Sam brought her boat closer to Baskin Island and slowed to an idle. Retrieving her binoculars, she trained them on the shore. The docks beside the cluster of homes were crowded, with the two motor yachts she’d trailed yesterday tied up on either side of one pier, and Hildebrand’s own motor yacht, the Aeolus, snugged up against another one further to the south. There was quite a bit of activity on shore at the moment.
She had talked Dusty into scrounging up a replacement to play harbor patrol near the boat show; this seemed like where she needed to be this morning. Sam glassed the group near the northernmost dock. Two expensive-looking, open-topped limousine tenders were tied up there, no doubt from La Fiamma Azzurra.
Two separate groups of men boarded each tender. On the shore, two men and a woman remained. Sam recognized one as the billionaire Harold Hildebrand, and the woman was Laura, whom Sam had met a few days ago. The other man was unfamiliar, but from his military bearing and alert posture, she imagined he was a bodyguard of some kind.
Hildebrand and the other man then split off from Laura and boarded one tender, while Laura went aboard the other. In moments, crew members cast off, and both tenders motored toward Captiva Pass to the north. Sam set down the binoculars and throttled up, keeping a respectable distance.
* * *
“Welcome aboard La Fiamma Azzurra, gentlemen,” Hildebrand said with a beaming smile. “Monsieur Roux, would you take our guests up to the conference room?”
“But of course.” The bodyguard gestured toward a set of stairs at the far end of the tender bay. “This way, if you please.”
The trip from the bay had been uneventful, and the limousine tenders were currently tied up at the extendable swim platform. While the ambassadors followed Roux, Hildebrand gestured for Laura to come join him.
“Is everything aboard ready?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Do you wish to go over the materials for the negotiations?”
“No need,” Hildebrand said, tapping his temple. “It’s all up here.” He laughed. “I was about to say I wrote most of it, but I didn’t… you did, actually. And a very fine job you did, too. You absorbed the intricacies of the Azeri-Armenian conflict and the specifications of the pipeline project in record time.”
“I’ve always been a quick study, sir.”
“Still, I’m grateful. When your predecessor passed away so suddenly, I confess I was ready to delay this entire venture! Meeting with you that very day was a godsend. And your skill with languages, that was an added bonus!”
Laura blushed. “Thank you, sir.” She looked toward the stairs that led to the upper decks. “Are we going up?”
Hildebrand looked at his watch. “No… not yet.”
A crewman came over. “Shall I bring the tenders aboard, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hildebrand replied. “Leave them as they are.”
* * *
“Woooo!” Emily cried as she skippered the Arawak across the shallow waters of the Gulf. “Good to be behind the wheel again! How’s your tummy doin’, Deeky?”
“I don’t want to jinx it, but… so far, so good.”
The boat sped along the coast of Sanibel before turning north along the barrier islands. Deek looked toward shore as they passed Baskin Island, scanning for any activity in the nearest channel.
“Em, if you’re diving, better get below and gear up,” Boone suggested. “Ernesto, okay if I take the wheel?’
“Of course! That is the point of a test drive, after all.”
While Boone piloted and Kate, AJ, and Emily geared up below, Deek examined the GPS on the console. “Ernesto, this waypoint is the location of that wreck dive?”
“Yes. We should be there very shortly. Boca Grande is just to the northeast.”
Deek took out his phone and tapped on his boat tracker, but the app seemed to be having trouble connecting. Strange, we’re not that far offshore. Should be plenty of signal.
A moment later, Ernesto gasped. “¡Caramba! Look at the size of her!”
Deek looked up from his phone and spied the super yacht up ahead, anchored in the Gulf.
“That is the yacht that was supposed to be at the boat show, I believe,” Ernesto said.
“La Fiamma Azzurra,” Deek breathed. He pocketed his phone. No need for the tracker, now. There she was, plain as day.
Emily came up the ladder, outfitted in a three-mil wetsuit with lime-green sleeves and side-stripes. “Cor blimey, she’s stonkin’ huge, yeah?”
“She looks like she’s at anchor,” Deek said, squinting in the sun. He had no idea what had happened to his sunglasses.
Emily took off her huge, pink shades and handed them to him. “Here, mate. I won’t need these shortly.”
Deek put the enormous sunglasses on, and Emily stifled a snicker.
“Suits you,” she assured him.
“Are they anchored at the dive site?” Boone asked.
“No, the buoy is right up ahead. The yacht is probably a half kilometer away. But there’s another boat already on the mooring.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Em muttered.
“It’s all right, we can keep station,” Ernesto said. “I’d prefer that to waiting for them to come up.”
As they approached, they could see it was a small dinghy, empty of occupants.
“They might just be spearfishing,” Boone suggested. “We can always hook on later, if they come up while you’re down.”
“Right-o! Time to get wet!” Emily descended to join the others.
In short order, Emily, AJ, and Kate were suited up and Boone surrendered the wheel to Ernesto and went below to assist the divers. Deek came down to watch. All three women were highly experienced divers, so the assistance was more of a courtesy than a necessity. The divers dropped in and gathered near the dinghy, ducking their heads, searching.
“I can see the wreck,” AJ called back to the boat. “No divers, no bubbles in sight.”
“Well, keep an eye out,” Boone cautioned. “If they are spearfishing, they might attract a shark or two.”
“Hope so!” Kate called. “I love sharks!”
Emily laughed. “Well, we’ll steer them your way. Okay, let’s blow some bubbles!”
The three descended.
* * *
Skimming over the sand, Angler gripped his outstretched left arm with his right, the compass on that wrist positioned below his eyes. In moments, the massive hull of the super yacht came into view, casting a shadow on the bottom. Angler glanced over at Foster. The younger man clearly remembered his diving skills and was easily keeping up. He flashed an “OK” sign at Angler, indicating he’d seen their target.
Approaching along the bottom, Angler spared a glance up at the looming hull of the vessel. Normally, an underwater assault such as this would be done at night, but in this case the meeting was set to begin at noon, and they only had this window between the security sweeps and the beginning of the conference. Each diver wore a LAR V Draeger rebreather, which eliminated the telltale stream of bubbles that a standard scuba unit would emit. In addition, each had a drybag strapped to their chest. Both men had some personal gear, and Foster’s bag contained their payload while Angler’s had all of the remaining money from Grand Cayman. He had decided that leaving it aboard was an unnecessary risk. While he was sure the captain of the Beeracuda was well aware that motoring away with the cash while Angler was diving would be signing his own death warrant, he’d rather avoid the hassle of having to track the guy down and kill him.
Reaching the underside of the yacht, Angler spotted the moon pool hatch and swam up to it. He detached a fob that was clipped to his vest and held it over a plate by the edge of the hatch. There was an audible clunk, and the hatch slid open sideways. Angler held up a hand to Foster. Wait.
Ascending into the pool, Angler lifted his mask from the water. The room was pitch black. Retrieving a headlamp, he strapped it over the balaclava diving hood and switched it on. The room was twenty-by-twenty, with several unfinished walls and surfaces. A variety of construction materials lay in corners. Angler ducked back under and signaled Foster to join him.
He hauled himself up onto the edge of the moon pool and removed the rebreather system and drybag, then turned to assist Foster.
“Whew! That was a workout!” the man said, when he had removed his gear. He stripped off his mask and started to take off his hood, but Angler stopped him.
“No. Leave that on. There might be some kitchen staff in the galley. We shouldn’t encounter any, but just in case. Harder to ID us, if we’re spotted.”
“And if we are spotted?” Foster asked, unzipping his drybag and extracting a pistol with an attached suppressor.
“We do this right, none of the wage-earners get hurt,” Angler said. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way. You use that only if we encounter security.”
“Roger.”
Angler examined the fore and aft walls. “Engine room is back that way, and the galley, pantry, and freezer are all on this side. And if my ‘benefactor’ was telling me the truth, there should be a ventilation panel behind this empty shelving unit. Gimme a hand.”
Foster assisted, and the two men shifted the metal shelving aside, revealing a large vent at deck level. He twisted the metal catches on the corners and removed the grate.
Foster leaned over and looked through. “Not exactly an HVAC vent, is it?”
“Window dressing,” Angler said, then got on his hands and knees and crawled through. “Hand me the bag,” he said, once he was inside the shaft.
Foster pushed his drybag into the opening and followed it. The two men found themselves in an alcove of a large pantry.
“Sweet! Barbecue potato chips!” Foster exclaimed, grabbing a snack-sized bag.
Angler shushed him, then removed several large containers of cooking oil from a shelf. “Here we go.”
“That the backdoor access to the elevator thingie?” Foster asked, indicating a small panel behind the shelving unit. He quietly tore open the chips and shoved a handful in his mouth, crunching loudly. When Angler gave him a look, he said, “C’mon, that was a long, hard swim. I need the carbs.” He grabbed another packet of chips and shoved it into his bag. “And one for the road.”
Angler sighed and turned his attention to the panel. There was a small control unit to the side with a green button, a red button, a button with the image of a padlock on it, and up and down arrows. He punched the green button and the panel opened, revealing an empty shaft, illuminated by cracks on the far wall. Probably the main access to the galley on the other side, he thought. He checked his watch, then punched the “down” button. “Give me the device.”
Foster opened his bag and extracted the curved metal box. Angler took it and waited. After a moment, the dumbwaiter arrived from above with a cling-wrapped tray of appetizers. Angler smushed the device into the tray of olives and cheeses and stepped back. He pressed the red button and the panel slid closed, obscuring the device’s embossed warning: FRONT TOWARD ENEMY.
Angler punched the lock button and it lit up orange. “Done. Go.” He dropped to his knees and scrabbled back to the room with the moon pool, the crunch of potato chips following behind. Three minutes later, the two men were geared up and back in the water.
* * *
Emily, Kate, and AJ had given the wreck a thorough examination. Having gone down during Hurricane Ian, the pleasure craft was still in good shape, with many of its fittings in place, although saltwater corrosion had begun its dirty work in some spots. The name on the hull was still visible, and seemed appropriate for the unfortunate vessel: Ship Happens.
The boat had settled upright and marine life had found this new artificial reef and made themselves at home: squirrel fish were tucked into various places and a school of glassy sweepers were hiding out in the V-berth. The antennae of several lobsters waved from an opening under the hull at the sandy bottom.
The trio of divers were currently in the sand, examining a pair of tiny pipefish in a bed of seagrass, when Em spotted movement on the far side of the wreck. Visibility in the Gulf varied greatly depending on the tides, and she guessed there was about fifty feet of viz at the moment. She ascended from the sand and gave a quick flutter kick toward the submerged boat.
As she rose above the deck of the wreck she spotted two divers in wetsuits on their way to the mooring line, swimming fast. Both wore full hoods and had bags strapped to their chests, but what stood out the most was the lack of bubbles. In lieu of a tank of air or Nitrox, the two men had boxy contraptions on their backs.
Not your run of the mill recreational divers, Emily thought, and they’re in a hurry. She turned around to find Kate and AJ looking up at her. She fired off a rapid series of hand signals: she pointed at herself, then pointed two fingers at her eyes, raised the other hand and held up two fingers, then flattened both palms and paddled her hands like fins. I… see… two… divers. As AJ and Kate finned toward her, Em pulled out the little slate she kept in a pocket of her BCD. Using the attached pencil, she scrawled a single word and turned the slate to face them. Rebreathers.
Kate looked at the slate, then took the pencil and wrote Yacht? Then she pointed off to the northwest.
AJ nodded, then jerked her thumb up, suggesting they ascend. Kate and Em flashed “OK” signs and all three kicked hard for the dive boat.
* * *
“Woo!” Foster whooped as he broke the surface and started to shrug out of his gear.
“Pipe down,” Angler hissed, pushing his Draeger into the dinghy. “Sound travels far across open water.”
Foster rolled over the side and into the boat, then helped Angler join him.
Angler pulled off his mask and hood, but froze as he heard the sound of an idling motor.
“We’ve got company,” Foster said.
Angler looked up and spotted the catamaran a hundred yards away. There were several men aboard, dressed in casual tropical clothing. One man, wearing overly large pink sunglasses, looked right at him. A tall man at the wheel said something to his companion.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?” Foster asked, releasing the mooring.
“I know that guy. In fact, I think I know the tall guy next to him, too… from a few years ago.” Angler settled in by the motor. “Stay frosty, but keep it chill. We’re just two divers, done for the day. I’ll head for shore, then change course once we’re out of sight.”
Angler throttled up to cruising speed, trying his best to look casual.
* * *
“That’s him!” Deek said. “He’s shaved his goatee, but I’m sure it’s him.”
“This is gonna sound weird, but he looked familiar to me, too.” Boone slipped a hand into a pocket of his cargo shorts and grabbing a compact set of birding binoculars, he trained them on the dinghy.
“You carry binoculars?”
“When I had my own boat, they were always by the wheel. Been carrying them ever since… whoa, hang on. I know that guy.”
“Which one?” Deek asked. He didn’t recognize the younger man who was with Daniels.
“The older one who looks like he could snap you in half without breaking a sweat. He’s a mercenary.”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“That’s a whole ’nother story for some other time,” Boone said, his binos still trained on the boat as it sped away. “Ernesto, can you radio the Coast Guard?”
“I’m already trying, but there’s something wrong with the radio. It’s static.” A moment later, he added, “And there is no signal on my phone!”
“Those aerials on the bridge of the yacht!” Deek blurted. “They must be some form of jammer. We’ve got to get after them!”
“No can do,” Boone said. “We’ve got divers in the water, and besides… there isn’t a doubt in my mind that they’re armed. And we aren’t.”
Beside the mooring buoy, bubbles appeared, and AJ, Kate, and Emily broke the surface. Ernesto pulsed the engine and coasted toward them.
“Boone,” Emily cried out, “did you see the two guys get in the dinghy?”
“We did. Grade A certified bad guys, we think. You three okay?”
“Yeah, but… Boone, they had on rebreathers… and I’m pretty sure they came from the direction of the yacht.”
“The hatch!” Deek shouted. “The… Kate, what did you call it?”
“A moon pool. Yeah, they could’ve gotten on the yacht, dropped something off…”
“Like a bomb,” Deek said.
“Radio them!” AJ shouted. “Warn them!”
“No can do, Deek thinks that yacht is throwing off some kind of electronic jamming.”
“Well, then we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way,” AJ said, swimming for the Arawak. “Drive up and yell at them! C’mon, let’s get aboard.”