Chapter 9
NINE
The boat bumped along the surf as Miguel steered them through the waves toward the next set of coordinates.
Sam and Wolfgang were becoming used to hanging on while the engine powered them across the water.
What had once been a vague assignment now felt like a process of elimination, and despite his early concerns, Sam had become unexpectedly invested in finding the squid.
Even Wolfgang, who stretched out on the bench soaking up the sun, seemed more determined than ever. His pale skin had begun to take on a faint tan.
“The whole thing is a hoax, Miguel,” Sam shouted over the engine.
“What do you mean?”
“That you didn’t have anything else for us to do, so you sent us out here looking for a squid that’s probably in Costa Rica or something.”
Miguel threw his head back and laughed. “You are a funny guy, Sam,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I released the first ones myself. Trust me. We need to hope they have been breeding.”
Wolfgang remained silent, eyes closed against the sun. Sam probably watched him for longer than he should have. Astrid’s voice echoed in his head, suggesting he “get out more,” but dating apps and bars had never appealed.
The engine cut and the boat drifted.
“Shall we forget the squid and catch some rays?” Sam joked.
Wolfgang immediately sat up, the boat rocking slightly. “We will find those squid if it’s the last thing we do.”
He began preparing the equipment. They had progressed to scuba gear, and Sam still found it surreal—this was exactly what he had studied for: real marine research in open water. Even more surreal was how much he enjoyed doing it alongside Wolfgang.
Miguel checked his watch. “Forty minutes below, then lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said. “I’ll time it.”
With their masks on, they slipped into the sea.
The underwater world was silent and vast. Rock formations spread across the seabed, and fish of every colour darted between them. Wolfgang swam ahead, tapping Sam’s arm and pointing toward something in the distance.
An old fishing boat lay half-sunken against a rocky outcrop.
They moved toward it together. A jellyfish drifted upward nearby, its pale body edged in blue. Fish flurried through broken windows as they approached the wreck. Bright red sea stars clung to the hull, making the scene almost unreal.
They explored the interior and found nothing—only limpets and rusted equipment. Sam checked his watch. Thirty minutes already gone.
He signalled to Wolfgang, and together they began their ascent.
They broke the surface at the same time.
“Anything?” Miguel called.
“Nothing,” Wolfgang said flatly.
Frustration surged in Sam. “Even a hint would be nice at this point.”
They swam to the boat. Miguel helped them aboard. Sam threw off his gear in irritation.
At that moment, a speedboat tore past too close. The wake slammed into their vessel, throwing Sam off balance. He hit the deck hard.
Wolfgang lost his footing. His head struck the outboard motor before he fell overboard.
For a second, everything froze. Then Sam reacted and dove in without hesitation.
The water swallowed him as he descended rapidly. Wolfgang was sinking fast, still wearing his tank, dropping toward the wreck below.
Sam kicked hard, arms straining as he reached him. He grabbed Wolfgang’s hands and fought against the pull of the sea, dragging him upward. His lungs burned. His vision blurred. He didn’t let go.
They broke the surface.
Miguel had already jumped in and helped haul Wolfgang onto the boat. Sam followed, collapsing onto the deck, gasping.
Wolfgang lay motionless, blood spreading into the seawater around him. A deep cut marked his head.
“First aid kit!” Sam shouted.
Miguel threw it to him. Sam pressed a dressing against the wound, but it quickly soaked through.
“Get us to shore!” Sam yelled. “I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Miguel tried the engine.
Nothing.
“Wolfgang damaged it when he fell,” he said, stunned.
“Then use the radio!” Sam snapped.
Miguel scrambled and called for help in Spanish. Sam kept pressure on the wound, refusing to move his hand.
“Don’t worry,” he said urgently to Wolfgang. “I’ve got you.”
Wolfgang’s eyes flickered open. He squeezed Sam’s hand weakly. “My hero,” he murmured before slipping unconscious again.
Ten agonising minutes passed before a coastguard vessel appeared on the horizon.
Sam wrapped Wolfgang’s head in a towel and held him close while medics boarded the boat. Orders were exchanged quickly in Spanish as they assessed Wolfgang’s condition.
Sam refused to leave his side.
They lifted Wolfgang onto a stretcher. When they moved him, he stirred. “Sam,” he mumbled. “I need Sam.”
“I’m here,” Sam said immediately, gripping his hand. “I’m right here.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Sam shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As the boat sped toward shore, Wolfgang winced with every movement.
“Tell you what,” Sam said, forcing calm into his voice. “When you’re better, I’ll buy you lunch at that place you liked at the flea market. I promise.”
Wolfgang tightened his grip. “When I get the all-clear,” he said weakly, “we need to have a talk.”
Then his eyes closed again, leaving Sam with a knot of fear and uncertainty tightening in his chest—and no idea what Wolfgang had to say when he finally woke up.