A Quarter for a Kiss Page 19

  “Too soon?” she said. “Heavens no, Callie. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “Gee.”

  “You know what I mean. Time passes. Life goes on. Bryan would’ve wanted more than anything for you to be happy. For you to love again.”

  I nodded, tears filling my eyes.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I really needed to hear that.”

  When I found Tom back out on deck, I slipped my hands around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. He was the perfect height for me, tall enough that I fit against him just like a glove. With one hand on the wheel, he reached up the other one and put it on top of mine. We rode along like that for a while, until he needed both hands to steer through a larger boat’s wake.

  “What’s up?” he asked loudly as I moved to the chair across from him.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just thinking about how we’re going to do this. Are you sure you can scuba dive?”

  “I’m not certified, but I know how. I did a dive trip with some buddies one time.”

  We slowed a bit as we reached Turtle Point, and when we got around to the other side, we saw that several boats had put down anchor just past Turtle Bay.

  “Oh, no,” Tom said. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him, recalculating a little bit. “Actually, that’s good. That’s very good.”

  We went just past the farthest boat and then swung around closer to shore than the rest. We were out of sight of Dianne’s house but close enough to get to her beach. And if for some reason she happened to grow suspicious, we now had all of these other boats to act unwittingly as decoys. I told Tom to put down the anchor, but then we realized that there were mooring buoys here instead.

  As Tom eased us toward the floating white ball, I went to the bow with a boat hook and caught the line on the first try. Tom turned off the motor and then came forward to help me tie it off.

  We practiced the dive while it was still light. First we swam from the boat to as close to the beach as we dared. Luckily for us, there were no coral reefs in the way, nor any hidden rocks. We saw a few stingrays in the shallows, but they didn’t hurt us. Satisfied that our plan could work, we returned to the boat. Where we were moored, the water was only about eight feet deep with a sandy bottom, perfect for teaching Tom how to do a “bail out”: At my count, he would close his eyes, jump into the water, swim to the bottom, locate the sunken dive equipment, strap on the weight belt, clear the respirator, put it in his mouth, strap on the tank, put on the mask, clear the mask, and come back up. He seemed to have the hang of it by about the third try.

  “That’s one of the things they teach you in scuba class,” I said. “Funny, but it should really come in handy tonight.”

  Once I thought he was comfortable with the equipment, we stowed it on the diving platform and went into the cabin. We spread the satellite photos on the table and walked through the plan together. There was one hole in the security there, and we had every intention of exploiting it.

  It was really quite simple: Tom was going to scale the rock face of the northeast end of Turtle Point—the only place on the entire property that apparently had no camera surveillance and no motion sensors. I’m sure it never dawned on the security company who wired the house that an experienced rock climber could scale the sheer cliff and reach the top from there, emerging a mere 20 feet or so away from the main house. I only wished I were a good enough climber so that Tom wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

  The night was clear, the moon nearly full, the sea calm. The way I saw it, our risks in the water were minimal, even in the dark. The danger started on land, once we were up against three watchdogs, a security guard, alarm systems, motion sensors, and cameras.

  We grew tired of going over the plans and finally put our diagrams away, confident that we both knew every aspect of what we were about to do backward and forward. I had hoped to make our move around 10 P.M., but at that point there were still too many people up and about on the boats that floated nearby. Instead, we had to kill more time. There was a pack of playing cards in the glove compartment, so we sat at the kitchen table and tried several hands of Gin Rummy, then Two-Man Spades, then Twenty-One. The problem was that Tom could not be beaten.

  I thought about our time in the North Carolina mountains, when he had been so good at Scrabble that I finally stopped playing it with him at all. I wasn’t a sore loser, but it simply wasn’t any fun knowing I couldn’t win. Now that I knew he was a cryptographer, however, it made sense. I realized that he probably counted cards and recognized patterns—and that whenever he looked at a pile of letters in Scrabble, he could see every possibility that existed! No wonder I couldn’t win.

  Outside, it was cool and not very windy, and it sounded as though our floating neighbors were still out and about. They weren’t noisy, really, but they were talking and occasionally laughing. I could detect about four or five different voices, though their words were indistinguishable.

  I went back down into the cabin and came out a few minutes later with one of Eli’s spy tools: the telescoping microphone.

  “What are you doing?” Tom whispered.

  “We could use a little practice, don’t you think?”

  “On them? No, I don’t think. There’s no warrant for that, Callie. What you’re doing is illegal.”

  “I need to practice,” I said, turning on the power. The microphone was shaped sort of like a rifle, with a wire leading from the butt of the handle to a pair of headphones. I put these over my ears and aimed the mike toward the other boat. “There’s no telling when we might have to whip this out and use it.”

  “You’d better hope nobody sees you,” he said. “That thing looks like a gun.”

  “We’re in the dark,” I whispered. “And they’re too far away to see, anyway.”

  I adjusted the volume and then listened to the people’s chatter. Mostly, they were telling fish stories. I couldn’t hear what everyone said because some of them were blocked from my view—and for a telescoping microphone to work, you always had to have a line of sight in order to get sound.

  “This is nice,” I said, pulling the headphones from my ears and examining the microphone more closely. “State of the art, for sure.”

  I gave the headphones to Tom and insisted he try the tool out as well. He did, turning the other direction and pointing the mike toward Turtle Point.

  “Can you hear anything that way?” I asked.

  “Just the wind and rustling leaves. And the waves.”

  I looked up toward the house, a shudder passing down my spine. The point was dark, the water black. As Tom turned and listened in the other direction, I prayed that somehow God would get us through the night safely, allowing us to do the job we had come here to do.

  Pulling off the headphones, Tom handed the mike back to me.

  “Sounds like they’ll be turning in soon,” he said softly. “I say we give it an hour or so for everyone to fall asleep, and then we make our move.”

  Twenty-Nine

  In the end it was nearly 2:30 A.M. by the time everything was completely still and we felt comfortable in going forward. The moon was nearly full, which was both good and bad—good, because it made it easier for us to see; bad, because it made it easier for others to see us.

  Still, the wind was almost nonexistent and everything was calm. If we moved quickly and made no sound, there was no reason for us to be detected.

  We started by taking turns in the cabin getting dressed in our new wet suits. Wet suits hadn’t been absolutely necessary, but then again there was no telling how long we might have to remain underwater, so I thought it was better to be safe than sorry. Also, I liked the black color; it would help us to keep hidden. We pulled on our hoods, and then I put a little black grease paint on each of our cheeks and the backs of our hands. The fewer light-reflective surfaces we had, the better.

  Once we were properly attired, we moved half of the scuba ge
ar into the dinghy. Tom climbed in next, and I handed him the transmitter, which we had put inside a small black backpack along with Tom’s climbing gear. I also handed him the oars and a bundle of rope, and then I used the back ladder on the power cruiser to ease myself quietly into the water.

  It wasn’t cold at all, especially with the wet suit on. I grabbed my scuba mask, which I put on my face, and then Tom gave me one end of the rope. I took a few deep breaths before swimming down under the mooring buoy, feeling for the chain. It ran all the way to the sea bottom and was locked in place by a sand screw. I pulled myself down the chain and tied the rope at the bottom.

  When I surfaced, Tom was leaning over the side of the dinghy, watching for me nervously.

  “Wow, you can sure hold your breath a long time,” he whispered.

  I put my finger to my lips even as I struggled to catch my breath.

  Using the ladder on the power cruiser, I climbed halfway up and then swung one foot over into the dinghy, sliding into it until I was sitting. Water ran from my suit in rivulets, and I motioned to Tom to hold up the backpack so it didn’t get wet.

  Grabbing an oar, I pushed us off from the power cruiser and silently rowed us toward the beach as Tom played out the rope that was now connected to the mooring. We had to go around a small point, but since we had checked it out earlier, I knew just how close we could come in without hitting anything. When the beach was in sight, I rowed as quickly as I could across to the far end and then moved the little dinghy to the shallows.

  Tom handed me the rope and the backpack and then climbed out of the dinghy and into water that just came to his waist. I handed him the backpack, and holding it high so as not to get it wet, he gave me a significant look along with a thumbs-up before turning and walking to the shore. My heart stuck in my throat. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this, knowing he was putting himself in such danger. As he walked I rowed straight back a short way to where the water was probably about eight feet deep.

  Once Tom was on the sand, he set the backpack safely on some rocks and then grabbed one big loose stone and carried it to the edge of the water. Looking up at me where I sat in the dinghy, he placed the stone down on the sand. That would be his marker when it was time to swim out of there.

  He turned then to his climbing gear and I knew I couldn’t stay and watch. I had too much to do myself.

  As quietly as possible, I climbed over the side of the dinghy and into the water, and then I took a deep breath and did a surface dive to the bottom. The depth was just about perfect, so I came back up, grabbed the dinghy, which had floated a few feet away, and pulled it back, checking my position with Tom’s marker on the beach.

  Reaching into the dinghy, I lifted the scuba tank and tried to heft it over the side and into the water. It was too heavy for such an odd angle, so I finally had to climb back into the dinghy, kneel down, and pick up the tank with both hands. I lowered it over the side into the water and listened for a thud as it hit the bottom. I slid my mask back down over my face and then grabbed the other mask, fins, two weight belts, and the end of the rope. I climbed back into the water.

  Getting to the bottom was a lot easier with the weight belts in my hand. Once I reached the sand, I found the scuba tank. I set the mask on the sand next to it, placed one of the weight belts on top of the mask to keep it from floating away, and then did the same with the other weight belt and the flippers. Finally, I tied the rope that ran from the mooring chain to the handle of the tank.

  When I felt everything was ready underwater, I surfaced to find the little dinghy about ten feet away.

  I swam to it, climbed in, and then turned myself around so I could row back to the power cruiser. As I went, I looked toward the beach, heart pounding, hoping Tom had been able to get everything set and secure for his climb. I couldn’t see him, which was good, I hoped. Despite the bright moon, the rock face he was climbing was mostly in shadows.

  Back at the power cruiser, I tied off the dinghy in its spot at the back and then slid onto the diving platform. Sitting on the edge, I pulled on my flippers, strapped a weight belt around my waist, adjusted my mask, and then pulled the heavy scuba tank onto my shoulders. Once the straps were secure, I fit the respirator in my mouth, turned around, and flipped down backward into the black water.

  I hated night diving. Without a light I might as well have been blind. Though I knew there weren’t likely many predators around, I had no desire to swim smack into a big sea turtle or a stingray—not to mention a barracuda or a moray eel. For most of my swim, I stayed near the surface, using the flippers to propel me quickly back around the point and then across the water in front of the beach. I was glad I had been so active lately with the canoeing and the rock climbing; my muscles felt capable and strong. My emotions, however, were another matter. It felt as though a black vise were wrapped around my heart, squeezing out everything except fear.

  When I reached my destination, I sighted the marker stone on the beach and then dove straight down to find the submerged scuba equipment. I was a little off, but a careful search in a spiral motion quickly led me to the gear. Everything was still there, the rope taut between the tank and the distant mooring line.

  Once I had ascertained that all was still okay underwater, I surfaced, pulled off my mask, and searched the dark landscape for the sight of Tom. I couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d had time to get to the top by now, and I scanned the treeline, trying to pick up movements in the shadows.

  Suddenly a distant alarm sounded. Lights flashed on, illuminating the house. Tom appeared then, in silhouette, at the top edge of the cliff.

  Go! I willed him to hurry with my thoughts, my heart racing at the sight of him starting back down the cliff wall. Though the alarm wasn’t all that loud down where I was, I knew that everyone in the house had sprung into action. There were flashlights and spotlights and, soon, the sound of barking dogs.

  Tom disappeared into the shadows, and I could only hold my breath and pray that he would make it down in one piece. When a bright light shone out toward my direction, I submerged, allowing myself to sink to the bottom without much movement. I didn’t think I had been spotted, but I waited a minute before going back up.

  I peeked over the waterline again, this time to see Tom running across the sand toward the water. One of the dogs was loose on the beach and heading straight for him.

  Stifling a scream, I held up one waving arm until I thought Tom might have glimpsed it. Then I let myself sink back to the bottom and waited, looping his face mask over my wrist and holding his respirator in one hand and a weight belt for him in the other.

  Shrrruunk!

  I didn’t know what the sound was, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a bullet. It took all the strength I had not to dart back up to the top and see what was going on. Instead, suddenly, I felt a disturbance in the water around me, and I reached out, connecting with Tom’s arm.

  He had made it.

  First I handed him the respirator. Good for him, he remembered to blow out hard to clear the valve before sucking deeply in.

  Next was the weight belt, which I strapped around his waist as he put on the mask. Feeling around on the bottom, I grabbed his fins and the other belt and handed each item to him in turn. Finally, I lifted the scuba tank and hoisted it onto his back, over the now-empty backpack.

  Shrrruunk!

  They weren’t kidding around now. That one had come too close for comfort. I felt certain the shooter could see our bubbles.

  Tom patted me twice on the shoulder, his signal to me that he was ready. I grabbed the rope in front of him and then he fell in behind, both of us pulling ourselves along by the submerged rope. No more shots were fired that I could hear, but above us the water was illuminated from time to time with what looked like a spotlight.

  We had gone a good distance when we felt ourselves mired in a bed of seaweed. At least it’s just seaweed and not coral, I thought, keeping my grip on the rope and ignoring the slimy trai
ls of grass across my face. Tom seemed to be faltering behind me, and I moved so that I was the one in the rear. With one hand on the rope and one hand on his weight belt, I pushed and swam until we both made our way through the thick bed of slime. Another 40 feet, and then the rope ended, right at the mooring chain.

  Once there, we knew we were safely under our own boat. We hugged then, and though we couldn’t talk or even see each other, there was a distinct communication between us.

  Tom was okay. That was all that mattered.

  I untied the rope from both ends and wound it up on my arm, knowing we needed to wait underwater until we were sure no one was scoping out the boats. If the people at the house had seen Tom swimming away, they had to know he had gone to a nearby vessel. There was at least an hour of air in each of our tanks, and I planned to take advantage of that, no matter how claustrophobic it felt to sit there on the bottom of the sea in the pitch-black dark.

  Tom, however, had other plans. He tapped my shoulder and then tugged my arm upward. I had no choice but to follow.

  We surfaced at the back of the boat, releasing our respirators. I wanted to ask what was going on, but in the distance I could hear an outboard motor, and I knew if we were to get inside, we needed to move quickly.

  “Just drop your tank,” I whispered.

  He did as I directed, unsnapping the tank and the weight belts and letting them fall to the bottom of the sea. Everything else we set on the diving platform, and then we climbed up the ladder, grabbed the gear, and raced into the cabin.

  Without stopping to think, I seized some towels, ran back out, and dried off the platform as best as I could. If they were to come here and look for signs of activity, a dripping wet diving platform smeared with mud would be an easy giveaway. Locking the ladder up and into place, I brought my towels back into the cabin, and then we sat low on the floor with our backs against the door.

  From the outside, it looked as though we were sound asleep in the cabin, all lights off.