What Lurks Beneath (25 page)

I
n the predawn darkness, Ashley knelt by the dolphin enclosure, trying not to get water on her black skirt or turquoise shirt. She looked down at Ella. The female dolphin was not moving, pressed against one wall of the artificial lagoon.

“What happened, girl?” she whispered. “Where's Captain?”

Ella saw Ashley and swam over to her, poking her head out of the water when she recognized her. Ashley touched the animal's smooth nose. She quickly turned and dove under again, heading for the far side of the enclosure. She lunged out of the deeper water onto a shallow man-made shelf covered in eight inches of water. The dolphin faced away from her, uncharacteristically restless this early in the morning.

Normally, the dolphins only swam onto the shelf when they were doing a show and were coaxed up with frozen fish. It was located in front of a set of bleachers, and here the dolphins had been trained to interact with handlers as part of two daily shows. But there would be no shows today. Captain was gone, and the shows would be cancelled.

“That's where we found her this morning,” Chris, one of the young dolphin handlers, said as he walked over to Ashley.

“Has that ever happened before?”

“No. Never.”

“Where do you think Captain is?”

He shook his head. “We have no idea. But he's gone. I've gotta go get her breakfast ready.” He patted her shoulder and walked away.

As soon as Ashley arrived at the desk at five a.m., after getting a few hours' sleep, she'd heard the news about Oceanus's male dolphin. He'd somehow escaped overnight. The only thing the aquarists could figure was that Captain had incredibly, almost impossibly, leapt out onto the narrow strip of land between the lagoon and ocean and then wriggled his way to freedom. Were any outdoor cameras trained on that part of the grounds last night? She'd have to go talk to Dennis Gladwin, one of the resort's security heads.

“You ginned it all up with your man too?” Ashley said to the dolphin. Maybe Captain was just trying to get away from his girl.

She thought about Eric. Despite her height, she was a magnet for most men—even the shorter ones. But Eric was different. Even though he obviously was attracted to her, he didn't fawn over her or seem desperate to get physical. He enjoyed just talking with her. Seemed to respect her. Why hadn't she called him back?

It was she, who never lost her temper, who had driven him away. Yes, he'd upset her with his negative comments about Oceanus, but she knew he only meant well. As she looked at the lone dolphin trapped in the lagoon, and thought of the other who had escaped, she knew he was right. This resort wasn't natural, or as eco-friendly as it pretended to be. But what choice did she have but to work here? If she ever had a resort of her own, it would be more natural, simply abutting the environment, rather than trying to recreate it, and any dolphins a guest might happen to see would be free. Living in the ocean. But for now, her loyalty was to Mr. Barbas, and his resort.

She knew she should probably return Eric's call, but something held her back: the simple fact that he was leaving. What was the point?

Ashley stood and said good-bye to Ella, then headed for the security room at the base of the resort's middle tower. There, Dennis would have footage from all the outdoor cameras. She stepped around two groundskeepers, hosing what looked like blue paint off the cement, and continued through the waterpark.

 

 

In the silent black-and-white video, the young Russian-American appeared from the side, wearing only his underwear. He leapt the thick rope guardrail onto the stairs leading up to the waterslide, glanced about for a moment, then turned away from the camera and hurried up the stairs. Dennis Gladwin, sitting beside Ashley in the dim room, paused the image. Dennis was the senior security and loss prevention specialist at Oceanus, and he and Ashley were friends. They had roots in the same island chain, and his family knew hers quite well. Now in his early sixties, but still relatively fit, Dennis had been like an uncle to her.

“Then young Mr. Melnikov appeared on camera fourteen . . . here.” Dennis pushed a button on the remote control.

On a separate monitor, the young man appeared again. This image was darker, taken at night on top of the tower. He paused at the edge of the screen to look out over the side, perhaps enjoying the view, and then moved to the trough at the top of the slide. He sat down in the rushing water, crossed his legs to brace for the impact at the bottom, and disappeared inside the tube.

“And that's the last time anybody saw him,” Dennis said, sipping his coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “His father just called us a few hours ago, when his friend came back and said he'd looked for hours, but couldn't find Melnikov. The friend claimed this guy left to go on the waterslide, and says they didn't meet up again. Obviously, the story checks out. We even found the kid's clothes and wallet hidden in the brush, right where he cut over to the slide.”

Ashley was stunned to see that this was the same man who'd made advances on her last night. Not long before this footage was taken. And according to Dennis, who'd immediately shown her this footage when she walked in, apparently, he was now missing too.

“You don't have any cameras aimed at the bottom of the slide? At the Neptune Pool?” she said.

“No. Just camera twenty-one, aimed at the far edge of the pool, and at the poolside bar there. These cameras are intended to help us watch out for theft, or altercations between guests. Not to watch people enjoy the waterslide.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“But there
was
something odd in that camera,” he said. “Hold on.”

After a moment, he rolled the video. It was a wide-angle shot, also clearly taken at night, showing part of the Neptune Pool and the bar next to it. It was recorded from on high—clearly this camera was mounted somewhere on the waterslide tower. Nothing moved on the screen.

“I'll fast-forward to the part I showed Mr. Barbas earlier—”

“Barbas is already up?”

“You know him. Wants to make sure everything goes off all right today—here.” He pointed at the screen. “Right about now, watch the left side of the screen. . . .”

Ashley stared at it for a moment, and then thought she saw part of the pool darken momentarily, as though a shadow had suddenly been cast over it.

“What was that, Dennis?”

“We don't know yet. Want to see it again?”

“Please.”

He moved the slider bar back a minute and replayed the digital video. Again, Ashley saw the pool darken at the edge of the screen, just for a few seconds, before the shadow went away. She thought of the blue stains she had seen the men washing off the sidewalk.

“Was something dark poured into the water, maybe? Maybe from the top of the slide? I saw maintenance cleaning what looked like paint off the sidewalk by the pool. ”

“I doubt it. We would have seen that kid doing it.”

“What else could that shadow be?”

“I don't know. There aren't many lights overhead at night, and no bird could cast a shadow that big. It might just be a glitch. Either way, I'm stumped.” He leaned back in his swivel chair. “So that's it.”

“But there's nothing at all from the edge of the dolphin enclosure? That might show us how Captain got out?”

“Sorry, Ash. Already looked.”

She sighed. “Thanks for showing me those, Dennis.”

He looked over his shoulder, out a small window into the main room at security where a few others were talking at their desks. He lowered his voice. “There
is
one more video. But I really shouldn't show you.”

“Then why are you telling me about it?”

“I don't know, Ash. You're a smart woman. And we can't figure out what the hell happened here. Not yet. Maybe you'll have an idea.” He leaned toward her, raised his graying eyebrows. “But you can't say nothing.”

“Of course not, Dennis.”

He slid another thumb drive into the computer in front of him. “This is the footage from about four this morning, when I first interrogated that other Russian kid. Taped in the room next to us here. After Melnikov's parents raised hell. We're only gonna watch the end. The young man doesn't have much to say, and doesn't remember shit. He's still pretty drunk here.”

Dennis skipped forward through several frozen frames, and then played the video. On it, the other Russian-American, the short one with the shaved head, was hunched over a small table, his face in his hands. He was sitting across from Dennis, whose arm appeared in the edge of the frame. She heard him clear his throat, then start talking. This time, there was audio:

“Come on, Sergei,”
Dennis said.
“You really expect me to believe you have no idea what happened?”

The kid rubbed his temples.
“I don't know.”

On the screen, Sergei shook his head.
“No. Big waves, all over the pool. Like waves at the beach.”

“Have you taken any drugs, sir?”
Dennis asked him.

Dennis stopped the video. “That's all. His story is full of holes, but it's pretty consistent. What you think, Ash? Any ideas?”

Ashley frowned. They didn't have any artificial wave machines at Oceanus. Certainly not in the Neptune Pool. “Can you see the waves he was talking about?” she said.

“It's hard to tell on the footage, but not really. The water level in the pool did appear to be too high. It was overflowing onto the cement.”

“Why?”

“We don't know that either.”

Ashley had just walked past that pool. “But it isn't overflowing now.”

He raised his eyebrows again. “I know.” He stood to leave. “I gotta do my rounds real quick, before the show starts. See you there.”

D
ennis Gladwin refilled his cup with steaming black coffee and made his way across the still-dark resort. At a little before six a.m., it was damp and comfortably cool, the air smelling sweet and earthy. This time of day was always quiet, even at Oceanus. It was normally Dennis's favorite time of day. But not today.

Mr. Barbas's call had woken him a few hours ago. He'd been in a foul mood, having himself been awakened from his slumber by night-shift security. The Russian kid was missing, and the main outflow pipe for the resort's network of aquariums had again become clogged, just as it had last week. Barbas had ordered him to hurry to his post. Dennis lived twenty minutes away from the resort, and had to hurry to get there by four.

Mr. Barbas had insisted that after poring over video footage and sending security personnel to look for Melnikov, Dennis was to pay particular attention to the water in Pirate's Cove—the tank from which the manta would be removed. If silted, cloudy water was backing up to where visitors might see it, he'd been instructed to take action to keep all eyes away from the aquarium viewing areas. They might even need to postpone the manta relocation.

He understood the problem. News cameras would be at Oceanus today, and many guests also would be up early to watch the rare event. Nobody wanted the reporters or anyone else to start asking questions about why the tanks suddenly looked filthy, or if the health of the animals was impacted. A PR opportunity could suddenly turn into a PR nightmare.

As he neared the main aquariums, the handheld two-way radio clipped to Dennis's chest harness crackled quietly as another guard sent a standard morning message to the security center. A shift change. Dennis adjusted the volume, turning it even lower. He passed a janitor on the lit path and said good morning to him, then turned off the main avenue onto a walkway that sloped downward. Underground, to the viewing tunnels. He'd start at Pirate's Cove.

He descended the ramp into the underground tunnel, alone, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the hewn rock walls. He reached the start of the viewing area for the resort's largest tank. The first pane of glass was triangular in shape, starting in a point and then increasing in height to eight feet at the far end, where past a seam the next, taller viewing window began. A bit farther the thick panes of clear, shatter-resistant acrylic rose to many times his own height in the main viewing area. He sighed in relief. The water inside looked clear. Maybe the outflow pipe, which ran into the ocean, had cleared itself, or maybe maintenance had already somehow fixed the problem.

He waited there for a few minutes, sipping his coffee and watching schools of colorful fish move past. Soon, Spirit appeared at the edge of his field of view.

Dennis smiled and tapped the tank lightly as the huge ray neared, seeming to grow in size as he moved in front of Dennis. He was flat and diamond-shaped, with two hard, horn-shaped fins marking the sides of his gaping mouth. He swept slowly by, propelling himself with wing-like movements of his broad, triangular pectoral fins.

“Good morning, big fella. You ready to head back to sea?”

Ashley would be happy to see this ray go home. He remembered that when she'd been a little girl, back home in the Abacos, she'd always been interested in everything that swam in the ocean or crawled on the sand. And she always wanted to save everything, even the damn cats that kept killing off her neighbor's chickens. He'd always figured she might go off to some university, to become a biologist maybe. Or some kind of activist. Then again, nobody from Two Finger Cay had ever gone to college.

Instead, they both worked here.

He needed to fly back home soon, hop the ferry to the cay. He hadn't been back in a while, to see his grandkids. Too busy working. He rarely left Andros anymore.

He watched Spirit swim off, and then continued down the tunnel, past a darkened underground gift shop and a set of restrooms, toward the next big aquarium. He passed a trash bin and tossed in the empty foam coffee cup, then rounded a corner and spied the start of the exhibit.

Shark Alley also housed many of the aquarium's largest fish—nurse sharks, reef sharks, groupers and the like. Just not the mantas, or the more aggressive hammerheads or sawfish, which each had their own tanks. Looking into the exhibit, he stopped when he stepped in a shallow puddle.

He looked down. The cement floor was drenched, and there was standing water in a few shallow depressions. Unless someone had been working down here, there was probably some sort of plumbing problem. Or the tank was leaking from above, where there was a narrow gap between the rock ceiling and the acrylic panes more than twenty feet above his head. Mr. Barbas would not be happy.

But he was relieved to see that, at least at first glance, the water in this tank also looked clear. He moved farther down, inspecting the acrylic panes, but didn't see any cracks or leaks. It would take an incredible force to break the thick, shatterproof pane.

He paused as he reached the highest section of the wall. During the daytime, the gap above it allowed more light into the tunnels from the outside world, and offered ventilation. Here the thick imitation glass was streaked with dried salt water.

He could immediately see why. The tank was fuller than usual. Normally the waterline was a good foot below the upper rim of the clear acrylic, but now it was right at the top. Any small wave now would cause the water in the tank to splash over, to run down the outer face inside the underground viewing tunnel. It must have something to do with the clogged outflow pipe.

At least he knew now why the floor was all wet. He'd say something as soon as the aquarists arrived, which would be very soon since Spirit was departing this morning.

He looked into the tank, at the curved contours of artificial coral on the far wall, the structures rising in the center that mimicked features in a natural reef. The colors the fake corals added to the exhibit were hard to discern by the weak lights of the tank, without the sun overhead. A few small fish passed by. The water
was
clear, but something was wrong—

Dennis flinched, and then lowered the volume of his handheld radio, realizing he'd accidentally turned the dial the wrong way just before he'd headed down into the tunnels.

“Yeah, I'm here,” he muttered. “Damn near gave me a heart attack, though.”

He lifted the radio out of the harness and pressed the talk button. “Ronnie, I copy. What's going on?”

“Pipe's not clogged no more?”

Dennis thought,
Then why is the water level still so high?

Clogged, unclogged, clogged. Wait a few hours and the damn pipe would probably be clogged again. He lifted the radio back to his mouth. “Tanks One and Two look good, but the water level in Two is high. Headed to Three now.”

As he lowered the radio, a drip of water struck his forehead. He wiped it away. Now there'd be even more damn condensation down here. If they didn't disinfect these subterranean tunnels as often as they did, there'd be mold everywhere.

“Copy,”
Ronnie said.
“You coming back by the booth first? Freshen your coffee?”

Dennis scrutinized the water inside the aquarium. “No. I'm gonna finish checking the other tank—”

He stopped. He realized what was bothering him about the tank.

“Stand by, Ronnie.”

Another drop of water struck the top of his head, but he ignored it, transfixed on the tank. He stepped toward the acrylic glass. The small fish were still in there, but this was the main shark tank. Those little fish were just in there for food.

But where were all the sharks? Where were
all
the bigger fish? The stingrays, and groupers?

He started to raise the radio to his mouth again. Paused. His memory wasn't what it used to be. Had he forgotten to read something? An e-mail? Maybe they'd moved these sharks as part of the manta ray's relocation today. Had someone already said something about that to him?

He scanned the water. Maybe the sharks simply were concealed behind the artificial coral formations. His eyes settled on one part of the rock wall, off to the side. It was much larger than he remembered, bulging outward too far, almost closing off the space between it and the fake glass. As if it had . . .
grown.

As he stared at the rock, it moved. Swelled out even farther, in front of his eyes. He blinked. It was pulsing.

He took a step backwards. A small wave of water splashed over the top of the acrylic wall and ran down the outside, streaking the clear pane. He looked up, thought he saw something red moving above him, and then closed his eyes as buckets of water suddenly rained down on him. Was the glass cracking?

He turned to run, but immediately slammed into something that knocked the wind out of him. Thick and wet, it wrapped around his midsection.

His radio clattered to the ground. On it, he heard Ronnie calling for him again.

In pain and confusion, he began to pound his fists on the wet mass enclosing his body. He heard his ribs crack, and his mouth opened in a silent scream, but there was no air in his lungs. He felt his feet lifting off the ground, and realized he was spinning in slow spirals as the fleshy, reddish mass continued to coil around him.