Eyes of Fire (8 page)

“Oh, Adam, this is Mr. Avery Smith. Avery—”

“Yes, yes. Mr. Adam O'Connor,” Smith said, stepping forward with graceful dexterity to shake Adam's hand. “How do you do, sir? A pleasure.”

“Thank you, but the pleasure is mine.”

“Come join us,” Smith said, indicating the chairs surrounding the fireplace.

As they chose seats, Sukee and Jim Santino arrived. More pleasantries were exchanged, and Sam was somewhat annoyed to realize that all her guests seemed fascinated by Adam.

And which one of her guests had entered her room, attempting to drug her, at the very least…and for what reason?

“I really can't tell you how much you're going to enjoy the dive trips,” Sukee said, drawing a chair close to Adam's. He smiled, seeming to enjoy her company.

“Sam is an excellent dive master,” Hinnerman noted.

“She sure is,” Avery Smith said, eyes sparkling, “but then, taking nothing away from our hostess, you must think about the waters she travels.”

“The Bermuda Triangle—the
Devil's
Triangle!” Brad—who had apparently been engrossed in his game—provided for them.

“Precisely!” Smith said with pleasure.

“You don't really believe in all that crap, do you?” Hinnerman asked him.

“Liam,” Jerry murmured.

He looked somewhat abashed. “I mean—it's all just stories.”

Sam glanced at Adam. He wasn't saying anything. Arms crossed idly over his chest, he sat comfortably in the plush chair, awaiting Avery's answer with interest.

“True stories.”

“Mr. Smith knows!” Brad told them, turning around, his eyes wide.

“Ghost stories,” Yancy murmured.

“I love a good ghost story,” Sukee drawled. “Please, Mr. Smith, the fire is crackling, the lights are low. Tell us about the Devil's Triangle.”

“We could all become afraid to dive!” Jerry warned.

“You don't dive anyway,” Brad reminded her dryly.

“Please, let's hear the stories,” Darlene said.

Avery Smith offered them a rueful grin. “I imagine that Mr. O'Connor there, Sam and Yancy, maybe even you others, have heard a few of the tales about the Devil's Triangle. And, yes, we are in it. The triangle stretches from Miami to Bermuda to Puerto Rico. It's been responsible for the losses of ships, planes and human lives since man first began to traverse it. All the way back into the 1600s, Lloyds of London came to realize that they were paying dearly for ships that went down in the particular area known as the Devil's—or Bermuda—Triangle. Before that, Christopher Columbus reported disturbances with his ship's compass when he was in the area of the triangle. He made note, as well, of something that the astronauts have seen from space—strange, eerie streaks of white water appearing within the typical azures and deep blues of the sea.”

“Perhaps,” Sukee whispered mischievously, “the long-lost continent of Atlantis sits beneath the triangle, and ancient electronic equipment pops on and off to suck in a ship now and then.”

“Or,” Jim suggested, “Atlantis is now populated by alien beings, and they reach out giant tentacles to slurp up human men and women to bring back to their dying world.”

“I think, Mr. Santino, that you watched too many B movies as a boy,” Avery Smith said, still smiling, unoffended by the sarcasm his story was drawing. He wagged a finger toward the gathered company. “Whatever the cause, I promise you, history tells a stranger tale than ever a man could weave! There are over three hundred Spanish wrecks in the waters of the Bermuda Triangle, and that's just the beginning. Coming far closer to contemporary times, of course, is one of the strangest disasters, that of the planes that disappeared in 1944.”

Brad had forgotten his backgammon game and turned his chair toward the adults, one of his game pieces curled in his fingers. Even Darlene seemed awed.

“You're referring to the navy planes?” Adam said.

“I am.”

“Well?” Liam demanded.

Adam shrugged, looking at Avery Smith as he spoke. “Five torpedo bombers left the Fort Lauderdale Naval Air Station at two in the afternoon on December 5, 1944. A routine patrol that was to have lasted about two hours. They were in radio contact with the base at all times, as well as with one another. An hour and forty-five minutes into the flight, when they should have been heading back, the patrol leader radioed in to say that they were off course, that they couldn't see land. They couldn't figure out which way was west, but they should have found west very easily, just following the sun.” Adam paused to breathe.

“What happened?” Brad demanded anxiously.

Adam shrugged.

“They all died, kid,” Liam said.

“Liam,” Jerry remonstrated softy.

“Well, they did, didn't they, O'Connor?”

“They kept in contact with the base for another half hour or so. They said that the ocean didn't even look the way the ocean should look. A different pilot took over talking to the base. He said something about it looking like they were entering into ‘white water,' that they were completely lost. Then there was no more contact with the pilots. None at all.”

“Whoa,” Darlene murmured, wide-eyed.

“And that wasn't the worst of it, was it, Mr. O'Connor?” Avery Smith asked, still smiling, a little gleam in his eyes.

Adam grinned at him—a knowledgeable skeptic. “No, it wasn't.”

“Do tell us what happened next!” Sukee demanded.

“A rescue plane was sent,” Adam said.

Avery picked up the story. “A huge plane called a Martin Mariner flying boat was sent out just as soon as it was established that all contact was really lost. The plane had all kinds of equipment aboard, everything that might help in the rescue of the pilots if they could be found. Only they weren't found. And…”

“And?” Brad asked.

“And the rescue plane was lost, as well,” Adam said. “She vanished. Disappeared without a trace. The Coast Guard was called in, and nearly three hundred thousand square miles were searched. The beach was combed from the tip of Florida to St. Augustine. The largest rescue effort ever put together was in force, and nothing was found. Nothing. Not a body, not a fragment of a single plane, nothing, absolutely nothing at all.”

“That's right,” Avery said, still seeming both pleased and amused. “Several times in recent years, people have thought they located the planes on the ocean floor. But it was never them. They're still just as missing as they ever were. But those planes are just a part of the mystery. There have been hundreds of incidents. Thousands of them, perhaps. Another one of the more major incidents occurred when the coal ship
Cyclops
disappeared in 1919. She was five hundred feet long, nineteen thousand tons. She vanished with three hundred and nine men aboard, and, once again, not a man, a bone, a fragment of the ship was ever discovered.”

“Then there is, of course, the story of the
Carroll A. Deering,
” Adam said, still watching Avery Smith. He smiled at Brad. “You'll like this one—it's definitely a ghost story. The
Carroll A. Deering
was discovered wedged in the sands off Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, in 1921 within the angle of the triangle. There had been absolutely no storms the night before, and the ship was discovered in very eerie shape—the tables were all set, and half-eaten meals remained on the plates. Food still waiting to be served was in pots on the stove. The lights were on, bunks were made, books were lying about. Everything about the ship spoke of life—except that there was no life to be found aboard her. Not a sign of a survivor existed anywhere. Nor was anyone ever found who had been aboard her. Yet, as she remained trapped in the sand, people from the nearby shore swore they could hear screams and creaks and groans by night, coming from the haunted ship.”

“Wow,” Brad said, his eyes round.

“And we're in this Devil's Triangle?” Darlene asked on a squeaky breath.

“Dead center,” Sukee told her.

“Well, I've yet to hear of an entire island disappearing,” Yancy said matter-of-factly.

Smith cleared his throat as if to contradict her.

“An
island
has disappeared?” Sukee asked skeptically.

“Not really,” Smith said reassuringly. “But there is Bouvet Island, in the South Atlantic. I'm sure Mr. O'Connor can tell you about it, as well.”

Adam grinned, looking at Smith. “Named for Jean Bouvet, the French explorer who discovered it in…1750 or thereabouts?” He looked questioningly at Smith.

“Thereabouts—1739,” the older man said.

Adam turned to Sukee. “It's appeared and disappeared several times since it was discovered. Naturally it sinks, but exactly why it rises and falls isn't really known as yet.”

“And there are no disappearing islands anywhere near us, dear girl,” Smith assured Darlene.

“I know, but when we dive—” Darlene began.

“Maybe you shouldn't be diving, then,” Liam suggested dryly. He grinned, lifting his nearly empty glass toward the children. “The triangle is one thing—bet you don't know where the word cannibal comes from.”

Brad shook his head, eyes bright. “Where?”

“Roast loin of people, boy, roast loin of people. Columbus found these fellows with piles of bones and skulls in their homes in the Lesser Antilles. The folks called themselves Canibales, though they were really Caribes—just had a different dialect than some of the others. Columbus went on home, and soon flesh eaters everywhere were called cannibals.”

“Ooh! That's disgusting!” Darlene said.

“True story,” Liam said, pleased that she was turning pale.

“How about another soda, honey? It'll calm your queasy stomach,” Yancy suggested, rising and seeming to break the spell that had fallen over the group.

Sam rose, as well, slipping behind the bar with Yancy. As she did so, Judy and Lew Walker sauntered into the bar, arm in arm. They were starting to greet the others, but were interrupted when Darlene leaped up from her chair, ran to meet them and threw herself into her father's arms.

“Darlene, what on earth…?”

“Do I have to dive, Daddy? Do I have to dive?”

Lew Walker stared at Sam, puzzled and indignant. “What have you told her, Sam?”

“Me? I haven't said a thing,” she protested.

Adam was up, shaking his head apologetically. “I'm afraid that I'm at fault here,” he began.

“Damned right,” Liam muttered.

“Along with Mr. Hinnerman and Mr. Smith. I'm afraid I'm a bit skeptical regarding mysterious phenomena, and Mr. Smith and I indulged in a few historical tales. Sam had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, Dad!” Brad said. “Mr. Smith and Mr. O'Connor know so much neat stuff! And Mr. Hinnerman's an expert on cannibals.”

“Ooh!” Darlene moaned again.

“You've been telling my daughter about cannibals?”

“Right before supper, yum, yum,” Yancy murmured.

Sam elbowed her in the ribs. Yancy sucked in a breath and shrugged innocently.

“The part about the cannibals was really cool!” Brad said.

Lew looked at his daughter, perplexed. “Honey, you're not going to meet any cannibals diving under the water,” he assured her.

“Who knows? People seem to disappear so completely, they might have been eaten!” Darlene said.

Sam came around the bar, walked up to Darlene and took her by the hand. “Darlene, I've been out thousands of times, and I promise you, I've never lost a single diver to a cannibal.”

“Have you lost any to anything else?” Adam inquired politely.

“No!” Sam snapped.

“Will you buddy up with me tomorrow?” Darlene asked her.

“Sure.”

“What about me?” Jim Santino teased.

“It looks like it's going to be you and Liam tomorrow,” Sam said evenly.

“What about Adam?” Liam demanded.

“Hey, Mr. O'Connor! How about being my buddy?” Brad asked excitedly.

“Sure.”

“That leaves Sukee,” Jim noted, eyes and smile flashing.

“Sukee can choose where she wants to make it a threesome,” Sam said.

“Hands down, I'm going with the boys,” Sukee said huskily.

“Which boys?” Yancy demanded.

“I haven't decided yet—they'll get to find out in the morning!” Sukee said, laughing.

Joey and Sue Emerson, the honeymooners, sauntered into the bar. “What's happening in the morning?” Sue asked.

“We were discussing tomorrow's dives,” Jim said. “Don't worry—no one had any idea of splitting up the two of you.”