A decision had to be made, and there was only one person around to make it. I gambled on left of my trajectory, so now I needed to backtrack. If I screwed up again, I’d be completely lost in the middle of the sound without a hope of finding Massey’s buoy line. I aimed the DPV precisely zero degrees, due north, and pressed the throttle, counting 20 seconds off in my head before stopping again. Turning another 90 degrees left, I pointed the compass west and took off again. If I was right and I’d crept off course to the north, my parallel return should get me within visibility of the buoy. If I was wrong, Skylar Briggs would only be able to count to nine.
Relieved didn’t come close to describing the feeling when, after less than 100 metres, I saw something directly ahead on the sea floor. As I approached, I made out the line and could see a buoy bobbing on the surface above. If anyone had been with me, I would have hugged them. But there wasn’t anyone with me and the realisation I now faced whatever this maniac had concocted for a ‘challenge’ hit home.
Letting off the trigger, I glided up to a wire cage held down with a bunch of lead weights inside. The top of the cage was a metal plate forming a small table sitting on the sea floor. A post rose up from the centre, extending a metre above the deck, and the buoy line was tied to an eyelet at the top. I dropped the DPV to the sand and swam over for a closer look. Also attached to the top of the post, aimed down at the tabletop, was a small underwater camera. A wire ran from the camera to the buoy line, wrapping around in a spiral as it made its way to the surface. I noticed a blinking red light on the camera. It was recording. Or more accurately, it was broadcasting via an aerial at the end of the wire on the surface.
It took a lot of self-control, but I resisted flipping off the camera. Then I noticed what was on the tabletop. To one side were instructions clipped in place. Before me was a hexagonal frame about the size of a dinner plate, and to the other side were eleven odd-shaped wooden pieces.
It was a fucking puzzle. I yelled Norwegian obscenities into my regulator and couldn’t stop myself from flipping off the camera.
9
No More Missing Women
Detective Whittaker resisted his first reaction of grinning at the monitor as he watched Nora giving the middle finger to the camera.
“How is he doing that?” Whittaker asked, glancing at his IT personnel under the pop-up tent. “You can’t broadcast a signal from underwater, right?”
“No sir, that’s correct,” one of the officers replied. “Has to be a hard wire connection or an aerial above the water.”
Whittaker looked out of the tent towards the water. “AJ, Reg!” he called, and the two turned from where they were keeping an eye on the North Sound. He beckoned them over to the tent.
“How far could Nora have swum underwater since she went in?” he asked as they walked up.
AJ looked at Reg, who shrugged his shoulders. “You like doing math, not me.”
She turned to Whittaker. “She’s been in the water about 40 minutes or so. She’s a really fast swimmer and has fins, but the scuba gear would slow her down as it’s bulky and not very streamlined.” AJ paused and thought it over. “I’d say 2 mph average would be the absolute best she could do. More realistic would be 1.5 mph over 40 minutes.”
“What does that mean in terms of range?” Whittaker asked, starting the math in his head.
“One mile exactly, sir,” the IT officer replied.
“But that’s assuming she swam at full speed from the moment she left,” AJ added, nodding her admiration to the officer for her rapid math skills. “I doubt she went all out until after she found the instructions and we don’t know where that was exactly.”
“It was farther out than we could see her bubbles on the surface,” Reg said, “and we could see them for a quarter mile at least. I bet she’s less than a mile from us.”
Whittaker turned to the officer. “Bring up a map of the sound and give me a one-mile radius and let’s see what we have. Make sure it’s a nautical map, please.”
He pointed to the monitor where Nora was looking down at what appeared to be a flat, man-made surface with some kind of puzzle laid out. The camera was above, pointing down, and showed part of the table, Nora, and the sandy sea floor immediately around them.
“Is there anything in this view that gives us a clue as to where it might be?” he directed to AJ and Reg.
“Not really,” AJ replied. “We were looking on our mobile and wondering the same thing. It’s relatively shallow, because of the colours showing up.” She stepped closer to the monitor and pointed to a whistle attached to Nora’s inflation hose. “That whistle is orange as you can see, which means she’s in less than 30 feet, otherwise the water would have absorbed that colour spectrum,” she continued, pointing to a button on the inflation hose. “In fact, that button is red, which means she’s shallower than 12 feet otherwise the red spectrum would be lost.”
“Okay, that’s helpful, thank you,” Whittaker said.
“Not really,” AJ replied. “That narrows it down to pretty much anywhere as far as you can see across the North Sound. It’s only the middle and south-east parts that are generally deeper than 12 feet.”
“It still may help us,” Whittaker countered. “He’s able to broadcast, which means he has a connection to the surface in some manner. We’ll start with inlets or marinas within a one-mile radius, with a depth of less than 12 feet. Some are dredged deeper, so we may be able to rule them out. What we’re looking for is a line running into the water from the shore.”
“Here’s a nautical map, sir,” the officer said, and Whittaker, AJ and Reg all huddled around to look. A red line with a 1.0 mile radius circled the dock where they stood.
“That’s a big area,” Reg pointed out. “There’s a few dredged canals that could be the spot.”
“Looks like Governors Creek is too far,” Whittaker thought aloud. “Salt Creek is barely possible, and then we have two small inlets to our north, followed by the canals running through The Shores.”
“From the height of the camera above her, we know it has to be at least six feet deep as she’s kneeling in the sand and the view is several feet above her head, yet still submerged,” AJ noted.
“That rules out everything to our north other than the canals,” the IT officer said. “This end of the sound is really shallow.”
“We know she went straight out from the boat ramp as we watched her bubbles,” Reg added, “so no way she could have made Salt Creek. It must be the canals to the north.”
Whittaker took his handheld VHF off his belt and then paused, staring at the device. “He’s bound to be listening in,” he mumbled and switched to his mobile phone. While he typed out a long message to the sergeant in charge of coordinating the police patrols, AJ continued studying the map. When Whittaker finished, she pointed to the map again.
“Could the broadcast be sent from a wireless signal rather than a hard line?”
“Yes,” Whittaker replied, “we believe so.”
“We shouldn’t rule out the area directly east of us,” she said, tapping a finger on the open water of the sound. “I know the chart shows 3 to 6 foot, but there are pockets of slightly deeper sections in the sandy areas.”
“We can’t fly anything over and he’s watching the single boat we have keeping traffic away,” Whittaker replied, “but I’ve instructed one of my guys to get up as high as he can somewhere close by and search the sound with field glasses for anything floating that could contain an aerial.”
“That’ll be tough to spot at this distance,” Reg pointed out. “Even three storeys up is still a relatively flat view.”
Whittaker nodded. “Agreed, but worth the effort. I have all available constables on their way to walk the canals to the north, looking for any kind of electrical line running into the water.”
“What about going in the water for a look around?” AJ asked. “I might be able to find whatever was left for instructions.”
Whittaker nodded towar
ds the camera on the roof of Calypso’s. “He’ll see from here and who knows where else he has cameras. It would be risky.”
They all thought for a moment while they watched Nora on the monitor, alone in the water.
“Dolphin Cove!” AJ blurted. “Have someone official call over there to get permission and I’ll go in through their pens. I could be back to the channel here in no time.”
“That might work,” Whittaker replied thoughtfully, looking south along the coastline towards the buildings and outdoor pools, where tourists could swim with dolphins. “Do you have more gear? I think you should leave your kit you already have on the boat ramp. If he sees you taking that he’ll get suspicious.”
“Yeah, I’ve got rental gear for customers in my van,” AJ said, “and plenty of tanks. But call over and tell them I’m on police business or they won’t let me in.”
Whittaker looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“I’m against keeping the dolphins cooped up in small pens for human entertainment,” she said, rolling her eyes, “and I’ve been a bit outspoken about it, so they know who I am. When they see my van roll up, they’ll probably be calling the police station to have me removed.”
“Okay, I’ll call them,” Whittaker nodded, with a slight grin.
“This’ll go down like a fart in a spacesuit when I show up on official police business,” AJ laughed. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”
Whittaker shook his head. “I’ll prepare them as best I can. And you’ll have to return to the Dolphin Cove centre as well, you can’t exit the water here.”
“No problem,” she said, and started to leave.
“AJ, how long can Nora stay under on one tank?”
“At this depth, literally hours,” she replied. “Nora’s part fish anyway, she’s really good on air consumption, so the only thing that would have caused her to use more is a long, hard swim. Even then I’d guess she could stay down for well over an hour.”
Whittaker glanced at his watch. It was 12:48pm. Their blind hunt could go on for a while, and he considered whether they could expect her to return to the boat ramp, or be sent somewhere else. The instructions she received in the water could be crucial.
“Okay, be as quick as you can, AJ,” he said, “and for goodness’ sake, don’t you go missing too. I’ve got all the lost young ladies I can handle.”
AJ smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
10
See No Evil
I calmed myself as best I could and stared at the puzzle pieces. There were too many to picture them in an organised form and I knew he’d rotated each one in the wrong direction and scattered the order. I looked at the laminated sheet and began reading the instructions.
This is a Hexagon Tangram Puzzle.
Fit the eleven pieces into the frame to complete the puzzle.
Start when the green light turns on.
Take all the time you need to solve the puzzle abiding by these two rules:
1) Do not surface or make signals to the camera, except a thumbs-up when you’re ready to begin.
2) Take your regulator out when the green light comes on and do not put it back in your mouth until it’s solved.
Turn this card over when done with the challenge.
I’d already broken rule one. Hopefully, he was more concerned with signals giving away my position and less bothered by my insult. It was unlikely Whittaker would have figured out a sea scooter was used, so I couldn’t imagine their search area would extend as far offshore as I was sitting. I checked my dive computer. I still had half of the 3,000 psi of compressed air I’d started with remaining. With no idea what was coming next, I still needed to conserve air, although unless I could solve the stupid puzzle on a single breath hold, it wouldn’t matter much.
I stared at each of the puzzle pieces in turn, memorising their shape while taking long, slow inhalations. I would need my lungs fully oxygenated with all the spent carbon dioxide which lingers when we breathe normally expelled. My freediving experience would be key, and reminded me once again that Massey had undoubtedly chosen me for his show.
The average person can hold their breath in a calm environment at the surface for up to a minute. A Navy SEAL must be able to hold their breath for over two minutes. The world record for a single breath hold is almost 25 minutes, which would render almost anybody else dead. A freediver holds the record. I was only six feet underwater, but even at that shallow depth, the surrounding water pressure made it more difficult. I couldn’t hold my breath anywhere close to 25 minutes, but I was better than average.
Trying not to think too much about the time aspect, I focused on my breathing exercises and learning the puzzle pieces. But I could only manage one pass around each shape before my mind would drift again. I wondered how many people were now watching through Massey’s annoying camera, and then I’d return to concerns over how long I could hold my breath. I was routinely freediving for two to three minutes on the reef at 30 feet, swimming and expending energy the whole time. In theory, my mind would be the only thing taxed for the puzzle while my limbs would simply be moving pieces around. It was possible I could extend my time to 4 or 5 minutes.
My anxiety built as I faced the challenge, completely at odds with my breathing preparation, and I forced my focus back to my lungs. This had to be super boring if it was indeed broadcasting live across the Internet feed. I was sitting in the sand staring at the table, taking long breaths through my regulator. Riveting stuff. I hoped it was shitty entertainment and people were switching to videos of cats or porn sites. I realised I wasn’t making any progress on my breathing – my stupid mind was too scattered – but I had visualised all the wooden blocks. There didn’t seem much point delaying any longer, and before I could second guess myself again, I looked up and gave the camera a thumbs-up.
A bright green light I hadn’t noticed before at the base of the pole lit up, and my heart skipped a few beats. I closed my eyes and took a few final breaths through the regulator before letting it slip from my lips and dangle on its hose by my side.
Two of the pieces had an edge that appeared to be the exact length of one side of the hexagon, so I picked them first. The wooden pieces were surprisingly difficult to pull from the table and I realised they were magnetic. I flipped the first one over in my hand and saw a circular magnet imbedded in the underside. That made sense; wood floats. I placed the first piece along the top side of the frame and it matched the length perfectly. A good start, now ten to go. I put the second one aside.
Another piece was a hexagon, a smaller version of the frame itself, but its angles naturally matched. I recalled from geometry class in school that the corners were known as vertices, and I placed the piece in the next vertex around. This left a gap between the hexagonal piece and the full-side block I’d first placed. There were four identical pieces in the shape of a trapezoid, and the long edge of those matched the gap. Isosceles trapezoid, I recalled, was the correct term, as they were symmetrical. I now had three outer blocks placed, and my confidence was building. Maybe I like puzzles after all, and hadn’t known it until now.
Another trapezoid piece nestled against the hexagon and begged for the second of the long blocks. I now had four odd shapes and two trapezoids left. Each of the odd shapes had at least one side that was two-thirds the length of a hexagon section. None of them seemed to fit, so I threw another trapezoid in next. Now I tried all the odd blocks until one appeared to complete the outside of the puzzle. I only had four pieces to place, and I stole a quick look at my dive computer. Which told me nothing, as I’d forgotten to check it when I’d taken my reg out. Shit. Well, it didn’t matter because I was kicking the puzzle’s arse.
I had one more trapezoid block and three odd-shaped ones. The space they needed to fill was also irregular, with an assortment of zigs and zags. Surely it would be obvious where the shapes went? One of them had a vee cut-out which matched the first piece I’d placed perfectly, so now I had three to
go. An elbow-shaped piece nestled perfectly and left me with two pieces still to fit. But the remaining two pieces didn’t match the open space that was left. All of a sudden, nothing fitted and I feared my perfect outer grouping must be wrong. My lungs began to burn, and I wondered how long it had been. Two minutes? Four minutes? I had no idea, but I knew I needed to figure this out in a hurry. I felt a nagging pang of encroaching panic, which I knew would be the death of me. Well, I could put the regulator back in my mouth, so I guess it wouldn’t be my death. But it would certainly be the demise of Skylar’s pinkie. Or whatever finger was sentenced to be chopped. The pinkie seemed the obvious choice for ease of access.
None of these thoughts were helping me solve the stupid puzzle, and I pulled my mind back into focus. I took the last two pieces back out and studied the remaining blocks again. The trapezoid fitted there, but it too left a weird shape the remaining pieces wouldn’t fit. As my tension grew, so did the aching in my lungs for a fresh breath of air. I was in deep shit if I didn’t figure this out, and the panic lurked, ready to pounce at any moment. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind, relaxing my whole body.
When I slowly opened my eyes again, I was sure the outer pieces were either correct, or all wrong. There were two odd shapes with vee cuts and I had started the inside blocks with one of them. I chose the second one and nestled it around the final outer block I’d placed. It fitted and filled the area across to the small hexagon. Maybe it was right. But now I had two vees in the remaining area and only one odd block with a V-shaped cut-out. It didn’t look right after all. I could chase my tail around this stupid puzzle in a perpetual state of three pieces left over.
My throat was tightening; my thoughts were beginning to get hazy and it was difficult to maintain clarity. My body, and especially my brain, was begging for oxygen. It didn’t matter how long I’d been holding my breath. Maybe it was a personal best, maybe I’d done a shitty job of it. Either way, I only had a short time before I needed to breathe. At that point, if the regulator wasn’t back in my mouth, my body would trigger the breathing reflex and attempt to gulp air, whether it was available or not. I would drown with a half-full tank of air strapped to my back and the surface six feet above me. Williams would have a field day over my stupidity.
Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One Page 6
