looked back toward the open road and sighed.
“Guess I’m walking.” He said it to no one in particular, wondering how long it would take to follow the winding road back to town.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Do you like calamari?”
The question seemed idle enough when Joe Drabyak first stepped onto the fishing boat, but now he wasn’t so sure. His host had never followed up with the calamari. No snacks or drinks, but thirty minutes out to sea, Joe was glad he hadn’t eaten anything deep-fried. His stomach was starting to lurch with every swell as he gripped the low railing near the bow, salt spray stinging his eyes.
He almost lost his grip when the question came again, like a voice inside his head. The man who owned the boat was standing right beside him. He must have come from the cabin but Joe didn’t notice until he heard the deep baritone cutting through the wind.
“You never answered my question,
Señor
Drabyak.”
Joe was busy trying to breathe through his mouth as he fought the urge to puke, but he managed to yank his eyes from between his feet. He had talked to this man many times over the phone, but this was their first meeting. That was significant. It meant Joe was moving up in the world.
Luis Cordon’s profile matched his voice. A rich mane of chestnut hair flared wildly around a distinguished face. High cheekbones, amber eyes that looked almost golden. Seeing him on the street, you might think he was an actor or an opera singer. Maybe a star of a Mexican
telenovela
. But Joe knew he was none of those things.
The golden eyes studied him until Joe managed to respond. “Calamari? Sure, I like it fine. Eat it when I go to bars sometimes.”
Cordon smiled, pleased. “Then you will find this interesting.”
Joe nodded absently. “When you said we’d be on your boat, I kinda thought—”
“Ah, the yacht. You thought we would take her for a spin.”
Joe shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“Do not take offense, Joe—you don’t mind I call you by your first name?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“This boat, it attracts no attention. No surveillance. It is too noisy for listening devices. And we are too far from shore for anyone wearing a wire to be heard. When this boat leaves the harbor, no one follows it.”
Joe nodded. “The
federales
are too busy watching the yacht.”
“Precisely. I know it has been an uncomfortable journey, but we have arrived.”
As if on cue, the throttle was cut and the roar of the diesel engine blew away on the breeze. To Joe it felt as if the boat lurched backward, but he knew that was only an illusion. They had followed the coast for some time before heading into deeper water, and he wondered how far they were from land. He saw flashing lights to starboard and squinted into the wind, trying to gage the distance.
It took Joe a moment to realize the lights were underwater. White, almost fluorescent, flashing less than a hundred meters away. A submarine seemed unlikely.
“Squid.” His host seemed to read his mind. “
Calamar
in Spanish. You see the lights, yes?”
“Yeah,” said Joe tentatively, wondering if there were divers out there. Guys with spear guns and nets, scooping up squid. Before he could ask, the engines rumbled back to life and the boat seemed to pivot on the crest of a wave, then reverse toward the underwater laser show.
“Come with me,
señor
.”
Joe was led to the stern, where two men in yellow slickers and bright orange rubber boots worked a winch. Again the engines dropped to a murmur as they lowered a net over the back of the vessel. In the reflected light from the water below, the workers’ skin turned bluish, making them look like animated corpses. Joe suppressed a chill as he looked over the railing.
The sea was boiling.
Blue and white flashes shot across the waves and vanished, illuminating a macabre dance just beneath the surface of the black water. Joe glimpsed a tentacle lashing out to wrap around another twice its length,
“Guess I’m walking.” He said it to no one in particular, wondering how long it would take to follow the winding road back to town.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Do you like calamari?”
The question seemed idle enough when Joe Drabyak first stepped onto the fishing boat, but now he wasn’t so sure. His host had never followed up with the calamari. No snacks or drinks, but thirty minutes out to sea, Joe was glad he hadn’t eaten anything deep-fried. His stomach was starting to lurch with every swell as he gripped the low railing near the bow, salt spray stinging his eyes.
He almost lost his grip when the question came again, like a voice inside his head. The man who owned the boat was standing right beside him. He must have come from the cabin but Joe didn’t notice until he heard the deep baritone cutting through the wind.
“You never answered my question,
Señor
Drabyak.”
Joe was busy trying to breathe through his mouth as he fought the urge to puke, but he managed to yank his eyes from between his feet. He had talked to this man many times over the phone, but this was their first meeting. That was significant. It meant Joe was moving up in the world.
Luis Cordon’s profile matched his voice. A rich mane of chestnut hair flared wildly around a distinguished face. High cheekbones, amber eyes that looked almost golden. Seeing him on the street, you might think he was an actor or an opera singer. Maybe a star of a Mexican
telenovela
. But Joe knew he was none of those things.
The golden eyes studied him until Joe managed to respond. “Calamari? Sure, I like it fine. Eat it when I go to bars sometimes.”
Cordon smiled, pleased. “Then you will find this interesting.”
Joe nodded absently. “When you said we’d be on your boat, I kinda thought—”
“Ah, the yacht. You thought we would take her for a spin.”
Joe shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“Do not take offense, Joe—you don’t mind I call you by your first name?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“This boat, it attracts no attention. No surveillance. It is too noisy for listening devices. And we are too far from shore for anyone wearing a wire to be heard. When this boat leaves the harbor, no one follows it.”
Joe nodded. “The
federales
are too busy watching the yacht.”
“Precisely. I know it has been an uncomfortable journey, but we have arrived.”
As if on cue, the throttle was cut and the roar of the diesel engine blew away on the breeze. To Joe it felt as if the boat lurched backward, but he knew that was only an illusion. They had followed the coast for some time before heading into deeper water, and he wondered how far they were from land. He saw flashing lights to starboard and squinted into the wind, trying to gage the distance.
It took Joe a moment to realize the lights were underwater. White, almost fluorescent, flashing less than a hundred meters away. A submarine seemed unlikely.
“Squid.” His host seemed to read his mind. “
Calamar
in Spanish. You see the lights, yes?”
“Yeah,” said Joe tentatively, wondering if there were divers out there. Guys with spear guns and nets, scooping up squid. Before he could ask, the engines rumbled back to life and the boat seemed to pivot on the crest of a wave, then reverse toward the underwater laser show.
“Come with me,
señor
.”
Joe was led to the stern, where two men in yellow slickers and bright orange rubber boots worked a winch. Again the engines dropped to a murmur as they lowered a net over the back of the vessel. In the reflected light from the water below, the workers’ skin turned bluish, making them look like animated corpses. Joe suppressed a chill as he looked over the railing.
The sea was boiling.
Blue and white flashes shot across the waves and vanished, illuminating a macabre dance just beneath the surface of the black water. Joe glimpsed a tentacle lashing out to wrap around another twice its length,
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