Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “So, if there was a second smuggler,” Boone said, “he’d have plenty of places to hide.”

  “Maybe, but chances are he’s long gone. We’re checking the passenger manifests for WinAir flights, and also the ferries to Saint Martin.”

  Boone looked at the old-fashioned clock on the back wall and rose from his chair. “We were thinking of grabbing an early dinner, if you’d care to join us. I’m supposed to be down at Scenery Scuba at seven a.m. and want to get a good night’s sleep before my first day.”

  “I’m meeting Sophie later, but I’ll join you another time. Know where you’re going to eat?”

  “Gordon said the pizza at Long Haul next door was great. And he’s a New Yorker, so…”

  “It is good, but they’re closed Mondays. A lot of places stagger their days off. Try Bubba’s above Sea Saba—they open at five-thirty.”

  “Thanks, we will,” Boone said, as he held the door open for Emily.

  “Good luck finding your smuggler,” Emily sang as she bounced out the door into the late afternoon sunlight.

  As the sun set, the man settled in to wait, the camp chair positioned perfectly in the shadows inside the skeleton of the unfinished cottage. Sitting well back from one of the windowless openings, he could just see the entrance to The Ladder, the steep stairs leading down from a cut in the low wall lining Ladder Road. A few days ago, he’d chatted up a group of young medical students at a bar in The Bottom. He’d ditched his workman’s attire for a tight T-shirt and shorts, displaying his tanned physique to lure them in. He was a strikingly handsome man: his hair blond and sun-kissed, his shoulders broad and his body sculpted. Great strength and stamina were requirements for his calling.

  He did not enjoy this part of his work—as far back as puberty he had found flirting excruciatingly awkward. Unsettling. It was like trying to speak a half-learned foreign language. Over time he had realized it was best to say little and let his good looks do most of the work. He had noted several prospects during that outing, but toward the end of the evening a valuable piece of information had tumbled forth from one drunken youth, leading him to adjust his plans. After all, selecting a candidate from a public gathering carried many risks. No, this new opportunity was ideal, and he suspected the fortuitous piece of trivia had been a gift from those he served.

  The man had learned that the old customs house, an empty shell of a building halfway down The Ladder, was a popular make-out spot for young locals on the island. Moreover, the entrance to that spot was right across from his hideout. And to think, he’d almost remained at that other location, where no such opportunity would have presented itself, it being far too remote.

  Those he served had provided him with what he needed, as they always did. All he’d have to do was wait… and watch. Anyone going down to the customs house after dark would definitely use the stairs and trail below. There was no guarantee he’d have any more luck tonight than he’d had last night, but he was confident his diligence would be rewarded in time.

  Taking a long pull from a water bottle, the man relaxed and let his mind drift. It was only two short years ago that he had received his calling. A mission trip to Montserrat had sown the seeds: the awesome devastation that the Soufrière Hills volcano had wrought on the island’s capital of Plymouth had filled him with an awe akin to a religious conversion. Nearly two decades before, a massive eruption had sent a pyroclastic flow roaring into the capital city of the tiny Caribbean island, burying the town in ash nearly five feet thick, killing numerous inhabitants and rendering the entire southern half of Montserrat uninhabitable. The volcanic material soon took on the consistency of concrete and now, like Pompeii, the town of Plymouth was entombed by nature itself. Witnessing the aftermath of such a profound alteration of what Man had built… it was as if the Earth itself was speaking to him. He had tried to explain it to one of the girls who was there with him on the mission trip. They had been intimate, and he was sure she would provide a sympathetic ear. Instead, she had laughed at him. But not for long.

  The man took another sip of water, and watched the entrance of The Ladder, his idle hand fingering the duct-taped handle of the tool at his side.

  “Well, that’s… rustic.” Emily’s face was pressed against a cracked pane in the wood and glass door of the Scenery Scuba dive shop.

  “Bit of a fixer-upper,” Boone agreed, setting down his gear bag next to Emily’s and peering in beside her.

  They had arrived in Fort Bay early in the morning and had beaten the owner here. The interior of the shop, or what they could see of it, seemed to be “in transition,” with a tarp and paint cans in one corner. Some gear was visible behind the yellow reception desk. Boone stepped back and looked at the face of the building. It was an odd structure: a foundation of stone formed a base on either side of the door, appearing to be from some much older edifice. Above was a pair of blue shutters, partly caved in, and above that were faded red letters spelling out Saba Deep.

  “You sure we’re in the right place?” Emily asked.

  Just then, the sound of a motor came from around the bend as a car drove down the steep, winding road from The Bottom. A tiny white Hyundai i10 turned the corner and the driver rolled his window down. “You Boone Fischer?” came a voice with a lazy drawl. The voice belonged to a man in his forties, his skin tanned and sun-freckled, his hair bleached brown. His left arm, resting in the open window of the driver’s side door, was sheathed in an elaborate tattoo sleeve.

  “Yeah, I’m Boone. Are you Derrick Richardson?”

  “That’d be me, but folks just call me ‘Lucky’. And I’m guessin’ this is your fellow submarine killer. Emily, right? Hold on one sec. Lemme park this sucker.”

  He pulled over to the side, close to where Sid had parked the day they’d taken the Wavy Davey. As Lucky came back over to them, Emily pointed up at the sign. “Saba Deep?”

  “Oh, yeah, don’t mind that. I haven’t put a sign up yet. Saba Deep was an institution on this island, and I don’t have the heart to take that down. They went out of business a few years back. Actually, their only boat had an accident…” He turned and pointed to the tiny harbor. “Sunk right over there, by that jetty.”

  “Well, we’ve had some recent experience with sinking ships…” Boone said.

  “Not mine, ya better not! Only got one, at the moment. Shame about that smuggler boat you used. She was a beauty.”

  “Viking 48C,” Boone said.

  “Oh, you know boats?”

  “Boone here was our dive op’s go-to fixit man,” Emily broke in. “But I’m the better skipper.”

  Lucky looked down at Emily with an appraising eye. “You two worked together back in Bonaire?” When they nodded, Lucky bit his lip in thought. “Well, here’s the thing… we’re new and operating at the margins, so I’m not really in a position to hire both of you.”

  “Oh, I’m just on vacation,” Emily said quickly. “But if you happened to have a few free tanks lying around, I wouldn’t mind hopping aboard as an extra diver anytime you’re not full up. And I can offer my services at the wheel if you need an extra hand, yeah?”

  “I dunno. How old are you?”

  “Oh, come on, just ’cause I’m tiny… I’m twenty-six.” When Lucky raised an eyebrow at Boone, Emily plowed ahead. “Boone’s twenty-nine, but he’s got that old soul thing goin’ on.”

  Boone smiled. “She’s not pulling your leg, Lucky—this gal can drive a boat like nobody’s business.”

  “You mind sharing your tips with her?”

  “I dunno…” Boone hedged, feigning reluctance.

  “He doesn’t mind,” Emily said, pushing past Boone to grab Lucky’s hand in an ambush of a handshake. “Deal. Let me dive for free, and I’ll help out and steal Boone’s tips.”

  “She’s also really good at dive briefings,” Boone said.

  Lucky chuckled. “Well, one thing at
a time… how about you two learn the dive sites before you start briefing. I’ll go out with you today. Emily, you can tag along on the dives. We’ve only got a four-pack of divers at the moment so there’ll be plenty of room. C’mon inside. We can chat while I open up.”

  “Hey, what’s that wooden second-floor area, to the left there?” Emily asked as they started toward the door to the shop.

  “Oh, that there used to be The Deep End. A bar and restaurant. Closed a few years ago. Actually, a big restaurant company in the States bought the whole building, both the restaurant and dive shop. But they weren’t doing anything with it and I needed a place to start, so I negotiated a short-term lease. Figured they’d rather make some money than no money.” He applied the key to the dive shop door and worked it aggressively until it finally turned. “Yeah… this place needs some work. I’m out on a lot of the dives to save money on staff, so I haven’t had the time to get this place ship-shape. But with your friend helping out… maybe I can find myself an extra shore day here and there.”

  “How long you been on island?” Boone asked.

  “Sold my house in Corpus Christi four months ago and moved here. My wife and I… well, guess it’s ex now… we took a dive trip to Saba a few years ago and this place really spoke to me. After the divorce last year, she moved back home to California and I just didn’t want to stay in the house a moment longer. So, one day I’m about to throw on this T-shirt with I Survived the Saba Landing on it—”

  “Boone got me that shirt!” Emily broke in. “Oh, sorry… I interrupted your moment of epiphany, didn’t I?” Emily bit her lower lip, looking sufficiently sheepish that a snort of laughter escaped Lucky’s mouth.

  “You, young lady, are a hoot. No apologies necessary. Anyhow, I took one look at that ratty old shirt and thought, ‘Yeah, that’s where I’m going.’ I have a technical diver background from working oil platforms in the Gulf and figgered I could join a dive op, but when I heard Saba Deep left, I thought I’d open my own place.”

  “How long you been open?” Boone asked.

  “Not long. Anders, the fella you switched with, was my first employee. You’ll meet the others in a bit.”

  “So, are you and Sea Saba the only games in town?” Emily asked.

  “There’s another, Saba Diving. They’ve been around for almost twenty years. They got a nice 34-footer, Big Blue. I’m still just small potatoes.” Lucky gestured to the two mesh bags beside the door. “Grab your gear and come on in. I’ll give you the penny tour.”

  An hour later, Lucky led Boone and Emily around the little bay to the pier on the far side, passing a two-story building as they went. “That there is the Customs and Immigration Office. The passengers from the Saint Martin ferries come in through there so sometimes I hang out nearby, in case anyone’s looking to dive but hasn’t booked anything yet.”

  Boone nodded, remembering Sid saying they’d checked the passenger manifests for the ferries, looking for the arrested smuggler’s partner—if, in fact, the individual existed. “How often do the ferries come and go?” he asked.

  “There’s two of ‘em. The Edge and the Dawn II each come in three days a week.” They turned the corner and started down the far pier. A sturdy slab of concrete over 200 feet long, the pier’s surface was quite a bit higher than the decks of the dive boats moored alongside.

  “Nice boats!” Emily said as they approached the nearest two—sleek forty-footers complete with flybridges.

  “Yep, that they are. Wish they were mine. Those belong to Sea Saba. We’re on the end.”

  He gestured toward a small center console dive boat at the end of the pier. With her white hull and red Bimini top, the boat looked like a nautical version of a Saba cottage. The name Shoal ’Nuff was along her bow in red letters.

  “You bringing some fresh meat, Lucky?” called a voice from under the Bimini top. A shirtless young man, his body sculpted and deeply tanned, grabbed a support and swung up onto the gunwale. He tossed aside a lock of bleached-blond hair from his eyes, a cocky grin on his face. “Bonaire Boone finally showed up for wor—” He halted mid-sentence, his eyes taking in Emily. “Whoa… bonus.” His speech had the laid-back quality of a California surfer dude and exuded a “God’s-gift-to-women” vibe. “Hello, hello, hello… please tell me you’re joining the crew.”

  “Easy, Chad,” Lucky said. “She’s with him.” He abruptly turned to Boone and Emily. “That is… are you? I mean, I just assumed…”

  Boone glanced at Emily with a smile creeping up his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak but Emily beat him to the punch. “Who, Boone? Honestly, I barely know the guy. He’s just someone I occasionally blow up bad guys with.” She hefted her gear bag and stepped to the edge of the concrete pier. “Chad, is it?” The boat was several feet below the surface of the pier and Chad offered up a hand to help her aboard, but she ignored it, reaching across to the nearest support and effortlessly dropping her petite frame down to the gunwale beside him. “You look like a surfer. I bet you’re a surfer.”

  “Uh… yeah—”

  “Brill shades… Oakleys?”

  “Wh—?” Chad looked down toward his chest to the sunglasses that were hanging from a lanyard, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “I dunno…”

  Emily plowed ahead. “I’m Emily.” She stuck out her hand and Chad shook it, looking like he was trying to catch up.

  “Hi… I’m—”

  “Chad, yes, we established that. I’ll be your sometimes skipper, once your boss realizes how good I am.”

  Back on the pier, Lucky burst into laughter. “Is she always like this?”

  Boone grinned. “I’ve learned to just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He leaned in to Lucky and lowered his voice. “She calls this particular performance ‘Divert the Flirt’… or the ‘Macker Distractor,’ if she’s feeling British. It’s a tactic she uses to deal with guys who hit on her.”

  “Is Chad bothering your friend?” came a voice from behind.

  Boone turned to discover a woman dressed in long sleeves and pants, her brunette hair topped by a wide-brimmed hat and her face covered by a bandana. He was put in mind of a desperado robbing a stagecoach.

  “Emily can take care of herself.” He offered his hand. “I’m Boone.”

  “Anika. Pleased to meet you, Boone. Again.”

  Having worked in Curaçao and Bonaire for many years, Boone immediately recognized her accent as Dutch. “Have we met?” he asked. “It’s a little hard to recognize you with the…uh…” He gestured to her face.

  “Oh! Yes, sorry.” She removed her hat and dropped the bandana, revealing a beautiful face with delicate features. Her skin was surprisingly pale for someone who worked in a tropical climate. “You probably wouldn’t remember me, anyway. I did my open water certification with you in Curaçao. I was with my father. Big man. Bushy mustache with the tips waxed and curled…”

  That last tidbit was all it took for the memory to trigger. “Yes! I remember! But you were…” Boone hesitated. “…smaller.”

  Anika giggled, a delicate tinkling sound. “Yes, I was still in high school. I had a late growth spurt.”

  “Anika’s been with me from the start,” Lucky interjected. “You trained her good. She’s an excellent dive instructor. And she’s also good with numbers, which is why she’s going to man the shop today.”

  Anika’s smile slipped. “Oh… okay.”

  “Look, I’ve gotta check these two out and Chad’s not exactly the office type, all right? If this Emily gal is good-to-go on the skippering, I can spend more time getting the shop in order. Then you’ll get plenty of boat time.”

  “I understand,” Anika said, disappointment creeping into her features. “It’s just that it’s oil calm today. Was thinking we could go around to Green Island… I haven’t been there yet.”

  “Oil calm?” Boone asked.

  �
��Just a term we use here for a glassy, flat sea state,” Lucky said. “Don’t you worry, Anika—we’ll get you to Green eventually. We’ve just got four today, right?”

  “Yes. The group from Wisconsin. One of them needs to switch out her regulator.” She held up a rental.

  Lucky took it. “Thanks. We’ll see ya in a few hours.”

  Anika plopped her wide-brimmed hat back on her head but left the bandana down. “Very nice to see you again, Boone.”

  “You too, Anika.”

  “All right, let’s hop aboard and I’ll show you around the boat before our divers get here,” Lucky said. “Anika had the right idea. We’ll hit Green Island. I’ve only been there once myself. It isn’t often we go around to the windward side and we should take the opportunity while we’ve got it, especially if we end up with some rough weather next week.”

  At nine o’clock, Boone cast off the lines and climbed down to the deck of the Shoal ’Nuff as Lucky spun her in a tight circle and left the enclosure of Fort Bay. Chad was chatting up the four-pack of divers from Wisconsin and Emily was right alongside Lucky, watching his every move. She had her long blond hair in braided pigtails, her favorite means of keeping it from tangling in her mask strap during dives. Boone was quite the fan of that style, too… and of course, Emily knew that. She turned around and caught him looking. Lifting one braid, she waved the end of it at him with a playful smirk on her face. Boone joined her and Lucky at the wheel.

  “This little bay is the only place on Saba a boat can dock,” Lucky explained as he spun the wheel to port, making a turn to the east. High above their heads, the cliffs of Saba’s south side towered over Fort Bay, dwarfing the little collection of buildings.