The Devil's Triangle (5 page)

Sam laughed aloud. The exhilaration he felt as he opened the throttles still further was amazing. His father rarely drove the boat this fast, preferring a more sedate pace, and Sam had only ever been allowed to do so once before. The throttles were barely more than half open. How fast could the boat go? What would it feel like at its top speed? It was a question he had often asked his dad, but Matthew Cutler had shown no interest in finding out.

For a moment, Sam considered opening the throttles all the way while they were still in the calm waters of the shallows, but to his intense annoyance he found he couldn’t do it. If he had been alone, then maybe, he thought. But Callum was here and while it would be great to show off, if anything was to go wrong . . . Inwardly cursing common sense and the deeply ingrained sensibilities of his father, Sam settled for tweaking up the power one more rebellious notch.

They skimmed across the water with the wind in their hair, laughing as the spray began to kick up from the prow.

‘Isn’t this great?’ Sam yelled above the roar of the engines.

‘Fantastic!’ Callum agreed.

The swell increased, making the ride bumpier. The boat felt as if it was bouncing from wave to wave, hitting the upslope of each one with a resounding
thump
and sending a huge plume of spray into the air. Sam throttled back until the ride became more comfortable.

‘Look,’ he called to Callum, pointing at a tiny island to their left. ‘I’ll bet Mr Jones would like that place.’

‘Mr Jones the maths teacher?’

Sam nodded, his lips forming a broad grin.

‘Come on then. I can see you’re itching to tell me. Why would old Jonesy like that island.’

‘It’s called Pye Key.’

‘I didn’t realise Mr Jones liked pie.’

‘Oh, come on! He’s always had a thing about P.I,’ Sam laughed. ‘It’s his pet subject.’

‘Yeah, right! Ha ha. Very funny.’

‘OK, so it was pretty lame,’ he admitted, giving a shrug.

‘Well lame, Sam. I hope your chat-up lines are better than your jokes or you’ll never land a hot girlfriend.’

They both laughed.

‘Not much further now,’ Sam shouted, reaching across and turning on the sonar. ‘We should be deep enough in a few more minutes.’

When Sam did close the throttles, the sudden quiet was almost eerie. The fizzing rush of water slowed to a gentle lapping in a matter of seconds and the motion of the boat changed dramatically. Instead of thumping along, climbing and falling in the direction they were travelling, the boat began to climb and fall on the swell, rocking and rolling, dipping and twisting with every little wavelet. Sam was quite comfortable with this new motion, but he could see the colour draining from Callum’s cheeks.

‘You OK, Cal? Don’t worry. We won’t be stopped for long. I just want to get you set up with a decent lure and we’ll get moving again. Drifting takes a bit of getting used to.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Callum replied, looking far from it. ‘What are you planning to do with any fish we catch?’

‘We’ll throw them back,’ Sam said. ‘This is just for fun today. Risking Dad’s wrath is one thing, but I don’t want to deliberately set up a confrontation.’

‘What do you think he’ll do if he finds out?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ Sam said defiantly. ‘But he’s not going to find out, so let’s not worry about it. Here – hold this rod a moment. I just want to change the lure for something more flashy.’

Callum watched as Sam pulled out a penknife and cut the silver lure free and dropped it into a plastic drawer under the main console. The multicoloured monstrosity he then lifted out of the same drawer looked nothing like any fish Callum had ever seen.

‘I thought a lure was supposed to fool a fish into thinking it was attacking another smaller fish,’ he observed.

‘That’s the basic idea,’ Sam agreed. ‘But this lure uses bright colours and movement to attract attention. A large predatory fish will attack anything small that moves. Some colours attract attention better than others. I like to cover a good spread.’

‘You’re not kidding!’ Callum said, looking at the bright orange, yellow, blue and white contraption that Sam was expertly tying onto the line.

‘There you go. Now let me just cast it out for you and we’ll get going again.’

‘Great, thanks.’

Sam took the rod from Callum, released the clutch on the reel and flicked the lure a good distance out to the side of the boat.

‘Right, now just hold onto this and let the line run out until I call, then flick the clutch lever this way,’ Sam instructed, demonstrating how the reel worked. ‘Then hold the rod upright, hang on tight and wait.’

‘How will I know if a fish is biting?’

‘Oh, you’ll know!’ Sam laughed, turning and taking control of the boat again. He gently throttled up the engines until the boat was moving at a sensible trolling speed. ‘And whatever you do, please don’t let go of the rod. If we lose it, we really
will
be in big trouble.’

Sam swung the boat gently round to run parallel to the coast before glancing over his shoulder. Callum looked as if Sam had just handed him a lit stick of dynamite. He was holding the rod all wrong, but he seemed to have a good grip on it so Sam decided not to say anything until it mattered. He counted slowly to forty.

‘That should do,’ Sam called over his shoulder. ‘Engage the clutch and lift the rod up until it’s vertical. That’s it. Great. Now hold on tight and wait for your first fish.’

For the next ten minutes they drove slowly south and west along the coast towards Key West. The bite, when it came, seemed to take his friend completely by surprise. Sam knew from experience that it was all too easy to become used to the steady pull of the lure as it zipped through the water.

‘Whoa!’ Callum yelled suddenly. Sam throttled back and looked over his shoulder. Callum’s rod tip dipped hard towards the back of the boat.

‘Keep the rod up and start winding in,’ he called. ‘You’ve got to keep the tension on the line or you’ll lose it.’

Callum did as he was told.

‘Good. That’s it. Nice and steady. Don’t rush it. As you wind, gradually lower the rod tip while keeping the tension, then you can pull the fish towards you by raising the rod again. Think of it like a pumping action.’

‘The line’s going slack,’ Callum called, his voice sounding panicked.

‘Wind faster! The fish is making a run towards us.’

Callum wound frantically for about ten seconds before the rod tip suddenly lurched down again.

‘Excellent! He’s still on,’ Sam said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. ‘From the bend on the rod, I’d say it’s a good size.’

‘Feels like it weighs a bloody ton!’ Callum exclaimed, the muscles on his arms looking pumped as he strained to pull the rod up again.

‘Keep at it. You’re doing well.’

It took several minutes before Callum got the fish close enough to the boat for Sam to see it. The long torpedo shape he spied in the water was unmistakable.

‘It’s a wahoo!’ he exclaimed. ‘Looks like a good one too.’

‘A wahoo! You’re havin’ a laugh! Conk? Wahoo? You sure it isn’t a “hoorah” ?’

Sam laughed. ‘A wahoo’s sort of like a giant barracuda,’ he explained. ‘They’re ugly sods with big teeth, but they taste amazing. Shame we can’t take it back. Looks like about a forty pounder to me. Nice fish. Pass me the rod a mo and take a look.’

Callum was more than happy to pass the rod over. He leaned over the side to look at the fish.

‘Bloody hell! It’s gotta be over a metre long!’

‘Yep. Like I said – nice fish. Now all we’ve got to do is let it go without hurting it. That might be quite tricky. I don’t really want to put my hand near that fella’s mouth unless he’s too knackered to care. We’re going to have to let him run himself out.’

No sooner had Sam finished speaking than the fish charged off at speed, stripping line from the reel. Sam held the rod upright and concentrated on keeping the line taut. Once the fish turned, Sam handed the rod back to Callum.

‘There you go, matey,’ he said. ‘It’s all yours again.’

‘What do I do?’

‘Exactly what you did before,’ Sam replied. ‘Get him back to the boatside. He’ll probably run another couple of times before he gives up. When he rolls over and goes limp, then ease him alongside and I’ll try to get the hook out of his mouth.’

For the next six or seven minutes, Callum played the fish. Sam offered occasional advice, but for the most part sat back and watched his friend enjoy the thrill of the catch. As they planned to let the fish go eventually, he wasn’t too worried if Callum made mistakes. It gave the fish more of a sporting chance to make its own break for freedom. In the end it did just that, making a sudden turn right next to the boat that took Callum by surprise. One sudden powerful kick of the fish’s tail and the lure pinged free from its mouth. One more flash of silver and the fish was gone.

Sam laughed.

‘Not to worry, Cal,’ he said, noting the disappointment on his friend’s face. ‘I could have gaffed him a couple of times if we’d been looking to keep him. You did fine. Shall we try for another?’

‘Can we? That would be great. But can we take a break for a couple of minutes first? My arms feel like jelly after that.’

‘What a wimp!’ Sam taunted. ‘Worn out by a little fish.’

‘Yeah, maybe I am,’ Callum replied, not rising to the bait. ‘Though it didn’t look that little to me, and I’d rather not drop the rod, Sam.’

‘Good point. OK, we’ll just . . .’ Sam’s voice trailed off as he turned to face the front of the boat. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, a strange note in his voice as he stared ahead.

‘What’s what?’ Callum asked, climbing to his feet and moving to stand beside Sam in the cuddy.

‘There, just ahead of us,’ Sam said, pointing. ‘The sea looks strange . . . wrong somehow.’

‘What do you mean? The water’s a slightly different shade, but that’s not unusual, is it? Don’t you get that when the depth changes?’

‘Not when you’re this deep.’ Sam eased the throttles forward, taking the boat slowly closer. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s weird.’ He looked up at the sky, but there were no clouds to cast shadows. He looked back at the sea ahead. ‘The water’s not just a different colour. It seems to be moving differently. Look. The wave pattern’s all screwed up.’

‘Oh, yeah! Spooky.’

Callum stood up, fishing rod in hand, and looked round the side of the cuddy to see if it was a trick of the light playing through the perspex screen. No. The sea definitely looked different.

‘There’s nothing unusual showing on the sonar,’ Sam observed, running his top teeth back and forth over his lower lip as he considered the strange phenomenon. He went suddenly still and sniffed the air. ‘Do you smell that?’

‘Smell what?’

Callum sniffed the air a couple of times, testing it like a dog.

‘I don’t know,’ Sam said warily. ‘I thought I caught a whiff of sulphur.’

‘I can’t smell anything. Are you trying to freak me out or something, Sam? Stop messing around. Let’s do some more fishing or go home.’

‘Yeah, right. Fishing. Sure thing. But first I just want to . . .’

As the boat crossed into the strange water, Sam suddenly felt as if he was going to pass out. His head spun and for a bizarre moment he could have sworn he heard Niamh’s voice screaming his name inside his head. She sounded terrified. Callum staggered backwards and sat down on one of the side seats with a thump. The boat rocked alarmingly and Sam grabbed hold of the steering wheel to keep from falling. The wave of disorientation lasted no more than an instant, but Sam knew from the second they crossed into the dark, churning water that he had made a huge mistake. The boat began to dance on the choppy waves that peaked and fell in a strangely unpredictable fashion.

‘Oh, my God!’ Callum exclaimed. ‘Get us back into the calmer waters, Sam. I think I’m going to puke.’

Sam didn’t need asking twice. He swung the boat in a tight arc and opened the throttles slightly to power into the turn. As he spun the wheel, he looked around and a tight knot of icy coldness hardened in the pit of his stomach.

‘That might be a problem,’ he said.

Impossible though it seemed, the strange boundary on the water had vanished. And so had all sign of the Florida Keys.

CHAPTER FIVE

Niamh couldn’t settle. She felt tight with anger at her brother’s pig-headedness. Why did he always have to push the boundaries? What was he thinking, taking the boat out without permission?

‘Dad’s going to do his nut!’ she muttered, shaking her head again.

She put her book down on the coffee table. It was no use. The words were just meaningless blurs of ink across the page. She had read the same paragraph at least five times and still couldn’t have said what it was about. She needed to do something to release the tension creeping through her shoulders and down her back. A swim was the obvious answer.

She crossed the living area and slid open the glass door to the deck. As she left the pleasant air-conditioned environment, a wall of heavy heat mugged her. For an instant, it felt as though all the air had been stolen from her lungs.

‘Phew!’ she breathed, closing the door and sweeping her hair back from her forehead. Grabbing a large towel from the wall cabinet on the patio, Niamh stepped quickly across the hot white surface to the nearest sunbed. Seconds later, she had shed her T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and was standing on the edge of the pool in her white bikini. If anything, she felt hotter for the lack of clothing.