“My research into the island leads me to believe that the reason the seaweed here is so unique is due to the proximity of the blue holes. I think the same minerals that give them that blue glow are feeding the seaweed. Rather than do the perimeter tour, I’d like to head out there to dive them.”
Marwell’s face closed. “I can’t take you there. The blue holes aren’t safe.”
Emma nodded. “I’ve heard the stories. Can you fill me in? Everyone seems to know the fables in general, but no one has the specifics. I’m told you might.”
He sighed. “I used to get quite close to them. Not enough so that anyone could dive them, but close enough to get a glimpse. They’re famous among the diving set and a lot of people wanted to explore them. The only thing that has stopped them is the fact that they would have to dock here to do it, and this island is too expensive for most.” Marwell seemed reluctant to speak further. Emma decided to prod him.
“What’s so dangerous about them?”
“Well, they’ve never been mapped, for one thing. Some say they extend all the way to the Bahamas, where there is a second set. Like an underground network of caves. Once inside, they stretch downward. It takes a better than average diver to attempt them. And the rumors of a sea creature have kept most of the locals in the area away.”
“Do you believe the rumors?” she asked. Marwell rose, began to pull bottles from the six packs and shove them into the cooler.
“One time I got closer than usual. Was a sunny day, just like this one,” he waved a bottle in the air, “and I didn’t have a booking. I decided to head that way, and when I got near I thought, oh what the hell, I’ll just go take a look.” He shook his head. “It takes at least three hours to reach them, and when I did, the sky was still bright blue, the waves slow and easy, a perfect day for boating.” He paused. “I was directly over them. They were beautiful. The sea takes on a deeper, richer hue where they are and seems to sparkle ten times more than usual. I wasn’t there more than five minutes when I felt the boat give a lurch. It was as if something had grabbed onto the hull and yanked.” Emma was surprised to see Marwell shudder.
“I threw it into gear, but the boat didn’t move. Something was holding it in place. I opened the throttle all the way.” He pointed to the Seahook. “You’ve got to understand that I have two powerful engines on that boat. I have to if I’m going to deep-sea fish. But the engines were whining and the boat didn’t budge. Whatever had it in its grasp gave another yank and the aft section started to sink in the water, which should give you an indication of the incredible power of the thing.” He put the bottle in his hand into the cooler.
“By this time I was in an outright panic. I leaned over the side to see what was there. The water near the stern was churning and foaming and there was a large black mass below. I ran back to the bridge and turned the steering wheel. The boat swung to the side and broke free. The twisting motion must have forced whatever it was to release its hold. I took off out of there as fast as I could go.” Marwell wiped an arm across his face where he’d begun to sweat. He looked at Emma. “I hope you don’t think I’m a coward, but I’ve never gone back there, and I never will.”
Emma didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think Marwell was the type to lie, but she didn’t know what to make of the story.
“Could it have been a sea creature?” She put up a hand. “Not a monster, you understand, but an actual creature?”
Marwell came back to sit next to her on the bench.
“I’ve thought long and hard since then, as you can imagine. I’ve actually spent quite a bit of time researching it, just trying to figure out what the heck it was . . . Did you read the recent story about a boat in an open ocean race in the vicinity of the holes?”
“The one that claimed a giant squid had attached a tentacle to the hull and they dragged it for miles before it let go?”
Marwell nodded. “That’s the one. They actually saw tentacles and suction cups the size of dinner plates, because they had sleeping quarters and a cabin window below. I never saw anything like that, but it’s the only possible explanation that I can come up with.”
“Some Japanese fisherman photographed a giant squid just recently. It was over forty feet long.”
“I’ve read about that as well. Forty feet is amazing. Just one tentacle of that size would wrap around my boat completely.” Marwell shook his head. “The ocean is something mysterious, isn’t it? It’s why I love it.” He frowned at Emma. “But whatever it was, I don’t need to meet up with it again. It’s too dangerous. That thing latched on within five minutes of me being there. It’s waiting and watching.”
Emma wasn’t sure how to respond to Marwell’s story. He struck Emma as a practical, rational sort of person not prone to flights of fancy, yet she wondered if the years of folklore about the blue holes had left him assuming he’d meet a creature there. Still, that explanation didn’t entirely sit well with her either. She thought there was likely something in the holes. Nonetheless, she intended to dive them.
“I understand your concern,” she said. “Is there anyone else that you think would be willing to take me there? I’m not so foolish as to dive alone, but everyone seems to be leery of the area.”
Marwell shook his head. “No one I know will do it. I’m sorry.” The sound of several engines reverberated through the air, and moments later four Jeeps screeched into parking spots near the Siren’s Song. Emma watched Carrow, Warner, and several others pile out, all with tote bags. They headed toward the boat. When Carrow saw her, he broke into a smile and waved. As he approached he greeted Marwell.
“She ready to go?”
Marwell nodded. “Ready when you are.”
Carrow turned to Emma. “Care to join us?”
She shook her head. “Wish I could, but I’ve got more collecting to do.”
“Where?”
“She’s thinking of diving the blue holes,” Marwell said. “I’m working on talking her out of it.”
Emma patted Marwell on the shoulder. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ve got to do this.”
“Not alone you won’t. Promise me,” Marwell said.
Carrow tilted his head to one side. “No one will go with you?”
Emma shook her head. “No one.”
“And you have to do it?”
She nodded. “It’s my job. I’m certified. But of course I won’t go alone.”
Carrow smiled. “I’ll go with you.”
Marwell frowned. “Mr. Richard—”
“You will?” Emma was thrilled. “Are you certified?”
“I am,” he said. Emma glanced at Marwell, who nodded.
“He’s actually quite an experienced and careful diver, but that doesn’t mean I think you two should do this.”
“Do what?” Warner and a man Emma hadn’t met were on deck now, standing next to Carrow.
“Dive the blue holes,” Carrow said. The man cocked his head to the side.
“Cave diving? Isn’t that a type of extreme sport?” he said. “I saw a television show about a cave that has over forty dead divers in it.”
“That one is in Egypt,” Carrow said. “It’s legendary due to its danger. But the blue holes here don’t have that reputation.”
Warner grimaced. “Forty dead people? That’s disgusting. Why do they do it?”
“It’s a form of extreme diving,” Emma said, nodding at the man who’d mentioned extreme sports. “The Egyptian caves represent a challenge that a lot of divers can’t resist. Like the challenge that Mount Everest represents for mountain climbers.”
“Lots of dead people left there too,” the man said.
“I don’t understand that obsession either,” Warner noted.
“I can’t go today.” Carrow indicated the crowd that was forming on the cruiser’s deck, “but I can anytime this week. You just let me know when.” Marwell got an agitated look on his face.
“Both of you stop. This is dangerous. There’s something out there
. I’ve seen it. The risk is not worth it. Especially not for a job. Let the boss take his own risks.”
“I can’t,” Emma said.
“Why not?” Marwell put his hands on his hips.
“Because I am the boss.”
Chapter 10
An hour later Emma drove up to the mangrove’s edge. The day’s heat was rising and the sun beat down on the car. Crawling through a mangrove was one of her least favorite things to do. The footing beneath could be treacherous, and in places one could sink deep into the brackish water. The twisted mangrove roots extended for several acres, their arching formation emerging from the water in a tangle of wood.
She hauled on her knee-high Wellington rubber boots, shoved a hat with an attached mosquito net onto her head, and pulled the strap of a messenger bag around her neck, settling it across her body. The area where she’d found a rich source of algae was located within the heart of the mangrove. The first time, it took her almost three hours to locate it, partly due to the difficulty in climbing through the swamp, but also because she’d been canvassing the entire grove to find it. Now that she knew the coordinates where it could be found, she hoped to cut the time in half. After opening her compass she started into the swamp.
It was slow going. She grabbed the branches above to assist her in clambering over the tangled wood below. The extensive root growth that was a godsend for the ecosystem because it saved the island from erosion was a hassle for Emma. Despite the obstacles, she moved ahead in a steady rhythm.
Two hours later she made it to the clearing. The mangrove trees there formed a circle, with an open area in the middle where the sun beat down. The water, formerly a brown, brackish color, took on a green hue with a slight turquoise phosphorescence that she suspected came from the blue holes miles away. Here, the sun beat on the water, heating it and causing the algae to thrive. She pulled some gloves and plastic pouches out of the messenger bag and began scooping up the slick tendrils that floated in the water by the water’s edge. She listened to the buzzing of a bee somewhere to the right and saw a dragonfly zipping around ten feet ahead. The sun-heated air felt warm and moist, and the water made a splashing noise as she plunged her hand into it. She felt a peace settle over her as she collected the samples.
She looked up in time to see the man raise the machete.
The blade whipped down and she rolled right, crawling up onto her hands and knees and catapulting herself over a long mangrove root that twisted out of the swamp. The man’s Rasta braids swayed with the exertion of his swing, and she heard the metal thump into a root. She only looked at him for an instant, but it was enough to see that his face was still twisted.
She leaped over another branch and landed with both feet in the muck, sinking lower as her weight pushed her into the ooze. She pulled her foot up and out with a sucking sound and grabbed at the branches over her head, using them to swing her way to the next opening. Behind her, she heard him splash into the water. Drops of the resulting spray hit her back.
The swamp consisted of ninety acres of wetlands, and she had spent nearly two hours hiking in. She was returning three times faster, but knew she still wouldn’t reach the edge and civilization for at least another thirty minutes.
And he kept pursuing her. Emma heard his heavy breathing and splashes as he clambered behind. Every so often he vocalized a whistling wail and chills ran through her at the animalistic sound. She swallowed and kept going, refusing to waste the time it would take to turn around and look. Often they had to crawl through the swamp to move ahead. Emma took advantage of every small opening, hoping the forest of mangrove roots and limbs that grew in long lines next to each other would impede his massive shoulders and large body. She also heard him hacking at the smaller branches with his machete. The cracking noises of splitting wood only served to make her fear ratchet higher.
As an ultra marathon runner, Emma prided herself on the mental endurance she’d cultivated as part of her training. Ultra runs could be as long as one hundred miles and last over twenty-four hours. Often the mind gave out before the legs did. Self-doubt had no place in an endurance run. She knew this basic fact of endurance sports and had spent many hours teaching herself to think only those thoughts that would further her forward progress. If the idea to stop entered her consciousness, she would ruthlessly shove it back into the recesses of her brain before it could take hold.
Now, when the fear reached her throat and her eyes began to sting with tears, she did the same thing she did on mile eighty of a hundred mile run—she told herself that she would prevail because to stop meant failure. In this case, she knew that to stop would kill her.
Mud and stinking water covered her clothes. Her sodden shoes felt like heavy weights attached to her ankles. Her palms were slick with sweat and striped with green ooze that wrapped around some of the lower, underwater branches. She splashed down into the rank liquid and back up onto the twisted roots in what seemed an endless vista of misshapen branches.
Finally, she took the time to glance behind her to gauge his progress. All she saw were mangrove trunks in a wild, squiggly line pattern. He wasn’t behind her. She slowed, trying to control the loud rasping of her own breathing in order to hear. There was nothing. Not the sound of splashing water, winded breathing, or cracking wood.
Once again he was gone as quick as he had appeared.
Emma slowed her pace and not long afterward emerged from the grove. She’d left her Jeep at the mangrove’s edge but didn’t see it in any direction and knew she was in the wrong place. After a moment she found her bearings and headed west, keeping out in the open and well away from the brush. She wasn’t about to give the man benefit of cover. If he was going to attack again, he’d have to cross thirty feet of open field.
A butterfly landed on a nearby weed, its wings spread to the sun, and birds chirped all around. Her heart still thumped at an alarming rate despite the beauty and peacefulness around her. Deceptive peacefulness, she thought. This island was harboring more dark secrets than anyone suspected.
The midday sun beat down, creating shimmering heat waves on the pavement when she found the Jeep. The leather seats were hot to the touch as she gingerly lowered herself into the driver’s side, then threw the car into gear and headed back toward her villa. Her clothes stank and her heart still raced. She mentally crossed off the rest of her required errands. She’d come to Terra Cay in the hopes that after collecting her specimens she could spend the rest of the holiday relaxing, but now all she wanted was to get back to her house in Miami Beach. She shoved the hands-free headset for her phone into her ear and called Moore.
“I found him,” she said. “He’s in the mangrove.” She briefly described the attack and the location where she last saw the dreadlocked man. “I’m getting out of this area,” she concluded. “I don’t want to be alone if he returns.”
“I understand. Randiger and I will take it from here. Go home and lock your doors.”
Emma shifted the car into second gear as the Jeep started the climb to the top of the hill. She swung through the entrance guarded by two pillars and slowed when she saw a blue Aston Martin parked in her spot. Carrow leaned against the door, speaking on a cell phone. He hung up when he saw her. His expression was grim, his mouth set. His eyes were bloodshot and all of the exuberance she’d seen in him earlier was gone. She parked halfway on the grass next to his car, killed the engine and looked at her watch.
“Isn’t it a bit early for you to be back?” she said. Carrow gave her a somber look, and seemed not to notice her disheveled state.
“We airlifted Martin out about two hours ago. He never woke up, and I decided not to risk waiting.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emma said.
“And now Layton’s asleep.”
Chapter 11
Layton Nalen was the band’s bass player.
“Does he do drugs as well?”
Carrow nodded. “I checked for mandrake powder. Nothing.”
“Oxy?�
��
Carrow sighed. “Yes. Cocaine when he can get it and some new prescription drug marketed to shift workers that are employed at all hours. It’s designed to keep them awake. Of course then comes the alcohol to take the edge off and sleeping pills to bring it full circle.”
Emma wasn’t surprised at this last bit of information. What went up had to go down, and most addicts swallowed tranquilizers to get to sleep. She suspected that he had found the mandrake and dumped it into his alcohol as well.
“It doesn’t sound as if you’ll be recording.”
Carrow shook his head. “We’re under contract to produce another record, and soon. We’re behind as it is. I called the studio on the mainland and we’ve arranged for a second crew to come here. Engineers, equipment, and two new musicians. They’re on their way. We’ll set up at the villa. And Layton will be airlifted out this afternoon. There’s a tropical storm brewing. It’s some miles away but could impact on our ability to get him out if we wait any longer.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She sighed and reached into the back of the Jeep to get her messenger bag with the specimens. Suddenly she felt unbearably tired. Before she could lift the strap to her shoulder, Carrow reached out and picked it up for her.
“You look exhausted.” He eyed her clothes. “Were you crawling through the mangrove?”
Emma shook her head. “More like running for my life. The man was there.”
Carrow’s eyebrows flew up. “Did you tell Duncan?”
Emma nodded. “I called him from the Jeep once I got back to it. He and Randiger were headed there to look for him. I decided to come here. I need a shower and some time to think. There’s something strange about the entire thing.”
“Were his eyes crazy again?” Carrow grimaced. “That sounded like the weirdest thing about him when you described him to me last night.”
“They were. But I’m not sure what it is he’s after. I just don’t believe that it’s me, because I’ve done nothing to merit the attacks.”
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