Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4)

by Nick Sullivan

“It was terrible! He killed the crew, but then I remembered the captain kept a gun—you know, for piracy?”

  Emily looked through the cables at the fallen mercenary, gauging the distance to the dead man’s submachine gun. Too far, she thought.

  “Better him than you,” Boone said. “Look, I managed to get one of their keycards. We need to get you back to the dining hall. The bombs on the doors are fakes. We’ve got to get the crew to restore power and communications. Hey, what’s that? Looks like it’s powered up.”

  “Oh, this, yes… I found it over there. It’s battery-operated and might have a satellite hook-up. I was trying to figure out how to use it… maybe call for help?”

  Emily watched as Calypso tapped a couple keys, closing the window that said armed.

  “Damn, I think I messed something up. Can you take a look?” Calypso swiveled away from Boone. As she rose from the chair, Emily watched her slide the gun off the edge, palming it against her thigh as she moved aside.

  Heart hammering, Emily mentally raced through her options, realizing none of them were good. Fate chose her course of action. As Boone came into view and bent over the case, Calypso raised the gun. Emily burst through the cables.

  “wait! I-know-where-Nicholas-is!” she screamed in a jumbled rush.

  Boone and Calypso both jumped at Emily’s shout and sudden appearance. Boone had known something was fishy, but was surprised when he saw the gun pointed at him. Time seemed to slow as the barrel of the gun wavered between the two divemasters. At the speed of thought, pieces of the puzzle began to snap into place.

  “And I know what he’s up to,” Boone blurted, raising his hands. “And what you… were planning.”

  Calypso’s eyes went from one to the other, madness dancing behind them. “What was I planning?”

  “You were controlling those mercenaries, using that thingamajig,” Emily said.

  Calypso smiled. “Only when the power was out. Usually, my phone sufficed. Speaking of which, fetch my phone from the belt pouch on Stallion.”

  “Did you give them those names, or did they pick them?” Boone asked, crouching by the dead merc, eyes flicking to the man’s weapon.

  “Don’t even think of touching that gun. I’m an excellent shot, I assure you. My phone is the one with the black case. Good. Set it on the table next to the briefcase. Leave the keycard, too. Step over there beside your girlfriend.”

  As Boone set the phone down, he suddenly remembered something he’d filed away at the time. “You were messing with your phone a lot just before the lights went off. You triggered the lockdown just as Achilles called for a toast.”

  Calypso raised an eyebrow. “You’re good. Anything else?” She twitched the gun at Boone, directing him to get closer to Emily.

  “There never was a kidnapping,” Emily said quickly. “The helicopter! Your brothers and sister and the mercenaries… they were all supposed to be on the helicopter…”

  “You were going to blow it up, weren’t you?” Boone deduced. “Remove everyone else in the line of succession in your father’s patriarchal will, leaving you to inherit everything. That’s why you had the ‘kidnappers’ send you off separately.”

  “And Lyra’s faulty dive computer,” Emily added. “And Nicholas’s scooter malfunction…”

  Calypso smiled at Emily. “You come across as a bit of a ditz, but you’re not, are you?” She shrugged. “You ever read Machiavelli? One of our guests had a copy of The Prince; I swiped it and tore off the cover. I’ve been reading it—in the original Italian, of course. Dividere e Conquistare. ‘Divide and conquer.’ When the opportunity arose to take a few chess pieces off the board early, I figured, what the hell?”

  “So, when you said Nicholas had insisted on you and Lyra using the ship’s dive gear…”

  “A lie, of course. I arranged the gear. Altering the computer readout wasn’t too difficult.” She gestured to her case. “Not for someone with my skills. Still, Lyra was a bit tricky. Had to make sure I got in front of the good rig first, so she’d take the one I’d sabotaged.” Her face darkened. “Shame my little signal-hijacking trick didn’t work with Nicholas… then I wouldn’t be scrambling to salvage this scheme.” She sighed. “I’ll just kill Lyra and Achilles now and take care of Nicky later.” She raised the gun.

  “He isn’t coming back.” Emily said quickly. When Calypso hesitated, Em plunged ahead. “The helicopter… Nicholas was piloting it.”

  “He was?” Boone asked. Then a lightbulb went off. “Wait. I know where he’s headed.”

  “You do?” Emily asked. “Oh! The navigation point that Stavros was on about?”

  “Yeah… and he told me where it was.”

  Calypso appeared flustered, muttering, “What the hell is he up to…?”

  “I think I know that too,” Boone said distantly, remembering Nicholas’s odd behavior outside of the Pantheon Bank branch in the shopping atrium, the laptop over his shoulder. His resentment of his older brother, who stood to inherit everything. And he recalled their conversation with the software security developer, Chloe, and her discovery of a vulnerability in the company’s cryptocurrency.

  “Spit it out!” Calypso yelled.

  Boone blinked, coming back to the present. “Callie, your plan was clever. A botched kidnapping gone horribly wrong with you as the sole survivor, set to inherit everything… but the problem here is, you’ll inherit nothing.”

  “Go on…” Callie said, her voice half-menacing, half-intrigued.

  “You weren’t the only Othonos who wanted it all. And Nicholas, considering all the work he’s put into the business, felt he’d earned a right to more than your father’s will gave him. So he’s going to take it. What’s that cryptocurrency Nicholas designed? The Croesids?”

  “God, I hate that name,” Calypso hissed. “What of it?”

  “How much of your family fortune is invested in those units, would you say?”

  Callie grew pale. “Most of it.”

  “And he’s going to steal it all,” Emily said. “And we know how.”

  Boone glanced down at her. But… we don’t know exactly how, he thought. He looked at her expression. There it was, the poker face. But this time, he was able to read her. This is the only leverage we have, and she knows it. The software vulnerability that would allow for a crypto-heist… and the helicopter’s destination.

  “Look… Em and I have a problem here. If we don’t tell you where Nicholas is going and how he’s going to steal everything, you’ll kill us. And if we do tell you… you’ll kill us. And the important thing for you to know is… we’d very much prefer to be alive. Even if it means letting you get away with… well… murder.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “First off, how are you going to kill Lyra and Achilles?”

  Calypso scoffed. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

  “Bomb on the boat,” Em said. When Callie narrowed her eyes at her, Em added, “I saw you arm something on your screen.”

  “Thank you for reminding me…” Callie retrieved the headset, keeping her gun trained on Boone and Emily. “Angler, this is Palantir. Are you aboard the boat?” She listened for a moment, then began carefully typing with one hand, eyes on the divemasters, with only occasional flicks to the keyboard. “Good. I am restoring power to the tender bay. Head toward the destination we discussed, but… I will be joining you at sea. I have Calypso.”

  Boone watched as Callie stifled a snicker, listening to her team’s response before replying. “After Stallion died, I ambushed the bridge crew, that’s how. Now… we’ll want this rendezvous to occur over the horizon, so stay on the bearing you have for thirty miles, then drop your speed to five knots, understood?”

  As she listened to another reply, Boone looked carefully at the briefcase. It seemed to be a cobbled-together assortment of devices, set into a homemade con
trol panel. And there, to one side… little joysticks. A controller, like for a video game. Or… a drone.

  “Of course this is outside of the plan! I will explain why once I reach you. Palantir out.”

  “Voice changer?” Boone surmised.

  Calypso smiled but didn’t reply. She put the headset and her smartphone back in the case before closing it and latching it, all the while keeping her gun on Emily and Boone. “You were about to offer me a scenario where you tell me what I need to know, and I let you live. Let’s discuss options on our way to the boat. But first…”

  Leaving the case where it was, Callie went over to Stallion’s corpse and removed another zip-tie. She tossed it over to Emily. “You know the drill,” she said to Boone. “Hands behind your back.”

  “Oh, for the love of…”

  Calypso laughed. “Twice in one day. Hey, maybe you’ll find you’re into bondage by the time this is over. Besides, if I remember correctly, Emily’s the better skipper. And I’ll need someone to drive.”

  “I don’t like it,” Angler said after Palantir signed off.

  “What’s to like?” Potluck said. “Missing Othonos, missing helicopter, the beanpole got away, and Stallion’s dead. fubar.”

  “At least he got Calypso back,” Angler mumbled. “Three-quarters of the hostages is better than half.”

  “Lift is operational,” Tolstoy said, his voice now sounding like someone with a nasty cold. On their way down, he’d popped into a bathroom to grab a roll of toilet paper, shoving wads of it up his nostrils in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

  “Hit it, then climb aboard,” Angler ordered.

  An angry claxon sounded. In moments, hydraulics whined as the starboard bay door slid up, revealing a placid sea under a starry sky. With a lurch, the Castor began moving sideways toward the opening.

  Tolstoy cleared his throat. “I realize is… what is word… ‘insensitive’ for me to ask, but… since Stallion is dead, do we split his share?”

  Angler glared at the Russian. “Line of duty, Tolstoy. His family gets it.”

  “Da, yes, of course. But on other hand… the extra half million for his separate boat trip? It seems to me…”

  As Tolstoy droned on through his noseful of bloody toilet paper and the boat slid into the water, Angler looked up at the moon, laying down a pearl-white carpet on the waves. I’m done with this line of work, he promised himself.

  The moon was nearly full, the night sky devoid of clouds. Good flying weather, Nicholas thought, then laughed out loud. Here he was, thinking like a veteran pilot, when he had only begun his lessons several months ago. He checked the navigation screen, ensuring he was still on course. He was. Glancing out the starboard window, he spotted a ship below. Much like the Apollo, this one also appeared to be dead in the water, no wake behind it. And it looked familiar.

  Nicholas laughed. Oh, this is too good. Could it be? He switched on the helicopter’s marine band radio to pick up vhf Channel 16, home of 156.8 mhz, the international distress frequency.

  Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan, this is Nordic Starr out of Cozumel, bound for Grand Cayman. We have suffered an engine breakdown and require assistance.

  Howling with laughter, Nicholas snapped the radio off. They must have broken down over a day ago. “Pan-pan” wasn’t a distress call on the level of Mayday, but it likely meant they had tried and failed to fix the problem themselves, before caving and calling for help. Still chuckling minutes later, he flew on.

  Ahead, in the distance, he could just make out the lights of George Town, the capital of Grand Cayman, situated on the western coast. But that wasn’t his immediate destination. Checking the waypoint, he banked the ach160 to the right, heading for the southwestern coast of the island. He would be in George Town soon enough. And by nine a.m., he would be one of the wealthiest people on the planet.

  Emily walked behind Boone as Calypso ushered them down a passage that linked the internal bridge access with some of the family’s private suites. Reaching a particular door, Callie called for them to stop. Using Tolstoy’s keycard, which now hung around her neck, she opened the door and motioned for them to step inside.

  “Welcome to Nicky’s suite,” Calypso said, looking around. Spotting an object in the corner, she stepped back and motioned Emily over. “Good, he left it. Pick it up.”

  Emily recognized the black hard case from their night dive. “That’s Nicholas’s upc.”

  “Yes. Pick it up.” Callie gestured with the gun, her other hand carrying her own, similarly sized case.

  Emily picked it up. “What do you want this for?”

  “Tell you on the boat. Hurry it up—they have enough of a head start already.”

  Emily did as she was told, throwing a glance at Boone, but his eyes were locked on Calypso.

  “Come on, out to the hall. Stairwell at the end.”

  Boone led the way. “I’ve been thinking of a way we can all come out of this—”

  “I’m sure you have,” Calypso interrupted, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “But we’re doing this my way. Down the stairs, both of you.”

  They did as they were told, soon reaching the bottom level and entering the tender bay. The air had a salty tang of seawater, and Emily noted the area around the closed starboard side-hatch was awash.

  “Get aboard,” Calypso ordered, nodding toward the sleek limo tender, the Pollux.

  All three climbed the short flight of metal stairs to the side of the boat. Boone stepped in and Emily followed, setting the upc’s container down before turning to find Calypso handing her own case across. Emily took it.

  “Set it down right there. Gently. Boone, go sit down by the bar and make yourself comfortable. Emily, go to the wheelhouse and take a look at the controls. You better hope you can drive this boat.”

  Calypso stepped back and flipped a pair of switches. A claxon echoed in the bay as she stepped across, gun leveled as she grabbed hold of a handrail. The sound of hydraulics echoed in the tender.

  Emily turned her head to port, noting the massive bay door there rising up, gentle waves lapping up against the waterline. The Pollux lurched as the system moved her sideways along the rails, toward the night sky and the tropical seas. In the midst of all that was happening, a stray thought bubbled up: I hope Brixton will be okay if we…

  Calypso’s sharp tone, tinged with impatience, brought her back to the here and now. “How’s it coming up there, Emily?”

  “I can pilot it, no prob.”

  “Good. Once we’re underway, I’ll explain how we can both get what we want.”

  “You’re serious?” Boone asked, wincing as the boat hit another wave top. Calypso had forced him to sit on the floor in the corner of the open-air wheelhouse. If my tailbone isn’t dust by the end of this, I’ll be lucky.

  “That’s your plan to let us stay alive?” Emily asked incredulously as she gripped the vibrating wheel. The Pollux skimmed across the waves, nearing its top speed of forty-eight knots.

  “Yes,” Calypso said.

  “You’re going to just drop us in the middle of the ocean?” Boone asked.

  “The seas look quite calm. Nicholas’s upc scooter floats and it has a distress beacon. And once I’m back aboard the Apollo, I’ll make an anonymous call to the various Coast Guards in the area. Someone will pick you up.”

  “And we tell you what you need to know… from the water?” Emily asked. “That’s a bit barmy, innit?”

  “What’s to stop you from killing us then?” Boone asked. “Or using the controller… send the scooter to the bottom of the sea, like you tried to do with Nicholas.”

  Calypso looked wistful. “That was fun, I must admit. But there will be no need for me to kill you.”

  She stepped back just inside the main cabin, sitting in front of her open briefcase of gizmos, a clear line of sight to Emily at the wheel.
“Anything ahead on the radar?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Calypso glanced at the screen inside her case. “No signal… we’ll need to get closer.” She lifted her phone from the briefcase and came forward, looking down at Boone. “You’re wondering how it is I’d let you live, knowing you might turn me in for murder?”

  Boone stared at her, waiting.

  “Because I’m not going to kill Achilles and Lyra,” Calypso said, then nodded at Emily. “She is.”

  “Okay, we are thirty miles out from the Apollo.” Tolstoy said from the cabin cockpit. A black and gold cigarette dangled from his lips. Even as he’d cursed the divemaster for smashing his nose, his rage had been somewhat tempered by the fact that he’d ended up with a full pack of the cigarettes.

  “Reduce speed,” Angler ordered from the port dive bench.

  “What is happening? Where are you taking us?” Lyra asked.

  The Othonos hostages were sitting on the starboard bench, Achilles with his hands still tied behind his back. Additionally, the defiant man now sported some duct tape across his mouth. If the arrogant brat had said, “Do you know who I am?” or “You’ll never get away with this!” one more time, Angler would’ve deep-sixed him.

  “Please, tell me!” Lyra cried.

  “We’re taking you somewhere safe,” Angler said. “And assuming your dad pays up, everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “And my sister? You sent her away—where is she?”

  “You’ll be seeing her real soon,” Angler rumbled, then frowned. He rose from the bench, mental gears turning. Everything he’d heard from Palantir had led him to think the guy was likely a code monkey and a desk jockey. The guy knew enough military lingo that Angler suspected he was in the service, but there had been phrases that rang hollow. And now he tells us that he took out the bridge crew that had killed Stallion? And then he secured Calypso?

  He looked up to the flybridge. “Potluck? Anything?”

  The Wisconsinite was looking toward the west-northwest with a night-vision monocular. “Nothing yet.”