“No worries,” he called out.
Em slid her tank into a slot behind the portside bench and approached the Othonos siblings. “Are you all right?” she asked Nicholas. Her words were directed at him, but her eyes asked the same question of Lyra.
Nicholas replied first. “I will be if I get my prototype back!” He looked at the screen on the top of the controller. Emily could see the feed was blank. “I don’t understand. I activated the beacon and I know it’s in range… especially since I unspooled the underwater antenna.”
“Where is it?” Emily asked.
Nicholas tapped the touchscreen on the device. “Just under five hundred yards…”—he turned sidesaddle on the bench, pivoting the controller to and fro before pointing—“…that way.”
Emily looked where he was indicating. “The Puerta Maya Pier. That’s where your ship is docked.”
Nicholas looked up. “And that blasted Nordic Starr rust bucket,” he muttered, before looking toward the stern. “Is everyone aboard? Would it be possible to move your boat closer to the pier to improve my signal?”
Emily did a quick head count, then again for good measure. “Boone, can you ask Ricardo to bring us north, closer to the pier?”
“We’re going that way anyway. Why?”
Lyra spoke up. “My brother is trying to retrieve his device.”
Boone nodded, heading up to the flybridge.
Nicholas looked down at the controller. “I don’t understand… we should be close enough. This appears to be working but it’s almost as if…” He inverted the controller and opened a back panel. After digging a finger inside, he flipped it right-side up again.
Emily saw the viewscreen flicker before filling with a gloomy image of the sea bottom. Some external light source was suffusing the water with a greenish glow.
“There! That’s got it.” Nicholas pressed a control on the side and the sand and sea lit up in the viewscreen. A pair of butterfly fish flashed past. “Something was interfering with the signal. I switched the band and was able to take control again.”
Emily sat beside him on the bench, peering at the screen. “Looks like it’s sitting on the bottom,” she observed.
“Yes. Let’s see…” He laid his thumb tips on the little joysticks, pressing forward on the right one and tapping the left one back several times. The view was obscured by a cloud of sand as the upc rose from the bottom. He glanced at Emily. “Right stick controls the attitude of the propellers. Left stick is thrust. I’ve pointed them up and pulsed the propellers in reverse a few times to pull it up slightly.”
“Ah, ’cause you’d kick up a cloud of sand if you pointed ’em down and went forward.”
“Precisely.”
“What was that green glow we saw?” Emily asked.
“I suspect that’s the nighttime underwater lights on the Apollo.” He worked the controls and brought the nose up. The hull of a ship filled the screen, green lights shining from the sides.
“Your scooter went straight to your ship?” Emily said. “And then just sat on the bottom right under it? That’s a bit weird, innit?”
Nicholas frowned. “I did give the upc the ability to return to a preprogrammed gps location, in the event that control was lost.”
“Well, that explains it,” Lyra said.
“Not really,” Nicholas replied. “I never activated that feature. I was still ironing out some bugs.” He returned to the controls, bringing the upc level. The viewscreen now showed the flank of the massive concrete pier. “At least I can test out the controls. I’ll bring it around to this side of the pier.” He tapped a control. “I know I asked you to move the boat closer, but could we hold station here?”
“I’ll ask Boone!” Lyra volunteered, making her way to the flybridge ladder.
Emily watched the visual as the underwater drone skirted the length of the pier, then reached open water. After a moment, Nicholas spun the upc about and pitched the nose up, bringing it to the surface. The view screen went white at the sudden change in light before adjusting to show the scene: on the left, the brilliant lights and colors of the Apollo, the waterline glowing green. In the center, the bright, orangish lights of the pier. And on the right, the Nordic Starr was haphazardly illuminated by an asymmetrical pattern of white lights—no doubt many bulbs were burned out. The water’s surface was at the bottom of the image and slowly rose to obscure the view.
“Is it sinking?”
“Yes, I don’t want to purge the seawater yet. I just popped up to get my bearings.” He pushed both joysticks forward, heading back to the pier, then pivoted right. “Fighting the current a bit…” he noted.
The camera image moved along the end of the pier, then passed the stern of the Nordic Starr.
“Wait! What was that? Go back!” Emily reached for the controller, her fingertips brushing the backs of Nicholas’s hands. He tensed and she pulled back. “I’m sorry, I just… I saw something. May I?” She held her hands out.
Nicholas turned to look at her. “I… yes, of course.” He handed her the controller. “Now, to rotate, you’ll want to—”
“Like this?” Emily interrupted, effortlessly pivoting the upc and sending it back toward the Nordic Starr. She slowed as the hull of the ship came into view.
As we passed that Hygge Cruises ship, I saw a shimmer… like a thermocline… but more than that, it seemed like… there!
“What is that?” Nicholas asked.
“That… is something they shouldn’t be doing.”
Emily maneuvered closer and pivoted so she had a view down the length of the hull. The water was distorting in a cloud, emanating from a bilge port. “Looks like they’re dumping gray water. That’s when—”
“I build ships—I know what it is. It’s the non-sewage water from sinks, showers, laundry… but it can still contain pathogens and harmful chemicals. At present, there are no international regulations for that.”
“At least it’s not black water… oh, wait…” Emily trailed off as a second jet from a port further down began, and this was noticeably hazier than the first. “Sodding hell, even treated sewage can’t be released within three miles of land.”
“Correct. And the marpol convention requires a ship be twelve miles offshore if it’s untreated… and what are the odds that this ship has a decent sewage treatment system.” Nicholas reached over and toggled a switch. “I’ve started the video camera. Can you bring it closer to the black water discharge?”
“Easy peasy. One closeup of liquified shite, coming right up.” Em gently nudged the left joystick and the view moved closer to the new emission.
“Hold there.”
Emily did so. “Those wankers… we already have enough damage happening to the reef when cruise ships follow the damn rules.”
“Where’s the scoot….er… the drone thing?” Boone asked, coming down the ladder with Lyra close behind.
“Right next to that Hygge Cruises ship,” Em said, pushing a stereotypical Scandinavian sound onto the name.
Boone leaned in. “Is that…?”
“Hygge poo.”
“Those sons of bitches,” Boone muttered.
Em delicately manipulated the joysticks and adjusted the angle of the shot. “I have to say, Nicholas… toy or no, your gadget is brill!” When Nicholas looked at her quizzically, she finished out the slang: “…liant. Brilliant.” Emily found herself remembering Calypso, winding her up about her accent. “Sorry. I have a way of speaking that can sometimes…”
“I love the way you speak,” Nicholas said matter-of-factly.
The jet abruptly stopped, and Emily backed away to find the gray water dump had ceased as well. “Looks like they finished.”
“Too late for them,” Nicholas said with a sneer. “I’ve got everything I need. That ship is a thorn in my side, and this will be reported. I want to
thank you for spotting that, Miss Durand.”
“Miss Durand is so formal, considering we just filmed high-def sewage porn together. Call me Emily.”
“As you wish. Thank you, Emily.”
“And now for the cherry on top,” Em said, spinning the upc sharply to the left and making for open water. “Where’s the button that purges the water when you’re ready for flotation?”
“It’s this one here. Why, what are you doing?”
“Our movie needs end credits.” She spun the vehicle around and pitched the nose up, breaching astern of the Hygge Cruises ship. Activating the purge control, the distant upc sucked in surface air and flushed the ballast. “Tada!”
Filling the viewscreen was the stern, the faded paint of the lettering clearly visible in the bright light on the nose of the scooter: Nordic Starr. And the home port: Reykjavik, Iceland.
“Here you go,” Boone said, setting the upc on the bench alongside Nicholas. After retrieving the man’s prosthesis, he had jumped in to bring the scooter aboard.
Nicholas finished attaching the socket of the artificial leg and looked up. “Thank you, Mr. Fischer. Would you give it a quick dip in the freshwater rinse?”
“Sure.” Boone brought the device over to the tub they used for divers to clean their underwater cameras. It was too large to immerse, but by dipping and rotating it a few times, he was able to remove the corrosive saltwater. He brought it back to Nicholas. “Here you go.”
Nicholas pointed under the opposite bench where Lyra was sitting, still clad in her shorty wetsuit, its zipper partway open, revealing the top of a white bikini. “Could you bring me the case, please?” he asked.
“Sure.” Of course, it had to be behind her legs, he thought. Boone squatted and reached under the bench. Lyra nudged the side of his face with her thigh and leaned in.
“Thank you for saving my brother,” she said in a soft voice.
Boone blushed and quickly slid the black case out, losing his balance and flopping onto his butt on the deck. Lyra giggled and looked wistfully up at the starlit sky. Boone spotted Emily coming down the ladder. Man, I hope she didn’t see that.
“I saw that,” Em whispered with a smile, as she passed him on her way to the swim platform to secure the stern ladder.
Boone regained his feet and brought the hard case to Nicholas. “So, you gonna send that video to the Marine Park? We know several of the staff, if you’d like us to handle it. Ricardo, our skipper, has an uncle over there.”
“Thank you, but I’ll contact them directly. Since the footage is on my equipment. Chain of evidence, and all that.”
Boone shrugged. “Okay.”
Nicholas snapped open the case and tucked the controller into its slot in the bottom before lifting the upc.
Emily came alongside Boone and hip-checked him playfully. “So, Nick, once you’ve got that thingamajig on the market, let me know, yeah? That was a right bit o’ fun!”
“You’re an excellent pilot,” Nicholas noted.
“So I’ve been told,” Emily said, looking at Boone.
“She likes to be flattered,” he said.
“It’s not flattery if it’s fact,” Em replied, stripping off her wetsuit as the lights of San Miguel came into view.
With the Lunasea nestled against the dock at Dive Paradise, Boone and Emily helped the divers disembark. The Kansas gang insisted they didn’t need a refund, but Boone insisted right back that he and Emily would take them out for a fun shore excursion to make up for it. No one in their group was interested in doing Devil’s Throat—especially since they were flying out the following day—so Boone suggested they meet at their hotel at two in the afternoon.
“Sounds good!” Greg said, gathering his and Cecilia’s gear and heading toward the hotel.
Boone reached over to take Lyra’s gear bag before helping her across. As she alighted on the pier, she stumbled into him and he steadied her as her thick, raven locks cascaded over his face. He was ninety percent confident it wasn’t a real stumble.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“Part of the job. No customer shall faceplant upon arrival.”
“A very exciting evening, Boone. I imagine Calypso will be sorry she missed it.”
Boone chuckled. “Depends on how into peril your sister is.” He turned away from Lyra to assist Nicholas with his equipment but found Emily had already done so and was currently offering him a hand across. Nicholas hesitated, but then took it and stepped to the pier.
“If you’d like the tour of the Apollo now, I believe it’s the least I can do. I have a car waiting…”
“Oh, Nick, thanks ever so much, but Boone and I have to get up at stupid o’clock to prepare for the Throat dive. How much longer are you in Coz?”
Nicholas’s face betrayed a trace of disappointment, but he smiled and picked up his hard case and gear bag. “Some of our guests are traveling to Chichén Itzá tomorrow but we will be departing the following morning.”
“Oh, bugger… and Boone here just committed us to an excursion tomorrow after the dives…”
Boone shrugged. “We could reschedule,” he suggested.
“No, no, it’s the last day for the Kansas gang,” Emily said quickly. “And we really did cheat them out of half the night dive. But maybe a rain check? I imagine you and your fleet of fancy ships will come to Cozumel again, yeah?”
Nicholas hesitated. “Of course. Next time. Good night.”
Boone saw something pass over the man’s face as he turned away and headed up the pier.
“And Callie and I will see you tomorrow morning,” Lyra said, leaning in and placing a kiss on each of Boone’s cheeks. She lifted her gear and followed her brother. Boone made a concerted effort not to watch her departure.
“Ooh la la, a European double-smooch, very fancy,” Emily teased.
“I was ambushed,” Boone said sheepishly. “Sorry ‘bout that, I—”
“Oh, please, I’m a big girl. Besides, you did yeoman’s work not watching her arse as she walked away.” Emily leaned to the side to look around Boone. “She has a little runway-model thing going. Kinda hot.” Emily swiveled her head back toward the boat. “Right, Ricardo?”
Ricardo jerked, caught staring. He shook his head with a half-smile. “Do you need me to help bring the boat back?”
“No, we got it,” Boone replied. “I saw your bike down in the hold. You heading out from here?”
“Si, I am meeting Lupe for dinner. My uncle is watching Eduardo and Elvis for us.”
“Is it your uncle who works for the Marine Park?” Emily asked.
“Santiago, si.”
“Well, when you get back from dinner, be sure to tell him to be on the lookout for a video of the Nordic Starr being naughty below the waterline. Oh, bugger, that came out sleazy.”
Ricardo laughed. “You have a way with words, Emilita. You and Boone are welcome to join us for dinner.”
“Nah, we aren’t about to mess up your date night,” Boone said. “Besides, we need to get back and walk Brix.” Boone didn’t like to leave the dog alone for too long; they usually arranged a dog sitter for the two-tank morning dives, but for a night dive, the pooch was fine.
“Where are you dining?” Em asked.
“La Choza.”
“Love that place,” Boone said. And he did; situated a couple blocks back from the main drag, the restaurant was somewhat protected from the hordes of cruise passengers. The kitchen churned out regional favorites, and locals and expats kept it supplied with a brisk business.
“Be sure to get the avocado pie!” Emily gushed. “When I first saw that on the menu, I thought, ‘oh my, no.’ But I went from yuck to yum in one bite.”
“I know it well,” Ricardo said, ducking down the interior steps to retrieve his bicycle. “I’ll see you both at the Marina at sunri
se, yes?”
“Easy on the margaritas,” Boone warned, as he helped the Cozumeleño with the bike.
After securing the Lunasea at the marina, Boone and Emily took Em’s Bug south on the main highway that looped around the southern half of Cozumel.
“Everything went pear-shaped so fast,” Em said. “I can’t believe you caught up with Nicholas. It looked like that thingie was going flat-out.”
“I almost didn’t catch him,” Boone admitted. “He used his fin as a brake and managed to slow himself enough that I was just able to reach him. Of course, he could’ve just let go of the damn thing. It malfunctioned, I guess.”
“Maybe. But weird it wound up right under their boat, yeah?”
“I suppose. Maybe it was stuck in a clockwise circle when I yanked him off of it. From where we were, it would make sense.” He watched Em chew that over for a bit. “Sorry you missed your five-star tour,” he said.
“Oh, that… I’ll survive. Luxury breeds envy, yeah? Personally, I’m quite happy with our new digs.”
Just then, they reached their current accommodations, the Residencias Reef condos. Situated five miles south of the marina and under seven from town, it was far from the bustle of the cruise ship crowds. They had managed to find a reasonably priced rental condo there shortly after they arrived. Owned by an author of thrillers, it seemed somewhat appropriate, given what they’d been through the last few years. Though in the past, Boone and Em had been quite frugal in their choice of lodgings, they’d decided to kick it up a notch after their windfall from Belize. The oceanside balcony was ideal for unwinding at sunset, and the fact that the resort allowed dogs was an added bonus.
As Boone reached the condo, he heard a flurry of sniffing behind the door. “No sneaking up on you, huh, Brix?” He opened the door and the potlicker dog nearly bowled him over with frantic affection, but quickly redirected his attentions to Emily.
“Ohhhhh, I know, Brixton… we’ve been gone for years! You wanna go walkies?”
Brixton froze, ears flopping with the sudden cessation of movement. Then he took off like a shot and retrieved his harness and attached leash, dragging them to the door.
Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4) Page 8
