Darkest Desires
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Dark Days - Darkest Before The DawnChapter 26 free porn video
We ended up spending a whole week in London, trying to get to the bottom of this. Technically, I didn’t have to be there once I had given my statement, since I was not really part of the Demeter Foundation. The reality was that it was my organization and I was going to fix things or shut it down.
Frank and Nancy were apoplectic when they learned everything that was going on. Frank flew to London, arriving on my third day here, and was a whirlwind in getting the office back in order again, showing investigators exactly where to look, opening his books on the Trust as well so they had the whole picture.
Frank was going to stay until they had a solid staff in place and the Foundation was running properly. Mister Yves had no family, but his will had given all of his worldly goods to a charity for Returning Servicemen. I made sure that a check for a hundred thousand Euros was added to Mister Yves estate as a life policy from his employer, and turned over, then endowed the Returning Servicemen’s Club with a matching donation from the Demeter Foundation itself.
Ms. Jenkins was being retained and given more responsibility and a raise for her honesty and help. She would eventually win a judgement of three hundred and fifty thousand Euros from the fat lawyer, which came from his estate. He had a heart attack and could not be revived, when he was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison for his part in the scam.
Meanwhile, with Frank there and the cops on the case, not to mention one of the most powerful men in the country. Lord Hadley-Nelson was angry about Franklin Yves, who he had known and respected; angry about the swindling bastards operating under his nose and angry about having supported this charity as a thank you to me, and then having me find this mess. It was embarrassing, I am sure, but I didn’t blame him. I made sure he knew it too!
Jake and Liz had taken Dave & Steph and flown up to Scotland for a couple of days while this was going on. I offered Dean and Deb the chance to go with them, but they felt they had to stay in case this got uglier. Those creeps were not the brains behind this and as sure as the day turns to night, there were others out there that were probably upset about the loss of income.
Still, we finally did get to a point where I felt we could leave. Jake and Liz had flown back from Scotland a few days ago and a couple more cases of whiskey were added to our storage on the yacht. It took a day long argument, but I convinced them to go, to take the yacht and I would fly to meet them at the next port. With a lot of grumbling, they agreed finally and were off.
Next stop, officially, was scheduled to be Peniche, Portugal. And it would have been had Liz not wanted to stop in Bordeaux. They would be diverting into the Bay of Biscay on the fourth day at sea, and I would fly out to meet them there, on the French coast.
Bordeaux is the hub of the famed wine-growing region and is a port city on the Garonne river. Jake and Captain Barclay put their heads together and agreed that it would be no problem to sail the ship all the way to the city.
The mouth of the river Garonne, once you are past the outlet between Le Verdon-sur-Mer and Plage du Chay, was five miles wide and there was a lot of water traffic, commercial shipping and fishing mostly, to keep them company. The river remained wide enough, and just as important, deep enough for cargo ships and container ships, so a dinky two-hundred-and-sixty-foot yacht wouldn’t have any issues.
They would tie up in a marina called the Submarine Pen which had a commercial and private side called the Base sous-marine. The Captain was not familiar with it personally, but his books said it had all the service we could wish for though he was uncertain if their size would mean they had to dock commercially which could prove to be a hassle with customs.
When Dean, Deb and I arrived at the Aeroport de Bordeaux at about ten in the morning and were surprised to see the whole gang there. We had planned to meet up at the yacht and explore from there, but Liz had seen all she wanted to see in Bordeaux and was ready to leave. They had arrived two days ago and spent the previous day outside the city, touring a group of wineries and viewing the vineyards.
I just shrugged. I didn’t know wine and cared even less about the subtle variations in color and flavor etc etc etc. Bleh. Liz did, and I was happy to listen to her wax poetic about the soil having perfect acidity or something like that. She was happy so Jake was happy so I was happy. See how that works?
I was disappointed to see that the Garonne was the color of mud and, until we got out of the city, smelled like it was the outlet for half the sewage in the city. I was wondering if the charter company was going to charge Jake more for a scrub of the hull just for taking it up the river in the first place!
It was a four-hour trip back out to the Bay of Biscay again before we were on our way to Portugal. Our target was a small promontory that stuck out into the ocean and the city on that bit of land, Peniche. That is where little Estrellita’s family was from and where I had promised to visit.
Peniche is a major fishing port, and that is still their primary source of income, but a growing segment of industry for the city is tourism. Peniche has some of the best surfing in Western Europe and has some fine beaches that the tourists who don’t surf can enjoy.
History buffs might like to visit the Fortalexa de Peniche, a seventeenth century fort that is more notable as a notorious prison for political prisoners than it is as a battlement. The formidable cliffs would have made it very difficult to break out of or even in to!
Here Estrellita Iglesias’s family has made their home for seven generations. Her father, Paolo, is a fisherman who owns a large commercial fishing boat. Her mother, Rosalinda, is a teacher at the local elementary level school. Unlike her sisters in slavery, Amelia and Rosa, whose kidnapping and enslavement had political motives, Estrellita was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, much like Siobhán Byrne had been in Dover.
Where to tie up was easy enough, there was only one location that could take a boat of our size on the public side anyway. The marina was located on the southern side of the promontory and had massive man-made breakwaters to protect the myriad pleasure boats docked there. A local guide pilot was on the bridge to direct our helmsman and, when we were directed into our spot, we found we were expected.
I had contacted Estrellita the previous day, letting her know that I was almost there and making sure the family was not out of town on holiday or something. She had sounded excited about us coming to visit and had promised to show me around her town.
What we found when we tied up, however, was something different! There was a crowd there, a thousand people at least! There were welcome banners with my name on them and, more surprising, a large banner proclaiming this to be Jack McCoy Day! Talk about embarrassing!
I was watching this in shock as we tied up and Dean tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed out the strong uniformed presence around the periphery of the crowd, both police and military it seemed. I had to wonder if this was just official paranoia or if they had a credible threat. I prayed it was the former because the very last thing I wanted was to bring more trouble into that little girl’s life.
Standing front and center when we dropped the gangway to the elevated platform near the wharf, was a gorgeous young woman who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. She was standing near a man who looked a little familiar and a woman who looked even more so. When I realized that the beautiful woman was Estrellita, all grown up, I felt like banging my head on the rail. It had been more than two years so of course she had grown.
Oh, my, how she had grown!
Estrellita, who now wanted to be called Lita, though she swore she would always be my little Estrellita, was almost five foot ten, maybe a hundred and fifteen or twenty pounds, and built to turn men’s heads. She had that classic hourglass shape and a beautiful face to match. Her hair, dark and lustrous, hung down to the middle of her back and her eyes, her most striking feature, were an emerald green.
I think I knew she was all grown up by the kiss she gave me to welcome me to her town. Tongue. A very tasty, very active tongue. Thank god I had a rail between me and the crowd, I would have been even more embarrassed!
Paolo did that European thing and kissed me on both cheeks, something that still, to this day, makes me feel ill. I pretended to be unaffected, as much as I wanted to scream when I felt his whiskers on my cheeks, and turned to exchange cheek kisses with Rosalinda. Lita’s mother, among her many other skills, spoke fluent, British accented English, and had volunteered to be my translator while I was visiting.
There was a speech by the Mayor thanking me for saving the daughter of one of Peniche’s citizens, and he awarded me the key to the city. I always thought that the key to a city was a metaphorical thing, but he handed me a three-foot-long, bronze key inscribed with the name of the city, my name and the date!
There was another speech by someone from the government. It was not until Rosalinda translated his title that I realized he was a Minister with the government, not some minor functionary. His speech, full of praise for my ‘selfless action’ culminated in him stepping forward and hanging a medal around my neck.
“Mister McCoy, on behalf of a grateful nation, and at the direction of the Prime Minister of the Republic of Portugal, I present to you the Ordem da Liberdade, Comendadore. It is, in your language, the Order of Liberty in the grade Commander.”
“The Order of Liberty was created in 1976 after the Carnation Revolution in which the Estado Novo regime of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar was deposed. It is awarded to those who have performed great services in the cause of Liberty and Freedom in defense of the values of civilization and human dignity. There is no man in the entire world who can argue that what you did was in defense of human dignity and the preservation of civilization. Slavery is anathema to any civilized country and today, we recognize your fight against that plague.”
There was an almost overwhelming cheer from the crowd and, as much as I absolutely hated being sandbagged like this, caught unaware and not even consulted, there was little I could do without insulting the people of this town and even the country. It didn’t escape my notice that this medal was created after putting down yet another Salazar. That name was cursed!
I smiled and waved, gritting my teeth. There would be time to cuss and moan later. What caused me even more consternation was the press. The flashbulbs and video cameras meant trouble, I was sure of it!
The rest of the visit was nice, though there were almost always two or three photographers hovering around, as if just waiting for me to pick my nose or something else embarrassing!
Despite her overly familiar greeting at the docks, and her later hints that she would be glad to share my bed while I was here, Lita had a fellow she was interested in. She assured me that she would be at my beck and call if I ever changed my mind, but that she was considering the proposal of a very nice young man named Luis Espinoza.
His family had been in Peniche almost as long as hers had and his father was the district representative to the government, an influential and wealthy man. She was waiting, wary about his acceptance of her past. Latins were known for nursing a grudge until it died a natural death, then having it stuffed and mounted on the mantel over the fireplace rather than letting it go. To have this very eligible young man after her, made her feel wanted and loved, but suspicious too!
She even took me to meet him and I think he was a lovesick fool. He seemed absolutely taken with Lita and, when the subject of her time in slavery was mentioned, he seemed ready to take on the entire world. I think they would be just fine together and told her so.
We didn’t stay the week I had envisioned originally and was very glad I hadn’t told Lita or her family about my plans. Instead, after only three days, we pled a full itinerary and, with promises to come back and visit (Lita hinted at making me part of her wedding party!) we departed the port with a crowd of well-wishers waving to us from the dock.
Once out at sea, I got drunk. That scotch that Jake got in Edinburgh tasted like medicine at first, but the more you drank, the less you cared. Fate, the fickle bitch that she is, decided that we should have our very first storm of the trip the next morning. I guess she thought that a hangover deserved a rocking and rolling boat. I hate that bitch.
Jake, Dean and Dave thought it was hilarious to see me leaning over the rail, in a life vest, puking my guts out. Liz, Steph and Deb were probably laughing too when I wasn’t watching, though Liz at least pretended to care and to look after me.
Okay, so ... I do some things well, a couple very well, but drinking is probably not going to be something I am ever good at. Know what tickled Jake the most? He didn’t begrudge me the expensive whiskey or scotch I was drinking, nope, he is nothing if not generous. What tickled him was what a lightweight I turned out to be. Less than half a bottle and I was unconscious. Jake could have finished a bottle and found his own way to his stateroom instead of having to be poured into bed like a certain young man.
Yeah, whatever. Jerk. Sir Jerk of the Pickled Liver.
Did you know there are not one, but two Rivieras? Yeah, me neither. I mean, it was not something they taught in school, was it?
There is the French Riviera of the Bond movies and other films. Then there is the Spanish Riviera that attempts to rival the French for opulence and decadence. From what I was able to find online, the Spanish have some fantastic coastal resorts but they can’t match the French attitude. I’ll let you decide if that is good or bad!
The storm raged for most of two days, maximizing my discomfort, I am sure, before calming down. The Captain, with Jake’s approval, simply steamed in big circles out to sea, west of the Straights of Gibraltar while waiting out the storm. It was centralized east of us and trying to make the straight, while fighting an increasingly powerful storm, was not something he cared to do if it wasn’t necessary.
It’s not like there was a lot of chance of running aground or sinking, mind you, not in a modern ship of this caliber, but who in their right mind puts their vehicle through that much punishment, not to mention my delicate disposition, if it is not needed? Instead, we waited until the storm had started to break up and headed in the straights the third day after leaving Peniche.
The Straights of Gibraltar, not to mention the Rock of Gibraltar, figure prominently in any history of southern Europe and Northern Africa. It has been a hotly contested area by navies since man decided that hollowing out logs and floating around on the water was a good thing. So, with it being part and parcel of any history lesson on the region, you might expect it to be visually striking as well.
Yeah, not so much.
I think it is a matter of scale, primarily, and human perception of scale. See, when you look at a globe or even a flat map, that tiny gap between Gibraltar and Tangier, Morocco seems like such a slim corridor for ships to travel between the Atlantic Ocean and through the Alboran sea to the Mediterranean Sea.
The reality is different. There is a five-mile gap between the closest points of land in the straight, and you could line up the entire navies of a dozen countries; sail them through the straights at the same time and have enough space between the ships that you would have a hard time making out the face of a man on another ship, not with the naked eye.
That doesn’t mean that there are not accidents there, just that there are fewer of them than you might think. On the other hand, the accidents that do happen tend to be much larger and have a much larger financial impact as a whole. The collision of big carrier vessels and tanker ships, for instance, or a cargo vessel and a commercial fisherman. There was even a sunken cruise ship the previous year. The idiot captain got too close to the rocks to give the passengers a ‘more exciting view.’
We waited out the storm and sailed through the straights during daylight, in calmer weather. Add one to the tally board for adulting done right.
Once through, we turned left! Or north. Whatever.
We were headed to the Costa del Sol, the Coast of the Sun, where the rich and famous baked their skin to look like well-tanned leather, gambled away their children’s inheritance at the many casinos and posed in scandalous situations for the paparazzi.
What? Well, that is what the magazines want us to think anyway!
The Costa del Sol had some of the most beautiful coastal towns I had ever seen, even in photos, and we had a blast sailing as close in to the coast as we safely could, in the professional Captain’s opinion, not mine. Marbella was our destination for this stop and it was infamous for being the playground of the rich and famous.
Well, we were rich and Jake was famous, so we counted, right?
We docked at Puerto Banus, a very snazzy marina on the southwest side of Marbella. We were not the only yacht there and, in fact, not even the largest yacht there. We were, though, large enough to get special treatment, for a special price of course, and were docked down by the old lighthouse at the end of the row where things were a bit quieter in the evenings.
Jake had arranged for the ship to be serviced and a cleaning done inside and out while we were there. We would move into a resort for two days while it was done, but it looked like it would be fun.
The resort was the kind of place you see in every brochure but never get to see in person. This time, the pictures did not do it justice, it was that pretty.
The view was more than the pristine beaches, the crystal-clear water and the bright, colorful cabanas. The women that came here to see and be seen were spectacular. Although the fake titty brigade were out in record numbers, there were still enough beautiful and sexy real women to drool over. In fact, Dean and Dave didn’t protest at all when I told them to go have some fun. I gave the same offer to Deb, saying I would hire local security if she wanted to go party, but she was happy just hanging out.
It is probably a good thing that she was with me that evening.
Jake and Liz, with Steph and Dave trailing, wanted to go to a romantic restaurant they heard about, but I wanted to see the casinos. Deb and I caught a taxi and soon found ourselves at Casino Marbella, a casino located on the grounds of the Andalucia Plaza hotel.
On a side note, I am convinced that the same group of people own every casino on the planet. You could walk into the Casino Marbella in Spain, or the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, and feel equally at home in either. The feel, the décor, the lights and glitz, all the same. The service and smiles, it was as if they both read from the same manual on how to run a casino!
Still, it was exactly what I was in the mood for that night. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was picturing Sean Connery walking up to a Baccarat table and laying down a hundred-thousand-dollar chip on ... whatever you bet on with that game. I had no idea how that game even worked, but the imagery in my head from the movies made me want to try!
Okay, so I didn’t, but I did give the craps table a shot and even blackjack but ended up spending two straight hours at the roulette wheel. It is addicting!
I would probably have still been there, losing money, if Deb had not grabbed me by the arm and start pushing me to leave.
“We should go, Jack. The others don’t know we came all the way over to this casino. They are probably back at the hotel now, wondering. You have lost a bit of money already, why not call it quits? I wonder if it is even legal for you to gamble here at eighteen?”
She was really pushing me and was starting to get annoying. Every time I looked at her, she was moving so that she was on my left side, twitching back and forth, but never leaving that spot. It occurred to me that she was blocking my line of sight, and that made me wonder why.
Looking Deb in the eye, I saw the resignation there and she didn’t resist when I grasped her by the shoulders and moved her to the side.
Two tables down, hanging on the arm of a tall, thin and well-dressed man, was Camille Diana Raimond. She was wearing, barely, an extremely low-cut, sequined evening gown and she was openly fondling the guy she was with, licking her lips and doing everything she could to entice him. Her hair was a little longer and she was wearing a lot more makeup than she used to, but there was no question in my mind that it was her.
Deb was gently pulling on one arm, saying something in my ear, but I had no idea what. The sound around me faded to a buzz and I felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest. When Cam looked at me and met my eyes for a second, her gaze passing on and then snapping back in shock, it was almost physical.
I watched as her eyes went wide and one hand came up to cover her mouth. Her date must have noticed something because he stopped what he was doing to stare at her. Then, when he realized she was ignoring him, he turned to see what had caught her attention and spotted me.
I suppose it was inevitable, at that point. I couldn’t just walk out without ... what? Closure, I suppose. I only had three chips left, I don’t know what the denominations were, so I just handed them to the croupier with a smile and stepped away from the table.
Cam and her fellow arrived quickly, to stand in front of me. Deb was there, looking pissed off and protective, glaring at Cam mostly.
The man was shorter than I was by four or five inches and weighed, maybe, one sixty at the most so I had him by seventy pounds of muscle. Still, his attitude might have led you to believe the opposite was true.
“So, you are the American ‘ero who rescued notre petit héros orphelin? Our little orphan girl? I suppose I should thank you for bringing my future wife back to her country, but you did not, did you?
His tone was insulting, no doubt about that, and his sneer was downright irritating, but I would have let that go too, he was French after all. It was Cam who held my attention. She looked ... different. She looked like she wanted to chime in, and it would not have been on my side. Still, she had professed to love me once and I still felt way too deeply for her.
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