The Keepers

by Dan Alatorre

  “Yeah, I know you’re tough. You’d say that no matter what.”

  Trinn groaned, wrapping the towel around her side and holding it in place. “Maybe I would, but you have to believe me now. I’m going to pull through this. It’s not a fatal wound.”

  He clenched his jaw, staring at the blood streaming from her side.

  “Don’t waste time coddling me while Constantine disappears! I won’t forgive you if you do that. I love that girl. We have to protect her.”

  “Okay.” DeShear nodded. “Just sit tight.” He scrambled to the railing.

  As the wake from the Autolycus II reached them, DeShear’s charter boat rocked, sending a small wave of gasoline and blood into his knees. Smoke billowed from the bow. Crouching, DeShear peered over the rail. The Autolycus II grew smaller in his sights, but no further gunshots came. Scrambling up the ladder, he jumped into the wheelhouse.

  “Do it.” Trinn reached up and grabbed the railing. “Let’s go!”

  DeShear grabbed the wheel and slammed the throttle forward. The engine roared, lurching the boat ahead. He spun the wheel as the bow lifted over the waves.

  In the distance, the Autolycus II grew smaller.

  “Hang on!” he shouted to Trinn. “This is going to be pretty rough.”

  “I’m good.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Each smack of the hull made her moan.

  DeShear raced after the Autolycus II as it headed toward the tiny islands.

  They’re going to try to lose us in those little islands.

  A muzzle flash came from the rear of the red boat. The windshield in front of DeShear shattered.

  “Stay down!” He crouched behind the dashboard. “They’re shooting again.”

  “It’s just a scare tactic.” Trinn hauled herself up, gasping as she sagged onto the bench seat. Her hair whipped around her face. “Most kidnappers want a clean getaway and ransom money. Don’t lose them.”

  He nodded, staying on their trail. The red boat rounded the first island, disappearing behind the brush and low trees. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do when we—”

  The fiberglass deck in front of him popped like fireworks. Bullet holes riddled the deck. DeShear glanced around. More muzzle flashes came from the island, and their bullets slammed into the boat’s hull.

  DeShear spun the wheel to swerve away, but the engine sputtered and cut out.

  “Why are you stopping?” Trinn flung herself to the deck.

  “I’m not.” DeShear scanned the tiny island for the gunman. “The engine died. Stay down.”

  Trinn lifted her hand, rubbing her fingers together. “DeShear, there’s gas everywhere back here. It’s all over the deck.” She glanced at the engine. Several bullet holes dotted its side. A trickle of fluid spilled onto the deck. “We’re a sitting duck.”

  “Stay low. If they were kidnappers who wanted to collect a ransom, they wouldn’t be shooting at us. So who are they?”

  A gust of wind carried the smoke toward them from the bow. It turned black, billowing upwards. Orange flames leaped from the bullet holes in the front deck.

  “That’s not good.” As DeShear jumped down from the wheelhouse, more smoke poured out of the lower hatch. “They sabotaged us. They planted fires somehow before they left.”

  The leaking gas splashed back and forth with the motion of the boat, washing over Trinn’s feet. “Hank! We need to get off this thing!”

  “Over the side.” He reached to the bench seat and grabbed a life jacket. Smoke engulfed him. He coughed, crawling to Trinn and slipping the jacket over her arm and around her back. “Keep the boat between us and the shooter on that little island.” He helped her put her other arm through and clipped the front strap of the old vest. “Ready?”

  Trinn gritted her teeth. “Yeah. Help me up.”

  “We go fast, okay? Don’t give the shooter a target.” He slid his hands under her arms. “One . . .”

  The thick, hot smoke engulfed them.

  “Two . . .”

  DeShear lowered his head and took a deep breath.

  “Three!”

  Lifting Trinn, DeShear took one step and lunged over the side of the boat. The warm waters of the Caribbean crashed around them, a cloud of bubbles rising toward the surface. His shirt and shorts pressed tight to his skin by the water, DeShear broke the surface and grabbed the back of Trinn’s life jacket, swimming away from the burning boat.

  Chapter 7

  “Still with me?” DeShear said, treading water. Trinn’s head bobbed with every passing wave. “Jaden?”

  She groaned, lifting a hand and letting it flop back with a splash. “I’m just . . . I gotta . . .”

  “Okay.” DeShear pushed through the waves, swimming with the tide. “I’ve got you. Just talk to me so I know you’re awake. I need to put some distance between us and that fire in case it explodes.” He pushed through the crystalline water, pulling her by the rear of the life jacket.

  “I notice . . . I get shot at a lot around you, DeShear.” Eyes closed, a thin smile crossed Trinn’s face.

  “I noticed you get shot at a lot when I’m not around, too.” He swam harder, kicking with the current. “All that smoke will alert other boaters in the area. Maybe the Bahamian Coast Guard. We just need to sit tight. How’s your side?”

  She groaned. “Saltwater . . . feels so good in an open wound.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  Laquan’s boat was black with smoke. Huge flames covered the craft from front to back, curling upwards into the sky.

  DeShear kept swimming, letting the current help move them away from the burning boat—and the gunman somewhere on the other side.

  “Hank.” Jaden’s face was barely out of the water. “Slow down. Save some energy.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I thought . . . you weren’t a good swimmer,” she whispered. “You told Constantine . . .”

  “I lied.” He pulled them through the water with strong strokes. “I was on the swim team and put myself through college working as a lifeguard.”

  “Then I’m in good hands.”

  “Maybe. College was a long time ago.”

  “Hank.” She placed her hand on his arm, her eyes barely open. “I . . . stashed some cash . . . the planter box, in front of the hotel. $20,000. If you need it, it’s there for you.”

  “Stop that. You can access it yourself. You’re going to make it.”

  He rolled onto his back, breathing hard as he continued swimming with one arm. Laquan’s boat was nothing but an inferno. The upper deck was gone, its fiberglass melting from the heat and collapsing onto the lower deck. Just the burning shell of the hull remained, and a column of thick black smoke stretching upwards across the pale blue horizon.

  Panting, DeShear slowed his strokes, certain they were far enough from the gunman.

  No one could shoot this far with any accuracy.

  He floated on his back and closed his eyes, catching his breath. It had been a while since a gunshot.

  His mind flooded with images of Constantine’s abduction. The second boat being conveniently nearby after their charter captain accidentally forgot the bait cooler . . .

  It was all a set up.

  The need for a sail—in the middle of the ocean.

  How could I be so stupid?

  Constantine has been kidnapped because I let my guard down. Who knows what they’ll do to her?

  A knot grew in his abdomen.

  I have to find her. Whatever it takes, I will save that little girl.

  “Hey.” Jaden’s voice was weak. “Watch it.”

  DeShear lifted his head from the water. “Watch what?” A wave splashed over his face, filling his mouth. He spit the briny water out, holding his face higher.

  Trinn frowned, her eyes closed. “You’re . . . kicking me.”

  DeShear opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He wasn’t swimming at all. He was just floating and trying to catch his breath.

  “Hank.” Trinn jerked to
the side. “Stop.”

  A jolt went through DeShear’s insides.

  Kicking?

  Bolting upright, he plunged his face under the waves. As the tiny bubbles floated past his view, long, black shadows darted back and forth beneath the surface. Some far away, some not far away enough.

  Sharks.

  He pulled Trinn close, pressing his hand to her wound. “Hey, let me help you. We need to keep pressure on this.”

  She yelped.

  He put his face in the water again, looking at Trinn’s side. Blood clouds curled away between his fingers like thin wisps of red smoke.

  Something crashed into him, knocking him upwards. The dark gray V of a fish tail rushed past. DeShear glanced around. A dozen or more sharks circled around them, rippled with the patchy, striped pattern of a tiger shark.

  He held his breath. Another dark gray predator turned toward him. Pushing the water down with his hand, he lifted a foot and thrust it at the shark’s snout. The impact was solid, launching DeShear in the opposite direction and turning the toothy beast away—for now.

  He flung his head back, breaking the water and gasping for air. Trinn’s head bobbed on the side of her life jacket.

  Another shark brushed DeShear’s hip.

  Sharks sample an unknown item with test bumps.

  If they’re testing me, they’re testing her.

  Pretty soon the tests will turn into exploratory bites—especially if the prey is wounded and weak.

  Heart thumping, he put his face back in the water. A small shark darted forward, its large black eyes coming toward Trinn’s waist. DeShear punched at it, landing a blow along the side of its head.

  The fish’s skin was like a college linebacker wrapped in sandpaper.

  Lifting his face again, DeShear gasped for breath and peered at the brush on the distant island. The gunman hadn’t fired in a while.

  Maybe he’s enjoying the show.

  Doesn’t matter. A chance of getting shot is better than the certainty of getting eaten alive.

  DeShear turned around, swimming toward the tiny island. “Jaden, I need you to kick. Swim with me. Can you do that?”

  Her head lolled on the side of her life jacket.

  Another shark bumped DeShear’s leg. He plunged his face under again, kicking at anything that came close. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

  They’re testing more forcefully. They’re getting aggressive.

  He thrust hard, pushing them forward. “C’mon, girl. Move your arms and legs. We gotta get to that island.”

  “Ow!” Trinn thrashed in the water.

  The tiny island bobbed on the horizon. Waves splashed over his face.

  The sharks are coming too fast. There are too many.

  We’ll never make it to shore.

  Heaving himself forward with every stroke, DeShear dragged Trinn through the waves, staring past the sinking fishing boat. Its hull slipped lower, the black smoke turning white as the saltwater crested the sides and pulled it under. A moment later, only a giant cloud of smoke filled the air where the charter had been.

  Straining, DeShear swam harder. The sun shined bright in the clear skies.

  He put his face in the water again, kicking at another shark and turning it away. It moved a dozen feet with a flick of its powerful tail, then circled back.

  DeShear swallowed hard.

  Push. Keep going. Keep fighting.

  He broke the surface for a breath of air. A red streak shot across the rising white column of smoke. The tip of a flare glowed bright against the sky.

  DeShear glanced to his left. The blue and white hull of a Royal Bahamas Defense Force craft sliced through the water. He threw his hands in the air, shouting. “Here! We’re over here!”

  The patrol boat continued on its path, headed toward the sunken fishing boat and the cloud of steam that still bubbled up from the water. Another shark crashed into DeShear’s leg. He submerged and kicked at it, but it had already passed out of reach.

  DeShear surfaced again, splashing and churning the surface, turning the water around him white. “Here! We’re over here!”

  A shark bumped his arm, knocking his grip from Trinn’s life jacket. He thrust both hands in the air, kicking hard to stay afloat as he waved. “Over here! Hurry!”

  The patrol boat’s engines slowed, its bow turning toward him. DeShear swung his arms back and forth. “We’re over here!”

  The ship revved its loud engines, heading toward them. DeShear swam to Trinn and pulled her close, hugging her forehead to his cheek. “They see us.” He gasped, strands of hair in his eyes. “They see us! They’re coming, Jaden. Hang in there.”

  As the vessel approached, a crew member slid behind the gunnery mount at the front of the boat. He swung the barrel of the weapon around and pointed it in DeShear’s direction.

  “Hey! We’re friendly!” A mouthful of saltwater washed into his face. Choking, he hollered. “Don’t shoot.” The crewman lowered his head to the gun sights, firing off a few rounds. The water around DeShear erupted in splashes. Another wave hit him in the face. He threw a hand in the air, waving as he coughed. “Don’t shoot!”

  The craft approached, its loud engines cutting back and sending a massive wave over Trinn and Deshear.

  “Come, mate.” A crewman tossed a life ring into the water. Its red and white rope sailed over DeShear’s head as the float splashed behind him. “Grab on,” the man said. “We pull you fast.”

  The man at the bow gun kept his head to the barrel, moving the sights back and forth over the water.

  “Don’t you mind him, friend. He taking care of tiger shark for you. Come. Hold tight the rope. We got you, fella!”

  Grabbing the rope, DeShear put his arm around Trinn’s waist and let the ship’s crew pull them to safety.

  Chapter 8

  Helena instructed the cab driver to take them to Palace of Luxembourg. As they arrived at the edge of the expansive gardens, a tour bus dropped off a pack of gray-haired people with cameras and brochures, most of them wearing blue jeans and sneakers.

  Kitt paid the fare, then caught up to Helena at the garden gate. “What now?”

  The old woman walked along the gravel path in front of the massive limestone buildings. Tourists snapped pictures of the manicured gardens and grounds. “We have a bit of a dilemma. I must go overseas, and I’d like your assistance in collecting my little girl. But I don’t have a passport or any identification. It was all taken from me before I arrived at the hospital.”

  Kitt rubbed her hands together, blowing on them. “That will make things a little more difficult. Maybe they did that for your protection. I don’t suppose it would be a good idea to go back to my apartment at the hospital and get mine. Not with kidnappers out there looking for me. They might be watching my friends’ places, too.”

  “And your phone. How else could they find us if your friend didn’t tell them?”

  A group of teenager girls clustered together in front of a fountain. A petite red head on the end jostled her phone, holding it at arm’s length as her friends smiled for the selfie.

  “I think Patrice did what she could without giving me up,” Kitt said. “But you’re right—they found me somehow.”

  “Perhaps turning off your phone for a while would be a good idea, dear. What can be done to organize a passport?”

  Kitt took out her phone and powered it down. “There was a guy I worked with at the hospital.” Her breath made little clouds as she spoke. “He asked me out, but he was kind of weird and had a reputation for being a little shady, so I said no. But he might be able to do something.”

  Helena stopped walking. “He can get us passports?”

  “I don’t know.” Kitt grimaced, staring at the massive ornate palace. “I heard he sold drugs, and somebody told me his friend sold fake IDs to underage kids. But . . . the friend might know something about getting a passport.”

  Helena tugged the collar of the coat close around her neck. “He stole dr
ugs from the hospital and sold them?”

  “He sold recreational stuff to college kids as a side business.”

  “Goodness.” The old woman clasped her hands in front of her, gazing at the massive fountain. A few ducks huddled together at the far side, waddling toward a group of tourists.

  They walked among the topiaries and planters, stopping at a long, rectangular basin—a reflecting pool, with a wall of carved statues at the other end.

  Kitt stared into the rippling water.

  I hate the thought of contacting a creepy guy to get introduced to an even creepier guy.

  But Helena seems to believe the little girl is in real trouble.

  And I can’t think of any other way.

  Kitt sighed. “It’s a long shot, but the friend might be able to get us passports, or he might know someone who can. I can’t begin to guess what something like that would cost, but it’s a start.” She looked at Helena. “Let’s get a taxi and see if we can find him.”

  A chill swept across the stone pool, carrying the spray from the churning fountains. The old woman’s wrinkled fingers held the coat tight around her. “Will you come with me?”

  Kitt took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing her temples.

  Everything inside her said to say no.

  But it wasn’t that easy.

  “It’s been a long, strange day, and you’re a very unique woman . . . but the things you’ve said, they’ve all been true.” She pursed her lips and glanced at Helena. “Let’s just say . . . for now, I’m willing to talk about it some more. How’s that sound?”

  “That sounds brilliant.” Helena smiled. “Let’s find a taxi.”

  * * * * *

  Kitt took Helena’s hand as their cab approached the rear lot of the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. A few smokers were visible across the large lot, near the exit door and along the delivery area.

  Sitting in the warm taxi, Kitt glanced at the driver’s meter again, checking the time. “He’ll come out soon. He always makes an excuse to come out during smoke breaks. It gives him a chance to chat up the nurses and admin staff. Then he’ll network for more business.” She tapped the window. “See those boys by the dumpsters? Those are customers, waiting.” Digging in her purse, she pulled out some cash. “Let’s go.”