by B. C. Tweedt
When he glanced behind, he saw that he had gathered a small audience of the natives – and a few tourists. At least he assumed so - judging by their clothing. One tourist even had a fanny pack. But they all looked just as surprised.
He gave them a brief wave, but turned back to the city. It was so beautiful. Lush with vegetation. Pink and orange paint, abundant and lively. A giant resort rose from a small island across the channel. And the massive cruise ship, just as large as the resort towering from the harbor, sat on the water, majestic and breathtaking.
Suddenly the realization hit him.
He had arrived.
The thought took the breath from him again, and he felt the tears of joy pull at his cheeks. After so long. After so much.
Dad, I’m here.
I’ll find you. I’ll give you your hat back.
My hat!
The wind played with his hair; the snap on his belt was undone; the ground around him was bare. It was gone!
He desperately looked around and down the cliff.
And then it landed behind him. It bounced on the cement and tumbled with the wind – on its top and then on its side.
Greyson put his foot down to block its progress and grabbed it by its bill. With a sigh of relief and a smile to match, he held it in front of him, gazing at the white ‘G’ that had gotten less and less white over time. Soon it would be completely…gray.
The big ‘G’. He’d always assumed it stood for ‘Gray’, but it hadn’t really mattered to him until John mentioned it. No matter what letter had been on it before, it had always reminded him of Dad. But now it would also remind him to pursue both Good and his dad. That’s what the hat stood for now. That’s what he stood for. He just decided.
Narrowing his eyes at the darkening skies, he fit the hat on his head.
Chapter 51
Sydney peered through the tour van’s window at the giant kite floating over the city. It looked like it had been lost and tangled in the vicious wind that was getting worse by the minute. Trash blew through the streets and palm fronds that had been knocked loose from the trees scuttled along with tourists who held their hats to their heads.
But the coming hurricane didn’t have Sydney nervous. She was nervous instead about the phone call her father was making.
Realizing that the relative sanctuary of the tour van was the safest place away from the Plurbs’ ears, the kids had finally told their parents the entire story near the end of their tour. The four adults had reacted with a mix of doubts and extreme concern. Their mothers had been angry with them, but it was Sydney’s father who calmed them down, setting them thinking more about what to do next rather than blaming them for past mistakes.
It was his decision to call their FBI contact.
Sydney eyed the phone that her dad held to his ear remembering what Sam had said about the contact’s fake name – and whose number it really was.
Her dad gave her a sideways glance of concern as they all listened. Above the hum of the road they could hear the faintest ring.
Riiiiiiing…riiiiiiiing…riiiiiiiing.
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“It’s incoming from the Bahamas, sir. Nassau.”
A suited man furrowed his brow and pushed his face closer to the computer screen to double-check. “We need to answer it. Give it to me.”
Another man reached among the rest of Calvin’s belongings and handed him the buzzing phone; the agent put it to his ear. “Yes?”
“Hello? Is this Agent Lee?”
The man on the phone eyed his friend, confused. He could play the part. “Yes it is.”
“Then we need you – the whole FBI…”
As Sydney’s father began to explain himself on the other line, the suited man gave a knowing nod, beginning to understand the call. The man at the computer listened as well through his own earphones, a slight smile creasing his lips.
“Are you in danger?” the man asked, playing the part. He nodded as the father unveiled his suspicions of an impending terrorist attack on the cruise ship, giving details and assuring them that his children could be trusted.
“I understand,” the fake agent said, pacing to the window. “We will be sending a team immediately. Where are you now?” He listened to the reply. “Get somewhere safe as soon as you can – a hotel room – and stay there. The Atlantis? We can get you a room there. I’ll notify their security as well.”
“What about the embassy?” Sydney’s father asked.
“No, no. If they are planning an attack, they may have a mole in the embassy.”
The man at the computer nodded with a smile, satisfied with the suited man’s deception.
Peering out the window, the agent continued, “And don’t contact anyone else; throw away the phone you are using as soon as you are finished with this call. We will handle it from here. Understand?” The fake agent blinked slowly, happy with the response.
Sydney’s father described the hurricane.
“Hunker down. We will find you.”
The man at the computer laughed silently.
“We will be in touch.”
As Sydney’s father thanked him, the fake agent stared outside the hotel at the Washington Monument standing as tall and proud as he was.
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As he guided his motorized scooter through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the Fisherman pressed the receiver in his ear and listened to his instructions. They came from Washington, DC.
Still listening, he eyed the top of the Atlantis Resort, just visible over the traffic. “Sí.”
He pressed the receiver again and hit the accelerator.
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Sydney’s father updated the rest of those in the crammed tour van on what the agent had said, just in case they hadn’t overheard. A sudden pallor swept the group. There would be no more vacation. No more water slides, spa treatments, or sunny beaches. It was over. Instead, they’d hunker down somewhere in the hotel and ride out the storm.
“This sucks.” Jarryd said finally, speaking for the rest of them.
Nodding, Sydney sighed and watched the cars across from them as their van crawled forward. Suddenly a motorized scooter buzzed past their window, down the narrow alley between the rows of cars. The driver’s tackle box attached to the back seat nearly clunked into the side-view mirrors, but he deftly maneuvered, inches from an impact on both sides. He was in a hurry.
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The initial excitement Greyson had felt after the landing was already fading.
Nassau was big. And he had no idea where to look.
All he knew from the research he’d done at the Hansen’s home was the most popular landmarks. After he had left his landing pad, he’d realized that he’d landed on Fort Fincastle, a fort originally built by the British on the highest point of the island to look out for pirates.
Then, once he’d escaped from the curious onlookers with bribes and pleas for their silence, he’d found the narrow canyon that he’d glided over. A huge, limestone staircase descended through its middle, with a cascading waterfall on one side and crawling vines draping down its rock walls. As he’d buzzed past tourists marveling at its beauty, he’d realized it was the Queen’s Staircase, named after Queen Victoria. Just as the staircase had once provided British soldiers a protected route from the city to Fort Fincastle, it had provided him a route to the city.
He’d gawked at the natural beauty of the limestone valley, but after a slow, painful run, he stopped at an intersection jam-packed with taxis, with a bright pink bar on the corner blaring music and advertising for piña coladas. Some shops had their doors wide open, still hocking their island dresses or hair-braiding services, but others were being boarded up. Nail guns plunked just down the street. Cars and buses honked incessantly, and car radios blasted reggae music to compete with the bar’s music. The few tourists walking by looked to be in a hurry to their ships or hotel for shelter.
Greyson glanced at the wall of clouds, still d
arkening in the distance. If those were only the storms preceding the hurricane, he didn’t want to see the hurricane itself.
When he turned back to the cars, he had an idea.
I can show people my dad’s picture and…oh no.
He didn’t have his dad’s picture anymore.
He’d left it in his backpack, which he’d left at Cael’s house with the Plurbs and the soldiers. No…it’s gone.
It had been the only picture of him, and now it was gone forever – along with all his mother’s research. He shuddered in anger. What if he never found his dad? Would he forget what he looked like?
Another honk jerked him from his frustration, and he eyed the traffic that wound its way to the bridge to Paradise Island, where the Atlantis Resort dominated the landscape.
“Excuse me,” he said, catching up to a tourist. “Have you seen a man that looks like me, but like, older and taller?”
He stammered out a few more descriptions, but the elderly man shook his head and held on to his flimsy hat, moving on.
Greyson sighed, spun around, and entered a bar through a pair of swinging doors. He nearly gagged on the smell, it was so thick. Alcohol. It was sharp and seemed to rise from the sticky floor. But there were other smells, too. Fried food, burgers, nachos. He could nearly taste them, and the saliva began to pool in his mouth as his stomach gurgled, suddenly aware of its emptiness.
He was so hungry. Too hungry. And tired. It hit him like another train wreck. But he didn’t have time to eat. He had to find him before the storm struck.
“Ay, Mon! Ar’nt you a little ‘ung to be in a seedy place like d’is?”
“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “American. Dark brown hair, green eyes – six foot somethin’. Seen’m?”
The Bahamian threw his long dreadlocks over his shoulder and flashed his white teeth. They were so white compared to his dark skin. Greyson was enthralled with them.
“No, Mon. Haven’t seen’m. But we’ll keep a real eye out for ‘em.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, disappointed.
“Peace, ‘Lil Mon.”
“Peace…Mon.”
He ran to the next store and then another. He crossed the block and tried every person he ran across, but every response was the same mix of confusion and pity. They knew it before he did. It was a helpless endeavor.
After another failed attempt in a dress shop, he pushed his way outside. The sun hit his eyes again and he squinted, blocking out the sun with his hand until he threw it down, muttering incoherent curses.
This is stupid! This was no strategy. It was the desperate, maniacal whims of a boy on his last leg. He had to get to his senses. He was too hungry, too pained to think clearly. For now, he didn’t need a strategy. He needed a burger. And for the first time in weeks, he had money – and plenty of it.
He eyed the bar across the street – the one that had smelled of fried food. The street’s traffic was moving now, a slow and steady stream to the resort. He would have to wait to cross, but as he did, he scanned the faces as they passed by. Each one started as a possibility; but he disregarded them just as fast.
A woman. Another woman. Too old. Too fat. A woman. A dog with its head out the window. A black man. A close one, but too skinny. A boy with his mouth against the window, blowing his cheeks out like a puffer fish – who looks a lot like Sammy – who drools just like Sammy. Who wipes off the saliva-window with his arm just like Sammy would.
It is Sammy.
His heart skipped a beat and his feet danced in place.
How? Could it really be?
His mind and feet found traction and he hopped to the right, following the van as it made its way through traffic.
“Sammy? SAMMY!” He cried out and jogged down the sidewalk, trying to keep up. The van sped up and made a turn onto the bridge.
“STOP! SAM-my!” His voice did that thing again, but he didn’t care. Running into a tourist, he yelled an apology but kept running.
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Sammy blew as hard as he could against the window. His cheeks vibrated and his lips flapped at the glass, but he knew he could get his cheeks bigger. He gasped in air and then went back at it. His eyes watched the skin from his cheeks peek into his peripheral vision – until his vision grew blurry.
“Sammy! Knock it off!” Sydney yelled. “Or Ross – whatever. That’s gross.”
“Yeah,” Jarryd agreed as Sammy’s head swooned with the lack of air. “You don’t know how many other people’s lips have been on that…never mind. And dude! Now both your eyes are crazy!”
The kids watched as his eyes lolled about. Sammy tried to smile, but he couldn’t. His cheeks had gone numb.
“Er curnt merv mer cherks.”
The kids laughed. Jarryd made a face. “What is your stupid face saying?”
“Erts nert furner,” Sammy mumbled, trying to rub life back into his cheeks. “Mer cherks er derd.”
They laughed again as their taxi sped up. Their parents also let out a sigh of relief. Mr. Aldeman patted his wife’s knee. “Finally. I don’t know what the hold up was.”
She didn’t notice policemen examining the parachute stuck in the power lines across the street.
“We should get a room on the bottom floor, in case the top ones blow off,” Jarryd suggested.
“We’ll get whatever room they give us,” Mrs. Hansen said.
“I don’t know ‘bout y’all, but I’m headed to the bar,” the twins’ stepdad replied.
His wife elbowed him.
“Well, someone’s got to enjoy this vacation.”
Jarryd piped up. “I’ll go to the bar with you!”
Jarryd’s mom glared at her husband, and then at Jarryd. “We’re staying together.”
“Erverwon to the ber! It’s a perty!”
Mr. Hansen had had enough. “Stop it! Everyone quiet!”
The cab went silent. Even the tour guide had given up long ago.
“Look. This is serious. No one is going to the bar. If you do, you’ll be putting us all in danger.” He gave an awkward look to Mr. Aldeman. “The only safe place for us is in the room.”
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The Fisherman sauntered to the front desk, slowly and deliberately, his tackle box forcing him to walk off kilter. “Hola, senorita. You will tell me where Mr. Tim Allen is staying tonight.”
“Welcome to Atlantis, sir. Unfortunately we are unable to…”
He put an envelope on the desk with his large, dry hand. The clerk gave it a concerned look.
“I’d like to leave them a welcome present in their room.”
The woman reached timidly for the envelope. “That’s…very nice of you, sir…perhaps I could have one of our attendants bring it to their room…”
The Fishermen withdrew the envelope from her fingers. “The package is very…important. I will go with the attendant.”
He pushed the envelope across the desk. Glancing around, the woman peeked at the cash inside. Her eyes grew wide and she quickly put the envelope in her pocket.
“I think we can arrange that.”
“Now.”
“Just one moment.”
“Gracias.”
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Greyson’s instincts took over as he maneuvered through traffic, bounding from car to car, clunking their trunks and hoods with his sneakers. The honking blared beneath him, but it was background noise to him; he was too focused on the van ahead, now speeding toward the resort.
I have to go faster.
Jetting to the sidewalk, Greyson began to sprint along the bridge railing, eyeing the ferry passing underneath and the gigantic cruise ship still towering in the harbor.
He huffed and puffed, his arms pumping like pistons, but he still couldn’t catch the van. He could barely make out the van as it turned into the resort’s roundabout. In a few minutes they would be checking into their room and he would lose them in the web of hundreds of rooms spread across the resort’s many buildings.<
br />
Faster!
His second wind kicked in, letting the cars blur past him to his right. The pains he felt soon numbed and he felt looser, faster, and ready for anything.
He imagined the twins would be with Sammy and their parents. Would they have brought Sydney with them?
He smiled at the thought.
Looking both ways, he crossed the street and wound through an avenue of shops. Finally, he could see the van unloading beyond several docks, jam-packed with sailboats and yachts swaying in the wind. He saw her get out.
Sydney.
“SYDNEY!”
But she was too far away.
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The lobby was beautiful and golden – a sanctuary from the wind that had almost knocked them down on the way in. But there was tension inside. Busboys were urgently lugging suitcases about, guests were lingering in clumps, anxiously talking amongst themselves, and a crowd had gathered around a lone television in the carpeted area past the massive fountain. Sydney could make out the familiar image of a weather radar screen – this one with a sizable red circle jerkily moving across the screen. One of the guests pointed at it, following the movement across the blue water to a little green speck. She guessed it was their island.
“Wercurm tur Paradie!” Sammy exclaimed, his arms in the air triumphantly.
“Sammy – come on,” Sydney pulled him with the family as they bypassed a few guests at the front desk. Her mother was leading the charge to get them checked in.
The kids hung back a little, but Sydney’s father leaned down to them. “Stay close, now. You guys like to find trouble – but not today. You’ve had enough. We’re letting the pros handle it this time.”
It was like her dad could read her mind. Sydney eyed the crowd, pulling on the drawstring bag she had packed for running off on her own.
If they were going to find Greyson, it wasn’t going to be from their hotel room. He would be out looking for his dad. Maybe he had found him already – but there was no way of knowing. Either way, she had to look for him. She hadn’t led them this far to hole up in a room and hide. She’d been looking for the right opportunity, and this could be it.
