Blue Descent

by David Wood

  “Any specific historical source for that legend?” Maddock asked.

  “What makes you think it’s a legend?” Gomez laughed. “In fact, Andros was once home to a meter tall burrowing owl called tyto pollens or the Andros barn owl. It is supposed to have gone extinct in the 1500s due to the destruction of its habitat. Its appearance must have been alarming to the colonizers and those they enslaved.” He grimaced. “But if a few survived, that could explain the consistent sightings of the chickcharney over the years.”

  “We should definitely go looking for that.” Bones sat up straight, turned to Maddock. “We need brightly colored fabric, so you’ll have to bring all your Speedos.”

  Maddock rolled his eyes. “Quick. Somebody distract Bones with another nonsense story.”

  “Well, there is Anansi, the spider god and trickster. He is said to be the spirit of all knowledge of stories. Of course, his is an ancient legend, carried over from Africa. Ghana to be precise.”

  “Tell us more about the Lusca,” Rae said.

  “I don’t know a great deal. For some reason, the old storytellers don’t like to talk about Lusca. The most common version of the legend is that it’s a giant octopus with the head of a shark. In other versions, Lusca is just a giant octopus. In still others, she is a sea serpent, but no description is given.”

  “Are there any points of agreement among the various versions of the tale?” Maddock asked.

  “All agree that the creature lurks in blue holes, dragging victims to their deaths and consuming their bodies. The lost are never found again.”

  “Couldn’t they just be regular drownings?”

  “Possibly, but there are many eyewitness accounts of victims being suddenly and violently yanked down beneath the water. One survivor described the experience. He was swimming in one of the inland blue holes when something grabbed him by the ankle and snatched him. He estimated he was pulled down about twenty meters when the thing suddenly let go of him. Even so, he nearly drowned.”

  “So the Lusca swims from blue hole to blue hole by way of underwater passageways?” Maddock asked.

  Gomez nodded. “Exactly. Long, long ago, the water levels were much lower. Andros and the other islands were well above sea level. Over thousands upon thousands of years, sinkholes were bored into the surface due to acid rain, and then passageways were formed as the limestone within the bedrock was eaten away. Eventually the water level rose, creating complex networks of underwater corridors.”

  “You told Bones that the passageways that connect to the sea were too small for divers to traverse. How about something malleable, like an octopus?” Maddock asked. “If that thing was real, could it come out to sea by one of those channels?”

  “Not if it were as large as the legends say. I don’t know that a giant sea monster could make its way to open water.”

  “But if any creature could, it’s the octopus,” Maddock said. “They can squeeze through very small spaces. And they’re deadly hunters, masters of camouflage.”

  “But they don’t chase after boats,” Bones said. “They lie in wait until they can nab their prey. Which actually fits the blue hole legends.”

  “If I were an octopus large enough to take down a boat, I might chase after one,” Rae said.

  “What if a new passageway opened up?” Bones said. “Like if there’d been seismic activity in the area.”

  Maddock remembered the odd tremors he’d felt, one today and another the day before. “Do you think it’s possible?”

  “Theoretically. Occasionally, the floor of a blue hole will collapse for that reason, which is why the title of world’s deepest blue hole is often up for grabs. One is the deepest for a while, then there’s a collapse and a new one takes the crown.”

  “So we’ve got this giant octopus thing that’s been lurking around the blue holes. Yesterday there’s seismic activity and boom! People start disappearing, our boat is chased, there’s an attack at the dive contest. It fits,” Bones said.

  “What’s the official line on the incident at Blue Descent?” Maddock asked.

  “They’re saying it was a shark. They think it somehow got trapped inside the blue hole, which led to its aggressive behavior.”

  “That was no shark attack,” Maddock said.

  “Maybe not, but you won’t convince anyone on the force that it was Lusca, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re welcome to try, of course.”

  “What about other cryptid stories?” Bones pressed. “Anything unique to the area?”

  “Of course, we have the usual legends of mermaids and the like. But if you want a unique story...” Gomez scratched his chin. “There’s a legend that Christopher Columbus fought, or perhaps killed, a large serpent.”

  “That’s hardly unusual, is it?” Rae asked.

  “In this context, serpent does not necessarily mean snake. It could have been a lizard, dragon, or sea serpent.”

  “Could it have been a gator or crocodile?” Rae asked.

  “Possibly, but they weren’t native to the area at the time. Most versions of the legend call it a sea serpent. What stands out to me is that Columbus, a man of the world, thought it remarkable enough to record it.”

  “But not remarkable enough to record a description or make a sketch?” Bones said.

  “As the legend goes, he did keep such records of his unusual finds, but his journal disappeared.”

  “Any idea what happened to it?” Maddock asked.

  “I found one reference that indicates it fell into the possession of Juan Ponce de León.”

  Maddock and Bones exchanged a glance. The legend with which Ponce de León was most commonly associated with was that of the Fountain of Youth.

  “What would Ponce de León want with that?” Rae asked.

  “Gee,” Bones deadpanned. “What could one explorer possibly want with records written by another explorer?”

  “Don’t make me dump my drink on your head. But okay, that was a dumb question.”

  “I think it’s actually an interesting question,” Maddock said. “Those early explorers weren’t just looking for new land. They were searching for ways to leave their mark on history. They believed in things we now consider legends. And when it came to something like El Dorado or The Fountain of Youth, they sometimes guarded new evidence like a dragon hoarding treasure. Colonizers were different. They’d send letters back home sharing all sorts of outlandish tales in hopes of garnering more support for their colony. But to the hardcore adventurer, everyone else was their competition.”

  “Did Columbus ever search for the Fountain of Youth?” Bones asked.

  “Not as far as I know,” Gomez said, “but he did claim to have found the Garden of Eden on his third voyage. Some legends connect the two.”

  “Are you suggesting Columbus fought a Lusca?” Bones asked.

  “If he did, he was lucky to have survived. Of course, Columbus also claimed to have seen a giant turtle the size of a whale, so he might not be the most reliable source.”

  Maddock laughed.

  They swapped a few more tales. Gomez was a friendly guy and knowledgeable in his field, if Cryptozoology could be considered a “field.”

  “What about Cat Island?” Maddock asked. “Someone mentioned it to me today. They got tight-lipped very fast, as if the very mention of the place creeped them out.”

  Gomez nodded. “If you want to see the darkest side of the Bahamas, that’s where you’ll want to go.”

  “Are there any spots on the island where we might learn more about the Lusca?” Bones asked.

  Gomez nodded. “I can think of one in particular.”

  23

  The police precinct on Andros had some of the worst security Issachar had ever seen. He found it all too easy to slip in through a second-story window and into a meeting room. He crinkled his nose at the overwhelming odor of coffee. He never touched the stuff.

  The room was dark but he could see that the furnishings were cheap, all of the fo
lding plastic variety. Cobwebs in the corners and a layer of dust on the windowsill suggested this room didn’t see much use. He took a few moments to listen. His sharp ears picked out a single voice down on the first floor. Probably whoever was working the front desk or minding the telephone.

  He slipped out into the hallway and made a quick inspection of the space. A locked records room, and a trio of offices. A light shone through the crack beneath the door marked Detective Lane. He smiled. Perfect!

  Issachar gave a quick knock on the door. Not too sharp. He wanted it to sound hesitant, like a nervous subordinate who hated to interrupt.

  “What is it?” Lane sounded annoyed.

  Issachar knocked again and mumbled something unintelligible.

  “What was that? Oh, hold on a moment.” Footsteps on tile, and then the door swung open.

  Lane’s eyes went wide when he saw Issachar standing there. He tried to shut the door, but Issachar forced his way into the small office. He clutched the smaller man’s throat with one hand and with the other he held the tip of his stiletto a fraction of an inch from Lane’s eye. Lane gave way until he was leaning back against his desk.

  “You are going to answer all of my questions. If you try to fight or call for help, this knife goes through your eye and into your brain. Understood?”

  Lane tried to reply, but had to swallow a few times before he managed to croak, “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” Without looking, Issachar reached back with his foot and nudged the door closed.

  “First, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Stanley Echard.”

  “He’s a low-level hustler. Sells fake amulets, runs a poker game, handles a few bets. That sort of thing.”

  Issachar didn’t like what he was hearing. Gambling?

  “What else?”

  “I can tell you which bar he frequents. Other than that I don’t know anything else about him. I only help him out sometimes because I owe him money. Gambling debts.”

  “Really?” Issachar quirked an eyebrow. That’s what Echard had been getting up to? “And to think he wants back in.” He’d instinctively distrusted Echard, and it seemed his gut reaction was the correct one. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean Echard wasn’t on to something with this amulet. It was up to Issachar to find out if there was anything to it, or just another of the countless dead-ends he’d encountered during the course of his work.

  For years, ever since he’d been admitted into the inner circle, he’d been searching for artifacts of power. He’d been skeptical at first, but the Elder had pointed out that scripture attested to the existence of such items. That alone had been enough for Issachar, but then the Elder had shown him something else.

  “The ancients had knowledge we only dream of. We must find it again. It is the will of our Lord.”

  “Tell me about the amulet.”

  “Please, could you move that knife a bit? I’m not armed and I won’t give you any trouble. I’m easy to work with; just ask Echard.”

  “Good. I’m just looking for some help.” Issachar took a step back and made a show of pocketing his stiletto. Let Lane think they were on the same team. It might loosen his tongue.

  Lane stood up straight, gingerly rubbed his throat. “What is it you want from me?”

  “First, I want all the information you have on Echard’s stolen amulet.”

  “Echard says it’s a silver amulet shaped like a serpent, and he gave me the names of the treasure hunters who he claims stole it.”

  “Claims?” Issachar asked sharply.

  Lane shrugged. “This is Echard we’re talking about. The truth is a slippery thing with him.”

  Issachar’s stomach clenched. If Echard had sent him on a wild goose chase...

  “Did Echard say why he wanted this amulet?”

  “He didn’t have to. Black market antiquities dealings are all too common in the islands. Knowing him, he’s told his potential buyer that he already has it in his possession. Now he’s panicking.”

  Issachar’s temper was rising. How had Echard ever been one of their number? Was any of his information of value?

  “Do you know where this amulet came from?”

  Lane shook his head. “He’s been cagey about it. What I told you is everything I know. I’m not even certain I could identify it if I saw it. That’s why I haven’t tried to get a warrant to search Maddock’s boat. That and Echard doesn’t want his name attached to the investigation or the artifact.”

  “I assume Maddock is one of the treasure hunters. What can you tell me about him?”

  Lane hesitated, his gaze flicked to the left for a split second. Both signs of possible deception.

  “Other than his name? He’s got blond hair, his partner is an Indian. The feather kind, not the dot on the head. Their boat is tied up at a private dock near Staniard Creek.”

  “What else?”

  “Not much.” Lane rubbed his chin, partially covering his mouth as he spoke. Another subconscious sign of deception. “They were at the Blue Descent deep diving contest today.”

  The man was hiding something. For some reason, he didn’t want to talk about the treasure hunters. Echard had described the pair as ‘a couple of idiots.’ Probably another lie.

  “Have you questioned the men about the theft?”

  “They were questioned.” Lane wouldn’t meet his eye.

  Just then, Issachar’s sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He glanced away for a split second.

  Lane chose that moment to attack. Moving with surprising quickness, he drove his knee into Issachar’s groin. Issachar twisted away, but the strike still hurt like hell. Lane punched him square on the chin.

  Issachar saw red. He poured all of his might into a punch aimed for Lane’s Adam’s apple. He felt his fist drive into soft flesh and rubbery cartilage. Lane fell back against his desk, eyes wide, lips moving, hands pressed to his crushed larynx. He was already dead but didn’t know it.

  Damn! Issachar had lost his temper again.

  The footsteps came closer. Thinking fast, Issachar turned out the lights and locked the door.

  Lane had sunk to the floor, his eyes glassy with shock and disbelief. He barely struggled when Issachar removed Lane’s belt and looped it around his throat.

  There was a soft knock at the door. Lane squirmed, tried to make a noise, but Issachar clamped a big hand over the detective’s nose and mouth.

  “Detective?” a voice called.

  Lane struggled, but to no avail. By the time the person at the door had departed, he had gone limp.

  Five minutes later, Issachar slipped back out the way he had come. Eventually, probably sometime tomorrow, the detective would be found in his office, hanged by his own belt. The words I DID IT were scrawled in giant block letters across his desk calendar. Did what? Issachar had no idea, but trying to figure that out ought to keep the Andros police occupied for a while. Long enough for Issachar to deal with these treasure hunters.

  24

  Gomez fired up the small outboard and steered his boat out into the bay. The cool breeze helped to clear his muddled mind. He’d had a couple too many and was feeling the effects. He knew he shouldn’t be boating under the influence but it was a way of life around here. He waved goodbye to Bonebrake and the others. The remainder of the crew had returned from their trip into town, and Gomez had found them an amiable bunch. He hoped Lane would continue to leave them alone.

  As he steered out of the harbor and turned south toward Andros town, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn. He couldn’t believe how tired he was.

  “Just take it slowly and keep your eyes open and you will be fine,” he said aloud.

  The moon was big and bright, painting the surface of the water in silver. It was a perfect night in the Bahamas. The only thing that would make it better would be if he were bringing a woman back home with him. His thoughts drifted to Raeána. So pretty, so intelligent. But, she had eyes for Maddock, that much was certain.
But the man wasn’t going to stay in the islands forever. Gomez would bide his time.

  Soon, the dull drone of the engine and gentle thump of the boat against the breakers had him on the edge of slumber. His eyelids fluttered and the world seemed to flicker and then go dark.

  Thunk!

  The boat struck something solid.

  “Damn!” He sat bolt upright and looked around. Through eyes now wide open he saw only the open sea. In his slumber he’d veered badly off course. He turned and spotted the lights of Andros Town. Distant, but not so very far. He had more than enough fuel to make it home.

  The boat rose and fell, water slapping the gunwale. The sound reminded him of what had jolted him from sleep. He’d hit something. Hadn’t he?

  He looked around. A cloud drifted over the face of the moon, turning the silvery seascape a dark shade of gray.

  He always carried a small flashlight. As a police officer, you never knew when you’d end up in a dark place and in need of a light. Now he fished it out of his pocket, flicked it on, and shone it all about. Nothing. And no damage to the boat that he could see.

  “Must have just been a wave. It sounded to me like I’d hit something more substantial because I was half-asleep.” He said it with conviction, as if he were a witness on the stand, trying to convince himself. But deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

  He hadn’t just heard the impact. He’d felt it. From the tip of his toes right up to his fillings. The boat had struck something with significant force.

  “Or,” he said slowly, steering the craft back on course, “something struck the boat.”

  The thought sent an icy stab of fear down his back. Suddenly, all the evening’s conversations came back to him. Every myth and legend suddenly became real to him. He thought about the disappearances, the witness statements about the incident at Blue Descent. What could have struck the platform with that much force? And then he remembered the story Maddock’s crew told about their flight from a large, unidentified sea creature. Suddenly, the stories of the Lusca no longer seemed a laughing matter.

  He broke out in cold sweat. His heart raced.