Something’s Down There

Chapter Five

Billy Bright’s eyes had been watching the gas gauge for the past five minutes. A rag in his hand was ready to mop down any overflow that might splash on the console and a small grin made his mouth twitch.

Hooker couldn’t see anything really pleasurable or very funny about filling a gas tank and was about to ask him what he was daydreaming about, but a soft, low voice behind him said, “Good morning, Mr. Hooker.”

He had had too much training to let surprise show and when he turned and said hello to a tall, lovely brunette, he knew what Billy was grinning about and wanted to kick that cat-eared Carib right in the britches. She was wearing topsiders that made walking silent to him, but Billy had not only picked up the sound, he knew who was making it.

Billy said, “This be Missy Durant, sar. She the lady from the other side of the island.” He still hadn’t turned around to verify his words.

“Judy,” the brunette said.

“Mako,” he told her. “Mako Hooker.”

“Ah, yes, the Mr. Shark man. Billy has told me.” She caught the sudden consternation on his face. “Billy brings me fish to eat.”

The beer can in his fingers suddenly felt out of place and he didn’t know what to do with it. You don’t sit on a transom and toss beer empties around with a gorgeous woman in khaki shorts and a beautifully filled out short-sleeved shirt watching you.

He laughed and said, “Care for a cold one?”

She stepped from the dock to the deck like an old pro and laughed right back at him. “I’d love one. I’ve been pedaling a bike for two hours to get over here.”

He popped the top on a pair of iced Miller Lite beers and handed her one. “You made my day, Judy. I didn’t expect company.”

She took the beer, chugged down half of it gratefully and let out a ladylike burp without excusing herself. “Ah, that was good. Am I interfering with anything?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Well... I really came to see Billy.”

He heard Billy chuckle and said, “I think I’ll kill him. He’s already got a girl.”

“Sar, I think Missy Durant wants the fish.”

Judy’s teeth flashed under the smile and she pushed her hair back with a deeply tanned, short-nailed hand. “For a cookout,” she explained. “I’ll be feeding about thirty people. Think you can handle that, Billy?”

“Oh yes, missy. Mr. Hooker and I get you all you need. Conchs too and the crabs. We take good care of you.”

“Where are the thirty people coming from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Hollywood, Mr. Hooker. That motion picture production company will be landing here tomorrow to shoot a few segments and I want to treat them to some island hospitality.”

“Well, you certainly look better than any Hollywood actress I’ve ever seen,” Hooker told her. “You really in the business?”

Another low laugh trickled from her chest. “Not quite,” she explained. “I own half the corporation.” She saw the question in his expression and added, “I inherited it from my father. That was one of his toys.”

“Toys?”

“He was really a banker. He could afford toys like that.”

“What happened to him?”

It was a casually innocent question, but it caught her off guard momentarily. She finished the beer in the can and handed the empty back to him. “He was shot, Mr. Hooker. A lousy street robbery. They took his wallet and his watch and killed him.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Sorry,” Hooker told her. “That was a pretty dumb question.”

Judy blinked the tears away and smiled. “No... I understand. Usually I don’t get bothered by someone asking, but all morning long I’ve been thinking about him.” She paused, then explained, “I never really saw much of him. But we had an entire week together before... it happened.”

“Time will take care of that, ma’am,” Hooker said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Please... Judy.” She held out her hand.

“I’m getting as bad as Billy. He’s ‘sar’d’ me so long I almost forgot my front name. It’s Mako.”

“Well, I won’t. And I like Mako. Will you and Billy join us at the cookout?”

Before Billy could voice an objection Hooker said, “You can bet on it. Black tie?”

“Sneakers, shorts and T-shirt.”

“Ah, really dress up. Limousine ordered?”

“Since you’re bringing the fish early, boat is the best bet. The others are coming in Willie Pender’s launch.”

“Who’s doing the cooking?”

“I wouldn’t have anybody else but your friend Billy there. And his lady, of course.”

“Naturally.”

Judy Durant stepped on the rail, then jumped to the dock. Her motion was gracefully fluid, like that of a trained athlete. She waved goodbye, then half ran up the planked walkway, mounted a man’s three-speed bicycle and pedaled toward the packed coquina path that traversed the island.

“You like she?”

“Billy, you are a sneaky slob, if ever I saw one.”

“I did not invite she, sar.”

“You made sure she’d have to come here to get you to fish for her.”

“But I did not invite she.” He wiped the rag over the face of the console again and grinned. “So... you like?”

“Beautiful, Billy.”

“Indeed yes, sar. But do you like?”

“Kiddo, she’s an anatomical dream with the most kissable mouth I ever saw.”

“The last part I understand, sar.”

“Someday I’ll explain the rest to you.” Hooker laughed.

Billy smiled back. “I think I know, sar.” He turned his back and began to tighten down the cap on the gas tank.

Grinning to himself, Hooker said, “How’d you know when that movie bunch would be here, Billy?”

“Sar?”

“You heard me.”

“I think it, sar.”

“You’re thinking of how not to tell me anything. Now don’t give me any Carib jive, old buddy.”

Billy made a gesture of defeat with a jerk of his head. He wouldn’t lie and deviousness wasn’t part of his makeup. “Sar, the radio.”

“It’s been on the weather station?”

With a bob of his head, Billy said, “To a ship outside it tells good sky for movie shooting. The ship can come in.”

“That broadcast was in French, pal.”

“Yes, sar.”

“You understand French, Billy?”

“Yes, sar.”

“How come?”

“Me one smart Carib like you say, sar.”

“You’re a real smart-ass, all right. How long have you known Judy?”

Moving his shoulders with an inscrutable shrug, Billy said, “Long time, sar.”

“Uh-huh.” Hooker waited, knowing he was annoying Billy by not prodding for a more explicit answer.

“Her father, I knew him too. Very nice man.”

Hooker still waited.

“She come every year since a little girl. Most times her father not here. Much business in faraway countries.”

“Banking,” Hooker acknowledged. “He handled your finances too?”

Billy finished with the gas cap and wiped his hands on a rag. He caught Hooker’s eyes and grinned a little. “I take him fishing. He was very good on boat. His friends”—he wrinkled his mouth—“bad city people. They do not know the fishing at all and get very sick.” A small smile touched his lips.

“But they all pay very well,” he added. “Big tips.”

“Didn’t you take her out too?”

“No. For the missy it was to look at. Sometimes I would take her for the crabs. Sometimes for the conchs.” He paused, a look of reflection on his dark face. “She did not like to see any of those great fish killed.”

“I can understand that,” Hooker told him.

“But she would fish with me. For the eating. We catch just enough for the table. Everything goes. Nothing left. Guts and cleanups from the plates go into chopper, then into big pile that goes to garden when it is rotten.”

“That’s a compost pile, Billy”

“Smells funny.”

“She is taking care of the environment, pal.”

He looked at Mako, not understanding what he meant. Hooker waved his hands at the ground and the sky and then Billy knew what he meant. He nodded with a very positive movement and said, “Good girl, she.”

“Very good girl,” Hooker added, with a grin. “What was her father like?”

“Much money,” Billy told him. Then he frowned. “He never have pocket money. Sometime he sign his name or little funny man who worked for him would pay.”

“Howard Hughes was like that,” Hooker said.

“I don’t know he.”

“Howard wasn’t into fishing. He liked to fly airplanes and make money.”

Billy nodded sagely. “You think that’s why Mr. Durant was killed?”

“They took his wallet,” Hooker reminded him.

“But if it had no money...?”

“I suppose it could make the muggers mad,” Hooker suggested. “Where did it happen? You know?”

Billy bobbed his head and pointed north. “He be in Miami, that day.”

“Alone?”

This time Billy shrugged. The ways of a city were not his ways and he didn’t dwell on trying to understand them. He changed the subject abruptly. “We go get conchs now.” He made a rough oval with his hands. “About so big. Okay?”

“Right on, pal. We’ll make a party she’ll never forget.”

Judy didn’t have to make any special preparations for rain. Here any downpour was written in advance on the calendar, with occasional squalls penciled in. In this latitude the seasons dictated the weather, with the exception of the occasional hurricane.

The Durant estate had been carefully selected to accommodate a rich man’s preference for solitude. The main house was nestled in the dunes, almost invisible at first because of its shell-covered facade. The broad leaves of the native palms shaded the area gracefully, planted in clusters and looking well tended. No brown fronds were among the green ones and there was a decorator’s touch to their placement.

A natural channel cut an entrance to the grounds, going in a good hundred feet, then breaking sharply to the right around a natural outcropping of barnacle-studded rock. The pier with the floating dock could handle three good-sized yachts or a dozen native crafts. Unlike most boating facilities on the island, this one wasn’t haphazard. All the pilings and bulkheadings were sea wood imported from Miami, guaranteed to last many years longer than local products. On one end a tall pole carried an anemometer and a box evidently laden with weather information instruments. At the far end was a shack built like the cabin of a small ship with three antennas rising from its roof. One would be the VHF for contact with boats at sea, another could be a single sideband rig for long-distance transmitting and the other could be almost anything.

Hooker scanned the docking area and nodded his approval. “Your friend Judy has a nice place here.”

Billy grinned slightly. He knew Mako’s approval was more than just a passing remark. “She do the big house long time ago. Her father like the boat parts.”

Idly, Hooker asked, “He have a license?”

“Why for, sar? He own he boat. He do what he wants without papers.”

“Well, was he a good sailor?”

“Ha.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He go out with somebody. Not alone. Sometimes I go for to fish. Mr. Sar Durant, he didn’t like to catch the fish anyway. He liked to watch somebody else catch them. He take pictures all the time.”

“Of what?”

“Other boats sometime. Getting conchs for chowder, sometimes just fishing. Nothing special.”

“What kind of camera did he have?”

“Mr. Sar Durant, he have many for picture taking. He use the little one like the tourist.”

“Thirty-five millimeter?”

“Yes. I save the little round boxes he get with the film.”

“Why, Billy?”

“I don’t know. Keep good things, maybe. You tell me good things come in little package boxes. Someday I get good things to keep.” Mako gave him a sidewise glance and Billy added, “I know. I am one crazy Carib.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sar, you think very loud.”

Mako had come in gently, the rub rail squeaking against the plastic bumpers around the pier. He tied off the stern line while Billy threw a hitch around the bow bollard, then the both of them began unloading the baskets of choice seafood for the garden party. By the time they had everything off-loaded, two young islanders came up pushing an empty cart, stored the load on the bed, and then wheeled it up to the big house.

“Mako...” The light from behind silhouetted her body under the yellow silk sarong, and when Hooker turned to look at her he felt as if he had been punched in the gut. It had happened before, so he realized what it was and let the old armor plate settle over the part of his mind that was being targeted.

“Hello, Judy.” He grinned at her and felt that armor plate getting thinner, making him more vulnerable than he wanted to be. He knew that somehow he had been manipulated into this situation by Billy, but he couldn’t figure out just how it had happened. “Your party here yet?”

“One more hour. This occasion does not work on native time.”

“Don’t knock it, lady. These islanders can split a second in half if they want to. Luckily, not wanting to is part of their charm. And I’m beginning to get that way too.”

Her laugh was soft and enticing. She said, “Whether you want to or not, you do have a certain charm yourself.”

“And I clean up pretty nice too, right?”

“Right,” she told him.

“So where do we go to work?”

“Billy will show you. I’ll go change clothes and help you clean the fish.”

Before he could say not to, she headed back into the house while he followed his friend’s tracks in the sand to the outdoor picnic area, where a huge charcoal burning pit was already smoldering. There were cleaning tables for opening shellfish, and scaling tools and knives for filleting or steaking, and curious partygoers could watch the delicate machinations that go into preparing a genuine native seafood dinner from the seats around a tiki bar made from the wreckage of old sailing ships.

Gentle native music flowed out of the hidden speakers, occasionally turning staccato with the thumping of drums. Fine original music, Hooker thought. The only trouble was, it originated in Hawaii.

“Nobody will care,” Judy said from behind him.

Hooker put his basket of clams down and said, “You know, you’re as cat-footed as Billy and he can sneak up on a seagull.”

“So I dress barefoots,” she said, mimicking Billy. “He tell you I talk good Carib too?”

“No, but I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Billy had made himself busy twenty-five feet away cleaning fish, hearing everything, but giving no indication of paying any attention.

“Would you like to come up to the main house and meet my guests? Some you already know.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got too much to do...”

“Mr. Hooker, sar,” Billy called over, “it is better I work alone. You go talk stateside stuff to the people.”

“See?” Judy smiled.

Mako shook his head in mock defeat, washed at the tap, then took Judy’s hand and led her to the house. It was a gesture he’d use on little kids to help them cross a ditch, but when he felt her fingers tighten around his, the armor plate turned into tinfoil. There were things going on in his mind he thought had been safely put away.

But emotion was not new and could be handled. He had handled it before. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, when it had interfered with his work and could have affected his finely tuned reactions. Now there was no need to watch his back or any reason to practice with the weaponry of his former trade.

It was still something to be handled, though.

Coming over the sand dune, he saw the two ships behind the Clamdip. The first one was an eighty-foot yacht gleaming with polished metalwork and burnished mahogany and teak. The nameplate on the bow read Lotusland, and from the displayed bunting in the rigging to the camera stands clipped to the rail, it spelled Hollywood, U.S.A.

The third ship was the Tellig, freshly washed down and sparkled up as much as a phony supply ship could be.

Judy caught his studying the dock and said, “Lotusland is my company ship... sort of like a second unit. It’s completely equipped for filming and film processing if necessary.”

“Fancy.”

“You know Hollywood.”

“Do you?”

She smiled coyly. “Enough to stay away from it. However, the company has made three very successful pictures in the past two years where the boat has been a necessity. Have you seen them?”

“Judy, I haven’t been to a movie in five years.”

She thought about that for a few seconds and said, “Mako Hooker... what do you really do?”

“I fish.”

Her eyes were doubting him.

“Ask Billy, he’ll tell you.”

“No, Billy doesn’t tell things about people he likes. He intimates.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, he says you are a very good person. You do nice things for people.”

“I’m merely being polite.”

“He says you have no fear.”

“He’s wrong there. A lot of things scare me.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“Certainly, that’s how I stay alive. I don’t play with rattlesnakes or keep scorpions in my pocket.”

“But you go out on the ocean and don’t fear the eater.”

A little laugh jerked out of him. “Do you believe there’s an eater?”

There was a very small pause, then, “Something’s doing it.”

“Something is something that I’m not afraid of. I’m afraid of what I know that can get to me if I’m not careful.”

Judy paused thoughtfully. “Mako, I asked my first question in the wrong tense.”

“Oh?” He waited, curiosity in his eyes.

“What_did_ you do?”

He knew then that she had queried Billy and had been told nothing at all. He had not even intimated. “I stayed alive,” he told her.

She poked at him gently, then stood back while he opened the door of the big house.

They were all there, everyone not born on the island, with the mark of the city on their gently tanned faces and the inescapable touch of acute civilization in the style of their dress.

He didn’t look too much out of place. His shorts were clean, but one back pocket had been sewn repeatedly and he had forgotten to take his small Schrade Old Timer knife and leather holster off his belt. His dark shirt was as native as they come and his Topsiders had many months of deck time on them; he could have been one of the crew from the yacht, but the sun had ground in a quality of wet mahogany colorization that only his features saved from being taken as that of a proper native.

Chana Sterling was standing in a patch of sunlight cooled by double-paned windows, a well-built man wearing a captain’s shirt talking to her intently. Berger was watching them both from a big chair, sipping a tall drink. The bunch from the Lotusland all wore the latest in Hollywood fashion and were busy talking movies. Hooker located the bar and went over and got a cold Miller beer in a mug.

He had barely sipped the foam off the top when Judy walked up on the arm of a distinguished-looking man who looked like he had stepped out of the pages of Esquire magazine. The blue blazer, with a gold embroidered emblem on the left pocket, had a military cut to it and the white trousers were knife-creased and wrinkle free. He was fully as tall as Mako, about the same age, and although he had a slim look, the way he moved said that there was strength and speed under his stylish garb.

“Anthony Pell, this is my neighbor, Mako Hooker,” Judy said when she introduced them. “Mr. Pell has a business interest in our production company.”

Mako shook Pell’s hand, not changing his expression. He said, “I’ve never met a movie mogul before.”

Pell gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m hardly that, Mr. Hooker. Judy’s father and I made a joint investment in the business years ago and it turned successful despite us.”

“Are you in investments?”

“Here and there,” Pell told him casually. “My principal interest is in taking care of Judy’s interest in Hollywood. What line of work are you in, Mr. Hooker?”

“Would you believe it, I’m a fisherman.”

Pell’s mouth creased into another smile. “Yes, I can see that. I was wondering why you carry that strange knife at your side.”

Just as casually, Mako said, “That’s in case I’m snatched over the rail by one of the denizens of the deep. I’d just cut myself loose from the line.”

“Don’t tell me you wind a high test line around your arm?”

“Sometimes I forget,” Hooker said. “So you like to deep-sea troll too, eh?”

“On occasions,” Pell answered.

“Enough fish talk,” Judy cut in.

Mako lifted his beer can in a mock toast. A new expression pulled at the corners of his eyes and he felt a faint twitch in his shoulders.

Anthony Pell, he thought. No wonder you’re in the movie business, you must have taken acting lessons. And you’re good, Anthony. It’s a long way from being Tony Pallatzo, a little soldier in the old Bruno Bunch out of Brooklyn, New York. How the hell did you beat the contract Bruno put on you for fingering his two best men to the Feds? You must have made a great offer, so good they took it, and here you are strutting around like a character out of an old novel.

A sudden hello snapped him around and he said, “Hi, Alley. Who’s minding the bar?”

“Got old Doc-Doc there. That geezer doesn’t drink, doesn’t steal and works cheap, so I can’t lose.”

“Thought you didn’t like stateside parties?”

“Hell, man, this ain’t stateside. You think I’d pass up anything different that happens around here?” He answered his own question. “No way. This is an event. You see all those pretty girls on that movie boat?”

“Come on, Alley, you’re too old for that.”

“Sure, but not too smart.”

“So go catch a bloodcurdling disease,” Mako said.

“I’m that smart,” Alley said with a smirk before he walked away.

Something was happening inside of Hooker. It wasn’t what he liked, because it was something coming out of the past. Back when he walked the deadly roads he had had the same feeling, knowing that his training was warning him that normal wasn’t the name of this game at all; and past experience was kicking up the adrenaline, because right within reach he was being challenged and he didn’t know who the enemy was.

Tony Pallatzo? Was his appearance accidental or coincidental? What was he now, a heavyweight or a misplaced featherweight? A phone call to Miami would answer that one.

Chana Sterling? Female shooters he never did like. They couldn’t be trusted. They acted emotionally instead of rationally. What the hell was she doing here?

“Strange person,” Pallatzo murmured. “He a fisherman too?”

“He owns a bar,” Mako told him.

Tony’s eyes washed over him casually. “But you are a fisherman,” he stated.

“It’s a living.”

“You must eat very well.” A touch of derision was in Tony’s voice.

“I still don’t like the eyes,” Mako told him.

“Pardon?” He had never heard him at all.

“Just an inside observation, Mr. Pell.”

“Oh.” He smiled again and turned toward Judy. “Excuse me, my dear. I have to speak to one of our people.”

When he was out of earshot Mako said, “Who’s the majority stockholder in your movie company?”

Judy frowned, puzzled at the question. “It’s a public corporation.”

“But somebody has to call the shots. Who’s got the votes that count?”

“Well... I think my father had.”

“And he left them to you?”

She nodded again, still puzzled.

“Who is the chairman of the board?”

That one she knew right away. “Mr. Pell acts in my behalf. Daddy always told me to do it that way when he was alive.” He got that frown again, then, “Why do you ask?”

He picked up one of the canapés from the table and tasted it. “Because he acts like the big boss.”

Her chuckle had a sincere note to it. “Oh, Mako, that’s just his way. He has a very big job and the movie company has made oodles of money, so I have nothing to complain about at all. Whatever he wants to do with Lotus Productions has my full approval.”

“You don’t veto anything?”

“Really, there’s nothing to veto. After The Lost King and Mineshaft were top Hollywood productions, then our own Anthony Pell produced Escarpment New York, and Lotus was one big, bustling company. I have good accountants and good lawyers,” she added.

“And you’re wondering why you’re telling me all this personal stuff, right?”

“As a matter of fact... yes,” she admitted.

Mako grinned again and threw her a fastball. “How come you’re not married? I know you’ve been asked.”

“I’ve been begged,” she smiled back. “On bended knee. Many times. Some were rich, some were poor, but I had to turn them down.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t like them that much.”

“How much money did the poorest one have?”

“He was practically poverty-stricken,” she told me. “A couple of million was all he had in the world.”

“Tough.”

“Quite.” She let a little pause come in, then flicked her eyes at Hooker. “How much money do you have, Mako-the-shark-man?”

“That depends on what you pay us for our fish,” he said.

“Now, before they start talking about us, do you mind if I go speak to my guests?” She smiled.

He nodded his head in a regal gesture. “By all means, go, my dear.”

She said “Idiot” very quietly, masking it with a small grin.

Watching her walk away gave him the same sensation as when he lost a nine-hundred-pound marlin in the tournament out of Miami. He had lost the fish, not because he had made any errors in getting him to the boat, or because the great marlin was smarter or even more experienced in breaking loose from a deadly situation, but simply because it wasn’t to be. One day that fish would be caught, but the person on the end of the rod would be somebody else and all he would have would be the memory of that sleek, wet body arcing sensuously in the air, beauty and power rippling in the morning light. It stayed with the boat and played with the line until it was ready to go. It was in close, the leader was almost within reach and everybody was watching.

Suddenly everyone in the room got hungry at the same time. Outside, the delicious smells coming from the fire pits drew everybody to the table to pick up a stainless steel tray that had seen military service during World War II. The lines formed on either side of the table and the island boys dished up the delicacies Billy had cooked up; from the satisfied sounds everyone made, you would think they were eating at a five-star restaurant.

Hooker caught Billy’s eye and gave him a “well-done” wink, but he didn’t need it at all. Give him a fish and a fire and he was in culinary heaven.

Without realizing it, Hooker had gotten edged in line right behind Chana Sterling. She was so engrossed with a soft-shelled crab that she didn’t notice him until he said, “Beats the fast-food places in Miami, doesn’t it?”

But she recognized his voice and turned so he could catch all the cold in her eyes and the smile that wasn’t a smile. “It did,” she said. Her voice had a hiss to it, making sure it emphasized the past tense.

“Don’t tell me I’m spoiling your fun.”

“You certainly don’t improve it.”

“Well,” he said, “don’t take any guilt trip for that bullet you put in me, kiddo. Sometimes I get teed off when I think of it, but it bought me a ticket back to civilian life.”

This time there was a small light in her eyes. “I radioed Washington about your status, Mako. Nobody seemed to agree on just what happened to you. The head office won’t talk, of course, but the scuttlebutt seems to be that you are simply on a hiatus of some sort.”

“And what do you think, Chana?”

“I think the agency is smarter than I gave them credit for. They saw something coming up and assigned you a deep cover to wait it out.”

“So, what’s wrong with that... if your supposition is correct?”

“It’s crap, that’s what!” Her voice went low, tinged with suppressed violence. “You’re a slob, Mako. You’ve been in the field too damn long. You’re washed up and you know it. All you do is stand in the way of more competent personnel and make it harder for all of us!”

“Not you, Chana. I wouldn’t stand in your way. You shoot people.”

“I sure wanted to shoot you when you poked around Scara Island!”

This time he didn’t answer her. He gave a tight-lipped grin and took another bite of his fish sandwich.

“Don’t pull that on me, Mako. You know damn well it was you on the other side of that island. Just let me tell you something... you keep away from that place. There are American munitions washed up there and that place is strictly off-limits.”

Mako’s face changed. A new hardness creased his eyes, and his lips hardly moved when he spoke. “You listen hard, Chana. That island is not a piece of the good old U.S.A. It was formally assigned to the native government of Peolle on March 9, 1949. If you forget the date, remember that it was the anniversary of the battle of the Monitor and the Merrimack in Hampton Roads, Virginia, 1862. It’s just a collection place for all the junk in the ocean, but it’s a junkyard that belongs to the people of Peolle, and believe me, they can boot you out of here anytime they want.”

“We have an agreement...”

“To tie up at the dock you built, that’s all.”

She sensed the implied threat but let it roll off her. Chana was a woman totally devoted to her job and what she couldn’t conquer immediately she put in abeyance for later. Her voice took on a degree of stability and she said, “Whose side are you on, Mako?”

“I didn’t know we had a game going.”

“It’s no game.”

“You mean something is really eating those boats?”

“What’s happening, Hooker?”

“What are your orders, Sterling?”

For a moment they just stood there looking at each other, then realized the foolishness of their attitudes. Finally, giving away nothing, Chana said, “We were taken off a routine patrol to look into all the excitement here. The media in the States have been playing it up harder with every incident.”

“The incidents have no proofs so far.”

“Some powerful forces can influence the government to investigate any action, you know that.”

“No names, of course,” Hooker said.

“Of course.”

“Then what you ought to do, Chana, is enjoy your assignment. Look at the great weather, all the good food and the exciting company you have around here. And nobody’s even shooting at you.”

“No,” she said, “all they want to do is eat me.”

Mako looked at her and grinned, and when her face got red he grinned and walked away.

The island help was starting to clean up, so they’d be leaving soon, and Hooker didn’t feel like doing any boat-handling with even a mild high. There was one other man at the bar rail nursing a drink, and without turning around the guy said, “How’s it going, Mako?”

“Still on patrol,” Hooker answered. “Who am I talking to?”

The guy turned around, his face immobile. “I was your contact once in Madrid.”

“Lee Colbert,” Mako stated.

“You got a good memory.”

“We were trained that way.”

“Not really. You had to be that way to start with,” Colbert said. “We only had a two-minute exchange. That was twenty years ago.”

“I thought you’d be retired by now.”

“So did I, then this boat-eating business turned up and here I am.”

“Tough.”

“Damn right. I have a farm I want to go to.” Colbert took another sip of his drink and put the glass down on the bar. “How’d you get pulled into this thing?”

“I didn’t. It just happened around me.”

“Sure, and the Company doesn’t have any contingency plans.” Colbert lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m out of it, Colbert.”

“Cut the garbage, Mako. I’ve been in the business too long to fool.”

“What will it take to convince you?” Hooker asked.

“You can’t do it.”

“Call the office. I’m wiped off their roster. Personal decision. No chance of reinstatement. I’ve been kissed off with prejudice. No authority, no contacts... absolutely nothing.”

A barely concealed smile flitted across Colbert’s face and he said, “And just by accident you wound up in a strange place like this where something wild has gotten started that nobody can understand. Is that it?”

Mako nodded. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Colbert repeated sourly.

“I’ve been here two years, Lee.”

He studied Mako for a moment. “I think events got a little ahead of us. We weren’t given any advance information except to explore the situation. It doesn’t take too much thought to figure out that we were to contact you somehow. Okay, we made the contact. What’s happening, Mako?”

Disgusted, Mako shook his head. “If I were you, Lee, I wouldn’t go any further until you’ve called the office.”

“It’s that big, huh?” Colbert said.

“Lee...”

“Okay, okay. I got the picture. I’ll let the office clue me in. Just one question. What is this party all about?”

“I thought it was just a Hollywood bash,” Mako told him. “All the ingredients are there... the Lotusland crew, your bunch, and the short guy over there with Judy.”

“Know who he is?” Colbert asked.

They both turned and watched the pair. The pudgy guy was in his fifties, nicely tailored into classic yachting garb. He wore a toupee and had a stylized mustache, and Mako knew that he had seen him before but not at a party like this. “He’s with the Midnight Cruise lines. Name is Marcus Grey.”

“Right,” Colbert agreed. “Two years ago he was indicted on a stock fraud charge but was cleared. Something to do with international money laundering.”

“Are those Swiss bankers still uptight?”

“One of their main money sources is drying up, which makes them pretty darn nervous, but that hasn’t got anything to do with us. How did you know him?”

“File copy stuff. There’s another heavy hitter here too.”

“Who’s that?”

“Anthony Pell. He’s one of the biggies in Judy’s movie company. He used to be Tony Pallatzo, a minor capo in one of the smaller mob families.”

“I was never detailed to that scene.”

“No big deal. Looks like he went legit and wound up in show business with Judy’s father, Arthur Durant. These days a lot of the Made Men have got something square going for them. Crime is so high tech you have to be a university grad to keep up with it.”

“Mako, for a guy supposedly out of the action, you seem to have kept up with current affairs.”

A little laugh escaped Hooker. “It’s all old stuff, Lee. You should know that.”

Colbert’s expression grew suddenly serious. “What about the new stuff, then?”

“Like what?”

“Like what eats ships and why.”

Annoyed at the thought, Mako said, “I wish I knew, Lee.”

“Have you got any ideas?”

“Nope. No ideas, no answers and I don’t intend to look for any.”

Lee Colbert swore under his breath and made a gesture of impatience. “Well, we’ll probably be getting orders at the same time, pal. No sense rushing things. Incidentally, you got old Chana all bent out of shape. She never expected to see you on top of this deal.”

“I told you...”

“Yeah,” Lee said, “you never were on it.”

From the end of the dock Hooker and Billy watched Judy wave off her guests as the boats pulled away into the channel. Willie Pender’s launch took Marcus Grey and four of his friends back to the new motel on the south end of Peolle Island, the Tellig close behind her; Lotusland, waiting until all was clear, pulled out slowly, the bunch on deck still partying.

The quiet was noticeable and a pleasant relief from the festive noise of flatland foreigners let loose on a Caribbean island. Judy came up to the Clamdip, still looking fresh as she did at the beginning of the day, and handed Hooker an envelope. “For your seafood delicacies. They were fabulous.”

Mako took the envelope and grinned. “It was a pleasure to work for you, ma’am.”

“Stow that ma’am bit, my friend,” Judy said. “You and Billy could make a fortune catering. Do you know that?”

“But you’d be the only customer,” Hooker mentioned.

“Yes.” Judy smiled. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Hooker saw Billy grinning at him and frowned. Once again, he was getting that feeling of being manipulated. “I wish I were younger,” he told her.

“I don’t,” she said impishly, her eyes meeting his with a directness he felt go right through him.

Hooker and Billy got aboard the Clamdip and Hooker fired up the engines while Judy threw off the lines on the cleats and Billy coiled them on the deck. She watched them and waved as they rounded the point and were blocked from view.

Only then did Billy say, “The missy likes you ver’ much. You like she back?”

“Why are you so nosy, Billy?”

“I ask questions to get smart. So... do you like she?”

“Yes,” Mako said to him. “I like she. I like she very much. Now, does that satisfy you?”

“Maybe you marry up with she?”

“Billy, you are a pisser,” Hooker told him.

Fifteen minutes out the strain was beginning to get to Billy, he kept watching the decline of the sun and made sure the Clamdip ran at full throttle and all the dials were in the green. Mako knew fear of the unknown was touching his partner, even if he was silent about it, but in another hour they would be pulling into the harbor and there would still be light, so there was nothing at all to worry about. He cranked the wheel for a small turn to port, straightened up and saw the lights of home low on the horizon.

Mako knew the run so well that he never checked his position, but just before he called to Billy to take over the wheel he locked at the compass and his eyes tightened into a scowl.

The Clamdip was twenty-five degrees off course and there was nothing to account for it. He let out a muttered “Damn!” but it was loud enough to draw Billy to his side.

“There is something, sar?”

Hooker pointed to the compass, Billy took it in quickly, checked with the light ahead, then just looked puzzled at Hooker’s strained expression. “We had that instrument lined up two days ago.”

“Yes, sar. That we did.”

“Get the handheld compass, Billy.”

He found the small tackle box, rummaged in it and came up with an ancient brass Boy Scout compass and read off the direction. “Says we go right, sar. We on course.”

“Let me see that.”

Hooker took it from his fingers and laid it on the console beside the Clamdip’s main compass. They both read the same. Both were twenty-five degrees off course. He took the small unit, stepped back away from the wheel and looked at the dial. The twenty-five-degree difference wasn’t there any longer.

This time he moved quickly, but very deliberately. He told Billy to take the wheel, and after scanning the immediate area, he pushed open the doors to the lower cabin, flipped on the overhead lights and went down the steps. He knew what he was looking for and he knew where to look. The old Matthews was a solidly built wooden boat, made before there was a need or desire for fancy accoutrements. Directly against the bulkhead below the wheel was a door that opened to access the instrument panel, and when he pulled it open he found what he was looking for. On the shelf was a steel box about eighteen inches long and six inches high and wide. He lifted it out, took it on deck, wrapped it in an old cork life jacket, then leaned over the rail and floated it away from the boat.

Billy watched him, eyes asking the question.

Mako said, “That, buddy, is a bomb.” He watched as the device bobbed on the placid surface of the sea. “There was no place down there to really hide it, so somebody stuck it right under the instrument panel.”

Once again Billy scrutinized him, waiting for the rest of the explanation. In back of the Clamdip the thing was a small dot.

“I don’t know what that was made of, but either the amount of metal drew that compass off or there were magnets in it.”

Billy wagged his head. “But... a bomb, sar. Are you sure...”

The blast sound was dulled by distance, but the intensity of it was reflected in the brightness of the flash. A few moments later they felt the force of the concussion on their bodies.

“I’m sure, Billy.”

“Mr. Hooker, sar, you are one smart city feller, that’s for sure.”

“Not so smart, Billy. I should have seen it sooner.”

“Ha. But we are alive. You are smart.”

“Okay, I’m smart.”

“How do she get there, sar?”

“Billy, I am not that smart.”

“Somebody, she want us dead, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Since we are not dead like the fish...”

Hooker finished for him. “Yes, Billy, they will try again.”

But Billy didn’t answer him. He was staring over the side of the boat, then walked along the rail toward the stern, finally pointing toward the water. “He is there,” he said. “Mr. Shark with your first name.”

Hooker locked the wheel in place and went back to the transom. He saw what Billy did, the great, sinuous shape of the shark, death-gray in color but pulsating with vicious life. The great fish raised up, its eye coming out of the water. “It’s a mako,” Hooker said.

“Yes, sar,” Billy told him. “He is your brother. He waits for you.”

There was the white flash of teeth as the shark gaped, then his tail made a swirl in the water and it was gone. Hooker looked at Billy, grinned and went back to the wheel.