The Ocean Dark

26

Josh lay on his side on the floor of the rec room. If he’d had the strength, he would have climbed onto one of the two ugly sofas. Their cushions might be faded and stained, but at least they would be soft. On the other hand, the fabric felt like sandpaper on a normal day, and right now the cold floor felt good on his swollen, bloody cheek. Dirty boot prints didn’t bother him. Pain had pushed him past such concerns.

He wished he still had the gun Miguel had let him carry during the night.

Fucking Miguel. Josh figured that once the chief mate had figured out something was amiss — that the new cook was something other than what he seemed — Miguel had been waiting for the moment he could take that gun back. And once he had, things had swiftly unraveled.

His right hand tensed, fingers instinctively clutching at the weapon he yearned for. If he’d had the gun, though, it wouldn’t have been Miguel Rio who caught the first bullet — he’d marked that for Hank Boggs. That son of a bitch had a reckoning in his future, and Josh figured it was only a matter of time. Really, the only chance Gabe had of getting the Antoinette free of the noose that was drawing close around it would be to throw the whole goddamn galley stove overboard and leave immediately, before Voss and the rest of Josh’s squad got restless and figured out that someone had spoiled their plans. Otherwise, Voss would run out of patience, realize something had gone wrong, and the FBI would move in.

The Rio brothers had twenty-four hours, give or take, and instead of using that time to slip quietly away, Gabe wanted to retrieve the guns, drag them back to Miami, and put them on Viscaya’s doorstep like a cat bringing its master a dead bird. The captain was a stubborn son of a bitch, but that was all right with Josh. The more time they wasted trying to get those guns back, the better his odds of survival.

Josh had been emphatic about the squad not moving in until he set off the personal locator beacon he’d hidden behind the stove, but he knew his partner all too well. He’d called in on the sat-phone to tell them the Antoinette was about to rendezvous with the Mariposa. Already Voss would be wondering how come he hadn’t called in again or set off the PLB. She’d be tempted to throw out the plan they’d made, and to ignore the cautions he’d given to wait for his signal. All Josh had to do was manage to stay alive until Voss ran out of patience.

The smell of his own blood filled his nostrils. He could feel a little pool of it growing tacky as it dried under his cheek. His jaw throbbed and his whole face felt swollen. His left eye had swollen up so much that he couldn’t open it all the way. Gently, he ran his tongue over his teeth, probing to see if any were broken. One tooth on the lower left side of his mouth felt loose, but otherwise they were all intact.

He doubted the same could be said of his ribs. They probably weren’t broken, but given the way his right side felt when he breathed, he thought several must be badly bruised. Boggs had started with his fists, but once Josh had slid to the floor, the chief engineer had started kicking. Now there were places all over his body that were numb, and far too many others he wished he could not feel.

As far as he was aware, Josh had been on the floor for about an hour, perhaps more. But he couldn’t deny the possibility that he had lain there longer, unconscious. His head still swam a little, and he figured he had a mild concussion.

“Get up,” he whispered to himself. His lips felt numb and the words were little more than a mumble.

If Boggs comes back, he might kill you.

The thought raced through him like a jolt of adrenaline. Captain Rio didn’t seem inclined to kill him yet, but Josh knew that could change without warning. If he wanted to live, he ought to find some way to defend himself. If he could fashion some kind of weapon, even a club adapted from the leg of the Ping-Pong table, then all the better. Boggs had it coming, one way or another.

Josh had given his loyalty to the FBI. Maybe not his heart and soul, but at the very least his mind and body. He knew the law, and throwing the big bald engineer over the side or shivving him in the throat with some makeshift blade snapped off a piece of rec room furniture would be frowned upon by the U.S. government. Josh wouldn’t be proud of it, either. That kind of justice didn’t fit with how he viewed himself or his job.

But no one had ever beaten him for their own entertainment before, so his views were adjusting accordingly. When the shit hit the fan, if he couldn’t arrange for Boggs to catch a bullet, he would be severely disappointed.

He took a thin breath, wary of his aching ribs, and lifted his head. The blood on his face had started to dry to the floor and it tugged painfully as he pulled his cheek away. Propping himself up with his left arm, right hand pressed to his bruised ribs, he managed to roll slowly and rise to his knees. His jaw still felt swollen and he blew a pained exhalation out through his teeth.

Then he paused, taking stock. No jutting bones. Nothing punctured internally as far as he could tell. Just pain, all over. Breathing through his nose now — the way he did when he felt nauseous and was trying to stave off the urge to vomit — he put a hand on the chair he’d been sitting in when Boggs had started to work him over. Shaky as a newborn colt, he rose and slid into the chair, settling back gingerly, closing his eyes as he let out another breath.

So much for looking for a weapon. If Boggs came back now, Josh would barely be able to lift a hand, never mind defend himself.

A few more minutes. Just take it easy. Don’t rush. A few more minutes and he would get up from the chair, find something that he could hurt the chief engineer with.

He let his eyes close and started to drift. The adrenaline rush started to subside and all he wanted to do was crash — just sleep, and heal. But Josh couldn’t afford to do that. Inhaling sharply, he opened his eyes and stared at the bright Caribbean light coming through the small windows on either side of the door. No telling when Boggs or the captain would return.

“Up,” he whispered, wary now of how much the guards outside the two doors might hear. Valente and Tupper had been posted last night, one at either entrance, but he had no idea who might be out there now. Best to be quiet.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he sucked in a painful breath, then crossed his arms in front of his chest. He hesitated, steadying his breathing, then forced his eyes open wider, steeling his nerves, focusing on the task at hand. He glanced around the rec room, moving his whole body instead of just his head, not wanting to twist anything too far just in case the muscles were torn. He didn’t have the strength to break up a chair or snap a leg off the Ping-Pong table, though he considered that for a moment.

No, it had to be something he could hide, something sharp and quick.

Shuffling around, right arm held against his ribs, he checked out the card table, the various bits of furniture, the crappy pool table. His eyes had glanced right past the Ping-Pong table for at least the third time before he paused to stare at the net, and the silver metal brackets that held it up on either side.

The metal was thin. Worked back and forth, it would likely snap off, leaving a sharp end. It would take a bit of leverage, but if he took it slowly and was careful, he could manage any pain. If Boggs came for him again, and got in close enough, Josh would do the bastard as much damage as possible.

He grabbed the net and had started to tear it off when the starboard door clicked open behind him.

Josh turned quickly, instinctively putting a protective hand over his ribs, and was surprised when the only pain was a dull throbbing ache rather than the sharp jab he’d expected. Perhaps the bones were intact after all.

The door swung inward and Angie Tyree poked her head in, wary and furtive. She glanced back out onto the walkway, then slid into the rec room, closing the door quickly behind her.

“What the hell—” Josh began.

Eyes widening, she put a finger to her lips to shush him, glancing past him at the port side door as though afraid someone would come to investigate. Josh stood quietly as she approached, studying the engineer. Despite her oil-stained tank top and jeans and the clunky work boots she had on, Angela Tyree was a beautiful woman. Her skin was a rich, dark coffee, and she had lovely eyes above full, sensual lips. But in the time they’d been at sea together, Josh had seen how hard she could be, which detracted both from her beauty and from how far he would be willing to trust her.

Yet the fear in her eyes pleaded for his trust. It was clear she wasn’t supposed to be here, and didn’t want to be discovered.

“How did you get in here?” he whispered, hating the mumble that his swollen mouth and aching jaw made of his words.

“I’m supposed to be guarding the door.”

Josh frowned. Angie didn’t have a weapon, and she was all that stood between him and freedom. He started toward the door she’d come through.

“No,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Where are you gonna go? For a swim?”

He paused, thinking about the layout of the ship, the distance to the galley, the chances of running into other members of the crew, some of whom would no doubt be armed. Every muscle urged him toward the door, but if Angie had other thoughts, he wanted to hear them.

“You have a better idea?” he asked.

“Just listen,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door through which she’d entered. Then she locked her eyes on him, sizing him up as though for the first time. “I’m third assistant engineer on a container ship. It’s just my job. Yes, I knew the Rios made some stops along the way sometimes, and that whatever they picked up couldn’t be legal if it was so secret. But I swear I’ve never been part of any of it. I just do my job and mind my own business.”

Josh saw the desperation etched in her face and decided that Angie couldn’t be that good an actress. He nodded. “Go on.”

Angie licked her lips and shrugged. “Nothing. I just … I’m not part of it.”

“You knew and kept quiet. You could’ve turned them in. You could’ve at least quit the job if you were worried about going to jail.”

He understood what she was fishing for, but he twisted the knife anyway. The more terrified she was, the more useful she’d be.

“Look, I can help you get out of here …”

Josh held up a hand to hush her, cocking his head slightly as though he’d heard something. The effect on her was instantaneous, erasing any lingering suspicions he might have had that Gabe Rio had sent her in here trying to find out if Josh had any information that Hank Boggs’s fists hadn’t been able to extract.

“What did you hear?” she asked, taking a step toward the door.

“Nothing. Just the boat. Everything creaks. Listen, Angie, if you’re as blameless as you say, that’ll come out during the prosecution. But if you can bring me a gun and get me to the galley — or get us both to one of the lifeboats — I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

She gnawed her lower lip, more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, looking almost like a little girl.

“I wouldn’t have to be in jail?”

Josh considered lying, but only for a second. “I can’t make any promises. There’s only so much I can do. But I can tell you this much — I think there’s a very good chance that if you help me, you’ll stay out of prison.”

She might not have gone to prison at all, regardless, but Josh didn’t have to tell her that. Angie scratched below her right eye, glancing back and forth at the doors before staring at him again.

“I’ve got trust issues, Josh, but I don’t guess I have much of a choice. And you always seemed like a decent guy, before I knew you were lying.”

“It wasn’t all a lie. I’m a damned good cook.”

He smiled to set her at ease and pain hammered both sides of his swollen face. Josh hissed and brought a hand up, gingerly touching his jaw. When he glanced at Angie, he saw the sympathy in her eyes, and surprised himself by both liking and trusting her.

“As soon as it’s dark—” she began.

Josh shook his head. “No good. The sun’s only been up an hour or two.”

“We’ll get caught.”

“We only need to get to the …” Josh let his words trail off, then gave a soft shake of his head, chuckling at how slowly his brain was working. He’d told Gabe and Boggs about the PLB, but he’d also told them the holster was rigged so that if they tried to remove the beacon without entering the right code, they’d set it off.

As lies went, it wasn’t a very good one, and it wouldn’t hold up for long. But right now, all Captain Rio wanted was to get those guns, and with Josh locked up, maybe he wouldn’t have dared remove the PLB yet. It was worth a shot.

“All right. Let’s try a different approach. Get to the stove in the galley. Behind it there’s a small rubber holster, inside of which you’ll find a black and yellow thing that looks like a small walkie-talkie. If you open its face, there are two blue buttons and a red one. Ignore the red one. Don’t touch it. Press the two blue buttons down simultaneously and hold them until you hear a beep. Then take it and hide it somewhere else on the ship.”

Angie bit her lip again. “What is it? Some kind of signal?”

“Exactly. If you do that, I’ll do what I can for you. And if we’re all still here by nightfall, you come get me, and we’ll get out of here in one of the enclosed lifeboats.”

The idea of leaving the Antoinette seemed to scare the crap out of her, but she took another breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“And, Angie?”

She looked up at him, some of the toughness coming back into her eyes.

“The PLB — the walkie-talkie thing — it might not be there. The captain knows about it, but I told him if he messes with it too much, tries to take it out of its sheath, it’s rigged to go off automatically.”

“Is it?” Angie asked.

He debated quickly, calculating whether or not he could afford to trust her. Then he took a breath and shook his head. “No. That’s bullshit. Still, he might hesitate. If it’s already gone from where I hid it, you’re going to have to check Gabe’s quarters, and probably Miguel’s. Try the wheelhouse first, though.”

Angie deflated a little, gaze dropping, no doubt thinking about getting caught snooping around the captain’s quarters, or — even worse, given Miguel’s temper — the chief mate’s.

“Jesus, how did I get into this? If they catch me—”

“Don’t let them.”

After a moment she lifted her eyes, her expression grim. She nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”