Greta had finished swimming laps. She climbed out of the pool and dried herself off. Her all-white racing uniform was like a transparent body stocking. Even from a distance, Carol could not avoid seeing the full detail of her nipples and breasts as well as her clump of pubic hair through the thin suit. She might as well have been naked. Homer stood beside Carol, unabashedly staring as Greta strode across the cement.
“No suit?” Greta said just before she reached them. Her eyes were trying to bore holes in Carol’s. Carol shook her head. “I’m sorry,” said Greta. “Homer had hoped that we might have a race.” She looked at the captain with an odd expression that Carol did not understand. “He loves to see women in competition.”
“It would have been no contest,” Carol answered. She thought she saw Greta tense. “You would have won easily,” she added. “You swim beautifully.”
Greta smiled, accepting the compliment. Her eyes roamed over Carol’s body. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was doing an appraisal. “You have a good body too for swimming,” Greta said. “Maybe a little too fat on the ass and upper legs. I could suggest workout — ”
“Why don’t we show Miss Dawson the other pool?” Homer interrupted. “Before you go inside and change clothes.” He started walking toward the little cottage near the ocean. Without saying another word, Greta turned and followed him. Carol took a sip from her wine. Who knows what goes on here, she thought . Those three have not had to work for eight years. They take people out fishing and diving for amusement. A strange mixture of disgust and depression started to spread in her. So they manufacture entertainment to keep from being bored.
Moments after Homer entered the cottage, a bank of flood-lights down underneath the second pool was illuminated. Homer gestured for her to hurry and Carol skipped into the cottage. They led her down a flight of steps. Under the ground was a walkway that completely encircled the large glass aquarium that had looked, in the darkness, like a second swimming pool. “We have six sharks now,” Homer said proudly, “as well as three red occi, a pair of cuttlefish, and of course hundreds of more standard species of fish and plants.”
“Occi?” inquired Carol.
“That’s the slang plural of octopus,” Homer responded with a smug, self-satisfied smile. “Actually, the correct plural is octopodes, even though everyone now accepts octopi because it has been used so much.”
Greta was standing with her face pressed against the glass. A couple of bat rays swam past. She was waiting for something. After twenty seconds or so a grayish shark appeared. The shark seemed to notice Greta and stopped, watching her, its face about five feet away from the glass. Carol could see the long sharp teeth and identified it as a mako, a fierce smaller cousin of the man-eating great white shark.
“That’s Greta’s pet,” said Homer. “His name is Timmy. Somehow she has trained him to recognize her face against the glass. “ Homer watched a few more seconds. “From time to time she goes in there to swim with him. When the sharks have finished eating, of course.”
The shark remained in place, staring blankly in Greta’s direction. She began to drum her fingers against the glass in regular cadence. “Now this is exciting,” Homer said, walking over next to Greta and the aquarium. “What you are going to see is what biologists call a typical Pavlovian response. I’ve never seen it quite this way before in a shark.”
The mako began to be agitated. Greta started increasing the tempo, the shark responding by whipping the water back and forth with its tail. Suddenly Greta disappeared up the stairs. Carol thought she noticed a faraway look in her eyes when Greta zoomed by her. Carol looked at Homer for an explanation. “Come down here closer,” he gestured to Carol. “You don’t want to miss this. Greta cares for the rabbits herself. And Timmy always puts on a grand show.”
Carol wasn’t exactly sure what Homer was talking about. But she was enjoying the lovely aquarium. It contained crystal-clear sea water, obviously filtered and recycled regularly. Carol noticed several species of sponges and coral, as well as urchin and anemone. Someone had gone to great trouble and expense to re-create the conditions in the reefs just off-shore Key West.
Suddenly a beheaded white rabbit impaled on a long vertical staff, the blood still spurting from its arteries, appeared in the aquarium just opposite where Carol and Homer were standing. It was over in an instant. Driven to immediate frenzy by the blood in the water, the mako attacked, its teeth ripping half the hapless rabbit off the stave with the first bite. The second swoop captured the rest of the rabbit and snapped the rod as well. Carol barely had time to recoil and turn her head. When she jumped back, she spilled wine all over her blouse.
Trying to appear calm, she reached in her purse for a tissue to wipe her blouse. She said nothing. She had had a perfect view of the shark’s attack and could still feel the adrenaline imbalance that the fright had produced. Great way to start a dinner party, she thought. Why haven’t I ever thought of it? Dawson, these people are weird.
Homer was still excited. “Wasn’t that spectacular? Such raw, savage power in those jaws. Driven by pure instinct. I never get tired of it.”
Carol followed him up the stairs. “Good show, Greta,” she heard Homer say when they walked out of the cottage. “It was right in front of us. Two bites. Wham, wham, and the rabbit was gone.”
“I know,” said Greta. She was holding a diving mask. What was left of the staff was on the ground beside her. “I could see from up here.” Greta was staring at Carol, obviously trying to discover her reaction. Carol averted her eyes. She was not going to give Greta the satisfaction of knowing she had found it repulsive.
“Greta has the whole thing down to split-second timing,” Homer continued as they walked back through the gardens to the house. “She prepares the live rabbit on the chopping block an hour early. Then, when Timmy is ready, she . . . .”
Carol tuned his gruesome story out of her mind. I don’t want to hear this, she thought. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes after nine. Come on guys. Be swift. I’m not certain I can stand these people for another hour.
Nick and Troy swam silently along the shoreline in the moonlight. They had carefully rehearsed the plan. No additional light until they were in the cove beside Homer’s property and at least ten feet under water. Troy would lead, searching for alarm systems he could disable with the tools stuffed in the pockets of his wet suit. He would also keep a lookout for the infamous robot sentries. Nick would follow with the buoyancy bags they would use to carry the gold.
They had walked along the beach from the Pelican Resort parking lot, wearing their heavy diving suits as well as the backpacks, until they were only about a hundred yards from the thick fence that marked Homer’s property. Then they had set down the packs containing their clothes and eased into the water. During the walk Troy had had several problems with his tools, and a decision to reduce his arsenal of gadgets had delayed their arrival at the embarkation point by five minutes. Just before they went into the water, Nick had given an uncharacteristic squeal of excitement and grabbed Troy by the shoulders. “I hope that fucking gold is there,” he had said. “I cannot wait to see their faces after we steal it.”
It was time to submerge. Holding hands in the darkness, Nick and Troy dropped about five feet under the water. They stopped, equalized the pressure in their heads, and repeated the procedure. When they were down about ten feet, Troy turned on the searchlight. They quickly worked out their directions and headed around the corner, deeper into the cove adjoining Homer’s estate.
Troy was in the lead. He had no trouble finding the entrance to the natural tunnel that led to the subterranean cave. As they had planned, Nick waited outside the tunnel while Troy went inside to look for alarms. The rock cliffs closed over his head. The watery entryway was about five feet across and four feet high. Troy immediately found a metal box affixed to the left wall, where it was partially hidden from view. When he examined the box, he discovered that it was emitting two laser beams separated by about three feet.
On the other side of the natural tunnel were the receiving plates for the beams as well as the alarm electronics. Troy swam over carefully, pulled out his screwdriver, and dismantled the housing. The system was very simple. Failure of either plate to receive a beam would trigger the opening of a relay. When both relays were open, current could flow to the alarm. Thus an object had to be large enough to break both beams simultaneously to set off an alarm. Troy smiled to himself as he validated the operating principle by passing his hand in front of one of the beams. Then he jerryrigged one of the relays permanently closed. Satisfied with his work, he swam back and forth in the tunnel, breaking both beams at the same time, assuring himself that he had rendered the alarm system ineffective.