The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [84]
“Everything is going to be fine. We don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he said.
“I was petrified on the way to the bedroom.”
“So was I, Sarah.” Stefanovitch smiled. He also blushed in the darkness, and was glad that she couldn’t see.
“I’m not anymore. I’m not afraid.”
“I’m not either. Oh, maybe a little bit.”
“Make love to me, Stef. I love the way you touch me. I really do love it.”
80
John Stefanovitch; New York Harbor
THE HARASSMENT CONTINUED the following morning.
It was the only way to get to St.-Germain.
A forty-foot launch transported nearly a dozen officers from U.S. Customs and the Drug Enforcement Agency, as well as Stefanovitch, out to a freighter called the Osprey. The Turkish ship was anchored just inside New York Harbor, near the Ambrose Light.
Captain Mohammed Rowzi silently cursed the fates as he examined a five-page document stamped with the official seal of the Customs Service, Department of the Treasury. A filterless cigarette that was half ash hung from his bloated, white-scabbed lips. Gulls circled and shrieked overhead.
Captain Rowzi’s command of the English language was poor, but he recognized enough words to understand that he and his ship were in serious trouble with the New York City police.
In particular, Captain Mohammed Rowzi knew that he was in big trouble with the unsmiling police lieutenant seated in the wheelchair before him on his ship’s deck.
“What is meaning this paper?” Captain Rowzi folded both arms across his broad chest, the papers flapping against the wind. He was trying to appear completely mystified as he talked to the police officials.
“This is just your basic court order,” Stefanovitch said in an innocent voice. “It means the Customs Service has received information deemed reliable, passed on by the police department or another law enforcement agency. Your ship is suspected of carrying contraband, specifically narcotics. Drug Enforcement and Customs now have the power to search the ship. They also have the legal power to seize any narcotics and other contraband they find.
“They have the power to destroy your ship’s cargo on the spot, actually. This is Inspector McManus. The search is at his discretion now. His call. Maybe he can tell you more.”
Stefanovitch glanced over at a U.S. Customs officer, Barry McManus, with whom he’d worked several times before. The most amazing thing about this charade was that it was perfectly legal, even commendable.
Captain Rowzi glared into Stefanovitch’s eyes. “Paper means nothing!” he said, and started to turn away.
“Glad you think so.” Stefanovitch shrugged. “I just hope the people who own all the cargo on board feel the same way. Inspector McManus, you can search the boat now.”
A half-dozen New York Customs inspectors immediately, and rather joyfully, went to work. They began their search by ripping apart several wooden crates filled with Turkish cigarettes, pottery, and phony Oriental rugs.
Next, the inspectors carefully went through the ship’s books, checking the bill of lading line by line against the ship’s actual contents. The inspectors found the usual discrepancies, but they made much of them. The search was as noisy as a New Year’s Eve party in Peking.
Five hours later, John Stefanovitch, Inspector Barry McManus, and a very unhappy-looking Captain Rowzi were back together again in the captain’s small, untidy quarters.
Outside the open door, a uniformed policeman stood with a riot shotgun poised across his chest. The freighter captain was already under arrest. Several million dollars’ worth of uncut heroin was being guarded on one of the police launches off the bow.
“I know nothing of drugs. Someone puts drugs on my ship.” Captain Rowzi solemnly, but nervously and unconvincingly, protested. “I am ship captain seventeen years.”
Barry McManus shook his head. He revealed a trace of sympathetic regret, but mostly bureaucratic indifference. His stiff stare was enough to bring strong men to tears. It had done just that more than once in McManus’s career.
“We want to talk to the owners of the