Against all odds, the men had done their jobs. Hissing flares popped and glowed. White-hot phosphorus dropped to the sea like a spilt basket of hungry snakes. Kaahin’s hands squeezed the rope net as the ocean caught fire and encircled the ship.
The fish began to sway, building the necessary momentum to escape the heat. Each motion made the boat whine a little louder as Kaahin saw his last chance begin to fade away. Nobody would ever have this opportunity again.
So he unsheathed his machete, thought for a moment of his children and country and how none would ever know what happened to him. But he was beyond that.
A quick prayer passed through his mind and then he let go of the net and rode the deck straight toward those bony jaws.
Kaahin slashed at the creature and the blade bounced off its mouth like he was hacking stone. He slammed the machete down again and again, determined to break through. Desperate to see just a smidge of blood.
Just to know it could die.
The fish continued to flop around in an effort to dislodge itself from the Frozen Cocktail’s stern. The idea of escape made Kaahin swing harder. The blade snapped but at last a thin trickle of blood dribbled from a tiny gash.
The pirate lifted the jagged blade and stuffed it straight down through the wound, pushing it further in, embedding it there. More blood bubbled up around the sunken blade as the creature’s eye glowed with something approaching fury.
Pain, Kaahin knew. It has not felt such for a very long time.
He was waist deep in water now, fumbling to get the pistol from his submerged holster. He did and the shot went off, sinking straight into the gash. The next shot drilled away a bit of its fossil flesh right beneath the eye.
That did not deter the demon from glaring. It managed to snap free and at last embrace the ocean. Just as the fire caught up to it and surrounded the ship in a perfect ring of roaring flames. A sizzling trail climbed across the creature’s back.
The demon slipped immediately beneath the waves, leaving a darker splotch of blood resting atop the fiery ocean.
The pirate dropped his shoulders beneath the rising water and began to swim. The American still clung to the bow alongside one of Kaahin’s men. The American didn’t give it a second thought. He shot Kaahin’s man through the eye, splattering his brains into the Indian Ocean.
Then he dropped into deeper water and drew down on Kaahin. “You never had a chance, pal,” he shouted.
Kaahin stared up at the barrel. He would never beg for his life. Hard to think it could end this way, but many through history went to their graves struggling to believe the same.
“I know the girl gave you those journal pages before you killed her. I want them.”
“You will never find that treasure,” Kaahin snarled. No westerner must ever find it.
“Just take us in. Land ho, asshole.”
Kaahin watched the gun. Best not to tempt fate. “There are more dangers than just that fish,” he said.
The American thought about that. Looked around. The wall of fire continued to burn, though was already dying. They couldn’t face that creature again. Maybe Kaahin had managed to injure it, but they’d lost everything to do that. And they hadn’t killed it.
“I don’t care about those,” the American said finally.
There was no other option, so Kaahin dove beneath the waves and paddled hard to escape.
Thirty
As the helicopter glided over the yacht’s bow, two rappel ropes appeared, dancing in the sky. Two hulking bodies appeared on the chopper’s landing skid and surveyed the scene as a searchlight swept the deck. Then they slid down, boarding.
Armored soldiers who knew just where to go.
“Do not resist,” said the booming voice from overhead.
The troopers began their ascent up the helm ladder. Carly leaned over the ledge and sighted one. Sara yanked her by the elbow, jerking her back inside the shelter.
“They’ll kill you, Carly!”
Next came shouting Sara couldn’t understand. Equipment boxes glided down the same rappel lines. They fell like blocks of cement and the helicopter swerved as a wall of water broke across the ship. The boxes skidded around in the flood, spreading out across the wide-open deck.
The first of the two men had goggled eyes that glowed military green. He appeared outside the helm and drew down on Carly with an automatic weapon that would cut her to pieces if she did anything other than disarm. He passed through the entrance wearing so much armor he barely fit inside.
“Throw it down, Carly,” Sara told her. “Now.”
Before the blonde had a chance to react, Glowing Green Eyes snatched the shotgun, barrel-first. He tossed it behind him and pointed the submachine gun at her heart.
The second man entered and sighted Sara with an equally eager weapon. The voice behind his facemask was muffled, asking, “The ship clear?”
Sara nodded fast and the trooper lifted the night goggles away from his helmet and pulled the facemask off his head.
“Nice to see you again, Sara.”
Guillaume. The man standing directly over his shoulder was Jean-Philippe.
The helicopter lights swerved again to avoid a second breaking wave. It glided away from the deck, dipping toward the ocean where it began to flounder, tipping erratically as it reached back toward the sky but stayed in place, as if frozen there.
A long, dangling appendage was suddenly attached to the landing skin, preventing ascension.
Jean-Philippe rushed to the glass, shouting something in French Sara couldn’t understand. Everyone stood paralyzed as they watched the helicopter gyrate over angry water, ever inching toward riled waves and then falling on top of them. The rotors snapped and broke apart, turning into projectiles that skipped through the night, one of them slicing through the yacht like a cannonball.
Jean-Philippe rushed for the ladder through the chaos, reached it and glided down. He sprinted across the bow and fired a flare just over the spot where the helicopter had gone down.
A twisted mass of metal floated there, ebbing against the hull as storm waves tried to swallow it.
“God,” Carly cried, her words on the cusp of breaking.
Sara didn’t see it at first. The helicopter’s fuselage was dented and damaged, but as the flare light shifted and fizzled, she noticed part of its undercarriage was shredded.
Then she saw why. Eager teeth rising from below, chopping the metal away, cleaving through the wreckage to reach the flailing pilot trapped inside the sinking coffin. His hands slamming against cracked glass just before the flare light died out entirely.
The pilot’s scream was louder than the lashing rain and whipping wind. And then the helicopter was gone, en route to a soggy grave.
Thirty-One
Kaahin flailed beneath the water as the Frozen Cocktail went to its final resting place. He swam until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, his chest beginning to ache.
He surfaced slowly and did a 360, confirming he’d lost the American in the chaos. Had lost everything in the chaos. The darkness was impenetrable. The shoreline, nowhere. He knew in his heart whichever way he ventured would be wrong. The fates had decided he was a dead man, his spirit just another in a long line that would give power to the Death’s Head.
Each time Kaahin’s legs knifed through the water, he imagined the demon gliding up to take a bite of him. He was embarrassed by the panic that pushed him to paddle blind, as fast as his spent body would allow.
He splashed around like a child in a bathtub, squinting through the dwindling storm to find his bearings. Just a light on the horizon, a hint of the shoreline somewhere distant would be enough.
“I could kill you, pal.” That voice was behind him. He turned to see a lifeboat bobbing behind him, far enough away but gaining fast. “But I have a feeling I’m going to need you.”
Kaahin hated to admit it, but he was never happier to see anyone, least of all an American. He tried to keep his composure but the charad
e was short-lived. He laughed at the sight.
The American helped him climb aboard and motioned for Kaahin to sit opposite him. He did as he was told, so grateful to have been temporarily rescued that he very nearly said “Thank you.”
Very nearly.
Thirty-Two
A tale of two Guillaumes.
There was the man by the pool, intense and passionate eyes that sliced through the game, saying what he wanted without having to speak it aloud. Guillaume claimed to prefer the company of men, though the way he’d looked at Sara, his needs were maybe a bit more fluid. She got that. Variety was the spice of life or however the hell the saying went.
Something about him had excited Sara. She always thought her own sexuality might’ve been somewhere on a sliding scale, and wondered if more people weren’t really born with similar proclivities. She hadn’t given it a ton of thought, though she was surprised sometimes where her mind wandered when she indulged her most private instincts.
That was the Guillaume she’d gone to dinner with. Had relaxed her at a time when she needed to relax. He’d provided an emotional Band Aid at the precise moment she needed one.
But it’d been a ruse.
Because there was also the man who’d knocked on her door later that night. The man whose eyes were equally intense and much colder. A smile devoid of what she had assumed was natural charm. A smile that was instead a sneer. He was sinister. And terrifying.
That Guillaume stood on the helm, pointing an automatic rifle at her.
“Two men.” It was the third time she’d answered the question. “Two pirates. We killed them.”
“Why are you on this ship?” he demanded. “Where is your husband?”
Sara answered and he had no reaction.
Guillaume must’ve realized his presence was confusing and intimidating. Clearly, he was used to dealing with rougher clientele. He lowered the gun and it went back to dangling from the strap around his shoulder. He lifted his hands to signal a truce. “Please, Sara,” he said, a bit softer. “May we speak somewhere?”
Behind them, Jean-Philippe stood at the helm window, looking down where the helicopter had vanished. “Daan,” he said softly. To no one in particular.
“It is a tragedy,” Guillaume said without taking his eyes off Sara.
Jean-Philippe swiveled his head and glared. “That you have barely acknowledged.”
Guillaume sighed. “Grieve later. Tonight, there is work to do.”
Jean-Philippe grumbled something beneath his breath and returned his attention to the ocean.
Carly seemed afraid to speak. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Sara either. “Who are these guys?”
“I don’t really know,” Sara said.
“Please.” Guillaume extended his hand toward the door that lead down into the kitchen. “Sara, let us speak in private.”
“No way,” Carly snapped. “I’m not staying here alone with him.”
“She comes with me,” Sara said.
“We are not the bad guys,” Guillaume said, tiredly. “We can help you.”
Jean-Philippe was looking at Carly now, eyes widening as he recognized her. “I cannot believe this.”
Carly crossed her arms, uncomfortable with the spotlight.
“Three Nights in Malibu?” Jean-Philippe asked.
“Oh Christ,” Carly said.
“I knew it.” Jean-Philippe pointed at her. “I know who you are.”
“A fan,” Guillaume groaned. “Leave it to Jean-Philippe to find one of his favorite actresses on a derelict boat in the middle of the ocean.”
“Look,” Jean-Philippe said, stepping toward Carly. “I can get this boat turned around. You can help me. You want to hold a gun, a knife, or whatever else you need to set your mind at ease, do it.” He pulled his sidearm from its holster and handed it to her.
“You will be fine,” Guillaume assured her. “We only need to speak in private for a moment, and then we will return. This isn’t about either of you.”
Sara didn’t believe there was any danger here. Not immediately. These guys might’ve been cold-blooded criminals, but she didn’t believe they would murder the innocent. “Anything happens to her,” Sara said, “you won’t make it off this boat.”
“A necessary threat and a fair deal,” Guillaume said. “Sara, please, this way.”
Carly held the gun on Jean-Philippe as he moved in front of the boat’s controls. “It’s fine, Sara, just hurry back.”
“Much better company up here,” Jean-Philippe said without looking at his husband.
The walk to the living quarters seemed to take forever and Guillaume didn’t bother with small talk along the way.
Once they reached the bar in the entertainment space, he tapped his hands on the counter and said, “No reason for this to be contentious, let me pour you something.”
Sara thought she might’ve had more alcohol in her system than water at this point. Whatever kept the edge off. When Guillaume slid a glass in front of her, she didn’t even look. Just took it and sipped.
“You know what we’re after,” Guillaume said.
“Pretty badass for a couple of antique store dealers.”
“Field expeditions are a different thing.”
“Makes sense.” She chinned toward his tactical gear: The bungee cord dangling off his belt, the holstered handgun, the night vision. All of it. “You’re pretty well connected.”
“My employer does what she can to ensure success.”
“Where does she stand on losing a helicopter?”
Guillaume took a sip from his own glass. Refused even the faintest smile. Sara was ashamed of how much she wanted it.
“Go ahead,” Guillaume said. “Ask.”
“You knew who I was. At the resort...”
He nodded matter-of-factly. “An instance where business and pleasure were able to mix.”
“But how did you know me?”
“When your husband responded to that 911 call, it was one of my associates he found shot to death on the floor there.”
“Holy shit.”
“Small world, right? Our guy had gone there to meet the old man, to get the map. Legally, of course. Rent paid until the end of his life. What he found instead was a halfway senile old man who wasn’t all that trusting.”
“How did you find him in the first place?”
“After he burned through his entire savings trying to find Roche’s secrets, he tried soliciting help from others. His condition was always twenty percent. Nothing anyone seriously wanted to consider. But his request crossed our desk. My employer... she was well aware of the stories.”
“Your employer sent someone who couldn’t close an elderly man. That’s why I’m in this shit?”
Guillaume laughed. “Never heard it so eloquently put, but yes. Regrettably.”
“Yeah,” Sara said. “Regrettably.”
“Here’s the thing,” Guillaume said. “My employer is not unreasonable. She has more money than she knows what to do with. She can buy and sell ships like this without a second thought. She will compensate you. You and your friend above deck. We only wish to be the ones who retrieve Roche’s treasure. And we must do it quickly.”
“Before that fish eats us all?”
“Take your pick,” Guillaume said. It was the closest he got to smiling. “The fish, the Coast Guard, the pirates...”
“That fish is more than just a problem.” Sara gave him the rundown. “You saw it wrestle a helicopter into the water. You think that thing’s just going to take off somewhere else just because it’s got a bellyful of blood and metal?”
Guillaume nodded but did not reveal his thoughts. He simply waited for her to finish speaking and apologized for the loss of her husband. “Perhaps it is all the more reason for you to help us find Roche’s secret. So that people stop ruining their lives on such a stupid errand.”
“You need me,” Sara said. “And I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
�
��What would you have me do?” Guillaume’s laugh was inward, almost nervous.
“I lost the pages when the pirate threw us overboard. You want to find the treasure you’re going to have to find the Frozen Cocktail.”
“Yours is the only ship out in this mess.”
“You’re sure?”
He only nodded.
That meant Holloway was gone. The hopelessness of that news filled her with despair. She asked Guillaume to pour another drink. “So you lost the notes,” he said. “But you’ve got them in there.” He stroked the side of her cheek. His glove was thick with tactical padding.
She brushed him away.
“I meant what I said.” Guillaume tapped the countertop. “My employer’s generous when she wants to be. But there is another side of her. A ruthless side.”
“You’re going to play me like that?”
“Not if I can help it. Help me, Sara, and you are rewarded. You cheat me...” he shrugged. “I’m tired of this job. Tired of hearing my employer speak about Roche’s treasure as though it’s the last secret on this shitty planet. Let us find it together.”
Sara weighed this. It wasn’t outside the realm that Guillaume might be telling the truth about paying her a finder’s fee and sending her on her way.
She shrugged. Her way of saying maybe she could live with this arrangement. What other choice did she have?
“I will radio for another chopper as soon as this weather passes,” Guillaume said. “For now, we’ll use this ship as our hub. We’ll unpack the gear and get our bearings.”
They went back to the helm where Jean-Philippe and Carly were hitting it off. She was in the middle of a story, regaling him with an anecdote about the time she vomited on a horse she was supposed to ride into a scene. The animal was so mad about it he took off running and didn’t stop until he’d bucked her into nearby marshland.
Guillaume picked up the astrolabe sitting on the counter and turned the golden disc over in his hands. “This is probably worth close to a million,” he said, eyeing Carly as if she owed an explanation.
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