“Let’s go,” he said, and guided her into the plane’s cockpit.
Within seconds they were off the water and headed toward the island fort.
“And just where the hell do you think you’re going?” R.B.’s voice crackled over the radio, “or do I even want to know?”
“Don’t worry, buddy,” —Troy smiled and winked at Megan— “I’ll have Gidget back before the next run.”
“You’re killin’ me here,” R.B. said but with a trace of a smile in his tone. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Have you ever known me to do anything like that?” Troy retorted back with his own smile. “See ya in a bit.”
“Roger that.”
“Gidget?” Megan asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, that’s what we call the plane… it’s a long story.” Troy turned them toward the west. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day while we’re enjoying the spoils of our find.”
She looked out the window to the open gulf water below them.
“I haven’t agreed to do this yet, Mr. Bodean.”
“You will,” he said, winking again, “you will.”
The seaplane whizzed across the gulf, with her north side facing bright sunlight and on her south side in the distance the darkness of the coming storm. Troy knew time was against them, and that he had to convince Megan quickly. He figured they had about a week before the hurricane buried any hope they had of finding the Muerta.
After about half an hour, Troy checked his G.P.S. reading and began to scan the water below them. He soon spotted his recent discovery.
“Look there,” he said, and nodded to Megan and pointed down.
“What? Where?”
He leaned over and held his arm outstretched in front of her. The water was not yet muddied from the storm surge and was only fifty-feet deep to the top of the coral reef. A dark oblong shape jutted out from the side of the coral wall.
“I see it, but what is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know? Timber, a cannon? I can’t tell.”
“Have you been down?”
“No, not yet,” he said, and circled the plane over it a few more times. “I didn’t want to draw any attention to it.”
She could feel her pulse quicken and she strained to see any detail she could make out on the sunken object, but it was too deep, just a dark shape. She signaled for him to make another pass and he banked the plane around again.
He flew a little lower and she could tell it was definitely not a natural ocean feature. Her palms began to sweat; the fever had suddenly caught her. She would help him, at least with this first dive. If this object should prove to have archaeological merit, it could be a very important find. Her thoughts drifted to the money it would take to bring her up… she wondered idly if he had checked her out and learned she had a trust fund that would more than cover the cost of this operation. She brushed the thought away; probably not smart enough for that. It didn’t matter; she’d gladly give that money up for a discovery of this potential magnitude.
“We need a magnetometer,” she blurted out suddenly, “and a boat.”
“A magne-whatsit?” he asked with a smile. “Darlin’, I don’t speak Spanish or scientist, so I have no idea what you just said, but I think I can get us a boat.”
Megan laughed. Okay, so he is pretty charming after all.
Troy nodded, and after a few more circles around the mysterious object in the water, he turned the plane back toward Key West.
In the distance, silent waves flapped against the side of a small fishing boat. Its captain watched the seaplane disappear into the distance.
“They were very close,” he spoke into the ship’s radio. “I’m pretty sure they saw it. They circled it a few times.”
“Keep an eye on them,” came the reply, “and don’t let ‘em bring anything up. If we can hold ‘em off for a week, the hurricane will carry everything away.”
“Yes sir.” The captain hung the radio receiver up and started his boat’s engines.
He motored casually toward the shore, loosely following the local fishing routes. It wouldn’t matter if he was spotted; he was well known here and had caught enough this morning to cover his story of a day-fishing expedition. He wondered idly what they thought they had found.
With a smirk, he thought it might be fun to see the looks on their faces when they realized how wrong they were.
5
Lucky Cat
Detective Joe Bond reached for the knob on the outdated AC unit next to his desk to see if the fan would go any higher. It wouldn't. He scratched his close-cropped hair above a high hairline and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. He undid the top button on his cream-colored linen shirt. On days like today, nothing would stave off the heat of a late summer, early fall day in Key West. With the elevated temperature always came an acute pain in his lower back, where a hollow-point 9mm slug sat adjacent to his spine. On the worst days, the pain would be almost crippling. So, rather than take his normal stroll to lunch over on Duval Street, he thought he’d sit this one out, literally.
He stared at the NYPD badge encased on his wall. His mind drifted back to walking the beat in foot-deep snow, and today it didn't seem like such a bad thing. Heck, just walking anywhere without pain would be nice. But it had been on one of those cold winter days that he chased the wrong punk down the wrong alley and ended up with three shots in his back from the punk's friend. The vest had caught the first two, allowing them to only break his ribs and shatter a vertebra. But the third one clipped the edge of the vest, bounced off a low vertebra and lodged on the front side of it. Had the impact not left Joe temporarily paralyzed and motionless in the snow, the little punk would have realized he was still alive and finished him off.
But instead, Joe spent the next twenty minutes face down in the snow, alive, awake, totally unable to move and thoroughly convinced he was about to die. As he’d lain there watching the snow pile up in front of his face he could hear the deafening silence; the snow gently falling in front of his eyes; and the cat. That damned cat. Grey, curious, mangy, and bony thin. It had walked over to him, rubbed noses and then sat down to stare at him, as if to watch him die. From his prostrate position, he had drifted off, his last thought being that the wretched thing had six toes on each foot.
Rehab was difficult. He cashed out from the NYPD with an early pension, despite being only four and a half decades old. To avoid spending time around the house, he spent too much time in the local cop bar. He tried to remain one of the boys, but the stories became harder and harder for him to follow. He’d fallen out of the loop, and there was no going back.
Then came the night he skipped the bar and went straight home, hoping to surprise his wife, only to be surprised himself. With his back injury, he knew he’d been neglecting bedroom duty with her, and apparently she’d been getting that with someone else. Joe spent the next week at a friend’s place looking for a new life that was anywhere but there.
He found a posting from Monroe County, Florida, which was looking to recruit talent from major metropolitan police forces. He responded, talked to some people on the phone, sent in his glowing resume, and very soon had a job offer. It was far enough away to assure him he would never collide with his old life again.
Before he left town, he returned to the alley. He wanted once more to see that miserable place where his life had forever changed, maybe to say a symbolic goodbye. As he stepped over the muck, around the garbage, and between the trash cans, he found where he had laid in the snow and contemplated the life he had thought would end right there.
That’s when he’d heard the meow. Out from under a box crawled a familiar face. The cat! He could hardly believe the thing was still here, looking at him as if to say, what took you so long? The next day, Joe had boarded a plane for Key West, Florida with an extra carry on.
His phone rang and brought him back to the very hot and humid present. The caller ID indicated it was Ed “Skipper” Johnson. Joe knew why h
e was calling.
“Yeah? Hi Skipper… No, nothing this month… I know, I'm sorry too… No, it’s never a bother… Yes, of course I'll call if anything breaks.”
For nearly a year now, Skipper Johnson had been calling for any updates about his two boys. Mark and Randy had been murdered at last year’s Fantasy Fest—a world famous island celebration of Halloween. They were found on a boat drifting some fifty miles west of the island, both with their throats slit. The last week of October being the busiest of the year, naturally the entire island was full of possible suspects, as thousands come and go by road, boat and plane every hour.
Joe knew this hadn’t been a typical Key West crime. There was no bar fight. No drunken brawl. No half-dozen tourist witnesses. No drugs. No organized crime. Nothing. The boys were slashed with a knife, leaving a ton of blood on the boat… but it all tested out to be just theirs. Who would want to kill a couple of boys whose only sins were free diving in places where they weren't supposed to? Their boat was found unmolested, aside from the blood. Curiously, from bow to stern the only thing taken was their G.P.S. He’d even gone to the trouble to hire a dive team to check out the general area where they’d been found. Nothing there either; they had probably drifted many miles before they’d been found. It just didn’t make sense.
The boys had been partying it up for two weeks before Halloween, engaging in typical tourist activity. The newest bartender at the Iguana heard them whispering about something big they had found diving a local reef, but of course they didn’t say what or where it was.
So, these boys thought they found a sunken treasure, eh? Joe thought.
Thousands of people dive the waters of Key West; there’s nothing out there worth killing anyone over. It’s all been pillaged already. Tourists were the only ones on the island who still believed in gold at the bottom of the sea. By all accounts, it looked random and meaningless. But Joe had seen meaningless crime, and this one didn’t fit that bill at all well. The peculiar theft of the G.P.S. had him mystified. He had just a few pieces of the puzzle and couldn’t see very much of the big picture. He rubbed his back and opened the file one more time.
In the corner of Joe's office, Lucky purred and curled himself into a ball for a noontime nap.
6
Irish Kevin’s
Vince Pinzioni, the newest owner of Captain Tony’s, was carrying a case of Corona Light from the storeroom up to the front bar when he saw them walk in; Troy Bodean, and some cute young thing he’d probably picked up trolling Duval Street for the late summer college girls. Typical, he thought. He put the case of beer down on the bar, then poured Troy’s usual shot of Jager and popped the top off a cold Yuengling.
“And for the lady?”
Megan shook her head.
“Suit yuhself.”
Vince went back to his work shuffling beer into the iced coolers under the bar. Troy took a sip of his shot and gave Megan a look as if to say, let me do the talking.
“Hey, Vince,” Troy started nervously. “Say, how’s that old boat of yours?” He gulped his shot of Jager and washed it down with a swig of beer.
“Ah, she’s doin’ great,” Vince said and smiled. “Took her out yesterday.”
“Catch anything?”
“Coupla barracudas,” Vince said, nodding at Megan. “Most people don’t know they’re good eatin’.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Troy quickly jumped in before she could speak.
“Say, you don’t suppose I could borrow her one weekend.”
Vince wrinkled his brow and then started to laugh. “You?” He picked up the empty beer box and turned back toward the store room. “Yeah, dat’ll be the day,” he said as he disappeared.
Again, Megan started to say something, but Troy shushed her. Vince reappeared with another case of beer.
“No, seriously,” Troy said casually, “I just wanted to take my friend Megan out for a cruise, and I know you have a nice boat.”
Vince wiped his hand on a towel behind the bar and reached up to shake her hand.
“Very nice ta meet you, miss,” he said and looked back toward Troy, “but it’ll be a cold frickin’ day in Key West before I loan my boat to this guy.”
It was at this point Megan stunned both Troy and Vince by leaning far too inappropriately over the bar.
“Awww, that’s too bad,” she said with her cheesiest pouty face. “I just bought the cutest little bikini. I guess I’ll just have to wear it out by the pool. I have the most dreadful tan lines I need to get rid of.”
Vince’s eyes went slightly wider and he somehow managed to keep his jaw from hitting the bar. If he hadn’t been staring at Megan’s tank top, he might’ve noticed Troy’s jaw was in much the same position.
“Well, I mean…” Vince stammered a bit, trying to regain his composure, and oddly his words lost their New York accent. “… I guess you could go out for a quick trip.”
He suddenly seemed to snap back to reality. “But I’m goin’ wit you,” he said, and shook a finger at Troy.
“Awww,” Megan chimed in again, batting her eyelashes a little too much, “that’s sooo sweet of you.”
She leaned over a touch more and gave Vince a quick peck on the cheek.
“Don’t I know it,” he winked at her.
Troy just grinned and finished his beer.
“So, when are we goin’ on this party cruise?” Vince rubbed his palms together.
“How’s tomorrow morning?” Troy asked.
“Ouch, Saturday?” Vince said through a grimace. “How ‘bout we go early on Sunday, I can’t leave the bar on the biggest day of the week.”
This time it was Megan who jumped in before Troy could protest. “Perfect,” she said, and smiled brightly, “say around nine?”
“Nine it is.” Vince grinned, wondering just what kind of bikini she’d be wearing.
Megan grabbed Troy by the arm and led him out of the bar.
“What the heck?” he asked. “He’s comin’ with us now? And why Sunday?”
“Waiting till Sunday will give me time to drive back up to Islamorada and borrow a magnetometer from the center,” she explained. “And don’t worry about him. I have my ways.”
“Ahh,” he said, “but that’s not what I was talking about… I was wondering about your little show in there.”
“Never underestimate the power of a woman,” she said, and winked.
He grinned, and she suddenly saw there was a little Tom Cruise in his smile. As they walked down Duval, she realized she was still holding his arm and could feel herself blush a little, but she didn’t let go.
“You know,” Troy said, glancing at her, “Friday night is a good time to be in Key West.”
“Oh no you don’t, you’re not gonna talk me into anything crazy.” Megan shook her head.
“Actually, I was just hoping you’d buy me a beer.”
“Ha, it seems like you have good credit all over town!”
“Ouch.”
She laughed and tugged his arm. “I’ll buy you a beer, Bodean,” she said and winked, “but tonight we’re going to the bar I want to go to.”
“Fair enough, and just which one would that be?”
“Irish Kevin’s. I am a northern girl you know, and there’s nothing like a good Irish bar,” she said, exaggerating bah in her best Boston Southie accent.
Troy grimaced visibly and she couldn’t help but ask.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as if it was suddenly aching. “I’m sure Kevin has long forgotten about that night.”
She laughed raucously. “It’s a wonder you remember that night! What was it? You and a bunch of strippers bust up his place?”
He didn’t answer and he didn’t laugh. She quickly changed the subject.
“Well, you have nothing to fear, Troy. I’ll make sure you don’t get too rowdy tonight, and I’ll actually pay for the beers we drink!”
His mood li
ghtened. “Sounds like a plan, but maybe we should sit near the back just in case.” He smiled and eventually told her he was just kidding, no strippers, no busted bar… just a long overdue tab. As they entered Irish Kevin’s he put his hand on her waist.
“Now about this bikini… ”
7
Object Fear
Troy and Vince watched as Megan unloaded her equipment from the hatchback of her 94’ Honda civic. It was green at one time, but now the paint was streaked and peeling in a few places on the top and hood. Her rearview mirror was decorated with a pink and purple lei and several strands of what appeared to be Mardi Gras beads. Her radio antenna was topped with a small plastic dolphin (so I can find it in the mall parking lot, she would later tell them).
She had a small dive tank in one hand and another mysterious object in the other. It had a dark blue cylinder at the top, with a few dials and knobs attached to a four-foot-long wire-wrapped pole, and ended in a smaller white cylinder at the bottom.
She could see Troy’s confusion, and when Vince couldn’t see, mouthed the word, “Magnetometer.”
“Ah,” he said and took both from her.
Next, she brought out a buoyancy vest, flippers and a mask, and handed those to Vince.
“We goin’ divin’?” he asked.
She batted her eyelashes and let her blouse open a little to reveal the tiniest piece of her red bikini. “If you don’t mind?”
Vince’s smile widened and he winked. “Not at all, sweetie. Anything you wanna do is fine by me, sugar.”
Her last trip to the car brought out a bottle of Castillo Rum (the cheap stuff), a few plastic cups, and a two-liter bottle of Coke. She put the Coke down and slammed the hatch twice before it would latch.
“Are we ready,” she said, and smiled while bundling the drinks in her arms.
“Let’s do this,” Vince said and led them down the dock to his boat.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 32