Undercurrents

by Pamela Beason

  She opened her own booklet. Eduardo’s finger was on an island far to the north. On her page, the island dot was labeled Wenman. “You mean Wenman?”

  Eduardo shrugged. “Wenman, Teodoro Wolf—same island.”

  Squinting, she saw that the tiny print in parentheses beneath the larger label did say Teodoro Wolf.

  “You must make special arrangements to go there,” Eduardo told them. “It is far to the north.”

  Sam studied the map. Due to a long history of use by both British and Spanish plunderers, all the Galápagos Islands had both English and Spanish names. The native Galapagüeños seemed to use whichever name they liked best. What was she supposed to call the various islands in her posts? Maybe she should have Wilderness use one set of names and Zing use the other? Would that be entertaining, educational, or just confusing?

  “You have arrive just in time,” Eduardo continued. “Tonight we motor all the way to Isabela and Fernandina, the far west and newest islands. Your cabins are four”—he nodded toward Dan—“and yours, three, Sam, down below. Bienvenido—welcome!” He hoisted his wineglass.

  Sam raised her glass to clink against Eduardo’s. His warm greeting was such a relief after the brush-off they’d received on the dive boat and at the hotel.

  The knot of tourists edged past their table toward the outer deck. Eduardo smiled and nodded at them as they passed. To Sam and Dan, he murmured softly, “I will introduce you tomorrow at breakfast, when all are present.”

  Sam suddenly felt crowded. What was safe to tell the tourists? She’d put her foot in her mouth for sure. She wasn’t used to interacting with a group. Some of her extrovert friends had even accused her of being socially retarded. She pulled her laptop case upright. “There’s an upper deck, right?”

  Eduardo nodded. “Stairs at the back.”

  She turned to Dan. “I’m going up top for a bit.”

  “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  She slid from the booth. It was fully dark now, with both sky and sea a midnight blue. The moon had not yet made an appearance: the horizon was a strip of black velvet that swallowed the stars. Water lapped softly around the yacht. An unseen marine creature, probably another sea lion, splashed near the port side. She slung the strap of her laptop case over her shoulder and walked to the stern, passing a cabin labeled 2 with white curtains discreetly pulled. There was no doubt a mirror-image cabin on the other side. On the main deck, these were probably the most expensive cabins. She climbed the metal stairs to the upper deck.

  At the top of the stairs was an open-air deck bordered by a waist-high double rail. The upraised structure of the bridge loomed behind her, accessible by a couple of short steps on either side. Inside, a light on a side wall illuminated a white-uniformed man working at a desk in the corner.

  The brochure called Papagayo a yacht, not a cruise ship. She wondered where the dividing line was. Not that it really mattered; she couldn’t mention their accommodations in her posts. She wasn’t sure she should even tell Tad Wyatt about the change in plans. Key had given NPF a huge budget to take care of all expenses; there would probably be no questions.

  She pulled out her cell phone and called her voicemail at home. Only Chase’s message awaited her there. Where are you, querida? She’d been gone for two days and she had only one call? That was depressing.

  Dan appeared out of the dark. He wistfully eyed the instrument in her hand. “Is that a satellite phone?”

  “Yep. Courtesy of Key’s equipment department.” The phone was a little bigger and heavier than the average cellular model. A nub of antenna extended from its top. She extended it toward him. “Be my guest.”

  He took it and punched in a number, then murmured, “Hi, honey.” Turning his back to her, he hunched over the railing.

  Would a man someday talk to her with that well-worn warmth in his voice? She stared out at the dark horizon, remembering the last moments she had spent with Chase.

  They had been perched on a cliff on the small rocky peninsula known as Teddy Bear Cove, watching the sun set to the southwest. The waning light painted the water of Chuckanut Bay in broad strokes of lilac and silver. The rounded head of a harbor seal plowed a V in the water briefly near Dot Island, and then sank out of sight again beneath the silky surface of the bay.

  It was Christmas Eve. They were encased in fleece and Gortex, and cozily cuddled together on the rock, Sam sitting between Chase’s outstretched legs, with his arms wrapped around her. She felt blessed by the natural beauty of the place she chose to call home, the mild coastal weather, and the closeness of the man she was growing to love. It was one of those rare perfect moments.

  And then Chase leaned close and murmured in her ear, “Come live with me.”

  Her brain screamed, “What?!” but she managed to keep her lips still while a million thoughts careened through her head. Did he mean for her to give up her cabin in the woods and move into his condo in the heart of Salt Lake City? Give up the woods outside her door with the pileated woodpeckers and great horned owls and the trails threading through the Chuckanut Mountains? Give up the saltwater bays, the forested islands and the porpoises, jellyfish, and kingfishers? There were mountains and forests close to Salt Lake City, but there would certainly be no harbor seals. Where would she kayak?

  But she ached for more time with him. People thought that she had chosen a solitary life, but she always hoped for a partner. The trouble was that the men she knew always ended up wanting her to become someone else. Even though she’d remained friends with Adam Steele after their shared escapade in the media spotlight, she didn’t trust any man to care about her as much as he did about himself.

  But Chase’s words proved he loved her and wanted to stay with her, didn’t they? He was asking her to share his home. Then again, Chase was rarely at home, at least as far as she knew. Bellingham was full of college students and old hippies and environmentalist types; she’d finally landed in a place where she felt like one of the crowd. Salt Lake City meant religion and conservative politics. And he lived in a third-floor condo. What would she do with her cabin, her cat, and Blake?

  Chase’s sigh was so deep that she felt his chest expand against her back. His exhaled breath gusted warmly across her neck and cheek.

  Oh God, she’d waited too long to respond. “Chase, I—”

  “Never mind.” He wrapped his arms around her more tightly. “I should have known better.”

  “Chase, it’s just—”

  “It’s okay.” He paused, swallowed, and then said, “We’ll talk more on our ski vacation in February. We’re getting together then, no matter what. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she murmured. She turned in his arms and kissed him.

  Then the sun winked out behind the islands to the west and they walked back to the car as the early winter darkness fell around them. Their dinner at Boundary Bay Brewpub felt strained to her.

  For Christmas, Chase gave her an exquisite painting of a mountain lion silhouetted against a sunset, a beautiful reminder of their past shared adventure. She’d given him a new backpack, which now seemed impersonal in comparison to his gift. Despite all their loving words, their parting kiss on Christmas day lacked its usual heat.

  Had she blown it? Was Chase insulted by her response, or lack of it? If so, he hid it well. Then again, the man was nothing if not enigmatic.

  But she shouldn’t be thinking about her personal life now. She had a job to do. She powered up her laptop and checked the email she’d downloaded earlier. A message from Wyatt at Out There reminded her that tomorrow was her and Zing’s debut, so she’d better come up with an exciting!! leadoff for both of them. The deal, he reiterated, was a story per character per day, with Wilderness Westin doing general ecology and travel issues and Zing doing adventure dive stories and explaining what NPF was doing in the islands. Was Dan’s near death today exciting enough for him? Probably not—she had no visuals, Dan was still functioning, and he insisted it was probably an accident.<
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  Sam was surprised to find a message from Maya, the teenage delinquent she’d befriended on a trail crew last summer, where the kid was doing public service work in lieu of jail time. Former delinquent, she reminded herself. They’d kept in touch. Sam was teaching Maya embroidery and, she hoped, some basic ethics and life skills.

  Gt addr fr Blk; swt dl 4 u; c u 3-12!

  It took Sam a couple of read-throughs to decipher the girl’s code. Why was she texting? Maya was a foster kid; she didn’t have the money for a cell phone of any kind. Sam frowned. Just because Maya couldn’t pay for one didn’t mean she didn’t have a cell. The girl was still on probation for a string of burglary charges.

  Finally, Sam’s brain translated the message: Got address from Blake; sweet deal for you; see you March 12. What the heck was March 12? She tried to envision the calendar on her wall at home. Oh jeez, was that spring break? She’d promised that Maya could spend the school vacation with her and Blake to get a break from her foster home. They were going to design some quilt squares to represent Maya’s life and ambitions. Sam could hardly wait to see what ideas the girl came up with. In July, Maya would turn eighteen and be ejected from the foster care system. Sam was more than a little worried about what would happen after that. The kid had already suggested that she might live in a tent in Sam’s backyard.

  The hum of a boat motor approached and then abruptly stopped at the stern of the ship. Sam stood up, leaving the laptop on a deck chair, and walked to the railing. A small boat with taxi spelled out in lights above the cabin unloaded a tall silver-haired man, a dark-haired woman, and a pile of bags onto Papagayo’s stern platform. Tony rushed to greet them.

  “She’s right here.” Dan nudged her with an elbow, saying, “No, not like her photo at all—in person, she’s a real dog.” He clamped his thumb over the microphone and held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you. Not one word about the dive today, okay?”

  “Hello?” Sam said uncertainly.

  “Summer? This is Elizabeth Kazaki. I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you’re with Dan on this trip. I know he gets a little down sometimes when he’s away from home.”

  A little down? That’s nothing; he nearly died today, Elizabeth. “He’s fine,” she said aloud.

  In front of her, Dan pressed his hands together in a thank-you gesture.

  “I’m relieved to know he’s got a dependable dive buddy, Summer. I get so worried when he goes solo.”

  “Solo is never a good idea,” Sam said. She sure wouldn’t want to be a lone human eighty feet below the surface. Especially after today. “And call me Sam.”

  “Really? Summer’s such a nice name. Well, Sam, I hope you both enjoy yourselves down there. Don’t let Dan do anything crazy. Take care of my husband.”

  “I’ll do my best, Elizabeth.” She handed Dan the phone.

  He listened for a moment, said, “Love you, too,” then ended the call and returned the phone.

  “Dan, we need to talk. What’s the deal here? Obviously, Eduardo knows who we are, but is it okay to tell the others? Or are we supposed to—”

  A clatter of footsteps rattled down the steps from the bridge and then down the stairs to the main deck. The man in white uniform—the captain, judging by the epaulets on his shoulders—met the silver-haired man at the top of the stairs and shook his hand. Then the captain gallantly kissed the hand of the dark-haired woman. She followed two blue-shirted crew members carrying their luggage into Cabin 1. The captain disappeared into the galley area.

  A whiff of tobacco smoke preceded the silver-haired gentleman as he climbed up to the top deck. He wore a light blue running suit and as he strolled toward them, his cigarette gave off a red glow in the darkness. “Evening,” he murmured as he passed to the railing farthest from them.

  “Evening.” Sam nodded at him. Turning back to Dan, she changed tack. “Elizabeth says I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  “Of course.” He grinned. “Isn’t there an ancient Asian saying to that effect? You saved my life; now you’re responsible for me.”

  “That can’t be right. What kind of reward is that?” Sam shook her head. “Must be a bad translation.” She slipped her laptop back into its case, then slung the phone in with it.

  The new arrival approached again, waving his smoked-down cigarette and glancing about uncertainly. Finally spotting an aluminum trash container, he crushed the cigarette out on the metal skin, and then flicked the butt inside. “Sorry,” he said, turning to Sam and Dan. “Nasty habit.” He held out his hand. “Jonathan Sanders.” His nails were as carefully buffed and manicured as his hairstyle. “My wife Paige and I have Cabin one.”

  Sanders exuded wealth and confidence. An aging Hollywood star, perhaps? “I’m Sam, and this is Dan.”

  “Call me Jon,” Sanders said. “I hear that you two are marine scientists. Working with Darwin Station?”

  How had he heard about her and Dan? Would he consider working with Darwin Station to be a point in their favor or a strike against them?

  “We’re not attached to that organization, although of course we know them,” Dan hedged. “Sam here’s a writer as well as a biologist.”

  So at least she knew it was okay to say that much.

  “Interesting,” Sanders said. “I’ve done a bit of diving in my time. I didn’t know it was possible on this boat.”

  His words sounded like a challenge. Sam looked at Dan.

  “We have a special permit,” Dan told Sanders.

  “I see.” Sanders abruptly turned to the east, studying the rising moon. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

  The forward lights came on in the bridge room behind them, casting their shadows onto the deck. Beneath their feet, Papagayo’s engine throbbed to life. Muted shouts in Spanish and loud clanks attested to the raising of anchors at stern and bow.

  The yacht swung westward, putting the lights of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno behind them. The wind lifted Jonathan Sanders’s silver hair. He turned into the breeze, smiling. “Our adventure begins.”

  Sam’s adventure had begun two days ago. Her body was not coping well with the time change and the relocation and the near-death experience, even if it hadn’t been her own. She yawned as she picked up her laptop case. “You’ll have to excuse me. I know it’s early, but I’m bound for bed.”

  “Me, too.” Dan turned toward the stairs. “Good night, Jon.”

  As they made their way through the empty lounge, Dan touched her hand. “Sam, about the dive tomorrow. This checkpoint we’ll be going to—there’s nothing around for miles but a seamount and a buoy chain.”

  Endless blue-green dapples dotted with unidentifiable swarms of shadowy creatures washed across her imagination. An infinity of water. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Okay.”

  “The bottom’s over three hundred feet deep.”

  “But we don’t have to go that deep, right?” she asked.

  His brow wrinkled. “Three hundred feet?”

  She’d slipped up. Anything over one hundred was a danger zone, she remembered. She couldn’t even imagine what three hundred feet of water would look like below her. She forced a laugh. “I’m kidding. Yeesh!”

  He studied her face. “Just how many dives have you logged?”

  No way was she going to confess to the actual puny number. “Not that many,” she admitted. “But enough.”

  “You won’t be scared?”

  “Me, scared?” She tried for a chuckle of bravado. It came out a little strangled. “I’m not letting you dive alone, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” She shook her head. “No way. Especially after—” Had the bad-air incident really happened only hours ago? Seemed like days had passed since then.

  “Sam, this time I watched them fill our tanks at the shop, and then I tested the oxygen level just to be sure. If you’re nervous—”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why do you think I’d be nervous? Who rescued whom today?”

  He stared her down. He
r gaze broke away first. “Look, Dan, I admit it, I am a little nervous; after all, I’ve never been in the Galápagos before. I’m not always quite sure what’s going on.” Always? Heck, she hadn’t been sure what was going on since the moment she’d stepped off the plane.

  He shrugged. “Only the usual. It’s the Galápagos.”

  Was she supposed to know what that meant? “Are we safe now?”

  “As safe as we can be.”

  Did he mean that to be reassuring? He put a hand on her forearm. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to dive the seamount tomorrow. There’s usually a strong current in that channel.”

  A strong current? Crap. On her fourth open water dive in the San Juan Islands back home, there’d been a brisk current. The students had practiced going up and down a buoy chain, so she’d passed that hurdle, sort of, but she hadn’t found the experience exactly pleasant. The bottom there had leveled off at only seventy feet.

  This is the assignment you accepted, she reminded herself. The one you lied to get. Suck it up.

  “This is what I signed up to do,” she told Dan. “I have to be there to write the story. I have to be there to take the photos and video. I’m your dive buddy. No matter what happens, I have to be there. Got it?”

  He held up both hands in surrender. “Got it, buddy.”

  They made their way down the last set of stairs. Below the water line, a harsh pine scent failed to disguise the faint odor of mildew. The narrow hallway held a strip of dark blue carpet between cheaply paneled walls. Four numbered doors. She stopped in front of Cabin 3 and turned to Dan. “Did Eduardo give you our cabin keys?”

  “No key,” he intoned, doing a near-perfect imitation of Eduardo’s accent. “You will find no lock on your cabin doors.” He turned the knob on Cabin 4 to demonstrate. “We are all friend here.”