O’Brien shook his head. “Nick, you need to eat something, the beer’s talking.”
Nick sipped his beer and raised his voice louder. “Listen to me. Maybe you and I are the ones tapped to be led down into hell for some reason. Some kinda punishment-or a test. That submarine is a cursed place, just like Davy Jones locker. Some old-time Greeks told me Davy Jones was really Davy Jonas, you know, the guy who was eaten by the whale. We were almost swallowed by a bull shark last night.”
Jason Canfield stepped onto Jupiter’s cockpit. He walked toward the open door leading into the salon and stopped, overhearing Nick’s voice. It was loud, a little slurred, and Nick was arguing with Sean. Jason held back at the door, partially because he didn’t want to intrude, and also because what he was hearing stopped him in his tracks.
Nick drained his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked over at O’Brien and said, “I’ve been on the ocean all my life, and I have never seen a boat blown clean outta the damn water like we saw last night. Who bombed it? We never should have gone back out there and dove down to bring up those two canisters of magic dust.”
“We were asked to do it because we knew where the U-boat was and could get to it before someone else could in international waters. It’s done, Nick. Let’s move on.”
“Bullshit! It’s just starting. Now that stuff is stored less than a mile from here off Dunlawton Road in Dave’s storage unit. Kinda funny, the word unit. Stored in U-236, same damn number as on the side tower of the U-boat. Now I challenge you to tell me that is just coincidental. It might as well be stored in Davy fuckin’ Jones locker. The devil got his cocaine in those U-235 cans. You gotta be able to see that.”
“That’s enough! Lower your voice, Nick.”
Jason Canfield cleared his throat and walked in through the salon’s open door. Max trotted over to greet him as Nick spun around on his barstool. He said, “Jason, you’re quiet as mouse with laryngitis. Where’d you come from?”
O’Brien cut his eyes to Nick and then looked over to Jason. He said, “Thought you were on your way to run the errands.”
“I was, but I forget my truck keys.” Jason stepped to the coffee table next to the couch and bent down to pick up his keys. “Sorry, Sean. I’ll be back soon.”
Jason was almost out the door when O’Brien said, “Hold it! Come back in here, Jason. What’d you hear? Trust me on this. I really need to know.”
Jason turned around, his face flushing. He swallowed dryly, looked down at Max a second before looking up at Nick and O’Brien. “I didn’t hear anything, really. Just you and Nick arguing about something. I guess I should have knocked, sorry.”
O’Brien walked around the bar, stopping next to the coffee table. A horsefly darted in through the open door. Max waited a second and snapped at the fly. O’Brien said, “Jason, if you overheard us, you need to tell me right now. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be prepared … others can find out, and they’ll do things to make you talk, things you can’t imagine. Now, what did you hear?”
“Nothing, Sean. I better get going.” Jason turned and stepped out the door. As he walked quickly down the dock, a flock of sea gulls flew over the boats, their calls like choppy laughter rolling over the smooth surface of the quiet marina water.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Nicole Bradley sat as far away from Andrei Keltzin as possible. On the passenger bench seat behind the driver, she sat with her back against the van’s panel wall. They used duct tape to bind her hands. She didn’t want to look at the man. Wanted to close her eyes, open them and hope he’d disappear, like a bad dream.
The driver stopped the van behind an abandoned warehouse. He parked next to a dumpster. He left the motor running, the air conditioner blowing cold air, a slight smell of moldy newspaper, exhaust, and sour wine seeping through the system.
“Zakhar,” said Keltzin, sitting next to Nicole. They spoke English.
“Yes.”
“Hand me the blade-the one you worked so hard to sharpen.”
Zakhar Sorokin lifted a straight razor from a pocket inside his sports coat and handed it to Keltzin.
“Please don’t,” pleaded Nicole.
Keltzin opened the razor, the light from a panel window reflecting off the blade. He leaned closer to her and whispered in a throaty voice, “Your profile on Facebook said you had been told by friends you have a face for television.”
“Please ….”
“So what does a ‘face for television’ mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything … please … what do you want?”
“Your boyfriend, Jason, what did he tell you about the submarine?”
“He said it’s like somewhere off Daytona Beach.”
“How many cylinders of U-235 did they really find?”
“He said two.”
“Where is this submarine located? What are the GPS numbers?”
“I don’t know.”
“On your television station, we heard him say he could find it again. There is no way he could find it again without the numbers. What are they?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
Keltzin slid next to her. She could smell sweat and vodka from his skin. He took the razor and touched the tip of it to her cheek. “If I cut you, I will cut you from this cheekbone, down to your mouth and up to the other cheekbone. I’ve had much practice to perfect the cut. I would not sever the nerves. I will slice through flesh and muscle. The result will be an enormous scar in the shape of a wide smile. You like to smile, no? I can tell from the pictures. But your smiles do not look real. You can always see a real smile. It’s in the eyes. What I see in your eyes right now are lies. Where are the numbers?”
“I swear to God … I don’t have numbers. Jason didn’t get them. Please!”
“Then how is it possible for Jason to find the U-boat? I believe your Jason shared with you the numbers? Do you wish to know why I believe this?”
“No ….”
“Because I can tell a lot about you from your Facebook and Twitter comments. I believe the reason your television station has the pictures from the German submarine is because you got them from your boyfriend. A woman that ambitious will not stop with a few enticing photographs. No, you would find out where the wreck is because you would have the power to reveal the location for your own personal gain-”
“No!”
“Yes! Jason admitted on television he could find the site.”
“That’s not exactly what he said. The editors took a short sound-bite-”
“Silence!”
Keltzin opened the purse on the floorboard, lifted out the cell phone. He quickly found Jason’s number. “I am going to put this on speaker. You tell Jason you must meet him. Tell him you will come to him. You simply want to talk-alone. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“If you make one sound other than what I told you to say, anything to give him an indication you are in distress, I will slit your throat. Again, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He hit the number, pressed the speakerphone. Jason said, “Hi, you off work?”
“Yes.” Nicole shivered once. “Want to hang out?”
“I’ve got to get a bunch of stuff back to Sean. We have a charter tomorrow.”
“Jason, it’s like real important. I’ll meet you. I only need a few minutes to talk.”
“Okay.”
“Where will you be in thirty minutes?”
“Chapman’s. It’s fish house on Riverside.”
“I’ll meet you there in the parking lot. We need to meet alone. We need to talk.”
“Nicole, you okay? Have you been crying or something?”
She looked at Keltzin. He held the razor inches from her face. “I’m okay … just putting a lot of hours in at the station. See you in a half hour.”