by Matt Lincoln
“You are all flying to Belize City,” Diane ordered. “Now you get the nature of the threat. Even without Cly—Joe’s information, this is serious. The public gets antsy when there’s anything about radioactivity in the news. Something like this has the potential to create panic, especially if it turns out someone is trying to weaponize medical waste.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The other complication is that Belize tourism depends on the Blue Hole, and they are begging us to get it open.” Diane folded her arms. “Get it done. Dismissed.”
Everyone dispersed except for Warner. I cocked an eyebrow.
“Problem?” I demanded.
“Um, no, sir, not exactly.” He clutched his laptop to his chest and looked at the floor. “I just… I didn’t know I’d be traveling. I thought I’d work everything from here.”
“Are you or are you not capable of going into any system you access?” Diane asked him. “I was given to understand you’re one of the best and can hack damned near anything.”
“True…” He straightened and lowered the laptop to the table. “I’ve only had to be on-site twice, though. As long as a system is connected to the internet, I can get in.”
“We run into closed networks once in a while,” I informed him. “It’s better to have an expert with us than have to wait several hours to fly them in. This didn’t occur to you when you accepted the job?”
“I made it clear that some travel would be required,” Diane reminded Warner. “You indicated it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Warner opened his mouth to say something and then shut it. He stood and kept his gaze on the floor.
“I’ll go get ready, ma’am, sir.” He started toward the door, but I stepped in front of him. He finally looked up with wide eyes. “Seriously, it won’t be a problem, Agent Marston. I… I just thought I’d have more time before I had to fly somewhere. That’s all.”
“You’re afraid of flying?” I guessed.
“Yes, sir.” He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “A little Xanax should do the trick, as long as you don’t need me right after we land.”
I stepped out of his way. “We’ll be in Belize City for at least two days,” I told him. “Pack accordingly. And, uh, don’t forget your Xanax.”
After he left, I gave Diane a long look. She shrugged.
“He said it wouldn’t be a problem,” she repeated. “We give him a chance, see how he does. Seriously, Ethan, this kid is brilliant.”
“As long as he does his job, we’re good,” I assured her, and then I winked. “I promise not to give him too much shit about it.”
“Ethan, don’t you dare—”
“Hey, my flight’s leaving in a little while,” I told her. “I better go before my boss gets on my case.”
My phone buzzed when I was halfway down to my temporary car. I smiled when I saw who was calling.
“Hi, Tessa.”
5
Tessa Bleu knocked on her uncle’s office door frame. Donald Farr, the editor of the National EcoStar, looked up and waved her in. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased New York City’s skyline in a display she never got used to seeing.
“Shut that door behind you,” he ordered.
She did as he said and then joined him at his desk. The seats on the guest, or audience, side of the desk were made of stiff, new leather stained a coffee hue that complemented the wood trim in the office. He waited in his throne of a desk chair, the penultimate editor-in-chief, part Perry White, part J. Jonah Jameson. His graying walrus mustache twitched the way she often saw it do when he was agitated.
“I have an assignment for you.” He slid a manila folder across the desk in a manner she suspected he’d gotten used to when he commanded the naval fleet. “Something’s going on at the Great Blue Hole in Belize. MBLIS is investigating, and I want you to cover the story.”
She gasped and grabbed the folder. “I’ll be working with Ethan?”
“I want you embedded in with the team.” He stood and pointed at her. “And by ‘embedded,’ I mean you keep out of trouble. Stay back, take pictures, ask questions.”
The stern look couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye, which made her think of Sam Elliott for about the thousandth time.
“Why is this so important, Donald?” She leaned forward, and her hand itched for a notepad and pen. “Did someone die at the Blue Hole?”
“Meet Marston and his team in Belize City,” Donald instructed, brushing aside her questions. “Sign whatever you need to sign to get in on the case. Our official angle is how MBLIS investigations affect the ocean and coasts.”
“‘Official angle’? What’s the unofficial angle?”
“Go see Marston, sign some papers, and you’ll find out,” he gruffed. “Take your underwater camera. There’s a lot of coral and some amazing caves in the Blue Hole.”
“Okay. So, something happened in the Blue Hole…?” She tried to fish more out of him, but he didn’t take the bait.
“Your flight is midday tomorrow. That’ll give you time to get ready.” Donald returned to his seat. “Be careful, Tessa. I don’t know what direction this’ll go.”
This was a change from his overprotective nature. Before, he would’ve sent her home at a hint of danger, but he’d relaxed somewhat since she got caught up in a case involving the notorious Caribbean drug king, Cobra Jon. It’d been the better part of a year, but the memories were sharp, especially her memories of Ethan Marston.
“I’ll get packed,” she promised. “Anything else I should know?”
Donald grunted and gestured toward the door in dismissal. Since the Cobra Jon incident, Tessa had learned how to recognize when her honorary uncle was withholding information, and she was certain the man was holding back now.
Back at her desk, where she’d been working on a feature about threats coastal cities faced from rising sea levels, she pulled out her phone. She had to make the call, but she decided to procrastinate by looking through the manila folder Donald had given her.
She opened it to find a photo of an older YouTuber she somewhat recognized. Although she enjoyed diving and kept up on her certifications, she’d never developed the unquenchable passion others did, so this vlogger wasn’t as familiar to her as, say, some famous nature photographers.
The next page was a summary of the situation.
Dare and Bridget Lemon were hospitalized following a minor illness on a flight from Belize today. Other passengers were checked for infection and released. The Lemons, stars of “Dare Dives” on YouTube are technical divers known for pushing the limits of deep dives when not educating divers of all levels on various diving topics. Dare Lemon remains in critical condition while Bridget Lemon is reportedly in stable condition.
Behind the report was a one-way ticket from Laguardia to Belize City. The one-way ticket suggested he didn’t know how long she was staying, which meant he really didn’t know everything about the case.
Tessa neatly packed the materials she’d been working on for her rising waters story and slipped them into her desk’s locking file drawer. She stared at her phone for a few minutes before giving in and finding an entry in her contact list. She dialed before she could stop herself. He answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Tessa.”
The smooth sound of his voice brought a smile to her lips.
“Hi, Ethan. I have some news for you.”
“Are you moving to Miami?” He sounded a little too hopeful, which didn’t offend her in the least.
“Not in the foreseeable future,” she answered, “but I found out I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” The soft tone of his voice was belied by a hint of frustration. “I’m not going to be in town for a few days.”
“Yeah, I know… my uncle Donald is sending me to meet you in Belize.”
The line went quiet, and Tessa was afraid the call had dropped. She took it away from her ear to find the call still active.
“What does
he know about Belize?” Ethan’s guarded tone put Tessa’s journalism senses on alert.
“He’s sending me to take underwater photos at the Great Blue Hole,” she told Ethan. “And that I’m to talk with you when I get there.”
“The Hole is closed right now.”
She laughed. “You don’t just put a lid over the Hole and shut it down.”
“Seriously, civilian divers aren’t going to be allowed in for two or three days at least. It’s not the time for a photoshoot.” Ethan’s exasperated sigh came through the phone loud and clear. “I really wish I could see you, but there’s no point in you flying down if you can’t go diving.”
“Donald said I’m going to be embedded with the team,” she blurted out. “Whatever you’re investigating, I’m going to document it. I think he already has it arranged.”
“Like hell, you are!” Ethan’s vehemence startled her. “Any other time, I’d take you diving there myself, but with this case? No.”
Tessa ground her teeth. “I’m a grown woman, Ethan, and I have an assignment from my boss. My risks are my own to take.”
“Your risks become my team’s risks. If we’re responsible for your safety, the overall unit’s safety is compromised the moment things go sideways.”
“It’s not my call,” she informed him. “I’m flying in tomorrow. Either meet me at the airport or don’t, but I’m going.”
“I’m going to see what’s going on with this embedding thing,” Ethan said with a slight growl. “As much as I’d kill to see you, this case has bad news written all over, through, and under it.”
“I’ll message you my arrival time,” she stated. “Figure out if you’ll be there or not.”
She ended the call and pushed back from her desk. The casters on her chair allowed her to roll a foot or two away before colliding into the desk behind her.
Whatever caught Donald’s attention had Ethan worried. That alone made Tessa determined to bust the story wide open
6
The King Air 350 our department recently acquired looked different from the last time I saw it. The engines and tail had been painted Caribbean blue to match a nose-to-tail swooping stripe. Back toward the tail, “MBLIS” was printed in small white letters just before the blue stripe tapered to a point.
“It’s kind of cool,” Holm said as we approached. “I like it.”
“I thought we liked to keep a low profile,” I grumped. Still, as much as I didn’t like to admit it, it was a nice paint job.
The cargo area was packed to the brim with not only our standard raid gear but also Bonnie and Clyde's mobile lab and several suitcases. Some people packed heavier than others.
Warner lugged a laptop bag over one shoulder, wore a backpack, and dragged a carry-on sized suitcase. His Hawaiian shirt fluttered in the breeze, and… I kid you not… he wore sandals with white tube socks. His round straw hat had a button pinned to it that showed a scrawny anime kid wearing a similar hat.
“Are you moving to Belize?” Muñoz asked. She crossed her arms and raised a finely shaped brow. “Should we get you another ride?”
“I just didn’t wanna forget anything,” Warner mumbled. “Um, too much?”
Muñoz laughed. “I’m messing with you. Yes, it’s a bit much, but it’ll fit this time.”
I shook my head. Muñoz was one of those types who could be dead serious or deadpan, and unsuspecting targets never knew what to expect. She was the smallest person in the office, but she had tactical skills that’d make most SWAT units jealous.
“I… I’ll do better next time, Agent Muñoz,” Warner promised. “This is just, like, way out of my comfort zone.” He scratched at his Imagine Dragons tee under the Hawaiian shirt and attempted a smile. “I’m used to sitting in the dark and punching code.”
I walked over and picked up the bags he’d set down. “Let’s get you situated. It’s going to be fine. Muñoz and Birn have flown with the best. If we go down, you’ll at least know that nothing could’ve saved us.”
“Ethan!” Muñoz barked. “Not helping.”
I flinched. The kid had gone snow white. Sometimes I really put my foot in my damned mouth.
“It was a joke,” I told him in a softer tone. I led him onto the plane and pointed into the cargo area. “They really are the best, and they don’t take unnecessary risks. Did you bring your anxiety meds?”
“Y-yes, sir.” Warner was getting his color back. I hadn’t seen flight anxiety that bad in years, and I felt for the guy. “I took it when I got in the Lyft car.”
We stowed two of his bags. He clung to his laptop carrier and plopped into the back, forward-facing row. I went back out and stowed my bag in the wing locker. Muñoz was in the middle of the exterior flight check, but she found time to corner me.
“That Warner guy worries me,” she said. “If he starts getting sick, I’m not cleaning it up.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” I promised. “How’s the weather looking?”
She shrugged. “Not bad. There’s a little blow up in the middle of the Gulf, but it’s tracking north. Birn’s a little concerned about it, so we’re keeping a close eye.”
Birn was former Navy, like Holm and me. We learned to never trust clear skies over open water. Muñoz knew, too, but Air Force pilots had different experiences. She could read topography like nobody’s business. The Air Force was lucky she just barely made minimum height for her piloting roles.
We finished loading up and balancing out the weight on the plane. I chose the seat across the aisle from Warner, and Holm sat in the rear-facing seat across from me. Bonnie and Clyde sat up front.
The smooth takeoff and relatively quiet cabin seemed to ease Warner’s fears. Either that or the Xanax had kicked in. He watched southern Florida pass below his window and give way to the Keys and the Gulf of Mexico. On my side, I glimpsed a dark smudge on the horizon that was almost certainly Andros Island in the Bahamas.
Holm pulled out a tablet and keyboard to work on some reports. My partner was a fairly organized person, but he always seemed to put reports off until the last minute. When he put his earbuds in, I let him be and watched the endless sea below.
Our flight rounded the north side of Cuba. From the air, the island nation looked like any other lush tropical island. Bright, full of potential. Memories of visits to Guantanamo, however, whispered of darker stories. I didn’t see the southeast coast of the island, but maybe that was a good thing. I leaned back in my seat and tried to think of better things… like Tessa meeting us in Belize.
Maybe it wasn’t ideal, and yeah, I didn’t like the idea of involving her in the case, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to seeing her. Our time together had been too short, as far as I was concerned, and other than a few calls and emails, we hadn’t been in touch in months.
“We’ll be landing soon. Get those belts on and all that fun stuff,” Muñoz announced from the cockpit.
I looked over at Warner. He’d relaxed midway through the flight and looked out the window the entire time, but he never let go of his laptop bag. At Muñoz’s news, he stiffened and clutched the bag to his chest.
Holm stowed his work and put his earbuds away. “Hey, do you want us to call you ‘Warner’ or ‘TJ’?” he asked the younger man. “I don’t think we asked.”
Warner looked over. Sweat beaded along his bristly upper lip as he answered. “Either one works, sir. Most people just say ‘hey, you,’ so hearing my name is a bit of a novelty.”
“We’ll start with ‘Warner,’ then,” I suggested. “Anyway, Warner, remember to breathe. Oxygen is your friend.”
The airport north of Belize City set us on a holding pattern that took us over the coastal city and gave us beautiful views of the jungle terrain to the west and the nearest Caribbean atolls to the east. When it was time to descend, the engines changed pitch, which startled Warner until he realized it wasn’t going to kill us.
“There’s some shear,” Birn told us over the intercom. “T
he landing might be a bit bumpy. Make sure nothing’s loose, and we’re all good.”
I had nothing to check, and Holm had his tablet secured. Warner continued to clutch his bag. He saw me glance over and made a show of taking a calm breath.
Outside the window, the ground got closer and closer. As our tires began to touch down, the plane jolted to the left, lifted several feet, and then slammed the back tires down on the runway. Warner’s laptop bag flew into his face and bounced off of his nose. It dropped to the floor.
“Shid, shid!” Warner yelled. He held his hands over his nose and stomped the floor with his left foot. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto his t-shirt. “Oh God, id hurds!”
Bonnie unbuckled as we taxied and knelt next to him. I grabbed towels from the tiny cubby where a regular seat concealed a small toilet. Bonnie took the towels and helped get the bleeding under control.
“Hate to tell you this, but I think you broke it,” she informed him. “We’ll get it taped up after we get off the plane.”
“It’ll be half an hour before we can deplane,” Muñoz announced over the intercom. “Everybody alive back there?”
I keyed our side of the intercom. “It’s all good. There’s only a little blood on the floor.”
The cockpit door slammed open, which was impressive, considering she’d reached around from her pilot seat.
“Who dares bleed in my plane?” she hollered.
“S-sorry, ma’am,” Warner stammered. “Id was an accidend.”
“Oh, Warner, you okay?” Muñoz’s tone went soft just like that. It was like she went out and adopted a little brother and dumped him on us. “I’ll take a look once we park.”
We didn’t have a hangar to rent, so we joined a motley collection of private jets, other turbo-props, and a handful of smaller craft. A small tram with a smaller trailer parked outside the rear hatch door as our engines cooled off.
I hopped out to meet the driver, a tall, lean man with a dark complexion and kindly eyes, who extended his hand.