Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  Smirking, Em rose and snatched them from his hand. “You got something to say?”

  “For all the time I’ve known you... your shades have always been … always… green.”

  “How one-dimensional do you think I am?” she huffed, tucking the sunglasses into the neckline of her dress. “I have layers upon layers, like an onion. A sexy, sexy onion. And like an onion… I will make you cry, if you dis my fashion.”

  Boone laughed, surrendering the round. “So, what should we do first?” he asked.

  “Let’s head up top and watch the departure,” Em suggested, pouring some dog food into a bowl. “Maybe we can wave at some dive boat buddies and fill them with jealousy. Yell ‘I’m king of the world’ and all that.”

  “Lead the way. Though Titanic references probably aren’t the way to go on a ship like this. On the other hand…” He stepped back into the suite and gave her a half smile. “Do I get to draw you later?”

  Em scoffed. “Who’s the artist here?”

  Their suite had been impressive; the rest of the ship equally so. The attention to detail was astonishing and every surface gleamed. Bet they spend half the day scrubbing, Emily thought, as they made their way to a viewing deck near the bow. She gripped a rail on the port side, sucking in a lungful of salty air before sighing it back out.

  “You can say that again.” Boone rested his forearms on the rail and leaned atop them, bringing his face down to her level. “Beautiful day for a voyage, wouldn’t you say Ms. Durand?”

  “Indubitably, Mr. Fischer.”

  Boone laid a finger under her chin and brought her in for a brief kiss. When their lips parted, Emily cleared her throat.

  “That’s all I get? Stingy bugger.”

  Boone smiled and moved in for a more passionate kiss—one that was unfortunately timed, as the Apollo engaged its thrusters, and the abrupt lurch banged their lips and teeth together.

  Emily dissolved into muffled fits of laughter, holding her battered upper lip. Boone, too, held his mouth, amusement in his eyes.

  Emily lowered her hand. “Oh, we’re a pair of smooth operators, aren’t we?” she said, stifling further giggles.

  “If this was a Hollywood moment, that woulda ended up on the cutting room floor,” Boone said.

  “Hoowee, here we go!” a boisterous voice rang out from nearby. A neighboring couple stood at the railing a few feet away. The owner of that voice was a rotund man in a tan suit and bolo tie, sporting a ten-gallon hat. “Yeehaw!”

  “A real, live cowboy,” Em said loud enough for Boone to hear. “I’ve never seen one in the wild.”

  “Oil-boy, more likely,” Boone said, as the Apollo backed away from the pier into the channel. Aided by maneuvering thrusters, the massive yacht soon had her bow aimed to the northeast.

  Emily pointed to a dive boat further out in the channel, on its way south as it skirted around the Apollo. “There’s one of Cozumel Marine World’s boats!” She waved and the skipper in the flybridge waved back.

  “Looks like the Manati,” Boone remarked, raising a hand in greeting. Below them, the bow wave of the Apollo intensified as she rapidly picked up speed. Boone looked up, craning his neck to try to see the bridge that towered over them. “Bet you’d love to drive this baby, huh?”

  Em shrugged. “I like to feel the water under me when I skipper,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mind getting a look at the bridge.”

  “I’m sure Nicholas can make that happen,” Boone said.

  Em nodded, frowning. “I’m not happy about him lying to our faces about contacting the Marine Park. Bit dodgy, that. He and I might need to have a little chinwag.” She looked at Boone. “But maybe after we use one of those magic cards and score some fancy duds.”

  As Boone and Emily opened the door to the suite, Brixton was there in an instant, nearly bowling them over.

  “Oh, I missed you too!” Emily cooed, sweeping a garment bag away from the dog’s onslaught of devotion, like a matador swishing a cape. “Give us a tick to unpack, and then we’ll go for a stroll, yeah?”

  “Whattaya think, Brix?” Boone asked, stepping inside the door. He held out his arms and turned in a circle.

  Brixton sniffed at the fabric of the eye-poppingly expensive suit, then wagged his tail, preparing to greet Boone with a sloppy kiss.

  Emily set aside her garment bag and intercepted the pooch. “No licking the suit, Brixy!” She crouched, half-petting the dog, half-holding him in place. “Isn’t Boone dashing, though? Can you saaaaayyy…. Saville Row?”

  Brix knew this game, and barked a short “woof,” eliciting laughter and affection.

  Boone crossed the room and slid open the glass doors to the balcony. “Get yourself some fresh air, boy! We’ll go up top for a walk in a moment.”

  Brixton didn’t need any encouragement, the salty, briny smells in the air drawing him outside.

  Boone turned from the balcony and stepped inside the nearest bedroom, examining his suit in a full-length mirror. Apparently, Emily had picked it out yesterday while he was being measured, selecting a lightweight Gieves and Hawkes suit with a sharkskin weave. Boone had protested that he had imagined something white and tropical, but Emily had muttered something about Miami Vice and insisted the light charcoal she’d chosen would be more versatile. She’d managed to arrange an incredibly comfortable pair of dress shoes for him, too.

  Emily’s reflection appeared next to his. “Well?”

  “I gotta say, Em… I kinda feel like James Bond in this thing. And I mean that in a good way.”

  “You look amazing, Boone,” Em said, clearly meaning it from the tone in her voice. Then her face scrunched up. “But who taught you to tie a tie?”

  “Well… no one.”

  “Here, face me…” Reaching up, she swiftly unraveled the hangman’s noose of a knot he’d constructed and started afresh, biting her lower lip in concentration.

  Boone looked down at her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “So… when do I get to see what you picked out for yourself?”

  Her teeth released their grip on her lip as she broke into a smile, but stayed focused on his tie, not looking up. “You get to see that dress when it’s time for the big dinner… and not before.”

  “That hardly seems fair. Why do I have to wear the monkey suit ’til then?”

  “Because I came aboard looking presentable,” Em said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “There!” She rotated Boone to face the mirror. “Now check your pockets—I think you’ve got a tie clip.”

  A sudden flurry of barks sounded from the balcony. Boone frowned. “Those aren’t happy barks,” he said, as he left the mirror and headed toward the balcony, Emily close behind.

  “What’s up, Brix?” he called before stepping outside. The dog stood rigidly, hackles raised. While his barks diminished to a growl, he didn’t turn his head at Boone’s voice, which was unusual. Boone followed his gaze.

  On the stern suite’s corner balcony stood a tall, lanky man, his frame not unlike Boone’s. The first thing that caught Boone’s eye was the man’s throat—an impressive Adam’s apple dominated the space under his stubbled chin. He had unusually large eyes, squinting from the tropical sun’s glare off the surrounding water. The man was about three-quarters of the way into a cigarette, his exhales blown into the Apollo’s wake by the ship’s forward motion.

  “Cute dog,” the man said, a touch of rural American twang in his voice. “I don’t think he likes me, though.”

  “Sorry ’bout that,” Boone said, reaching down to give the still-growling Brix a reassuring neck scratch. “He’s usually pretty chill.”

  “No skin off my nose,” the man said, taking a puff. “Nice suit. Y’all move cabins or something? Didn’t think we had any neighbors.”

  “We just came aboard,” Boone said, as Emily joined him.

  The m
an’s bulbous eyes swiveled in their sockets to take in Emily. “Howdy, ma’am.”

  “Stallion, who are you talking to?” a gravelly voice asked from around the corner of the aft balcony. A craggy face beneath a close-cropped haircut appeared, flinty eyes quickly focusing on Boone’s. Brix’s growl increased. The head vanished out of sight. “Get the hell back in here,” the voice hissed.

  The lanky man rolled his eyes and sauntered back around the corner, tipping a nonexistent hat to the divemaster couple.

  Brix continued to growl.

  Emily crouched. “Easy, boy. Just a goofy guy. Everything’s okay. C’mon, let’s get your harness on, yeah? Go check out the dog park?”

  As Emily took Brixton back inside, Boone remained. Who the heck names themselves Stallion? he wondered, looking at the table on the adjacent balcony. A highball glass sat empty and alongside it, an ashtray. The tray contained quite a few butts, most of them white, but several others caught Boone’s eye. They were gold.

  “What were you thinking?” Angler growled after he sealed the door to the balcony.

  “I didn’t know anyone was over there,” Stallion protested. “Tolstoy ’n’ me have been hanging out on that corner for days, not a soul in sight next door. Besides, it’s not my fault Little Miss Cheesehead won’t let us smoke inside.”

  “It’s a stinky habit, you frog-faced hick,” Potluck snarled.

  “Hick? You’re the one who was prob’ly birthed in a dairy barn.”

  “Stallion, you will show this woman respect,” Tolstoy said from across the room.

  “Hey, just ’cause you two are bumping uglies—”

  “Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Angler roared. “We have a job to do, and that job is going down in less than eight hours! Enough of this petty bullshit.” He pointed at Stallion. “You. Stay off the balcony. Your mission is a bit trickier than ours, so keep your head down until go time. You need to smoke, do it in here.” When Potluck started to protest, Angler silenced her with a look.

  “Can I smoke outside, then?” Tolstoy asked.

  “No! And no more sneaking out for duty-free crap. The helicopter… we good to go?”

  “They fly it yesterday but I check systems late last night. It has been refueled.”

  “All right. I’m going to duck out and pay a visit to our secondary evac option. We’ll be getting the final set of instructions in a few hours. Until then, check your gear, go over the plan, eat some food, get some rest. By nine a.m. tomorrow we’ll all be multi-millionaires.”

  “How much money do you think that one has?” Boone asked. He and Emily stood on a small hillock within the park, the little fenced-in area having been tastefully landscaped.

  “Which one?” Em asked, looking around the pool area that was in view from the fenced-in dog run.

  “The young guy with the weird hair and the nice clothes.”

  “Ah, now that is a hairpiece… and not a good one,” Em observed. “And those clothes are expensive, but not properly fitted. So, I’m gonna say… software geek. Probably worth one hundred mill.”

  Boone whistled appreciatively. Brix looked up, saw the sound wasn’t meant for him, and went back to work, sniffing every patch of ground in the little enclosure.

  “Okay, my turn,” Em said. “Umm… that one. The old bloke sitting with his daughter.”

  “Uh… I don’t think that’s his daughter.”

  “What? Oh. Ew.”

  “Old money… betcha he’s got a good broker. I’ll go as high as…a quarter billion.”

  “You win. Hey, Brixton, you done? How about we take you to the groomer, huh? Maybe schedule a dog sitter?” She clipped the leash back onto the dog’s harness. “And we can grab an early lunch, and check out some of the other shops down there… maybe a trip to the spa.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Using the ship assistant app on his phone, Boone led them down to the commerce concourse of the Apollo, pausing to drop Brix off at the groomer, located in a short alcove at the periphery of the inner mall. At the end of the alcove was a simple bistro with an outdoor balcony, and they spent a half hour enjoying a light lunch. Returning to the interior of the ship, they came upon a shopping concourse surrounding a vast atrium, the focal point of which was a fountain, with statues of Greek gods standing in a circle at its center. The figures were depicted in the style of classical Greek sculpture, coated in a garish gold patina.

  “Very tasteful,” Boone deadpanned.

  “Oh, yes. Nothing gaudy there,” Em replied.

  Ringing the atrium and extending into the distance stood a small number of gleaming storefronts, offering clothing, handbags, shoes, jewelry, liquor, cigars…

  “Wait one sec,” Boone said, stopping at the cigar store.

  “What, you thinking of chomping on a Cuban during the trip?” Emily asked, following him inside.

  “Nope.” He paused near the entrance, letting his eyes take in the whole shop. Immediately, black and gold leaped out at him.

  “Welcome to my store, señor and señorita,” the proprietor said. He sounded Cuban, which Boone figured was useful when selling high-end cigars. “May I help you find something?”

  “Yeah,” Boone replied. He stepped to the shelf that had drawn his eye and picked up a box of Black Russian cigarettes. “These are unusual. Are they popular?”

  The man shrugged. “This is our maiden voyage, but our shops on the other ships usually sell some on every cruise.”

  “How about this trip? Anyone buying these?”

  The man laughed. “Since you ask, there is a man who has come in twice. Bought half of my stock. And the funny thing is…”

  “He’s Russian?” Boone asked, tapping his finger on the word on the box.

  “Si! He thought it was very amusing to buy these. I explained they were actually British cigarettes, but he didn’t care. Very thick accent, hard to understand. You know him?”

  Boone smiled. “I’ve run into him a few times.” He set the box down by the register and slid his black card alongside it. The proprietor raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly as he rang the order up.

  “Boone, you don’t smoke,” Em protested as they exited the store.

  “I don’t wear suits, either,” Boone remarked. “Figured it’d be rude to interrogate and run. We can gift it to someone on Coz.” He tore into the wrapping around the black box and opened it up.

  “That’s them!” Em said. “Same as the one you found in the helicopter, same as the ones the Russian guy had.”

  “And same as the ones in the ashtray on our neighbor’s balcony,” Boone said, tucking the box into an inner coat pocket.

  “What, the weird guy with the big eyes? He wasn’t smoking one of those.”

  “No, but someone was. Saw some butts in the ashtray.”

  “Well, he wasn’t Russian, that’s for sure. So, where to next? Hermès? Louis Vuitton? Tiffany? Dior?”

  “I’m guessing those are stores,” Boone surmised with a chuckle. “Y’know, just ’cause we have a card that can buy a ton of stuff doesn’t mean we should go nuts.”

  “Noted. Though I do need shoes to go with my new dress.”

  “What’s wrong with those?” Boone asked, indicating the pair she’d worn aboard. They had a short heel and seemed fine to him.

  Em rolled her eyes. “Oh, Boone… your tenuous grasp of fashion is endearing. These are for comfort.”

  Boone lifted a foot, waggling the dress shoe Emily had arranged for him. “What kind are these, by the way?”

  “No idea. They were the only size thirteens he could find.” Em looked around. “Bingo! There’s a Manolo Blahnik next to the bank!”

  “Pantheon Bank… whattaya bet the Othonos family owns it?”

  “No bet. C’mon! Shoes.”

  “We don’t usually do these updates during
business hours, Mr. Othonos,” the branch manager of the shipboard Pantheon Bank protested.

  “Business hours are meaningless when dealing with cryptocurrency,” Nicholas said, brushing past the bank manager and approaching the server room door next to the vault. He applied his thumbprint to the touchpad and the door clicked. “I designed the Croesus Coin, and it is incumbent on me that it remains the most secure option in cryptocurrency on the market.”

  “It already is, is it not?”

  Nicholas opened the door. A whir of cooling fans from the racks of servers filled the air, and winking green pinpoints of light greeted his eyes before the motion-activated overheads snapped on. He turned, leaning his head toward the branch manager and lowering his voice. “William… I just discovered a minor vulnerability. A potential exploit. Now, I won’t bore you with technical details, and the odds that anyone else will have spotted it are virtually nil. That being said, I want to patch it immediately.” He stepped through the door, shrugging his laptop bag off of his shoulder.

  “But shouldn’t your father be involved?” the manager asked.

  “No. My father is not technologically inclined.”

  William stepped forward. “Well, perhaps I should—”

  “You should leave this to me,” Nicholas said as he blocked the door, preventing the manager from joining him. “Reason One, this error was in my own coding, and I am not about to distress my ailing father with such a minor issue. And Reason Two… William… I consider you as much of a security liability as anyone else. I am the only one to handle the cryptocurrency security—is that understood?”

  William hesitated. “Your brother, then? Isn’t he senior to…?”

  “Achilles wouldn’t know a line of code if it gave him a blowjob,” Nicholas snapped in a sudden burst of anger. He took a breath. “I apologize. That was crass. Look, William, you’ve been an exemplary employee. And I expect you’ll continue to be one. The fix will be in place very quickly, but if word of this gets out in the next twenty-four hours—to anyone—I will hold you personally and financially responsible in the event someone overhears you talking about it and exploits the vulnerability.”