***
Abel kept his trawler on a steady course away from Playa de Palma but not too far in front of Monti’s ship. This would be a delicate act, and eventually, if things didn’t work out right, he’d be a goner if he played things too close. Yet he had to keep the bigger boat going for a while longer so that its motor would get good and hot.
Suddenly, he heard that telltale buzz he’d heard the day before and saw the ocean churn like a swarm of piranhas was chasing him.
Shit, he thought. Another freaking Gatling gun!
The range a thing like that had was way more than an AK, and it could sink him with just one direct hit. He gave his boat all the gas he could, and the trawler tried hard to respond. He also began to steer the ship in a zigzag pattern to throw off the aim of the gunner. Another buzz and more water churned up, this time in a line perpendicular to his boat that would have cut it in half just seconds before. His boat was making better speed now, but so was the big trawler. Any second now, the somewhat erratic gunner on the big trawler might figure out his range, and that would be the end of everything. Another buzz! Another train of churned water heading on a perpendicular line toward his boat. He turned the wheel hard to the left, to avoid the sweep, and then—
Boom!
And then another boom!
Abel turned in time to see the final explosion, a gargantuan blast that shot a ball of flame into the air and sent pieces of the big trawler flying everywhere and showering down for hundreds of yards around it. What was left of the boat quickly disappeared underwater. Abel was glad he didn’t have any binoculars. He’d have been tempted to go to someone’s rescue, he was sure. Instead, he watched for another moment, then spun his wheel around and headed his trawler north past Playa de Palma, a place that, he realized now, he’d come to both loathe and love, and was the home of the only person he knew who would still be his friend.
Epilogue
—
Two Weeks Later
Abel sat inconspicuously at one of the outdoor dining tables on a patio outside the Rio Palma Grill, the restaurant and bar across the bridge from the inn. It was six a.m., and he had a standing date with his good friend there every weekday morning. It was a tradition the two had agreed upon two weeks before, right after the Day of Death, as it had become aptly known.
Carissa, the head waitress of the morning crew, fiddled with the grill’s front door lock and officially opened it for business.
“Hola, Señor Forrest!” she called to him. She wore the same bright, cheery smile every morning, no matter what. It was something Abel found charming and also something that elicited fond memories of Rimi as well. Rimi had never seemed to be without a smile. “You may come in. I have your regular booth all ready for you and the señora.”
“Thanks, Carissa,” said Abel as he walked in. “You’re a total peach.”
Carissa blushed a little as she walked him to his booth and left two menus. Abel opened one up and studied it. The grill had some great breakfast dishes, typical of Costa Rica, Mexico, and the US, and Abel always checked them out before putting the thing down and just getting one of his three regulars, diced ham and scrambled eggs with hash browns, Belgian waffles, or a full stack of pancakes with sausage on the side.
He heard Carissa call out, “Hola, señora! He’s already at the booth.” He looked up to see Faviola limping in with her walking cast, looking incongruous with her freshly pressed navy-blue skirt and immaculate white blouse, which was, as usual, unbuttoned very low.
“What are you looking at?” said Faviola in a joking way as she approached.
“What I’m always looking at when I’m looking at you.” Abel chuckled.
“Pervert,” she huffed, then smiled as she sat down. “So, my dear friend, how goes your project on the island?”
“Almost done,” said Abel. “All the bodies have been found and removed. They’ll work on identifying them up at Jacó. The vets and zoological types finally packed up yesterday. They figure they’ve found all the dead animals and will start repopulating next week. Cleanup crews are still working, though.”
Carissa came to take their orders. “Gallo pinto with a fried egg over easy and fried plantains, please, and some water with ice,” she said to Carissa.
“And my regular number one with coffee, and ice water, too,” chimed in Abel.
“Ah, the diced ham and eggs. They will be coming right up,” Carissa said and left.
“So, how are you finding your accommodations, Señor Forrest?” asked Faviola, as she did nearly every day.
“Same as always. With the high season almost over, most of the time I feel like I’ve got the beach all to myself,” replied Abel.
“Do you know yet if they’re going to let you stay?”
“No, but I’m thinking they will. What took place here, and what was going to take place here, really has got everyone shook up. They’re taking a look at a lot of islands up and down the coast. Assuming they let me stay, I’ll probably be patrolling a bunch of them in the area besides ours,” speculated Abel. “How’s business?”
“Winding down, but this morning I may have to leave at any minute. There is a tour group checking out that has to catch the seven o’clock bus to San José, and they are all on separate accounts.”
They both sat silent for a moment, and then Faviola asked another question she always asked. “Have you been over to—”
“No,” replied Abel. “Not yet. There’s no clean up to do over there, and—”
“I know,” said Faviola. “Do you really think there’s a chance—”
“If there is, I’ll be the first to know,” said Abel, nodding to the crystal bracelet he still wore. The center clear crystal was still dark.
Suddenly, Faviola’s phone dinged, a text message.
“I was afraid of this. I must go.”
She arose, and Abel did as well. They gave each other a warm embrace.
“Have a good day,” said Faviola. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Elaine from the All-American soda says that Ron would like to see you in the hospital in Parrita if it’s okay with you. She says that she thinks he feels estúpido and wants to apologize. Check it out with her sometime. Now, I must go.” She turned and walked to the door, calling out, “Carissa, have mine made to go, and send it to me at the office!”
Abel sat back down. That was good to hear about Ron. He was the sole survivor of the exploding cartel boat, though horribly injured and burned. Abel wondered what the guy might be thinking these days. He was glad he’d get a chance to find out.
Carissa came with his diced ham and scrambled eggs, along with his water and coffee. Abel reached for his napkin to lay across his lap when he stopped and dropped it instead.
He stared at his wrist, blinked, then stared again. He shook his wrist, then stared again. There was no question. It wasn’t an illusion or the way the now-rising sun was coming through the windows.
The clear crystal on his bracelet was glowing, pulsing, and pointing straight out of the grill’s seaside windows at the island—La Catedral Verde, the Green Cathedral!
“Carissa,” he called and caught her eye. “I’m going to need this to go, too. Oh, and can you do up a nice big Belgian waffle with strawberries and syrup, too?”
***
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The Green Cathedral Page 32