When The Devil Whistles (26 page)

“Hey, Max. It’s Connor. Thanks for helping me out.”

“Do you know how much I helped you out?”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“So you don’t know?”

Connor’s spine tingled and he lowered his voice even though the door was shut. “Max, you’re starting to scare me.”

“That’s what I figured.” He dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper. “I’m about to go off the reservation, so keep this strictly to yourself. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“All right. I sort of implied that we declined because there’s not much money in this case. That’s true, but there’s more. You know those invoices you sent us? The ones Allie swore she downloaded from Deep Seven’s computers?

“Sure. Of course.”

“Fakes.”

Connor closed his eyes and slumped in his chair. “You’re sure? How do you know?”

“Sorry, I can’t open the kimono that far. All I can say is that after you and I talked, I had our auditors and our IT people look at this again to see if they could figure out whether there was anything illegal going on at Deep Seven. So they went over the package Allie gave us—and they’re 99.99% sure those aren’t real invoices. Somebody—and I think we both know who—fabricated all three and uploaded them into Deep Seven’s system.”

Connor’s stomach revolted and he swallowed back bitter bile. “I had no idea, Max. None at all.”

“I believe you. If I didn’t… you know how I feel about liars.”

“I do.” The image of him and Allie in handcuffs flashed into his mind. “Is there going to be a criminal referral?”

“Sorry, I can’t comment.”

Connor took a deep breath and stared out the window. Brilliant white gulls rode the breeze between the azure dome of the sky and the deep blue floor of the bay. A line from
Forrest Gump
appeared in his mind:
Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far—far, far away from here.

“Connor, are you okay?”

“No.”

42

A
FAMILIAR KNOCK AT THE STATEROOM DOOR WOKE
C
HO
. H
E EXCHANGED
a glance with his roommate, a hulking noncommissioned officer with a large collection of violent tattoos. On this trip, his name was Kang.

A second, more urgent knock sounded just as Cho opened the door. Mr. Lee stood outside, dressed in pants and a wrinkled t-shirt. “Sorry, sir. We were asleep.”

“Both of you come to my room now.” He turned on his heel and was gone.

Cho and Kang quickly pulled on some clothes. Sixty seconds later, they walked into Mr. Lee’s stateroom. Cho stopped in the doorway in surprise.

Jenkins sat in the room’s only chair, which folded out of the wall near a collapsible desk. He looked both nervous and pleased with himself.

Mr. Lee sat on his bed and nodded to Jenkins. “Go on, Mr. Jenkins.”

“I just talked to Granger and Daniels.”

“Yes, you said you would take care of them. This happened?”

The big American’s eyes flicked back and forth between Kang and Cho. “Not yet. They’re not as, um, reasonable as I am.”

Cho rubbed his eyes. Was there no end to the greed of these filthy capitalists? “How much do they want?”

“It’s not really a problem of… of numbers. They’re convinced that you’re going to try to blow up Los Angeles or something. I tried to talk sense into them, but it didn’t work. Granger can be an idiot sometimes, and Daniels believes whatever Granger tells him.”

So Granger and Daniels were potential allies. Best to stop this conversation now and continue it outside the presence of Mr. Lee and Kang. “Thank you for informing to us, Mr. Jenkins.” He turned to Mr. Lee. “Sir, would you like me to take care of this?”

Mr. Lee nodded.

“Mr. Jenkins, there is no need to keep these men awake. You and I can talk outside.”

Cho started to open the door, but Jenkins held up his hand. “Hold on, hold on. I haven’t told you everything yet. They’re planning something.”

Mr. Lee leaned forward. “What?”

“They want me to send a message to the Navy the next time I’m in the radio room. They’re going to try to set off a bomb as a distraction.”

Mr. Lee’s face hardened into a stern frown. “I see. Mr. Cho, Mr. Kang—please do what is necessary. Mr. Jenkins, have you ever operated an ROV?”

“Not this one. Granger won’t let anyone touch it, except him and Daniels.”

“You must operate it for the rest of the voyage.”

Jenkins’s eyes widened and he jerked upright. “I can’t do that! That’s why we’ve got Granger and Daniels, remember?”

“We will not have Granger and Daniels any longer. You will learn to operate this ROV or you will lose the remaining $2.5 million.” Jenkins opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Lee cut him off. “And if you are not cautious, you will lose much more.”

43

A
LLIE LET GO OF THE LADDER AT THE END OF HER DOCK AND SLIPPED INTO
another world. The sound of wind and gull vanished, replaced by the wide silence of the ocean. The only noise was the intermittent gurgle of bubbles escaping her regulator and floating up to the surface.

She kicked her feet and glided several meters from the dock. She had the shallow cove to herself today, except for a handful of semitame groupers that swam up to her in the hope that she (like many tourists) would feed them. Scuba diving alone is a big no-no for the safety conscious, but Allie had never fallen into that category.

The bottom slipped beneath her, a warm tapestry of sand, rock, shell, and darting fish. As she moved farther from shore, the water grew gradually deeper and the profusion of life increased. Brilliant blue and yellow angel fish appeared, darting in and out of the coral. Urchins and starfish hunted among the crannies and hills of the coral landscape.

She imagined bringing Mom, Sam, and the girls here. They’d love it. Mom would sit on the deck wearing lots of sunscreen and a big floppy hat while she drank iced tea and watched her daughters and granddaughters have fun—which was her favorite pastime. The girls would snorkel in the shallows and squeal every time they saw a fish or “Auntie Allie” came up underneath them and blew bubbles. Sam would wear a one-piece suit to hide her stretch marks and would spend most of her time making sure her daughters were safe.

A weightless joy welled up in Allie’s heart. She reveled in the moment, unburdened by memory or worry. Part of her mind knew that she was still hiding, of course, but she had left that fact back at the dock—just like she had left the things she was hiding from back in California. For now, she could live in a warm and brightly lit future.

The heedless excitement she felt as she slid through the water was like snowboarding. Or no, it was more like what she felt that day in Connor’s plane. She reached an open sandy stretch, empty of fish and coral. The water stretched to a hazy sky-blue horizon in front of her. She put her arms out to the side and pretended she was flying. Such a little kid thing to do, but fun. Her nieces would approve.

She smiled and rolled over on her back. The sun shone down on her through the liquid glass surface. So beautiful. So peaceful.

Her family faded from her thoughts, and she imagined Connor swimming beside her. The marine sunlight dappled his lean, muscular body, and his brown hair waved rhythmically as he swam. She’d notice something funny—fat tourists wading hippolike in search of shells—and point it out to him. They’d share a silent laugh. Maybe they’d hold hands as they swam, like the honeymooning couple who rented the bungalow on the other side of the cove last week.

She realized that she hadn’t checked her dive computer in a while and glanced at it. Time to head back.

She kicked back across the cove, her daydreams trailing after her. She rose gradually as she swam, and the blue light grew brighter and lighter. Soon the dock loomed ahead of her, a shadowed grove of weedy pillars in the haze of the marine world. She slowed, letting her gaze drift from the dock down to a school of flashing shad below her.

In a few minutes, she’d be on the hard, hot wood of the dock, stripping off her diving gear while simultaneously trying to avoid splinters. Then she’d rinse at the little shower on her deck, get ready, make herself some toast and tea, and then… what?

Good question. There wasn’t all that much to do on San Salvador beyond diving, fishing, and lying on the beach. Fishing had never appealed to her, and she had already spent more time on the beach than she should. Diving was always fun, but it wasn’t cheap. She’d already hit all the tourist attractions, so her only other options were biking around the island again or getting hit on at one of the Club Med bars.

She’d hinted to a few inquisitive locals that she was a budding author working on the Great American Novel. Maybe she could start hanging out at the tiny local library in Cockburn Town with her laptop. She shuddered. The thought of sitting by herself and writing (or pretending to write anyway) for hours on end struck her as incredibly sad. Better to risk skin cancer and wrinkles down at the beach.

She reached the ladder on the dock and held onto the bottom rung with one hand while she pulled off her flippers with the other. She tossed them up onto the dock and reluctantly pulled herself out of the water. Gravity reasserted itself and the tank and weight belt dragged at her shoulders and hips.

She stopped at the top of the ladder and stared in open-mouthed shock. There he was. “Connor!”

He didn’t greet her or even smile. “Let’s go inside, Allie.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward her bungalow.

Allie hurried after him, dripping her way across the deck and the lawn. She was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing a bikini and no makeup. And she hadn’t brushed her teeth after eating a can of tuna for breakfast.

She caught up with him at the sliding glass door. “Wow, what a surprise!” She laughed, then winced at the shrill nervous sound that came out of her mouth. “So, when did you get in? Where are you staying?”

He turned to her, his face an expressionless mask. “I’m not staying. I flew in this morning, and I’m flying out tonight. There’s a car waiting for me outside right now.”

Her mouth opened and shut, but her brain had no words to give it.

“I’m here for two reasons. First, I hereby inform you that Doyle & Brown is withdrawing from representing you.” His voice was polite and cold as a lonely winter night. “We can no longer ethically continue as your lawyers in light of your repeated misrepresentations to the firm and to me personally.”

“You—you came all this way just to tell me that?”

“A letter sent by process server would have been enough, but I wanted to tell you personally. I wanted you to know exactly what your lies have done—what happened because I was stupid enough to trust you. Deep Seven sued Doyle & Brown and has filed an ethics complaint against me personally. The firm is investigating me and is likely to expel me if they think I had the slightest hint of what was going on. Oh, and we’ll never know what Deep Seven is up to. Max shut down his investigation as soon as he discovered that Deep Seven really hadn’t stolen any state money after all. And, of course, he’s not going to make a criminal referral. Not for them anyway—you and I may be a different story.”

He stopped and his mouth quivered slightly, but when he went on his words were as hard and polished as before. They were like well-aimed stones, chosen with care and hurled at her with all his strength. “So I wanted to tell you that in person. That’s the first reason I’m here. The second is that I wanted to ask why you did it—why you decided to lie to me, to lie to the courts and the Department of Justice, to ruin everything we built together, and then to run away and leave me holding the bag.”