Circle of Bones (58 page)
Authors: Christine Kling
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Crime Fiction, #Mystery, #Women Sleuths, #Thrillers, #A thriller about the submarine SURCOUF
Theo chuckled. Then he reached down and lifted his backpack. Setting it on his knees, he unzipped the top. He removed a tattered brown padded envelope. “Cole told me to give this to you.”
He placed the envelope in her hands. She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“Just a couple of things he’d want you to have.”
Theo stood and walked to the front of the monument. His eyes followed the list of names down the stones, then he looked away. “I have some research to do in the Maritime Museum here, so I’d better go. Investors want a constant feed of news, you know. We’ve got a new fellow from down in Venezuela pouring money our way. He’s all hot about searching for another wreck, in the Pacific somewhere off Thailand, so when we get out of the yard, it’ll be business as usual for
Shadow Chaser
.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “You take care, Riley. Be careful.”
He turned then and strode off back down the jetty.
Her first impulse was to follow him. Why was he leaving so soon? What did he mean, be careful? She wanted to talk, take him out to dinner, hear more about what had happened after she left Guadeloupe.
She looked down at the envelope in her lap. The flap was not sealed. She lifted the folded edge and peered inside.
Riley recognized the book at once. It was the last volume of James Thatcher’s journals, the one that ended with the poem. She went to pull it out of the bag, but it was tangled up with some sort of white cord. She yanked harder and the book slid out along with a small metal square. It was one of those clip-on aluminum iPods. Attached to it, was a set of ear buds.
She looked back down the pier and searched the waterfront for Theo’s yellow jacket. He was gone.
Riley left the player and ear buds in her lap and raised the book to her face. She inhaled the familiar leather smell. She remained like that, sitting on the seawall, the wind whipping her skirt around her calves, the book pressed to her forehead and nose. If she lowered it, she was afraid someone would see her crying, and she had been so certain she wouldn’t let that happen.
A couple of seagulls flew overhead and the laughing caws startled her. She lowered the book and watched them riding the wind aloft. They were big birds. One of the two had a bit of carrion in his mouth, and the other bird was trying his darnedest to steal it away.
Riley untangled the cord and fit the buds into her ears. She pushed the button to play.
“Hey Magee,” he said, and she pressed the button to stop the player. It was him. She bent forward at the waist hugging herself. She squeezed her eyes shut against the mounting pressure in her head.
How could she listen to his voice? But then again, how could she not.
She sat up, opened her eyes and pushed the button again.
“So, you know, if you are listening to this that things did not go according to plan. I’m sorry about that. Hurting you was the last thing I wanted to do. But I know you are one tough Marine – uh, scratch that, one tough
former
Marine. You’ll survive this. Besides, a man’s got to do – as the saying goes – and often he has to do it alone. Sometimes duty takes you far from your loved ones, but it’s necessary to keep them safe.
“Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about the time that Theo and I took the
Shadow Chaser
down to a Venezuelan boatyard for a haul-out? Yeah, we had loads of work to get done, and they have great skilled workers down there. And you know me, what I like best is the fact that their government is not friendly with ours. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe walking down the street. No bad guys hanging in the shadows. I knew that the fatherly American types wouldn’t be able to get into the country to find me. So I slept soundly, and I even learned a Spanish lullaby.
“I love traveling abroad. Someday, I hope to visit Southeast Asia. They’ve got this place over there they call the Dragon’s Triangle. It swallows up ships and makes them vanish just like the Bermuda Triangle swallowed up
Surcouf
.
“Listen, even if you believe I have left you alone, I know you will find some small kernel, some chestnut of wisdom that will point you on your way to finding future happiness.
“Good luck, Magee. And by the way, this iPod will self-destruct in five seconds.”
The buds in her ears went silent, but Riley could still hear the gulls laughing in the distance. She was smiling, too.
She wiped under her eyes with the sides of her fingers. That last bit was so Cole. She laughed out loud. A shaft of sunlight broke though the dark clouds and bathed the wet stones in a golden glow.
It hurt, but it was a good hurt to hear his voice again. But what in the world was he talking about? Venezuela? He never mentioned that he’d been to Venezuela before. The Dragon’s Triangle? Chestnut of wisdom?
“Oh my God,” she said aloud. Riley yanked the earbuds out of her ears and clawed at the side of her foul weather jacket trying to find the pocket. The Velcro had sealed the opening and she fought to pull it apart. She heard the ripping noise as the Velcro separated. She shoved her hand inside and pulled out the bag of chestnuts.
“Southeast Asia,” she said.
La guerre l’Indochine
.
Riley tore through the brown paper and the chestnuts spilled onto the top of the leather journal, though several clattered to the pavement. Amongst the nuts, a gold coin shone bright in the momentary sunlight. Riley held up the coin and smiled at the familiar angel with his tablet and the word
Constitution
. Beneath it, there were no minuscule numbers engraved. This was a different coin. A new one. But there weren’t supposed to be any new ones. Henri Michaut had melted down the only remaining coins he had.
Clutching the French Angel, Riley swept the nuts and the paper off the book. She turned the journal over and started from the back. She found the last entry.
Only this time, the lullaby was in Spanish.
Dear son,
You’ve won a battle, not the war. Stay ever vigilant. Jamais fais do do.
Arroz con leche me quiero casar
con una señorita de la capital,
que sepa coser,
que sepa contar,
que sepa abrir la puerta
para ir a jugar.
She pictured the beggar with the black baseball cap and slicker. He had only been two to three inches taller than her. That was Cole’s height. The big mirrored shades had covered most of his face, but when he’d touched her, she’d felt something she couldn’t describe. It had frightened her, and she’d thought she was going crazy at the time. She’d only ever felt that kind of physical reaction once before.
She clutched the book and stood searching the docks, the waterfront, the faces of all who were near.
No, this was crazy.
But so was he.
It wasn’t possible, was it? Why go through all this cloak and dagger stuff? Why not just come up to her and tell her if he was alive? Was someone playing a cruel trick on her? Or was there still some kind of real danger out there?
She swiveled her head around and looked at the few people out and about. Could one of them be watching her hoping to find Cole?
Riley thought back to that day six months ago. She saw Dig pull the box out of the cargo net, saw the crushed hasp on the box. That must have been Cole’s work. He had taken the diplomatic pouch out of the lock box already.
She remembered Theo’s invitation to the Inauguration. What had he said when she’d asked if it was his uncle’s work?
We worked a little magic
?
Operation Magic. Had Cole had found it?
She looked at the coin in her hand. Theo said he’d been doing salvage work all summer, that he had visited Henri Michaut. He said he’d built a new
Enigma
that could go deeper. Like into that trench? She remembered that Cole had promised to visit Michaut after he’d found the wreck.
Riley flipped the coin over. The familiar words,
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité
were inscribed around the edge of the coin. In the center it read
50 Francs
and between the number and the word, Riley saw something that looked liked etchings. A Spanish lullaby this time. Etchings on the coin. A new puzzle.
She would find him.
Riley took a deep breath and the rain-washed air tasted fresh and clean. The ashy taste was gone. She started laughing and though tears wet her cheeks, she didn’t mind this time. The
librairie
in town might carry a magnifying glass. And maps. She’d need maps.
She stuffed the iPod into her jacket pocket and started walking back down the quay toward the
centreville
. Her pace quickened until she was almost skipping.
Theo had told her to be careful, so she kept glancing back over her shoulder.
Cole was crazy.
But the next time she looked, the tall man in the green jogging suit had fallen in behind her.
The end
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The true story of the French submarine
Surcouf
is a fascinating and tragic chapter from World War II. When she was commissioned in 1934, she was the largest submarine in the world. In February of 1942, while serving under the Free French flag, she left Bermuda bound for Panama and disappeared. One hundred and thirty-one men died with her making the
Surcouf
one of the deadliest submarine disasters on record. Though the wreck has never been found, many theories about her demise have been proposed by authors, archeologists, military specialists and conspiracy buffs.
This book is a work of fiction, and I have taken a great many liberties with what is known and what is surmised about the fate of
Surcouf
. The characters in this book are not based on any of the real crew members of the
Surcouf
, and this imaginary tale does not reflect the great respect and admiration I have for the French and British naval men who sacrificed their lives for the Allies’ cause.
It is my hope that my readers will become intrigued with
Surcouf
and spend a little time on the Internet reading about this marvelous chapter in naval history.
–Christine Kling
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their help, ideas, support and encouragement: Kevin Foster for bringing me the idea of SURCOUF, James Rusbridger, author of
Who Killed Surcouf
, my editors Ramona DeFelice Long and Mary Jastrzebski, my mentors Jim Hall and Lynne Barrett, friends Bruce Amlicke, Kathleen Ginestra, Barbara Lichter, my Britishisms reader Judith Reiss, my brother and fight expert Stephen Gray, explosives expert Paul Laska, Intelligence community critics Michael John Smith and Ed Magno, readers M. Diane Vogt, Joyce Li, Kerry Fisher, Linda Lowe, Rochelle Stabb, Emily Adams, Hawkeye Sheene, PJ Arnn, Lynn Hightower, the muddlers from Writers in Paradise, members of the Bluewater writers group Mike Jastrzebski, Neil Plakcy, Sharon Potts, and Miriam Auerbach, my fellow contributors at writeonethewater dot com, and Akinoluna of afemalemarine dot com.
The cover art for this book was done by
Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christine Kling has spent more than thirty years messing about with boats. Her articles and stories have appeared in many boating publications including
Sailing,
Cruising World
, and
Motor Boating & Sailing
and her short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. It was her sailing experience that led her to set her first nautical suspense novel, SURFACE TENSION (2002), on the New River in Fort Lauderdale. Featuring Florida female tug and salvage captain, Seychelle Sullivan, the first book was followed by CROSS CURRENT (2004), BITTER END (2005), and WRECKERS’ KEY (2007). Her latest book CIRCLE OF BONES (2011) is Christine’s first stand-alone sailing thriller. Having retired from her job as an English professor at Broward College in Fort Lauderdale, Christine lives aboard her 33-foot boat
Talespinner
and goes wherever the wind and free wifi may take her.
Visit Christine at
http://www.christinekling.com
Christine’s eBooks Available on Kindle
Sea Bitch: Four Tales of Nautical Noir
Circle of Bones
Table of Contents
