Liam Hinnerman, Adam. Adam, Liam.”
The three exchanged greetings, both Liam and Jerry staring at Adam.
“Sam,” Adam murmured, “this must be your wine here, huh?”
“Thanks ever so much,” she murmured, coming for it. Their fingers brushed as she took the glass, and he smiled mockingly. She drew away quickly, retreating across the room, seeing Avery Smith by the fireplace. He was watching Adam, as well.
“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
“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
“Then there is, of course, the story of the
