The Secret of Othello

by Sam Cameron

Brian didn’t like Sean’s tone or oversimplification. He stared at the horizon, and listened to the laughter of people in the pool down below, and smelled barbecue on the breeze.

  “He lied to me,” he said. And he said the L-word.

  “Which sucks, but doesn’t mean you have to end everything. If I had a boyfriend like Denny Anderson, I’d give him a second chance. Or maybe a third, or a fourth, or whatever, but don’t hold a grudge.”

  After they hung up Brian thought about that word, grudge, and dialed Denny’s number.

  Denny answered, “Hello?” and it was a cautious word, as if he expected something worse.

  Brian leaned on the railing. “Hey. When are you going down to Key West tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on when Steven gets back from Miami.”

  “Do you want to eat dinner early somewhere?”

  A pause. Brian could hear music and traffic in the background.

  “Yeah, definitely,” Denny said. “I’m on my way back from Islamorada. I’ve got to take care of the boats. I can pick you up around five?”

  “Okay,” Brian said. “Five.”

  Neither of them hung up right away. Brian wasn’t sure what to say, even as words flitted through his mind: you’re a jerk and you drive me crazy and don’t lie to me, and maybe what does love mean to you?

  “I’ll see you later,” Brian said. “I’m glad we’re going out.”

  “I’m glad, too,” Denny replied, and Brian was sure he was smiling.

  *

  As Denny pulled into the parking lot of Darla Stewart’s dive shop he knew he had a silly grin on his face, but he couldn’t help it. Not only had Brian called him, but he’d wanted to go to dinner, and he’d said he was glad they were going out. So that was a good thing, right? If Brian never wanted to see him again, all he had to do was say so over the phone.

  The shop was empty when Denny let himself in. Darla was behind the counter, testing a regulator, her face furrowed in a frown.

  “You look unhappy, Chief,” Denny said. Everyone called her Chief, even though she was long retired.

  “This thing is a piece of junk.” She dropped the regulator into a cardboard box. Her keen eyes assessed him. “I heard you had some excitement this morning, huh?”

  “That’s pretty fast news,” Denny said.

  “Larry Gold’s damn lucky you were around.”

  “It wasn’t me who saved him. Tristan Flaherty started CPR before I got there.”

  “Always modest,” Darla replied. “Your tanks are all set.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  The dive shop was adjacent to Mac’s Marine Repairs. As he loaded the tanks into Steven’s truck he saw the Othello II docked at one of the piers and remembered what Claire had said about the crew going back to Virginia. When he climbed into the driver’s seat his leg brushed against Tristan’s camera, with its photo of the mystery object near the wreck of the Agana.

  He drove into the yard and found Red Sox Bud on the deck, hosing off some gear.

  “Denny or Steven?” Bud asked.

  “Denny,” he said. “I thought everyone went home.”

  “Someone’s got to stay with the baby,” Bud said, sounding disgruntled. “What’s up?”

  “I have some pictures I thought you could look at,” Denny said. “Maybe it’s nothing, but something weird showed up.”

  “Sure. Come aboard.”

  They went down below decks to the tiny galley. The boat was empty. Bud offered him coffee, but Denny thought he’d save it for dinner with Brian. Bud thumbed through the photos on Tristan’s camera, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration.

  “These were shot today?” he asked.

  “This morning.”

  “Exactly where?”

  “A few miles offshore,” Denny said. “Do you think that’s part of that satellite that came down?”

  Bud grunted. “Hard to say. Did you show these to anyone else?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll download them and take a closer look, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  Bud got his laptop and inserted the memory card from Tristan’s camera. As he peered more closely at the images, Denny’s phone buzzed with a text message from Steven:

  !!!!!!!!!!

  Denny squinted at the screen and typed back ?????that better be yes u passed.

  “I think you found something interesting,” Bud said. “Can you take me out there?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Denny said. He didn’t bother correcting him that Tristan found it. “But tomorrow I’ll be in Key West, so it’ll have to be early Sunday morning.”

  “If you give me the GPS coordinates, I can get another diver,” Bud said intently. He popped out the memory card and put it back in Tristan’s camera. “Better not to let it sit in the salt water too long, if it is what I think it is.”

  Denny picked up the camera. “Sure. I’ll send them when I get back home.”

  “Ballpark figures?” Bud asked. “I hate to wait.”

  A frisson ran up Denny’s spine. Bud was being just a little too intent about it, a little too forward.

  “I don’t know them offhand,” Denny said. “I’ve got to go—my brother’s waiting for me.”

  Bud closed the laptop. “Okay. Give me a call. NASA will be pretty happy if you’ve found what we’re missing.”

  The intent stare was gone. Denny told himself he’d been overreacting. He was plugging Bud’s number into his phone just as Steven sent: totally aced it.

  “I’ll call you,” Denny said. “I know the way out.”

  He left the galley and headed for the ladder, thumbing in: knew it.

  Three steps later, something hard slammed into the back of his head and sent the world rushing into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Dad was waiting in the parking lot.

  “So?” he asked.

  Steven shuffled toward him with a perfectly hangdog face.

  Dad’s face fell. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

  “I passed,” Steven replied, grinning wildly.

  With a whoop, Dad grabbed him and lifted him off his feet. Which was no easy task, but Dad managed anyway. And Steven didn’t mind at all, because he felt happy enough to just float off into the sky anyway, one big balloon of happiness and relief.

  “Perfect score,” Steven said, as Dad squeezed the air out of him. “Perfect!”

  “I knew it!” Dad put him down but kept his arms around him. “Color-blind, my ass.”

  Steven allowed himself one minute of holding tight, and manfully broke away.

  “Well, you know,” he said, and wished the sun wasn’t so damned bright. “I never had any doubt.”

  On the way out of the parking lot he texted Denny a bunch of exclamation marks. Denny sent back a terse message. Steven grinned and sent totally aced it. Meanwhile he told Dad all about the test and Dr. Meadows and how Master Chief King had let out such a yell of “Yes!” that the whole building had heard him.

  “Call your mom,” Dad said. “She’s going to cry.”

  Mom did cry, which was okay. Moms were allowed to cry when they were happy for you. Denny sent back knew it, which was kind of pithy, but Steven could forgive him because this was the best day of his life: He’d passed, he was going to be a SEAL, absolutely nothing could stop him now.

  Before heading back to Fisher Key they had to stop off at the martial arts store in Homestead. Dad paid for the uniforms, saying it was his treat. Steven hoped to run them through a washing machine and dryer at least once, and when they got to Key West tonight they’d get a set of the dojo’s patches to sew on.

  “Do they let spectators watch the black belt test?” Dad asked.

  “From the office, yeah,” Steven said. “You want to come?”

  “Your mother and aunt and I.”

  “It’s pretty long and boring.”

  “Not to us. What time are you two leaving tonight, and where are you staying?”


  “We were going to spring for a real hotel room, but I don’t know when. I’ll find out.”

  Denny didn’t pick up. Steven hoped that meant he was off with Brian somewhere, fixing that mess, so he wouldn’t be distracted during the test. From Homestead to Fisher Key it would be two hours, a straight shot. Steven begged to drive, but Dad said he’d rather avoid being pulled over, thank you very much.

  “When did they say you start?” Dad asked.

  “Training starts August third,” Steven said. “I wish it started Monday.”

  “Boot camp in August. That’ll be fun.”

  “Cakewalk, Dad.”

  The highway was clear until they reached Key Largo, when it slowed to a crawl. Dad got on the radio and found out there was a three-car accident north of Tavernier blocking the highway. It took them an hour to cover the next three miles. Steven tapped his foot, drummed on the dashboard, and compulsively checked his watch.

  “Relax,” Dad said. “It’s out of your control.”

  “Fifty miles, and it’s going to take us forever.” Steven tried dialing Denny again, but still no answer. He called Brian.

  “He’s picking me up at five,” Brian said. “We’re going to dinner.”

  Steven had not authorized Denny to take his truck on a dinner date. Still, he could afford to be magnanimous. “Tell him I’m going to Eddie’s to wash the uniforms, and he better pick me up when you guys are done.”

  “Got it,” Brian said.

  “And tell him to answer his phone once in a while.”

  The accident kept them crawling until the lanes opened up at four o’clock. Dad dropped Steven off at Eddie’s. The house was even cleaner than when Steven had last visited, but Eddie didn’t look happy. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a glum expression, filling out a job application.

  “I need your washing machine,” Steven said, and dumped the uniforms in the machine next to the sink. He threw in a cup of detergent, too. “What’s the application for?”

  “My uncle’s car dealership.”

  “You don’t have an uncle with a car dealership in the Florida Keys.”

  “It’s in Columbus,” Eddie said. “My grandmother wants me to move up there with her for a while.”

  “Since when do you want to sell cars in Columbus?”

  “Since absolutely never,” Eddie said. “How did your test go?”

  Steven beamed at him.

  “You dog,” Eddie said.

  They ordered a celebratory pizza to mark the occasion. Eddie offered up some beer, but Steven decided he’d better keep his head clear. Eddie drank two with dinner and then another while they watched a movie. Steven kept checking the time, wondering just how long Denny and Brian could make dinner last. His brother better not be off making out somewhere.

  By eight o’clock he was calling Denny every fifteen minutes just to be annoying.

  “My mom and grandma should be back soon,” Eddie said. “You want to stick around and meet the Terror of Ohio?”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Steven said.

  “You want a ride back?”

  “No. I’ll walk.”

  He was furious with Denny, but the exercise might help him clear his head. It wasn’t far—nothing on Fisher Key was far—but it was getting dark, he was tired, and his knee was stiff. This side of the island didn’t have streetlights, but all he had to do was follow South Road around the point toward the marina, crossing Jeffers Bridge along the way.

  Every few minutes he dialed Denny and left another snarky message.

  “I hope you’re having a really good time with your boyfriend and my truck,” he said.

  And then, “You know, the truck I pay for with my own money every month.”

  And also, “Remember my truck? You’re never borrowing it again for the rest of your life, got it?”

  No houses along here, just mangroves and marsh and the occasional whoosh of a car on the nearby Overseas Highway. Stars glittered overhead and waves washed up against the thin strip of shoreline. Steven didn’t know if he could ever live in a city, with traffic and pollution and people jammed together in high-rises. He wasn’t even sure what to expect on a big military base, only what he’d read or watched in movies—barracks, chow halls, reveille every morning, everything rigid and orderly. No palm trees or salty breezes, no chirp of a million insects on the road.

  Jeffers Bridge was a concrete stretch that crossed over one of the largest inlets on the island. As Steven started across, headlights came up behind him and turned his silhouette into a long shadow. He turned and shielded his eyes against the glare. At first he thought it was Denny catching up with him, but the engine noise wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was another local and he could hitch a ride—

  The engine revved.

  The headlights switched to high beams. The driver gunned straight toward him.

  Steven dropped the karate uniforms and started to run.

  But even as he sprinted, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. The bridge was too long and the SUV too fast. In just a few seconds, Steven was going to be a large splat of road kill. Wouldn’t that suck rotten eggs? His entire life, over before he even got to the good parts.

  He veered toward the bridge railing, got his hands on the rusty metal, and swung himself over the side. For a few brief seconds there was only the panic of being in midair and falling helplessly, a total victim of gravity. Then he hit the warm water, sank over his head, and kicked to the surface. The outgoing current dragged him under the bridge. He grabbed for a pylon and clung tight, though sea moss made it slippery.

  Above him, brakes screeched. Steven listened hard but the concrete muffled other noises. A few seconds later, the beam from a flashlight sliced down into the water just a few feet away and a man’s voice yelled, “Nice try, kid! Get back up here!”

  Steven kept silent. But he knew that voice. Placed it immediately.

  The white beam swung closer.

  Jamie Harrison said, “Show yourself and say hi to your brother, or I’ll put this bullet right through his head.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Denny had woken up somewhere dark, cramped and reeking of bleach. His head ached and his wrists were zip-tied behind his back. He tried to move his feet and found them bound together as well.

  So not good, he thought to himself.

  He could reach his back pockets, and with some twisting around could pat down his front pockets as well. No cell phone, no pocketknife, not even the keys to Steven’s truck. He struggled to sit up, but the movement made his stomach lurch and his head pound, and he ended up vomiting a thin stream of bile into his own lap.

  For a moment the best he could do was rest his head against the cool bulkhead beside him. His heartbeat drowned out all other noises until they gradually asserted themselves: running water, a faraway murmured voice, a clang of metal.

  Denny figured he was still on the Othello II. Bud would be nearby, along with whoever had hit him from behind.

  He kicked out and yelled, “Hey! Let me out!”

  No one came for him. Now that his eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, he could see that the door was not watertight. A thin rectangle of light seeped through the cracks. He kicked again, hoping maybe to break the lock. Shocks ran up his leg and into his back, but he braced himself and tried again.

  After several minutes of futility, footsteps approached and the door swung open. Denny squinted against the blinding light, which made his head hurt a dozen times more.

  “Shut up unless you want a bullet in the head,” said Jamie Harrison, and the gun in his hand backed up the threat.

  Denny responded by throwing up again. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he got some on Harrison’s pants.

  Harrison swore at him and stalked away. A moment or two later, he came back with Bud in tow.

  Bud crouched down and said, “You can make all the noise you want, kid. No one’s going to hear you.”

  Denny had nothing left to vomit, but his
stomach didn’t know that. Dry heaves were no more fun than bile.

  Bud said to Harrison, “You shouldn’t have hit him so hard. How’s he going to show us the site if he can’t dive?”

  “All we need are the coordinates,” Harrison said.

  “Where?” Denny croaked out.

  Bud turned back to him. “Where those pictures were taken. Tell us where, and we’ll leave you here. We’ll call the cops in the morning and let them know where you are.”

  Denny stared at them in confusion. “Coordinates where?”

  “The dive site,” Bud said.

  His stomach lurched again, and he curled into himself with a suitably pitiful groan.

  Neither Bud nor Harrison seemed pleased. They didn’t move him from the utility closet, but Bud got him some water and a handful of aspirin. Denny would rather have a knife to cut himself free, but he didn’t think they’d comply if he asked. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious but surely Steven was worried by now about his truck, if nothing else.

  “He’s fine,” Harrison said nearby. “He’s faking it.”

  “You probably broke his skull,” Bud said. “Great going. A cop’s kid, too.”

  “It’s not going to matter once we’ve got the more,” Harrison said.

  That didn’t make sense—the more?—but Denny couldn’t ask about it. He kept his face pressed to the cool metal and tried to breathe steadily through his nose. He wished they would turn out the lights, at least.

  “Let me see the pictures again,” Harrison said.

  They walked off down the corridor. Denny tried twisting his hands free, but zip ties were appallingly effective. He didn’t think they’d be able to identify the Agana from Tristan’s pictures. She hadn’t taken any wide shots of the ship itself, only hatches and fish and the sandy bottom.

  But when they came back, they had a plan.

  “You might not be able to dive, but your boat GPS can show us the way,” Harrison said. “You’re coming along as insurance.”

  They cut his ankles loose and hauled him upward. He let his knees buckle and he sagged against Bud. Bud cursed again at Harrison for excessive force.

  “I can’t help it if his head is made of eggshells,” Harrison retorted.