Deep Shadow

by Nick Sullivan

  Boone looked through the cockpit windscreen and there it was. He’d flown in here once before, but he was seated toward the back and didn’t get this view. The island rose from the ocean like a rough-hewn pyramid, the upper half green with vegetation, the top wreathed in clouds. Boone imagined that if you dropped a soccer ball somewhere near the top, it could roll all the way to the ocean.

  “Wow…” Emily whispered.

  “The main peak, Mount Scenery, is just under three thousand feet,” Mike said, banking to the right. “We’ll be coming in from the north, so keep your eyes peeled on your window. You’ll see the cliffs flash by as we come in.”

  “How short is this runway?” Emily asked.

  “Four hundred meters. Too short for any jet, but this Twin Otter can do it with ease. It’s an STOL plane—Short Take Off and Landing.”

  In minutes the windows on the right side of the aircraft were filled with sheer cliffs. Boone leaned across Emily to look down and could see waves lapping against the side of the mountainous island where it plunged into the ocean. The pitch of the engines changed and Boone felt a sensation of rapid slowing as they reached the near edge of the runway. The sound of the engines leapt to its loudest roar yet and the plane abruptly slowed; strangely, the sudden deceleration felt very smooth.

  “Juancho E. Yrausquin Airport, Saba.” Mike poked his head back. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? Mr. Hollenbeck, you can look now.”

  “Much obliged, much obliged.” The man removed his sleep mask.

  “You two have transport? If not, you’re going to need it,” Charles asked.

  Boone looked out the window; there was a taxi and a small red car but nothing else. “The dive shop said they’d send someone.”

  “Except they’re expecting us on the late afternoon flight,” Emily said.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

  “They can call a taxi for you inside,” Mike said. “That one’s probably taken.”

  “It is,” said a passenger who had his wife and kids in tow. “But I can send him back down for you.”

  “No need, no need,” said Hollenbeck. “Gerald is here to pick me up and we can squeeze you two in, at least as far as Windwardside.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Boone said. “That’s perfect—we’re staying at El Momo.”

  “Beautiful cottages, just beautiful. My poor old knees can’t make it up there anymore but the views are spectacular.”

  Boone exited the plane and offered Emily a hand down, then assisted Mr. Hollenbeck.

  “Oh, thank you my good man, thank you.” A tall, thin man, bald as an egg with a thin John Waters mustache, unfolded from the tiny red car and approached. Gordon called out to him. “Gerald, can we squeeze two?”

  “Of course,” said the tall man. “It’ll be cozy, but when was that ever a bad thing? I’ll get your bag, Gordon.”

  “What kind of car is that?” Boone asked, looking at the blocky little car.

  “Oh, I don’t know—it’s a Daihatsu something-or-other. Gerald got it cheap from a fisherman. Runs good and can handle the hills.” He gestured up toward Mount Scenery. Along the slope, a switchback road snaked back and forth, vanishing into a cluster of white buildings with red roofs. The foliage was sparse down below but as the island rose, it became greener and greener. Atop it all, a thick mist obscured the summit.

  “Whoa…” said Emily.

  “It is something, isn’t it…?” Hollenbeck’s speech momentarily lost its theatrical air. “I never get tired of looking up at that.”

  “But you’d sure as heck get tired hiking up it,” Gerald said, lugging a large carry-on. He raised the hatchback, revealing a miniscule trunk space. “We can fit one of your big bags back here but you’ll have to squeeze the other between you and put the carry-ons on your laps. See? Cozy!”

  Once they were packed into the car, they weaved along the switchback, climbing upward, passing little white homes, all with red roofs. The road was narrow, and on some tight bends, Gerald would give the horn a quick toot to alert anyone on the other end of that bend. Gordon Hollenbeck turned in his seat. “This is all part of Hell’s Gate. Down here is Lower Hell’s gate and see those cottages up ahead and the church steeple? That’s Upper Hell’s Gate.”

  “The church made the government change the name ‘Hell’s Gate’ to Zion’s Hill, but screw that, we’re heathens,” Gerald said.

  “And nobody calls it that,” Hollenbeck grumbled. It’s just Hell’s Gate. We used to live in New York. Ever hear of the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel?”

  “No,” said Boone.

  “Exactly. It’s still the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel as far as I and millions of New Yorkers are concerned. Slow down, Gerald, so they can enjoy the view. We’re a thousand feet up, here.”

  They pulled alongside a little stone church, topped with an ornate cross. A greater sight greeted them in the other direction: below them, Saba’s slopes plunged down toward the airstrip below.

  Hollenbeck continued his tour. “That spot is the only place they could possibly build an airstrip. Of course, before they built that, they had to finish The Road.”

  Gerald switched gears and sped back up. To their right the mountain rose from sight—to the left, a sheer drop.

  “Less than a century ago you’d be lugging your luggage up dirt trails on donkeys! They called this ‘the road that couldn’t be built’, but a local Saban carpenter taught himself engineering and got started in 1938. Twenty years later it was finished, running from the port on the southwest corner, up through the four villages and then down to the airport.”

  “So, Hell’s Gate… Windwardside… and my job is in The Bottom. What’s the fourth?”

  “St. Johns, down the road from Windwardside,” Hollenbeck said. “Very small, mostly homes and the schools for the island. Well, the lower grades—the Saba University School of Medicine is down in The Bottom.”

  “Do you know Scenery Scuba?”

  “I don’t dive, so no. Gerald?”

  “They’re kind of new. I haven’t dived with them. Here we are, Windwardside.”

  If Hell’s Gate had been quaint, Windwardside was postcard-quality picturesque. The walls were whiter, the roofs redder, the landscaping lush and tidy. Low stone walls and picket fences sprouted here and there. Nothing was above two stories and the signs for many of the little businesses were works of art.

  “A lot of nice places to eat in town but I’ll let Andries up at El Momo give you the whole verbal tour,” Hollenbeck said, as Gerald took them slowly down the main street. We’ll drop you off just ahead but first, see this building?” He pointed at a white two-story structure. “Scout’s Place. One of the oldest hotels on the island. Good food and drink and a good place to find a taxi if you need one. A lot of the drivers hang out there.” They turned down a side street and drove up a very steep incline. “El Momo is up on the whimsically named Booby Hill. You’ll get a workout here, let me tell you.” They reached a white sign, reading “El Momo Cottages. Nature. Peace. Silence.” Gerald got out to help with the bags but Hollenbeck remained seated, speaking through his open window as Boone and Emily squeezed out of the little car. “Well over a hundred steps from here, but I assure you the view is worth it.”

  “And make sure you get some of their banana marmalade and infused rums,” Gerald said.

  “We’ll only be here a few days. Scenery Scuba’s arranging a long-term place for me.”

  “Probably in The Bottom,” Gerald said. “Divemasters usually stay there. Gordon and I live here in Windwardside. We’re about 1,300 feet up and it’s quite a haul to commute down to the docks every day.”

  “Come along, Gerald! I hear a rum drink calling me!” Hollenbeck stuck his hand out the window, offering it for a shake. “Very nice to meet you two. I have no doubt we’ll be seeing each other again. Unavoidable, really, on Saba.”

  B
oone and Emily shook his hand and watched the red car make a five-point turn and putter away down the hill. Grabbing their bags, they looked at the stairs rising before them.

  “What, no bellboy?” Emily said.

  “All part of the experience,” Boone said, hefting his suitcase. “You want to take the carry-ons, and I’ll—”

  “I do work out, you know. Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “All right, let’s go. One step at a time.”

  “Hamid! We’re drifting too close to the cliffs! Lenox wants to run the engine!”

  Zougam called down to the bobbing head of Hamid Samarkandi. The man lifted his head, a scuba mask on his face. He had brought one basic set of scuba gear in the event of just such a situation. He removed the regulator from his mouth.

  “All right. But tell him no more than four knots. I see the problem.” He reached a hand up and Rachid Oukabir, who was standing watch, helped Zougam pull him up.

  Zougam called down Samarkandi’s instructions while the Uzbek engineer caught his breath. “So? You found the leak?” Zougam asked.

  “No. I think the leak is internal. We’d need to put in to a drydock for that.”

  “The next ‘dock’ we visit will be wreathed in flames,” Zougam said. “What did you find, then?”

  “The cause of the vibration. There is a rubber seal at the point where the propeller shaft leaves the hull. My design was good but I had to improvise in a few places. This ring has become twisted on the starboard side and is catching on the shaft. I’ll need to cut it free.”

  “Won’t that let water in?”

  “As long as we don’t go too deep, the leak will be minimal. I can compensate with the ballast tanks if we take on too much water. Also, the oil leak is still an issue; we will need to top off the lubricant reservoir with whatever we have left from the barrel so the engine doesn’t seize up in sight of our goal. The removal of the twisted ring shouldn’t take long but it is industrial-grade rubber so I’ll need a good knife.”

  “I have a good knife,” Rachid said.

  Samarkandi smiled at the man. “I thought you might.”

  “How long do you need?” Zougam asked.

  “An hour should suffice,” he said.

  Below, Lenox engaged the port engine, sending the submarine forward away from the cliffs.

  “That was a workout!” Emily said, panting as she lifted her green suitcase up the last step. She stretched, looking around. “Wow, it’s like a tropical jungle garden up here… whoa!” She suddenly ducked and came up smiling broadly. “I just got dive-bombed by a hummingbird! That’s gotta be good luck, yeah?”

  “Only if it poops on you.”

  “Oh, nasty… way to spoil the moment.”

  Boone laughed as he caught Emily checking her shirt. “You’re good. No ‘luck’ on you that I can see. Let’s check in. Just bring your carry-on, I’ll come back for the suitcases.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They made their way through beautiful grounds, little eccentric cottages dotting the property, each with its own character. Emily read off the names. “Cricket. Lizard. What spirit animal will we be inhabiting?”

  “Iguana. And…speak of the devil.” He pointed to a huge male iguana, sitting sedately on the path ahead.

  “That’s Iggy Junior. He’s the boss around here.” A tanned woman of indeterminate years exited a cottage, broom in tow. “I’m Cindy. Welcome to El Momo. With those steps we don’t get many casual visitors strolling through so I’m going to guess you’re Boone Fischer?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We caught the earlier flight, on account of it being late.” He gestured to Emily. “I’ve got an additional guest, if that’s okay.” He smiled at Emily. “Last minute addition.”

  “That’s not a problem. Iguana’s set up for one or two—two single beds that fit together to make a queen. Also, the hammock is pretty heavenly. There is an extra charge for two but it’s not much.”

  “Scenery Scuba is paying my tab, but I’ll take care of the difference, no sweat.”

  “I’ll take care of the difference,” Emily said. “This is my vacation, remember?”

  “Andries, the owner, is out on a shopping run,” Cindy said. “He always likes to welcome new guests but he wasn’t expecting you until after five. I’ll show you to your cottage but do swing by the reception desk later so he can greet you properly and give you the tour. This way.”

  She led them toward the cliffside, pausing to point out where the reception desk, pool, and restaurant were. She also introduced them to a one-eyed feline named Stevie the Wondercat. “We thought he was blind, but it turned out he could see after all.” They reached a tiny red and white cottage near a drop-off. “Welcome to Iguana!” Cindy said. She opened the door and gave them a brief rundown of the room before heading back outside. “I’m sure you two will want to get settled. Don’t forget to swing by reception later!” She left, whistling what sounded like a Beatles tune.

  The room was simple and cozy, two small beds with flamboyant bedspreads; shelves here and there, some with books and bits of artwork. What really drew the eye was the balcony; just past a tempting hammock was a small deck with two chairs and a table, and a breathtaking view of green slopes and the turquoise waters of the Caribbean far below.

  Emily practically skipped from the bedroom to the balcony. “Love it love it love it! I can’t impart to you just how much I love it!” She pointed to the little table. “You do realize we’re having a sunset dinner, here, right? Tonight. At this table. Just so we’re clear, that is happening.”

  “I’ll alert the chef.” He joined her on the balcony and took in the view. “I wish I had the room for more than three days.”

  “Well, we better make the most of it. Fetch the luggage, bellboy.”

  When Boone returned he brought the luggage in, setting it just inside the door. As he kicked off his ratty old sneakers, he noticed something about the room had changed—the beds had been pushed together. Emily was swinging in the hammock, big sunglasses in place, a mischievous smile on her face. Boone raised his eyebrows and strolled over to the hammock, looking down at her.

  “What? The feng shui was off. I think it’s much better that way, don’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, hooking a finger in the hammock and drawing it toward him before releasing it into a wild swing. She giggled and when the hammock swung back his way the third or fourth time he plucked her sunglasses off her face and tucked them into the neck of his T-shirt.

  “Hey! I need those!” Emily’s green eyes shone as she made a grab at them each time the hammock swung Boone’s way, finally managing to snag them off his shirt. “Ha! Victory is mine!”

  Before she could put them back on, Boone grabbed the sides of the hammock and drew them together, entangling Emily in the hammock’s mesh and pinning her arms within. “Let me see your eyes for a little longer.”

  “You’ve seen ‘em plenty of times.” She pretended to struggle in the hammock but was clearly amused. “Let me go! Release me from this cocoon of comfort!”

  Still holding the hammock closed, Boone leaned in until he could feel her breath on his face.

  “This is kinda kinky, Boone…” she whispered, still half-smiling, but her customary levity was giving way to something else rising to the surface.

  He gently brushed his lips against hers and her eyes closed. She made a little sound, so soft he almost missed it. Boone was aware of her scent, a pleasing blend of soap, shampoo, and sweat. He kissed her again, pressing his mouth to hers a little more firmly now, but releasing the pressure after a moment, letting his lips rest against hers. She responded with a sharp intake of breath, lifting her head up and kissing him passionately. He let go of the hammock and cupped a hand behind her head, sharing a deep kiss. She moaned and they lingered in the sensations before Boone withdrew and let go of t
he hammock, sending it into a gentle swing.

  Emily had a dazed look on her face but it quickly broke into a smile. “That was better than the there’s-a-sniper-aiming-at-my-head kiss,” she said, breathing rapidly.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” he said.

  “Well, next time, less thinking more doing.” She struggled in the hammock. “Help me up. We’ve got a balcony and a view. Let’s do this properly, yeah?”

  She started to swing her bare legs out of the hammock but Boone reached in and scooped her up with ease, carrying her to the balcony and setting her on her feet.

  “Good start,” she murmured, leaning her body against his and looking up at him.

  “I can be romantic,” he said, brushing a few strands of hair over her ear. “With the right inspiration,” he added.

  Emily’s impish smile returned in full bloom. “I dunno, you feel pretty inspired already.”

  He leaned in and joined his mouth with hers. Their eyes closed and their breathing quickened as they lost themselves in the long moments. Boone opened his eyes, debating whether he should test out Emily’s rearrangement of the furniture, when something caught his eye. Something far below in the Caribbean, almost blocked from view by the cliffs. He withdrew his lips.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me…” he said quietly.

  Emily snorted a laugh. “We need to work on your sexy banter,” she teased before seeing the look on his face. “Boone… what is it?”

  Abruptly, he broke away from her, dashing into the bedroom and tearing open his carry-on. He located his birding binoculars, a pair of compact Dawn Peaks, and rushed back to the balcony. Training the lenses on the closest patch of ocean he could see, Boone confirmed what he already knew. The submarine hadn’t been destroyed—and it was here.

  Boone focused his binoculars, staring through them in disbelief. He could see figures on the deck but it was too far to make out much.