by Evan Graver
“Why challenge him about it?” Stacey asked.
“Because we’re supposed to trust each other. If I can’t trust him to keep his word, then I don’t think I can trust him to work topside. What if he plans to get rid of us after we help him get the gold?”
“Ryan? Kill us?” She shook her head.
“We have to keep an eye on him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Stacey climbed up to the bridge. Don was sitting at the computer. She sat down beside him, leaned in close, and whispered, “Do you still have the footage from Travis’s dive?”
“Ryan told me to erase it.”
“Did you?”
He snuck a quick glance at Stacey. Her eyes were big and pleading.
“I deleted all the dive until Travis was on the basket.”
Excitement tinged her low voice, making it husky. “Did you see Ryan’s dive?”
“I watched it.”
“Did he go into the bridge?”
Don nodded slowly, as if unwilling to continue the conversation.
“And?” she pressed, glancing at Dennis to see if he was eavesdropping. The captain was busy retrieving the anchor, the loud rattle of the chain into the locker and the knock of the diesel engines covered their whispering. “Did he take anything?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Don said. “If he did, it wasn’t very big.”
“Did he put something in his cargo pocket?” She swiveled in her chair and mimicked sliding her hand into a cargo pocket on a pair of shorts.
“Maybe. The camera wasn’t very clear.”
“This is important, Donny.”
He nodded. “We could hear them arguing all the way in here. Dennis sent Emery to tell them to shut up.”
Stacey’s shoulders slumped, and she pursed her lips. “Do you have anything from the dive?”
“No, I erased it all and quit recording after he told me to delete it.”
“Thanks, Donny.” Stacey stood and walked outside. Travis sat on the stern in the sunshine with his shirt off. “Are you trying to signal surrender or act as our dive flag?”
Travis glanced down at his white chest and deeply tanned arms. “Just getting some sun.”
“Donny says he may have seen Ryan put something in his pocket. He wasn’t sure, and he quit recording right before Ryan dove overboard.”
Travis pursed his lips and shook his head. “Something isn’t right.”
“What did you see on the bridge?”
“Some dead guys. Stacey, it was gruesome. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know, baby, but if you tell me what you saw, maybe we can figure out what he took.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “There were two guys on the bridge. Both of them were white and puffy, like they’d been in the water a long time.” He shuddered. “The fish had eaten away their lips and eyes and earlobes. It was like looking at a grinning death’s head.”
Stacey’s stomach turned. For her, diving had been about guiding people on reefs and watching the pretty fish dart in and out of the coral. She’d shot a few fish and caught some lobsters, but that was it. She’d never seen anything as disturbing as what Travis was describing.
And then there was Ryan. She’d never seen him act that way. She thought she had a pretty good handle on who he was, and she’d tasered the same guy twice for him.
“Are you listening?” Travis asked.
“Yes,” she replied, unsure if lunch would stay down. She stared at the horizon, trying to use the old seasickness cure to remedy the nausea.
“They were wearing blue coveralls. Their skin was bloated around the fabric.” He shook again, like a dog trying to dry off. “Stacey. Stacey.”
A chill coursed through her body and she wrapped her arms around her torso. His voice drew her back from her thoughts. “Travis, what would be so small that he could just shove it in his pocket?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, but I don’t know.”
“Something he took from the bridge,” Stacey mused. “His pocket wasn’t full when he got on the boat and he didn’t take anything out of them. I saw him the whole time.”
“He didn’t go below?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Even when you were swinging me up?”
“He helped. He ran the crane.”
“Damnit,” Travis muttered. “What’s he holding back?”
Stacey ran her fingers through her purple hair, scratching at the back of her head and neck.
Don walked up and sat down on the stern. He tugged his DWR trucker’s cap down tighter on his head to prevent it from blowing overboard. “I was thinking about what we were talking about earlier.”
Stacey and Travis waited expectantly.
“Ryan had me back the footage up, so he could see something on the bridge. When I found it, he leaned in close to the screen then told me to erase everything. I erased the tape, but I forgot I took a screenshot of whatever he was looking at. It’s still on the computer.”
“Really!” Stacey cried.
“Keep your voice down, babe,” Travis cautioned.
“When can we look at this picture?” she asked, excitement still tinging her voice.
“I’ll come topside when you have the zero two to zero six watch.”
Stacey nodded and smiled. “I can’t wait.” She wanted to pump her fists and do a little dance. They were going to figure out what Mr. Sneaky Pants was up to.
“Can’t wait for what?” Ryan asked before lighting a cigarette. His fondness of smoking was beginning to grate on her. She’d found him rugged and handsome in a mysterious sort of way when they’d worked together at the dive shop, but now he was just annoying. Still cute, but annoying.
She wheeled to face him. “For you to stop sneaking up on me.”
He grinned one of his trademark smiles and her defenses started to melt.
“I just came out here to tell you supper was ready.” He sat on the rail beside Travis. “How’d the rig work?”
He doesn’t even care that they were about to trade punches a few minutes ago!
To her surprise, Travis was just as friendly. “It worked great. I like those new hats DWR gave us. The DAVD display is really cool.”
“Glad things are working well. Is there anything we need to adjust before we get to Haiti and start diving the deep stuff?”
“Not that I can think of?” Travis replied.
Ryan looked up at Stacey. She crossed her arms and glared at him. He cocked his head. “What about you, Stace, everything okay with topside control?”
“You mean other than you acting like a complete asshat?”
“Dinner’s ready.” He stood and took a long pull on his cigarette. “Grouper, rice, and the last of the vegetables we picked up in Andros.” Then he walked up the starboard side of the vessel.
It angered her that he didn’t show any emotion at her outburst.
“Sorry, guys, but I’m hungry,” Don said. “I’m going to get something to eat.”
“Me, too.” Travis patted his belly.
A sudden surge of sexual craving flushed hot across her skin when she glanced at Travis’s washboard stomach.
“Go on, guys,” Stacey said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” When they were gone, she stood staring at the western horizon. The sun was still several hours away from setting, yet it was already coloring the bank of cumulous clouds in golden hues.
“What’s going on?” she asked herself. She had fallen for Travis like a rock off a bridge, but she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming on this trip.
It was dark at 0500. Without the glow of the red gauge lights and the wash of light coming from the instrument screens, Stacey wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. They were running in deep water and in a few hours, would cross the Windward Passage between Hispaniola and Cuba.
The strait was known for its hazardous conditions, even in good weather. The Passage was one of the major shipping lanes between the
Atlantic and the Caribbean, and several massive freighters or crude oil tankers were always visible. As a marine geologist, Stacey had studied this region of undersea topography. The ocean floor dropped several thousand feet into the Cayman Trough, the deepest point of the Caribbean Sea. The Trough was also the tectonic boundary between the North American Plate and the Caribbean Plate. Cuba, Jamaica, the Cayman Islands, and Hispaniola were the results of activity along those plates.
Stacey poured a cup of coffee and sipped it while she checked Peggy Lynn’s systems. Everything was functioning normally. She tapped the fuel gauge. The needle didn’t move from its half-tank position. Dennis had told her earlier that they had enough fuel to get them to Luperón in the Dominican Republic. There was nothing on the radar, even zoomed out to its maximum range, which was limited to five to seven miles because of mast height and the curvature of the earth.
She sat down at the computer, scrolled through her emails, and looked at some social media sites to see what her friends were doing.
A soft, “Hey,” startled her.
“Jeez, Trav, you scared the crap out of me.”
He laughed.
“It’s not funny, jerk.”
He kissed her, and asked, “Did you find anything?”
“No.”
“You won’t find it looking at Facebook,” Don said.
“Where did you come from,” Stacey blurted.
“Uh,” Don said. “I was right behind Travis.”
“Both of you need to stop sneaking around in the dark!”
“Okay, come on, Don, let’s go back to bed.” Travis turned to go back down the ladder.
“Get your ass back here, mister,” Stacey hissed.
Don took Stacey’s place in the chair and closed out her internet browser. He quickly opened the folder where he’d hidden the image and a watery blue screenshot filled the monitor.
“What was Ryan looking at?” Travis asked, bending close to the screen.
Stacey put her mug down on the instrument console and came back to the desk. She took Travis’s place, pushing her face close to the screen. Travis stood watch, scanning the dark sea for ships and other hazards.
Don replied, “I have no idea.”
All three leaned close to the computer and stared at the screen. They jumped when they heard a lighter wheel scraping across flint. A flame illuminated Ryan’s face and the smell of cigarette smoke filled the bridge.
“What are you looking at?” Ryan asked.
Stacey backed away from the computer and turned to look out the bridge windows. She picked up a pair of binoculars and pretended to study something far off.
Sullenly, Travis said, “Nothing.”
Don scrambled to click the window closed.
“No, let’s see it,” Ryan said, stepping into the bridge.
“Dennis is going to be pissed if he smells smoke in here,” Stacey said, not moving the binoculars.
“Let him,” Ryan said. “It’s the least of my worries, right now.”
“What are you worried about?” Stacey asked, turning to face him.
“Yeah, what’s going on, Ryan?” Don asked.
“Let’s see the picture.”
Don reopened the picture.
Ryan bent down to look at the screen. “See anything interesting about those dead guys?”
“Other than they’ve been eaten by the fish?” Travis asked.
“Yeah, that’s pretty common,” Ryan said. “They eat the soft parts first and then the crabs and the other scavengers move in to work on the rest.”
Stacey made a gagging noise. “That’s disgusting.”
“Anything else?” Ryan asked.
Don spoke for the group. “Not that we can see.”
Stacey watched the men through the reflection of the bridge windows. Peggy Lynn’s autopilot kept the boat on course. All Stacey had to do was monitor the systems and make sure they didn’t run into anything.
Ryan pointed at the screen. “See that?”
Travis and Don leaned in.
“What?” Stacey asked.
“On the side of the coveralls,” Ryan said.
Travis was the first to speak. “It’s a patch.”
Don zoomed in. They could see part of the circular patch.
“What is that?” Don asked, adjusting the computer program to bring out the colors and shapes. A blurry image of what looked like part of the United States and Mexico filled the screen. The map had been shaded with gray, tan, and red.
“Don’t bother,” Ryan said, straightening up. He took a deep inhale from his cigarette.
“Get that cancer stick off my bridge,” Captain Dennis thundered.
Ryan backed up two paces to the hatch and stepped outside.
“What’s going on up here?” Dennis asked. “A person can’t get any sleep with you people blundering around above decks.”
Stacey said, “Ryan was just about to tell us what he almost got into a fistfight with Travis about.”
“Dadgummit,” Emery said. “Can’t you people let a man sleep in peace?” He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Well, Ryan, what is it?” Dennis asked. He poured a cup of coffee and sat in his captain’s seat.
“I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I didn’t think it would be this big of a deal.” Ryan leaned on the hatch combing, using one foot to keep the hatch open. The wind carried his cigarette smoke out to sea. He took another long draw. “I told you about the Aztlán cartel and their pirates,” he said, fishing in his cargo pocket. He held up the patch he’d pulled off the dead man’s coveralls. “This is the same patch the pirates wore. It represents Aztlán.”
Stacey kept her eyes on the horizon, constantly scanning the line demarking the sky and water. It was lit by a smattering of brilliant stars.
“I saw the patch on the dead guys and kinda freaked out. I probably should have told you straight away. Finding a boat full of cocaine belonging to the same cartel who has a hit on me is purely coincidental. I had to see for myself, and spearing the grouper was a good way to cover what I was doing.”
“Except Travis saw you,” Stacey said.
“Yeah,” Ryan replied, drawing out the word.
Travis had reverted to his defensive posture of arms and legs crossed. “What now?”
“We keep going for the gold,” Ryan said. “I don’t care about a bunch of cocaine at the bottom of the ocean.” He tapped the patch against his hand thoughtfully. “Knowing where that boat is might give me some leverage over the cartel.”
Dennis said, “I told you from the beginning, I’m not getting involved in drugs.”
“We’re not, Captain,” Ryan said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Stacey glanced around the bridge at the grim faces and tense bodies. “How long ’til we get to Luperón?”
“Another day,” Dennis said.
“Good, everyone get some rest,” Ryan said. “We’re going to need it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Luperón was a welcomed sight. The small village provided them with diesel fuel, fresh fruits and vegetables, booze, and small restaurants. More importantly, it allowed the crew to spread out and relax. Dennis, Don, and Emery checked over Peggy Lynn’s systems. Stacey and Travis rented a hotel room near the water and didn’t come out for two days. Ryan spent the time looking at charts of the Haitian coast and pinpointing where he wanted to start their search. He had a general idea where the ship had sunk based on landmarks, heading, and speed.
With the boat fueled and ready, they left the Dominican Republic and steamed northwest. They stayed well beyond the three-mile limit and waited for night to fall. Their job would be a little harder in the darkness, but once they had the towed array launched, they would blend in with the other fishing vessels.
The tiny crew gathered on deck to watch the sunset, their bellies full of fresh fish Emery had caught on a trolling line earlier in the day.
“Do you think we’ll find it?” Stacey
asked.
“Pretty sure we will,” Ryan said. “Dennis and I mapped out a grid and it should take us over the area where the ship went down.”
They lapsed back into silence. Everyone on board had already spent days staring at video screens, checking readings, and monitoring the ship’s position relative to the search grid. They understood the tedious grind that lay before them. By eleven o’clock, the sonar array was well behind the ship on its tether. They agreed to take turns at the screen to ensure no one became fatigued and missed their target.
Frustration had set in by the time the sun rose. Ryan had expected to see the wreck quickly and had only laid out a small search grid. After running the original pattern, Dennis had begun to expand it.
Ryan sat on the stern rail and lit a cigarette. He watched the cable stretch and bow with the movement of the ship; the first rays of sunlight caught the water dripping from it. He inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs before letting it out through his nose, feeling the nicotine try to fight his body’s need for sleep. He was tired, and that exacerbated his irritability. The wreck wasn’t where he expected it to be.
He looked up when Don approached, carrying a map.
“Stupid thing couldn’t have just disappeared,” Ryan snapped.
“I have a theory,” Don said.
“Yeah?” Ryan took another drag.
“After we worked through your original grid, I called DWR and had my friend, Ashlee, run a computer model based on all the information we’ve gathered. She pinpointed the wreck close to where you said it would be based on old satellite photos. While she was looking at those photos, she noticed all the clouds. She decided to input the known wind and current data gathered during Hurricane Irma. Her model says the hurricane probably moved the ship.”
“To where?”
“That’s the bad news,” Don said.
With a weary sigh, Ryan said, “Give it to me.”
Don held out the map and pointed to a spot in the ocean. “There’s a massive ledge to the north of us that drops off a couple thousand feet.”
