Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “You could ask the parents of the missing boy and girl, see if it belongs to either of them,” Emily suggested.

  “Good idea,” Sid said.

  “Actually…” Boone began. “Um… this is going to sound silly, but… do you mind if I hang onto that for a bit?”

  Sid frowned. “Why?”

  Boone shook his head, looking sheepish. “Honest answer? I have no idea.” When Sid hesitated, Boone continued. “Look, I’m not gonna do a seance with it or anything. I just think it might spark an idea. Or not.” He sighed. “Never mind. It’s pretty silly.”

  “Oh, what the hell,” Sid said, digging his phone out. “Here, hold the bead up,” he said, handing the necklace to Boone and snapping a picture on his smart phone. “All right, here’s the deal. Ninety percent chance a tourist probably dropped that, so go ahead and hang onto it for a while. But if either of the parents recognizes it, I’ll need it back.”

  “Of course,” Boone said, lifting it to his neck and tying it securely. He looked up to find Sid and Emily looking at him.

  “He’s weird sometimes,” Emily said to Sid.

  After hiking back up the trail to Ladder Road, the trio stopped beside Sid’s patrol car. Dominating the late afternoon sky to the east, Mount Scenery loomed, a wisp of cloud clinging to the communications tower at its top.

  “Whew. Bit of a hike, yeah?” Emily said, looking back down the trail.

  “If you really want a workout, do the Mount Scenery Hike,” Sid said, pointing up at the mountain. “It’s 2,877 feet. Highest point in the Netherlands.”

  “Whattaya say, Em?” Boone asked.

  “How long does it take?”

  “Well… depends how often you stop to enjoy the sights. They usually suggest an hour and a half to go to the top. But some of the Saban runners who did construction on the steps and the tower—I’ve heard some of them could make it up in twenty minutes and back in fifteen.” Sid chuckled. “Some of the folks on other islands call us Sabans mountain goats.”

  “I saw a sign for Mount Scenery across from the trail shop,” Boone commented. “And some stone stairs?”

  “That’s where you start. Make sure you grab some walking sticks from the bin by the shop—you’ll be glad you did! From there it’s 1,064 steps… but there are long parts of trail that only count as one step. Oh, and there can be a lot of mud and the steps are slick, so make sure you have proper shoes.”

  “Would these do?” Emily waggled a green tennis shoe at him.

  “Well… probably… but they won’t be so pretty when you’re through. Oh, and once you finish, go to the trail shop. They’ll look at the mud on your shoes and give you a certificate for summiting.”

  “Is that route the only way up?” Boone asked.

  Sid thought a moment. “There are a few trails that connect to Bud’s Mountain Trail, and that gets you close to the summit, but it’s pretty rough going. I wouldn’t recommend it, not unless you have a guide with you, like Crocodile Johnson. Now, there is a road, the Mountain Road, just past English Quarter—it takes you up to a spot in the main trail that lets you bypass the bottom quarter of the hike. But don’t go asking for a certificate if you do that shortcut. That would be cheating!”

  It was nearly sundown when the Servant returned to the cottage. The man known as Gunter Schleich had called and they had discussed tomorrow’s delivery. The Servant left one case of water in the SUV, bringing the other with him into the darkening framework of the empty cottage. Not entirely empty, he thought, carefully removing the painter’s tarp from across the doorway to the basement. Picking up the battery-powered LED lantern he had left on the top stair, he carried the water down the rough, wooden steps. The girl sat slumped in the corner, her eyes glazed. He set about preparing some supper to share, occasionally reaching up to the cords about his neck and the trophies that were threaded there. It would be dark in another hour, and he would slip down to The Ladder and find what he had lost.

  “All right, gather ’round,” Lucky said. He and Emily were peering at the latest weather report and Anika, Chad, and Boone joined them at the desk.

  “How does it look?” Anika asked.

  “Still a Cat 3,” Emily said. “Winds ticked up a notch to 115 mph.”

  “The problem is, the track is tightening a bit,” Lucky said. “I talked to Sea Saba and they’ve decided to take their boats across to Saint Martin for safe keeping on Sunday. If we get hit, anything in Fort Bay is likely to get wrecked.”

  “So, you planning to take the Shoal ’Nuff to Saint Martin, too?” Boone asked. “With her engine just fixed, I don’t know…”

  “I had the same thought. But one of the advantages of her being small, I can hook her up on a trailer and bring her up to The Bottom. Got a buddy with an empty lot who will let me store her there. So, plan is… last dives are today and tomorrow. Then we’ll secure the boat and the store. Although, hopefully Miss Irma will decide to take a tour of the Atlantic instead.”

  The first morning dive at Shark Shoals had gone well and they were coming to the end of their second morning dive at Rays n’ Anchors, closer to Fort Bay. Boone was nearing his safety stop below the surface, a watchful eye on the divers in his charge. Chad was manning the boat and Anika was already aboard. The sound of a boat engine, moving at speed, caught his ear. Above, the Shoal ’Nuff was still on the mooring line so Boone began to look around. Emily was further off to the side and she caught his eye, pointing two fingers at her mask, then pointing to the south. Look there. Sure enough, the underside of a boat came into view, the engines throttling down to an idle as it coasted toward the dive boat. Boone was relieved it was staying well clear of the stern, where the divers were ascending. The Diver Down flag would be displayed, so the newcomer should know to keep their distance.

  Boone kicked toward Emily, leveling off at fifteen feet. Checking his computer, he began the three-minute safety stop to allow some of the accumulated nitrogen in his body to dissipate. Emily checked her computer as well, floating effortlessly at the precise depth. Looking over to Boone, she mimed a Rockettes dance kick, pumping her fists and kicking a fin to alternating sides, ending with a bow. Boone clapped as Emily mimed kisses to the audience before a shrill bee-dee-deep from her computer informed her the three minutes were up. Waving goodbye, she headed for the surface. Boone followed.

  Once on deck, Boone could see the other vessel was a small fishing boat with a sizeable pair of outboards. Its captain was a dark-skinned islander, his hair speckled with white, and his thin frame wiry and weathered. It was hard to tell how old he was, but he clearly had some mileage on him. He was calling across to Chad in an island sing-song.

  “No, no, I gots to get back to Statia before dat bitch Irma pays us a visit. Soon as I do my bidness in Saint Martin, I head straight back. You lucky I run into you. Good to see you, Chad! Pleasure, as always.”

  “You too, Reynaldo!” Chad replied, waving.

  “Wait!” Boone had a flash of memory and went to the gunwale. A smuggler in Bonaire whom Boone had been friendly with had given him the name of a Statian he should look up. “Reynaldo!” The man was about to throttle up but paused, turning back to the Shoal ’Nuff. Boone held a hand up in greeting. “Do you know a Darcy DaSilva?”

  Reynaldo looked surprised, though that look slipped into one of wariness. “Who you?” he called.

  “Boone Fischer. Friend of Darcy’s. I knew him in Bonaire. He gave me your name when he heard I was coming here.”

  Reynaldo nodded, thinking for a moment before calling out again. “Come over for a visit. I run you back to Fort Bay.”

  “Anika, do you mind?”

  “No, we’re done for today. Just leave your gear and pick it up when you get back.”

  “Thanks. Em, care to—”

  “See you over there!” Emily had already stripped off her gear and dived into the water, sunglasses f
irmly in hand, her lime green shorty vanishing beneath the waves before she knifed back to the surface and slid her ever-present shades onto her face. Boone dived in after her and they reached Reynaldo’s boat just as he hooked a simple wooden ladder onto the transom.

  “Welcome aboard Da Breez,” he said as they climbed up. He laughed when they stood side by side on the deck. He turned his hands palms-down and held them out flat, one high, one low, indicating their widely differing heights. “Hoo! Gyul, he like two of you.”

  “Yeah, but here, I’m like two of him,” Emily said without skipping a beat, pointing a finger at her head.

  Reynaldo nodded appreciatively. “Bet you are, bet you are. And what is your name, beautiful lady?”

  “Emily Durand,” she replied, offering her hand. Reynaldo took it and shook it.

  “Very pleased to meet you. And you too, Boone. I’m Reynaldo, but ever’one call me Rey. So, you know Darcy, uh? He still have dat silly boat? What he call it?”

  “The Yachty McYachtface,” Emily said, mirth coloring her voice.

  “Yeah, dat’s it! Ha! Yeah, me and him do a little business in Dominica from time to time. So… you need somet’ing?”

  “Like what?” Boone asked, unzipping his wetsuit and stripping the top part off his arms and chest, leaving it to dangle from his waist.

  “Like… well, you tell me.” Reynaldo trailed off and looked at Boone. “You know what Darcy do for a living?”

  “Yes… he’s an independent maritime contractor,” Boone said, remembering Darcy’s own euphemism for his smuggling activities.

  “Oh, dat’s good, I’ll have to remember dat one,” Reynaldo said, smiling for a moment before looking cagey again. “You meant smuggler, right?”

  Boone laughed. “Yes, I did. But no, we don’t need anything. I just heard your name, heard you mention Statia, and remembered Darcy telling me about you.”

  “You been to Statia yo’self, I see.” Reynaldo said.

  “Well, we stopped at the airport over there on the way to Saba,” Boone said. “But that’s it.”

  “Den where you get da blue bead?”

  Boone’s fingers found the smooth object at the hollow of his throat. He’d forgotten he’d had it on under the wetsuit. He explained how he’d come to possess it, searching for clues of the missing couple.

  Reynaldo nodded sagely. “It’s good da policeman let you keep it. Dey say you don’t find da blue bead, da blue bead find you. Don’t ever sell it. Bad luck.” He raised a bony wrist and waggled a leather bracelet. On it were three Statian beads. “I could probably get a t’ousand dollars for dese, but I’d never sell.”

  “Oh, I’ll probably have to give this one back… I just wanted to wear it for a while.”

  “I’m suddenly feeling very bead bereft,” Emily said.

  “Come to Statia some time, maybe a bead will find you,” Reynaldo said. “Dese missing young ones, I hope dey turn up. We had a girl go missing on Statia. No one knows what happened to her. I know one of her friends—she in a dark place.”

  “When was this?” Boone asked.

  “Just last month,” Reynaldo said. “Very pretty girl. Tiny, like you,” he added, gesturing to Emily.

  Back in Fort Bay, Boone and Emily headed for the Shoal ’Nuff to get their gear as Reynaldo motored off to the north, vanishing around the western cliffs. Anika and Chad had already left, but Lucky was still there, typing away at his laptop.

  “Cancelling some upcoming dive packages. I ain’t gonna lie, this is gonna hurt my wallet. Already let Anika and Chad go for the day.”

  “Anything we can do?” Boone asked. “No charge.”

  “Actually, can you take my car and grab some grub for me? My Texas teeth are craving a burger and Island Flavor has a great one. Get yourselves something too.” He scrounged up two twenties and handed them over with his keys.

  Up in The Bottom, they ordered a trio of burgers. While they cooked up, they headed around the corner to the police station to see if Sid was in. His father met them at the front desk.

  “Sid’s up at the annex in Windwardside. Can I pass something along?”

  “Actually, sir… just as well I tell you. Did Sid explain this?” Boone indicated the bead.

  “Yes. A Statian Blue Bead. We ran the photo by the parents of the missing couple. It didn’t belong to either of them. Sid was right—probably dropped by a tourist.”

  “Well, that might be but… I just talked to a Statian. He said they had a girl go missing over there last month.”

  “Really? Huh. What was the Statian’s name?”

  “Didn’t catch it,” Boone said, not knowing the exact extent of Reynaldo’s activities. “I think you should reach out to the Statian police. Compare notes.”

  “Well… we haven’t had much luck, so I’ll take any lead I can get. I’ll give them a call. I know most of them over there.

  “Sid was going to canvas the neighbors up by The Ladder,” Emily said. “Any luck?”

  “No. Only two of the cottages are occupied at the moment and they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A grocery store in The Bottom remembered them buying Carib beer that evening.”

  “I think they were at the customs house,” Boone said.

  “So do I,” Captain Every replied.

  “What’s the latest on the weather, Anika?” Boone asked as he set his gear into a niche and stood dripping beside the stern ladder to await the divers below. The Wisconsinites had flown home and Scenery Scuba had a new group of three divers from New York this morning. Emily and Chad were still down there with them and Boone watched their bubbles as Anika joined him.

  “Same as this morning. Irma is weaker, down to a two, and the track looks about fifty-fifty for us. If it hooks north of Barbuda, we’ll be fine. So far, no watches or warnings.”

  “But I’m guessing we’ll be bringing the boat out of the water as planned.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Besides, at this point, Lucky has already processed cancellations, and tourists will be cramming into the ferries and onto the last WinAir flights. Even if it misses us, there won’t be anyone here to go diving with!”

  An outstretched hand breached the waves as the first diver surfaced, tapping her head to indicate everything was okay, then kicked to the ladder where Boone waited to accept her fins. In minutes, everyone was aboard, Chad bringing up the rear.

  “Anika!” he called out. “Can we stay moored and take the surface interval here? There are some monster lionfish down there.”

  “How’s your deco load?” Boone asked, referring to the residual nitrogen in Chad’s blood.

  Chad paused on the ladder and glanced at his integrated computer. “I’m just in the yellow. And plenty in the tank.”

  “I don’t know…” Anika said.

  He scrambled up the ladder and headed for his gear bag. “Oh, c’mon! Just down and back. With the storm coming in, the restaurants are going to run out of lionfish. They pay good money, and cash is going be a little tight this week. There are three under one overhang, only sixty feet down.” He was already retrieving his cylindrical lionfish trap, clipping it to the side of his BC with a pair of carabiners, so that it rested against his hip. “Second dive, I’ll stay on the boat.” He grabbed two silver gloves from his gear bag and slid them on.

  “Is that… chain mail?” Melissa, one of the New Yorkers, asked.

  “Kinda, yeah,” Chad stepped over to the girl to show her. “Sometimes the reefies get a bit aggressive and go for the lionfish on your spear. Just a precaution.” He hefted the pole spear, the head tipped with a cluster of three barbed points and the butt end sporting a simple loop of rubber tubing. “So, I take this spear and pull it back like this, see?” He demonstrated, looping the band on his hand and lightly gripping the spear. He stretched the elastic band taut, pointing the triple barbs over the gunwale. “Then yo
u just… let go.” Chad released his grip and the spear shot forward through his curled fingers. “Then you stuff the lionfish in your trap.” He held up the end of the white, plastic tube at his side and pushed the spear tips into it. “This end cap on the tube bends in, but it won’t bend out. You stick it in, and then you… pull out.” He grinned at Melissa and sat on the gunwale to don his fins.

  “Well, I suppose—” Anika began, but Chad was already rolling backward into the water.

  “Boone,” Emily said, leaning in close to him. He bent down a bit so she could speak in his ear. “I counted five reef sharks down there.”

  Boone nodded, having already decided. He grabbed his mask and fins.

  “I could go,” Anika said, although she was dressed for the boat and Chad might be back before she got suited up.

  “No, no, I’ll go,” Boone said.

  “You want the spare tank?” Anika asked.

  “I’ll freedive it.”

  Anika just nodded, but the New Yorker nearest the stern looked incredulous. “What? No tank? He said it was sixty feet down!”

  “Sixty is nothing for Boone,” Emily said, a touch of pride in her voice.

  “Well, it’s not nothing,” Boone said. “I don’t know how long he’ll be, so I might have to return for another breath.”

  “Won’t you get the bends?” another diver asked.

  “Normally, no—freediving doesn’t put any nitrogen in your blood—but since I just dived, it could be an issue. I’ll probably need to hang out at the safety stop. Actually… hey, Em, can you weight a tank and drop it down on a line? Like we had on the chain on our boat in Bonaire?”

  “Brill idea,” she said, grabbing her BC and tank. “I’ve still got a thousand in mine and the BC has integrated weights. Have it down in a jiff.”