Prologue – From the Eagle
Chronicles
A sliver of autumn moonlight in a gauzy
sky shone on the transom of the “Serendipity” as she lay at anchor. The boat
rocked gently in Princess Bay, a cove on the north side of Hurricane Hole at
the east end of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands. The only sound was the
lapping water against the stern of the boat as Falcon’s head lifted slowly out
of the dark depths, the eagle’s eye tattoo on his neck glistened and seemed to
wink it’s okay as he waited, listening for any sound from the boat.
He had left the mini-sub through
the airlock only a few minutes ago and swam straight up, holding his breath
until he reached the surface where he now reviewed the 55' Wheeler in his
mind. With a little online research, he
knew the cabin layout by heart. Clad in
a black wetsuit, he was nearly invisible. The wetsuit felt itchy on his skin.
It wasn’t for warmth as the sea here was never cold enough to need one. The
suit would serve another purpose soon enough. He wiped the salt water from his
lips and smiled.
The young couple
would be in the master stateroom forward of the wheelhouse and he wanted to be
sure they were asleep before he climbed all the way aboard. At two in the morning he presumed they would be
asleep, but he wanted to be sure. Patience was key in
his line of work. That,
and the element of surprise. He and the
others had been cruising the shoreline in Hurricane Hole from 1000 yards out when
they had seen the young couple swimming alongside the boat and watched them for
a full day to be sure they were alone on board.
After some time,
Falcon crawled slowly over the stern, sat on the built-in transom seat, took
the waterproof pouch from around his waist, opened it and removed the stun gun.
He left the pouch on the cushion before
moving forward. He grabbed the salon door and turned it careful to not make any
noise. Good thing it’s not locked. He could pick a lock of course, was very
good at it in fact, but locks can take time and make noise. He went forward to
the open stateroom door. He could make out two figures lying in bed. He went to the left side where the larger
figure lay and quickly shoved the stun gun to an exposed neck. “Zzzzzzzzzzzap.” The body jerked and was still, but the gun
caused a racket, no doubt. The person
on the other side of the bed screamed, jumped up, and ran into the salon.
Falcon could see a flimsy night-gowned figure and rushed after her. Christ,
this one’s fast. “But”, he thought, “no one is faster
than the Falcon.” Falcon made a leap not
unlike a ballet move and grabbed one slender ankle with his left hand while
pressing the stun gun to her thigh as she fell. She was out for the count.
Better get to
it. He jogged back to the stern and removed a knife, small tarp, and a battery
operated Sawzall out of the pouch. He couldn’t help
but grin.
He spread the
tarp out by the woman, picked her up as if she weighed nothing and dropped her
back down. She moaned as he bent down and quickly shoved the knife into her heart.
Her body struggled a bit, but it didn’t take long. Before he began his wet
work, Falcon returned to the salon and gave the unconscious man another jolt
until it was his turn. Now the fun
begins, but where to start? He took the Sawzall and thought for a moment before going to her lower
extremities. The saw was efficient for
its size, but it took time. After the second leg was detached, he straightened
up, threw the legs overboard, and went back to work. He was careful to keep the tarp raised to prevent
blood spatter on the boat itself, but it was messy work. He went to work on the
arms, then severed the head and set it off to the side in the bait well of the
boat.
“Might as well
watch, sweet cheeks,’ he told her. He
threw the rest of her body overboard and went to the salon to get the man.
The guy was
heavier of course, but not too heavy to bring aft to the tarp. Falcon wasn’t a
large man but he was strong. “Brute strength. Fucking
brute strength, that’s what I got,” he’d like to boast. As he carried his
unconscious captive, the man’s head bumped the overhead. “Aw, did that hurt
you? Hey, not to worry, we’ll fix you up
in a bit. No more pain ever. I promise,” he said and he patted the man on the
back. The Sawzall
buzzed as Falcon severed the man’s limbs and then the head from the trunk of
his body. He set the man’s head in the bait well facing the woman’s and threw
the torso overboard as well.
“The sharks will be so happy to see you kids.”
He expertly whistled “Taps” as he threw both heads to the sea in final
farewell.
Falcon rolled up
the tarp and tied it with a small piece of rope, then threw it over the stern,
knowing the sharks would smell the blood and tear it to shreds. He removed the
walkie-talkie from the pouch and keyed the switch. When he heard the answering click he said,
“Falcon here, score is two zip,” and released the
switch. He leaned over the transom and
pasted on the large self-stick plastic sheet that proclaimed the boat to be Hornby and disappearing Serendipity forever.
Humming to
himself, he went straight to the head and turned on the hot water. When steam indicated the correct temperature, he
stepped in. He let the water rinse the wetsuit then rinsed it off and scrubbed
himself from head to toe. “Have to be clean. Have to be clean. Be clean or else.” The familiar chant rang in his head. Twenty
minutes later, wearing a fresh towel like a kilt, he turned on the bilge fans,
and after a few minutes started the engines and warmed up the sonar. The image
of the mini-sub started to move southeast and he followed. He thought of the
couple on their way to the depths. What
a waste of good meat. I wish I had had
time to eat.