Beth thought carefully for a moment before replying. “The show,” she said firmly. “He has a message to deliver.”
“I concur. Which leads me to two important conclusions,” he said, then paused a moment. “I suppose assumptions would be a more accurate term than conclusions.”
He turned his mobile around and around in his hand as he continued. “Firstly, I don’t think he’s a killer, and he’s hoping this concludes with Nora being successful. I don’t see him as a man capable of cutting Skylar’s throat when the door gets bashed down.”
Whittaker felt his mouth go dry as he verbalised the possibility of such violence on his watch. He swallowed hard to carry on. “Secondly, he wants his whole story told, and he hasn’t got to the good part yet. Killing himself or the girls would prematurely stop the story from being told. I’ll be gambling those young women’s lives on those two assumptions.”
“Not sure if it means anything,” Beth responded, “but I agree with you.”
The detective looked over at the agent. “It helps,” he said.
His mobile buzzed in his hand, and he quickly checked the text message. It was from Ben with the Marine Unit. He glanced out across the sound and quietly announced, “Our diver’s in the water.”
18
Navy SEAL
AJ Bailey had entered the water in all manner of ways over the years, but none quite like the entry she had just made. The Marine Unit boat slowed to under 10 knots for her to sneak into the water from the corner of the broad swim step, avoiding the thrashing propellers. Even at the slower speed, the water had been akin to a washing machine putting AJ through the spin and rinse cycle.
Her mask was flooded and she was still tumbling, but at least she was submerged and hidden from view. She hoped. It was hard to tell. But once all the motion had stopped, she cleared her mask, made sure her strap was safely in place and kicked the few feet down to the sand. The drone of the motors slowly faded as she used her compass to orientate herself with no other way of knowing which way she was facing.
Ben had dropped her west of the buoy they’d spotted, so she set about her swim in search of the line. She was in shallow water, her computer reading four feet with her staying another foot or so off the sea floor to avoid kicking up the sand. It didn’t take long, and she spotted a line ahead, but the depth was lessening as she approached. The rope hung loosely in the water, tied to a cement block lying in the sand and a new-looking white buoy bobbing on the surface. This was not the one they were looking for.
From the boat, they’d only seen two possibilities. Which wasn’t surprising, as the only buoys allowed in the North Sound were for DOE dive sites out near the reef, and a handful of resort boat moorings near shore. In season, lobster and crab traps were legal, but couldn’t be marked by a buoy. Finding two markers in the open water was a surprise. They’d chosen the shiny white one as they figured Massey would have recently placed it. Now AJ had to make a decision.
The second marker they’d seen didn’t even look like a buoy, it appeared to be a piece of floating foam or debris. It was south-west of where she was, and at least 500 yards away. The plan had been for Ben to make an innocent-looking sweep of the western part of the sound under the pretence of keeping boats clear, before returning to a spot a few hundred yards north of her drop point. There he would slow, throw her a dragline, and haul her in like a stunt double in a James Bond movie. Or a Navy SEAL. At least, that was how she envisioned the process. If she took off in search of the second marker, she’d not only have to swim a great distance, but retrace her steps and then make it back to the rendezvous point. Ben would have returned long before she made it there and would wonder what had happened. She couldn’t surface and signal, as the kidnapper was likely watching the area.
AJ held her compass in both hands ahead of her body and aimed south-west. She decided Ben was a smart man, he’d figure out to make a second perimeter run if she didn’t show up on time. It was that or burn up more time and risk being seen repeating the whole process. She kicked hard, in long sweeping motions with her legs, making the fins do the work. AJ was much shorter than Nora and couldn’t make the speed her Norwegian friend could manage. But her legs were strong from carrying heavy dive tanks around each day, and she set into a steady rhythm at a good pace.
South-west was the approximate heading she’d noted from the boat and she knew it could easily be ten or more degrees off either way. AJ wished she’d taken a more accurate reading, but they’d been convinced the white buoy was their target. Now she was swimming somewhat blindly towards a marker she would need to be within 50 or 60 feet of. The water clarity was excellent, but a pale 3/8-inch line was easily lost in the light-infused blue water.
AJ’s thighs and calves began to burn as she pushed on, but there was no way she would let up. Her friend had been through more heartache and pain than anyone deserved, and now she was caught up in this latest madness. Just three weeks into a job that everyone had hoped would take her mind off the tragedy of losing her boyfriend to a vindictive Mexican cartel. This wasn’t Miami, Chicago or even Jamaica; Cayman was a safe place. Police work here was supposed to be safe. AJ kicked a little harder.
Ahead, to her left, appeared something darker than the surrounding sand and patches of turtle grass. AJ veered that way, but the object seemed to stay to her left. And then it moved more to her right. A young nurse shark weaved its way in a wide circle around the strange bubble-making diver and AJ cursed herself for moving off course. She reset on the south-west heading and continued, making a mental note that her path was now offset by a step south. Too many deviations and she’d be lost in the middle of the sound with no option but to surface and flag Ben down. Or swim west until she hit the shoreline. She knew they didn’t have time for that. Whittaker needed answers now.
AJ was more suspicious of the next dark object she saw, far to her right. She stopped swimming and watched carefully to see if it moved, but it appeared to be stationary. She headed towards it, figuring a weave in that direction would counter her earlier deviation. As she approached, the line to the surface came into view, and she recognised the cage and post that Nora had kneeled in front of 45 minutes earlier. AJ made a wide arc to avoid the camera mounted on the post, and once she had come around the back of the makeshift table, she saw the first dive weight in the sand.
The second weight was six feet beyond, and AJ settled into the sand behind the first one she’d spotted, using the second as her sighting. Taking her time and checking several times, she determined the heading was just off due north, at 354 degrees. After a quick look around for any other clues, AJ took a last look at the completed puzzle on the table before kicking away on a reciprocal heading for the white buoy.
By the time the line came into sight, her legs were screaming. She was mighty relieved to see the buoy and know she’d found her marker. Once she reached the line, AJ turned to the north and didn’t ease up. The water was down to only three feet deep in spots and she let her fins skim the sand rather than break the surface. If the boat happened to race over her at this depth, she’d be propeller chum. All she could do if she heard the motors approaching was stand up and be seen. By the boat, and anyone else watching. Judging 200 yards while swimming at a wide-open pace was near impossible, and the water was continuing to thin. Much shallower and the boat couldn’t reach her anyway.
AJ came to a stop and eased her head above the water. She took the reg from her mouth and sucked in a few deep breaths, panting from the effort. To the south-east she could see a boat and hoped it was Ben. The vessel was half a mile away but appeared to be coming her way. She put her reg back in and stayed low in the water with just her mask peeking above the surface. The boat was going to pass south of her, so once it was a hundred yards away, she risked a quick wave. The grey boat immediately turned towards her and slowed.
Having a 40-foot coastal patrol boat bearing down on her was a little unnerving, but AJ focused on the line she could see trailing in the wa
ke. She took off her fins and stuffed them under the cummerbund of her BCD. As soon as the boat was alongside, shielding her from the mainland, AJ stood and shuffled in the same direction the boat was travelling. She could barely make any speed in the waist-deep water, but at least she was heading the same way as the line that skipped and bounced towards her. As the rope reached her, she lunged and grabbed hold with both hands.
The boat was going no more than five knots, but the pull on the line felt like it would wrench her arms from their sockets as her body, clad in dive gear, was dragged through the water like a sack of potatoes. She hung on with all her strength, but there was no way she could keep hold for long. The water shoved her mask askew, blinding her with salt water like a pressure washer stinging her eyes. She heard the engines drop to idle and the clunk of the boat coming out of gear. AJ could just make out the blurry image of the back of the boat in front of her and she stood and waddled towards the stern. With several strong hands pulling her from the water, she was dragged onto the rear deck where she rolled over with her tank clanking against the metal deck.
“That seemed to go well,” she spluttered at the two officers looking down at her. They were both laughing. Shitty way to greet James Bond, she thought.
19
Face to Face
So much for worrying about a quiet Sunday. I’d take the drunken moron over this shit. I’d been told to keep the helmet on, so I stood still in the room and waited, nervous to move anywhere in case I nudged a railing. It was strangely silent without anyone talking to me and I guessed the microphones had been muted as all the background sounds of movement had gone too. I had noticed them when they’d been talking, but I wished I’d paid more attention. Maybe I could have gleaned a clue from the noises.
I’d been caught up in the adrenaline rush of the challenge, but now, standing alone in the building, still blinded, I felt desperately vulnerable. The helmet dulled the sounds around me, but every once in a while I heard a hint of movement, and tensed with each scrape and knock. It was probably the tree branches on the old steel roof, swaying in the ocean breeze, but my mind began to conjure images of figures all around me. I felt the panic rising from within and swept an arm around me to prove I was alone. My hand hit something firm and I jumped, waiting for the surge of electricity. Nothing.
“The rails are no longer charged, Nora.” His voice startled me. “Please be patient, you’re perfectly safe.”
Safe my arse, you prick. Somehow I managed to keep my ranting to a thought and didn’t say a word. The speakers had muted again, and I relaxed a little. Although safe was not a word that described anything I was feeling. It occurred to me once more that I was in the unique position of talking to the kidnapper. I wondered if Whittaker had managed to yet. If he was already in communication, the last thing he needed was me interfering. If he wasn’t, I was sure he’d want me to try.
Detective Whittaker had a lot more confidence in me doing things I was absolutely sure I shouldn’t attempt. He had a calm, assertive manner about him that made me feel settled and centred in his presence. Then I find myself alone, up to my eyeballs in dritt, with no idea what to do. His calming bullshit wasn’t helping me now.
Dealing with people wasn’t my strength. On my list of worse jobs I could ever do, selling anything to anyone would be right at the top. “You don’t need this stupid diet pill. You need a treadmill.” Everybody has too much stuff and keeps buying more stuff because they think more crap makes them happy. The landfill is overflowing with temporary joy-supplying junk. If the day ever comes that we’re having to buy air to breathe, maybe I could sell that. “Here, buy some air, you actually need this.” But then again, I’d get fired for refusing to sell air to the idiots.
Second on the list would be negotiating with unstable people. I figured my current situation fell into that category. What do I say to the guy? That stupid girl isn’t worth going to jail over? Well, that’s too late. He’s already going to jail for kidnapping. I assumed he’d already decided it was worth all that to send out whatever message he seemed hell bent on streaming to the world. “How about you give up now and let’s all go home for tea?” I’d almost be disappointed if he said yes.
“Why are you doing all this?” I finally asked. It was the best question I could come up with. Mainly because it was the only question that interested me.
There was silence inside the helmet and after a while I figured my microphone had been muted too. But then he replied.
“It’s about the truth.”
He spoke softly, but passionately, without anger. His voice was resolute, and with blindness heightening my senses, his words spread themselves across my consciousness. I was certain this man had placed his stake in the ground. He was tied to his position, and would fight until the end, however that may come.
“We live our lives in what we believe is a civilised world, where laws are upheld, and people in authority will do the right thing,” he continued. “Until one day, life is turned upside down, and underneath the polished veneer of all we know and trust is a rat’s nest of lies and deceit. Orchestrated by those with the purse strings.”
I had no idea what he was specifically talking about, but his impassioned speech was impressive.
“Couldn’t you have held a press conference instead of kidnapping someone and threatening their life?” I asked, thinking if he spoke that well, surely people would listen.
“Nora, we currently have 1.1 million people watching our Internet stream,” he said with a hint of humour in his voice. “How many people do you think would have shown up for an IT engineer’s press conference?”
My legs felt weak at the thought of all those people watching. The number was too big to fully comprehend. I always thought ‘going viral’ was a horrible term – I mean why would a virus be appealing? Now I was certain I hated the phrase. Apparently, I was part of the disease. Ullevaal Stadium was the largest venue in Norway, and if I remembered correctly, it held around 30,000 people for the football matches. I couldn’t begin to do the math on how many times that stadium would be filled, emptied, and refilled, to seat all those eyes on me. Too many times. It was terrifying.
“Okay, but you’ve got the world’s attention,” I persevered. “Why don’t you make your point while you can and let’s be done.”
“All in good time, Nora,” he replied. “The audience continues to grow. People love a good spectacle.”
“So this about your ego,” I said before my non-existent filter could hold my tongue.
“No, in fact it’s not about me at all,” he responded, surprisingly calmly. “It’s about people far more important than me.”
I didn’t feel much wiser as to why this man was putting us all through this, but I recognised his passion and believed him when he said it wasn’t about him. Presumably, his videos were going out while we were between challenges and the public knew a lot more than I did about his cause. I kept thinking of other questions to ask and then worrying about aggravating the situation, so I stayed silent.
I heard the trees scratching and bumping the roof a few more times and shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep my leg muscles loose. For the first time, I realised how thirsty I was. Hungry too. I wasn’t sure of the time, but I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and guessed it to be early afternoon.
“Can I get a drink?” I asked.
“In just a minute,” he replied, and I stepped back, bumping against a railing.
His voice didn’t come through the speakers. He was standing next to me.
“Faen,” I muttered and put my hands on the helmet to lift it off.
“Leave the helmet on, Nora,” he said firmly, and I paused. “I’m going to pass a tube under the skirt of the helmet. Guide it to your mouth, and drink.”
I fumbled for the tube and pushed it under the helmet until it found my lips. I was parched and about to suck on the tube, when I realised I had no idea what I was about to drink.
“Wait, what ar
e you giving me?” I asked.
“It’s water, Nora,” he assured me. “Take a drink.”
“You would tell me that regardless of what it was,” I pointed out.
“Nora, if I wanted to harm you, don’t you think there’s a thousand ways I could have done that without saying a word to you?” he responded. “You’re standing, blindfolded in the middle of a room.”
I shrugged my shoulders. He had a point. I sucked on the tube and cool liquid that seemed just like water felt great going down my throat. I didn’t get dizzy or feel like throwing up, so I took another long pull on the tube and quenched my thirst.
“Takk,” I said and pulled the tube from the helmet. I felt him take it from me. I had seen him on the video feed, but somehow I couldn’t picture him before me. His voice sounded kind, but his actions spoke otherwise. I felt on edge and defenceless, yet calm and curious more than frightened.
“I’m sorry to put you through this, Nora,” he said. “I know you’ve not had an easy time of things. But I’m afraid you fit the role I needed.”
I don’t know how he knew who I was or anything about me, but it confirmed for certain I’d been chosen. Maybe he thought I’d be flattered. I wasn’t. I hadn’t thought about Ridley for a while until he brought up what I’d been through, but this was a shit way to be distracted. It was a bit like sticking pins in your finger to take your mind off a headache.
“Let’s just get on with it,” I said flatly.
“Fair enough,” he replied.
20
Nooks and Crannies
AJ’s report on the heading she’d found, along with the GPS coordinates Ben gave them of the first challenge site, allowed Whittaker to update his map. His new trajectory to the shoreline at Barkers led to a small cove, where not far away amongst the trees was the concrete building Casey had told him about. The FBI agents had finally proven useful with a higher resolution satellite image in which the roof could be seen in the woods.
Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One Page 11