by S. L. Menear
“No tail plus these burn marks make this look like sabotage,” Snake said.
Hunter speculated, “The jet took off to the southwest. If the tail came off during the initial climb with the wings generating maximum lift, the airplane’s forward motion would’ve carried it away from where the tail fell into the ocean. The jet would’ve dropped to a vertical nose-down attitude, and the wings would’ve ripped off on impact with the water, slowing the descent.”
Justin scanned the area. “If storms haven’t moved the tail, we should search northeast of the airplane’s trajectory. I suggest we spread out, keeping the diver next to you in sight.”
“Good idea. I want Hunter and Snake on my left and Justin on my right. Let’s go.”
We had covered a hundred yards when Justin warned, “We’d better find it soon, or we’ll run out of bottom time.”
I spotted a raised area twenty yards diagonally to our right and led the team there. We converged on an object protruding out of the sand. Lionfish hovered over the tail section. We used our spearguns like sticks to push the venomous fish out of the way.
Barnacles, sponges, delicate anemones, sea fans, and small corals covered the empennage. I scraped away some barnacles and recognized my family’s company logo on the vertical stabilizer, a Viking ship encircled by a wreath with wolf heads in the top and bottom of the wreath.
“This is it. We found it.” I pointed at the logo.
The severed T-shaped tail had landed upside down in the sand with the vertical part sticking up. It had separated from the airplane where it had been attached to the fuselage between the tail-mounted engines.
I watched as Hunter used his knife to scrape away some barnacles. “See the burn marks where bolts attached the tail to the fuselage?” He took pictures, the flash illuminating brilliant corals and sponges nearby. “You were right, Jett.”
“These match the burn marks on the fuselage where the tail was blown off.” I clenched my jaw, trying to control the anger welling up. “Mom and Dad were murdered.”
“Looks like small explosives were used. It would help if we could find parts of the detonators. Feel around carefully and try not to create a silt cloud.” Snake gently slipped his hand into the sand.
Justin checked his dive computers. “Better hurry. Fourteen minutes of bottom time left.”
Snake shined a light inside the tail cone. “I don’t believe it.” He reached inside amidst the growing tube worms and sea fans and pulled out a small piece of debris with wires attached. “Part of a detonator got trapped inside. I think we have what we need to prove sabotage.” He held it in front of us while Hunter took a picture.
Justin tapped his dive watch to indicate we should go. We were fifty yards from the anchor and spare tanks when a loud explosion at the surface sent shock waves to the bottom, hammering us into the seafloor.
I noted pieces of debris drifting downward. “Somebody just blew up our dive boat. I hear another boat driving away.”
“We have bigger problems.” Justin pointed up. “Hurry and grab our spare tanks before it’s too late!”
As I swam hard with the men, the dive boat’s heavy inboard engine descended toward our spare tanks clipped to the anchor. Before we could reach them, the engine block landed on most of the tanks, pinning them under it.
As my heart pounded my chest, I reminded myself not to gulp air.
We managed to pull out the two tanks that had been intended for inflating lift bags and one decompression tank, but most of our air tanks were trapped. We started digging out the sand underneath using our hands.
“Diggin’ won’t work fast enough,” Snake said as a silt cloud formed around us. “Attach all our lift bags to this side of the engine.” He threaded a line through one end of the engine while he could still see it. “Clamp your tactical bags to this line, and then we’ll attach our large lift bags and fill them.”
The tactical bags inflated, which did little to lift an engine weighing at least a ton. I tied my large lift bag to the line and filled it with air.
“These lift bags should be enough to raise one end of the engine so we can pull out our tanks.” Snake tied another bag to the engine and inflated it.
“If this doesn’t work, we’re in big trouble.” Hunter attached his lift bag and filled it.
“And if we don’t start up in the next four minutes, we won’t have enough air for a safe decompression.” Justin filled his bag, using the last of the air in the two fill tanks.
I kept digging with the men after all the lift bags had been filled. I tried not to think about the boat captain. He’s probably dead. Maybe in pieces. How awful.
“It’s moving.” I felt one end of the engine rise above the tanks in the heavy silt cloud.
We worked by feel to pull out the air tanks. One tank had a bent air valve, and air steadily escaped in a stream of bubbles, which only added to the murky water. We were in zero visibility.
Justin said, “I pulled down the severed end of the anchor line, wedged the anchor under the engine, clipped myself to the engine, and tied the anchor line to several inflated lift bags so the bags will be available to us when we reach the surface. Then I untied the lift bags from the engine and let them pull up the anchor line. We’ll use it to stage the decompression stops.”
“Good thinking, but we’re one tank short.” I discarded the leaking tank.
“We’ll ascend close together and remind each other when to stop and switch to a deco tank. Conserve your air,” Justin advised. “We might need to buddy-breathe in pairs before we reach the surface.”
“Everybody, take your tanks and start up.” Snake rose above the silt cloud.
We began a slow ascent, careful to follow the decompression schedule to avoid having nitrogen trapped in our joints, a painful and deadly condition known as The Bends. It would be well over an hour before we safely reached the surface. By then, any rescue boats might have come and gone, thinking no one had survived. And the surface was rough with white caps, making it difficult for boats to spot our bubbles.
I faced my dive partners in clear water at the first decompression stop. “I guess the boat captain is toast. Any chance this could’ve been an accident?”
“Not likely,” Snake said. “Who knew where we’d be diving?”
“Sophia, Gwen, her aunt and uncle, and Mike knew we were going, but not exactly where, and I told Pierce I was taking a short dive trip.”
“Did he ask where?” Hunter asked.
“No, he just said to call when I returned. What about you, Justin? Did you tell anyone?”
“Just the people who run the dive shop. They needed to know.”
“Maybe the killer has had someone keeping an eye on this spot to see if anyone mounts a dive mission,” I said.
“For two years? Unlikely,” Hunter countered. “Someone has been watching you and keeping track of what you do and where you go.”
“Then I guess it’s good we have to stay down so long. He’ll think I’m dead.”
“I’m glad we brought spearguns,” Snake said. “We might need them.”
I scanned the distant surface. No boats, but plenty of shark activity.
Hunter peered up. “Must be blood in the water from whatever’s left of the boat captain.”
Several Caribbean reef sharks searched the debris field. I didn’t want to think about what they might be eating up there.
Nineteen
GWEN
Gwen walked into the Palm Beach Police Station, and the first person she saw said, “Hey, Gwen, heard you had a great time at the opera last night. Too bad you missed the final act.”
She decided to face the music in Rod’s office first thing and knocked on the police chief’s open door.
“Come in, Gwen.” He waved to a chair. “Have a seat. Don’t be embarrassed about last night. There’s no way you could’ve known about the dead guy on the terrace. Let the bozos have their fun teasing you and move on. Any thoughts on your case?”
&nb
sp; “There might be similarities between the Donley case and the death at the Kravis Center. With your permission, I’d like to meet with the detective on that case and compare notes.”
“Good idea. Maybe the deaths are connected,” Rod agreed. “I hope you find something.”
She returned to her desk and called the lead detective on the Binky Worthington case at the West Palm Beach Police Department.
“Detective Palmer here, how may I help you?” a deep voice said.
“I’m Detective Gwen Stuart from the Palm Beach PD. I believe your rich dead guy has a lot in common with my rich dead guy. I’d like to compare notes over lunch today somewhere on your turf. How about E.R Bradley’s?”
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there at noon.”
Three hours later, Gwen walked into E.R. Bradley’s fifteen minutes early and snagged a water-view table. The wide part of the Intracoastal Waterway known as Lake Worth sparkled in the noon sunlight. A balmy saltwater breeze out of the east mixed with the pleasing aroma of food in the open-air restaurant. She ordered an iced tea and gambled on a coffee for Detective Palmer.
Confident she could spot a detective among the lunch crowd, she noticed a man who surveyed the restaurant like a lion hunting prey. The attractive man in his early forties wore gray polyester pants and a sport coat. She waved.
“Detective Palmer?”
He smiled and flashed his badge. “Call me John. I assume you’re Detective Stuart.”
“Gwen, and thanks for coming, John.” She gave him her best smile and flashed her shiny new badge. “I ordered coffee for you. Hope that’s okay.”
His alert eyes noted the coffee and focused on her face. “Thanks, Gwen. Been on the force long?” He settled across from her.
She smoothed her red hair. “Six years. I moved up to detective a few days ago. Denton Donley is my first murder case.”
“The alleged rapist?” He scanned the menu. “I heard he was found dead in his Rolls.”
A waitress appeared with her pad and pencil ready. Gwen ordered the grilled chicken salad, and John got a burger with fries.
He smiled at the waitress and flashed his badge. “We’d appreciate it if you’d expedite our food order.”
Gwen waited until the waitress walked away. “Donley’s like your rich dead guy—a relatively young Palm Beacher in good health with no obvious cause of death. He was charged with several rapes but never convicted. The M.E. found a pinprick in his neck and enough sedative to put him to sleep. We don’t know what killed him, but it looks like murder.”
John drained his coffee and waved for more. “Worthington also avoided prosecution. Four rich wives died under suspicious circumstances, but the D.A. couldn’t make anything stick. Binky died a very wealthy man.”
“Has the M.E. finished his autopsy?” She took a sip of iced tea.
“He worked all night and finished early this morning. Found a pinprick in Worthington’s neck and a strong sedative in his system. No poison. No cause of death.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Sounds like the same MO. I’d like to know if it was the same sedative used on Donley. Was it injected into his neck?” She leaned back as the server placed her meal in front of her.
John waited until the waitress served him and walked away. “The M.E. found traces of the sedative in his cocktail glass. I checked out the bartender. He’s clean.” He bit into his burger.
She swallowed a bite of grilled chicken. “Any chance Worthington and Donley were partners in a shady Mob deal?”
He reached for the ketchup. “Worthington hung out with spoiled rich guys. I didn’t find any Mob connections or any reason he would be involved with them.”
“The Mafia angle was a long shot. The deaths are clearly connected. If we can figure out the connection, we’ll catch the killer.”
“Both men did terrible things and got away with it. That’s the connection.” He dipped a fry in a small pool of ketchup. “Maybe some of their victims got together and hired a pro.”
She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “A hitman?”
“Gwen, I’ve worked plenty of murder cases. Both of these have the earmarks of professional hits—deaths that appear natural with no evidence of the killer. I’ll ask around if a heavy hitter is in town.” He focused on finishing his burger.
“I know I’m new and a little naïve, but I’m confident if we keep digging and go by the book, the killer will end up behind bars along with the people who hired him.”
He sounded skeptical as he summoned the check. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve seen lots of bad guys walk, even though the cops did everything by the book. We have no cause of death, no murder weapon, and no suspects. See if you can turn up evidence proving their victims communicated with each other. If we can find a link there, we can squeeze them and see who caves.” He dropped money on the table and stood.
She rose to shake his hand. “Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know what I find on the victim angle. Call me if you hear anything about a hitman.”
Twenty
JETT
We buddy-breathed in pairs from our last tanks before we finished the final decompression stop and surfaced amidst chunks of flotsam from the explosion. There were no boats in sight, but a few sharks still circled.
“Ignore the men in gray suits, and they’ll lose interest,” Snake advised. “Whatever blood was in the water is gone.”
I nudged him as we swayed back and forth, clutching the lift bags. “You said SEALs are prepared for anything. What’s your backup plan?”
“Yeah, Snake. Any ideas?” Hunter asked. “It’s a long way to shore.”
Justin reached inside his BC vest. “I have a Nautilus Marine Rescue GPS. It’s a locator beacon.”
Snake pulled a sealed bag out of his vest. “I can do you one better.” He held up a waterproof satellite phone and two flares. “We don’t know who we can trust in the Bahamas, so I’ll call my SEAL buddy in Virginia and let him handle this.”
When he finished the call, he said, “Turns out the Coast Guard has a cutter about twenty miles from here. He told them we’ll fire a flare when we see their ship.”
I smiled at Snake and Justin. “I sure am glad you guys came with us.”
“While we’re waiting to be rescued, let’s discuss how we’re going to catch the murderer,” Hunter said. “Chances are he’s the same guy who blew up the dive boat.”
“The boat is a good place to start.” I surveyed the surface as waves splashed my face. “Think there’s any floating evidence to help us trace the bomb?”
“You and Justin stay with the anchor line while Snake and I look around.”
Hunter checked his speargun and gave Justin a protect-her look as he swam away from me. I knew he wasn’t being chauvinistic, just a caring uncle, so I didn’t object.
Snake swam in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later, they returned.
“There isn’t much left,” Hunter reported. “The wind and current carried most of the floating pieces away, and the rest sank.”
“I couldn’t find anything either.” Snake grabbed a float. “The cutter will be here soon. After they drop us off, do we want to nose around Freeport and see if anyone had a vendetta against the boat captain?”
“I can hire people to look into that,” Hunter said. “I want my niece back in Florida under guard until we get this solved.”
Snake raised his hand. “I volunteer to be Jett’s bodyguard.”
I laughed. “How nice of you, Snake.”
Hunter grinned. “Good idea, Snake. Sophia is going to love you.”
“Who’s Sophia?”
We answered questions about the boat explosion for the Coast Guard and then for the Bahamian police before we could fly back to Florida. After we landed, I called Sophia and told her I’d be home soon with a guest. It was 9 p.m. by the time Snake and I arrived at my house.
Sophia and the dogs greeted us in the foyer. As the puppies wiggled and fus
sed over Snake, I told the dogs, “Be nice to the alpha male.”
He took in the surroundings. “I knew you inherited money, but dang, this place is as big as some hotels.”
Sophia eased closer and admired his bulging biceps. “Nice guns.”
I smiled. “Snake, I’d like you to meet my dog nanny, Sophia.”
He kissed her hand. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”
She cocked her head. “Snake? Didn’t your mother like you?”
I laughed. “That’s his SEAL nickname. They don’t use their real names for security reasons.”
“I see.” She crossed her arms. “And why did they name you Snake?”
He grinned. “Anaconda is too long for a nickname.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Mister. No funny business.”
“Snake’s here to protect me. Someone blew up our dive boat.”
“What? Well, if anybody comes here to hurt you, I’ll blow him away just like the last guy.” She reached under her skirt and pulled out a Glock 26.
Snake’s jaw dropped. “You shot somebody here?”
I hooked my arm in his. “Come and sit with us and we’ll tell you all about it.” I caught Sophia’s eye. “We missed lunch and dinner. I’ll order a couple of large pizzas.”
“Fuhgeddaboudit. I made a juicy pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy I can have reheated in ten minutes. You kids relax. I’ll bring a cold beer for Snake and a merlot for you.” She rushed off to the kitchen.
“Let’s sit on the terrace. There’s a cool breeze, and the puppies can play on the back lawn.” I led him outside.
We settled into chairs and watched the dogs romp on the grass in the outdoor lighting.
“Cute pups. What are their names?”
“The male is Pratt, and the female is Whitney, like the aircraft engines,” I explained to avoid the inevitable question.
He smiled. “Woman, you never cease to surprise me.”
