Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  Boone cracked a half-smile. “Nurse Vargas kept me from throwing myself at her.” He reached down and took Em’s hand. “But it’s a good thing you came when you did… I think my willpower was starting to waver.”

  “How are you feeling?” Em asked. “I mean, apart from the sexual frustration.”

  Boone laughed and squeezed her hand. “I feel good. I really did control the ascent, so I’m not too worried. But I’ll keep an eye out for any symptoms.” He pushed open the door into the bright noonday sun.

  Emily hissed and popped her green sunglasses onto her face. Boone opened his drybag, looking for his aviators. A man in a white shirt and slacks exited a town car parked against the curb and walked with purpose toward the hospital.

  Boone found his shades and slid them on. “The Lunasea still at the pier?”

  “No, Ricardo took the boat back to the marina. He’s bringing my car up for us.”

  “What, he didn’t want to drive mine?”

  “Where would he find enough coal to power it?”

  “No need… he can put his feet through the floor and pull a Fred Flintstone.”

  Emily snorted a laugh. “Nice one, Boone.”

  “Boone…? Boone Fischer?”

  Boone turned. The man from the town car had just passed him on his way to the hospital doors, but now stood facing him. Boone gave a brief nod. “Yes, I’m Boone Fischer.”

  Without another word, the man swung a roundhouse punch.

  Boone had made several observations when the man walked purposefully by him: here was someone who knew his way around a weight room… and he was angry. By the man’s tone of voice when he said Boone’s name, the divemaster had a feeling something like this was coming. He simply stepped back and the looping punch missed.

  “Hey!” Emily shouted.

  The man recovered his balance and advanced again. “You hurt my sister!”

  Boone recognized the man’s accent; it was similar to Lyra’s. The man swung again and Boone sidestepped it. “You must be Lyra’s brother! Listen, she’s fine.”

  “She could have been killed!” He charged and Boone executed a quick capoeira tumble to the side. The man lumbered past, like a bull who’d missed his matador, and came face to face with Emily.

  “Stop!”

  The man came up short, stumbling to avoid crashing into the petite blonde who had planted herself before him, four feet eleven inches of defiance.

  “You’re Lyra’s eldest brother?”

  Nostrils flaring, the man nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  The man straightened and pronounced, with almost comical levels of pride, “I… am Achilles.”

  “Really? Badass name. But he… is not Hector!”

  The man blinked, the Iliad reference throwing him off his game.

  “Boone saved your sister’s life. The problem was with your ship’s gear. She ran out of air a hundred feet down and Boone brought her up out of a dark tunnel, sharing his air… he could have died saving her. And you want to punch him?” She poked his chest, right below a pair of gold chains that hung above several opened buttons. “You want to take a shot at Boone, you’ll have to go through me.” Emily held the defiant look for a brief moment, then suddenly withdrew her poking finger and offered her hand, flashing a brilliant smile. “Nice muscle tone on those pecs. I’m Emily, by the way.”

  All of the rage drained out of Achilles as his aggressive expression slid into one of confusion. A smile broke through and he took her hand. “I am very pleased to meet you.” He turned to Boone and offered his hand to him as well. “Please forgive my behavior. My sister is the world to me. I thought, perhaps…”

  “It’s okay… no harm done.” Boone clasped his hand and gave him a firm shake. Not surprisingly, Achilles was a knuckle-crusher, but Boone held his own. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

  Achilles’s jaw tightened as he released Boone’s hand. “My little brother will be along shortly. Said he had to finish a meeting. Calypso told me about the accident, then went to change her clothes.” He shook his head in disgust. “I came immediately. My father wanted to come, but he is not well enough.” Achilles looked toward the glass doors. “I should go to her.”

  “Lyra will be fine,” Boone assured him. “The doctor said he’s not seeing anything serious, but they’re keeping her in the hyperbaric chamber for a few more hours.”

  Achilles nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to Emily. “And you…” His eyes looked her up and down. “Thanks for stopping me from beating him up.”

  Em smiled patiently. “Don’t mention it.”

  Achilles entered the lobby and went toward reception.

  Emily turned back to Boone. “He’s lucky you didn’t use your cappuccino on him.”

  “Capoeira.”

  “Are you sure that’s what it’s called? Whatever. Your Brazilian dance karate.”

  “There was no need. I knew you had my back. Where’s Ricardo meeting us?”

  “Right here, but actually, y’know what… I’m a tad peckish. Let’s pop over to Colores y Sabores and grab some grub to go. If Ricardo shows up, we’ll see Señor Bug when he turns the corner.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Boone started toward the water. The little restaurant was just a few doors down from the hospital and had excellent street tacos.

  “Well smack me bum and call me Susan…”

  Boone glanced down at Em. “Um… what?”

  Emily suddenly released his hand and crossed the street to the north side, staring intently, even going so far as to lower her sunglasses—a rare daytime display. Boone joined her. On this side of the street, they could see the Aqua Safari pier.

  “It’s back,” Em said.

  “What is?”

  She pointed. “I completely forgot to tell you about it… that thing was checking out our boat when the taxi dropped me off.”

  Boone sighted down her arm. “A drone?”

  “Yeah… with four little whirly-thingies… I took a swing at it.”

  Boone laughed. “Why?”

  “I don’t know!” Em blurted. “Ricardo asked me that too.”

  Boone started toward the main road. “Maybe it’s one of those tourism or real estate drones, taking shots for a website or something.”

  The drone hovered about fifty yards out from the pier, which was currently devoid of any boats. Two people stood on the pier, a man and woman wearing white slacks and matching royal blue polo shirts with some sort of gold writing on the breast. They were speaking together, and at one point they both seemed to be looking at the drone. As Boone and Emily crossed Rafael E. Melgar Avenue, the pair walked back up the pier to the street and turned right, the woman stretching out a hand to hail a southbound taxi. She was thwarted when the man suddenly bolted across the street to a liquor store advertising free tequila shots. Cursing a blue streak, she crossed to join him.

  Eyes back on the drone, Boone grabbed the smartphone from his pocket and raised it, tapping the icon to bring up the camera. As he reached the pier and started down it, the drone abruptly rose into the air before pitching forward and racing out to sea.

  “Weird, yeah?”

  “Yeah…”

  “You get a photo?”

  “Maybe. Pretty far away, though. Lemme see…” Boone was opening the photo when his phone buzzed with a text. “It’s Greg from the Kansas crew.”

  “Oh, right! We were going to take them out for a jolly after we finished with the morning dives.”

  “Yeah, we were supposed to meet them. It’s their last day.”

  A single toot from a horn sounded and Boone turned to see Ricardo waving from Emily’s Beetle. Boone pointed at 5th Street South and the car turned and pulled over to the side.

  “Y’know… we were about to eat anyway…” Boone said, crossing b
ack to the hospital’s street. “Maybe we should combine our need for food with an excursion.”

  Em grinned. “Take them to Coconuts?”

  “Read my mind.”

  “Angler… Palantir.”

  “Angler here.”

  “We have a problem,” the electronically modulated voice said.

  Angler ground his teeth. “Go ahead.”

  “The boat is gone and the gear has likely been removed from the dive boat and turned over to the authorities. This is a serious issue for our employer. We can’t wait for the rest of your team, so I need you and Stallion to deal with the situation. I have been authorized to offer you both an additional twenty percent bonus if you can perform this service within the next thirty minutes.”

  “Twenty per… holy shit,” Stallion blurted. “That’s—”

  Angler drew his finger across his throat, silencing the mercenary. He hesitated. They were already being paid very handsomely for this job—he had a suspicion that this “service” was likely some wet work. Angler didn’t have a problem with killing for money, but it wasn’t something he relished.

  “Angler, do you read?”

  “What do you need us to do?”

  The voice told them.

  “Driver, please to be turning left at the park.”

  “Wait, what are you playing at, Tolstoy? The ship is south.” Potluck watched as the taxi driver turned onto a two-way road heading east. A dirt median ran down its length, dotted with red flamboyant trees. “Angler will have your ass. We need to get back and report.”

  “What is to report? Boat not there. Drone see this, so nerd in earpiece know this. We deserve little fun.” Rubbing his hands together with glee, Tolstoy plunged his hand into a plastic bag from the souvenir shop next to the liquor store. He pulled out a horrendous Hawaiian shirt covered in Day of the Dead sugar skulls and yanked the tag off of it. “Don’t worry, I not forget you. I get you sexy T-shirt.”

  Potluck smiled despite herself—the Russian merc had a strangely boyish quality, though she guessed his age at forty or so. She sighed with amused resignation. “Where are we going?”

  Tolstoy grinned and dug a wad of brochures from his pocket. He selected the topmost and thrust it at her.

  “Coconuts?”

  “Da! Is bar on top of cliff over ocean. It has zoo, and good drinks and food and… other things.”

  The driver laughed. “You heard about the picture albums.” Like many Cozumeleños, he spoke excellent English. “We live in different times. They don’t put those out anymore.”

  Tolstoy looked crestfallen. “Der’mo! I have missed the bus.”

  The driver looked back at him in the mirror. “Oh, they still have them! You just have to ask the bartender.”

  The Russian clapped his hands together. “Is good!”

  Potluck leaned forward between the seats. “What photo albums?”

  “My beloved daughter!” Tears in his eyes, Karras Othonos stretched out his arms, leaning so far forward Nicholas feared he might upend his wheelchair.

  Lyra came to him and they hugged, her father clutching her with surprising strength considering his condition. “I’m fine, Father. The doctor said I am in excellent health.”

  “Calypso told me what happened. You could have died!”

  “But I did not. Thanks to Boone Fischer.”

  “This ‘Fischer,’ he owns the company that took you on the dive? Is the business legitimate?”

  “The dive operation has an excellent track record,” Nicholas interjected. “They are fairly new on Cozumel, but both Mr. Fischer and his co-owners struck me as highly competent. Wouldn’t you agree, Calypso?”

  Calypso shrugged. “They seemed to know what they’re doing.”

  “They saved my life!” Lyra blurted. “My equipment… something went wrong.”

  “It’s more than that,” Achilles said. “It was sabotaged.”

  “Now wait, we don’t know that…” Lyra said uncertainly. “The technician at the hyperbaric facility wasn’t sure if it had been tampered with or if it was a software glitch.”

  Nicholas frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “The guy said the computer was showing the tank was full when it wasn’t!” Achilles ground his teeth, beginning to pace.

  Karras coughed violently, reddening. “Someone tried to kill you, Lyra?” he managed to gasp.

  “I don’t know! It may have just been an accident.” Lyra looked to Calypso. “It could have been you that picked that tank, Callie.”

  Callie gave a rare show of emotion. “My God. But who…? Wait… we picked those tanks up directly from the ship’s dive shop. And they keep everything locked up in there, right?” She stood and advanced on Nicholas. “Who is the man that runs it? He’s Greek-American, in his forties.”

  Nicholas grabbed his phone, triggering speed dial. “Security, this is Nicholas Othonos. Go to the dive shop and bring me Matthaíos Boston.” He thought for a moment. “He may resist, so be prepared.”

  “I don’t understand,” Karras said. “Matthaíos is a good man, I know his mother. He would have no reason to harm you two.”

  “We don’t know that he did anything wrong,” Nicholas said. “But it’s best we question him directly. And I’ll have security check the camera feeds.” He steepled his fingers over his nose for a brief moment before straightening in his chair. “In any event, I believe we should delay our departure for Grand Cayman by a day at least.”

  “You don’t get to decide that!” Achilles barked.

  Nicholas sighed. “Of course not. Father?”

  “I have no objection.”

  “Good!” Lyra said. “Then we can properly thank Boone and Emily for saving me. Let’s invite them to the ship.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I did promise Emily a tour of the Apollo.”

  “Fine with me,” Achilles said. “That is one sexy girl.” He crossed to the windows overlooking the Puerta Maya Pier, the Hygge Cruises vessel filling the view. “Hey, Nicky… I thought you were going to get rid of that thing.”

  Nicholas smiled. “I’ve made a few calls. We’ll soon have an unobstructed view to the south.”

  “Nicholas,” Calypso began. “Lyra told me about the malfunction with your little scooter thing…”

  Nicholas sighed. “Underwater Personal Conveyor. upc.”

  “Whatever. So… did you ever find out what went wrong with it?”

  “No. It seemed like it was getting an input from elsewhere, but that would be impossible… it’s a prototype.”

  Calypso nodded, deep in thought. “And where were you storing it before the night dive?”

  “With the rest of my gear in the ship’s dive sh—” Nicholas stopped talking and grabbed his phone, tapping the screen to redial the last number he’d called. “Security… have you got him? Put Matthaíos on the phone!”

  “Uh… we were just about to call you, sir. He isn’t here. And it looks like he left in a hurry.”

  “Welcome to the wild side!” Emily announced as she pulled into the sandy parking lot of the Coconuts Bar and Grill, located on the east coast of the island. The coastal road bordering the rougher “ocean side” of the island had only a few buildings along its twelve-mile length. Ahead of Em’s Beetle, palms and other tropical trees rose up along a set of ascending stairs. Though the hill was hardly more than a bump in the terrain for most places, on Cozumel it was the highest point on the island, rising to just under fifty feet. Greg and Cecilia hopped out along with two more of the Kansas crew, pausing to look at the ocean waves that crashed against the lower terrain just to the south.

  “Is Ricardo joining us?” Cecilia asked.

  “No, he and his family are planning on taking a trip to the mainland tomorrow.” Em had invited Ricardo on the drive back to the marina, but he’d declined and offered to wa
tch Brix while he and Lupe packed. When they arrived at the Lunasea, they’d discovered that Calypso hadn’t yet retrieved her bag and sunhat, so he’d offered to run those over to the Apollo on his way back home.

  “Looks like we’re gonna get some rain,” Greg noted, as a few drops fell from the tropical skies, speckling the sand of the parking lot.

  “No worries,” Em said. “It’s a fast mover. And they’ve got plenty of umbrellas at the tables and a thatched roof over the bar.”

  “I never mind a little rain,” Cecilia remarked.

  “Let’s wait for Boone and company to get here before we head up,” Emily said. “Oh, that reminds me! Need to get something out of the boot.” Em stepped to the rear of the Volkswagen and popped the latch. Unlike the original Beetle, the newer models had a “normal” layout, with the trunk in the back and the engine in the front, under the hood—or “bonnet,” as Emily thought of it. She grabbed an item from the boot before closing up.

  “What’s that for?” Greg asked.

  “Oh, this?” Emily held up a muffler. “Just something I picked up from the side of the road. Feel like giving me an assist with a little prank-a-roo?”

  Greg laughed. “Uh… sure.”

  “Good, ‘cause I’m on the petite side and I think you can hide it behind your back better.”

  “I want to help!” Cecilia exclaimed.

  “Excellent. Stand over here near the edge of the lot. Here’s what I need you two to do…”

  Minutes later, a low rumble heralded the arrival of Boone’s Thing. Its top down, the yellow museum piece shuddered as Boone shifted gears and crunched into the hard-packed lot. Emily had scrounged a couple palm fronds and directed him into the space beside her bug, engaging in a pantomime that was somewhere between an airport taxiway marshaller guiding a plane and a burlesque fan dancer. Not surprisingly, Boone’s polarized sunglasses were glued to her the whole way. Not that I blame him, Em thought, ending her display by demurely hiding her tank top and shorts behind the fronds.

  Bill and Cindy, the remaining Kansas couple with Boone, burst into applause. Boone nodded his head in appreciation. Meanwhile, Greg and Cecilia approached Boone’s car, and Emily was pleased to see Greg briefly crouch near the back before opening the rear door to usher Cindy out.