He had a sudden inspiration. Hoagie Newcombe flew in and out of Whiskey Cay a dozen times a week. He was a hell of a pilot too. Whoever owned Calypso Charters had the only permit to drop sky divers in the Bahamas: Rico had flown with Hoagie once.

If such a pilot crashed on a routine flight, on a bright sunny day, it would not fail to excite comment among the traficantes, the Prince George police, and the Nassau Daily Tribune.

Especially if they recovered the plane and found it full of holes.

He turned back to Carlos. "Hey, hombre?"

"Sí?" Carlos was watching him without much hope.

"You ever shoot down an airplane?"

The old man's eyes grew suddenly alive. "No, señor. Not yet."

"I think you should. Why not? Por qué no?"

Carlos crossed the room and grabbed his hand. For a moment Rico feared that he would kiss it. But he shook it firmly and looked into his eyes.

"Indeed, señor," he said, tears in his voice. "Por qué no?"

***

Ellen lay in her bed off Carla's studio. Somewhere, in Prince George Town, perhaps, a steel-drum band was playing calypso to a local song.

Out Masthead Bay, where dolphin play,

With mermaid come from U.S.A....

She could hear Neptune's Folly worrying at her lines. Hoagie would have helped tonight....

Pretty fish swimmin' 'round the freighter wreck...

Fishin' boat dancin' with the tarpon on deck...

Through the open door to Carla's studio, by the moonlight, she could see the covered iron sculpture. Carla said it was in a dormant state, like an embryo, and she didn't want anyone looking at it yet.

Conch all steamin' in the chowder pot...

Lobster screamin', 'cause de water hot.

Conch chowder... She had overcome her qualms and had some for dinner. It was delicious, fresh from the sea.

Onyx eyes staring flatly into hers...

She wished Brody had been there tonight.

Or Sean, his image.

Or Hoagie, with his laughing eyes...

Rich tourist, say mon, what the heck...

Gwine stay, gwine stay, on Whiskey Cay.

To stay? No, because she was not a rich tourist but a struggling dealer in other people's properties fighting to stay alive.

Michael had Carla, Carla had Michael, and both of them had Thea. But Sean was gone and she was an orphan mother.

The ocean breeze ruffled the chintz curtains.

At least, nothing could happen to any of them here. For the first time since the shark had murdered Sean, she truly slept.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Michael Brody banked the tiny submersible to port, then to starboard. He peered through his face mask, hunting for a group of conch he had tagged there two weeks before. He was very uncomfortable.

The passing water tore at his mouthpiece, his wet suit clutched at his groin, and his butt itched. There was no way to scratch it short of parking the craft on the bottom, squirming out, and going at it free of the sub.