by Landon Beach
“The hell with you,” Trist said. “We’ll go it alone without you.”
“You won’t do that,” Madame said.
“The fuck we won’t,” Trist snapped back.
Madame approached carefully and whispered into his ear. “You won’t do that because there is a way to get out of here tomorrow.”
He started to pull away.
“Get back here.” She pulled him close so that her mouth was just outside his ear. “All we have to do is make it to tomorrow,” she said and pointed at Jill. “Are you willing to risk her life because you can’t put yourself second for one night?”
He backed up. “Don’t play mind games with me. You’re on something. What is it, coke?”
Madame ignored him and sat down next to Jill. “I tried to help you tonight, and I’m sorry you didn’t make it. But if you want to survive then we have to do this. Can’t you help me now?” She stood up and walked over to the dresser and fixed her hair in the mirror.
Jill looked over at Trist. He made eye contact and then started pacing again.
✽✽✽
Robin turned off his light and surfaced. He was around the cliff protrusion now and could no longer see Levity. The Hatteras was like a permanent fixture on the surface of the water far offshore. He turned toward the cliff.
In front of him was a large opening to a deep cave. This has to be it. He dove. Ten feet...twenty feet—he turned on his underwater light—thirty feet...forty. He reached the bottom, adjusted course, and then followed his compass heading into the cave opening with his dive light in one hand and his spear gun in the other. The bottom became rocky and began to slope upwards. He checked his depth gauge. Thirty-five feet...thirty-two...then it leveled off at thirty.
His light hit the face of what he assumed was the false back of the cave. He thought about surfacing but didn’t want to chance that they might have surveillance cameras above. He knew he had to find the center of wall; that was where Jill had said there was enough clearance to get underneath it and come up on the other side. He kicked to the right, found the side of the cave, and then moved toward the center.
Sure enough, his light found an area where the lake floor dipped a few feet below the false cave back. But would his tank fit under it? He got as close as he could to the bottom and started to move under the wall.
His tank hit the top, and he could go no further.
He backed out and unstrapped himself from the tank. He could push the tank through ahead of himself and strap back in on the other side, but then the bubbles might give away his position. He decided to leave the tank. Moving it to the side, he hit the quick release on his weight belt and it fell off his waist. He took one last deep breath from his regulator and then swam under the false cave wall.
Once clear, he swam to the right, following the wall until he came to the side of the cave again, figuring that he wouldn’t be as noticeable surfacing in the corner than in the middle of the water. He kicked up and his head broke the surface enough for him to grab a quick breath and then submerge back down to where his mask and forehead were the only part of him above the waterline. In front of him was perhaps twenty yards of open water between his position and the ends of two docks. Tied up to one dock was a small powerboat, and on the far dock was the cabin cruiser. To the far left of the cave was a tunnel that disappeared into the rock wall.
He could see that there was clearance underneath the docks, so he dove deep and swam along the bottom until he was underneath the dock with the cabin cruiser tied up. He surfaced and listened. Not a sound.
He moved out from under the dock, but then heard voices coming from the tunnel. He swam back under.
“Okay, I’ll go pick those two rookies up and we’ll get rid of the bodies and sailboat as usual. Pain in my ass, I tell you, Mr. Sanders.”
It was the helmsman from earlier. Now, Robin could see him standing in the tunnel entrance with an older man of Korean descent. He watched as the older man lit a cigarette.
“Just make sure everything is clean and finished,” Sanders said.
The helmsman nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said walking away. He stopped and turned back at the old man. “You know, I’m going to miss you, Mr. Sanders. Only goddamn person who makes any sense around here. Don’t tell the boss I said that though.”
The old man inhaled on his cigarette and grinned back while he watched the helmsman step foot on the dock. Then, Sanders walked over to the control panel mounted on the cave wall ten yards away from the tunnel opening. There, he pushed a series of buttons, and the false wall started to retract into the ceiling. The helmsman watched, gave a thumbs up, and Sanders disappeared back into the tunnel.
Robin got his spear gun ready.
Step, step, step, step...the helmsman stopped, thinking he heard something in the water.
“Hey,” Robin said.
He looked over the side of the dock, and a spear went into his chest. His body swayed on the dock—eyes wide open in disbelief, blood starting to come out of his mouth.
Robin reached up and pulled the helmsman underwater where he finished him off with his dive knife. Searching, he found the cabin cruiser keys and removed them from the helmsman’s pocket. He unzipped his wetsuit, tucked them inside, and zipped his suit back up. He searched the man again. No gun. He pulled the spear out of the helmsman’s chest and wiped the barb and shaft with the man’s shirt. He reloaded it in his gun as the body drifted away.
He surfaced and heard the automatic door mechanism come to a stop. He looked out and could now see the surface of Lake Superior and the sky above it at the end of the cave opening.
He pulled himself up onto the dock and took off his fins. The smaller boat moored to the second dock had two big Evinrude outboard motors—built for speed; if they escaped on the cabin cruiser, this boat would catch them and be more maneuverable. Conversely, if they escaped on the smaller boat, they’d have a good head start, but not much range. And they needed to travel far enough away to reach the authorities.
He ran over to the second dock, boarded the smaller powerboat, and cut the fuel lines to the engines. Standing by the helm, he put his right foot on the starboard gunwale and gripped the throttle with two hands. Pulling back, he ripped the throttle away from its casing and let it hang down—a metal handle with a tangle of wires and shattered plastic. He hopped up on the dock and headed for the tunnel.
✽✽✽
Dai Sanders walked past the room where Madame was with the two young people. A few more steps and he was outside of a second room where Livingston and Bannon were reclining in easy chairs and watching a baseball game on television, facing away from the doorway. People and their weird rituals. He’d seen parts of that particular game hundreds of times—he’d been the one to tape it ages ago and had almost every out memorized—but still couldn’t get his mind around how it got Livingston in the mood. A bottle of brandy with two filled glasses was on a wooden table between the chairs.
Sanders tiptoed across the entrance and paused to see if he had been noticed. He hadn’t. He continued twenty paces to the end of the hallway where he entered an elevator that would take him up to the main house. There were three levels where the elevator made stops. One was in the garage where the product was loaded in vehicles. Two was the master closet. Three was a two-story viewing room, the second floor accessible by circular staircase; it was the highest point on the property with glass windows all the way around, where Livingston and guests could sit and see out in any direction. To reach the master closet and viewing tower levels required a special key, which only Sanders, Bannon, and Livingston had.
He put his key into the designated slot and turned it. The top two buttons now illuminated and he pressed the button for the master closet. There was no way was he missing the show in the cell tonight. After all, the helmsman had things under control in the cave. He was just doing what Livingston wanted anyways, delegating and relinquishing control.
The elevator stopped and he removed his
key. The doors opened. He stepped out and then unlocked the secret entrance to the closet. The lights came on as he entered.
✽✽✽
“He’ll be here any minute now,” Madame said to Trist and Jill. “Trust me, if you go with the flow, it will be over soon and we’ll live to see tomorrow.”
Trist was now seated on the bed next to Jill. They stared at her and said nothing.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes. Good choice,” she said. “Jill, I’ll start with you; follow my lead. Then, we’ll get Tristian involved. Got it?”
The sound of a key being placed in the door could be heard. Madame walked toward the entrance. Trist’s heart started to thump. He put a hand on Jill’s leg—it was shaking.
The door to the room opened, and Grant Livingston entered holding a glass of brandy and wearing a devious smile. Eric Bannon came through the door after him with a simple chair and tray table, which he set up next to the chair.
Livingston sat down and took a sip of his drink then smacked his lips. “Now, where were we?”
Bannon closed the door and then stood next to it, the nightstick in his hand.
Madame made eye contact with Livingston and then turned around and began to drift toward the bed, unzipping her dress.
✽✽✽
The stone tunnel reminded Robin of the ancient castle passageways he had read about in books or seen in movies. The lighting was dim and the air was cold. Water dripped from his wetsuit onto the floor as he held his dive knife in one hand and the spear gun in the other.
He heard noise ahead around a portion of the passageway that curved to the right. He moved to the tunnel wall, tucking his body into the shadows. The hallway started to straighten out and he paused. At the far end he could see an elevator. He checked behind him, saw no one coming, and dashed to the other side of the hallway. He could see two doorways: the closest was filled by a metal door and the far one open, where the sound was coming from. He turned his head and concentrated on the sound.
It was a baseball game.
Impossible. It was past 2 a.m., must be a recording. He moved toward the metal door.
25
The door was solid with no window. There was a keyhole and a slot near the bottom. He gently pushed against the door with his fingertips. It didn’t move. He scanned the hallway again and saw no one coming from either direction. Leaning his spear gun against the wall, Robin crouched down and lifted the slot cover. He peered inside.
✽✽✽
Madame’s dress fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, wearing a matching lace bra and thong. She reached Jill and leaned over—her lips were inches away from Jill’s. “Relax,” she said. “Act like you’re having the time of your life, and it will be over even sooner. Trust me.”
Trist’s right hand became a fist. Three...two...
There was a knock at the door.
Madame stood up and looked back at the door, confused.
“It’s Sanders,” Livingston said to Bannon, his anger rising. “Get him out of here.”
Eric Bannon nodded and turned the key. He cracked the door to quietly slip out.
A powerful force ripped it from his hands and the metal door swung wide open. Bannon saw the figure in the doorway first.
The spear launched from the gun. If Bannon’s body had not been spun on an angle when the door was pried out of his hands, the spear would have hit him squarely in the chest; instead, it hit him in the left shoulder.
Robin Norris dropped the spear gun and shifted the dive knife from his left hand to his right. He went after the man whom he had hit with the spear.
“Dad!” Trist yelled. Seeing his father start to grapple with the man holding the nightstick, Trist joined the fight by running toward the seated man.
Livingston pulled out a radio from his pocket and shouted “Code Zero, Cave!” into it before Trist knocked it out of his hand as the chair tipped over and they hit the floor.
With hatred in her eyes, Jill ran toward Trist to help. A few steps from reaching them, she felt her hair pulled back and then fingernails around her throat. Madame dragged her to the ground, got on top of her, and then squeezed Jill’s neck with her hands.
✽✽✽
“Fuck!” Sanders said, transfixed by the events on screen in the closet den. He ran to the elevator and pushed the garage floor button. He zoomed down, and when the door opened, he saw the armed security guard from the driveway gate sprinting toward him. In a few seconds he was aboard, and they headed for the cave level. Sanders got out his radio. “Hatteras crew status, over.”
A voice from the radio replied, “Powerboat at the rail with four-man crew—be there in ten minutes, out.”
Ten minutes! Why had Livingston ordered the Hatteras to anchor so far out?
✽✽✽
Robin’s knife was knocked from his hand as he thrust it at his opponent. The man was in pain from the spear, but Robin sensed that this was someone who was trained to kill as he minimized the disadvantage and fought ferociously with his good arm. Robin saw an opportunity to grab his knife and reached for it. The man hit the floor, and, in a blinding move, swept Robin off of his feet. Robin landed hard on his back and soon the man had Robin’s knife in his hand and was on top of him. He swung down and missed Robin’s head by inches as Robin twisted his head at the last second. The force of the thrust was so powerful that the knife sunk into the floor, giving Robin enough time to take his right hand and rip down on the man’s left ear, almost pulling it off. He yelled in agony before Robin rolled him over, put him in a headlock, and tightened down. The man struggled for breath and his legs pushed off the floor trying to buck and shake Robin off of him. Robin hung on. The man’s strength started to give out, and after a few last kicks with his legs, he was still. Robin released his grip. Not taking any chances. He took the man’s gun out of the shoulder holster and fired two rounds into his chest.
Jill’s face was turning blue and she was losing consciousness. Madame’s eyes were psychotic. “You ruined everything,” she growled.
With her final reserve of strength, she lifted her legs up to Madame’s back, rocked to the left and then shot them over to the floor. Madame lost her balance and released her grip as she fell to the floor. Jill gasped for air.
Madame turned over and was on all fours, ready to spring, when she heard, “Stop.” She looked up and saw Robin with a gun pointed at her. She paused, looking at Bannon dead on the floor and then over at Trist, who had his knees on Livingston’s shoulders. Blood from Livingston’s mouth and nose covered Trist’s hands as Trist pounded his face over and over.
As if someone had turned off her power switch, Madame crumpled to the floor and began to sob.
Jill got to her feet and stood behind Robin.
“Trist, get off him,” Robin said.
Trist stopped, breathing heavily. He spit in Livingston’s face and then stood up and moved by Robin.
Robin pointed the gun at Livingston.
He held up a hand. “Please...don’t shoot.” He spit up blood. “I have money.”
Madame’s head popped up. She reached over and opened a drawer on the nightstand. From it, she pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a coil of rope. Her eyes were determined and focused on Livingston. She stood up. “He’s mine,” she said to Robin.
Robin studied her and then looked at Trist and Jill. “Sit him in that chair.”
They raised him up and Madame was soon behind the chair handcuffing Livingston’s hands together and then binding his feet to the chair legs with the rope.
Even through Livingston’s swollen eyes, Robin could see his fear. Madame gave them the sign to leave. Robin picked up his dive knife and slid it back into its sheath.
They ran to the door, and Robin took a quick peek. When he saw that the tunnel was empty, he unzipped his wetsuit and gave Trist the keys to the boat. “Head for the cabin cruiser. If I’m not there in one minute, take off. I’ll swim out. Go, now!”
Trist and Jill spr
inted down the tunnel and out of sight as the elevator door beeped.
Behind Robin, Madame approached Livingston.
“Madame, calm down. We can still get out of this—”
She cut him off. “My name is...Evangeline...Bertram!”
And she was on him, clawing at his face—Livingston screamed.
The awful pitch turned Robin’s attention back toward the sound and he saw Evangeline holding both eyeballs in her hands as blood poured from Livingston’s eye sockets. He aimed the gun at Livingston’s chest and fired, killing him.
Evangeline turned around in a rage.
He spoke first. “He’s dead. You still want to get out of here?”
She threw the eyeballs at Livingston’s chest and watched them bounce off and then roll across the fine carpet. Then, she moved toward Robin, getting behind him.
“Follow me,” he said, and they took off into the tunnel toward the boat.
✽✽✽
The elevator door opened and Sanders, followed by the security guard, entered the tunnel with weapons drawn. They heard the baseball game still playing as they pointed their weapons into the room. Clear.
They continued down the hallway and crept up next to the cell doorway, which was open. On a silent count, they both stormed into the room.
The security guard tripped over Bannon’s body and fell forward. When he hit the floor, his weapon discharged and a bullet tore into the dresser. One look at Livingston and Sanders dropped to his knees and vomited; the security guard heard him and then smelled the awful stench. He got to his feet and then saw Livingston. Feeling bile rise in his own throat, he dropped and gave in to the inevitable.
✽✽✽
Robin heard the gunshot behind him as they continued to run toward the entrance to the cave harbor. One more turn and they were there. Up ahead, Trist had already started the cabin cruiser’s motor and Jill was seated next to him at the fair-weather console. Robin scanned the pier and saw that Trist had already cast off the lines.