Carl reaches up. He squeezes Iz’s hand as the black ooze rises to greet them.

The boat strikes the thick, tarlike substance and flips, bow over stern, tossing Iz and Carl headfirst into the mouth of the inky maelstrom.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

NOVEMBER 23, 2012
PROGRESO BEACH,
YUCATAN PENINSULA

6:45 A.M.

Bill Godwin kisses his sleeping wife on the cheek, grabs his microdisc player, and slips out of the second-floor hotel room of the Holiday Inn.

Another perfect morning.

He descends the aluminum-and-concrete staircase to the pool deck, then exits the fenced-in area and crosses Route 27 to the beach, the morning light forcing him to squint. Stretched out before him are miles of unblemished, pristine white sands and crystal-clear azure coastal waters.

Beautiful …

Brilliant specks of gold are just peeking over a line of clouds on the eastern horizon by the time he reaches the water’s edge. A Mexican girl in her teens zigzags along the serene Gulf waters on a purple-and-white wave-runner. Bill admires her figure as he finishes stretching, then adjusts his headphones and sets out at a leisurely pace.

The forty-six-year-old senior marketing analyst at Waterford-Leeman has been jogging three times a week since recovering from his second heart attack six years ago. He figures the “morning mile,” as his wife calls it, has probably added another ten years to his life while keeping his weight under control for the first time since his college days.

Bill passes another jogger and nods, momentarily picking up his pace. A week’s vacation in the Yucatan has done wonders for his blood pressure, but the rich Mexican cuisine has not helped his waistline. He reaches the deserted lifeguard stand, but decides to go a little farther. Five minutes and a half mile later he stops, totally exhausted. Bending over, he removes his running shoes, stuffs the disc player inside one sneaker, then strides into the balmy waters of the Gulf for his morning dip.

Bill wades out until the incoming swells reach his chest. He closes his eyes and relaxes in the warm sea, mentally organizing his day.

“Son of a bitch…” Bill jerks sideways, clutching his arm, searching the water for the jellyfish that stung him. “What in the hell?”

A black, tarlike substance has adhered to his forearm, searing his flesh. “Goddam oil companies.” He swishes his arm back and forth in the water, unable to wash the ooze away.

The scorching pain increases.

Swearing aloud, Bill turns and takes several strides inland. Blood is pouring from both nostrils by the time he staggers onto the beach. Purplish spots blind his vision. Feeling light-headed and confused, he drops to his knees in the sand.

“I need help! Can somebody help me?”

An older Mexican couple approaches and stops. “Que paso, Señor?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish—no hablo. I need a doctor—el doctor.”

The man looks at him. “El doctor?”