Beating the Babushka by Tim Maleeny

haven’t read about in the tabloids.”
    “Yes, sir,” replied Angelo. “But the investigation—”
    “Should proceed,” said Harry solemnly. “We owe it to our investors. Our employees. And ourselves—to set things right.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Harry.”
    “Yes, Harry.”
    “The detective Grace hired—is he still on the case?”
    Angelo hesitated. “I…I’m not sure.”
    “Fly him out here,” said Harry decisively. “Show him around. I’d like to meet him, be of any help I can.”
    “But Mr. Berman said…that is, the other Mr. Berman…Adam said—”
    Harry frowned, a downward arc across the screen, slicing the room in half. The speakers vibrated when he spoke.
    “Angelo!”
    “Sir?”
    “Do you remember our last conversation? About remembering who you work for?”
    Angelo nodded at the screen.
    “I’ll invite him out, sir,” he said. “But I honestly don’t know if he can make it.”

Chapter Nineteen
    Cape let gravity knock him down and roll him into the surf.
    The water was freezing. The salt bit into his side like acid, but Cape plowed through the shallows until he felt the bottom drop out. Bending at the waist, he kicked as hard as he could and dove. Somewhere along the way he lost the gun.
    He broke the surface seconds later, gasping for air, then dove again before he could get his bearings. Cape spent a lot of time in the water but knew he didn’t have the strength to cover any distance. He guessed his first dive took him barely ten feet away from the beach. When the pounding in his ears became unbearable, he surfaced again and tried to take a deep breath but gasped when he saw two eyes staring back at him.
    A seal floated six feet away, smiling pleasantly at his aquatic visitor. Seals and sea lions were always swimming near this beach—it was one of the tourist attractions of the park—but it was still unnerving to have company.
    “Are they gone?” Cape asked the seal hopefully.
    The seal blinked once and disappeared, its tail breaking the water as it dove.
    Cape saw he was only twenty yards from where he’d been standing. Some driftwood and a pile of black seaweed clung to the sand, but no sign of his assailant. Maybe a dozen people stood atop the retaining wall, pointing in his direction and shouting. Cape thought he heard sirens but wasn’t sure. He felt lightheaded and was beginning to see spots. Time to get out of the water.
    He raised his arm to start his stroke and almost screamed. A hot wave ran under his left arm and he felt a tearing along his ribs like Velcro. He forced himself ahead with his right arm, and by the fourth stroke he found a rhythm and closed his eyes, willing himself to remain conscious. His arms were lead weights. He thought of the seal and how effortlessly it had moved through the waves.
    Where there’s seals, there’s soon to be sharks. Cape remembered the advice of an old surfing instructor and redoubled his efforts. While it was bad enough getting shot, being eaten on the same day would be more than he could handle. With the music from
Jaws
playing against the pounding of blood in his ears, Cape felt sand between his fingers and let himself sink, crawling the last ten feet to the beach. Coughing and spitting, he tried to stand, but vertigo dropped him back on his hands and knees next to the pile of seaweed he’d seen from the water.
    Cape glanced down and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch. The pile of seaweed was Marik. Cape recognized him from his clothes, but his face was gone. The front and right side of the head torn away, jagged edges of his skull peeking out from the collar of his leather jacket.
    Cape rolled onto his back and shut his eyes. The sound of approaching sirens mixed with the chatter of the tourists to create a white noise that filled his ears like the roar of a conch shell. The waves tugged at his legs, begging him to return to their embrace as Cape felt his body slip away.
    Before he passed out, Cape saw an image of