Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

  “I understand. I’m sure he has his reasons. But I thought the same thing, and when I pointed out the additional risk to you, he agreed to increase your personal payout by an additional half-million.”

  “Consider my objection withdrawn.”

  “Remember, the signal to act will be the toast. Achilles will bang on a glass with a piece of silverware. The people in the room will shift their attention to the captain’s table. That will be my cue to cut the ship off from the outside world, and your cue to move in.”

  “If it is his birthday,” Tolstoy wondered aloud, “is not the custom that someone else call for toast?”

  “Uh, yeah…” Stallion chimed in. “And what if he doesn’t hit a glass…”

  “He will. He loves to be the center of attention. He always does it. One year, he broke the glass with a butter knife.”

  “How do you know that?” Potluck asked.

  There was a pause before the modulated voice spoke again. “Because I do my research. Look… you all know your jobs. If everyone does their part, by tomorrow morning we will all be rich. When Achilles calls for the toast, take out security and secure the Othonos children.”

  “Brixy!! How are you? Did you have a good time with Lucinda?”

  The potlicker jumped up and put his paws on Emily’s waist, tail whipping back and forth.

  “Brixton was a very good boy. We had a wonderful time, didn’t we?” Lucinda began gathering up dog toys that were strewn all over the suite.

  “Oh, you can leave those,” Em said. “S’okay if we hire you for dinner time, too?”

  Lucinda crouched beside the dog. “Would that be okay wit’ you, Brixton? You want to lime some more wit’ Lucinda? We can play some more wit’ Marlin!” She waggled a plush clownfish and Brixton took it into his mouth, squeaking it repeatedly. “He has tried out all of my toys, and dat one is his favorite, I t’ink.”

  Boone and Emily had hired Lucinda with the Olympus black card, but Boone fished a couple twenties out of his wallet. “Thanks for making our little fella so happy… can you come back at…” He turned to Emily.

  “Half five.”

  “Five-thirty?” Boone translated.

  “Of course!”

  “And order whatever you want from room service for your own dinner,” Emily said. “Seems only fair.”

  Lucinda laughed. “I will do dat. Ah gone, see you again soon.”

  The door to the suite clicked shut and Em slipped out of her clothes. “I think I’ve still got some mud in a few nooks and crannies. Shower time.”

  “Need any help in there?”

  “Aww, very sweet of you to ask. But we don’t have the time. And I’m not about to retie that tie. You look perfect.” She paused at the door to the master suite, looking back at him. “But after dinner… ask me again.”

  Boone blew out a breath as her bare body vanished from sight. “Well, Brix… I don’t know about you, but I could use a little fresh air.” He opened the glass doors and stepped out on the balcony, head swiveling to the left. The ashtray had been removed and the little corner table stood bare. Boone looked down at Brix. “Looks like we’ve got the balcony to ourselves this time, buddy.”

  The dog went to the stern side of their balcony, sniffing the air. He let out a chuffing breath, then turned to look at Boone.

  “C’mon, Brix… let’s check out those toys Miss Lucinda left with you.”

  Forty minutes later, Emily stepped from the master bedroom and Boone’s jaw hit the floor.

  “Holy… Em, you’re…”

  Emily Durand’s knee-length dress was basic black, but there was nothing “basic” about the overall effect. Off-the-shoulder, the dress bared a fair amount of her upper back, and dipped down in front just enough to remain tasteful. The material was lightweight, and lifted from her legs when she pivoted back and forth to show it off, a slit at one side showing a little leg. And however much those shoes had cost, Boone couldn’t deny just how good they looked on her. Em had put her hair up, simple silver earrings dangling above her lightly tanned shoulders.

  “What do you think?” she asked, amusement in her voice. “Assuming you are still thinking?”

  Boone cleared his throat. “I mean… you’re gorgeous every day of every week, but… wow.”

  “That sounds like a thumbs-up to me.” She winked. “Maybe more than a thumb.” Em suddenly laughed. “I’m sorry, that was naughty of me. What can I say? Little black dress! Brings out the temptress.” She held out a thin, silver necklace. “Here. I did your tie, you do this. Teamwork, yeah?”

  Emily turned and Boone stood behind her, bringing the necklace up to her throat. He held the two ends near each other, but then paused.

  “It’s a basic clasp, Boone…”

  Boone dipped his head and brushed a soft kiss on the back of her neck, eliciting a shiver as a burst of goosebumps arose from her flawless skin.

  “Boone!”

  “What can I say?” he whispered into her ear. “Little black dress.”

  Boone fastened the necklace, then spun her around and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips. Having planned a simple hit-and-run kiss, he started to withdraw but Emily grabbed his tie and prevented his retreat. Passions intensified, and then…

  Squeak. Squeak. Squeak-a-squeak-a-squeak-a-squeak.

  The kiss dissolved into laughter as they turned to find Brix sitting on the floor looking at them, an orange mouthful of fishy squeak-toy in his jaws.

  Squeak.

  Boone grinned. “Canine-us interruptus.”

  Emily composed herself, then said firmly, “Brixton, I know you like to sleep with mummy and daddy, but guess what? You get your own room tonight!”

  The grand dining hall of the Apollo was situated amidships on a middle deck. Boone and Emily arrived just before six, pausing before the entrance to have their room cards scanned and identification checked by a burly security officer in a red polo shirt and white slacks.

  Inside, the dining room was laid out in tiers, with the bulk of the tables spread across a central area, three broad steps down from the entry foyer. White tablecloths, fine china, and polished silverware gleamed in the light of massive crystal chandeliers. On either side, raised mezzanine platforms held smaller tables, with a galley access situated to port, and a mirror-backed bar at starboard.

  “There’s Keith!” Emily said. On the portside mezzanine level, beyond the serving doors, stood a baby grand piano. Keith had traded his blue polo for a tuxedo, and he was currently playing some non-intrusive classical music.

  At the far end of the hall, a dais rose above the rest of the room. The Othonos family was seated along the back wall, looking down on their guests. Karras and Achilles wore tuxedos, while Nicholas had opted for a stylish black suit. Calypso wore a red dress, looking more comfortable than fashionable, while Lyra shone in an elegant white dress that could have graced any red carpet.

  “Lyra’s dress is astonishing,” Emily breathed.

  “I like yours better,” Boone replied. “But then, I don’t know a cufflink from a tie clip.”

  “Here’s a hint: you’re wearing both. But you’ll have to figure out which is which. I’m guessing that’s the captain, yeah?”

  “Looks like it,” Boone said. At one end of the table sat a bearded gentleman in a crisp white uniform adorned with black-and-gold shoulder boards. Boone glanced around the room. Numerous servers in white moved about the room, the more casual polos now gone, replaced with white jackets, bowties, and gloves. Two security men stood against the walls, one on the dais and another near the bar. Unlike the security officer outside, these men wore black suits and red ties.

  A tuxedo-clad maître d’ noticed them standing in the foyer and approached. “Welcome. Whom do I have the pleasure of seating?”

  Boone looked around, just to be sure he was the one being addre
ssed. “Uh… Boone Fischer and Emily Durand.”

  “Boonemily, collectively,” Em added with a playful curtsy.

  “Ah, yes, you are on the port mezzanine level, near the Othonos table…”

  “And near the piano?” Emily asked.

  “Why, yes.”

  “Ace!”

  “This way, please.”

  Boone and Emily followed the maître d’ up a short flight of carpeted stairs, passing by the galley access and reaching a table midway between the serving doors and the piano. The tables here were smaller than the ones below, designed for parties of two. The maître d’ removed the tented place card with their names printed on it in a calligraphic font, and it was almost immediately replaced by a small plate of hors d’oeuvres. Boone pulled out Emily’s chair and was about to seat himself when he noticed Lyra rising from the head table, smiling brightly and beckoning him with a wave.

  “I think Lyra wants us to go over to them,” Boone said.

  “And I just got comfy,” Emily said, standing back up. As they made their way past the piano, Em gave a discreet wave. Keith, who was in the midst of a complicated chord progression, limited himself to a smile and a nod of acknowledgment.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Lyra said. “You both look…” She heaved out an appreciative breath. “…fantastic. Truly.”

  “Yeah, we can clean up nice when we have to,” Boone said amiably. “Though having those magic black credit cards certainly helped. Thanks for that.”

  “It was our pleasure.” She gestured to the uniformed man beside her, who rose from the table. “Boone… Emily… this is the captain of the Apollo, Captain Xiphias. He has been with Olympus Cruises since its early years, most recently commanding the Athena.”

  “I am privileged to make your acquaintances,” the man said.

  Boone shook the man’s hand, and Emily gave it a brief squeeze.

  “Welcome, friends,” a pale Karras said from the center of the table, flanked by Nicholas and Calypso.

  He doesn’t look well, Boone thought. “Thank you again for inviting us, sir. And Nicholas… Callie… good to see you.”

  Nicholas nodded, appearing distracted. “I hope you enjoy my brother’s dinner.”

  Callie gave a small smile just on the border of a smirk, taking in Boone’s suit. Then she looked over at Emily. “I see you’ve been visiting our shops,” she said.

  Boone was about to reply when a boisterous shout rose from the far end of the table.

  “Hey, there they are!” Achilles stood and squeezed past the others. It appeared he might have begun the festivities a bit early, an empty scotch glass sitting at his place.

  “Oh, goody,” Em muttered, moving around Boone so Achilles would have to encounter him first. Fortunately, the waitstaff suddenly appeared with the soup course and Karras waved Achilles back to his seat.

  Boone took Emily’s hand and they returned to their table, passing Keith just as he completed his current piece.

  “I’m guessing Billy Joel is not on the music-menu for this kind of shindig?” Boone asked.

  Keith laughed. “I might be able to sneak something in during the dessert course, but for now it’s going to be Brahms.”

  “Looking forward to it!” Emily said. “And looking forward to sitting again. It’s been ages since I rocked a pair of high heels.”

  Boone and Em reached their table just as the soup arrived, a rich, green soup the waiter referred to as Caldo Verde, a Portuguese Kale Soup. This was quickly followed by the appetizer course, and a delicate salad.

  “I’m thinking we need more balsamic vinegar in our lives,” Emily remarked through a mouthful of greens.

  Boone nodded, distracted by some activity at the dais. Nicholas had just risen and headed for the starboard door at the back of the raised area, a phone held to his ear. That wasn’t anything unusual—the young man seemed to run half the operation around here. No… it was Calypso’s reaction. She rose from her seat, looking after Nicholas, opening her mouth to say something. When the door swung shut behind her brother, she sat back down, glancing over to the portside door beside the captain’s table before smiling over at Karras and saying something, eliciting a laugh from the old man.

  “What’s up, Boone?” Emily asked, setting down her fork.

  “More weird family dynamics,” he said. “Nicholas just ducked out.”

  “Poor bugger’s probably got some mega-corporation duties to attend to. Hope he got a few bites of this salad—it’s quite good.” She looked back at the dais. “What’s with Calypso?”

  “Dunno. She almost looked like she wanted to stop Nicholas from leaving.”

  “She didn’t strike me as the type to care about fine-dining etiquette,” Emily noted. “I mean, look… she’s using her smartphone at the table.”

  Boone watched the youngest Othonos holding her phone below the edge of the table, tapping the screen. Well, I peeked at mine at brunch, he thought. Don’t go casting stones.

  “Oh yeah, ’ere we go!” Emily said as the main course arrived, rubbing her hands together with such eagerness, Boone could imagine smoke rising from them.

  The waitstaff set down the plates and removed the lids, revealing lobster and steak with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Boone suddenly realized there had been a pop-up on the ship’s app asking for his preferences, but he’d forgotten to answer. Watching Emily tear into her plate, he decided he needn’t mention his lapse.

  “Cor, the garlic mash is delish,” Em moaned.

  Boone grabbed hold of a silver-plated shellfish cracker, chuckling as he examined the burly red claws of the lobster on his plate. “Can’t remember the last time I had a Maine lobster.” In the Caribbean—and in much of Florida, for that matter—the lobster you got on the menu was the spiny Caribbean lobster, devoid of claws, with a pair of impressive armored antennae instead.

  “How is it?” Emily asked, after Boone had cracked into a claw and taken a bite.

  “Softer. Sweeter.”

  “So, our lobsters are in better shape, is that what you’re saying? Maine lobsters just sit on the couch, eating bonbons, getting all soft ’n’ sweet?”

  Boone laughed, taking another bite. “They’re both delicious. Just different.”

  While Emily attacked her Black Angus ribeye steak with animalistic fury, Boone leaned back and glanced around the hall, wondering just how much money there was in here, if you added up the assets of all of the guests. Most of the men were in tuxedos, but a few were in simple black suits. He spotted the Texas oilman on the opposite mezzanine—he’d left the giant hat behind, and was sporting a bow tie with his tux. Women in the hall offered the most splashes of color, with dresses in gold, red, and blue breaking the sea of black and white. Well, that and the red ties of the two security men. And the blue polo over by the bar…

  Boone sat up straight. The flash of color had drawn his eye, and there—over by the bar—a familiar face. The Russian from Coconuts. Mr. Black-and-Gold Cigarettes. He was dressed as Keith had been when they’d first come aboard—a blue polo and white slacks. The man had just entered from the door beside the bar, carrying a cooler. Not unlike the one the man he’d seen down below had had, in the tender bay.

  The man went to the edge of the bar, setting the cooler down. The bartender, wearing a vest, bowtie, and arm garters, came over and asked the newcomer a question. The Russian spoke animatedly, appearing to make a joke. The barman smiled, looking equal parts amused and confused.

  Something’s… off. Boone looked over at the security officer who stood beside the bar door near the Russian. Guard doesn’t seem concerned. Boone examined the door the Russian had come in from, then found himself scanning the hall, noting the other exits. He retrieved his phone, tapping on the ship’s concierge app.

  “Peasant,” Emily mumbled around a bite of steak.

  Boone s
miled. “Just want to check something.” He frowned. “Huh. No Wi-Fi.”

  “What, you brick your mobile again? Here, gimme mine.”

  Boone fished her phone from a pocket and handed it over. They didn’t get dressed up often, but he’d soon learned Emily hated carrying around a purse, so he became the keeper of her phone when they went out on the town.

  “Weird.” She checked her settings. “Yeah, you’re right… Wi-Fi is down.”

  Boone nodded, pocketing his phone and glancing back at the bar area. The Russian was speaking… but not to the bartender.

  “They are starting to clear main course plates,” Tolstoy said.

  “Understood,” Angler’s voice came over the Russian’s earpiece. “Everyone move into position. Potluck, make sure to lock that galley exit with the code you were given. Once Palantir triggers his takeover, everything should lock anyway, but I want to be sure, in case there is a delay. Tolstoy, any problem with yours?”

  “Nyet. The code worked. Bar area exit is secure.”

  “Good. Let’s do this and get rich. See you all inside.”

  He’s got an earpiece, Boone thought, as he watched the Russian speaking quietly to no one. There. A flesh-colored wire running up from his collar.

  “Boone, what is up with you?”

  “Our Russian friend with the funky cigarettes is here.”

  Emily looked toward the bar. “So? We figured he worked for the ship, right? Although… he’s a bit underdressed, I must say.”

  The man opened the cooler, retrieving a bag of ice to hand the bartender. Busy mixing drinks, the barman waved at him to put it down behind the bar. There was something odd about the way he removed the ice, barely lifting the lid to slide the bag out.

  “Come on,” Boone said abruptly.

  “Boone, what? He’s dropping off ice.”

  “No… I don’t think so,” he said, helping Emily up. He looked to the back of the hall, eyes sweeping across the table atop the dais: Lyra was chatting amiably with the ship’s captain, and Achilles was speaking to his father across Calypso, who was tapping the screen of her smartphone.