Rising Tide (Coastal Fury Book 5)

by Matt Lincoln

  That was not Miami. It was a Waterworld nightmare packaged like a gift from Santa Claus.

  “Miami will change, but she will not submit to the sea. Zhu Industries and other major corporations are working together to create Adapta-Build technologies.”

  The future view faded into an aerial look at the Biscayne Bay area of today and did a gentle zoom down to the Dragon Tide hotel. Underwater shadows hinted at the Seascape attractions, and then the observation patio and party area.

  “The Dragon Tide hotel is the first building to feature Adapta-Build technology,” the narrator continued in an upbeat tone. “Our patented system accounts not just for rising tide levels but for water which seeps up through the porous limestone that makes up the base layer of Florida’s southern reaches.”

  The camera zoomed in on the first few floors of the hotel which didn’t look anything out of the ordinary. There were doors from the patio to the lobby, and for a second, I saw through said lobby to the other side where guests arrived.

  “As sea levels increase over the next hundred years, buildings like ours will last.” The music softened to a quiet yet adventurous melody. “Every two floors are guest rooms that can be converted into the next fashionable lobby. Other entry and exit points will similarly be made accessible to the guests of tomorrow.”

  A computer-generated animation showed the switch which had to have been simplified a thousand times for someone like me to get easily. Holm’s eyes widened a little as the animation progressed. I wondered if he was equal parts horrified and fascinated. I was.

  “The base of the building is designed to repel water infiltration that will seep through the limestone. As the water rises over the next century, so will the service of the Dragon Tide hotel and her sisters.”

  The present faded into the future view again as a bittersweet melody played in the background. The cityscape with the tops of familiar buildings peeking out of the water made my skin crawl.

  “By this time next century, the water may be twenty feet deep in Miami,” the narrator announced in a tone to match the music. “In another hundred years, it could be twice that. Because we want our buildings to last, we have planned for this. Not only will tourists and residents be able to enjoy safe, pleasant accommodations, these buildings will also serve as platforms for the future tourist draw of diving through Old Miami’s ruins. Adapta-Build technology allows our descendants to take advantage of built-in adaptability to offer luxury for these explorers.”

  Zhu turned off the video. At least we were spared the credits.

  “This, gentlemen, is the future of coastal infrastructure.” A sad smile touched his lips. “It is the unfortunate truth. My corporation and its partners are working to create solutions for those who choose not to leave.”

  “Miami isn’t dead yet,” I said without thinking.

  I knew there were speculators out there, depending on the sea to devour my home, but this was the first time I came face to face with the industry. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe that it would happen… it was something I didn’t want to think about. The worst would come long after I was gone, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

  “Of course, Miami is not dead,” Zhu said in a reassuring tone. “Our technology will keep it alive for centuries to come. The planning to keep it alive must begin before the water comes in more than it already has in some of the neighborhoods at high tides.”

  “Fair enough,” Holm conceded. “What are the chances that this Adapta-Build tech contributed to the failure of the Seascape attraction and the building’s instability?”

  Zhu winced at the word “failure.” He took his seat at the head of the table as the screen and projector returned to their respective places in the ceiling. He set the remote control on the table.

  “I believe that when reports come in, you will find that my technology played no role in the disaster.”

  “What might be some contributing factors?” I asked in a neutral tone.

  “This is difficult to say.” He spread his hands wide and then frowned. “My projects all go through strict procedures to ensure there are no accidents or,” he glanced at Holm, “failures. Each parcel of land, supplier, contractor, everything and everyone goes through rigorous inspections and investigations before they are allowed near my work. The only difficulty I had during this project was that environmental protest.”

  “I don’t get that.” I shook my head. “You say they refused to learn more about the project. What were their concerns?”

  “They had a ringleader, their champion.” Zhu sneered. “Michael James. He has been a thorn to many developers over the past ten years. This so-called activist claimed that my project was more harmful than any other.”

  “Why?”

  Zhu’s dark gaze spoke of deep, unrelenting frustration. “That by creating ways to adapt, I encourage people to stay when they should leave for higher ground. Michael James also claims that my building is not suited for the land I purchased.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am fastidious with my details, gentlemen. If there were any faults to that land, the surveys and inspections would have revealed them.”

  His fists balled up, and he seemed not to notice until he looked down and saw. Zhu relaxed his hands and placed his palms on the table.

  “What could an environmentalist have done to cause what happened yesterday?” I asked with a note of skepticism. Eco terrorists tended to set fires, pour sugar into fuel tanks, ruin fresh concrete, things like that. They rarely took actions that would hurt, let alone kill, people. This didn’t ring true, but there were always exceptions.

  “We found him snooping on the site during the early phase of construction.” Zhu folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “He served a few days for trespassing, but we had the charges dropped as a show of good faith. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “No threats or letters or anything?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “And those were the only concerns he or his peers raised?” I could think of a handful all on my own, and I wasn’t an activist.

  “Cluttering up the scenery, imposing on a protected bay, all of that nonsense,” Zhu said with the patience of an irritated nanny.

  “Are there any people you can think of who might have played a role in the incident?” I sensed there was something beneath the surface, something he didn’t want to discuss. “Business rivals, enemies, anyone of that nature?”

  “Not in Miami, and no, I will not elaborate on that.”

  Zhu made the point clear in a firm voice. There was no negotiation to be had. My problem was that I liked to negotiate.

  “It’s not unreasonable for one’s enemies to show up where and when they’re least expected,” I pointed out. “Think about it. You’re ready to open your masterpiece, an ode to the future, and there’s no better opportunity to humiliate you should something disastrous happen. And then it did.”

  “Or maybe it’s as simple as a bad concrete pour,” Holm suggested. “Even the best crews make mistakes.”

  Zhu stood and smoothed his blazer sleeves. “That is all I have time for today,” he announced as he strode toward the exit where he paused. “Look into Michael James. If you want to believe it was more than an accident, start with that terrorist.”

  Zhu left without another word.

  “I do believe we pissed him off,” Holm said with a chuckle.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “It’s worth a harder look.”

  We headed toward the elevator and found Louise Chen waiting for us. Her presence stymied our conversation, but one thing was clear.

  Holm and I were going to track down one Michael James to find out his side of the story.

  CHAPTER 6

  The guys who were playing chess in the lobby earlier were gone, but the board was still on the table with its pieces in the middle of a game. I looked out through the glass front doors and groaned.

  “What?” Holm turned toward the doors and sighed. “Just what we
need.”

  The stocky security guards stood just outside and appeared to be arguing with protesters. As Holm and I made for the scene, I saw signs that read, “Out With Investors,” “Stop Building in Miami,” “Save the Seas, Not the Banks,” “Miami’s Not Dead Yet,” and so on. As we reached the glass doors, I pointed out the second Miami sign to Holm.

  “See? Miami isn’t dead yet.”

  Holm rolled his eyes and went outside with me. There were maybe twenty people with signs and t-shirts made up to protest the Dragon Tide. They saw us and made more noise. A chant floated around in the cacophony somewhere, but it was difficult to make out more than Zhu’s and the hotel’s names.

  I held my arms up, and the noise went down a few decibels. “We don’t work here. Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

  That came out more confrontational than I intended, and some of the people, mostly white kids in their late teens or early twenties, yelled louder. One person, however, walked up to me. He was the one who had the “Miami’s Not Dead Yet” sign. When the protesters saw him, they cheered louder. He waved us to the side.

  “My name’s Steve, and my friends and I are protesting the Zhu Corporation’s involvement in Biscayne Bay,” the young man informed us. “That Dragon Tide hotel is supposed to be the wave of the future, but it’s as bad as anything else.”

  “‘Wave’?” Holm chuckled. “That was a good one.”

  Steve rolled his eyes and then continued. “They make it seem like the building is a good ecological statement, but they don’t use much green technology. I saw the video and studied a lot of the plans, and the only thing the Dragon Tide did right was the artificial reefs. Now those reefs are damaged, and the building is probably gonna fall down. Even if they can save Dragon Tide, it’ll still use freshwater, create some exhaust, and produce all sorts of waste. It’s a farce pretending to be a green project.”

  His statement sounded well scripted and rehearsed. I supposed that if people were going to be serious about protesting what they saw as great evils, they would get their acts together and memorize stuff like that.

  “Did you protest during construction?” I asked.

  “Yes, and during the zoning requests,” Steve told us. He glared at the seventh floor. “Zhu scared off a bunch of our supporters by threatening to sue them for harassment. You know, the bandwagon activists like Michael James.”

  Interesting. The way Zhu made it sound, James was a big deal among these people.

  “I heard that James has been a pain during the construction,” I said in a casual tone.

  “He was one of our best organizers.” His scowl deepened. “A few months ago, he pretty much dropped off the radar. He won’t talk to anyone but his students, and they won’t tell us why he won’t come out here anymore. The thought is that he did get sued and couldn’t afford to fight.”

  “Then why be angry with him?” Holm asked.

  Steve glowered. “Because he was our guy, y’know? He never caved in to threats before. He let us down when we needed him.”

  “It sounds like you have a good grasp on how to run things,” I observed. “You know your stuff, and you seem to be a bit of a leader.”

  Steve shrugged. “It’s a group effort. I’ve taken the lead here and there…”

  He trailed off as a different commotion grew behind us. I spun to find one of Zhu’s guards skirmishing with one of the protesters. The other guard had his TASER out and pointed it at protesters who closed in on the fight.

  Holm and I whipped out our badges and showed them to everyone.

  “Federal agents,” I announced. “Back off and stay on the sidewalk.”

  As long as they were on public property, they weren’t trespassing. The fellow tussling with the guard had gone a step onto the private walk, and he showed no signs of letting the guard get the better of him. The other guard muttered a thanks and stowed his TASER. He jumped in to help his partner, and when that didn’t look to be enough, I looked at Holm. He nodded, and we went in to grab the protester’s arms.

  Something hit me on my back. I whirled in time to block the sign a young woman swung at me. Steve swooped in to talk into her ear, and she backed off. I would’ve let it go if another protestor, this one a shaggy-haired guy in a tie-dye shirt and denim cutoffs, hadn’t charged at me. I stepped to the side, grabbed his arm and shoulder from behind, and slammed him to the ground.

  “I called the police, man,” one of the guards yelled as a bunch of twenty-somethings closed in on us and shouted. He and his partner got their guy subdued and cuffed.

  I slapped my cuffs onto Shaggy and shoved him against the glass wall behind us. Holm and I took positions in front of the guards as they hauled both cuffed men inside. I heard a loud click and looked behind me to see that Zhu’s men had locked themselves in and left us to deal with the angry protesters.

  It’d been a long time since we were caught in an angry crowd. So far, Shaggy and the other kid were the only ones who’d tried to go after us, but a gang of more white college-aged boys pushed through to face us. One wore a green shirt with a peace symbol on it, but his flushed face and narrowed eyes suggested he was at odds with that message.

  “You’re trespassing,” I warned in a calm but loud voice. “Anyone who is still on this property when city police get here will be arrested for trespassing.”

  “Feds my ass,” one of the frat bros shouted. “I bet those badges aren’t even real.” Beer fumes rolled off the bunch of them. Great. “We oughtta take you down a few notches.”

  His buddies agreed with him. The other protestors backed away, and I saw our friend Steve slip away with the girl who’d hit me with her sign.

  “I wouldn’t try it, son,” I told the frat boy. “You’re drunk. Go home.”

  He and his friends snickered as the door opened behind me. One of Zhu’s guards, the one who’d been the first to come to blows with a protester, stalked over and got in those boys’ faces. The people behind them quietened.

  “Those wusses might be afraid to knock some sense into you, but I’m not,” he growled. “One more step, shit stain, and I’ll wipe the pavement with you.”

  “Woah, that’s enough,” I told everyone. “You boys get out of here.” I turned to the guard. “What the hell, man? Don’t escalate this.”

  The guard bared his teeth. “I don’t like little punks messing around Mr. Zhu’s building. It’s my job to keep them out.”

  I didn’t get a chance to argue. One of the boys ran at the guard and bounced right off the muscle-bound man. The guard grabbed him by the collar and delivered a ham-fisted punch to the guy’s face. Horror filled the others’ eyes, and they ran off. Nice friends. I looked over and saw how Muscles loomed over the cowering figure.

  “Take it easy,” I ordered. “You stopped him, and the protesters are leaving.”

  “Shut up,” he snarled at me as he kicked at the semi-conscious drunk. “He came to Mr. Zhu’s house and disrespected us.”

  This didn’t seem like the calm guy who was playing chess a while earlier. His glassy eyes and belligerence suggested he’d taken something since Holm and I first walked through the lobby. I wondered if pumping up for a fight was part of the job description.

  “Stand down,” Holm demanded. “He’s not going anywhere, and Metro Police are almost here.”

  It was true. Sirens approached from several blocks away. I moved over to the kid and held out my arms to protect him.

  “Go inside. We’ll take it from here.”

  Muscles’s face contorted, and he swung at me. He moved faster than I expected, and his fist grazed the side of my head. Holm tried to tackle him, but Muscles barely moved. He roared and grabbed at my head. This time, I saw it coming.

  I ducked and then rammed head-first into his exposed middle. A split-second later, Holm kicked the side of Muscles’s knee. It didn’t give out, but it hurt enough to slow the beast.

  “I’m gonna kill you!” he roared.

  “That’s original
,” Holm taunted from behind. “Don’t you have better material?”

  Muscles turned, but his knee didn’t turn with him. He howled as he pitched over onto his face. That’s when his partner finally deigned to join us.

  “Muscles, stop!” he yelled.

  I blinked. “Wait, that’s his name?”

  The man in question curled around his knee and sobbed something about his ACL. He looked and acted dumb, but he didn’t seem stupid.

  “Well, no,” the other guard said. “We just call him that because he’s strong.” He stepped toward his partner and crouched. “Danny, what were you thinking?”

  Muscles snarled and tried to lash out at his partner as the city police screeched to a halt in front of the building. At our direction, they cuffed him and call for medics. They went on to take care of the three protesters who’d stirred things up while Holm and I took the other, shaken guard to the side. He introduced himself as Chewy.

  “I don’t know what got into him,” Chewy told us. “He’s usually level headed and has always had my back.”

  “They’ll do a tox screen at the hospital,” I told him. “What’s he on?”

  Chewy shook his head. “Mr. Zhu doesn’t allow us to use.” He glanced down and to his left. I had a feeling that policy might have been on the clock only. “He’s going to fire Muscles if they find anything on that drug test.”

  “Why would he pull this?”

  Chewy looked to the left and right and then back at us. “I only have a guess. He got hurt last year when one of those eco-types pushed him into the water by the construction site. His ACL tore and had to be repaired.”

  “That’s why he freaked about the hit,” Holm said with a head shake.

  “Yes, but he shouldn’t have done any of that. Mr. Zhu is going to be furious.”

  A bunch of shouts went up over where the paramedics were trying to help Muscles. One of the cops tased him, and he finally went down. They got the man loaded up and strapped down in short order.

  “That’s not like him,” Chewy promised. “Something happened.”