Free Starfish Prime (Blackfox Chronicles Book 2) by T.S. O'Neil

were the undulating antennas of two spiny lobsters. Michael pointed his spear point towards them, but Ramos gently pushed it away. He moved forward toward the hole and showing a practiced proficiency, expertly plunged an arm behind the cre ature while distracting it with a feint to its front. The creature backed into Marco’s waiting right hand. He grabbed it by its abdomens, withdrew the struggling crustacean and released it into a goodie bag that Michael rapidly produced. 
    They found two more lobsters and one large crab in the same area, and they surfaced a short time later on nearly empty tanks, totally satisfied with the dive. Ramos had maneuvered them to the shore to the right of the dock where the Good as Gold was tied up, and they came ashore with their heavily laden game bag tied to Michael’s buoyancy compensator. 
    Char had watched them surface from the deck of the yacht and came down to the shore to help them.
    “Good dive?”
    “Yeah. Ramos is like freaking Aqua Man. He wrangles lobsters with his bare hands.” 
    “No shit?” said Char as he took the game bag from Michael and held it up to examine its contents.
    “Very nice. I am sure they will be delicious. Bring them on board so we can get ‘em cooking.”
    “I have a suggestion,” said Ramos as he slid out of his buo yancy compensator and air tank. “We have a store of Guava wood up at the cocina, a twin burner barbeque grills we made from an old fuel drum, and a double boiler for the lobster. Why make a mess of the boat?”
    Guava was very popular with barbeque chefs, but was diff icult to find outside the tropics where it grew. It imparted a semisweet flavor that went well with just about any cut of meat or fish.
    Char was already sold. “Sounds good to me. You guys did the heavy lifting by catching these little babies, and without the use of a Hawaiian Sling, I might add. Go get showered up and I’ll start hauling everything down to the cook shack.” 
    A short time later, Ramos and Michael arrived outside the kitchen to find Char already busily stoking the fire in one of the old steel grills.
    “Beer’s in the ice chest,” he said without turning his attention away from the grill. Michael reached into the marine cooler and withdrew two ice-coated bottles of Aguila beer. He opened both beers with an old Heineken bottle opener that Char had attached to the handle with a “dummy cord,” handed a bottle to Ramos, and clicked the neck with the bottom of his beer.
    “A los compañeros caídos,” Michael toasted. 
    “To fallen comrades,” repeated Ramos. 
    “Ok, Marco, you’re gonna have to show me where the burners are if we’re going to boil lobsters.”
    Michael gave his old man a perplexed look. “Why not just throw them on the grill?” 
    “Because my young, inexperienced son, I put together my secret blend of lobster boiling ingredients in a boil bag and would like to introduce our Colombian guest to the nuances of
    American Indian cuisine.”
    Michael rolled his eyes and laughed. “Shit, if I know you, you threw some Old Bay seasoning in a bag and are trying to pass it off as some ancient Seminole secret.”
    Char laughed while Ramos disappeared under the raised floor of the C-Hut and appeared a short time later on the other side of the door. “Trap door,” he explained upon return. “We use the space for storage of canned goods and the cook got sick of getting soaked during rainy season, so we cut him a door.” 
    Ramos retrieved the propane stove, little more than a four legged metal stand that supported two burners, and per Char’s direction, placed it three feet to the side of the grill. 
    “What about the propane?” said Michael, looking dubiously at the hundred gallon tank that sat off to one side of the cook shack.
    “ Muy facile,” said Ramos with a smile. He reentered the hut and returned a moment later with a long hose and a ten gallon lobster pot. 
    A half hour later, Char had the water boiling and