Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “Wait… “Saba Lace Ladies”? That sounds like some sort of burlesque dance group.”

  Anika giggled shyly. “No, no… Saba Lace is a unique kind of needlework. It used to be the main industry for the island, but there are only a few who practice it now. The ones who still know the art are trying to teach it to others. See?” She reached up and removed the scarf she had tied her hair back with, unfurling it and spreading it on the table. The drawn-thread stitches were incredibly intricate and delicate.

  “It’s beautiful! Did you make this?”

  “Oh, no, I wish I had. I’m still learning. Grace made this for me. We all get together in the shop next to Sea Saba on Thursday afternoons. It’s kind of like those quilting bees they have in America.” She leaned forward. “And a good place to pick up juicy gossip.”

  “Count me in!”

  Anika returned to her texting. “So, where is Miss Irma?” she asked as she typed. “Any change?”

  “Winds are up a little, but still no watches or warnings. Fingers crossed, yeah?”

  Out on the Shoal ’Nuff, Boone paused to take a drink of water. He had come to the boat the evening before to hose down the deck and get Chad’s equipment together, putting everything into the shop. At the moment, he was stowing several items in the small bow hold, things that might blow free if left up top. Fenders, buoys, boat hooks, hoses—he secured them all below. When everything seemed clear, he got down on his hands and knees and looked all around. Bits of gear or trash frequently ended up under dive benches as the boat rolled and pitched, and sure enough he spotted something: one of Chad’s chainmail gloves, crammed in a corner against the gunwale at the end of the starboard bench. He snaked a long arm under the bench and retrieved it, stuffing into one of the roomy thigh pockets on his cargo shorts.

  “Think we’re almost done here,” Lucky said. “I’ll put the covers on her once she’s in The Bottom.”

  “What time will your friend be here with the trailer?” Boone asked.

  “He said ’bout eleven. But you know ‘Island Time’. That could mean after lunch.”

  A cheer went up from across the little harbor as the first of Sea Saba’s boats left the main pier and headed out to sea on its run to Saint Martin. The other boat followed almost immediately, the remaining dive staff waving their farewells.

  “How long will it take them to reach Saint Martin?” Boone asked.

  “A couple hours, maybe a little more,” Lucky replied.

  A single boat remained at the main pier: a small, sleek Coast Guard vessel, its gray hull brightened by a diagonal yellow stripe along with the red, white, and blue of the Dutch flag. A new flash of color caught the corner of Boone’s eye as a blue-and-orange striped police car rounded the bend from the road to The Bottom and drove past, pulling over near the Customs and Immigration office. Three men got out. The driver was a black policeman Boone didn’t recognize, but the other two were Sid and his father. Sid saw Boone and waved, starting over to him. Captain Every remained at the car, chatting with the other policeman.

  “Boone, I was hoping you’d be here,” Sid began. “Your tip paid off. My father’s headed to Statia right now to meet with the police over there. I know this is last minute, but… do you want to go?”

  Boone blinked. “Isn’t there a hurricane out there?”

  “Not close enough to affect the crossing and Statia’s only twenty miles away. Actually, the fact that Irma is coming means the Dutch need to juggle a few resources between islands. The Coast Guard dropped off a few Dutch marines here and they’re taking some more over to Statia, so dad gets a free ride!”

  “Okay… but why me?”

  “Well, for one thing, when my father told the Statian police who it was that suggested we call them, they wanted to meet you.” When Boone looked confused, Sid plowed on. “It’s not everyday someone blows up a bunch of terrorists. Everyone over there knows about it.”

  “So I’ll send over some autographs,” Boone said.

  “Okay, that’s not the main reason. Look, I haven’t known you long but it’s clear to me you have good instincts. I was talking about it this morning to Sophie and she’s the one who said I should twist your arm and ask you. Honestly, I just want your intuition over there with my father.”

  “You’re not going?”

  “No, I need to stay here and help with storm prep. And keep canvassing for the missing couple.”

  Boone looked to Lucky. “Well, boss?”

  “Like I said, we’re about done. Fine by me, if it’s fine with your other boss.”

  Boone laughed, turning back to Sid. “Yeah, I’m afraid I don’t get the final say. Lemme check with Emily.”

  “Am I invited?” Emily asked, after Boone explained Sid’s request. She rocked in Lucky’s desk chair. Boone sat on the inside edge of the desk beside her.

  “Uh… probably? I can ask. Hell, I can make it a requirement.”

  “Actually, I have plans.” Emily said, leaning back in the desk chair, tucking her hands behind her head. Boone felt a stirring at what that movement did to the light green tank top she was wearing. As was often the case, Emily saw it in his eyes. She swiveled the chair back and forth in quarter circles. “What, see something you like?”

  “Every minute of every day,” Boone said, meaning every word.

  Emily halted her chair wobbles. “Good answer, Mr. Fischer.” She simply looked at him for a moment. Then: “You really scared me yesterday.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Emily shot out of the chair and planted a deep kiss on Boone’s lips, gripping the back of his hair. After a moment she withdrew. “It was very selfish of you to wake up before I had a chance to give you mouth-to-mouth, so I think I was owed that.”

  “I would’ve kept my eyes closed longer and pretended, had I known.”

  She broke off and plopped back into the seat. “As much as I’d love to dash across the sea with a boatful of men in uniform, I have a date.”

  “You do, do you?”

  “What, you think you have a monopoly on my affections? I’m going out with Sophie.”

  Boone hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

  “First we’re doing lunch. Then Sophie’s going to teach me self-defense. Anika’s coming too! Just so you know, it might turn into a threesome. Depends on if there’s drinks with lunch and how much rolling around on the ground we do.”

  Boone laughed and slid from the desk, planting a long kiss of his own on Emily’s lips. Withdrawing, he held her eyes. “You girls have fun. And use protection.”

  Emily’s eyes went wide, her mouth open in amused shock. “Boone!”

  “What? I meant gym mats, knee pads, mouth guards! Get your mind out of the gutter, Em.” He winked and headed for the exit before she could smack him.

  “There she is, The Golden Rock,” Captain Every said as the Dutch Caribbean Coast Guard cutter Puma sliced through the indigo waters between Saba and Statia. They were standing on the upper deck alongside the pilot house, enjoying the morning sun.

  Ahead, the island of Sint Eustatius came into sharper focus. It was shaped like a teardrop, the smaller, northern end consisting of rocky hills and scrub, uninhabited except for a surprisingly large expanse of white oil tanks. Beyond lay a relatively flat saddle of land where most of the population lived. Far to the south, the massive stratovolcano named The Quill rose above all, its flanks an emerald green. Unlike Mount Scenery on Saba, which had a mountainy look, The Quill was clearly a volcano, its squat, cone-shaped mass topped by a clearly-defined crater.

  “Golden Rock? Um… okay.” They were coming at it from the northwest, so the northern tip was most prominent. The predominant color Boone saw there was brown.

  “It’s hard to believe, but there was a time when Sint Eustatius was one of the biggest trading hubs in the Caribbean.”

  “Really?�
� Boone had landed at the little airport there on his way to Saba and the island had seemed far less developed than Bonaire or Curaçao.

  “I know, it doesn’t look like much, but it had a good harbor and, more importantly, no customs duties. Most of the British, French, and Spanish ports had monopolistic trade with substantial tariffs in place. Here, traders bringing in goods could make a tidy profit. Some days, there were over 200 ships in the harbor.”

  “You moonlight as a history professor when you’re not policing?”

  Captain Every smiled under his mustache. “Bit of a hobby.”

  As the cutter neared Statia, they encountered a dense yellow slick of sargassum, but the bow of the Puma parted the floating seaweed with ease. Closer to the island, the scale of the oil tanks in the hills came into sharper focus, dominating the northern part of Sint Eustatius. An extremely long jetty extended from shore into deep water. Boone estimated its length at over half a mile. A large oil tanker was alongside the jetty and nearby, two other tankers waited at anchor.

  “When I was a boy, there was nothing over here. Now, after a major oil shipment company moved in, it’s one of the largest oil transshipment storage facilities in the Western Hemisphere.”

  “On that tiny island?”

  “Believe me, not everyone is happy about it. My Statian friends say it’s definitely brought jobs to the island, but it’s also brought massive amounts of tanker traffic. And that means damage to the reefs from anchors, pollution… oil spills. Normally, there would be a lot more tankers here, but with the storm coming, this is probably the last of them for a while.”

  South of the oil terminal, the inhabited part of the island came into view. Three smaller boats were anchored in the shallows and Boone could make out several small docks in the vicinity of the few buildings that stood along the shore. To the south was a larger pier inside a breakwater and an area for offloading cargo. Above the waterfront, a cliff ran along the middle of the island and Boone could see numerous buildings up top, including the low walls of a fortress on an outcrop.

  “Looks like the pier is full up,” Boone noted.

  Captain Every nodded. “Likely everyone is preparing to secure their boats over here too.” He pointed toward a short pier next to a tiny building. “See that framework on that pier? It’s a boat lift. That will probably be getting some heavy use in the next few days. The little building next to it, the one with the red trim, that’s Golden Rock Dive Center.”Boone could feel the engines on the cutter slow to an idle as a young Dutch sailor joined them on the pilot house deck. “Gentlemen, we’ll be anchoring here. If you’ll join us aft at the stern ramp, we’ll be sending a launch ashore with the contingent of marines.”

  Heading aft, Boone came up short as he looked across the cutter’s stern to the north. Under the blue skies, the island of Saba was visible in the distance, the distinctive shape of the island on display with a single cloud nestled on the tip of Mount Scenery, obscuring the summit from sight. “Wow. That’s a view.”

  “Home, sweet home,” the captain remarked. “And if we were out a bit from the bay, you’d have a great view of Saint Kitts. She’s only about eight miles to the southeast.”

  Ten minutes after the cutter dropped anchor, Boone, Captain Every, and four Royal Dutch Marines were aboard a rigid inflatable boat, or RIB, and on their way to the smaller pier. As they neared the shore, a shadow passed overhead. Boone looked up as a Magnificent Frigatebird glided by, its throat sporting an impressive red neck pouch. After the RIB tied up, the marines disembarked first, remaining on the pier to wait for another four who were still aboard the cutter. Boone and Captain Every walked toward the Golden Rock Dive Center, heading for the road.

  “Clark! You be wanting a ride, or are you gonna climb up the side of the cliff like the Saban mountain goat y’are?”

  The voice came from the shaded area at the front of the dive shop. A police officer sat there, polishing off the last of a sandwich. Dark-skinned and portly, he had a smattering of freckles on his plump cheeks. Smiling, he rose to greet them, tossing his wrapper into a nearby trash can.

  “Surprised to see you out of the air co, Axel,” Captain Clark Every said with a grin, shaking the man’s hand.

  The policeman caught Boone’s puzzled expression. “This silly Saban means air conditioning. Too lazy to say all the syllables. It’s a bit hotter over here. We don’t get to live a mile in the air.”

  “Boone, this is Major Axel Jones, the police chief for Sint Eustatius. Axel, this is Boone Fischer.”

  “So you’re the submarine slayer!” Major Jones grabbed Boone’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Very pleased to meet you. Do you know, I was up at the oil terminal that day and we heard the explosion. You must tell me all about it! But first—” he gestured to his police car in front of the shop, sporting the same blue-and-orange stripes as the ones on Saba “—let’s get up to Oranjestad. Clark is right, I do like my air co.”

  As they drove along the waterside road, Boone noted the ruins of old warehouses overgrown with vines. Passing under the fortress he’d seen from aboard the cutter, he asked “What is that fort up there on the outcrop?”

  “That’s Fort Oranje. You’re American, right?”

  Boone looked puzzled for a moment. “Yeah, grew up in Tennessee. My dad was Dutch. American mom. Why do you ask?”

  “Some fun history for you. That fort fired the very first salute to the American flag.”

  “Really?”

  “If it weren’t for Statia, you might still be British. We were a major supplier of arms and gunpowder to the colonies during the American Revolution. And your Benjamin Franklin? He had all his European correspondence routed through here.”

  “So… what Americans did the fort salute?”

  “A rebel brig, the Andrew Doria. She’d been busy capturing British ships in the Atlantic but was ordered here to pick up a load of munitions. She fired a thirteen-gun salute, one for each colony, and the governor ordered an eleven-gun reply.”

  “Why eleven?”

  “International custom was to fire two guns less than the visiting ship, when saluting a sovereign flag.”

  Captain Every got a sly look on his face. “The story I heard was that the governor didn’t recognize the flag and fired the salute just to be on the safe side.”

  “Just like a Saban, to try to steal Statia’s thunder,” the major said, waggling his finger at Captain Every. “You don’t know beef from bull’s foot. Bunch of pirates,” he muttered with good humor.

  “So… Krav Maga… what exactly does that mean?” Emily asked, taking a long pull on the disposable straw in her mango smoothie. Saba Snack had run out of fresh soursop and she’d had to make do with a different delicious fruit. The three women had finished their lunch of quesadillas and were relaxing in the patio area.

  “It’s Hebrew for ‘contact combat.’ The Israeli Defense Force teaches it and Krav has become popular with many militaries around the world.” Sophie stretched her long legs to the side of their table.

  They just go on for days, don’t they? Emily thought. “Go on,” she said aloud.

  “Best way I can sum it up: strike fast, strike hard, strike repeatedly. Whatever works best, that’s what you do.”

  “So… do I get to jump through the air with my leg out, all Bruce Lee?” Emily asked.

  Anika laughed and Sophie smiled. “If it works for you, sure… but unless you are Bruce Lee, I wouldn’t recommend it. Actually, even if you were. You want to stay grounded. And you want to play to your assets.”

  Emily eyed Sophie’s long, sculpted legs. “Speaking of assets, you seem built for kicking.”

  Sophie waved the compliment away. “How tall are you, Emily?”

  “Four-eleven. But after a massage I can fake a five.”

  Sophie laughed. “Well, you’re going to need to make your size your strength. Sometim
es the best tactic is to strike low.

  “What, kick’em in the goolies?”

  “If that means ‘balls’, then yes. Fastest way to end a fight. But I’ll teach you some moves that aren’t so crass. For instance, if I grab you from behind, what would you do?”

  “Besides scream for help?”

  “I know you mean that as a joke, but that is exactly what you would do… it’s what I would do. But besides that?”

  “Stomp on the instep,” Anika suggested. “One of the first things Sophie showed me.”

  “It only takes four and a half pounds to break the tarsal bones in the foot,” Sophie instructed. “The sudden pain is likely to loosen your opponent’s grip and if you can break free and run, they’re not going to be able to keep up with a smashed foot.”

  Emily nodded. “Right-o, very sensible. But can you teach me some cool, flashy stuff too? Nut punches and foot stomps are all well and good, but…”

  “Don’t worry, Emily,” Anika said. “Sophie will show you some great moves. She’s just covering the basics.”

  “Remember, whatever ends the fight fast, that’s what you want to do.” Sophie said. “But yes, I can show you all sorts of cool stuff. Don’t you worry.”

  “So, where do we train?”

  “I use a space over in the school in Saint John’s. It’s Sunday, so we can head over any time you like.”

  “Well, I don’t want to pound my smoothie or I’ll succumb to brain freeze. Let’s chill for a bit, yeah?”

  Anika touched her arm. “Emily, I can take you back to your place after we train, so Sophie won’t have to backtrack. Where are you staying again?”

  “Boone has secured suitable accommodations in the English Quarter,” Emily said, softening her rough South London dialect into a faux-posh accent before dropping it and resuming in her normal voice. “Actually, the view is ace! It’s a little cottage on an outcrop, just on the edge of Windwardside. Has a cute name. Hummingbird Haven. There’s almost always a hummingbird or two out back. One day, there were—”