“Is it hard to do?”
“Not really. But there are twenty-two different calculations, so it’s time consuming.”
“Guys, come look at this,” Carrow called from above. His voice held a strained tone. Emma headed up the stairs and joined Carrow at the helm. He pointed to port.
“Over there. I saw something floating in the water.” He put the boat in neutral.
Oz and Emma leaned over the side. Bits of detritus rode the waves, most of which was unidentifiable, except for a small bench cushion from a boat.
“You see that?” Carrow said.
“Is it from the shooter’s boat?” Oz asked.
Emma strained to see the colors on the cushion as it bobbed in the water, but the combination of the movement and darkness made it hard to distinguish features. Oz grabbed a fishing net on a six-foot pole and used it to snag what looked like a piece of white tubing. He pulled the net toward him, working hand over hand to bring the item closer to the side. Carrow joined him and stood next to Emma.
A man’s arm lay entangled in the netting, and the rest of his body dragged behind.
“Shit!” Oz yelled. Carrow leaned over the side and looked at the man floating in the water.
Emma leaned over as well. “His arm looks like a bit has been taken out of it.”
“Shark, you think?” Carrow asked.
“Probably. I have an idea where he came from,” Emma said.
“The shooter or his driver, I’ll wager,” Carrow said.
“I agree. Has to be, don’t you think?” Oz said. Emma thought so as well.
“I can’t tell if he’s breathing. Let’s haul him on board.”
Chapter 30
Sumner lined up the small plane for approach at the Terra Cay runway. He knew the tight landing configuration and hammered the brakes down as he increased some drag. The plane rolled to a near stop several feet before the mountainous wall, and he turned it to taxi toward the small terminal. A signal man waved him into a parking spot, then he cut the engines and unlocked the main cabin door. He swung it open, lowered the stairs, grabbed his duffel and stepped down. A dark-skinned man in a police uniform stood about twenty feet to the side of the airplane. Sumner headed that way while the signal man started chocking the plane’s wheels.
“I’m Waylon Randiger, Island Security. You must be Cameron Sumner from the Southern Hemisphere Drug Defense Agency.” Randiger stuck out his hand. Sumner noticed that the man’s demeanor was serious and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked tired and worried. Sumner looked back and saw a continuous line of private jets, all idling while they waited their turn to take off.
“It’s a pleasure.” Sumner looked around. “Lots of planes leaving.”
Randiger’s face became set. “We issued a travel warning early this morning.”
Sumner raised an eyebrow. “Weather?”
“No. A health warning. We have a strange sickness sweeping through the Island. Lucky for us a big chunk of the residents had already departed after the New Year celebrations, but the ones who remained are leaving now. You sure you don’t want to turn around and fly back out? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Sumner shook his head.
“I’ll stay. Do I need to go through customs?”
Randiger nodded. “They know you’re coming so it will be quick. Come with me and I’ll take you through. After that I’d like to show you something. We can talk in the car.”
Sumner worked his way through customs and headed to the small SUV that blinked its lights after Randiger pressed a button on his key fob. He tossed his duffel in the back and crawled into the passenger seat.
“I understand that you’re a friend of Emma Caldridge’s?” Randiger said.
“I am. I’ve been trying to reach her, but there’s been no answer on her cell and the housekeeper at her villa said she’s out on a diving expedition.”
Randiger nodded. “She went out with Richard Carrow and another man this morning. There’s a satellite phone on the boat, but they’re not answering that either. Perhaps they’re out of range.”
Sumner glanced at Randiger. “Odd for a satellite phone. And do you mean she’s with Richard Carrow the lead singer of Rex Rain?”
Randiger kept his eyes on the twisting road, but Sumner could sense his anxiety.
“I do. He’s an experienced diver and he offered to take her to the blue holes when no one else would.”
“What’s everyone else afraid of?”
“A combination of the blue holes and the Bermuda Triangle area where they exist. Lots of superstitious folks in the islands.” He parked the car next to a trail that led into a wooded area. “I’m going to show you something that will give you an idea of the problem.”
“What is it?”
“Something that isn’t pleasant.” Randiger glanced at Sumner’s shoes. “You don’t mind getting those a little dirty? We’re headed up that trail about five hundred yards.” Sumner’s black Superga gym shoes had seen more wear than just the trail.
“Don’t worry. They wash up just fine.”
“Then let’s go.”
Sumner followed Randiger into the woods, gaining almost immediate relief from the sun’s heat. The smell of grass, wet loam, and the feel of moist air was a welcome change from the arid atmosphere inside the airplane. They reached a clearing and Randiger skirted the edges, doing his best to avoid stepping on the elaborate display in the center.
A series of stones placed in a circle about ten feet in diameter filled the open area. Inside the circle were the remnants of a fire. Blackened and burnt wood lay in ashes in the center, and before it were the remains and entrails of a small animal. A viscous mass below the entrails contained a couple of feathers stuck into the mess, and Sumner assumed it was a bird that had been eaten. The entire display reeked of old smoke and new blood with a hint of the sweet smell of decay.
In front of the carcass lay a small, crudely woven doll, about a foot long and made from burlap. It had brown yarn for hair and had the letters EC drawn on the chest in black marker. Its neck was slit and the cut area colored with red marker to approximate blood. A kitchen knife protruded from its chest.
“It’s voodoo,” Randiger said. “The island’s always had its practitioners, but they’ve stayed in the shadows and no one really discusses it. This, though, is the most recent event, and I think that doll is supposed to represent Ms. Caldridge.”
Sumner walked around the display, checking it out from all angles. While he could see the threat implied in the defaced doll, he also felt as though the act was designed to vent rage at a distance. Sumner had been beside Caldridge when she’d had another’s rage directed toward her in close confines. This indirect attack, despite its obvious menace, seemed diluted in comparison.
While he knew better then to ignore the threat, he also felt it was a childish act.
“Any idea who is doing this and why?” he asked.
“Ms. Caldridge interrupted a woman calling herself a hougan priestess and a so-called zombie destroying her lab.”
“She told me about that. Seems as though they could have harmed her then, but didn’t. Something tells me they want to scare her off, but not necessarily go any deeper into trouble to do it.”
Randiger pursed his lips. Sumner could tell that he didn’t agree but seemed hesitant to speak further.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” Sumner said.
“There’s another problem.” Somehow Sumner wasn’t surprised by this bit of information.
“Okay,” he said.
“I’m the deputy sheriff on the island. Duncan Moore is the sheriff. He would normally have been the one to greet you at the airport, but he’s sick. Really sick.”
“What does he have?”
“He fell asleep last night and didn’t wake up. He has yet to wake up.”
“Coma?” Sumner said.
“Perhaps a type of one, but it seems as though he’s just . . . asleep. His wife called me to say that she t
ried to wake him up and couldn’t. This was at six o’clock last evening, and I suggested that she call the doctor. She did, but he’s in St. Vincent and not able to get here until tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, Duncan started to have seizures. His wife called the doctor back and he suggested a tranquilizer. His wife gave him one and it didn’t work. Now she’s asked that I contact Ms. Caldridge, because word is she had a good result with Nalen, the bass player for Rex Rain who had the same symptoms.”
“What did Caldridge give him?”
“Mandrake powder. Problem is, we can’t find any, nor can the gardeners at the various villas. Either they don’t recognize it or it’s not growing anywhere on the island. I have pictures off the Internet, but it looks just like any other weed to me. I don’t suppose she mentioned it to you? Perhaps where she found it?”
“She didn’t. I’m sorry. But she should return soon, shouldn’t she?”
Randiger looked at his watch. “It’s nearly six o’clock. They left early morning and told Marwell, our dockmaster, that they’d be back tomorrow morning at the latest. As I mentioned, I’ve been trying to call them on the phone and he’s been trying to raise them on the radio, but they’re not answering.”
Sumner didn’t like the sound of that at all. Caldridge was an extreme runner, but a novice diver. While he hoped all went smoothly, he knew diving could be a very dangerous activity.
“How experienced a diver is Carrow?” he asked.
“Very. He’s maintained a home here for four years and dives quite a bit.”
“What’s his judgment like? His reputation in the tabloids is that he’s wild as hell.”
Randiger nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s all that. But I don’t think he’d horse around on a dive. We can ask Marwell what he thinks. He’s been on several dives with him.”
“Let’s go.”
Sumner followed Randiger down the path back to the SUV. The sun was setting and throwing shadows all around. He felt the loam under his feet and slapped at a few mosquitoes that tried to feast on his arms.
By the time they reached the dock the sun was a half penny lowering into the water line in the distance. They found Marwell in the dock office gazing at a radar screen set between a computer monitor on one side and a radio on the other. Randiger introduced Sumner and mentioned that he was a friend of Caldridge’s.
“He’s asking about Carrow,” Randiger said.
Marwell gave Sumner a frank look of assessment, and Sumner remained quiet while he did. The older man seemed to be a no-nonsense type of person, which was the kind Sumner liked the best.
“What do you want to know?” Marwell asked.
“I understand he’s a good diver, but his reputation in the media is that of a wild man. I was asking about his judgment.”
“As a diver?”
Sumner shrugged. “In general.”
“He can be crazy as hell and spoiled by the celebrity lifestyle, but I’ve never seen him make a bad decision on a dive, if that’s what you’re asking me. Besides, Ms. Emma seems capable of handling herself and him, if it came to that.”
Well that was certainly true, Sumner thought.
“Even the most capable among us can find ourselves facing something formidable, though,” Sumner said. Marwell nodded.
“You’re exactly right. I’m worried about them. I warned her not to go to the blue holes.”
“Because of the legend?”
Marwell seemed to bristle at the question. “Because of the uncertainty. You might think I’m nuts, but I’ve had my boat attacked there and I know it’s no legend. It was formidable indeed.”
Sumner was surprised at this piece of information. Marwell seemed the last person to believe in monsters, and Sumner felt a chill work its way through him. He mentally shook it off and directed his attention to the radar.
“Any sign of them?”
Marwell sighed. “No. And I still can’t raise them on either the telephone or radio.” Sumner looked out the window. Night had fallen.
“I’m a pilot. If they don’t return here by dawn, I’ll head out on a search.”
Marwell got a dubious look on his face. “You may not be able to by then. There’s a storm heading our way. It’s slow moving, but gathering force as it does.”
“Looks like I’ll have to make that call in the morning,” Sumner said. He turned to Randiger. “In the meantime can you take me to the hotel?” Before Randiger could answer, the door to the office burst open. A tall, thin woman with a beautiful, fine-featured face, thick hair to her elbows, and a panicked look stepped in.
“Mr. Randiger, please come to the West Hill. They’ve all fallen asleep.”
Chapter 31
Sumner followed Randiger and the woman—he’d learned that her name was Warner—out to the Island Security SUV. Warner rode with them while she filled Randiger in on the problem at the villa.
“The housekeeper, cook, and maid didn’t show up this morning. We got news that they all were sick. I was heading to their quarters and found a gardener asleep in the grass behind the pool cabana. At first I thought he had passed out, but when I tried to wake him he didn’t respond, and then he started to have the same seizures that Layton had. I came right here.”
Sumner listened to Warner while he ran a few calculations in his head. The addition of four more sick people meant that the total was approaching eight with the same sickness. On a small island with only two thousand occupants, that was a significant number. Warner finished her explanation and turned to look at Sumner. After hearing her name he’d figured out why she seemed familiar to him. She’d posed for the recent cover of Sports Illustrated, and he thought she was even lovelier in person than airbrushed, despite the deep circles below her eyes.
“I’m Cameron Sumner. A friend of Emma Caldridge.” He shook Warner’s hand and noticed that it was as slender as the rest of her. He knew that models remained thin in order to offset the illusion of weight put on by the camera, but he didn’t realize just how unusual it looked in real life. While her face was beautiful, the combination of height and thinness made her body appear to be full of angles as opposed to curves. He estimated that she was only four inches shorter than his six-foot-three.
They reached the villa at the top of the mountain and Warner headed along a path that led to the pool area. She skirted the lounge chairs and jogged to the pool cabana.
Three people stood in a circle around a man who lay on the grass. His body twitched and jerked in a seizure. Another man in a green utility shirt and pants sat on the ground and cradled the sick man’s head, and a woman knelt next to him. Sumner recognized the woman as Rory, the television medium. One of the standing men had a small soul patch beard and dark hair. Randiger introduced him as Ian Porter, and Porter gave Sumner a solemn nod.
“Did you call the doctor?” Randiger said to Rory.
“Yes, whatever good that did. He says he isn’t here and can’t get here until tomorrow. There’s a nurse at the Acute Care Center and she’s on her way with some tranquilizers. I doubt that they’ll help. We heard from Duncan Moore’s wife that they did nothing for him.” Rory turned her dark eyes on Sumner, and he had a visceral reaction to the blankness that he saw in their depth. Every instinct told him there was something off about Rory. He cataloged the thought in the back of his mind and refocused on the man in front of him.
“We need to figure out what type of illness is making its way through this island,” Randiger said.
Rory pointed at the man. “That’s not an illness, it’s possession. The voodoo practitioners and their black arts are permeating the very air that we breathe.” Warner sucked in a breath, and the gardener sitting on the ground looked scared. Randiger pursed his lips.
Sumner could barely suppress a snort. The only thing that possessed this man was either a drug gone bad or a virus or bacteria. Rory must have caught his disbelief, because she directed her attention to him.
“You’re a friend of the scientist, aren’t you?”
> Sumner nodded. He wanted to ask how she knew about his friendship with Caldridge, but he decided to remain quiet.
“You can ask me how I know about the connection between the two of you. I know because I’m a medium.”
She gave Sumner a self-satisfied look. Indeed, he was impressed that she’d nailed his thoughts so accurately, but not for the reasons that she assumed. He knew he was a difficult man to read and kept his expression neutral out of habit. That she’d been able to discern his thoughts made him realize that she was very good at reading body language and expression cues.
“I know who you are, Ms. Rory,” he said. “But I don’t think this man is possessed.”
“Of course you don’t,” she said. Her voice held barely contained contempt. Sumner felt a bit of anger begin to creep through him, but he suppressed it. What she thought of him was unimportant. He turned to Randiger.
“Could he be a voodoo practitioner? Perhaps he took a drug?”
Randiger looked at the gardener cradling the fallen man’s head. “What do you think Leroy? You know him the best.”
Leroy shook his head. “No way. Johnny here is god-fearing.” The glance he threw Sumner was tinged with anger. “He don’t mess around with voodoo.”
“Yes he does,” Porter said.
Sumner was interested to see the entire group’s reaction to Porter’s statement. Rory looked triumphant, Warner frightened, Randiger resigned, and Leroy outraged. Randiger coughed.
“Could you explain that, Mr. Porter? I understand that you just arrived on the island last night.”
“We went down to the beach to swim late last night. I needed to . . .” he glanced at Rory and Warner. “I needed to relieve myself. I headed into the trees and I saw this man, a woman, and another man all kneeling around a campfire. They were chanting, and he cut the head off a rooster. I got the hell out of there.”
“Did you tell anyone what you saw?”
“I mentioned it on the side to Carrow and he seemed unconcerned. Said that the locals had been practicing Santeria for years. He said it involves animal sacrifice but is different from voodoo.”
Dead Asleep Page 17
