International Incident Read online

  Hank regarded them with a proud parental smile. “All six of them are good kids. I think the little two get a kick out of being the big kids every once in a while. They missed the twins while you were away.”

  “You could have called Sasha’s parents. They probably would have loved a break.”

  Hank laughed. “You’d think so. But their dance card was full all week. Your in-laws had them visiting cousins and friends and whatnot. They had a good time.”

  Leo waited a beat before changing the subject. “So I understand you bought my way out of Thai prison.”

  “Jail, to be precise.”

  “Whichever. What do I owe you?”

  Hank waved a hand at the idea of repayment. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I am worried about it. And you should be, too. You have a half-dozen kids to put through college.”

  “Seriously, forget it. You can buy the pizza the next time we do combined family movie night. How bad was it?”

  “The jail?”

  “Yeah.”

  Leo considered the question. He’d spent time in police custody in the U.S. And he’d survived his training. His treatment at the hands of the Royal Thailand Police hadn’t been appreciably worse. “It wasn’t too bad. Not as bad as the conditions on that fishing boat.”

  Something in his voice must have sounded off to Hank. His boss narrowed his eyes and studied him closely. “You want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head. “Nah.” He didn’t. He wanted to feel the sun warming his skin through his golf shirt and watch his children throw back their heads in open-mouthed laughter while Hal and Calla pushed them higher and higher.

  “Well, if you change your mind—”

  “I know.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Then Hank said, “Looks like there’s going to be a Congressional investigation into those floating armories.”

  “How? The feds don’t have control over what happens in the middle of the freaking ocean.” At least according to Sasha and all her jurisdictional, law of the sea mumbo-jumbo, they didn’t.

  “No, they don’t,” Hank agreed. “But the majority of men renting space on those armories and hiring themselves out as armed security personnel to the fleets are U.S. citizens. Mainly former military. It doesn’t look good.”

  “All about the optics, right?”

  “Something like that. McGraw and Williams are probably going to testify. If they do, they’ll get immunity. How do you feel about that?”

  Leo shrugged. “They’re a symptom, not the cause. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to run into McGraw in a dark alley.” The thought of the man who’d attacked Sasha got his heart pounding a bit faster. He wondered how she’d react to the news. “Do me a favor, though?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t mention the possibility to Sasha. I mean, the hearings may never come to pass, right? So why bring up an ugly memory?”

  “Whatever you say.” He pushed himself up from the bench. “You ready to hit that slide, old man?”

  39

  Sasha rubbed her eyes with her fists, just as Will happened to pass by her open door.

  He paused in the doorway. “Late night with the twins?”

  “Yep, teething,” she lied. It was easier than saying ‘no, actually, my husband’s tortured cries during yet another nightmare woke me up.’ And she didn’t want to worry her coworkers and friends any more than she already had. Ever since she’d told Will and Naya about the events that transpired on the least relaxing luxury cruise ever, they’d been tiptoeing around her as if she were made of china.

  “Brew some chamomile tea, dip those little baby washcloths in it, and then freeze them. Next time they get fussy, give them the frozen washcloths to gnaw on. Works like a charm.” He smiled, no doubt at a memory of his now-adult sons’ teething days.

  “Thanks for the tip. I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Any time.” He strolled away looking pleased with himself for being so helpful.

  She turned her attention back to the motion in limine she was drafting, but part of her mind stayed on the subject of Connelly and his dreams. They didn’t wake him, he never mentioned them in the morning, but ever since they’d returned from their cruise, he’d been having terrible dreams. At least they sounded terrible. She nibbled on the end of her pen and wondered exactly what he’d seen on the fishing boat.

  She worked steadily through lunch and only realized she’d missed the meal when her stomach growled loudly. She saved her file, capped her pen, and was halfway out the door to grab a wrap from Jake’s downstairs, when her office line rang. She hesitated in the doorway, trying to decide whether to ignore it or go back and answer it. Caroline picked up the line, mooting the entire issue.

  “Sasha McCandless-Connelly’s office. How may I help you?” she chirped.

  Sasha lingered near Caroline’s workstation, waiting to hear who was calling. Caroline placed the caller on hold and looked up. “It’s a Mel Anders calling from the United States Embassy in Bangkok.”

  “I’ll take it. Just give me a minute to get back to my desk.”

  “Of course,” Caroline said to her back. “Do you want me to run down and get you a sandwich?”

  Sasha smiled. Will’s secretary didn’t miss a thing. “Thanks. That would be awesome,” she called over her shoulder before pulling her door shut and picking up the call.

  “Hey, Mel,” she said as she adjusted her hands-free headset on her head and sank into her chair. “How are things in Thailand?”

  “Hey, yourself,” Mel answered. “Life in paradise continues to be paradisiacal. And Pittsburgh?”

  Sasha glanced at her window. The sky was dark gray, heavy with fat rain clouds. The July day promised thunderstorms, which would be a welcome respite from temperatures in the high nineties with ninety percent humidity. “Also a paradise,” she deadpanned. “So, are you just calling to talk about the weather or ...?”

  “I have an update for you. Actually, two.”

  Sasha tamped down her surprise that Mel was calling her, rather than Connelly. “Lay it on me.”

  “Well, the dynamic duo of Austin Williams and Derek McGraw have been charged with attempted kidnapping, technically an offense against liberty.”

  “What about murder?” Sasha sputtered.

  “Simmer down. The murder charge is tricky--”

  “Jurisdictionally?” The murder of a Malaysian woman by American citizens on a Cambodian-flagged boat in Thailand’s territorial waters was something out of a Conflicts of Law final exam, she’d grant that. But there were arguments that could be crafted.

  “Not just jurisdictionally. Politically, there’s just not a lot of will to prosecute. A cross-border team finally found Mina’s family in a small village in Northern Malaysia, but they’re a couple of teens themselves--the parents are deceased, the girls are just scraping by. They don’t have the stomach, or frankly the money, to advocate for their dead sister.”

  “I’ll cover whatever costs are involved,” Sasha insisted.

  “Just hear me out. These defense contractors or whatever they call themselves aren’t stupid. They found good attorneys, who are looking for a deal to get rid of the kidnapping case. And the authorities would love for that to happen--nobody wants the publicity that would come from a case involving the attempted kidnapping of an American professional on an upscale holiday in Southeast Asia--not the tourism ministry, not Sacred Lotus, and certainly not the Embassy.”

  Lawyers, Sasha thought with disgust, conveniently forgetting for the moment that she was one.

  “What kind of deal are we talking about? Can they at least shut down that blasted armory? Is the IMO involved?” she asked.

  Mel snorted. “No, the IMO’s official position on mercenaries on shipping vessels, or as it so delicately puts it ‘privately contracted armed security personnel,’ is that it takes no official position--it leaves that issue, and by extension, the floating armories that suppl
y the firepower--to the flag states and the coastal states that are affected.”

  “Ugh. International diplomats sound just about entirely spineless.”

  “McGraw and Williams are providing information about some of Thale’s shady business dealings, which take place firmly within Thailand’s borders--no law of the sea to worry about, no cross-jurisdictional coordination required, no stonewalling from the Cambodian shipping registry. The Thai authorities are pretty sure they can nail Thale to the wall.”

  One of her Nana Alexandrov’s favorite sayings popped into her head: A half a loaf is better than a poke in the eye. It was a misquote, two aphorisms mashed together, but it always made her smile.

  “That’s something.”

  “Oh, it’s a lot. Thale’s involved in heroin trafficking--as in, it’s a big player. Our local DEA agents are raring to get a warrant to search the fishing fleet, and, from what I understand, the people in the Royal Thailand Police Narcotics Suppression Bureau are pretty fired up, too. I know it’s sort of attenuated, but if Williams and McGraw give up the goods on Thale’s drug smuggling activities in exchange for clemency, it’s going to help a lot of girls like Mina—and the men who were on that ship.”

  “I guess.”

  “But, here’s the thing—that means they won’t do any time. Are you okay with that? I mean, they were planning to kill you.”

  She knew, intellectually, that they hadn’t been planning to throw her a party, but hearing Mel say the words—those men would have shot her and left her for the sharks—chilled her.

  “This heroin ring is real? And shutting it down will be for the greater good--you’re sure, right?”

  “Positive.”

  “Then do what you need to do.” It suddenly became clear why Mel had called her and not Connelly. He was going to go ballistic when he heard about this.

  Mel let out a relieved sigh. “I’m glad you understand. Trust me, though, this is going to be big. Really big.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Caroline eased the door open and waved a white paper bag at Sasha. She motioned for her to come in. Caroline placed the takeout order on Sasha’s desk. ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed. She’d figure out what she owed Caroline after the call.

  She peeked inside the bag---tomato, mozzarella, and pesto on Jake’s homemade flatbread. Reluctantly, she put the food aside and returned her focus to the call.

  “There’s one more thing,” Mel was saying.

  “What’s that?”

  “This is going to sound crazy, but in retrospect it makes sense. Bar Pavot came up in the interviews with McGraw and Williams.”

  Bar Pavot? The cute, little French-inspired bistro. The one they’d been chased from by a gunman. In light of the circumstances, it sounded plausible.

  “What’s the connection? Oh, wait--was the creepy American who you caught staring at us one of those two?”

  “Nope. I’ve spent enough time staring at their ugly mugs to be sure that neither Derek nor Austin was at the bar. But the joint is partially owned by a Thale entity. And they apparently were selling heroin out of the back room. Pavot, poppy—get it?”

  “Classy.”

  “Right? I was invited to tag along with The Royal Police when they raided Bar Pavot this morning and you’ll never believe what they found.”

  She couldn’t even hazard a guess. It could be anything. “Tell me.”

  “In a safe in the drug room, there was a wooden box containing heroin cigarettes. That monstrous Thai who chased us was manning the door. When he saw my face he started talking fast. That box and its contents allegedly belong to one Jan van Metier, Captain with The Sacred Lotus Cruise Line.”

  Sasha’s heart skipped a beat and then, as if to make up for it, thumped crazily, in double time. Captain van Metier, a heroin user? Who just happened to frequent Bar Pavot? Her hands shook as she pulled up the file of pictures from the cruise and started to scroll through the thumbnails until she found the one of her and Connelly suffering through dinner at the Captain’s Table. She stared at the captain’s cold, regal face for a moment.

  “The American who was staring at us at the bar, you said he was older?”

  “Right. He seemed like a completely respectable guy, except for the part where he was leering at us. Did you hear me? Van Metier is a drug user and he’s connected, at least as a customer, to Thale.”

  “I heard you. I’m going to email you a picture.” She dragged the jpeg into her email program and typed in Mel’s email address. She tapped ‘send.’ “Okay, it went. Tell me when you get it.”

  “Got it.”

  Sasha waited a beat, then she heard Mel exhale, a loud whooshing noise.

  “That’s him, the guy from the bar.”

  “That’s Captain Jan van Metier.”

  They sat in mutual silence for a moment. Then Mel said, “He transferred to another ship. He’s not captaining The Water Lily anymore. I’m sure that’s not a coincidence. I doubt he’ll be sailing into any jurisdiction where I can grab him easily for questioning.”

  Sasha coughed. “Leave van Metier to me. And Mel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to Ron just yet. I don’t want it getting back to Connelly until I have a plan.”

  * * *

  By dinnertime, she had a plan. Or at least, she thought she did. She looked up from the stack of regulations she’d spent the afternoon reading and pawed around on her desk until she found the telephone headset under a legal notebook. She put it on and called Connelly.

  “You’re walking out the door, right?” he answered in a hopeful tone.

  She winced. She could hear two cranky babies in the background. It was the nightly witching hour—they seemed to get grumpy in that last bit of time just before she got home to relieve Connelly and right when he was at his busiest trying to get dinner on the table. “Soon. I have to make one more phone call.”

  “Is it important?”

  “It really is.”

  “And it’s really just one call?”

  “One call. I swear,” she promised.

  “Be careful walking home.”

  “Am I ever not careful?”

  “I know that distracted, wrapped up in a case voice, Sasha. You’re a thousand miles away. Just pay attention during the walk.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  He ignored her snark. “And stop in at that pet store on Ellsworth and get Java some food, okay? Make sure it’s the grain-free stuff with the duck and vegetables, no fish. Ask someone if you’re not sure.”

  “Wait—the all-natural, organic pet store?”

  “That’s the one.”

  She pursed her lips. “Did the vet say to change her food?”

  “No. But that whitefish stuff we’ve been feeding her is imported by a company with ties to Thale.”

  “Thale? The Thale Group for Thailand.”

  “Right. They supply fish to most of the big American pet food companies, and the company that makes Java’s food can’t confirm that the fish isn’t sourced from boats using sea slaves. There could be men like Binh living—and dying—in squalor so we can buy cat food for a quarter a can.”

  “Did you call up the cat food company and ask them?”

  “Actually, I did. Why?”

  “Just curious. We probably should be more careful about where we spend our money. Will was just telling me about the big chocolate companies using cocoa beans harvested by child slaves in West Africa.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  They sat in heavy silence for a moment.

  Then she said, “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “Sounds good. I love you.”

  “Love you more.” She ended the call and stared at the phone in her hand and wondered, Just how deep did his scars from that fishing boat run? After a long moment, she shook herself back to the present and the task at hand.

  She did a quick internet search for Professor Alfredson’s phone number then plac
ed the call. Her former admiralty law professor answered his phone on the second ring. His voice was softer than she’d remembered, but still strong.

  She took a breath and plowed into her spiel. “Professor Alfredson, my name is Sasha McCandless-Connelly. You probably don’t remember me but I took your Law of the Sea course in—”

  “In 2003, I believe it was. You were just Sasha McCandless then. But yes, I remember you, counselor. The tiny spitfire with the left hook that scared all the boxers.” He chuckled, and she could picture him, his hands folded over his belly as he shook with laughter.

  “Guilty as charged, professor.”

  “I read the papers, you know, online. I understand you’re making quite a name for yourself with your own law firm and everything.”

  He read about her in the newspapers because she seemed to attract danger, not because of her legal acumen, but she let the statement pass unchallenged. “I was wondering if you could help me out with a case. Just a quick phone consultation,” she promised.

  “I’d be glad to let you pick my brain, young lady. Since my retirement, I’ve had a steady diet of crosswords, Sudoku, and historical nonfiction, with the occasional thriller novel thrown in for good measure. A legal issue would be a refreshing change of pace.”

  She believed him. The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable.

  “Great, thank you. Don’t get too excited. It’s not the most esoteric question.”

  “Please, ask away.”

  She scanned her notes for a moment before she began to speak; then she turned them face down so as not to be distracted by them. “Okay, the issue arises under the federal Cruise Vessel Security and Safety Act of 2010. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Ah, yes, the CVSSA, signed into law in 2012. I know it well. I gave testimony to Congress when it was being considered.”

  Perfect.

  “Here’s the fact pattern. An American citizen is aboard a Bahamian-flagged ship that embarks and disembarks in Singapore. So far, the act doesn’t apply, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “But the cruise line is owned by a Delaware corporation.”

  “The Act may apply.” He stated his opinion instantly and with professorial conviction.