The Secret of Othello

by Sam Cameron

  Bud cut his wrists loose. Denny would have taken the opportunity to fight, but the odds were too heavily against him. Even Steven would have thought twice in his situation.

  “We’re going to walk to the van, and you’re not going to cause any trouble,” he said. “Anyone who shows up is going to get shot, and it’ll be on your shoulders.”

  It was night outside, with a stiff breeze from the west. The darkness worried Denny. He’d been unconscious longer than he thought. He hoped Brian wasn’t too pissed he’d missed their dinner date. By now, though, maybe Steven would have persuaded Dad to activate the theft tracker in his truck, and they’d traced it here.

  He didn’t see the truck, though. Steven would be totally furious if Harrison had dumped it somewhere, such as off a bridge.

  The marine yard had closed down for the day, leaving no one around to see Bud open the back doors of a dark-colored van. Denny was forced inside amid an impressive array of dive equipment. He sagged down on a dirty rug that smelled like engine oil and tried not to gag again. They left his feet unbound. Bud climbed in beside him and Harrison took the wheel.

  “Ten million dollars, here we come,” Harrison said.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Brian was angry at Denny for blowing off their dinner date.

  “Maybe he got stuck somewhere,” Sean said at five thirty, when Brian called to complain.

  By six o’clock it was pretty obvious Denny wasn’t coming. Brian kicked himself for even suggesting it. He locked himself in his room, buried himself in a book, and vowed never to speak to Denny again in his entire life. When his phone started ringing with calls from Steven, Brian extended the ban to any Anderson on the planet.

  Mom ordered them room service and tried to coax him into eating, but he refused.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  “You can’t sulk in your room forever,” she told him.

  Brian sighed. “Sure I can.”

  But sulking was a kid’s game—a stupid response that wore out quickly. Around eight p.m., he borrowed his mother’s car and drove over to the marina. He’d make Denny explain himself in person. However, the Idle was dark and empty. He waited there for a while, but twilight came, and then darkness, and still no Denny. The anger in Brian’s gut turned to worry. He went to the Bookmine and knocked on the apartment door.

  “Come in!” Mrs. Anderson called out.

  Brian took the stairs two at a time. The apartment looked homier than he’d last seen it, but he wasn’t interested much in decor. Mrs. Anderson and her sister were watching a tiny TV set on the kitchen table.

  “I’m looking for Denny,” he said.

  “He’s not here,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Did you try his cell phone?”

  “He’s not answering,” Brian replied. “He was supposed to pick me up at five, but he didn’t show up.”

  Mrs. Anderson picked up her phone and dialed Denny. No answer.

  “He might have broken his phone again,” she said.

  “That doesn’t explain why he missed our date,” Brian said. “I’m starting to get really worried.”

  Aunt Riza gave him an appraising look. “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  “He would have told me,” Brian insisted.

  “I’ll call my husband,” Mrs. Anderson said.

  “I’ll keep looking,” Brian said, resolute, and on the way back to his mother’s car he called Sean again.

  Sean said, “I knew Denny wouldn’t just blow you off! He’s got to be in trouble somewhere.”

  “Trouble how?” Brian asked.

  “I don’t know. But come pick me up and we’ll drive around every place he could be.”

  “You really think he’s in trouble?”

  “It’s been five whole days since a tree fell on them,” Sean said. “It’s time for another disaster.”

  *

  Steven wasn’t sure Harrison’s threat was real until he heard a distant yelp of pain that certainly sounded like Denny. Standing in the water under Jeffers Bridge, he clenched his fists and tried to figure out some heroic, impossible rescue.

  “Come on, Steven!” That was Bud the Red Sox guy. “You can’t win by staying down there.”

  Reluctantly Steven agreed. He called up with, “All right, I’m coming,” and made his way up the slippery bank.

  Bud and Harrison were waiting for him. Harrison was carrying a pistol and Bud had a flashlight. Steven stopped near the railing, hands up, waiting to see if he’d get shot.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Bud said, “and you’ll both live through the night.”

  Steven said, “You’re sure about that?”

  Harrison waved the gun toward the open back doors of the van. “Come on, hero boy. Get in.”

  Denny was inside, lying on his side, looking like crap in the dim light from the dome fixture. He was tied up and smelled like puke and squinted at Steven in an unhappy way.

  “You should have run,” he rasped out.

  “Now you tell me,” Steven said.

  Harrison poked Steven in the back. “Shut up and climb in.”

  Steven gingerly stepped over Denny and the diving equipment. Bud climbed in right after him. Harrison slammed the doors, got behind the steering wheel, and started driving.

  “Where are we going?” Steven asked.

  “Not your problem,” Bud said.

  Totally my problem, Steven thought.

  “They’re looking for something,” Denny said, sounding confused. “I don’t know what.”

  Bud said, “Jamie was too zealous with a wrench.”

  The van stopped a mile later. Steven could see his own house through the back window. He had no idea why Larry Gold’s boat was tied alongside the Sleuth-hound, and was further confused when Harrison and Bud ordered him to carry their dive equipment to it.

  “Going somewhere?” Steven asked.

  “We all are,” Harrison smirked.

  Under gunpoint Steven was told to help Denny to Larry’s boat as well. Denny was unsteady on his feet, and stopped once with his hands on his knees as if he was going to throw up.

  “He needs a hospital,” Steven said.

  “Later,” Harrison snapped.

  Steven didn’t think there was going to be a later, not with Harrison and that gun around. But he couldn’t take on two men at once, and he couldn’t count on Denny to help. He wasn’t about to run off and leave Denny alone with them, either.

  “I’m fine,” Denny rasped out. “What day is it?”

  Once they were aboard Larry’s boat, Bud told Steven to sit Denny on the deck and to keep quiet. Steven did as told. He kept Denny upright and felt along the back of his head. Bud hadn’t been kidding about the wrench. There was a big goose-egg bump on the back of Denny’s head, which explained a lot.

  “Can you swim?” Steve murmured to him.

  “Sure,” Denny said.

  Harrison was busy on the Sleuth-hound, fiddling with Denny’s GPS. Bud kept glancing nervously toward shore, as if expecting the police to show up at any minute. Which Steven thought would be a great development, but he wasn’t very hopeful about it.

  Harrison came back to Larry’s boat and checked his GPS as well. “They’ve both got the same spot in their history,” he said. “A few miles out, like the kid said.”

  “What’s a few miles out?” Steven asked.

  “The more,” Denny muttered, which didn’t make sense.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Bud said. “You and Jamie are going to go for a nice midnight dive.”

  *

  Brian picked Sean up at Sean’s house, which was a modest concrete block ranch set in a neighborhood of similar houses.

  “What’s the last thing Denny said to you?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t know. That he’d see me at five.”

  “Anything else?”

  Brian stared through the windshield without seeing anything. “Something about the taking care of the boat. No, boats. More than one.”
r />   “Denny helped rescue Larry Gold this morning. Maybe he meant Larry’s boat.”

  “Rescue?” Brian asked. “What rescue?”

  “Heart attack while Larry had Brad and Tristan Flaherty out on a dive. I don’t know much more about it.”

  Trust Denny to be a hero and not mention anything about it. Brian started driving back toward the marina.

  “She’s probably up in the hospital in Islamorada,” Sean said. “I’ll call her.”

  Once they were connected, Sean put her on his speakerphone. Tristan said, “I just talked to Sheriff Anderson. I haven’t heard from Denny since he left around two thirty.”

  “Nothing at all?” Brian asked.

  “He called and said I left my camera in his truck. That’s it.”

  “Was there anything special on your camera?” Brian pressed. “Any strange pictures?”

  Tristan made a huffing noise. “No, just fish and water and the wreck.”

  Sean asked, “What about the rest of your equipment? Where’s that?”

  “On Larry’s boat,” Tristan said. “We left it at Denny’s house.”

  The Anderson house was dark and unoccupied. Brian wasn’t sure the power had been restored yet. An empty van was parked on the grass. The Sleuth-hound was exactly where she should be, but Larry’s boat was gone.

  “We better call Sheriff Anderson,” Sean said.

  Brian squinted at the dark sea and sky and shivered with foreboding. Denny, where are you?

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The wind off the water was cold enough to raise goose bumps on Denny’s arms. It didn’t help that he was tucked beside Steven, who was wet from swimming under Jeffers Bridge and had to be even colder than Denny.

  Steven didn’t shiver, though. He was watching Bud and Harrison sharply, waiting for some kind of opening.

  Denny wanted to say Don’t be an idiot, but he didn’t want Bud glancing their way. As far as Bud knew, Denny still had his brains scrambled from Harrison’s wrench. But the aspirin had helped, Denny had been faking the amnesia part anyway, and at least half the vomiting had been a ruse.

  But the other half of it hadn’t been faked at all. The rock and sway as Harrison sped them across the water made the nausea return with a vengeance and he swallowed hard against bile. The only thing that kept Denny from throwing up was Steven’s steady grip on his arm and the fact Steven would kill him later. It occurred to Denny that he was sitting in just about the exact spot where Brad Flaherty had bloodied the deck, and he forced that thought away with a vengeance.

  They reached the Agana without running into any other boats. Bud dropped anchor and Harrison changed into a wet suit.

  “Sorry, we didn’t bring you one,” he said to Steven as he tossed him a BCD.

  “Someone want to tell me what we’re diving for?” Steven asked.

  “Piece of equipment,” Bud said. “Heavy enough that it’ll take both of you to haul it up. Remember that I’m going to be right here with this gun and your brother. You screw anything up, he’ll pay for it.”

  Steven pulled on the vest. “I don’t screw up.”

  Denny wanted to tell him to be careful. The Agana was treacherous enough in daytime, and she’d be a lot more unforgiving in total darkness. He didn’t know anyone who’d ever dived the wreck at night. Also, Harrison couldn’t be trusted. But Steven knew that already. Denny feared that once Steven went overboard he’d never see him again, and he started to freak out.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “Stay here.”

  Steven squeezed Denny’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later he and Harrison went over the side.

  Bud said, “They’ll be back soon.”

  Denny tried to track the time in his head. The Agana was sixty feet down. Steven and Harrison could descend quickly enough, but Tristan’s pictures hadn’t been clear on the equipment’s exact location. They could spend just about an hour searching the bottom, fighting the currents and other underwater hazards, before doing a normal ascent. But they could be back a lot sooner than an hour, and somehow he had to neutralize Bud before that.

  It helped that Bud was dividing his attention between Denny and the marine radio, listening for trouble. But the pistol stayed steadily aimed in Denny’s direction, and he worried the Coast Guard Academy might not approve of him showing up with a bullet wound.

  “More,” Denny muttered, still playing at being addled. “What’s more? More than what?”

  “M-O-O-R,” Bud said. “MOOR. It’s a spy satellite that started to lose its orbit. NASA sent up a Delta rocket with a bigger satellite to capture it last week.”

  “And that’s what crashed into the ocean?”

  “Wasn’t a crash,” Bud said. “But it landed off target, and the payload got separated. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  Somewhere over Bud’s shoulder, lights appeared—an approaching boat, slowly but steadily headed their way.

  “You’re not going to tell NASA you found it,” he said. “Is that it? You’re going to keep it for yourself?”

  “Othello Industries is two days away from declaring bankruptcy,” Bud said. “There’s no future for the company. But there’s a future for MOOR, once we deliver it to the people who made an offer on it.”

  The lights were growing closer. Denny thought back to what Claire had said about a business proposal she didn’t feel comfortable taking. And Steven had seen Harrison kicked out of a moving van. “What people? Other governments?”

  “You don’t need to know,” Bud said. “It can’t help you.”

  The breeze kicked up again. Denny shivered and pulled his legs in tightly. He was readying himself to launch at Bud when the right moment came. He hoped he’d be able to do it and not just trip over himself.

  An elderly woman’s voice called out across the water as the other boat drew nearer. “Hello? Help! We need help!”

  “Hell, no.” Bud swung around and tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband. “You keep your mouth shut unless you want blood on your hands.”

  Denny swallowed hard. He recognized the boater. Sweet, harmless old Irma had a frantic expression on her face.

  “My husband!” she said. “I think he’s had a stroke, and our radio’s out, and can you help?”

  Ed was slumped on a bench, unmoving. A stroke was never good news, and Irma had picked the exact wrong person to ask for assistance.

  “I don’t know anything about strokes, ma’am,” Bud said. “Our radio’s out, too. It’d be best if you head straight to shore.”

  Denny imagined Irma turning away, and Bud shooting her in the back.

  She started to cry. “The engine keeps stalling. I don’t know about any of it—he takes care of everything. Can you show me? If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  Bud sighed. “All right, hold on for one minute. Throw me that line, the one by your hand.”

  Irma tossed the line, but it fell short. She tried again. While Bud’s attention was on the line, Denny rolled to his knees and prepared to tackle him. If he timed it right, if Bud didn’t reach for his gun, if Irma stayed out of the way—

  Bud swung around and pointed his finger at Denny. “You stay right there. Remember what I said.”

  Denny sat back, arms up.

  “Please hurry,” Irma said. “I don’t know if he’s breathing.”

  “I’m coming over,” Bud said, and started to cross.

  Irma held up her hand. It was kind of funny that she thought he needed her to steady him. Bud took it anyway and then slipped, or maybe Irma pulled him, or maybe the boat just rocked the wrong way. Denny wasn’t sure. They went down on Irma’s deck in a tangle of limbs.

  A gunshot ripped through the air, making Denny flinch backward.

  Oh, Irma, he thought miserably. I got you killed.

  *

  Night diving was usually one of Steven’s favorite activities. The underwater world was an entirely different and strange lands
cape at night. Like an alien planet only a few astronauts ever got to visit. Tonight, however, it was chalking up to be one of his least favorite experiences.

  Number one, he wasn’t wearing a wet suit and he was cold.

  Number two, his dive “partner” was violent, untrustworthy, and unpredictable.

  Number three, his brother was up on the boat as a hostage of someone else violent and unpredictable.

  And oh, number four, the currents were even stronger than usual, reducing visibility and threatening to suck him away from the wreck.

  Harrison hadn’t skimped on the equipment—they each had a flashlight plus a backup LED strapped to their vests. He’d also attached a strobe LED to the bottom of Larry Gold’s boat, so that when Steven looked up he could see exactly where it was. Harrison didn’t seem intimidated by the size of the Agana, but he also was wearing a long knife strapped to his leg. If Bud had been telling the truth earlier, Harrison wouldn’t stab him or sever his air hose until they had hauled the missing equipment to the surface.

  Steven didn’t think he or Denny would live very long once these guys had what they were after.

  Once they reached bottom, the currents eased and visibility cleared. Harrison led the search. Slowly they coasted over the sand, separated by just a few feet, the beams of their flashlights intersecting as they swept back and forth. A spiny lobster skittered away from Steven’s light, as did an enormous sea turtle. He thought that if Brad or Tristan were here they’d get some good shots.

  Maybe “shot” wasn’t the best word to think about right now. He hoped Denny wasn’t doing anything stupid. Even without a big bump on your head, rushing the bad guy was a strategy of the last resort.

  Twenty minutes sped by as they searched along the sea floor. Steven kept an eye on his watch and never let Harrison drift behind him. He was beginning to doubt they’d be able to find anything with just one dive and tried to figure out a way he could get the upper hand when they rose.

  He wondered if he could kill Harrison, if it came to it.

  Harrison lifted a hand. There, at the edge of his beam, was a battered metal globe that certainly looked like some kind of space junk. As they closed in on it, Steven couldn’t see any markings or notations—just some nodules and seals and very few places for a handhold. It was larger than the component they’d recovered earlier and it was resting in several inches of sand. As they tugged it free he realized it probably weighed a hundred pounds or more.