s willingness to help the RCMP intrigued him. "Please, will you tell me what makes you suspicious?" Shut up and listen, Rand. Coax her to talk with your silence.

Her breathing was labored now; he prayed she kept on the line. "These men went out on the Destiny and anchored up the coast at an isolated spot. They went ashore, stayed a few minutes looking around, then returned to the yacht."

"How do you know this?"

"I happened to be out for a drive and started to go down into that particular cove. I’ve read the newspaper reports about smuggling along our shores. I was curious. I hid in the bushes and watched."

Rand clenched his teeth. Lori had been lost in a dream world when he had sneaked from her chalet to meet his informer at dockside. Soon after he’d arrived there, Warner and his men had shown up wanting to hire him to pick up the cargo from the freighter. Exactly what Rand had wanted to happen but hadn’t expected it so early in the game. Apparently the drug lord had found out the yacht scheduled for the pickup was missing. Rand’s informer had been reliable and convinced Warner of the probability that the playboy would be more than willing to add excitement to his life by any means. Warner’s decision to take a chance on him would put the law a step ahead for a change. Without a clue he was giving away his own game, Warner wanted to show him where the Destiny would land the shipment.

Rand gritted his teeth upon thinking of the risk Lori had taken with her snooping; she could have been detected and hurt. She also could have ruined their setup. Damn. He tried to calm his irritation. "There’s nothing illegal about anchoring in a cove and exploring."

"I’m only reporting what I saw. It looked strange to me that a guy with a shady reputation was tramping about on the beach with a group of men for such a short time. If you don’t want to look into it, no sweat."

Rand flinched. No sweat, indeed. His hands were filmed with the stuff. He was about to argue the point when she opened up with a volley of sparks. "I didn’t really expect the RCMP to be interested, but a friend, who knows about drug smuggling and the criminal element in Nova Scotia, said I should call. I’m not surprised you people only catch the crooks on the lower end of the scale without more interest than what you’ve shown. Sorry for wasting your time, as well as mine."

"Hey... Wait a minute! Don’t hang up! I’m listening, aren’t I? You have a valid point. I need to ask a few questions." He heard her gasp; she hadn’t left, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But what she’d said cut to the quick. His throat tightened, not only from trying to maintain a disguised voice, but from an urge to retaliate to justify himself and the RCMP. He’d almost slipped to his natural tone in his desperation to keep her on the line.

"Tell me about the men with Mr. Warner."

"I don’t know any of them except the captain of the yacht, and to be honest, I don’t know him well. I’d better go."

"No! Ma’am? Please, answer just a few more questions." She held on and once again he expelled the breath straining his lungs.

"What can you tell me about this captain?"

He heard her suck in her breath. "His name is Rand McDougall. I played chess with him and I can tell you he’s cunning and careful not to give out much information about himself." She paused, and he was on the verge of prodding further when she went on. "He’s extremely wealthy, but if he’s dealing in drugs, then I expect that’s where he got his fortune--it’s blood money."

Her bitterness wreaked havoc in his stomach. He felt the sickening urge to throw up, and it wasn’t from being tossed about on the waves.

Obviously disgusted with him, her outraged fury pierced his armor of self-respect. He’d been too successful at duping her. She was doing what the RCMP wanted good citizens to do... Why then did he feel betrayed?