Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  “Anything?” the man said, sounding confused before suddenly laughing. “Oh, any Ting! Yes, I do indeed,” the man said, retrieving a green bottle of the Jamaican grapefruit soda from an underbar fridge.

  “Bottle’s fine,” Boone said, when the bartender reached for some glassware.

  “Here you go, then,” he said, laying down a cocktail napkin and setting the bottle down atop it. “On the house.”

  “Thanks.” Boone placed his smartphone on the bar and brought up the ship’s app. Tapping into the “About” section, he found a crew manifest, complete with smiling headshots and short bios that reminded him of theatrical playbills. Sipping his Ting, he went through them all. Went through them again. No sign of the man he’d seen. And certainly no sign of the weird-eyed, lanky fellow—a photo of that guy would’ve leaped out of the phone.

  “Another Ting?”

  Boone looked up. “Nah, I’m good. She’ll be here any minute and I’ll order something more fun. Hey, question for you…” He held up the phone. “Is this crew list complete?”

  “Well… I’ve been on a few of the Olympus ships, and they update it before every voyage. But this is the maiden voyage for the Apollo, so they might not have everyone there. Why?”

  “Nothing, just curious.” He thought for a moment, noting the bartender’s white polo shirt with a gold Olympus logo over the breast. “The royal blue crew shirts… who wears those?”

  “Those are for entertainment, hospitality, concierge services… basically anyone who interacts with guests. Well, except food services.” He tugged his white shirt. “Bartenders, waitstaff… we all wear white.”

  Boone nodded, leaning his elbow on the bar, thinking. That guy was wearing blue… but wasn’t there someone else…? He sat up straight. Right after we left the hyperbaric chamber…the Aqua Safari pier, with the drone overhead… the man and woman on the pier were wearing the same outfits. Then showed up at Coconuts wearing tourist clothes, the man smoking those black and gold cigarettes.

  Boone refreshed the crew list and went through it again, looking for the couple that had been at the clifftop bar. No sign of either of them. “One last question… sorry… in the crew… is there a Russian? Real thick accent, smokes a lot.”

  The bartender shrugged. “Could be. This is our first trip out, so I haven’t had a chance to meet everyone.” He looked from Boone as someone approached.

  “Metaxa, one rock.”

  Boone turned to see he’d been joined by a man who looked a little familiar. After a moment, he remembered the face. Or rather, the bottom half of the face. It was Stavros, the helicopter co-pilot from the whale shark expedition. The man had been wearing a helmet.

  Stavros raised his tumbler of golden-brown liquor to Boone, then took a sip, nodding with appreciation. “Good. You ever try this?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “It’s a brandy and wine blend from Greece. Very, very good. Not like that wretched ouzo. On behalf of my people, I apologize for that.”

  Boone laughed. “Hi, Stavros. I was on board the helicopter flight up to Mujeres.”

  “Ah, I thought you looked familiar.” He waggled his tumbler, the ice clinking against the glass. “In case you think I’m one of those pilots who day drinks and climbs into the cockpit, no. The helicopter is down for maintenance, I am told. Normally, I am always on standby, so this is a rare opportunity for me.” He took another sip, clearly relishing every bit of it.

  “Is Achilles a good pilot?” Boone asked.

  Stavros rocked his head back and forth, considering. “Yes. When he is paying attention, very good. When there is a pretty lady… not so much.” He looked toward the entrance of the bar and laughed. “And here she is, the reason I had to grab the controls.”

  Boone looked back over his shoulder to see Emily entering, hair damp and with a serene smile on her face, the Manolo shopping bag swinging lazily from her fingertips. Boone rose from his bar stool as she approached.

  “Looks like you had a relaxing time.”

  “That was… amazing.” Emily oozed onto a stool. “My skin is still vibrating.”

  Stavros laughed. “Someone has been to the spa.”

  “Em, you remember our helicopter co-pilot, Stavros?”

  “Mm-hmm… hi.”

  “Can I get you something to drink, Miss?” the bartender interjected.

  “Something fruity with dark rum in it. Other than that, I leave it to you.”

  “A Tecate, if you’ve got it,” Boone requested, when the bartender looked his way. “Well, Em… Stavros here was just telling me that during the chopper flight, your beauty nearly killed us all.”

  The pilot laughed. “A bit of an exaggeration… but yes, you were a bit distracting for Achilles. But I am being unfair to the man. He really is quite good. Although Nicholas is proving an excellent student. He may turn out to be an even better pilot than his brother, I think.”

  “Really? How long has he been taking lessons?” Em asked.

  “He came to me about two months ago, while the Apollo was in the last stages of completion.”

  Boone had a thought. “Hey… when we were putting on our headsets, you were saying something to Achilles about a strange navigation waypoint?”

  Stavros nodded, sipping his Metaxa. “Yes. The other pilot and I like to keep the waypoint inventory minimal, so we can toggle through them quickly. But since it was on Grand Cayman and that was our next port of call, I didn’t want to delete it, in case it was there for a reason.”

  “Whereabouts was it?” Boone asked. He didn’t know Grand Cayman well, so he brought up a map of the island on his smartphone, toggling the satellite view on and setting the phone on the bar top.

  “May I?” Stavros asked, turning the phone to face him. “I remember it was south of the airport.” He zoomed in, then moved the map around for a little while. “Ah, yes… here.” He pressed and held a fingertip on the map and a marker popped up. “It was at the end of this road of condominiums, just to the west of this reservoir or cistern or whatever it is.” He slid the phone back.

  Boone examined the spot. “Weird. In the middle of nowhere. Looks like half these condos haven’t even been built.”

  Stavros shrugged. “Not my concern. As I said, whoever put that location into the system, it wasn’t me.”

  “Do you smoke?” Boone said abruptly, reaching into his suit coat pocket.

  The bartender overheard. “Sorry, but smoking isn’t allowed in The Muse.”

  “No worries, wasn’t planning on it,” Boone said, setting the pack of Black Russians down on the bar and opening it up. “Just a little show ’n’ tell.”

  “I don’t smoke,” Stavros said, looking at the cigarettes. “Those are unusual.”

  “I found one of these in the passenger compartment of the helicopter,” Boone said.

  Stavros frowned. “I thought I smelled cigarette smoke in there! We don’t allow smoking on the helicopter, no matter how rich you are.”

  “Emily?” A redheaded woman with a pixie cut approached the bar.

  “Chloe, I presume?”

  “I realized I never actually saw you,” the woman said, laughing. “But somehow, you look as I would have pictured.” Chloe caught the bartender’s eye, pointing at a large glass jar full of white wine and fruit, a spigot affixed at its base. “Could I get some of that mango sangria?” She looked around. “And Emily, should we grab a table?”

  “I’ll bring you your drink,” Boone offered. “Stavros, good to see you again.”

  “You as well.” The co-pilot finished his Metaxa and rose. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do something I rarely get to do. Take a mid-afternoon nap.”

  After spotting Em and Chloe in the corner, Boone brought the beverages over and introductions were made. They enjoyed their drinks for a time before Emily leane
d in conspiratorially. “The thirsty mermaid enjoys hockey.”

  Without missing a beat, Chloe responded, “The water is warm in the devil’s bathtub.”

  Both women burst into gales of laughter. Boone sat back with a bemused look on his face, waiting for an explanation.

  “So, Boone… Chloe here has some juicy gossip that she didn’t want to reveal in the spa.”

  “Juicy is probably the wrong word,” Chloe said with a laugh. “Dry, technical, and boring would be a better way to describe it. Here, give me your cocktail napkins.” Chloe then extracted a pen from her purse and proceeded to explain the nature of the Croesus cryptocurrency and the exploit she’d discovered.

  “I won’t pretend to have understood more than a third of that,” Boone said. “Are you going to let them know?”

  “It’s a pretty minor bit of script that’s the culprit, not a gaping hole, so it’s not exactly pressing. And besides…” Chloe cleared her throat. “The way I found out involved a little ‘intrusion’ that wasn’t strictly legal.”

  “You’re a hacker?” Boone asked.

  “I don’t like that term… I’m a digital security expert.”

  “So… you didn’t hack their systems?”

  “Oh, I did. But it was just a little ‘white hat’ hacking. Actually, that’s how I first got interested in my line of work. I hacked my college’s computer lab servers.” She laughed. “They caught me, but after I showed them the vulnerabilities I’d used, they put me in charge of the lab. Anyway, I’ll let Olympus and the Pantheon Bank know what I found. But after the cruise. And anonymously.”

  “Do we have time for a few quick hands of blackjack before we get dressed for the dinner?” Emily asked, after they’d parted ways with Chloe and exited the piano bar.

  “You tell me.” Boone indicated his suit. “I’m all set.”

  Em grabbed Boone’s wrist and looked at his watch. “Seating is at six… yeah, we can do it.” She laughed. “You know, that old dive watch doesn’t exactly go with the suit.”

  Boone laughed. “I am not using the little black card to go buy myself a… um… what’s an expensive watch?”

  Emily shook her head. “You are hopeless.”

  “Rolex! That’s a good brand, right?” Boone said with a grin, opening the tinted glass door of the casino.

  Inside, the lighting was set to a lower level than the surrounding atrium and the chatter of patrons and electronic noises from slot machines was muted somewhat by the pristine red carpeting. A frieze of stylized artwork depicting scenes from Greek mythology decorated the upper band of the walls above mahogany cornice. The style of the images put Boone in mind of what he’d seen on Greek urns.

  The flashy slot machines were largely sequestered in an area in one corner, with table games dominating the remainder of the casino. A pair of bars were at the left and right, and the house bank was located at the far end.

  “Cor, this is quite a bit larger than the casino at the Divi in Bonaire, innit?”

  Boone nodded, remembering with fondness the cozy little casino at the south end of Kralendijk. “Yeah, that place was cool. I only gambled there a couple times: once I doubled my money, the other time I lost every bet I made.”

  “You gotta have a system,” Em said. “Bas taught me a few tricks. It took me a while, but I won more than I lost by a fair bit.”

  Boone tilted his head at her. “How many times did you go there? And who’s Bas?”

  Em smiled, playing with Boone’s tie, pretending to straighten it. “You do realize I had my own life on Bonaire, Booney?” She released the tie with a playful flick. “Anyway, let’s see what our options are, yeah? Hold my shoes.”

  Boone followed, carrying her shopping bag and watching as Emily strode away, scanning the table games. He smiled, remembering the times she’d beaten him soundly at poker night with the other divemasters on Bonaire. Until Emily had arrived on island, Boone had usually walked away with the biggest haul every night. The owner of Rock Beauty Divers, “Frenchy the Belgian,” had practically accused Boone of witchcraft.

  “I swear, Boone Fischer… you must consort with dark powers. I have never seen you fall for a bluff, not once.”

  And it was true. Boone’s instincts usually told him when someone was bluffing or holding a high hand. But when Emily came along, she’d run rings around him. He couldn’t read her like he could the others, at least at the poker table.

  She came back. “Okay, we’ve got roulette… house always has the edge there, so no thank you. Baccarat… no idea how to play that. Poker… kinda want to do that, so I can beat the house and you, but we don’t have the time. So that leaves blackjack. Let me look at the tables.”

  Emily sidled over to the nearest blackjack table and Boone watched her eyes follow the play. After a moment she shook her head and moved to the next one. As she approached, a familiar ten-gallon hat with a red-cheeked oilman underneath pivoted from its spot at the table.

  “Oh, good! Waitress… I’m runnin’ low, can you get me another Pappy Van Winkle, neat?”

  Emily blinked, momentarily thrown. Boone stifled a laugh and was about to step in, but Emily forced a smile on her face.

  “Right away, sir!” She stalked over to the bar, Boone on her heels.

  “Well… you are wearing food-service white,” Boone said, nodding at a cocktail waitress they passed, wearing a short white dress that looked like it was hinting at a classical toga.

  “My dress looks nothing like that,” Em muttered as they reached the bar. She slapped down the magic black card and the bartender perked up, no doubt anticipating a top shelf order. “Give me two fingers of your cheapest, your absolute worst bourbon.”

  The bartender opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried for speech again and succeeded. “Uhh… worst? Ma’am?”

  “There’s a nice tip in it for you if you give me a glass of the cheap stuff,” Em said sweetly.

  “Well… I’ve got something we use for mixed drinks for the crew…”

  “Perfect. Just slop it in a glass.”

  Looking baffled, the man dredged a nondescript bottle from below, pouring two fingers and sliding it to Emily.

  “Thank you… give yourself fifty percent, yeah?” After the card was retrieved, Emily picked up the tumbler and marched back toward the blackjack table.

  Boone knew a little about bourbon—most folks who lived in the Caribbean had an above-average knowledge of booze. Pappy was one of the finest bourbons out there. “You’re not going to pass that off as Pappy Van Winkle bourbon, are you?”

  Em reached the table. “Here you are, sir. Love the hat, by the way.”

  “Thank ya, little lady.” The man sipped. “Mm, mm!” He raised the glass to Emily. “This is the best of the best, by the way.”

  “Is it?” Em asked, all innocence.

  The man sipped again. “Delicious.”

  The oilman returned to his game, promptly losing a hand. Boone noted with satisfaction that his supply of chips was on the low end, compared to the other players.

  Em led Boone away from the table. “Well, I can’t play at that table,” she said with a laugh.

  “He didn’t seem to notice what you gave him.”

  “Guys like that… he just got it because it was expensive, not because he’s got taste.”

  Boone smiled. “You may be right about that.”

  “I know I’m right. And when have you ever actually seen a Texan with a bolo tie and a hat like that?”

  Boone smiled. “Never. And there’s a ton of Texans visiting Coz. We’ve gone out to dinner with quite a few.”

  Emily sidled up to a third table.

  “What’s the buy-in?” Boone asked an older woman who had just won a hand.

  She looked back at Boone, giving him—and the suit—an appreciative once-over. “A thousand.”

 
As one, Boone and Emily turned on their heels and headed for the exit.

  “Sod that,” Em muttered.

  “Angler, this is Palantir.”

  Angler ceased his pacing. “Go ahead, Palantir.”

  “Everything is a go. The helicopter is fueled and ready. All you’ll need to do is bring it out of the hangar and extend the rotor blades.”

  Tolstoy nodded, speaking into his mic. “We can do this in under fifteen minutes. Is no problem.”

  “So, where exactly are we going to land, eh?” Potluck asked.

  “I will transmit the coordinates when you are well on your way, once I have intel on whether anyone has been alerted. In fact—and this is important—you will not be hearing from me again until then.”

  Angler watched as the members of the team looked to him, confusion on their faces. “Palantir, may I ask why? I was counting on you being our ‘eyes’ for the op.”

  “I will have my hands full, accomplishing my own objectives. Neutralizing security cameras and cutting off communications is paramount.”

  Angler nodded, a motion that Palantir couldn’t see. Unless, of course, he’s got other bugs or cameras in here that Tolstoy didn’t find. “Understood, Palantir. We will be on our own until airborne.”

  “In the instant I trigger the power failure, I will be ‘tricking’ the ship into believing it is simultaneously on fire and sinking, causing fire doors and watertight doors to seal. In addition, all keycard locks will be reset and reprogrammed to only respond to the cards I’ve given you. If you follow the route through the crew corridors I’ve suggested, you will likely avoid any encounters—though with the fire and flooding alarms going off, and no communications to the bridge, most of the crew will be too busy to give you any problems.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Stallion said.

  “And Stallion. Your evac with your hostage will occur via the Castor, the sport fisher tender. She has been fueled and I will remotely release the boat once I see you are aboard.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Stallion said. “I still don’t get why your boss wants to separate us…”