11 REHABILITATION

La Casa del Diablo

Near Ostional, Costa Rica

May 17

0800 hours

Catherine Hale probably would have felt it was ethically wrong to accept any gifts from a criminal like El Diablo. But then, if Catherine Hale had been half-starved, filthy, and clad in only a sodden, tattered pirate outfit, she might have had second thoughts herself.

Mike and I couldn’t even decide what gifts to accept first. We were ravenous but also desperate for showers. Thankfully, El Diablo suggested we could do both at once and let us carry enormous cinnamon buns off to the guest wing, where there were three separate bathrooms, each with its own shower. We devoured the buns along the way, while hatching a plan for how to deal with El Diablo: Once we had finished cleaning up, we would pretend to be refreshed and sane again, then use our official aliases as the Rotko boys, claim to have fallen overboard from the Emperor of the Seas, and ask if he could help us get back to the ship.

The guest bathrooms were as posh as the rest of the house; the showers were large and stocked with fresh soap, shampoo, towels, and loofahs. I took the longest, most luxurious shower of my life, scrubbing myself until I was finally warm again and every last vestige of salt was gone from my skin.

When I finally emerged, feeling fresh and clean, clothes were waiting for me. They appeared to belong to one of El Diablo’s grandchildren, or perhaps a very small henchman. The T-shirt was a tacky souvenir from an American roadside attraction called Snakes Alive, the shorts were neon yellow, and the socks didn’t match. However, I was in no position to complain. Plus, it was nice to be dressed as a normal tourist again, rather than a pirate.

I found El Diablo back in his breakfast nook, deep in conversation with Mike, who had apparently finished showering well before me. Mike was following our plan, no longer speaking in pirate dialect. He was teaching El Diablo how to work his cell phone, while El Diablo was talking to him about sea turtles.

“That species you see out there is the olive ridley sea turtle,” El Diablo explained, pointing out the window. The beach was still thronged with them. “Like all sea turtles, they are endangered. This is one of the only places in the world where they lay their eggs in such numbers. However, the eggs are worth money, and people steal them. So I bought this whole beach and have my men patrol it to protect them.”

“You must really like turtles,” Mike observed.

“They are wonderful creatures,” El Diablo said. “Originally, when I had to pick a nickname for myself, I wanted to be called ‘El Tortuga.’ But my wife said that wouldn’t inspire fear.”

“ ‘The Devil’ does sound a lot scarier than ‘the Turtle,’ ” Mike agreed. Then he held up the phone. “If you want to see the songs you’ve downloaded, you just tap your music app.”

“You mean this one?” El Diablo asked, tapping his phone.

“Uh, no,” Mike said. “That app controls your thermostat.”

El Diablo sighed heavily. “All these apps look the same to me.”

Mike was about to show him the correct one when he noticed me. “Look who’s finally out of the shower,” he teased. “I’m surprised there’s any water left in Costa Rica.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about hot water here,” El Diablo said proudly. “All my water is heated by thermal power from volcanic activity. And all my electricity is solar. This house creates more energy than it uses!”

“Wow,” I said. “You’re really eco-conscious.”

“Just because I’m a criminal doesn’t mean I can’t care about the environment,” El Diablo said.

Since I only knew about this via eavesdropping, I pretended to be surprised. “You’re a criminal?”

“A minor criminal,” El Diablo clarified. “I have never hurt anyone—and I give back to the community. I also farm sustainably; I don’t use any pesticides on my crops, and I water with drip irrigation. You know who the real criminals are? The gas and coal companies. They’re destroying this planet. And yet, they get government subsidies for their businesses, while I’m branded a villain. Would you like some fresh papaya? I grew it myself.”

“Sure,” I said, taking a seat at the table. A papaya the size of a dachshund had been split open and drizzled with fresh lime. I used a spoon to scoop some into a bowl. “Thanks very much for your hospitality.”

“Of course,” El Diablo said. “What was I supposed to do, toss both of you back into the sea?”

“El Diablo also says he can get us back to our ship,” Mike said brightly. “As a thanks to me for teaching him how to use his phone.”

“Really?” I asked, thrilled. “That’s amazing!”

“We’re still working on how to play the music,” Mike said. “But we’ve mastered how to download it.”

“I already bought three songs!” El Diablo said proudly.

I was starting to think that I had met kindergarten teachers who were more imposing than El Diablo. Still, I wasn’t going to complain. I was clean, I had a way back to our ship, and the papaya was incredibly delicious. “How are we getting back?” I asked. “The seaplane?”

“Yes,” El Diablo said. “Mike explained how you got separated from your family when you fell overboard last night.…”

“I told him about the drunk passengers who didn’t know there was a pirate party,” Mike said for my benefit. “And how, when they saw you, they thought you were a real pirate and tossed you overboard. So I had to deploy the life raft to save you.”

“Right,” I said, doing my best to play along. “Thank goodness you did that.”

“Your brother is quite a hero,” El Diablo said. “Much better than my lousy brother. Anyhow, we know your ship is scheduled to dock near Manuel Antonio National Park today. That’s not too far. I can easily fly you down there.”

“How soon can we leave?” I asked.

“Whenever you’re ready,” El Diablo said. “We were waiting for you.”

“There’s just one thing we have to do before we go,” Mike said, then looked to El Diablo. “Do you mind if Ben and I talk in private?”

“Of course not,” El Diablo said graciously.

Mike and I thanked him and stepped out onto the patio. This put us right by the pool that was built into the edge of the cliff. A railing led along the edge of the patio. Below us, turtles were spread out across the beach as far as the eye could see, in both directions. From our bird’s-eye view, the sand looked like a piece of brown fabric that had been studded with very dull rhinestones. The three henchmen were posted at different points along the sand. Now that I realized they were there to protect the turtles, rather than kill any enemies, they seemed considerably less imposing.

Although it was possible that the men were there to protect the turtles and kill enemies.

“I checked my messages before showering,” Mike said.

“You did that, showered, and showed El Diablo how to download music?” I asked.

“I didn’t shower nearly as long as you did,” Mike pointed out. “Anyhow, there were a couple messages from Trixie. The last one was from this morning. She said she’d been in touch with Erica—and Erica was really upset.”

“About what?”

“About you, dummy. I mean, it’s not like Erica told Trixie that, but what else could it be? Trixie just assumed that something had gone wrong with our mission—”

“How does Trixie know we’re on a mission?” I interrupted, concerned.

Mike frowned. “Er… I might have mentioned it.”

“Mike! This mission is supposed to be top secret! You’re not supposed to tell Trixie about any of it! It’s already bad enough that we let her know that everyone in her family is a spy!”

“Well, I couldn’t just disappear for a few days without explaining why I was disappearing.…”

“Actually, that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do as spies!”

“You’re missing the point here. Erica is upset about you. Extremely upset. Trixie talked to her last night… and she said Erica was crying.”

“Crying?” I repeated. I couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d heard that Erica had grown a third arm. Erica was not a person given to emotions.

“Crying,” Mike confirmed. “She’s obviously worried about you.”

“And you,” I said.

“I’m just a guy who’s gone on a few missions with Erica. You’re her friend—and as far as she knows, you’ve mysteriously vanished in the middle of an operation, which is never a good thing. You have to let her know you’re okay.”

I instantly felt like a jerk. In my rush to safety, and then my desire for food and a hot shower, it had never occurred to me that Erica might be worried about my absence. Or that Catherine and Alexander might be worried as well. Certainly, they would have noticed we were missing. But they always said emotions shouldn’t interfere with a mission. I had just assumed that they would soldier on without us.

“You’re right.” I turned around and walked right back inside, not wanting to keep the Hales waiting another minute to hear from us.

El Diablo looked up from his phone as I entered. “Listen! I figured out how to work my music!” He cranked up the volume and played a Korean pop song he’d downloaded at full blast.

“That’s great,” I said supportively. “Is there any chance you have a phone I can borrow? I have to call our parents on the ship.”

“Of course you do! There’s a landline down the hall by the sauna.”

I headed that way while Mike sat down to show El Diablo how to make a playlist.

I don’t forget phone numbers. It’s one of the benefits of my math skills. So I knew the number for the ship’s operator by heart. I dialed it, then asked to be connected to our room.

Erica answered before the first ring was even done. “Hello?” she asked. I could hear the sadness in her voice. In that single word, I could tell that she was hoping for good news but was concerned it would be bad.

“It’s me,” I said. “Mike and I are safe.”

“Ben!” she exclaimed, and now the sadness was entirely gone, replaced by a level of happiness that took me by surprise.

Behind her, I heard Catherine scream with joy and ask, “They’re alive?”

“Yes,” Erica confirmed.

There was another scream of joy from Catherine, and what sounded like Alexander vomiting, although vomiting as happily as one could.

Erica got back on the phone with me. The level of emotion in her voice had changed again, as though she was trying to control it because she didn’t want me to know how worried she had been. “What happened to you?”

“I ran into Murray and Dane last night while you were breaking into the Chrysanthemum Ballroom. They threw me overboard.”

“Murray and Dane?! I’ll kill them.…”

“Erica,” Catherine said sternly in the background, “you know I don’t want you killing anyone.…”

“But they killed Ben first! Or they tried to, at least. He’s lucky to be alive.” Erica paused, then asked me, “How are you alive?”

I explained how Mike had seen me dumped overboard, found a life raft, and rescued me and how we had then made it to land and found a helpful local businessman who was willing to fly us to Manuel Antonio to meet them. I left out the part about what business El Diablo was actually in and made up a name for him—Mr. Gomez—instead of calling him El Diablo so that Catherine wouldn’t chastise me for taking gifts from a criminal.

By the time I finished my story, Erica had returned to full spy mode. Any hint that she had been upset about my disappearance—or thrilled by my return—was absent from her voice. She sounded as businesslike as an accountant discussing tax returns. “Here’s what you need to do,” she said. “The ship just anchored offshore from Manuel Antonio. We’ll go ashore with one of the excursions and meet up with you at the dock. Then we’ll sneak you back aboard in the crowd.…”

“Why do we need to sneak back aboard?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Erica asked. “We don’t want Murray and Dane to know you’re still alive.”