Love, Lattes and Danger

by Sandra Cox

  Time crawls, fifteen minutes, half an hour, finally at three forty-five the door opens and a young crew member steps out yawning, a cup of coffee in hand.

  God I’d kill for coffee, or better yet, a latte. I remember the coffee pot in the computer lab and mentally rub my hands. Thank goodness for human addictions.

  We slip inside. The first thing I do is make my way to the coffee pot. It’s been shut off but it’s still warm. I pour two cups, load them with creamer and sugar, and hand one to Amy, who’s already booting up one of the five computers in the room.

  She absently pushes back blue-black hair that falls across her face then reaches for the cup. I don’t know where she got her lovely olive-colored complexion. We share the same mother but have different fathers. I was four when my mom and I were taken to the labs. Amy was born there.

  “Thanks. So what are we looking for?” She takes a swallow and gives a contented sigh.

  I settle into the next desk and lean toward her. “Something that can interfere with a tracking device.”

  Her breath catches. “You mean it?”

  “Oh yeah.” My voice comes out grimmer than I intend.

  “Why now?”

  There’s so much to tell her. I glance at my watch. “I’ll tell you, I promise, but we’re running short of time.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Piper?”

  I give a choked laugh. That would be a yes. “You’re such a female, insatiably curious,” I tease.

  “You’re such a male, trying to make everything into one big mystery.”

  We grin at each other before I say, “Let’s get to it.”

  We both start searching. Though I manage to keep it light, tension crawls like a fast moving spider along my spine. There’s so much at stake, both my child and my sister.

  I try one false lead after another. There are a lot of wackos online. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly four-fifteen. My stomach spurts acid, either from the coffee or nerves.

  “Joel.”

  Something in the quality of her voice has me whirling in my chair. “What?”

  “Jammers. We can build them or buy them.”

  Chapter 3

  I snap my fingers. “Of course.” Then add, chagrined, “I’m a guy. I should have figured that out.”

  She snorts. “Oh, pu-lease.

  “We’d need them waterproofed.”

  Amy nods. She’s studying the computer. “There’s also a way to create fake GPS signals.”

  I jump out of the chair, scoop her up, and buss her on her forehead. “False GPS signals, now that’s information that could really come in handy. You’re the woman.”

  She preens. “I am aren’t I?”

  “You sure are.” Her gaze has already wandered back to the screen.

  The next time I look at my watch it reads four forty-five. “We better scoot. Hopefully, we can do some more researching tomorrow night.” I’m already moving toward the door. “Come on.”

  On the way out, I notice a pen on one of the desks and snag it. “Here’s the key to unlock your door.”

  She takes it, hiding a yawn behind her other hand.

  When we get back to our containment areas, I whisper, “Lock the door.”

  She nods, enters her room, and locks it. I do the same and lie down on the cot, hoping to get some sleep. A few minutes later, I hear the quiet snick of the doorknob.

  You didn’t want Leif to know you had us locked in, did you, you bastard? Still I’m relieved. I was beginning to feel the unwelcome tendrils of claustrophobia.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunch. It’ll be another hour before our breakfast arrives on the freight elevator.

  I lean my head against the hard, cold surface of the wall and close my eyes. My heart does a hard ka-thump as I picture the baby girl. For a little thing, she has a head full of downy, blond monkey hair. She’s so pretty. She’s going to have guys falling all over themselves when she hits her teens.

  I force myself to relax, unclenching fingers I’ve curled into fists, and open my eyes. And she’s going to hit her teens as a normal young woman. No one is going to perform experiments on her or sell her to the highest bidder. I shudder. God knows what would happen if she fell into the wrong hands.

  My mind shifts to the baby’s mother. Hunger for Piper consumes me. My skin heats and my belly throbs. I desperately need the sea and salt air. It’s every dolph’s drug of choice.

  “Joel, are you awake?” The muffled voice comes through the wall.

  I get closer to the wall that separates us. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

  “Too early for breakfast, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I push out the air in my lungs. I want to hold her hand while I tell her and let her know I’m here for her, I’ll get her out of here and she doesn’t need to be scared. “I think Craven and Stranger are in cahoots to harvest eggs from you.”

  Silence.

  “Ames. Amy?”

  “They want a mini-me? More dolph-girls? They want to take my eggs and keep adding dolph DNA until they create a monster?” Even through the wall, I hear the hysteria in her voice.

  “Shh. Take it down a level.” I caution.

  “Who’s going to hear us down here?”

  Good point. “We aren’t monsters. We’re humans with dolphin DNA. No one would have any idea we aren’t human unless we told them.” Or they looked into our turquoise eyes, listened to our melodious voices, or noticed the film that comes down over Amy’s eyes.

  “I know that, but if they take an egg from a dolph and add more dolphin DNA, what are they going to end up with?”

  “They already have.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I lower my voice. I don’t want it to carry any further than through the wall in case anyone is roaming the bowels of the ship. “They took Piper’s egg and my sperm and created a baby. She’s floating in a vat of amniotic fluid. She’s beautiful. And so intelligent.”

  “What? How do you know she’s yours and Piper’s?”

  “She has a blowhole and my birthmark on her shoulder.” Warmth shoots through me. My daughter may not have been created in the traditional way, nonetheless, she exists and she’s perfect.

  “I’m an aunt?”

  “Auntie Amy.”

  “Oh, Joel, how wonderful.” Her voice comes back more forceful. “We have to get her out of there.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Which is what exactly?”

  “First thing we have to do is get out of here.”

  Just then my door rattles. I stand up as Leif Voorhees walks in. “How are you, Joel?” His voice booms.

  “Okay.”

  “Stranger says you’re the picture of health.” Leif’s Nordic blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail that moves with the same arrogance he does. His shirt strains across his massive shoulders.

  “So I’m told.” My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I last ate.

  Leif laughs. “I was going to ask if you’d had breakfast yet but I take it that’s a no.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you and Amy come to my quarters? I’ll feed you both and tell you about your next assignment.”

  My pulse jumps, but I don’t show surprise. Just raise my eyebrows.

  “It’s early. There are not that many people up and about. I think most of the crew thinks I have a sideline going hauling illegals.” He gives a crack of laughter. Only Leif would think that’s funny.

  “Grab your sister and come on up.” He lets himself out. The small room seems to expand without his larger than life presence.

  I get Amy and we take the backstairs up.

  “Another assignment? How are we going to build a jammer? The timing is terrible. We have to get out of here.”

 
I hear raw terror in her voice. But knowing my sister, the concern is as much for her niece as herself.

  “We will. I promise you.”

  Our footsteps echo along the quiet hall. We’ve nearly reached Leif’s quarters when Craven steps out of his room. “And the hits just keep on coming,” I say under my breath.

  “What the hell are you doing up here where anyone can see? Get below. I’ll deal with you both later.” He shoves me.

  I stand my ground. Before I can reply, Amy is in his face, spitting and snarling like a wild thing. “Don’t you shove my brother.”

  “Or what, you little…”

  I draw back my fist. Before he can finish his sentence or I can slug him, Leif’s door opens. “What’s the problem?” he barks.

  “These two mutants aren’t in their cabins. They know this area is out of bounds.” He waves his finger at us wildly. “And they are being insolent. Get below now,” he all but screams.

  “Way to keep a low profile, Craven.” Leif frowns.

  Craven is so angry, spittle is dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Leif looks at him with distaste. “They’re here at my invitation.” He motions us inside and turns to Craven. “Go check the stats on the other rigs.”

  “But…”

  “Now.” For once, Leif doesn’t raise his voice, but in its own way, the quiet tone is even more terrifying. Leif’s a fair man, but no one in their right mind would cross him. Then again, I’d never accuse Craven of being in his right mind.

  We sit down to a small table loaded with food. Amy pours coffee, while Leif passes around the food. Silverware clinks against plates as we dig in. Caffeine in the form of hot, fresh coffee warms my throat and throws my brain in gear.

  “You’re probably wondering why I keep him,” Leif says after a while.

  Amy stares at her plate. I say nothing.

  “He’s damn good at his job. I don’t have to like him to appreciate his results. You two on the other hand, I do like.” He grins and tosses down his napkin.

  Amy gives him a shy smile.

  “Good to know,” I respond. “What’s the assignment?”

  “A leak on three. Actually it’s not even a leak.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not sure. The EPA found minute traces of oil five miles out and are making noises. Craven took the call. You can get more details on the way to the rig.”

  Right. Like I’d ask Craven anything.

  For the first time, Amy chimes in, “Three’s about forty miles from here isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Leif responds. “We have riggers all across the world. But the majority are located here along the Texas coast.”

  She nods.

  “And you need us both?”

  He runs his hands across his chin, making a light raspy sound. “Tell you what. I’ll send you out. If you need backup, have Craven call me and I’ll send Amy. That way she’ll be available if any other emergencies arise. Now if you’re done, why don’t you get packed and I’ll order the chopper.”

  I grab the last biscuit as I rise and shove it in my mouth. If I’m with Craven, no telling when I’ll eat again. Excitement floods my system in a rush of warmth. If Craven is with me, Amy can scout the ship at night for parts to make a jammer. As long as she keeps a low profile, Leif won’t care that she’s moving around.

  Her eyes bright, she throws me a triumphant smile as we hurry down the hall. “I’ll look for parts while you’re gone,” she whispers.

  “What if all the parts aren’t on board the rig?”

  “They have to be. These rigs are self-supporting. And if we don’t find everything, we’ll have to jury-rig it.”

  “Say what?”

  “We’ll have to make do.”

  “Oh okay. Gotcha.”

  I grab my bag, which is always packed, and give Amy a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see ya. Be careful and don’t take any chances.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can. We’ll get these things made, and then we’re out of here.” I hustle up to the deck.

  Craven is already waiting. “Let’s go, mutant.”

  Before we can board, Leif comes trotting up. “I’ll expect a full report when you get back, Craven.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Joel, I’ll expect one from you as well.” He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze never leaves Craven. The message is pretty clear. Hands off.

  “Will do.” It’ll be more difficult, but Craven is crafty. He’ll manage to find a way to make my life a living hell.

  I climb on board, Craven behind me. He turns around once in his seat to stare at me. He says nothing, but if his glare is anything to go by, he’d like to bite into my jugular. I hold his gaze. When he finally looks away, I study the choppy gray water below and let my mind drift to how to get the materials to build the jammers. The clock oscillators should be no problem. We’ll just need to snag a couple of wristwatches for the quartz crystal. There should be mini-circuit breakers in the equipment room.

  The helicopter touches down before I can finish my mental reconnaissance. “Head for the water, freak. I don’t want any more people seeing you than necessary.”

  The pilot throws Craven a startled look but says nothing.

  I bend low and run from the chopper. Once away from the whir of the blades, I head for a shadowed corner, shuck down to my trunks and toss my duffle against the wall, hoping Craven doesn’t find it and toss it overboard or add an unpleasant surprise. I’ve found everything from poisonous spiders to jellyfish in my bag. The man’s a snake.

  I climb the ladder over the side and drop into the water.

  I sink into the cool blue water and let myself drift downward, losing myself in the ripples. There’s nothing like it. I imagine it’s similar to what a baby feels drifting in its mother’s amniotic fluid. The thought reminds me of the child floating in the tank of blue liquid. My muscles tighten and I swim for the surface. I need to figure out what’s going on here. The sooner I do, the sooner I can head back and take care of business.

  Swimming around the tanker, I test every few yards, nothing but salt and fish. No oil. My ability to taste an offshore oil leak is what makes me so valuable to the company. It’s part of my dolphin DNA package.

  When I’ve been in the water an hour, I lengthen my distance from the rig. It takes me another hour. Finally, the water takes on a faint, sweet flavor. Oil. I follow the taste. I’m like a hound moving back and forth in the water, trying to catch the scent. Finally, I have it and follow it out. It’s a good five miles from the tanker.

  Ahead of me, a boat bobs on the water. It’s leaking oil, bad. It happens on occasion. Crafts leak oil. If it’s a large enough leak and there’s a tanker in the area, they usually catch flack for it.

  I find a ladder hanging over the side and pull myself on board, planning on telling the guy he’s got a leak.

  And find a gun pointed at me.

  Chapter 4

  Water drips off my fingers and runs down my legs, forming puddles on the warm wooden deck beneath my feet. Four tough-looking men face me. Survival kicks in.

  I take a quick step back onto a canvas shoe and feel a sharp prick between my shoulder blades. “Get off my foot and don’t try anything funny or I’ll slice you.”

  This isn’t good.

  I can’t see the man behind me but the four in front of me look dangerous. They appear to be in their mid-twenties and sport a variety of scars and tattoos. One with short thick hair and a mustache swaggers up to me. “Is this him?”

  Him who? What the hell is going on? “I don’t know who you’re after but you have the wrong man. I just came on board to tell you your motor’s leaking oil, lots of it.”

  The taller one, who has a skull and crossbones tattooed on his arm, gives a command. I’m spun around and one of them touches my birthmark.

  “That’s him.” In spite of the warm sun, a chi
ll courses through me.

  I jerk my arm back and whirl around. “What’s this about?”

  The man with the knife pokes me. This time I feel a trickle of warm liquid run between my shoulder blades. I step to the side and hear the click of four triggers. Ignoring them, I turn to the man holding the knife. He’s my height and has a good twenty pounds on me. His skin is tanned but lighter than his associates. His hair is brown, slicked back from his face.

  I hold his gaze, my hands flexing at my sides. He’s got the knife but takes a step back.

  “What do we do with him, shoot him?” the man with short, thick hair asks.

  The leader considers then shakes his head. “I don’t want the noise. If we screw this up, the boss ain’t going to like it.”

  The ringleader looks at the water. “Is your sister around?”

  “My sister? What do you want with my sister?”

  He makes a remark that has the rest of them laughing uproariously. Guns or no guns, I’m going to smash his face.

  He prods me with his gun. “Is she with you?”

  “No.” Thank God. What would have happened if she had been?

  He steps closer. “So you like to swim, do you?”

  His friends step closer too. I balance on the balls of my feet trying to keep them all in sight. “We can help you with that. Georgie.”

  The man with the knife rushes me. I leap to my right. Instead of gutting me, the knife slides down my arm, bicep to elbow. Blood flows. Two of the other men grab for me. I elude them, jump overboard, and hit the water with a splash.

  Blood is streaming. God, I hope there’re no sharks nearby.

  “Want us to go after him, boss?” one of the men yells.

  “No need. With all that blood in these waters, he’s not going to survive.”

  “Goodbye, fish boy,” the leader calls. They rev the boat and take off. I swim fast and hard. How long can I go before I begin to feel light-headed?

  Two miles. I have three to go and my speed is slowing. I’m leaving a blood trail but there’s nothing I can do about it. I push harder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a finned shadow. I flip over on my back, watching the shark approach. Preparing as best I can, I fist my hands. It streaks toward me.