Take Your Last Breath

  It was at supper that night that Ruby got the message. She looked down into her unfortunate cabbage soup to see a fly struggling to make it to the rim. It was making good progress, but just as it was about to reach the bowl’s edge, it would change direction and stupidly end right back where it started.

  “There appears to be a fly in my soup,” said Ruby, looking directly at Hitch, who had joined them for supper and was taunting Ruby by devouring a steak cooked medium rare, fries on the side.

  He winked back. “I had a premonition that that might happen. Let me substitute it for something less cabbage,” he said, removing the offending liquid and replacing it with food that told her all she needed to know.

  It was a slice of toast, and into it was grilled a message:

  The note had been toasted into the bread by the Spectrum-issue toaster fax machine. A discreet way of conveying information — and what’s more, you could eat the evidence, which Ruby promptly did.

  Finally, the toast she had been waiting for: Spectrum had a mission for her.

  AT 2:30 A.M. RUBY GOT OUT OF BED, pulled on her jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt printed with the words excuse me while I yawn, picked up her jacket, pushed open the window, and climbed down the eucalyptus tree. Its limbs stretched toward the west side of the house, providing a perfect ladder for the able tree-climber.

  Hitch was already sitting in the silver convertible, its engine turning over so quietly you hardly knew it was running.

  “Nice of you to show up,” he said.

  Ruby looked at her watch. It was 2:32 a.m. “Give me a break,” she said.

  “Lives have been lost in two minutes,” said Hitch.

  “Oh, come on, man. What’s the big deal?”

  “The ‘big deal’?” pondered Hitch. “Let me think . . . well, I hear you can only breath-hold for one minute and one second, so imagine if you were waiting for me to rescue you, and you were stuck underwater, and I took a whole two minutes to get there. You’d be all out of air, kid.”

  “You were waiting in the car. You weren’t exactly in total mortal danger.”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  “OK, OK,” said Ruby. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Hitch. “Listening to advice isn’t what you do best.”

  “Well, since we are busy ‘sharing’ here, then might I suggest that giving people the benefit of the doubt isn’t one of your strengths?”

  Hitch pointed at Ruby’s T-shirt and said, “Your T-shirt is on the money, kid. So zip it.”

  He backed out of the driveway and they drove in silence to Desolate Cove. As the name suggested, no one really visited this place — it had no sand and was nearly always windswept and rarely warm. Hitch parked behind a steep bank of pines, the vehicle hidden from view, and he and Ruby set about zipping their jackets and pulling on the rubber waders that had been stashed in the car’s trunk. In silence, they walked across the pebble beach until they reached the place where the cliffs met the water.

  “Stay close to the rock, kid,” warned Hitch. “There’s a sudden drop to the left — very deep water, and I’m not sure I can be bothered to fish you out.” The sound of his words was almost drowned out by the sound of the sea as it dragged through the stones of the beach, relentlessly pulling and pushing, almost like a chorus of whispering voices.

  Here you could almost believe in fishermen’s legends of sea devils and sea witches.

  The water reached almost to the top of Ruby’s waders, and she just barely managed to keep from getting soaked. She had no idea where they were headed or why, but she guessed there must be a pretty good reason for this little jaunt.

  They made it around the next sharp corner, and there it was: a hidden low opening in the cliff, not so much a cave, more like a large niche, just big enough to conceal . . .

  a scuba-sub.

  “Kinda cool,” said Ruby.

  “You have no idea,” said Hitch.

  A metallic pod-like thing, the sub had a reflective glass dome on top.

  “The glass is four inches thick,” said Hitch. “Allows the sub to dive to depths of five miles. When submerged, the light bounces off it in such a way that it is just about invisible.”

  “Even cooler,” said Ruby casually, like she’d seen a whole bunch of scuba-subs in her time.

  Hitch raised his eyes heavenward and depressed a button on his watch, and the glass lid slid back. There looked to be enough space to seat three passengers comfortably and four at a squeeze. It looked worryingly unstable, and Ruby was concerned that it would tip as she climbed in.

  “Plenty of agents bigger than you have found themselves jumping into this thing, trying to make a fast getaway,” said Hitch. “And I can assure you, kid, it never rolls over . . . so long as you don’t slip, you won’t drown. If you do, it’s anyone’s guess.”

  Ruby gave him a sideways look, then climbed in very carefully and buckled up. Hitch took a key from a well-concealed compartment, slotted it into the ignition, turned it this way, that way, and then another way before the engine began to purr.

  After fiddling with some switches, and once the roof was locked into place, Hitch pushed a lever and they moved forward, dipping smoothly under the waves. The cliff ledge suddenly disappeared, and the sub moved into deep water.

  “Keep your safety belt fastened!” said Hitch as he pulled on another of the controls and the scuba-sub suddenly jetted forward at great speed, silently cutting through the ocean. Things on either side of them vanished into a blur as they passed by.

  “How do you avoid colliding with a whale?” asked Ruby, who was sort of pinned to her seat, enjoying the ride, but not yet entirely relaxed.

  “Automatic Avoidance Sonar,” said Hitch. “I’ve never hit anything yet, kiddo!”

  It was a thrill to travel so fast — better than any amusement park — but Ruby wouldn’t have minded slowing it down a little, taking some time to look at the scenery. In the blink of an eye they reached another rock face; this one seemed to be covered in petrified insects — sort of prehistoric-looking flies and insect fossils.

  “We’re stopping here?” asked Ruby.

  “Not exactly,” said Hitch, pressing one of the buttons on the control panel. What looked like solid rock suddenly corkscrewed open, and they entered a water-filled tunnel.

  They navigated their way up the passage until they reached a dead end, a round pool. Hitch switched off the engine and a platform under the sub lifted them and their vehicle out of the water.

  They had arrived.

  Ruby assumed this entrance must be the latest way in to Spectrum HQ, since it was not unusual for the location to be moved several times a month.

  “So this is Spectrum?” said Ruby.

  “Not exactly,” said Hitch again.

  “What does that mean?”

  “This, kid, is Spectrum’s Sea Division, Spectrum 5. Sea Division, as the name would suggest, is always located somewhere at sea.”

  “So, given that we work for Spectrum 8, what are we doing here?” asked Ruby.

  “Spectrum 5 has been working on a case that might cross over with a case that Spectrum 8 has been looking into. LB thought it might be a good idea to join forces.”

  As they walked, some of the slick white corridors became clear glass-tube passageways, and fish swam by on the other side — sunfish, rockfish, cardinalfish, garibaldi, stingrays, and a thousand others. It was sort of like being in a giant aquarium, though the fish might well conclude it was the people who were the exhibits here.

  It was strange for Ruby to enter Spectrum as a fully paid agent in training. She stifled a smile, remembering that at the tender age of thirteen she had already achieved her lifetime ambition of becoming an undercover secret agent for one of the most undercover and secret of secret agencies in the world.

  She looked around her at the huge domed space with its glass floor and sea life moving underfoot.

  “Hey, kid!” shouted Hitch
. “Want to look lively? LB’s waiting.”

  Ruby had taken off her jacket and slung it over her shoulder so it was again possible to read the slogan written in bold letters across her T-shirt: excuse me while I yawn.

  Hitch paused a minute. “Kid, my advice? Put your jacket back on and zip it right up. LB sees that and she might not find it so funny.”

  “She not in a good mood?” Ruby called across the hall.

  “I doubt that sincerely, kid. That diver who just washed up dead on the beach — he was one of ours, and losing an agent always puts a crimp in her day.”

  HITCH LED THE WAY DOWN A STEEPLY SLOPING PASSAGE that wound around and around and seemed like it must spiral right through the seabed. When they reached a black circular door, Hitch punched in some numbers and they were admitted to a screening room.

  The room was full of agents and Spectrum staff, sitting in cinema-style seats that all faced a large white screen. There was a buzz in the air, everyone knew something big had happened but few knew exactly what had gone down. Ruby tried to get her bearings, looked around — unfortunately straight into the eyes of Agent Froghorn (he of the silent G). He made much of pointing to his watch, indicating that it was way past her bedtime, and Ruby mouthed a word not to be repeated. Agent Redfort and Agent Froghorn were not likely to ever exchange birthday cards.

  Sea Division headquarters had much in common with Spectrum 8 HQ, but there were some very obvious differences, the main one being when you looked out of the window you saw water. Agent Trent-Kobie, head of Sea Division, had been called away on urgent business, and so the briefing was to be given by the boss of Spectrum 8.

  LB.

  Dressed all in white, LB walked into the room — and instantly the chatting stopped. LB had this effect on people. She was immaculately dressed but for her feet, which were bare with red nail polish perfectly applied to her toes. The head of Spectrum 8 did not much care for shoes of any kind and was rarely seen in footwear.

  When she reached the front, where the microphone stood, she dropped a file onto the small table at her side and launched right in.

  “So, as you will know by now, Agent Trilby’s body was found on Sunday evening — he had been diving off the coast not far from Twinford Bay Beach. During the past month he has been investigating unusual ocean activity — strange behavior of marine life. There has been a lot of unusual ocean activity recently, and it can all be found in Agent Trilby’s report.” She continued to go through example after example of things that had been occurring just off the coast of Twinford.

  Dolphins refusing to leave the bay, seagulls flocking inland, fishing stock low.

  “As we all know,” continued LB, “Trilby was a very proficient diver, and it is highly unlikely that he would have drowned in normal circumstances. We are still waiting for the autopsy results, but it would seem that he was unfortunate enough to come into contact with something like a stingray or an electric eel. There is evidence of bruising to his leg that still needs to be explained, but we feel it’s likely that he encountered this sort of creature and this either led to a cardiac arrest or a severe shock that in turn led to drowning.”

  It couldn’t have been a stinging creature that killed him, thought Ruby, Trilby would definitely have utilized his Spectrum-issue anti-sting Miracle serum. It was a comfort to know that every diving agent had this lifesaver with them even if it couldn’t guard against shocks and bites.

  LB pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “Yes?” she said, spotting a raised hand.

  “Do you think the strange ocean activity is linked to something else — some dark plot, I mean — or do you think it’s all just a consequence of some natural event throwing things off course?”

  The question came from Agent Blacker, a disheveled-looking man in a crumpled jacket — an agent Ruby admired. They had worked together on the Jade Buddha case, and he was not only a smart person, he was a nice guy. He had a laid-back manner, but was as sharp as a tack.

  “There is nothing to suggest that Trilby was the victim of foul play, if that’s what you’re getting at,” replied LB. “However, I am interested in his findings in the context of other unusual activity. Some of you will have been party to the ongoing investigation into the missing or scrambled coast-guard signals and reports of disruption with shipping vessels; cargo going awry, turning up in the wrong place.”

  She listed the coast-guard reports — and the list was long. Shoes, coffee, corn, bananas, you name it, it seemed to have ended up in the wrong port.

  “Even a six-ton elephant on its way to Baltimore has gone astray,” concluded LB.

  Ruby made a mental note to apologize to Del Lasco: give or take a few elephants, she had actually been telling the truth.

  LB wound up her talk and removed her glasses, hooking them onto her shirt. “To be honest with you,” she said, “we really have no idea what might be going on. To date we are not investigating any criminal activity. All we know is that Agent Trilby was monitoring unusual events at sea and regrettably died. If it wasn’t for the coast-guard reports, we would continue monitoring marine life and not look any further.”

  Blacker raised his hand again.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “So you are looking to make a link?” said Blacker.

  “Either that or to establish that there isn’t one — it could all be a coincidence,” she replied.

  “But link or no link, you’ll be wanting me to plot through Trilby’s findings and see where they take us?” said Blacker.

  “Correct. Meanwhile, I understand that Agent Kekoa from Sea Division will take over Trilby’s ocean research. She intends to make sound recordings — this way we hope to learn just what is causing the marine disturbance. If the strange sea life occurrences are just a series of natural blips and shifts, then so much the better; the information will be passed on to those who deal with such things, and we will concentrate on the shipping alone.”

  LB stepped to one side and Agent Kekoa walked to the front. Ruby’s dive instructor looked shorter out of the water and less assertive. You could tell she wasn’t particularly comfortable standing there talking. She clearly wasn’t really comfortable out of her wet suit. In fact, clothes made her look strangely out of her depth.

  “There have been reports of a sound, a whispering sound,” said Kekoa. She clicked the remote and up popped a slide showing a freckly kid of about seventeen, his photo alongside a map of the Twinford coast, and an arrow pointing to the sea beyond Little Bay.

  “Tommy Elson was swimming out past Little Bay and reported a whispering sound coming from under the water.”

  Click: Slide of a young couple in beach gear. The map showed that they were on a sailboat far out at Rock Point.

  “Same story with Hallie Grier and Lyle Greene.”

  Click: A surfer girl with a couple of missing teeth. She was smiling and shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “Billie-May Vaughn was surfing with her dog and heard a noise that she described as someone calling, but calling in a whisper; she dove under the water but could see nothing to explain it. She claimed her dog reacted to the sound too.”

  There was some snickering in the audience that could have come from Agent Froghorn, but Kekoa took no notice.

  “The girl alerted the lifeguard, who swam out but found nothing to substantiate what Billie-May had told him.”

  Kekoa clicked through some more pictures that showed various fresh-faced looking people and the location references.

  “The sounds have generally been heard when people are swimming a mile or so from shore, or on boats farther out to sea. One person, Danny Fink Junior, heard the sound when fishing on a rock which juts out into the ocean, almost an island, but that’s the only example of anyone hearing the sound on dry land.”

  “Have you heard it?” asked one of the agents.

  “No,” said Kekoa.

  “And how many years have you been diving in those waters?” asked another.

&n
bsp; “Seven,” said Kekoa. “But I’ve been in Hawaii the last couple of months.”

  “Yet you yourself have heard nothing?” said the first agent. “Even since you got back?”

  “No,” said Kekoa.

  A rippled whisper went through the audience.

  “So have you considered that these accounts could all be bogus? I mean, some of the people who reported it are just little kids,” continued the first agent.

  “Yes,” said Kekoa. “But I consider it unwise to disregard them just because I, just because you, have no personal experience of them.”

  Ruby couldn’t agree more strongly with this statement. There were people who made wild claims about spotting aliens and spacecraft, and there were other people who claimed that this was nonsense and that aliens and spacecraft didn’t exist, but either way what you had to accept was that these people had seen something. RULE 5: REMEMBER, THERE IS MORE TO LEARN THAN YOU CAN EVER KNOW.

  “In conclusion,” said LB, stepping back in front of the screen so the smiling face of Danny Fink Junior was projected across her white suit, “I want this case wrapped up all neat and tidy AS”— she rapped the file with her fountain pen —“AP.” She couldn’t have looked more serious.

  “One of our agents is dead. Spectrum needs to know if it was foul play or just plain bad luck. The coast guard needs to know if all this disruption to the cargo shipping is incompetence or something a lot more serious. The fishing industry needs to know where all the fish have gone. I want to know if I have a team smart enough to give me some answers. If I don’t get the right ones, then I’m not happy; if I’m not happy, some of you are going to have to take a walk.”

  “Yikes,” whispered Ruby. “What’s LB like when she’s unhappy, I mean, really unhappy?”

  “You don’t want to see it,” said Hitch.

  Ruby was glad she had taken Hitch’s advice and zipped her jacket up. LB was in one very bad mood.

  THE SUN WAS ALREADY COMING UP by the time Hitch and Ruby turned the corner into Cedarwood Drive.