Indigo Abyss (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 9) by John H. Cunningham

Author:John H. Cunningham [Cunningham, John H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Greene Street, LLC
Published: 2021-04-07T22:00:00+00:00

28

THE WATERS OF THE BAHAMAS WERE INDEED CRYSTAL CLEAR. In all the time I’d been coming here to fish, dive, or search for missing items, I’d never seen them like this. From a thousand feet up, the ship Jack had rented looked big and well equipped, bright white against the turquoise sea.

“Is that them in the marina?” Heather’s voice rang in my headset. She’d sat in the co-pilot’s seat on the flight over from Vero Beach. When I nodded, she said, “I read all about that boat. May not look like much, but it’s well equipped for our needs.”

That surprised me. I had expected her to complain that it wasn’t very pretty (like the yacht I’d seen pictures of her aboard in Monaco for the Formula One race a few years ago). Maybe she really had matured.

“That’s what Jack told me,” I said.

Another glance at the ship caused me to steel myself, because I’d soon have to face the dynamics between her and Jack. Their chemistry would have a direct impact on my ability to concentrate. There was just no way around it. I had only been married once in my life, and that was to Heather. That wasn’t because no other woman could surpass her—I’d met several that did in many areas. It was more about what losing her had done to me, the pain and scarring that had led me to the mantra “dead men don’t bleed.” I was beyond that now, but that was because I’d kept moving forward. Backward had never been an emotional option.

The first thing I’d done when getting on the plane back in Vero Beach was have Heather call Jack and then give me the phone. I told him to call Chub Cay Club Marina on Chub Cay, directly across the Tongue of the Ocean’s northern spur, and see if he could dock the ship there.

“Why would we do that?” he said.

“Nothing is more obvious than a salvage ship. You anchor that off North Andros and start searching, the authorities will be on us before we ascend from the first dive. Remember, the Bahamian government has zero tolerance for people poaching wreck sites or doing salvage without a permit, so we need to be discreet. Chub Cay is twenty miles from Andros, so we’ll use the dive boat to get to the search area. Then, if we find something—”

“When we find something, you mean,” he said.

I continued, “Then we can figure out what to do next.”

He agreed with my plan, thanked me for sticking with them, apologized again for how they recruited me, and promised it would all be worthwhile.

I hung up in response. Optimism wasn’t a plan.

An hour later, we were flying around the east end of Chub Cay. I winced—the salvage ship stuck out like a sore thumb in the marina. Heather glanced over at me.

“Good call on getting dockage at the marina.”

The airstrip was just east from the marina on the sparsely populated kite-shaped island, which was vastly more scrub than civilization.

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