Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

by Nicholas Harvey

  “Okay,” she replied, with only slightly more confidence. “Take a step now.”

  “Am I facing the right way?”

  “Yes, take a step already.”

  Maybe she’d taken a look at the timer as her voice held more urgency. I took the step.

  “Two more steps.”

  I did as instructed.

  “Now slight right and half a step.”

  I followed along and held a small hope she might get the hang of this.

  “Hard left and take one step, then hard left again.”

  I moved with growing confidence.

  “Shit.”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You were doing good.”

  “The stupid camera switched. You’re coming towards me again. Well, you’re actually sideways to me so it’s really confusing and harder to see.”

  “Okay, is there anything in front of me?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell from this angle. You’ve got to go past a railing and then turn… um, turn to your right to come to the wall.”

  “I’ll start walking straight ahead and warn me if I’m going to hit a railing.”

  I took a tentative step and waved my hand in an arc ahead of me. I brushed something and a quick shock made my finger feel like it had exploded.

  “Faen!” I groaned. “It’s okay, I know where it is now, I need to stay left a bit.”

  I took another small step, veering slightly away from the railing, and when I wasn’t zapped again, I took one more step.

  “Stop there,” Skyler said. “Take a hard right.”

  I rotated 90 degrees and paused. “That look okay?”

  “That’s good. Should be two or three steps and you’ll feel the wall.”

  After two long paces, my outstretched hand touched the wall, and I made a quick sweep at the same height I’d found the other hook. My hand smacked the hook on the return pass and I pulled the two rings free.

  “Okay, what now?” I asked.

  “You have to go back to the middle of the room,” Skylar explained. “So back track the way you came… no wait, there’s a faster way. Turn all the way around.”

  I pivoted 180.

  “Take three steps.”

  I did so and stopped.

  “Remember the next part, as you may have to retrace from here, okay?”

  Maybe she wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought. She was thinking ahead now.

  “Two more steps forward, then hard left.”

  I did as instructed, picturing my movements on a chessboard.

  “One good step, another left, then step again.”

  Once I’d followed those directions, she told me to turn hard left and informed me I was now facing the target.

  “Oh,” Skylar blurted. “The camera switched again, I’m looking straight at you. I think this camera is right above the target.”

  “What is the target?” I asked.

  “It’s a stick on the wall, you have to land the rings on the stick, I think.”

  I pointed ahead of me. “Am I pointing at the target?”

  “No, you’re left and high,” she answered, so I adjusted.

  “Shit, sorry,” she said, “I’m backwards again. The height is good, but aim more to your left.”

  I moved my finger with my arm extended straight, slowly to my left.

  “Stop there, down just a little more.”

  I did so.

  “Perfect, you’re pointing directly at the target.”

  “Okay, I’ll try throwing one and you need to tell me which way I miss, and then watch for where the ring lands on the floor so we can get it back.”

  “I will,” she replied. “Hurry, we only have a minute left.”

  I tried to visualise the target where I was pointing, then slowly drew my right arm back and took a ring from my left hand. I realised I had a rough direction but no idea how far away the target was.

  “What’s the distance?”

  “Huh?” Skylar replied.

  “How far away from the target am I?” I asked, trying to keep my head still with my blindfolded eyes focused on an imaginary point I had to hit.

  “Oh, shit,” she mumbled. “I don’t know, like eight or ten steps I guess.”

  I knew I was wasting time asking for more detail. It was time to throw a ring and hope for the best. Maybe she’d be able to guide me from there. I threw the first ring in what I hoped was a smooth arc and heard a muffled clatter as it bounced off the wall and hit the concrete floor. The helmet robbed most of the sound in the room so I couldn’t tell what direction the noise came except that it was in front of me.

  “That was way high and slightly right,” Skylar said. “Shit, no. Your left. Sorry. It almost hit the ceiling and was a few feet to the left.”

  I rotated my feet and lowered my head a little to adjust the height. Or maybe I needed the throw it the same way with less force. I needed another data point to gauge the scale of my adjustments. I lifted my head back to where I hoped it had been, and sent the next ring sailing across the room.

  “You hit it!” Skylar yelled, but I heard the ring hit the floor.

  “What do I need to do differently?” I asked quickly.

  “Oh, uhh…” she hesitated. “It landed on top of the post thing which is sticking out of the wall, so a bit lower.”

  I kept reminding myself to keep my feet and head still so I had my base position consistent, but I could feel my body swaying slightly as it does when you close your eyes and try to remain stationary. Taking the third ring, I made two practice movements, then let it go and listened carefully. I heard rattling, but nothing more.

  “You got it!” she screamed. “It’s on the post!”

  I tried to shut out her excitement and breathe softly, staying focused on my point in space in the darkness before my eyes. I threw the fourth ring and this time there was more rattling and clinking, but still no sound afterward.

  “You did it again!” Skylar squealed. “Hurry, hurry, you have to get the other two.”

  Shit, now I had to leave my perfectly calibrated position to retrieve the other rings with very little time left. Standing there wasn’t going to get it done, so I began my steps of retracing my movements around the railing I stood behind.

  “Okay, where are they?” I asked.

  “Turn hard left and take two steps,” Skylar hurriedly instructed, and I turned and boldly stepped.

  “Reach down to your right, it’s a few feet in front of you on that side.”

  Sweeping my hand around the floor, I knocked the ring once, then quickly gathered it up. I realised in doing so I’d turned my body and was no longer sure exactly which direction I was facing. I stood up.

  “Where now?”

  “Um, um, turn hard left and take one step,” she said.

  I did so, moving quickly.

  “Stop!”

  I came to an immediate halt and tried not to lean forward.

  “Okay, careful. You’re right next to a railing and they angle towards the target,” Skylar explained, breathlessly, “Turn right.”

  I rotated what I hoped was 45 degrees.

  “Okay, now take a step.”

  I took the step but was more tentative, knowing I was very close to being shocked.

  “You need to get down on your hands and knees and reach out to your left, it’s the other side of the railing.”

  I dropped to the floor, which was cool to the touch. I turned a little to the left to allow my arm to sweep farther and reached out, making another arc across the concrete. My fingertips knocked the ring away. I edged my knees forward and stretched out. My shoulder bumped something hard and instantly my body spasmed violently as the electrical charge shot through me. I dropped to the floor and lay there, shaking and rolling my furry tongue around my mouth. I clutched the ring in my fingers.

  Shuffling backwards until I hoped I was clear of the railing, I lifted my head. If I didn’t move quickly, it wouldn’t ma
tter if I banged my head or got electrocuted again. The clock would expire. I stood.

  “Guide me back, let’s go.”

  “We have 18 seconds. Shit,” Skylar yelped, on the edge of panic.

  “Guide me, damn it!”

  “Turn, turn to your left,” she began, and I rotated. “Step, take two and one small one, now stop!”

  My legs still quivered and tingled from the shock and weren’t keen on doing anything, but they reluctantly followed my urging.

  “Turn hard right and take two more steps,” she continued. “Oh shit, we’re running out of time!”

  I guessed I was back on the target side of the railing that I was supposed to shoot behind. There was no time to walk around. I dived to the floor and crawled under the railing – or where I hoped the railing was – and stood up. I turned 180 degrees and pointed ahead of me.

  “Guide my finger again!”

  “Oh, lower, lower. Now right… Shit! Your left. More. There, that’s it!”

  I took the first ring, made two practice swings, hoping my muscles had built enough memory to repeat my last two throws. Being shocked in between couldn’t have helped. I hoped the shock hadn’t rebooted my brain and erased all memory. I flung the ring and heard it rattle. When no sound followed, I immediately launched the final ring with the same effort, and held my breath. From the isolation of the helmet the clink and clank of the metal rings was softened, but I didn’t hear a following thump on the concrete floor. After that, everything was drowned out by Skylar screaming in my ears.

  “We did it, we did it!”

  “Seriously?” I asked, amazed I could have got that lucky.

  “With four seconds left,” she enthused. “The last one swung all over the place but stayed on the target.”

  “Cool,” I replied, slightly bewildered. I hoped my mum and dad saw that part.

  “You better do something worthwhile with your fingers after all this shit,” I said, wondering if Skylar had ever contributed anything worthwhile to the planet to date.

  “We’ll see after two more challenges,” Massey said, his flat tone echoing in my ears, reminding me I was only halfway through this hell.

  17

  Assumptions

  Whittaker looked over at the two IT techs who were standing up, cheering. He allowed himself a brief smile.

  “This will make us all old before our time.”

  He took a deep breath and once again studied the room in which Nora had completed the task. It was well lit, and approximately 20 feet square. The walls were concrete block brightly painted pale blue with broad red circles around the ring hooks and the target, where the four metal rings hung. The camera view had switched as Nora had moved around and no single view had shown the complete space, but Whittaker was able to piece together the details. Metal railings fabricated from heavy drainage pipe were strategically placed throughout the room. The whole set had clearly taken some time to assemble and decorate.

  “Okay, back to it,” Whittaker said, and stood behind one of his constables at the table. She had a satellite map of the island on her screen. Casey from the Department of Environment had arrived while Nora was completing the challenge, and stood next to the detective.

  “Where are the buildings in Barkers, Casey?” Whittaker asked. “Any structure at all that’s at least the size we just saw.”

  “There aren’t many, Roy,” she said, studying the map and thinking. “Zoom into the west side for me, please.”

  She pointed to a small red-roofed building tucked away at the end of a narrow gravel trail, away from anything else.

  “That’s storage,” she explained. “And it’s big enough. But it’s stuffed full of equipment and junk. I don’t think this guy could have relied on no one showing up there in the time it took him to construct all we saw.”

  Whittaker let her think it over some more. He scoured the map himself, looking for the tell-tale signs of any kind of man-made object amongst the woods, mangroves, marl roadways, and narrow waterways.

  “I do remember an old building on the south side somewhere,” Casey said, pointing to the coastline fronting the sound. “I think it was a storage facility and pump house years ago. It may have even been torn down by now. I only know about it as there are some trails to line fishing spots on the sound. Every once in a while, we do spot checks to make sure no one’s using nets or traps. Been a year or more since I went by there though.”

  “Where exactly is this building?” Whittaker asked. “I don’t see a roof anywhere.”

  “The mangroves along the shore turn into thick woods,” she replied. “I bet the roof’s covered.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Or like I said, it might be gone by now.”

  “Did it have any windows?” Whittaker asked.

  “I’ve no idea, Roy, I only walked by it a few times and it’s buried in undergrowth and branches. Let me call someone whose been with the DOE longer than me, they might remember.” Casey stepped from the tent to make the call, and Whittaker dialled a number himself.

  “Sergeant, are the Firearms Response Unit ready?”

  “Yes sir,” came a Caymanian man’s voice. “We have three vehicles and six men per vehicle, plus the drivers, sir.”

  “Okay, move them into Barkers,” Whittaker ordered. “Assemble by the sea pond and await further orders. I’m getting a location now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, and they ended the call.

  Casey walked back under the tent and pointed to the satellite image on the constable’s screen. “It’s still there apparently, but it’s not been used for anything in years. It flooded so badly in Hurricane Ivan they decided it wasn’t worth storing anything in there anymore.”

  She leaned in closer. “He said it’s around the area between the shore and the south road. The trail is probably overgrown, but you should be able to find it.”

  “The cover might be good, seeing as this guy likes putting cameras all over the place,” Whittaker commented thoughtfully. “Hopefully he won’t see the lads coming. I’m sure that’s where he is. I’d just like to hear from AJ first. She’s diving in the sound and if Nora left us another set of direction markers, that’ll be good enough for us to go in.”

  Whittaker walked to the other end of the table and spread out the nautical map he’d marked.

  “That puts the building farther west of where we initially estimated, but that was from a basic north direction,” he said, showing Casey his lines on the map. “You think the building is left of my mark, correct?”

  “Best I can figure from what my co-worker said, yes,” Casey replied.

  Beth walked under the tent and joined them. “Any progress, detective?” she asked politely.

  Whittaker was glad she hadn’t brought her partner along with her and returned a pleasant smile. “We have a possible location. Hoping for confirmation soon.”

  Beth nodded. “That’s good. I see what you mean about Donovan Briggs, detective. He’s hardly cooperative considering his daughter is being held hostage.”

  “He swears he doesn’t know Massey,” Whittaker pointed out, “and I’m confident he knows something about him, even if he’s never met the man.”

  “We’re running more thorough background checks on Mr Briggs and his company, as well as his daughter,” Beth said, “He’s very well connected politically in Florida, so if there’s anything shady, he’ll have it buried I’m sure. But we’ll see what our analysts come up with.”

  “Will that be a problem?” Whittaker asked, eyeing the agent with concern. “His political connections.”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned,” Beth replied.

  Whittaker nodded. “Good. Let’s hope your office feels the same way.”

  “We also have a team heading to Massey’s house in St Petersburg,” Beth continued. “I’ll let you know if they find anything useful.”

  The detective paused and thought for a moment. “From our immigration records, we know he’s been here on Cayman for three w
eeks,” he said and looked up at the monitor where the Internet feed was back to a static shot of Skylar Briggs tied to the chair. “Jensen Massey put a lot of planning and thought into this. My guess is you’ll find a very neat and tidy house of a man who didn’t expect to return.”

  Beth considered the island policeman’s words carefully before responding. “I’m sorry for my partner’s lack of tact earlier, detective. He can be abrasive sometimes.”

  Whittaker shrugged his shoulders as he scanned his mobile, searching through the myriad of text messages for anything that might be of use amongst the well wishes and questions from family and friends. “I really don’t care about tact, Miss Ricci. What I care about is putting an end to this debacle on our island.” He looked up and managed a smile. “I’m very open to constructive help and suggestions, but second guessing and criticism is a waste of time. None of us can change what has already been done. We can only affect what happens next. And right now, I’m hoping what happens next is we catch this guy in the building he’s using at Barkers.”

  Beth nodded. “Do you have an armed team, detective?”

  “We do,” he replied. “They’re well trained, but I’d be lying if I said they were experienced in this sort of thing. We don’t take many buildings by force on the Cayman Islands. Our Marine Unit has dealt with a few drug-smuggling boats over the years, but mainly our police work involves knocking on the front door.”

  “There’s always a risk he’ll kill the hostage,” Beth said carefully. “I don’t mean that as a criticism, detective, just a point of fact.”

  Casey stood back, listening intently to the exchange, stunned along with most people on the island that anything like this was happening in front of their eyes. And she had a front-row seat to the inner workings and decisions from one side of the confrontation.

  “Two hostages,” Whittaker corrected. “I believe Nora is in that building too.”

  “Which suggests he may be in the location where he plans to stay for the final two challenges,” Beth commented.

  “Perhaps,” Whittaker replied. “Let me ask you this, Agent Ricci. What do you think Massey’s main objective is?”