Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  “Sir,” Stavros interrupted, “spotter plane at two o’clock high.”

  “I see him. Looks like he’s inbound.” Achilles banked the helicopter to the east before resuming his northward track. “Ah, there’s a few shark-watching boats out there. No one is supposed to swim with the whale sharks until next month, but they do it anyway.”

  “How far to the one you’re looking for?” Em asked.

  “The fisherman gave us a set of gps coordinates just south of Isla Contoy… should be there in ten minutes.”

  Nine minutes later, the co-pilot raised a pair of binoculars and sat up in his seat to look over the cockpit controls, glassing the seas ahead. Very quickly, he lowered them and pointed.

  Achilles made a small adjustment and began to descend. “Looks like two of them! Lyra, in the console next to your seat are several pairs of binoculars. We can’t get too close or the sound of the engines and the rotor wash will spook them. Learned that the hard way, last time.”

  Achilles descended to one hundred feet and hovered, rotating ninety degrees. Lyra handed binoculars to Boone and Emily and soon the passengers were all pressed against the windows on the right-hand side of the cabin, Emily going so far as to leave her seat and kneel in the space between rows.

  “Thar she blows!” she crowed in her atrocious pirate voice.

  “Whale sharks aren’t whales, Em,” Boone teased.

  “Don’t patronize me, ye scallywag,” Emily growled, then dropped the voice. “Actually, I was reading about why they often spend time at the surface like whales. Not to breathe… but to warm up between deep water feedings.”

  Boone focused on each massive animal in turn. If he had to guess, one was over thirty feet in length, the other one significantly smaller. “One full grown one… and the other looks like a young adult.”

  “Maybe it’s a baby?” Lyra suggested.

  Emily turned on her instructor voice. “Although whale sharks birth live young, a foot or two in length, the juveniles leave the mother in short order.”

  “They give birth like a mammal?” Lyra asked.

  “No… they hatch from eggs that mummy dearest carries around inside her.”

  “Beautiful and smart,” Achilles said, turning and leaning over the back of Lyra’s seat to look at Emily. Boone looked up from the binoculars to spot the co-pilot grabbing for the controls again. “Definitely looking forward to having you on my ship.”

  Emily stayed glued to her binoculars. “I’m sure Boone and I will see you around. Wait… looks like the big one’s diving… and there goes the other one.”

  Achilles returned to his controls and after a moment, pulled up on the collective and banked sharply away to the south, gaining altitude. Emily flopped onto her butt at the change in direction.

  “Hey,” Boone warned, “we need to strap in.”

  “No worries,” Em said, crab-walking across the carpeted cabin to her seat. “All good.”

  Lyra mouthed, “Sorry,” and stuck her head into the cockpit, spitting something out in Greek.

  Achilles ignored her. “Hey, we could land in Mujeres… grab some lunch.”

  “I don’t know about Boone, but I’m still stuffed from brunch,” Emily said. “Plus, I need some time to pack. I’ve never dressed for a luxury yacht cruise before. And what Boone’s wearing right now is pretty much the best thing he owns.”

  “Well, tomorrow night is my birthday dinner,” Achilles said. “Father always invites the passengers to attend, so you’ll need something for that. We’ve got a tailor aboard and a few shops. I’ll set you up, no charge. Oh, and… the Apollo has an amazing pool, so you…” He threw Emily a leer. “Bring a bikini or two.”

  Since they’d only used a fraction of their fuel, Achilles pushed past cruising speed and had them back aboard in just over twenty minutes. As the helicopter’s blades wound down, Boone took off his wireless headset, toggled it off, and turned to open up the arm rest. As he was tucking the headset away, his eyes registered something out of place in the immaculate interior—something that seemed familiar. While the side door was sliding open, Boone unfastened his seatbelt and stepped toward the rear of the cabin.

  “Why thank you, good sir,” Emily said to the crewman outside, when he offered her a hand.

  “Boone? Are you coming?” Lyra asked.

  “Right behind you.”

  Crouching beside the triple row of plush leather seats at the back, he reached his long fingers into the gap between them and the left side of the aft bulkhead to retrieve the object. He exited the helicopter in time to see Achilles stepping down and tossing his helmet to the waiting crewman before swaggering up to Emily.

  “Thank you so much for the ride, Achilles,” she said. “One more thing I can check off my list of stuff-I’ve-never-done.”

  “I’ll give you a ride anytime. Hey, I’m planning on going clubbing tonight, if you’re interested…”

  “Oh, Achilles, you’re so sweet to ask… but remember that thing about me needing to pack? Yeah, still need to pack. And walk the dog. And get a good night’s sleep.”

  Achilles waved it off. “Your loss. Anyway, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He turned to Boone. “And you, too. Not as much as her, of course.”

  Boone shrugged. “Can’t blame you. Thanks for the flight.”

  When the young man who had brought Boone and Emily aboard ship arrived at the edge of the helipad, Achilles jerked a thumb toward him. “That guy will guide you back to the pier… uhhh… can’t remember his name… Mark, I think.”

  “Keith,” Boone supplied.

  Achilles looked Boone up and down. “Yeah, you’ll definitely want to visit the tailor. Have…um…” He snapped his fingers a few times. “Keith! Have Keith run you by on your way out, let them get your measurements.” Achilles strutted away, taking a smartphone out of his pocket and placing a call as he headed for an access door.

  “What did you pick up from the floor?” Lyra asked.

  “Oh… nothing… just a cigarette butt. Everything looked so nice in there, I couldn’t leave it.”

  “He’s always picking up trash he finds when diving,” Emily said.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Lyra leaned forward to give Boone a pair of cheek kisses. “See you tomorrow, Boone.” With that, she turned and left.

  “Lookee there, she ambushed your cheeks again. And… you’re blushing! Hard to do with that tan of yours, but you’re managing it.”

  Boone shook his head, smiling. “Well, I think you’ve got an admirer of your own.”

  “Yeah, about that… if you leave me alone with Achilles, I’ll feed you to the whale sharks.” She held up a finger when Boone started to reply. “And yes… I am well aware that whale sharks are filter feeders… so first I’ll have to dice you into a fine mince.”

  Boone laughed, then waved toward the waiting youth. “Hey, good to see you again, Keith. Lead the way.”

  Emily took Boone’s arm. “We’re popping by the tailor, if that’s no trouble?”

  Thirty minutes later they stepped from the elevator tower onto the pier and made their way to Em’s Beetle.

  “All right, spill it,” Emily said. “What’s this about you picking up a cigarette butt?”

  “Well, as you said, I’m very eco-conscious.”

  “Yeah, yeah… underwater, maybe. But picking up rubbish from a billionaire’s private helicopter isn’t exactly saving the planet. What were you up to?”

  “Just what I said. Picked up this. Look familiar?” He produced the butt on his palm, showing off its gold filter and a few millimeters of unburnt black paper. “Remember that Russian guy at Coconuts?”

  “Cor, it’s one of those Goth sticks, yeah?”

  “Looks like the same cigarette to me,” Boone said. “I’ve never seen one before yesterday… you said these are Britis
h?”

  “Yeah, couple mates in college went through a phase and smoked them for a month or two,” Emily said as they reached the car. “But I haven’t seen one in years. Weird, yeah?”

  Boone took hold of the fastener for the canvas roof. “Top down?”

  “Rain check…” Em said, looking up. “Yep, let ‘er breathe.”

  “Let’s swing by the marina and secure everything on the Lunasea,” Boone said. “Then we can see if Brix feels like taking a cruise.”

  “Brixton! Missed you, boy!” Emily gushed, crouching beside the ecstatic dog when they entered the condo. The neighbor who’d been looking after the potlicker had dinner plans and had used a spare key to leave the dog inside.

  “Let’s get you some food, buddy,” Boone said, going to the pantry. “Hey Em, you want to give Ricardo a call? Let him know we’ll be away for a couple days? Sailing in the lap of luxury.”

  “Hobnobbing with high society,” Em warbled in an aristocratic dowager’s voice. She snickered. “Hobnobbing. Funny word that. Kinda like ‘hobgoblin.’ Hobnobbing with hobgoblins. Say that three times fast.”

  “Did you just have an episode?” Boone asked, laughing as he filled Brixton’s bowl.

  “Sorry… vocab tangent. I’m better now.” She called Ricardo. It went to voicemail so she hung up and sent a text, detailing their plans. Finishing that, she made her way to the bedroom and opened their closet. Not exactly the wardrobe selection for a luxury cruise, she thought.

  Em’s taste in clothing leaned heavily toward comfort: tanks, tees, shorts, and the occasional sundress. Nevertheless, she had a few stylish options and quickly laid them out on the bed. She glanced over at Boone’s side of the closet. Oh, lord no, this won’t do. And it won’t have to, she thought with a smile. While Boone was being measured, Em had surreptitiously examined the shop’s stock and handed the proprietor a note on the way out. She headed back to the main room. Boone was playing tug-of-war with Brixton, who had his teeth locked onto a knotted piece of rope.

  Emily crouched to dog-level once more. “Hey Brix! Wanna go walkies? Well… drive-ies, then walkies.”

  The dog released the rope, his tail a blur of wags.

  “I thought you needed to pack.” Boone said.

  “Oh, I can do that in thirty minutes. I just didn’t want to spend the whole day with Achilles and his testosterone. And you… you can pack in thirty seconds. But not to worry, we’ll be getting you something proper. I can’t have you dragging me down with your boat bum couture.”

  Boone shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  “Damn straight. Now let’s go somewhere where Brix can get a walk and we can get a bite on the beach.”

  Ten minutes south of the condo complex, Boone and Emily came to a decorative sailboat alongside the road and the thatch-topped sign for the Playa Palancar Beach Club. Far from the cruise ship crowds, the little private beach club was situated in an undeveloped spot on the coast, over half a mile from the next nearest property. In addition to a bar, it had a simple seaside restaurant that specialized in fresh seafood.

  Boone turned off the coastal highway onto the crushed limestone road that threaded through the dense tropical foliage on either side. With its top down, the boxy vw Thing crunched along at a cautious pace. Strapped into the back seat, Brix had his paws up on the top of the rear door behind Emily, enjoying the breeze and sniffing the air.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Em said. “Well… I take that back. You are frequently quiet. I mean, you seem to be deep in contemplation.”

  “Mm.”

  “Cogitation… rumination…”

  Boone smiled. “You having another episode?”

  “What are you thinking about, you berk?”

  “The Nordic Starr.”

  “What about it?”

  “Oh, shoot… sorry, I completely forgot to tell you. In the middle of brunch, Ricardo texted me. His uncle told him that no one reported anything to the Marine Park about the illegal dumping.”

  “What? But Nicholas said… oh, so that’s why you were asking him about it in that weird way.”

  “I wasn’t being weird.”

  “I could tell something was up, the way you looked at him… but I was too busy keeping Achilles’s hand off my knee.”

  “What?” Boone turned to her, a rare flash of anger on his face.

  “Eyes on the road,” Em said, turning his head face-forward with a fingertip on his chin. “Only happened once. And he apologized when I explained what would happen to his fingers. But we’re getting off the subject. Those Scandinavian guys seemed pretty pissed at Nicholas. You think he, what…? Blackmailed them to bugger off?”

  “Something like that. I suppose if he’d gone through proper channels there’d have been an investigation. The ship might have been stuck there.”

  “An eyesore for daddy dearest,” Em said. “So just threaten them to make them leave right away.”

  “And they’ll probably go on dumping illegally in other ports.”

  Boone turned into a little parking area in front of the sandy entrance to the club. While Boone led Brix to the beach, Emily visited the bar for a couple bottles of Pacifico to take on the stroll, letting a hostess know they’d be back for dinner shortly.

  “Nothing but beach either way, so… north or south?” Em asked when she joined Boone near the shore and handed him a cerveza.

  “Brix seems to have a northward urge,” Boone said, letting the potlicker pull him along by the leash. As Boone gave ground, Brix picked up his pace.

  Emily laughed, jogging to keep up. Some days, you walk him… other days he walks you.

  Once they were a hundred yards or so from the beach club, Boone crouched and unclipped the leash from Brixton’s harness. The dog was off like a shot, running through the surf’s edge with wild abandon.

  “Don’t know how much exercise he’ll get aboard ship,” Boone explained. He raised his beer bottle. “To unexpected cruises.”

  Em clinked. “To weird billionaire families. And you getting some new threads.”

  After a vigorous walk, paired with a game of fetch with driftwood, Boone and Emily headed back to the beach club, seating themselves at a table in the sand. The sun was low in the sky, the tops of the gentle waves sparkling. They ordered a grilled seafood platter to split and asked for a bowl of water for Brix.

  “Sandals off, toes in sand,” Emily announced.

  “Way ahead of ya,” Boone replied. He rapped the molded plastic tabletop. “A far cry from white linen tablecloths and fine china.”

  Em held up the knife and fork wrapped in a paper napkin. “And I have a sneaking suspicion this silverware isn’t silver.”

  “Never understood the need for all that,” Boone said. “If the food’s good, I’m happy.”

  “Your mum didn’t have some special dishes to bring out for holidays?”

  Boone shrugged. “I guess. We had some antique red glass plates we used for Christmas dinner.”

  “How is she doing, by the way? Have you spoken to her lately?”

  “She’s good. She keeps saying she wants to come visit, but… well, she was saying that back when I was in Curaçao.”

  “She a diver?”

  “Nah. Loves the beach, hates the ocean.”

  Emily laughed. “Really? Where on earth did you come from?”

  “My dad. He got me into snorkeling while mom enjoyed the beach.”

  “Oh, right, the Dutch Navy guy she met in Aruba. Y’know, we should go there sometime. I’ve only done the ‘bc’ of the abc,” Emily said, referring to the abc Islands of Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao. “You talk to your father at all?”

  “Nope.”

  Em waited for Boone to say more, but he just took a swig of his Pacifico and reached down to scratch Brixton behind the ears. Emily knew the divorce had been a tryi
ng time for his mother and a young Boone, who was only twelve at the time. She had tried to tease out additional information, but it was a subject he never seemed eager to discuss.

  “How ‘bout your folks, they doing good?” Boone asked. “I feel like I kinda know them, with all the FaceTime calls you rope me into.”

  “My family’s good. And I don’t rope you into those! You look over my shoulder and get sucked in.”

  “That’s ’cause you chase me around with your phone, shouting ‘Say hi, Boone!’”

  “That doesn’t sound like me,” Em said innocently.

  “How’s married life treating your sister? I remember you got back from her wedding, right before we… uh…”

  “Right before we chased down a terrorist submarine and then bonked in a hammock?”

  Boone laughed. “I guess it all boils down to that, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d like to think we’ve got a bit more going on than terrible hammock sex and exploding submarines. Though, when I say that out loud… blimey, that’d make some great punk rock band names. ‘Live at Dingwalls, it’s… Hammock Sex! With opening act, Exploding Submarine!’”

  Boone executed a sincere spit take, sending Mexican lager into the sand. “You’re a goober,” he managed to cough. “Certifiable… in a good way.”

  “Yeah, me mum always said I was a few bites short of a biscuit.”

  “And I love you for it.”

  “Aw, you’ll make me blush, Beanpole. You, I just keep around to get bits and bobs from the top shelf of the cupboard.”

  “It’s nice to feel useful. Just hope you don’t leave me for a stepladder.”

  The food arrived, a tantalizing spread of grilled seafood, mostly shrimp and snapper. Lobster was out, it being the protected breeding season, but they’d doubled down on the shrimp to compensate.

  “Tuck in!” Em snagged several shrimp. “So, this Othonos family… they strike you as… I dunno…”

  “There’s stuff going on under the surface,” Boone said, levering a fish filet onto his plate. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here, but… I’m thinking Nicholas is the only one who does any work.”