by David Wood
“I need to get the hell out of here.”
He opened the throttle and steered hard to starboard. No longer did he aim for the lights of town, but made a beeline for shore. He’d beach his boat and either walk home or sleep on the beach. He no longer wanted to be on the water.
As he piloted his craft, he remembered the countless stories of swimmers gone missing. The many drownings where the body had never been found. Too many. He himself had pointed out to Detective Lane that drownings on Andros were ridiculously high, both in gross numbers and per-capita, compared to the other islands. As was the percentage of lost bodies.
Lane had smiled, amusement sparkled in his eyes.
“Who would you like me to arrest, Gomez? A giant squid? I suppose I could call Scotland Yard and ask if the Loch Ness Monster is at large.”
Gomez hadn’t bothered to correct him regarding Scotland Yard. Lane thought it all a great joke.
It didn’t seem so funny now.
Up ahead, he saw a disturbance on the surface of the water just off the starboard bow. A school of fish swimming fast. Probably fleeing a predator. That thought sent a new tremor running down his spine.
He remembered the most recent report he’d taken. A tourist, a young woman on a mission trip. Clear-eyed and level-headed.
“Something just grabbed me and yanked me straight down. I don’t know why it let go, but it pulled me so deep so fast that I almost didn’t make it back to the surface.”
She had then pointed to sucker marks on her ankle.
Gomez had assured her it had been an octopus and that such incidents were rare and highly unlikely to repeat.
It would be like getting struck by lightning twice, he’d joked.
The dark outline of the island seemed to be just as far away as it had when he’d turned for shore. Off to port, just at the corner of his vision, he saw a dark shadow pass beneath the surface of the water. It was only there for a flash. Maybe he’d imagined it.
“Of course it’s your imagination. You’re half drunk and nearly asleep.” But neither of those was quite true. He was wide awake at the moment and barely feeling the effects of the beer.
Still, he was being ridiculous. Frightened by jumping fish, one of the most commonplace sights on the water? The mind was stronger than any drug. He had swapped stories with Bones and now his imagination had run wild, dredging up old stories.
“He was there and then he was gone.”
“Something pulled her down fast.”
“He was an experienced swimmer.”
“No one believes me but something took her down into the blue hole.”
So many stories. They couldn’t all be explained away, could they?
But they all had one thing in common—every incident had taken place in a blue hole on the island. Not a single incident at an offshore blue hole, much less at sea. He relaxed a bit. Even if he took his own theories as gospel, the Lusca lived in terrestrial waters, in the blue holes and the many subterranean passages that connected them. But like Maddock had pointed out, some of those passages connected to the sea. If one of them was large enough...
And then, up ahead, the surface of the water roiled.
“What in the hell?”
Something beneath the surface was causing the water to churn. Something massive.
And then he remembered another consistent thread among the Lusca stories. The water always seemed to bubble and churn just before a victim was snatched.
Terror now guiding his hand, he turned the boat sharply to port to avoid whatever it was that barred his way. He was running south, the island off the starboard side. The lights of home were tantalizingly close.
“Please, please, please,” he begged no one in particular. He wasn’t the religious sort, but if any particular god wanted to answer his prayer, he’d welcome it right now.
Thud!
Something struck the boat on the starboard side near the stern.
Crack!
This time a sharp blow to the starboard side near the waterline. Gomez felt the cold spray on his face, tasted the salt.
Once again he turned his boat back toward the shore. The boat had a low draft. He could run it right up onto the beach, if only he could make it there.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
Thump! Thud! Clank!
That was the sound of something striking the outboard motor with sufficient force to bring it to a slow, sputtering halt.
“This can’t be.”
The engine resisted all attempts at restarting. Even banging on it with a hammer made no difference. Gradually, the boat slowed until it was drifting on the sea.
He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to the middle of the boat. Not that that put him much farther from the water than he had been in his seat at the stern, but right now, every inch mattered to him. He drifted there, bobbing on the gentle waves.
All was calm. The gentle breeze chilled his sweat-soaked body. The clouds dissolved and once again the moon bathed the world in its glow.
Gomez’s heart hammered.
And then the water roiled again, this time all around the boat. He saw a shadow beneath the surface, massive.
A giant tentacle crept over the bow, another the stern.
Knowing that these were the last moments of his life, he could only manage a cold, mirthless laugh.
“I’m going to need a bigger boat.”
25
An hour later, Issachar made his way along the shore in the direction of the small private dock where he’d been told his quarry had tied up their boat. He spotted it immediately, the largest of the handful of boats tied up here. He read the name painted at the stern.
“Sea Foam. That’s... bland.”
He remained in the shadows, not wanting to get too close until he’d adequately reconned the area. He saw no one about except two men sitting on the aft deck, drinking. At this distance he couldn’t make out many details. One was big and dark-skinned, the other shorter and lighter-skinned. Lane hadn’t given him descriptions of the treasure hunters and the purloined case file had been useless, but he assumed these were the men he was looking for.
Lane had been useless. No helpful information about the artifact or the men who, according to Echard, had stolen it. Issachar hated going in blind. He needed more intel.
The sound of voices drifted across the water. The two men were laughing and bickering. Probably had too much to drink.
Issachar smiled. A couple of drunken treasure hunters should pose no challenge. He would dispose of them quickly and make a search of the boat. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even have to use his pistol. Knife work, quiet and clean.
There was no cover on the dock to hide his approach. Instead, Issachar slipped into the water and swam silently along the dock, keeping to the side opposite Sea Foam.
He was about twenty meters away, and debating whether to burn the boat, take it out into deep water and sink it, or simply set it adrift, when he made out a snatch of conversation that gave him pause.
“...too many seals on this boat.”
Issachar frowned. Seals in the Bahamas? That didn’t make sense.
“Don’t forget the Ranger,” another voice said. “I’ve got him and the three of you to deal with. I feel like I’m on an island sometimes. Literally and figuratively.”
Issachar froze. Had he heard that correctly? Neither Echard nor Lane had said anything about the treasure hunters having any sort of military connection. But if there really were three SEALs and a Ranger on board, that changed everything. He took a deep breath and sank beneath the water. He swam under the dock and surfaced on the starboard side of a small boat tied up near Sea Foam. He peered over the gunwale and got his first good look at the men on board.
One was a small man with pale skin and red hair. Nothing about him suggested he offered any sort of physical threat. But the other fellow. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a powerful build and he moved with a the grace of a h
igh-level athlete. Issachar sensed the fellow knew how to handle himself.
A third man now joined them. The tattoo on his left shoulder, a sun, star, and lightning bolt on a blue and green shield, identified him as the former Ranger among the crew. That meant the black man must one of the SEALs, which left two more on board.
Issachar assessed the situation. His 9mm was secured inside a waterproof pouch. If he was fast and didn’t miss, he could maybe take out two of the targets. But a pistol shot at this range, while clinging to the side of a boat, was far from a sure thing. And the shots would alert the remaining members crew. He didn’t like the odds.
He cursed inwardly. It had been arrogant of him to assume he could simply wing a mission like this. Damn Echard! This was information Issachar needed in advance.
“Time to cast off,” the ranger announced.
“Now?” the red-haired man asked.
“It’s almost three hundred kilometers. Maddock wants to be there by morning, check out the place Gomez recommended. Also, he wants to get away from Andros sooner rather than later. Let things cool down a bit.”
The ranger turned to look out at the open water. Issachar recognized the tension in his movements, saw the automatic pistol holstered at his hip. These men were ready for a fight.
“I’ve got to tell you,” the man said. “I don’t like the sound of this island we’re headed to.”
What island? Issachar thought. Say the name. Say it!
“Make that two of us,” the black man said. “I don’t like messing with no black magic.”
“Maddock thinks we’ll learn something about the artifact there,” the redhead replied. He paused. “What about that thing? You think it’s still out there?”
“If it is, we’re ready for it.” The big black man reached down and picked up a rifle. He hefted it and scanned the waters. “Anything pops its head up, I’m busting a cap in its ass.”
That sealed it for Issachar. Any remaining thoughts he had of infiltrating the boat and cleaning house evaporated. These men had him outnumbered and they were clearly on alert. He needed a new plan of attack. But where were they headed? A distance of three hundred kilometers would take them to any of several islands, including Cuba. They might even be returning to Florida. For a rash moment he considered stowing away, but there was no hiding place for him.
“All right. Next stop, Cat Island.” The redhead retreated to his cabin.
Issachar grinned. Cat Island! He knew little about the place, save the fact it was large, with a tiny population and lots of remote areas. He had to move fast, but he was confident he’d be able to track them down again. Time to regroup.
It galled him to let his quarry slip away, but he knew it was only for a short while. The men had no idea they would be walking into a trap.
The phone rang. Echard rolled over, flicked on the lamp, reached for the receiver. He hesitated. Who would be calling him this late? He could only think of one person, and if he was correct, he really had no choice but to answer.
It rang again. He sighed and answered.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t tell me these treasure hunters were ex-military.”
Echard had been right. It was Issachar, and he sounded livid.
“I didn’t know,” Echard lied.
“There are three former SEALs and an ex-Ranger on board that boat.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Echard tried to put as much surprise as possible into his voice.
“Stop bullshitting me,” Issachar said. “You are on the thinnest possible ice right now.”
Echard held his breath. When you’re backed into a corner, nothing to do but fight your way out.
“That’s not fair. I reached out as soon as the artifact was found. I gave you all the information I have.”
“I know about the drinking and the scams you run,” Issachar said.
Echard’s head swam. This was the worst possible scenario.
“Who is saying that about me?” He was surprised he managed to keep his voice steady, even added in a dash of indignation for good measure. “I’ll deny it to their face.”
“I’m sure you would,” Issachar said.
“Look, I’ve slipped up a couple of times with the drinking and I’m not proud of it. But who called me a scammer? Was it Lane? That man is as crooked as they come.”
“Which is how he ended up in your poker game.”
Echard bolted upright. His stomach churned and his flesh was cold and clammy. If his estimation of Issachar was correct, this had suddenly become a life and death situation.
“All I want to do is help the Dominion,” Echard said. “If you’re not interested in the artifact, I understand.”
“Shut up and listen closely. You’ve got one chance to redeem yourself and I need you to act quickly. And I warn you, you are on very thin ice.”
Echard listened, knowing his life depended on following this man’s instructions to the letter.
26
Cat Island, Bahamas
Cat Island was located in the Bahamas’ Central District. Originally settled by loyalists fleeing the American Revolution, the island was home to cotton plantations for centuries, which had eventually given way to slash-and-burn agriculture. Cascarilla bark, an essential component in medicines, scents, and Campari, was an important export. With a population of just over 1,500, the island was sparsely populated, and drew very few tourists. As they made their way to their destination, Maddock couldn’t help but feel they had left the modern world behind. The island seemed quiet, and empty.
Boiling Hole looked very much like any other sinkhole. The surface was a little choppier than Maddock and seen before but otherwise it seemed ordinary. The place was nearly deserted. A couple of tourists stood on the other side of the blue hole, snapping photographs. No one was swimming, and that was fine by him.
“I don’t see any sea monsters,” Willis said, looking around. Matt, Corey, and Kyle had stayed behind on the boat. Maddock hadn’t liked the idea of leaving it unattended, and Matt was more than capable of taking care of business. Kyle, too, had vowed to defend it with his life. Maddock was just happy the surfer wasn’t here causing more headaches with his constant misadventures.
“Looking for the creature from the blue hole are you?” An old man with dark brown skin and light brown teeth approached.
“Yes. Do you know much about the monster?” Bones asked.
The old man laughed a rich throaty laugh. “Oh yes. I’ve heard many stories. I’ve lived on this island for ninety years, after all.”
“Really?” Maddock was surprised. The man’s hair was snow white but his skin was nearly free of wrinkles, and he moved like a much younger man. Maddock would have pegged the guy as being in his late sixties, but with a bad dental plan. “What can you tell us about Boiling Hole?”
“I can tell you all sorts,” he said. “But you should buy something, man.” He opened a battered leather satchel to display a number of handcrafted items.
Maddock inspected them. Most were Driftwood carvings of sea creatures — dolphins, tortoises, and tropical birds.
“I should get a dolphin for my sister,” Bones said. “She loves that crap.”
“Really? Even with her career change she still likes girly stuff?” Maddock asked.
Angelica Bonebrake, nicknamed Angel, was Bones’ younger sister. She was drop dead gorgeous, but had her brother’s twisted sense of humor and had a penchant for brawling. After dabbling in modeling, she had recently embarked on a new career as a cage fighter.
“You know my sister. She’s a walking set of contradictions.”
Rae frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine you having a sister.”
“Just picture me in a dress.” Bones said. “We look exactly alike.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Maddock said. He took out his wallet and showed her a picture of himself, Bones, and Angel. It had been taken at the Cherokee casino operated by Bones’ uncle, Crazy Charlie.
“She’s gorgeous,” Rae said. She looked at Bones. “Are you sure you two share DNA? Maybe one of you is the milkman’s kid.”
“If that’s the case, I hope it’s me. My dad was an ass,” Bones said as he continued to poke around in the leather satchel, sorting through the knickknacks.
“Interesting that you carry a photo of your best friend’s sister,” Rae said to Maddock, a glimmer of mischief in her eye.
“Bones’ family sort of took me in after my parents died. The two of them are like my brother and sister.”
“Then why are your ears turning bright red?” Rae asked.
“I don’t know. It’s hot out here.” He shot a furtive glance at Bones. The truth was, the memory of that night at the casino was special to him, but he had never told Bones about it, and didn’t have any immediate plans to do so. Some things were better kept private.
“Hey, check this out.” Bones held up an amulet on a cheap rawhide cord. It was silver, roughly cast, but Maddock could tell immediately what it was supposed to be. It wasn’t a perfect match for the amulet they had found, but it was of similar size and shape. And it was clearly an ouroboros depicting a shark-headed octopus biting its own tail.
“Is that a Lusca?”
The old man laughed again. “You like that? I cast it just last week. Only two of them in the world, and both are for sale.”
“Why this particular design?” Maddock asked. The similarity between the old man’s trinkets and the actual artifact was uncanny.
“I saw it carved on the wall of an underwater passageway down there.” He pointed into the water. “I was a good swimmer in my youth. I found a narrow passageway, almost hidden by debris, and just a few meters inside there was a carving of a Lusca shaped like this.”
Maddock’s heart raced. “Did you go deeper into the channel?”
The old man shook his head. “I’m no SCUBA diver.” His eyes drifted to the diving gear Maddock and the others had brought along. He raised an eyebrow, a canny expression painting his face. “You want to know more about the Lusca?”
“Yes, please,” Maddock said.
