SEABIRD: A Romantic Fantasy Read online

  SEABIRD

  A Romantic Fantasy

  By

  JAC EDDINS

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-392-0

  All rights reserved

  Copyright 2004 by Jac Eddins

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  [email protected]

  PageTurner Editions/A Futures-Past Fantasy

  CHAPTER 1

  That man was following her.

  Gina Taylor first noticed the small, swarthy fellow lounging outside the showroom window of Island Tours, Inc. where he appeared to be studying the colorful posters of exotic vacation destinations. The jagged scar on his cheek reminded her of the pirate-looking, half French, half native men of Tolonga. He wore an Aloha shirt, but with a floral pattern in muddied colors. She found the swirling olives, mustards, blacks and browns an unpleasant combination, part of what caught her attention.

  Just last night she had returned home from the islands, a grueling trip from half way around the world. Gina had been there for her job, checking out the potential of lesser known places where the rich and famous could stay for fun and sun with some anonymity. In the office, she turned in her expense sheet and gratefully accepted her boss' offer of a few days off until her next assignment. When she emerged again from the office that same man was still there window gazing.

  The route back to the subway took her along Fifth Avenue. No New Yorker drove in Manhattan unless she absolutely had to. After walking a block, Gina paused to admire some new shoes in a store window. The reflection in the glass showed the man she had noticed at the office following a few yards behind her. Perhaps it was mere coincidence, but it caused a frisson of fear.

  Don't panic, she told herself. She turned a corner, walked a short distance and paused again before a shop window. The display contained a large mirror and, under guise of smoothing her halo of wavy chestnut hair, she peered behind her to see the man still following, a short distance behind. She walked on and turned once again at the next intersection. Sure enough, she saw his reflection in the next store window when she stopped to look. Why would anyone single her out? If he knew who she was, he'd know she didn't carry much money. Many of the other women on the New York City streets in that area wore expensive jewelry and made far more lucrative targets, if robbery was his motive. What else could he want? She wasn't bad looking, but neither was she so beautiful men would risk all to meet her. What did this man want with her that he couldn't approach her, introduce himself and say what was on his mind? It gave her an uneasy shiver.

  'Why' wasn't the most important question. What was she to do? That mattered. She could go to a policeman, but she really had no proof. It could be mere coincidence the man made all the same turns she had. What would her Uncle Bill tell her to do?

  Bill had been a cop for years, until a shootout with an armed robber put him in a wheelchair for the remainder of his life. The first thing he'd say would be to stay calm. She was better off if the little man didn't know she had spotted him. She had the advantage of knowing that part of the city.

  Gina did her best not to let her pursuer know she had become aware of him. A few stores up the block she turned into a dress boutique where she had shopped several times before. As she suspected, the man didn't enter but hesitated, waiting, outside. Gina took her time browsing through the racks of colorful summer dresses, at length choosing two to try on. With those, she entered the fitting room. Once inside, behind the curtained entry, she placed the garments on the reject rack and headed for the other exit near the secluded area. Thank heavens she was familiar with the arrangement there. She emerged on the far side, adjacent to the store's exit on the side street. No one waited on that side. Rather than risk running into him again along the streets, she hailed a passing cab and headed back to the apartment building she called home.

  * * * *

  Once inside, Gina threw the deadbolt, then leaned back heavily against the door with a deep sigh of relief. Her unrest didn't leave her. Something more was wrong. Things seemed slightly out of place, as if moved and replaced, but not exactly as they had been. Could someone have been in her rooms since she left that morning? The door had been locked and she hadn't seen any sign of forced entry. Calling the police wouldn't do any good. Nothing was missing. What could she say? 'I think someone broke in without any sign of it and moved my things?' That would earn her a quiet room at Belleview.

  Gina fixed herself a tuna salad sandwich and opened a can of cola. Although she hadn't eaten yet that day – just a quick cup of coffee that morning – she had to force herself to finish. Just as she lifted the phone to call Bill someone knocked on her door. Nervous and a little jumpy, she peered through the peephole. "Who is it?" she called.

  An older man stood there. "I'm from the airline, ma'am. I have your suitcase."

  She'd almost forgotten. One of her bags had become separated from the rest and the airline promised to forward it as soon as it arrived. That wasn't an unusual circumstance considering the many connecting flights she'd had to make. She opened the door and signed for the suitcase. Gina set it on her bed, hoping that unpacking would take her mind off the events of the morning.

  * * * *

  The bright noon sun streaming in through the window did little to ease the shiver along Gina's spine. She removed the plastic bag containing a few worn garments from her suitcase, things she hadn't had a chance to rinse out before leaving the island. Beneath it, to her amazement, lay a neatly wrapped brown paper package with her name written across it.

  Curious, she undid the covering, then stared in mounting horror at the contents spread on the desk before her. Had she gone through customs with that last night? Her bags must have been one of those lucky ones given no more than a cursory glance. If an official had ever seen this she'd have a small cell to live in for a long time.

  The painfully handwritten letter contained several pages, but it was the first that gave her a chill when she read it. Why her?

  Dear Miss Taylor,

  In the short time I had the privilege of working with you I learned a great deal of your honesty and character. You are the one person I’ve found who may be able to get this off the island and to where it must go. Believe me when I say the fate of the world may literally be at stake. I do not exaggerate. The fact that you are reading this letter means you may assume I am dead. The instructions for delivering the small book follow; the remainder is yours to cover any expenses you may incur. Please, do not fail me.

  Sincerely,

  Thomas J. Mason

  Strange symbols filled the pages of a small notebook, likely a code of sorts. Neatly bundled with it lay a stack of money, $100,000 if the designations on the packets were accurate. Beside that lay a small clear plastic pouch containing a score or more of glittering gemstones. Of course, they could be fakes, but Gina had the eerie feeling they were all just as real as the money. One other piece remained; an unusual gold pendant on a sturdy chain, the abstract image of a seagull within a circle.

  Gina remembered Mr. Mason well, a small, distinguished looking man in his early fifties, quiet, with a pleasant smile. He was, or had been, an importer on the island. As part of her job she had to be sure of a steady supply of necessary goods for running any luxury resort her company might decide to build on the island. In the few meetings she’d had with him he had shown no particular friendship or interest in her beyond the courtesies of working together.

  The thought he could be dead made her cold inside. Gina recalled hearing the clerk at the hotel talking with another friend while she was checking out. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, just ha
ppenings of the islanders, people she really didn’t know. The clerk mentioned someone had been killed the evening before down near the docks. Whatever would a man of Mason’s stature have been doing in a seedy area such as that? It had never occurred to her it could have been anyone she knew.

  How had he managed to get this package into her luggage? So many questions and so few answers. The second page of his letter gave details of the island where she was to take the notebook. Several snapshots of a scenic tropical harbor had been clipped to the paper. Mason had considered carefully: Gina could visit that island in the guise of checking its potential for a resort development. Over and again, in the note, he warned her to let no one see it or know of it except the man it was destined for, another importer on the destination island. Trust no one other than that one man, Mason warned.

  Should she do as Mason asked? If Mason had been killed over it, she could be walking into real danger, too. She had the money and gems with no one to return them to, but keeping them without doing as he asked went against her deeply ingrained ideas of right and wrong. Well, she had at least a week to decide. Mason’s letter told her to take at least that much time before she continued on. She could show her boss the island pictures and convince him to assign her to go there. Beautiful, little known places where the rich and famous could vacation in style weren’t all that easy to find, one reason her company paid her very well. Gina walked to the window and let the warm sunlight ease away some of the cold fear gripping her heart.

  CHAPTER 2

  >From the window of her seventh floor apartment Gina had a good view of the bustling New York street below. She usually enjoyed the sight of cars and taxis crowding by on their myriad errands, honking horns at courageous pedestrians who risked their lives darting through stalled traffic. This time she looked out without seeing, her mind on the decision before her. Bill! She had to speak to her Uncle before she did anything.

  A slight movement below caught her eye. A man stood on the street opposite her building. She couldn't see his face, but he wore an ugly colored shirt very similar to that of the man who had followed her. Could it be?

  Gina called a cab before packing the parcel from the suitcase into the bottom of her knitting bag along with wool and the afghan she had started months before placed over it. She waited downstairs in the vestibule, out of sight, until her taxi honked for her just in front of the building. She dashed out and into the cab.

  * * * *

  Bill Ferguson answered the door grumbling about being called away from his beloved computer. That changed to a look of surprised pleasure at the sight of her. He backed away his wheelchair to allow her entry. "What are you doing way out here on Long Island?" Before she could reply he went on. "Sit down. Want a beer?"

  "Cola, if you have it." Instead of the living room couch, Gina made her way to the kitchen and seated herself at the table there.

  Bill got the drinks from the refrigerator. Gina made no move to help him. Bill didn't like being considered handicapped. For a short time they sat and enjoyed the beverages.

  "Now, you want to tell me what's wrong?' Bill asked.

  "What makes you think there's something wrong?" Gina managed a wan smile.

  "I know you."

  Gina glanced about her. "Is Sara here?" Sara was her 'almost' aunt. She was to have married Bill, but after his injury Bill called off the wedding. He didn't feel it fair to marry her when he couldn't be a husband. One day Sara would want a normal life and children. That day had yet to come. Sara was more often at Bill's place than her own, and saw to it he had the help he needed for many household chores.

  "No. She brought me groceries this morning, but she's got a family celebration tonight. She won't be back until tomorrow some time." He paused to grin. "Can I be lucky enough to have you stay for dinner tonight?"

  "You mean will I stay and cook," Gina laughed.

  Bill made a wry face. "Can you blame me? You've tasted my cooking."

  "I'll stay." His pleased expression rewarded her.

  Gina's mother, Margaret, had been the oldest of four children. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Patrick were a year and a half and three years younger respectively. Bill surprised the entire family by arriving just before Margaret's seventeenth birthday. That made Bill an uncle when he turned five and made Gina and him more like siblings than uncle and niece. They bore a strong family resemblance. Bill's dark auburn hair had more red to it than Gina's chestnut, but the bright blue sparkle of both pairs of Irish eyes was a match.

  "Now that's settled, what's going on?" Bill sat back in his chair and waited for Gina to begin.

  * * * *

  When Gina finished her story Bill shook his head in astonishment, gathering his thoughts. "Are you sure you weren't followed here?"

  "I remembered all the stories you used to tell," she replied. She explained how she bought a ticket on the L.I.RR. to the farthest point east. On the train she managed to get an end seat in a crowded car. The man in the hideous shirt had followed her, and entered the car, too. He must have realized he would draw attention if he stood while the next car had ample seating. He had likely found out where she planned to go according to the ticket she bought. He moved on to the next car.

  Instead of riding to the end of the line, Gina got off at a midway station. She waited until the last moment, just before the train was ready to move again, before stepping off. The man tailing her spotted her on her way to the station, but by then the train had started up. The last glimpse of him she had, through the train window, he was making his way to the car door. Too late; the train picked up speed. From outside that station Gina caught a cab and rode back westward. She left the taxi on a corner a few blocks from Bill's place and walked from there.

  "If it weren't so serious, it'd be funny," Bill commented. "Are you thinking of a career in the Secret Service?" He studied the items Gina took from her knitting bag and placed on the table. He shook his head and riffled through a packet of bills. "Unmarked and not in sequence." After a moment of closer examination he added, "And not counterfeit."

  "The stones?" Gina asked.

  "I'm no gemologist, but I'd bet they're real, too. It would take a spectroscope to be certain. I'll tell you something not many people realize. When it comes to colored stones – rubies, sapphires and emeralds – gems this size are more valuable than diamonds the same size. These are a fortune if they are genuine."

  "Enough to go back to college?"

  Bill gave her a short laugh. "You could finance a medical degree with all this." He paused a moment and frowned. "You're not seriously thinking of doing it?"

  Gina nodded. "He was a nice old man. And what if it really is something that could affect the world?"

  Bill leafed through the notebook and shook his head. "I can't even tell which way to read it! I thought it might be a simple replacement code, but there are more symbols than English letters."

  "Russian has more letters."

  "Thirty-two, I think," Bill agreed. "But the way this is set up I don't know if it reads left to right like most European languages, or right to left like Hebrew. Chinese has plenty of symbols and that reads from top to bottom."

  "They don't look oriental." Gina sat a moment in silence, then asked, "Are you going to try to stop me?"

  "Could I, if I wanted to?" He grew solemn. "You realize someone has already died."

  "I'll be very careful. I feel I owe it. I'll just take the notebook and hand it over as he asked. That would be the end of it."

  "Still, it could be very dangerous."

  "What would you do?" Gina asked him.

  "That's not fair."

  "Because I'm a girl?"

  Bill's eyes slid along her trim figure. "Hardly a girl any longer."

  "I have this feeling," she said, ignoring his comment. "I have to do it – at least try."

  They talked a long time deciding the best way to go about it, then Gina left the package with Bill. In the morning he'd put the cash and gems in his own safety deposit
box. He kept the notebook with him, too, eager to see if he could decode any of it. Should anyone again search Gina's apartment they would have no confirmation she was connected with the man who died.

  When Gina prepared to leave that evening, Bill again cautioned her to be careful. "Are you sure your boss will want to send you to that island?"

  "A beautiful tropical island, almost completely unknown and ripe for development? Would a starving dog go for a steak?"

  CHAPTER 3

  Two weeks later, on a Sunday morning, Gina Taylor stood just outside the doorway of a small waiting room and glanced out over the tarmac. The visor of her Mets baseball cap shielded her eyes from the brilliant tropical sun. She breathed a deep sigh. For the last hour she had watched a crew of men loading the single plane, a huge C-130, preparing for flight. The mail plane was late and that was the only transportation she could get to the remote island of Cocura. She set down her overnight bag, frowned, and steeled herself for a longer wait.

  A gangly young man dressed in mechanic’s coveralls hailed her from beside the big plane. "You the lady going to Cocura?" She bobbed her head in affirmative, unsure whether her voice would carry for him to hear. He motioned insistantly. "C’mon, then. They’re waiting for you."

  She hurried toward him, brows knit in confusion. "Are you sure this is the right plane?"

  "Yes, Ma’am."

  She climbed up an antiquated movable stairway and into the plane. Could this be the plane to Cocura? Most of the mail planes to the smaller islands were small single or twin engine and carried no more than a dozen passengers at most. This baby could carry– She stopped counting on her estimate when she saw the single row of seats behind the cockpit, four passenger seats, all empty. The door to the cockpit was missing. The rest of the aircraft had been rigged for cargo. The pilot, a crusty looking veteran, turned his head to acknowledge her. "Buckle up," he said. "We’re ready to go."

  Gina fastened her seat belt with an apprehensive look at the co-pilot snoring away in his seat. "Don’t you think you’d better wake him?"