wrapped around the chain that holds it in place. It was swarming with baby blue-striped grunts.”
“When I surfaced,” Allison said, “the other divers were taking pictures of the baby fish, but of course, I was too worried about you to be interested.”
Sanders picked up the story. “That was the final place where you escaped from my grip. I managed to hold you steady at five meters for our second safety stop – I had us do two stops because we’d gone so deep. Anyway, on the second stop, you had no problem holding still, so I figured you were starting to come around. Then all of a sudden, you shot a big blast of air into your BCD and went racing up to the surface, I chased after you, afraid that you might change direction and go smashing into the hull of the boat, but instead you smacked into that buoy and just stopped. You kept your head below the surface and stared at the buoy for the longest time, and then you hauled back and punched it.”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Marco said. “Once Allison and that other guy – John, isn’t it? – Once Allison and John saw Sanders bringing you up, John shouted for his wife to toss him his camera. He wanted to capture the big rescue, which he did, and he also got video of you punching that buoy. Says he’ll be happy to email it to anyone who wants it.”
“And speaking of cameras,” Allison said, “I did find ours while I was looking for you. That’s when I was waving for you to come with me. It’s unscathed, and we’ve got all our pictures.”
After a few more minutes of chatting, Sanders and Marco left Allison and me alone.
“Well, this will give us something to talk about with the Smithsons,” Allison said.
“Who?”
“That friendly retired couple we keep running into at the hotel bar. Remember? The people who go on three or four package tours every year? The other night you were enjoying their stories so much that you sat at their table for about two hours.”
“Let me guess. They went to Turkey?”
“Among other places, yes.”
“Was there any mention of Higgs boson?”
She looked puzzled. “You mean what the physicists are all excited about? The latest research at CERN has been in the papers again lately, but I don’t remember talking about it with anyone. Oh, but wait. You were saying something about it when they had you strapped down to that gurney.” She grinned. “Didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.”
“I’m sure it didn’t.”
“Well, anyway, there’s no harm done,” she said. “We were incredibly lucky.” She looked at her cell phone. “Hey, it’s two minutes after midnight. Officially Christmas now.”
“Merry Christmas. Umm…did I hear the doctor right? I’ll be out of here in a few hours?”
“That’s right. In fact, maybe you should lie down and sleep a little more, so you’ll be more rested when your out of that nasty tub. Oh, and speaking of Christmas, your iPod and ear buds are there on the bench you’ve been sleeping on, just north of your pillow. I put some Christmas music on it for you, since I know how much you miss it.”
“Thanks, darling.” But I was thinking, no thanks. “Love and kisses.”
I lay down and reached for the iPod, thinking maybe a little classical music would help me get to sleep. Then I thought better of it. The local classical station would probably have Christmas music, too, and even if they didn’t, there was at least one classical composer I didn’t want to hear for a good long while. Maybe some of that white noise that I’d downloaded a few months back when things were getting stressful at the office, and I was having bouts of insomnia.
On second thought, a lot of white noise sounds too much like the ocean, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood for that.
Allison had left the iPod wrapped in a soft, white cloth, which I absently unraveled while pondering what I should listen to.
I let the iPod slide to the floor and gaped at the cloth in my hands.
The silky white fabric was marked with a rich, blood-red cross, a symbol I recognized from the cover of a paperback Allison had been reading on the plane. The symbol of the Templars. But where the hell had this expensive-looking piece of fabric come from?
I sat up and hit the intercom button. “Doctor Torres?” I said, my voice cracking from the strain. “Hey Doc? Hey, you got any sedatives in stock here? Like maybe Trazedone – that usually works good for me. Or…or maybe Seconal? I prefer Trazedone, but Seconal’s okay. Hey Doc? Whatever you got out there is fine by me. You there, Doc?”
THE END
Hey Folks,
Foghorn Jollypox here. Thanks for reading all the way to the end. There’s just one more small favor I’d like to ask: If you could take a minute to leave a rating and review of this book on the website where you downloaded it, I’d appreciate that a whole lot.
And if you liked this one, why not try Wild Meat by my co-author Nero Newton?
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