“Nice guy. And this villa over there is smaller than his?”
“By a fraction only. This one is owned by a financier and businessman from Russia. He’s a recluse and rarely spotted off the grounds. He’s a bit obsessive about security. Lots of closed circuit cameras and a couple of guard dogs. Because his house is beach level, he has his own private dock.”
“Russian recluse financier? Interesting,” Emma said. “What’s his business?”
Randiger shrugged. “Lots of different things. Oil and gas, some gold speculation and several service companies. He owns a pool chemical corporation and supplies most of the houses here with their pool chemicals, and he also owns the Springfed water company and supplies the dispensers that you see everywhere. In addition, I’m told that he provides joint venture capital to companies around the world.”
“Hmm,” Emma said. Randiger threw her a look.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Russian mafia money.”
“Well, yes as a matter of fact. You’ve got one guy from the UK hiding from an insider trading scandal and another from a troubled nation that’s hiding from . . . who knows what. What’s this one’s name?”
“Ivan Shanaropov.”
“Any of his staff affected?”
Randiger shook his head. “No one’s contacted us as yet.”
“Lucky him,” she said. “So we’re not going to his villa?”
“Right. We’re headed to the villa owned by the English royal family. One of their gardeners is affected.”
“Are they in residence?”
“Luckily, no. I wouldn’t want Terra Cay to be the island responsible for harming a royal. That would be my worst nightmare.”
“If it’s a disease, then it’s not as if you could have stopped it.”
Randiger pulled into a circular drive lined with several neat, small town houses. He killed the engine and cast a glance in her direction.
“Try telling that to their subjects. These are the staff houses.”
Emma followed him to the front door of the third house in the row. An aging woman, her white hair pulled back into a bun and with dark, unlined skin opened the door. She wore a flowered housedress over a voluminous body. Her face held a concerned expression. Randiger smiled at her.
“Hi, Lorraine. I’d like you to meet Ms. Emma Caldridge. She’s a chemist and I asked her to come with me. I’m here to check on Henry. He still sleeping?”
“He is. Nice to meet you, Ms. Caldridge. You’re a chemist? I hope you can tell me what the powder is in my son’s room.” She waved them into the house. It was a shotgun design with living room, dining room, and kitchen in a row, and a staircase to the right that led up to a second level. She moved up the stairs slowly. At the top she entered the first door to her left. Emma stepped in after her, and Randiger followed.
A young man, no more than twenty-four years old, lay on the bed, sleeping. A sheet covered him to the waist and he wore a worn, white undershirt. Sun shone into the room from a window set in a far wall and a clock sat on a nightstand. Next to the clock was a saucer containing two small piles of powder and an ashtray that held an empty roach clip. A framed poster of Bob Marley hung on the wall above the headboard.
“That looks vintage,” Emma said.
Lorraine nodded. “It’s from one of his uncles. Henry loves Marley’s music.”
“This the powder?” Randiger pointed to the saucer.
Lorraine nodded. “There was some on the floor, too. At first I thought it was dust. And you know I don’t allow no dust in my house.”
Randiger nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I know.” A flash of humor lit her eyes at Randiger’s deferential answer, but it was gone in an instant and her serious expression returned. Emma leaned closer to the saucer. One pile was easily identifiable.
“That’s mandrake,” she said. She pointed to the dirty-colored pile that contained larger, coarser pieces mixed with the sandlike grind. “But that,” she pointed to the second pile, “isn’t.” The second pile was a finely milled white powder.
“Any idea what that one is?” Randiger asked.
“It could be anything.” She looked closer. “Well, not cocaine. Doesn’t look like it.”
“What would a voodoo doctor use?”
“Henry don’t have any truck with voodoo.” Lorraine sounded adamant.
“Now, Lorraine,” Randiger said, “I know that, but maybe he got the powder from a friend. Could have been slipped to him.” He sounded conciliatory. “Well?” he asked Emma.
“Possibly scopolamine.”
“What’s that for?” Emma hesitated. She didn’t want to mention drug abuse or voodoo again in Lorraine’s presence, but if the substance was scope, then there was a good chance that Henry was involved in some sort of drug trafficking or voodoo. She decided to have that conversation with Randiger when they were alone. For the moment she focused on the beneficial aspects of the drug.
“Divers use it. It stops nausea.”
“Ah, sure. It comes in patches, doesn’t it?”
Emma nodded. “Transdermal patches, yes. They work well.”
“Could it be the reason that Henry’s sleeping?” Lorraine asked.
Before Emma could respond, she saw Henry twitch. It was almost as if he’d heard his name. Emma kept her attention on him while she answered Lorraine.
“Possibly. Scopolamine can be used as a knockout drug when mixed with alcohol. Like Rophenol, or roofies.”
“Think he mixed his own?” Randiger asked. “With the mandrake?” Lorraine’s sad expression changed to one of outrage, and Emma was quick to head off the explosion.
“Hard to say. Maybe he had no idea what it would do to him.”
“Henry doesn’t do drugs,” Lorraine said in a forceful voice. Randiger gave her a glance and flicked another at Emma, who bit her tongue. She was certain that Randiger recognized the roach clip for what it was, but it was clear he wasn’t going to point it out to Lorraine, and Emma decided to keep silent about it as well. If Lorraine chose to remain deliberately blind to Henry’s paraphernalia, who was she to enlighten her? Besides, Emma didn’t think her son’s current condition had much to do with marijuana. The scope and mandrake were the most likely culprits.
“Can you give me a Baggie with that powder?” Randiger asked. “Maybe we keep it separate, just like it is on the tray.” Lorraine nodded.
“Let me get it for you.” She left the room.
“So our Henry not only smokes pot, but he uses scope and mandrake too,” Randiger said when Lorraine was gone.
Emma watched, and Henry’s face twitched at the sound of his name.
Randiger continued, unaware of Henry’s reaction. “I don’t know about the mandrake, but I don’t like the scope. Henry doesn’t dive much that I know about. Why would he need it?”
“It does give one a happy, intense high,” Emma explained. “Like ecstasy. Like really bad ecstasy, though, because in the end it creates some wicked hallucinations.”
Randiger took out his phone and snapped a picture of the powder. Emma leaned closer to Henry.
“Henry, if you can hear me, move your right hand.”
Randiger gave her a surprised look but said nothing. He watched Henry’s hand.
After a long pause, Henry’s hand slid across the sheet a fraction to the left, then back. The movement was so small that Emma wasn’t sure it was intentional.
“Again, please. I wasn’t sure if you meant that,” Emma said.
Henry stayed still.
“Henry, move your hand again, please,” Emma said.
Henry’s hand twitched once and stopped.
“Oh God, he’s awake but paralyzed,” Randiger said.
“He’s definitely having trouble responding,” Emma said. She heard steps from the hall as Lorraine returned.
“I’m going to have him transported to a hospital,” Randiger said.
Lorraine carried a couple of plastic bags and a spoon. She carefully filled the
bags and handed them to Randiger.
“You find out what this is and get my Henry to wake up.”
“Has the doctor been here?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. He said he has three others to see first. Said to keep checking on him until he can get here.”
“I think you should arrange to transport him to a hospital as soon as possible. Off island,” Randiger said.
She nodded.
Emma followed Randiger to the car. When they were inside he turned to her.
“Is scopolamine also known as a zombie drug?”
Emma nodded. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Lorraine, but yes, it is. Mostly because it induces amnesia after the hallucinations are finished. When the victim comes to, they can’t remember a thing.”
Randiger put the car in gear and started the drive back to his office. Emma gazed out the window, watching the mansion flash in bits and pieces through the trees.
“Would the scope paralyze him like that?” Randiger asked.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“What made you think to ask him to move?”
“It was something that the voodoo priestess said when I confronted her. She said that the man with her responded only to her suggestion. It occurred to me that the priestess was being literal. That he could only move when ordered. Perhaps she’d given him a drug. How many people on the island do them?”
Randiger shrugged. “A few. The younger ones, mostly. Not much to do on a small island. They fish, boat, drink, listen to music, and flirt with the girls. It’s a quiet life. Not too interesting for a young person.”
“So it would be easy for someone to introduce a new, cheap high and have it make its way quickly through the population.”
“Yes. Anything that is a novelty would be a welcome change for some of them. I’m going to really start pressing for information on that voodoo woman. Her magic is sickening people, not helping them.”
“Maybe it’s her drugs that’s creating the sleep.”
“If it’s not, then I’m really worried.”
“Why is that?” Emma said.
“Because the official said that his other theory would be a virus. And if that’s it, then we would already be into pandemic-level numbers.”
“What virus causes one to sleep?”
“I asked him that question as well. He didn’t have an answer. And that worried me more than anything else.”
Despite Randiger’s ominous news, Emma drove down the hill with a feeling of lightness. She was eager to get off the island, even if only for a day and a night. She needed a break from the strangeness.
The day was perfect for a sail: shining sun, soft breeze, and a smooth, blue ocean. She grabbed her messenger bag from the front seat and headed to the Siren’s Song. When she got there, she saw Carrow on deck along with Oz. Marwell was there as well, checking the pressures on a row of scuba tanks. He looked grim. Oz waved to her.
“Mind if I come along?” he asked. “Richard says he’ll be diving with you and someone needs to stay topside. And I have this.” He held up a metal device.
“That looks like—”
“A sextant,” Oz said.
“Actually, I was going to say a protractor,” she said.
He pointed it at her. “Well, you’re not far off. Both are used for calculating angles, but this one will calculate the angle of the sun from the horizon.”
Emma squinted at him. “And we need that why?”
“To do some celestial navigation. I’m going to plot a course to the blue holes using only the sun and stars for guidance.”
Carrow walked up and gave Oz an amused look. “The boat has a GPS system and radar, mate. I don’t think we’ll need the sextant.”
Marwell looked up from the tanks. “Never know when you’ll need to navigate by the stars. Most long-distance yachtsmen can do it.”
“Can you?” Carrow asked.
Marwell nodded. “I worked for the British Merchant Navy before coming to Terra Cay. It’s still a required course.”
Oz looked impressed. “I’m an avid astronomer. Didn’t I tell you that?” he said to Carrow, who took a swallow of his energy drink.
“No, but let me just state for the record that I’m not surprised.” He raised an eyebrow at Emma.
“All I knew is that you’re great at computers,” she said to Oz.
“Computers or just about anything electronic, sure, but I love astronomy second. I’ve always loved it, even as a kid. I spent hours poring over reproductions of old charts that the ancient mariners used. When we studied Christopher Columbus in eighth grade I prepared a paper explaining how he navigated to the new world.”
“I spent eighth grade getting high,” Carrow said.
Emma snorted. “Eighth grade? Isn’t that a bit young?”
Carrow shook his head. “As I recall, it was just the perfect age.”
Emma waved him off and focused on Oz, who never failed to surprise her. He had a genius IQ and brain power to spare, yet remained an easygoing, friendly man with a quick smile and sweet manner. He told her that as a young man his genius was a curse, because it intimidated most kids his age and as a result he had few friends.
“Didn’t Columbus land somewhere around here?” Emma said.
Oz nodded. “Yep. Should be fun to see how close I get with my calculations versus the computer.”
Carrow got a dubious look on his face and then shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy. Ready?” He headed back to the fishing boat and Emma followed.
Marwell stopped fiddling with the scuba tanks long enough to help her on board.
“Thanks for setting us up,” Emma said. He frowned.
“I still don’t think any of you should be going out there—the place is dangerous—but if you do go, I want you to have functioning equipment. Is there anything I can say to talk you out of it?”
Emma laid a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your help and your concern.”
He inhaled and then shook his head. “All right. Look here. This is your wet suit, belt, and tanks, and everything else that I thought you might need. I assume you don’t intend to go deep?”
“No. My understanding is that the opening of the first cave is forty meters deep and lined with the mineral that I need. I’m just going to scrape it, collect it, and go.”
“Agreed. You have four regular tanks, but these”—he pointed to a second row of tanks—“have mixed gases. The other one is for Carrow and the third for Oz, though he says he won’t be diving. Here’s your ascent line”—Marwell showed her a bright yellow rope—“to keep you on track with the boat. I’ve added some food and drinks in that cooler.” He pointed to a large cooler strapped to one side of the boat. “There’s more below. This boat is always well stocked. The radio works well and there’s a GPS tracker and satellite phone. I’ll be only a call away. Anything happens, you contact me.”
“Aye aye, sir,” she said. As she had hoped, his face softened a bit. Not quite a smile, but almost.
“And there’s one more thing. Over here.” Marwell stepped to a long, low, dark plastic toolbox. He unhooked the clasps and opened it. A rifle with a telescopic site rested in the case. She looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“What’s that for?”
His expression turned grim again. “To shoot whatever grabs the boat and hangs on.”
Emma didn’t know what to say, but his words sent doubt through her. That Marwell was so certain they’d meet up with some creature that he’d arranged for a weapon made the danger all that more real. She shook off the feeling. She had one hundred people depending on her back at the lab to collect the mineral, and she didn’t believe for a moment that a sea monster lived in the blue holes. Whatever was there was physical and quantifiable and she expected it to be explained by science. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t scoff at Marwell. The world was filled with wonder, and even the things that science explained often awed her.
“Do you know h
ow to shoot a rifle?” he asked.
“I do,” she said. He gave her a considering look and then nodded with approval.
“Somehow I suspected as much. Mr. Richard,” Marwell called to Carrow, “I’m off.” Carrow stepped over and shook Marwell’s hand. Emma noticed that Carrow had slight bags under his eyes, but nothing extreme. He seemed to have energy in abundance.
“Thanks for setting us up,” he said.
“Keep your wits about you. All of you,” Marwell said.
“Will do.”
Marwell untied the ropes from the dock threw them to Oz, who caught them. Carrow started the engines and the boat moved off. He drove slowly until free of the harbor and then accelerated. Emma opened the cooler, pulled out an iced tea in a glass bottle. She uncapped it and went over to offer it to Oz, who sat in the companion chair. He flashed her a smile. Carrow already had an energy drink in his cup holder. He wore aviator sunglasses and kept his attention on the sea in front of them.
Emma grabbed her own drink and watched the island behind them grow smaller as they cruised away.
Over three hours later both the color and luminosity of the sea began to change. Emma worked her way up to Carrow at the helm.
“We’re getting close, aren’t we?” she said.
“Yep. Can you see the difference in the color?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“See any monsters?” Oz spoke in a mild voice, but Emma thought he seemed a bit nervous. Carrow grinned.
“Relax. We’re not close enough yet.” He checked a gauge on the dash. “About thirty more minutes, give or take, and we’ll be right over them. You should know that the opening is dead center of the questionable area. Should anything occur, we’ll need at least twenty minutes to get to the edge and away.”
“You sound like you’re leaving the option open for something to happen,” Oz said. Carrow took a sip of his energy drink.
“I don’t believe in sea monsters, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you?”
Oz was quiet a moment. Carrow gave him a glance and then shot a questioning look at Emma. She shrugged and waited. She’d learned that Oz usually thought before he spoke.
Dead Asleep Page 13
