The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset

by David F. Berens

  Joe knew this hadn’t been a typical Key West crime. There was no bar fight. No drunken brawl. No half-dozen tourist witnesses. No drugs. No organized crime. Nothing. The boys were slashed with a knife, leaving a ton of blood on the boat… but it all tested out to be just theirs. Who would want to kill a couple of boys whose only sins were free diving in places where they weren't supposed to? Their boat was found unmolested, aside from the blood. Curiously, from bow to stern the only thing taken was their G.P.S. He’d even gone to the trouble to hire a dive team to check out the general area where they’d been found. Nothing there either; they had probably drifted many miles before they’d been found. It just didn’t make sense.

  The boys had been partying it up for two weeks before Halloween, engaging in typical tourist activity. The newest bartender at the Iguana heard them whispering about something big they had found diving a local reef, but of course they didn’t say what or where it was.

  So, these boys thought they found a sunken treasure, eh? Joe thought.

  Thousands of people dive the waters of Key West; there’s nothing out there worth killing anyone over. It’s all been pillaged already. Tourists were the only ones on the island who still believed in gold at the bottom of the sea. By all accounts, it looked random and meaningless. But Joe had seen meaningless crime, and this one didn’t fit that bill at all well. The peculiar theft of the G.P.S. had him mystified. He had just a few pieces of the puzzle and couldn’t see very much of the big picture. He rubbed his back and opened the file one more time.

  In the corner of Joe's office, Lucky purred and curled himself into a ball for a noontime nap.

  6

  Irish Kevin’s

  Vince Pinzioni, the newest owner of Captain Tony’s, was carrying a case of Corona Light from the storeroom up to the front bar when he saw them walk in; Troy Bodean, and some cute young thing he’d probably picked up trolling Duval Street for the late summer college girls. Typical, he thought. He put the case of beer down on the bar, then poured Troy’s usual shot of Jager and popped the top off a cold Yuengling.

  “And for the lady?”

  Megan shook her head.

  “Suit yuhself.”

  Vince went back to his work shuffling beer into the iced coolers under the bar. Troy took a sip of his shot and gave Megan a look as if to say, let me do the talking.

  “Hey, Vince,” Troy started nervously. “Say, how’s that old boat of yours?” He gulped his shot of Jager and washed it down with a swig of beer.

  “Ah, she’s doin’ great,” Vince said and smiled. “Took her out yesterday.”

  “Catch anything?”

  “Coupla barracudas,” Vince said, nodding at Megan. “Most people don’t know they’re good eatin’.”

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Troy quickly jumped in before she could speak.

  “Say, you don’t suppose I could borrow her one weekend.”

  Vince wrinkled his brow and then started to laugh. “You?” He picked up the empty beer box and turned back toward the store room. “Yeah, dat’ll be the day,” he said as he disappeared.

  Again, Megan started to say something, but Troy shushed her. Vince reappeared with another case of beer.

  “No, seriously,” Troy said casually, “I just wanted to take my friend Megan out for a cruise, and I know you have a nice boat.”

  Vince wiped his hand on a towel behind the bar and reached up to shake her hand.

  “Very nice ta meet you, miss,” he said and looked back toward Troy, “but it’ll be a cold frickin’ day in Key West before I loan my boat to this guy.”

  It was at this point Megan stunned both Troy and Vince by leaning far too inappropriately over the bar.

  “Awww, that’s too bad,” she said with her cheesiest pouty face. “I just bought the cutest little bikini. I guess I’ll just have to wear it out by the pool. I have the most dreadful tan lines I need to get rid of.”

  Vince’s eyes went slightly wider and he somehow managed to keep his jaw from hitting the bar. If he hadn’t been staring at Megan’s tank top, he might’ve noticed Troy’s jaw was in much the same position.

  “Well, I mean…” Vince stammered a bit, trying to regain his composure, and oddly his words lost their New York accent. “… I guess you could go out for a quick trip.”

  He suddenly seemed to snap back to reality. “But I’m goin’ wit you,” he said, and shook a finger at Troy.

  “Awww,” Megan chimed in again, batting her eyelashes a little too much, “that’s sooo sweet of you.”

  She leaned over a touch more and gave Vince a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Don’t I know it,” he winked at her.

  Troy just grinned and finished his beer.

  “So, when are we goin’ on this party cruise?” Vince rubbed his palms together.

  “How’s tomorrow morning?” Troy asked.

  “Ouch, Saturday?” Vince said through a grimace. “How ‘bout we go early on Sunday, I can’t leave the bar on the biggest day of the week.”

  This time it was Megan who jumped in before Troy could protest. “Perfect,” she said, and smiled brightly, “say around nine?”

  “Nine it is.” Vince grinned, wondering just what kind of bikini she’d be wearing.

  Megan grabbed Troy by the arm and led him out of the bar.

  “What the heck?” he asked. “He’s comin’ with us now? And why Sunday?”

  “Waiting till Sunday will give me time to drive back up to Islamorada and borrow a magnetometer from the center,” she explained. “And don’t worry about him. I have my ways.”

  “Ahh,” he said, “but that’s not what I was talking about… I was wondering about your little show in there.”

  “Never underestimate the power of a woman,” she said, and winked.

  He grinned, and she suddenly saw there was a little Tom Cruise in his smile. As they walked down Duval, she realized she was still holding his arm and could feel herself blush a little, but she didn’t let go.

  “You know,” Troy said, glancing at her, “Friday night is a good time to be in Key West.”

  “Oh no you don’t, you’re not gonna talk me into anything crazy.” Megan shook her head.

  “Actually, I was just hoping you’d buy me a beer.”

  “Ha, it seems like you have good credit all over town!”

  “Ouch.”

  She laughed and tugged his arm. “I’ll buy you a beer, Bodean,” she said and winked, “but tonight we’re going to the bar I want to go to.”

  “Fair enough, and just which one would that be?”

  “Irish Kevin’s. I am a northern girl you know, and there’s nothing like a good Irish bar,” she said, exaggerating bah in her best Boston Southie accent.

  Troy grimaced visibly and she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck as if it was suddenly aching. “I’m sure Kevin has long forgotten about that night.”

  She laughed raucously. “It’s a wonder you remember that night! What was it? You and a bunch of strippers bust up his place?”

  He didn’t answer and he didn’t laugh. She quickly changed the subject.

  “Well, you have nothing to fear, Troy. I’ll make sure you don’t get too rowdy tonight, and I’ll actually pay for the beers we drink!”

  His mood lightened. “Sounds like a plan, but maybe we should sit near the back just in case.” He smiled and eventually told her he was just kidding, no strippers, no busted bar… just a long overdue tab. As they entered Irish Kevin’s he put his hand on her waist.

  “Now about this bikini… ”

  7

  Object Fear

  Troy and Vince watched as Megan unloaded her equipment from the hatchback of her 94’ Honda civic. It was green at one time, but now the paint was streaked and peeling in a few places on the top and hood. Her rearview mirror was decorated with a pink and purple lei and several strands of what appeared
to be Mardi Gras beads. Her radio antenna was topped with a small plastic dolphin (so I can find it in the mall parking lot, she would later tell them).

  She had a small dive tank in one hand and another mysterious object in the other. It had a dark blue cylinder at the top, with a few dials and knobs attached to a four-foot-long wire-wrapped pole, and ended in a smaller white cylinder at the bottom.

  She could see Troy’s confusion, and when Vince couldn’t see, mouthed the word, “Magnetometer.”

  “Ah,” he said and took both from her.

  Next, she brought out a buoyancy vest, flippers and a mask, and handed those to Vince.

  “We goin’ divin’?” he asked.

  She batted her eyelashes and let her blouse open a little to reveal the tiniest piece of her red bikini. “If you don’t mind?”

  Vince’s smile widened and he winked. “Not at all, sweetie. Anything you wanna do is fine by me, sugar.”

  Her last trip to the car brought out a bottle of Castillo Rum (the cheap stuff), a few plastic cups, and a two-liter bottle of Coke. She put the Coke down and slammed the hatch twice before it would latch.

  “Are we ready,” she said, and smiled while bundling the drinks in her arms.

  “Let’s do this,” Vince said and led them down the dock to his boat.

  Megan had expected a typical Key West fishing boat, basically a platform, a tower, and a bunch of rods, but this was more like a cabin cruiser—complete with double bed underneath. The stern was emblazoned with the boat’s name, The Ocean Blue. The three of them piled on and Vince cranked up the radio. Bob Marley sang to them as they unmoored and pulled away from the dock. Vince parked himself behind the wheel and sang along as they idled out to the first buoy.

  Troy took off his shirt and tamed his flapping hair with his trademark cowboy hat. Megan did the same, tying her hair into a ponytail under her Dolphin Research Center cap. She couldn’t help but notice Troy smiling at her… apparently he liked the red bikini too.

  They spent the better part of the morning whizzing around like vacationers, tanning, drinking rum and coke, and listening to beach music. Megan made sure Vince had double, sometimes even triple the amount of rum, while hers and Troy’s drinks gradually became straight Coke.

  It wasn’t long before he was snoozing on the double bed under the bow and Troy had taken the wheel. He turned the boat toward his G.P.S. coordinates and Megan readied her dive equipment.

  Within half an hour, they were floating just above the edge of the reef where he had seen his mystery object. Megan strapped on her diving gear, tested her regulator, clicked a button on the magnetometer to check the battery life, and splashed backward off the boat.

  The waters were teeming with an astounding array of fish and sea life. The coral was home to an amazing rainbow of colors and it wasn’t easy to find Troy’s discovery. She loved the water and everything in it, and for a few minutes she just took it all in, floating in the peaceful calm of the quiet reef.

  A couple of spotted morays whooshed by and a cloud of jewfish paused to check her out but quickly resumed their flashing swim. A four-foot long barracuda momentarily sent a shiver up her spine, with his sharp fangs jutting from his jaw, but he seemed only curious, like the rest of them.

  As she floated there with no particular direction in mind, she saw no sign of the object they had seen from the air… maybe it was an optical illusion, she thought, some shaft cut into the coral that looked dark and solid from above? Visibility was less than thirty feet, an effect of the coming hurricane. This search would be slow going.

  She began to swing the magnetometer back and forth, much like a metal detector. It would record and transmit its findings back to her laptop for later investigation. She ventured farther out from the reef, trying to maintain a straight line to the west, and after about a hundred yards of searching she began to lose hope. There was nothing down there; just sand and fish and coral.

  She turned to head back toward the boat, and that’s when she saw the looming dark shape in front of her. However, this wasn’t Troy’s dark shape; this one was moving in her general direction. She froze in place, not panicked yet, and waited to see what was coming to check her out.

  As it swam closer through the cloudy water and slowly gaining detail, Megan began to recognize the telltale features of a bull shark; wide short snout, tall harshly pointed first dorsal fin taller than the second, and row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It was coming straight at her. Distinctively grey on top, white underneath, and very broad, this one looked to be about eleven feet in length; she guessed from its size it was a female. She could see a slightly distended belly. Great, she’s pregnant, Megan thought to herself. The maternal bull would be hungry and feeding. It was swimming closer.

  She began to tense up now, her pulse racing, and against her will, her breathing became hurried and shallow. From her studies, she knew that Bull sharks were very aggressive and accounted for a great number of attacks on people. Until now, she’d never actually seen one in the flesh, but she knew they eat anything that moves. So, she did what any good diver knows to do; she tried to keep calm and stay completely motionless.

  She knew she was too far from the boat for Troy to even realize this was happening, and wondered idly if he’d even find her body. For what seemed an eternity, the shark seemed content to just cruise around the general area while scavenging for food. Not a good sign; she appeared to be hunting.

  Like an alarm bell in the dead silence, a ping went off from Megan’s tank and the shark turned instantly toward her. She looked down at the dial on her wrist; about ten minutes of air left. The shark quickened its pace and Megan was sure she could hear her own thumping heartbeat. She struggled to maintain slow, regulated breathing to conserve her air, but that all flies out the window when there’s a massive shark on your trail. She found herself subconsciously wafting away from the beast.

  With quickness she could never have anticipated, the shark darted at her, and Megan jerked away instinctively. The monster’s snout bumped her harshly in the stomach and she did what all those Discovery Channel rescue shows say the survivors did; she slammed the magnetometer down hard on the shark’s snout. With the density of the water slowing her swing down, she knew the blow was largely ineffective. The shark bit down hard on the end of the sophisticated piece of equipment, instantly turning it into scrap metal.

  For a second it looked as if the shark was puzzled. It nudged past her and she resisted the urge to swim frantically back toward the boat. Megan was sure a second bite was coming, but amazingly the shark turned and swam away. Apparently, it was convinced this object it had found in the water was too hard to be food.

  For several moments, she drifted in the gentle gulf current, mentally paralyzed by the attack. She could feel tears coming down her cheeks inside her mask. Finally, as she began heading back toward the boat, her tank pinged again. She quickly looked around to see if the shark had heard it and was coming back for another try. Nothing.

  Five minutes of air would get her most of the way back to the boat. She focused on slowing her breathing and swam as quickly as she could, and soon the reef and boat were in sight. With just twenty yards remaining she began to make out some detail in the reef, and as she got closer she idly glanced back to the north, the direction the shark had come from… and there it was.

  Troy’s mystery object.

  It was lodged in the side of the reef, but the coral had advanced considerably, nearly consuming it. She couldn’t tell what it was from this distance, but she could see it definitely wasn’t part of the natural reef formation. That’s when her air finally ran out and she had to hold her breath and swim up. They’d missed the object to the south… but just barely.

  As she broke the surface of the water, she saw Troy peering over the edge, obviously wondering where she’d been. He motored over and helped her on deck. She dropped her tank and what was left of the magnetometer, jerked off her mask, and hugged him with ferocity. She trembled with
fear, tears forming again. He didn’t say a word; he just let her regain her composure in his arms.

  When she felt she could speak without breaking down again, she whispered in his ear. “I saw it. It’s down there.”

  8

  Wyatt 1

  George Wyatt stood on the highest deck of the oil rig, Wyatt 1, and looked west across the Gulf at the setting sun. He closed his eyes in the warm glow and listened to the sound of… nothing. No cars. No horns. No telephones. No radios. No televisions. There was no sound here but the massive machines below him rumbling in the deep and groaning like whales. His machines. His sound. His steel island in the sun.

  He had spent as much time here this year as he could. The rest he had spent with his brother in Houston arguing over their father's fortune. They weren't arguing with each other, mind you, but against the twenty-six-year-old widow his father left behind, complete with a poorly written will that appeared to leave most of the family fortune to her. Typical of the old man, George thought with a grin. Always a gambler. Always a risk taker. Never thinking of the long term.

  George was part of a small, elite group of young turks who called themselves New Oil. They were all either children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren of American oil interests. They met annually to discuss plans and coordinate their efforts against OPEC. Their numbers had been thinned out in past decades as families sold out to the international conglomerates, but a few were too stubborn to sell. The remaining members were all idealists and dreamers who wanted America to be oil-independent, and they had family money to back them up.

  George was a member because his great-grandfather was one of the original band of Texas wildcatters who just happened to stick his pipe in the right hole.

  George's grandfather had increased the business tenfold when he took over, but his father had gone into refining raw oil instead of digging for it. George liked the sea, so he ventured into offshore wildcatting, which costs a few million just to think about, and ten million to actually start up. That was going to be his contribution to New Oil and also how he would increase the family fortune, just like his father before him.