The Silent Sea (Oregon Files 7)

“Forget it, you lost enough in Vegas. You know, it doesn’t seem right to me. Vicksburg’s the site of one of the most famous battles of the Civil War. I have a hard time putting casinos here. It’s like if they put Euro Disney on the Normandy beaches.”

“A lot of locals agree, I’m sure, but a lot more are grateful for the revenue and jobs.”

Juan conceded the point with a nod. “It just occurred to me. I have no idea what Tamara Wright looks like.” He was reaching for his phone to call Perlmutter when it started to ring.

“Chairman, St. Julian here.”

“Your ears must have been buzzing because I was just reaching for my phone to call you. We don’t know what Professor Wright looks like.”

“She’s tall, I’d say six feet, and a light-skinned African American. Her hair was straight the last time I saw her, but that was several years ago. The best way to spot her is she always wears a gold Tijitu pendant.

“A what?”

“It’s the Taoist symbol for yin and yang. One half black, the other white. Listen, that’s not important. Her grad student just called me again. She says she had another call last night from a man asking about Tamara. She just thought to call me now.”

Juan’s gut tightened. “What did she tell this man?”

“Everything. She didn’t think she was breaking any confidences.”

“Did the man identify himself?”

“Yes, he said he was a fellow scholar visiting from Argentina and wanted to set up

a meeting with Tamara.”

The tightness spread to Cabrillo’s chest. He started looking around the small parking lot, expecting to see the Argentine Major at any second.

Perlmutter continued, “This isn’t good, is it?”

“No. No, it isn’t. It means Professor Wright’s life is in danger.”

At hearing this Max Hanley also started scanning faces.

“Thanks for the warning, St. Julian,” Cabrillo said, and folded his phone.

“Persistent buggers, aren’t they?” Max said.

“They’ve been an hour behind us the whole way.”

“How do you think they found out about Professor Wright?”

“The same way we would have if I didn’t know Perlmutter. I Googled her last night after you went to bed. She’s world renowned for her knowledge of ancient Chinese shipping and commerce. If I wanted to learn more about Admiral Tsai, she’s the person I’d want to talk to.”

“I guess this means that rubbing you threw into the kitchen at Ronish’s house survived the fire,” Max remarked.

“What can I say? It was a lousy toss. Come on, let’s go check in, then find Dr. Wright. I feel like I’ve got a target pinned to my back, standing out here.”

Despite her antebellum look, the Natchez Belle was a modern ship built with every conceivable amenity for the seventy passengers she could handle at a time as she made her way back and forth between St. Louis and New Orleans. Her two tall, spindly stacks were for show, as was the massive red stern wheel that churned the waters rhythmically. Propellers under her fantail would actually move the vessel.

The interior was as decorative and ornate as the outside. Woodwork gleamed under countless rounds of hand polishing, and all the brass looked as bright as gold. The carpet under their feet, as they stepped to the reception desk, was as plush as any aboard the Oregon.

The duo checked in. Juan was down to his last fake identification thanks to the need to burn their rental in Washington. He asked about Dr. Tamara Wright, but the receptionist, in her hoop-skirt and tight bodice, said they didn’t give out information on other passengers. They would have to find her themselves.

Their wood-paneled cabin was tiny, but at least they had a balcony overlooking the Louisiana side of the river. Max made a comment about the bathroom being smaller than a phone booth, to which Cabrillo replied that they weren’t here to enjoy the cruise. They didn’t unpack their bags and left the cabin quickly.

Before boarding, they had checked the people at the cocktail reception on the quay. Dr. Wright wasn’t among the guests, so the next logical place would either be her cabin or up on the sundeck. They hoped they could find her, convince her that she was in danger, and get her away from the stern-wheeler before the Argentines showed up. If not, they would guard her until the next port of call and make their escape then.

There was a bar at the aft section of the upper deck, overlooking the paddle wheel as it turned idly in the current. It was covered by a large white tarp to ward off the last rays of the setting sun. A few passengers were seated around it, and several others sat in nearby sofas, but none matched Tamara Wright’s description. Farther forward, in the shadow of the Natchez Belle’s ersatz smokestacks, was a sunken hot tub big enough to seat ten. Like the bar, it proved popular with passengers, but there was no sign of Dr. Wright.