The Secret of Othello

by Sam Cameron

  Should have brought a winch, he thought.

  Harrison had packed some strapping in his vest pockets. Within just a few minutes he’d improvised a sling they could use to balance the satellite between them and still hold on to their flashlights. They each had a loop to hold, with plenty of slack. Harrison motioned toward the surface, and they adjusted their BC vests to begin the ascent.

  A plan started to take shape in Steven’s head. He wasn’t sure it would work, and if it failed Harrison would probably knife him, but he was out of other options.

  His flashlight slipped out of his hand. He cursed behind his mask, pretending it was an accident, and reached past Harrison to grab for it.

  Harrison yelled out something—let it go, probably.

  Steven swung his end of the sling over Harrison’s dive tank, looped it again, and let go.

  Instantly the weight of the satellite tugged Harrison down into the depths. Harrison’s flashlight fell away but the one on his tank sank quickly out of sight.

  Steven turned off the light on his own tank.

  Total darkness now.

  No, not total. Peering upward, he saw the blinking LED on the bottom of Larry Gold’s boat.

  Steven wanted to race upward, but he couldn’t. Not from sixty feet down, not unless he wanted nitrogen bubbles boiling in his blood. For the first time ever, he skipped the recommended safety stop at fifteen feet, though, and simply slowed himself more as the light drew nearer and nearer.

  He surfaced near the bow, low and quiet. Another boat was alongside Larry’s, and voices were murmuring. Denny, definitely, and a woman? A man who wasn’t Bud?

  Steven slid his tank off and let it sink. It wasn’t his equipment, anyway. He circled around Larry’s port side, away from the visitors.

  “How long have they been down there?” the man was asking.

  “A half hour at least,” Denny said, worried. “Maybe more.”

  Steven knew that voice. Ed, the old NASA guy.

  He reached up for the railing, and asked, “What’s going on up here?”

  Denny’s face appeared above him, scrunched with worry. “Are you okay? Where’s Harrison?”

  Steven grinned at him. “Pull me up and I’ll tell you.”

  He was halfway over the railing when a hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him downward. Steven yelped. He didn’t lose grip of the railing, but it was close. Irma and Ed reached for him, grabbing at his arms.

  Denny grabbed for a fishing net instead.

  “Hell no,” he said, and swung it over the side, past Steven, right into Jamie Harrison.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Denny was happily wrapped in two blankets, drinking hot chocolate Irma had fixed, determined not to move off the galley bench until he absolutely had to. Irma and Ed had a nice boat—a nice, warm, dry boat. Through the portholes he could see the Coast Guard sailors taking custody of Bud and Harrison. Bud had a bullet wound to his shoulder and Harrison had a bruised shoulder. He was lucky—Denny had been aiming the fishing net for his head.

  Another boat pulled alongside. Denny knew the sound of the Sleuth-hound anywhere. He pushed back the blankets, ready to face the world, but Irma wagged her finger at him from the doorway.

  “You stay right there,” she said. “You have a concussion.”

  “I don’t have a concussion,” Denny protested.

  A moment later she was leading Dad inside, with Brian and Sean close behind him. Dad looked wrecked.

  “Twice in one week you do this to me,” he said. “I’m going to have a heart attack just like Larry Gold.”

  “Not funny, Dad,” Denny said.

  Dad cupped Denny’s head and peered closely at his eyes. “I agree. Not funny at all.”

  “Are you okay?” Brian asked. “They said you were hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” Denny insisted.

  Sean said, “You look green.”

  “It’s the lighting,” Denny said. “Steven’s all banged up. Go fuss over him.”

  “I’ll fuss over whoever I want,” Dad said, but after a moment he went to check on Steven.

  Brian slid onto the bench beside Denny. He looked like he needed a big fat hug. Or maybe Denny needed it, and he didn’t care if Irma and Ed saw it or not. He leaned forward and let Brian wrap him in his arms. Brian smelled like sweat and salt, like something Denny wanted to get used to.

  “I totally forgive you for dinner,” Brian murmured shakily, and Denny laughed.

  After a few minutes Denny told them he needed fresh air, and if his legs were a little unsteady as he stood up, he blamed the waves under the boat. Steven was sitting on a bench outside with an ice pack against his right knee. It didn’t look too swollen. Yet.

  “Had to be the same one,” he complained.

  Dad asked, “The same one as what?”

  “Never mind,” Steven said. “Hey, look, there’s Denny with his head wound.”

  “I don’t have a head wound,” Denny said.

  “Let the doctor decide,” Dad retorted.

  “Always a good idea,” Ed said, from where he’d been talking to the Coast Guard lieutenant. “I’m a big believer in doctors. And fiber. And prune juice, when you get to be my age.”

  “I’d say your age is just fine,” Irma told him, and gave him a brief kiss.

  Dad said, “I think I’m a little unclear still on how you just happened to be around to save my sons.”

  Irma offered a secretive smile. “We heard the Coast Guard alert.”

  Ed said, “Fortuitous timing wins the day.”

  Dad stared at them skeptically. Denny was skeptical, too. He didn’t think they were any ordinary retirees. Retired spies, maybe. Retired government agents. Retired heroes who’d indeed saved Denny and Steven, and for that he was willing to let them keep any secret they wanted.

  The Coast Guard was ready to leave. After a quick consultation, Dad decided to go back with them and make sure Bud and Harrison were properly jailed for the night. Dad tasked Brian with taking his sons back to land in the Sleuth-hound and seeing that they got to the hospital for a checkup.

  “Don’t let them talk you out of it,” Dad said sternly. “Brian, you’re in charge.”

  After Dad was gone, Sean said, “How come he’s in charge? He’s known me longer.”

  “Exactly because he’s known you longer.” Denny turned to Ed and Irma. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Irma ruffled his hair and Ed shook their hands.

  “Take care, boys,” he said. “I’d say ‘stay out of trouble,’ but that’s probably not likely.”

  The trip back to Fisher Key was brief and quiet. Denny was dead tired and wanted to lie down, but he forced himself to stay upright. Steven’s ice bag had melted and he flexed his knee tentatively, thoughtfully. The stars were a lovely blanket of lights over the sleeping island, and Denny was startled to see that it was almost two o’clock in the morning.

  As they piled into Brian’s mom’s car, Brian said, “Okay, to the hospital.”

  “First we have to make a stop,” Denny said.

  Brian asked, “What? Where?”

  Steven shared a look with Denny before saying, “Key West.”

  Sean turned around from the front seat. “Are you insane?”

  “Black belt test,” Denny said. “We promised.”

  Brian shook his head. “I promised your dad we’d go to the hospital.”

  “He’ll shoot us if we don’t,” Sean added.

  Steven said, “He didn’t say which one. There’s a hospital in Key West. We’ll go there right after the test.”

  Sean threw his hands up in exasperation. “In case you haven’t noticed, you both nearly got killed tonight!”

  Denny leaned forward, reached through the seats, and took Brian’s hand. “I know it’s crazy, but it’s important to us. We’ve been waiting for this for years. And it’s the only chance we’re going to have before everything ends this summer.”

  Brian said, “It’s insane. I�
�m no karate expert, but neither of you is in any shape for a black belt test.”

  “We’re fine,” Denny said. “And if we’re not, no foul. We just bow out.”

  Brian didn’t say anything. But his expression was wavering, and Steven must have seen it, too.

  Steven said, “We can be there in ninety minutes. Plenty of time to get a hot shower and some sleep and go to the hospital if Denny’s head explodes.”

  “Not funny,” Denny said.

  Sean covered his face and groaned. “Your dad’s totally going to shoot us.”

  Brian said nothing. Denny squeezed his fingers. This wasn’t about being macho or pigheaded. It was about honoring a commitment and not letting douchebags like Bud and Harrison get in the way of dreams.

  “Okay,” Brian said, and he turned the ignition.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Steven was halfway through his Pinan Yodan kata when the dojo door opened and his father came in. Wearing his full uniform. Accompanied by Mom and Aunt Riza.

  Dad did not look happy.

  Busted, Steven thought to himself.

  It shouldn’t have thrown him off, but it did. He nearly flubbed the next block. But he kept going, because that’s what you did in the middle of a black belt test with your sensei and his sensei judging every single move. You did the blocks and punches and steps as best you could, even when you were dead tired and your knee was aching and your father looked like he’d come to arrest you.

  He didn’t dare share a glance with Denny, who was kneeling by the side of the dojo waiting his turn. All Steven did was keep moving, breathing, using his body as both weapon and shield, fighting the imaginary foes the katas had been designed to fend off.

  Sweat rolled into his eyes and the muscles in his legs trembled with fatigue, but he reached the end and bowed.

  Silence now, except for the ceiling fans. Sensei Mike and Sensei Enji sat rock-still at the front of the room. Sensei Teresa stood nearby attentively. She looked a little sleepy, maybe because Steven had knocked on her door at five a.m. with a big favor to ask.

  “We kind of need uniforms,” he said. “And patches. And maybe a little breakfast. I promise we’ll make it up to you.”

  From the doorway of her little cottage in Bahama Village, Teresa had stared at the ragtag collection in front of her: Steven, Denny, Sean, and Brian, none of them particularly rested after a painfully short catnap in the car.

  “You’re kidding me,” she said.

  But she came through for them, which Steven had counted on—she was a former Marine and that’s what Marines did. She got on the phone and tracked down uniforms and tasked Sean and Brian with making bacon and eggs. Steven hadn’t been able to eat much. Denny barely touched anything. But they both showered, drank black coffee, and took aspirin. Denny asked Teresa not to tell Sensei Mike anything about their arrival on her doorstep at five in the morning.

  “I won’t tell him, as long as you don’t push yourselves too far,” she’d said.

  But how far was too far? Steven didn’t know. He didn’t even know what time it was because the only clock was in the office, well out of sight. He figured they’d been at this for three hours, maybe four, and maybe there’d be a break soon for the junior belts to go home, and the afternoon would be about weapons kata and then sparring.

  Under normal circumstances, he’d enjoy sparring with Denny. Even on extremely little sleep, even after a night in which they both could have died.

  Right now, though, he wasn’t even sure Denny was going to get through the next kata.

  Not that his brother was puking or weaving or doing anything obviously wrong. In fact, as Denny was called up for his Pinan Godan, everyone else probably thought he looked focused and steady. But under his tan he was pale, and his posture was too stiff, and he was clenching his fists in a way meant to hide the shaking of his hands.

  “Pinan Godan,” Denny announced, as required, and started.

  Steven was supposed to be resting and staring at the floor, but he slid his gaze to Sensei Mike and Sensei Enji. Sensei Enji was as old as Steven had expected, but also shorter and stockier. His and Mike’s expressions were both inscrutable. Instead of evaluating Denny’s every move, they might just as well have been thinking about lunch or a movie they’d seen.

  Denny did his left block and punch, followed by his right block and punch, and all his forward moves. When he reversed with a downward block he stumbled and almost lost his balance. He reversed again and nailed the rest of the blocks and punches, but when he ended he looked positively green.

  Denny returned to the floor beside Steven.

  “Do you want to stop?” Steven whispered.

  “No,” Denny muttered.

  Steven was called up for Pinan Godan next. It took every ounce of concentration he had not to miss a move. His punches felt sluggish, his feet not as quick as they should be. He firmly ignored the fact that every eye in the dojo was watching him, including Mom and Dad. When he knelt afterward, he realized his knees were trembling.

  Okay, maybe he needed a break, too.

  Sensei Mike and Sensei Enji leaned their heads together for a brief consultation. Sensei Mike’s gaze darted once to Denny, then twice. Sensei Teresa shuffled from one foot to the other uneasily. Steven didn’t dare look toward the office because Dad might just take that as a sign to intervene.

  “Pinan Dai,” Sensei Mike said, and motioned for Steven and Denny to do it simultaneously.

  Pinan Dai was all five of the pinan katas performed in one fluid sequence. Steven climbed to his feet. Denny was a little slower, but seemed fine enough until they got to the middle of the dojo floor. They were facing the front, about to begin, when he abruptly turned and whispered, “I can’t.”

  Steven forgot all about his stance. “Yes, you can.”

  Denny’s eyes were glassy. “I’m going to bow out. You keep going.”

  It was the smartest thing to do. Clearly Denny wasn’t going to be able to finish. Steven had a much better chance of finishing out the day, or at least complete as much as he could. Just because they’d started karate together didn’t mean they had to reach black belt at the same time. Being twins didn’t mean crossing the finish line together.

  Except it sort of did.

  Steven turned to the front of the dojo and silently bowed to Sensei Mike and Sensei Enji. His face felt hot, and his heart pounded erratically. A murmur went through the students who were watching. From the corner of his eye he watched Denny bow as well.

  Sensei Mike said immediately, “The testing is now concluded. Congratulations to you all.”

  Noise broke out as the students rose, the spectators emerged from the office, and some of the younger students started setting out food and drinks on a long table. Amidst the flurry of activity Steven tugged Denny away from the commotion. Inside the bathroom, they splashed themselves with cold water and drank water and Denny sat on the floor, exhausted.

  “You’re an idiot,” Denny said. “Why’d you stop?”

  “I was tired,” Steven replied. “Sue me.”

  Denny shook his head. “You’re never going to get anywhere in life unless I push you.”

  “Ha.” Steven sat down beside him. “You’re delusional.”

  Someone knocked. Sensei Teresa poked her head in and said, “You two okay?”

  “Never better,” Steven said.

  “Good. Sensei Mike wants to see you.”

  Steven winced. Now they’d pay the price of disappointing Mike in front of his own teacher. Moments later, standing in Mike’s private office with its pictures of Japan and famous martial artists, he tried to figure out how angry Mike was with them. But it was Sensei Enji who spoke, at length, in Japanese, while first eying Denny and then Steven from head to toe.

  Sensei Mike said, “He says he would have enjoyed seeing you fight. That you’re both strong in spirit and body.”

  Steven said, “We apologize for not finishing.”

  “It’s my fault,” Den
ny said.

  “It’s mine,” Steven said firmly.

  Sensei Enji said something else.

  “He’ll be back at Christmas,” Sensei Mike translated. “He wants to see you both then, right here, to finish this test.”

  Steven was startled. “I thought he only came from Japan every ten years.”

  “He’s retiring right here to Key West,” Sensei Mike said. “Buying a condo over by the airport.”

  “Christmas,” Sensei Enji said, heavily accented. “You here?”

  Denny spoke for both of them. “Yes, we’ll be here.”

  And then he sagged toward the floor, boneless and limp. It was a damn good thing Steven caught him before he hit his head on the corner of the desk.

  “I think we might need that ambulance after all,” Steven said.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “I’m fine,” Denny insisted, late that afternoon, as they climbed the steps to the apartment over the Bookmine. “I can sleep on the Idle.”

  Mom pointed to the sofa. “Right there, young man.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with her,” Dad said. “You missed it, but she’s been lecturing you since we left the hospital.”

  Denny had missed it because he’d napped the entire drive back. Spending four hours in the emergency room hadn’t been any fun at all. After x-rays and fluids and blood tests, the doctor had said he didn’t have anything worse than a case of exhaustion and maybe a mild concussion.

  “A wrench will do that,” Steven had muttered, though not loud enough for Mom or Dad to hear.

  Imprisoned on the sofa, fussed over with blankets and ice water and more blankets by Mom and Aunt Riza both, Denny asked, “Where’s Steven?”

  “Washing his truck,” Dad said. “He’s still mad that Jamie Harrison dumped it in the woods at Big Pine Key for the rangers to find. That’s how we really knew you two were in trouble. Steven would never leave it, and you’d never piss him off by leaving it.”