The Antarcticans
James Suriano
Copyright © 2016 James Suriano
All rights reserved.
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Also by James Suriano
Inbiotic
For Matteo, the shining light of my world
Table of Contents
Lucifer
The Gospel of Thomas
Margie
Glitterati
Into the Lion’s Mouth
Voices
A Ship Divided
Cold Good-byes
Captain Clark
Welcome to Antarctica
The Intercept
Cozy Conversations
Psychedelic Dreams
Tsunami
Quantum Jumps
The Voice of a Siren
Under the Ice
Prayers for Salvation
Discovery
Going Home
Deadly Nostalgia
Crumbling Foundations
Redemption
Back to Chimeruth
Teacher of Hope
Family Time
The Death of Discovery
Omega
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Lucifer
Gavin knew he shouldn’t follow such a dangerous man, but if he didn’t do something, his son would be dead before Thanksgiving. He sat at a wrought-iron table under the striped awning of the News Café in South Beach, Miami, staring intently at the commotion occurring in the corner of the patio. He had been here for an hour. A black-velvet rope separated the general patrons milling about from the select group he was watching. They were laughing and clinking their glasses in another frivolous toast. Lucifer, the young man in the center of the unruly party, was lounging on a white leather chair. When the breeze from the Atlantic pushed the thin linen of his shirt against his sculpted form, it exposed a rippling, tan body. His sun-bleached hair wisped about his face, never settling over the high jaunting cheekbones and supple symmetrical features. The man’s thick lips moved over his perfect, gleaming teeth, inviting the audience with whom he was holding court to hang on every hysterical, entertaining word. The man stood up and excused himself, linked arms with a woman who was adjusting her bikini top over her voluptuous breasts, and headed inside the restaurant.
Gavin followed them to the unisex bathroom then waited outside the door. A minute later, he made his way in quietly and ducked into a stall next to the only other closed door. The smell of mandarin and lilac permeated the air. Looking down at the spotless polished floor, he saw his reflection and knew this wasn’t the average dive bar on Ocean Drive. He heard Lucifer and the woman murmuring and laughing. They were bumping against the metal wall of the stall. He waited until he heard the latch turn; then he counted to ten in his head and made his way out to the long marble sink. He turned his head toward the woman, who was still giggling, in time to see her wipe the last bit of cocaine from her nose.
She looked over at Gavin. “What’s up?” she said, mocking him with a smile.
“I was hoping I could talk to him.” He pointed to Lucifer.
“Lucifer, do you know this guy?” she asked.
Lucifer was baring his teeth for the mirror. It looked like he was checking for cavities. He looked at Gavin in the mirror and shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting him, but he’s welcome to join us.”
The woman’s eyes started at Gavin’s khaki pants then made their way up to his thick leather belt and through his starched polo, ending on his angular face. His eyes were squinty, as if he were looking at something in the distance or wincing. He could thank his Filipino father for giving him a lifetime to explain that he wasn’t doing either. She took a step toward him; grabbed his collar above the three buttons, which were tightly secured; and yanked. The top two buttons launched into the air, and his smooth, tanned chest poked through the newly created opening.
“Better, but I still feel like he wandered in here from a cornfield.” She blew a kiss to Gavin and headed out of the bathroom.
Lucifer turned to Gavin, leaned into his ear, and whispered, “First impressions are important” before exiting the restroom.
Gavin caught a whiff of the man’s expensive cologne and the fumes from his cigar. He was shaking, and he didn’t want to join a group of people partying—he wanted to talk to Lucifer, alone. He would wait. He left the restaurant, making damn sure not to look in the direction of the small party, and found his way to a flat piece of beach nearby where he could spread out a towel and soak in some sun. He could think through his next step here; his whole afternoon was free, and he knew there was more than one way to get what he wanted. He pulled off his shirt and sat down on the beach towel, his skinny forty-five-year-old body looking awkward in his khakis and socks. He’d never cared, though, what anyone thought about his physical appearance.
The lifeguards blew their whistles at a group of rowdy college students who had ventured too far into the ocean. Gavin watched the guards in their shacks wave the kids back toward shore. Although the lifeguards had posted a red flag outside their light blue hut, indicating dangerous rip currents, the kids apparently were ignoring it. Gavin saw a group of ten or so, swimming and splashing. The loud instigator, a fiery redhead who was egging on the other kids to ignore the wild rants of the lifeguards, had his hand on one of the girls. Her chartreuse bikini looked like what most of the women on South Beach wore: mere threads of fabric. The red-haired guy tugged at her bikini top, wrestled with her for a few seconds, then twirled it above his head.
Gavin chuckled to himself then pulled a book out of his beach bag. The cover was orange, with raised yellow writing that read, Winning the Next Generation: A Guide to Pastoring Millennials. He opened the cover and settled into the first words. As seagulls whined over the waves, a lifeguard blew a whistle, and then a siren sounded. He looked up. The lifeguard was sprinting for the water with a red emergency flotation beacon in her hand. Panicked kids were diving under the water, yelling, “I can’t find her! She was right here! Help!” A dozen or so beachgoers were gathering at the water’s edge, staring blankly at the scene, calling their children in from the rough surf, too scared to enter the water and allowing the trained lifeguards handle the situation. A large cloud moved out of the sun’s path, and the brightness made Gavin look away. He caught the heady scent of Lucifer before he heard his voice.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it? These irresponsible kids can’t seem to follow rules these days.” He stepped into view, his gold Versace sunglasses obscuring his eyes; his arms crossed; his manicured, perfectly muscled hands resting on each of his forearms. “Oh, wait, wait. Look there.” He pointed about forty feet away from the commotion in the water.
Two lifeguards were converging in vigorous strokes to the approximate location where they had seen the girl. Gavin shifted his gaze away from the teens and lifeguards and followed Lucifer’s finger. The girl bobbed up between the waves for a moment, her bare breasts just breaking the surface.
“Oh, well, it looks like they’ve missed her.” He made a sucking noise and, pulling his sunglasses off, turned to face Gavin. His bright-blue eyes were piercing.
Gavin yelled and pointed to her, but the lifeguards were too far away to hear him.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Gavin…Gavin Pennings.” He didn’t look at Lucifer; he was trying to find someone who could help.
“Oh, yes. I don’t think you told me now, did you?” Lucifer said, pondering.
Gavin’s body language was becoming frantic.
“Gavin…” He paused. “Really, do you think she has a chance? Does she even deserve one? Disobeying the signs and then allowing some boy to snatch her bikini top while she disregarded the lifeguards’ instructions?”
“She’s a teenager!” Gavin turned to him and put his hands up. “Can’t you do something?”
“Of course I can do something, but why appeal to me? You have connections in higher places.” He pointed up and cocked half his mouth and eyebrow in the same direction.
Gavin was exasperated with panic. “Prayer doesn’t work like that.”
“I pity her then.” Lucifer was being smug.
Only the girl’s hand broke the surface this time. Gavin watched, his mouth open. He said a prayer in his head for her. He prayed if she didn’t make it that at least she loved the Lord.
“I mean, I could do something for her if I could garner your attention for an hour or so. Deal?” Lucifer asked.
“Yes, yes, yes, please.” Gavin cringed that he might have made a deal he was unwilling to follow through on.
Lucifer bounded for the water like a gazelle, his feet gliding over the surface at the first gallops into the sea, then disappeared into the swirling currents and waves. A few moments later, he resurfaced in the exact spot where Gavin had watched the girl’s hand being swallowed up. He treaded water and held her body above the salty, roiling, blue sea. He propped her up with his arm, the muscles in his broad back flexing, and swam to shore like an Olympic swimmer before beaching her on the sand. As soon as he flipped her onto her stomach and whacked her back, she sputtered back to life. She lifted her face, which was masked in sand, and rolled to her side. Lucifer looked up at Gavin, who was calling the EMTs to the attention of the girl, and nodded. When he stood up, his white linen pants were nearly transparent, the striations of his legs rippling through.
“The Setai Penthouse. Meet me there in fifteen minutes,” Lucifer told Gavin as he turned and headed toward Ocean Drive.
The Setai wouldn’t garner the attention of the casual tourist. It was just another glimmering tower of glass in the landscape of mega skyscrapers that lined the barrier island. But to locals it housed an elusive penthouse. If it hadn’t been the most expensive piece of real estate in South Beach, or if the buyer had finally come forward, three years after the tower had been constructed and sold, it might have been forgotten in the gossip mill that churned day and night. But this was South Beach, where money poured in from the Middle East and South America, swirling together with a corrupt American culture to fuel a continual party of drugs, sex, and power. Sunrises and sunsets were ignored as mere moving artwork in the sky. The background noise at the Setai was the constant shuttle of helicopter traffic landing on the helipad, which hung over the side of the building, held by an enormous sculpted hand. The rumors surrounding the owner’s motivations for this ostentatious display of art vacillated from the owner taking a great interest in the ancient Greek games to wielding a sign of power over those who landed within the owner’s hand, thus playing on his territory before they even disembarked from their aircraft.
The helicopters came at all hours, all days, some hovering while waiting for another to depart. US Air Traffic Control was silent on the matter, sworn to official secrecy. Anyone who said they knew who was coming and going didn’t, and those who knew said they didn’t.
Gavin made his way to the elevator bank and punched the button marked “PH.” Elevator One opened, and he stepped on. The elevator began to descend, and he looked at the panel to reenter his intended destination. When the elevator stopped, the display indicated he was on Level LL3. “Please make your way to Elevator Eight,” a female voice said. Gavin stepped off and looked around at the elevator lobby, which was identical to the one on which he had entered, except this one had an elevator with an “8” over it. The doors were open, and the walls inside the elevator pulsed turquoise blue. He stepped inside. His name came up on the screen, welcoming him to Lucifer’s home. Within five seconds, the elevator ascended to the thirty-eighth floor, and the doors opened. When he stepped out, he stood on a small patch of terrace outside, staring straight over the Atlantic. He never had viewed the ocean from this vantage point before, and it was breathtaking. He felt like he could step out into the open sky and float above the expanse of topaz ocean. The space was humbling and reached to what looked like the end of the earth, where the ocean and sky met.
Gavin had grown up in Florida City, his father a crooked cop shuttling goods for the local mob boss. His mother was loving and quiet. She didn’t ask questions and poured her affection and attention onto her children and the family’s small house. When Gavin’s sister, Emily, died suddenly from a heart defect, two days before Gavin’s tenth birthday, she fell apart. When Gavin started asking questions about where his sister had gone, his mother, teetering on the thin line between grief and depression, took him to Father Jake’s office. She couldn’t answer her son’s questions and was hoping a man of God could.
“It’s the reason I fell in love with the place.” Lucifer was standing behind Gavin with his hand outstretched, his smile breaking through the intense sun.
“I…” Gavin started to reply then realized he had nothing to say.
“Probably not in the priorities of a minister.”
“I’m a pastor.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Since when are titles important?”
He showed Gavin through a set of glass walls that were parted to make an entrance. The living area was swathed in white leather and fur, and Gavin imagined his mother’s bichon frise being mistaken for a throw pillow here. The woman from the restroom was lounging on one of the couches, fully occupied by the thick Tiffany catalog she was slowly flipping through.
“My good friend, Carmen,” Lucifer said as he walked by her.
“Nice to meet you,” Gavin said.
She didn’t look up or take any notice that they were there.
“Drink?” Lucifer waved his hand in front of the full bar.
“Scotch.”
“A preacher who drinks. I like that.”
“Pastor,” Gavin corrected him.
“P-a-s-t-o-r.” Lucifer mouthed it out slowly and silently as he dropped the ice cubes into the glass and poured the dark, rich, amber-colored Scotch over them. “Enjoy,” he said, as he handed him the glass.
Gavin took a sip. It tasted like liquid love.
“Where did you get this?”
“France. The prime minister brings it to me when he visits. Nothing like it, eh?”
He led Gavin through the master suite to the side of the building where the sun was blocked and the humid air was washed away by the ocean currents circling through the buildings.
“I prefer the cold inside, but I thought this might be more comfortable for you.” Lucifer took a seat on the long chaise and stretched out his legs. He had changed into a tuxedo, minus the jacket. His black patent-leather shoes looked out of place in the casual surroundings of white sand and tanned bodies. “Oh, these, you’re wondering? The opera is in a few hours, and I have a particularly boring cocktail party to attend first.”
Gavin looked away from his shoes as though he hadn’t been thinking the question that had just been answered.
“But why are you here, Gavin? And why stalk me with such brash, unencumbered enthusiasm?” He raised his cocktail glass in the air. “Cheers.”
Carmen sauntered onto the terrace and sat down next to Gavin. “I hope you don’t mind. This is where I think it’s going to get really good.”
“My son,” Gavin said matter-of-factly.
“Could you be more specific?”
“He’s tormented. He tells me he sees demons a
nd hears voices. I’m not sure how much longer he can continue like this.”
“And you think I have something to do with this?” Lucifer looked skeptical and annoyed.
“You’re the head honcho down there, right?” Gavin asked.
“Down there,” Lucifer repeated, chuckling to himself. “I think there’s somewhat of a misunderstanding here. I have nothing to do with your son. And the fashionable notion that I command a legion of wicked demons set out to torture the human race is as fanciful as Santa Claus sliding down the chimney on Christmas Eve. Really, Gavin, what are they teaching in seminary these days? I’d written those schools off as a lot of uneducated mystics searching for certainty in a lie. But it seems it goes much further.” He sighed, stood up, and headed toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
“So what’s your boy’s name? How old is he?” Carmen was twirling her blond hair. Her see-through gown revealed black lace lingerie beneath and a body made for seduction.
“Joshua. He’s seventeen.”
“Has he been to a doctor?”
“Yes, my wife, Noila, and I have been through all that. For years, in and out of hospitals and treatment centers. Medications make him sleepy, but nothing dulls the voices.”
Carmen shook her head. “Sorry to hear that. It’s hard for me to sympathize, though, since I’m not a mother myself.”
“It’s okay.” Gavin took another sip of his drink. A drop of Scotch dripped onto his pants.
Before she could reply, Lucifer walked back on to the balcony and dropped a small spiral-bound book on Gavin’s lap. On the cover, black letters in Times New Roman read, The Gospel of Thomas.
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