"Where is the quarter of a metric ton, el Inglés?"

Hoagie grinned. "Not for you, Alejandro. That's for Lomas. He's on this island somewhere."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"He's here on Whiskey Cay, Alejandro. I think he's parked in that taxi that followed us. Get him."

Alejandro regarded him for a moment through his glittering snake eyes. Finally he shrugged. "Take me outside again."

Hoagie followed him back through the funeral parlor. Two blocks away, the taxi sat. Alejandro took out a cigarette, elaborately tamped it on his wrist, and asked Hoagie for a light. Hoagie snapped open his RAF lighter and lit it for him.

It was their signal that all was well. The taxi drove up and parked behind Romeo's Cadillac. Rico Lomas stepped from the rear seat. He was dressed as a tourist, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a straw hat with a band of cowrie shells. He walked swiftly under the funeral parlor's sign and joined them on the porch. He glanced around, grim-faced and taut, obviously unhappy at being there.

"You have seen the stuff?" he asked Alejandro in his rapid Spanish.

"Only that which they are processing now."

"And?"

"Grade B, señor." Alejandro shrugged. "Perhaps B+."

"A," said Hoagie evenly. "And he knows it."

Lomas faced him. "Where's the quarter of a ton?"

"Here, definitely here. Are we partners?"

"Bring me to it, then we talk."

Hoagie stood for a moment, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement of the curtains across the hearse's window, but neither Lomas nor Alejandro noticed, and he relaxed.

I've got you, you murdering bastard, he thought. I've bloody got you now.

"Talk? Absolutely, compadre mío. Come on in."

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mike Brody sat with Carla at a table in front of the Inn of the Happy Whale. In the shade of its umbrella her face was tense with worry.

"Relax, honey," he said, taking her hand. She managed a smile, watching the crane across the street back away from her veiled statue. Two stonemasons began to trowel smooth the holes in the granite foundation where its underpinning was set.

The stand facing the figure was filling with spectators. Jake and Louisa were in the front row. They were saving Mike a seat, and two more for Ellen and Thea, who were watching the swimming races from the beach.

Mike saw a gray government limousine creep through the masked Junkanoo dancers shuffling on the street; it beeped its horn. A black Bahamian senator from Nassau mounted the speaker's platform.

"Curtain time?" Carla asked.

He glanced at his watch. "You've got five minutes. Finish your drink."

He had dragged her there to calm her nerves. He hadn't been successful, but at least she'd given him a smile, the first in a week. He touched her cheek. "Come on, Carla. They'll love it."