Deep Sleep (Devin Gray #1)(26)

“I don’t know the first thing about boats,” said Devin.

“Plenty of folks around here that do,” he said. “I have the slip space for her—included in the price.”

“How much did my mom pay for storage?”

The guy laughed. “She paid for storage—and discretion. Let me know what you want to do with the boat. No rush. Storage is all paid up for a while. My name’s Frank, by the way. I own this fine establishment.”

“Thank you, Frank. For your continued discretion,” said Devin. “And I’ll keep your offer in mind. I never thought of myself as the boating type, but . . . I’ll think about it.”

“You ever been out on the water?” asked Frank. “On something other than a cruise ship or ferry?”

Devin shook his head. “Nope.”

“Then you be sure to come back when you’re not busy, and I’ll get you out there,” said Frank. “You’ll know right away if you’re the boating type or not—and god help you if you are.”

“Why’s that?” said Devin.

“Because you’ll be mortgaging your house in a few years to buy a bigger boat!”

Devin laughed. He liked this guy. If the file hidden inside the boat turned out to be a bust, he might take him up on the offer. Why the hell not?

“I’ll let you know.”

“And I’ll leave you to your business,” said Frank, saluting him before walking away.

Devin wiped the sweat off his forehead and grabbed the ladder with both hands, immediately gaining a sense of what Frank had conveyed about it. The thing felt solid, as though it had been carved from a single piece of wood. Still, he tentatively stepped on the first rung, testing it with a few bounces before pushing up with his full body weight. It was a wooden ladder, after all.

At the top of the ladder, he grabbed the nearest stanchion poles and gave them a tug to make sure they were secure before using them as leverage to climb into the boat. He stood perfectly still in the cockpit, unsure how stable the boat would be with him on board. The metal stands pressed up against the hull looked like a rickety arrangement to hold up an object that easily weighed several thousand pounds.

Sensing no movement, he moved to the salon door and stopped. Nothing. He quickly stepped to the left and right. No movement at all. He could probably jump up and down and nothing would happen, but he had no intention of doing anything but move slowly and steadily through the boat. There was nothing normal or natural about a sailboat suspended in the air.

Devin found the salon door unlocked and slid it open. He was greeted by a stale, mildewy odor that he assumed to be normal for compact space that gets aired out a couple of times a year at most. The interior, a combination of deep-stained wood, light-blue cushions, and white vinyl flooring, was well lit from the sunlight pouring through the long, narrow windows on each side of the salon. The galley was directly below the door, a few steps down a short wooden ladder. Easy enough.

He lowered himself into the galley and opened the lowest of three drawers next to the sink, removing a hefty gray waterproof pouch that took up most of the space in the drawer. Devin sat gently on the edge of the starboard-side couch and unzipped the pouch, placing its contents on the cushion next to him.

A handwritten note signed by his mother. A key chain with three brass house keys. A very high-end touch screen satellite phone. A manila file folder with metal fasteners holding together several typed pages. A little lighter than he expected. Two rubber-banded bundles of cash. Twenties and hundreds. Easily ten thousand dollars, if he had to guess. Much more than he expected. He wasn’t encouraged by the fact that the money piled up higher than the file.

He started with the note.

Devin, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that there’s more than a hundred dollars in the pouch. You can walk away right now and take a really nice vacation, which might sound like an attractive option after you hear the bad news. Before I get to that, please deliver the mailer to your father. It’s a copy of my will, life insurance policy, and assets. Along with my estate attorney’s contact information.

What’s the bad news? I’m dead. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Ye olde gallows humor. Had to get one last joke in. The bad news is that the file in your hands is just the 30,000-foot view. You’ve probably guessed that much by the size of the file. There’s simply no way to adequately explain or represent what I’ve assembled over the past two decades. I apologize for misrepresenting the size of Sadie’s treasure, but I couldn’t take the chance that you might not take the SDR seriously—and lead them to the source. Go ahead. Roll your eyes. But read the file and consider taking one more step in this journey, assuming you took the SDR seriously. Please don’t execute the next paragraph if you’re not entirely sure they didn’t follow you. Did they try?

The next step, if you choose: Power the satellite phone. I inserted a fully charged battery a few weeks ago. Find “Mom” in contacts and give me a call. I’ll reveal the location of the Bat Cave. I actually have one, if you consider a dingy apartment in a sketchy neighborhood a proper secret lair. There’s beer in the fridge and harder stuff if you need it . . . you might after you see what I’ve been working on. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.

Love you, Mom

“Love you, too,” he said, his eyes watering.