The Deep Blue Alibi by Paul Levine

bottom of each building, steel cables angled downward and were embedded in the ocean floor. At the side of the center building was a marina with perhaps two hundred miniature boats, little plastic people waving gaily from the decks. Above the hotel, suspended in the air by a wire, was a seaplane, a larger version of what they had flown to Paradise Key.
    “The center building is the casino,” Junior said.
    “Two hundred thirty thousand square feet of slots, blackjack, craps, roulette, keno, poker rooms. The works. And unlike Atlantic City or Las Vegas, no taxes to pay. Or as Dad likes to say, ‘Uncle Sam ain’t no relative of mine.’ ”
    “How would you get people out there?” Victoria asked. Ever practical, Steve thought.
    “Seaplanes, private boats, hydrofoils leaving the mainland every thirty minutes.”
    “What about hurricanes?” Steve asked.
    “We’d evacuate the hotel, of course,” Junior said. “But our construction method is revolutionary. Woven steel cables fasten the buildings to the sea bottom, but they’re flexible, so the buildings can rise and fall in high seas. Computer models show we can withstand a Category Four storm.”
    “What about Category Five?” Steve asked.
    “Statistically improbable. Only two have ever hit the United States.”
    Bobby chimed in: “Camille in sixty-nine. Andrew in ninety-two.”
    The kid watched the Weather Channel, too. “You’re not counting the ones before the Weather Service had a numbering system,” Steve said.
    “We’re confident our hotel can take the worst storm that’s statistically likely to hit,” Junior said.
    The worst storm that’s statistically likely to hit.
    Not bad, Steve thought, giving Junior bonus points for lawyerlike double-talk. The guy was sharper than he looked, greater than the sum of his pecs and traps.
    “You haven’t seen the best part,” Junior said. “Take a look at Building Three. We call it The Atlantis.”
    They walked around to the other side of the diorama. The ocean floor sloped upward there, as it neared the largest of the donut-shaped buildings. But it wasn’t just a sandy bottom. It was a coral reef in miniature, frozen in plastic, reproduced in startling detail. Staghorn coral, looking like deer antlers; green sea fans waving hello; grooved brain coral, looking like a human cerebrum. A moray eel poked its head out of a skyscraper of pillar coral. Swimming above and through the reef were giant grouper, bright blue angelfish, multihued parrotfish, huge tarpon, sea turtles, and other creatures Steve couldn’t name.
    “The Atlantis seems submerged.” Victoria pointed beneath the building. This donut was more like a floating saucer, with a portion of the building under the surface, portholes beneath the sea.
    “My idea.” Junior’s smile was so wide, his dimples looked like gunshot wounds. “Three hundred hotel rooms underwater. You can watch the fish swim by your window.”
    And in fact, there were two sharks cruising past a porthole window. Thrill the folks from Omaha without getting their feet wet.
    “If you look closely at the passageways connecting the buildings, you’ll see the floors are transparent. Stroll from the dining room to the casino and you’re walking across the world’s largest aquarium.”
    “Incredible,” Victoria murmured. “The hotel is a giant glass-bottom boat.”
    Junior smiled. “I told Dad that most people will never take the snorkeling or scuba trip. So, if you’re going to build a hotel above a reef, why not bring the reef into the hotel? Or damn close, anyway.”
    “It’s really something,” Victoria said. Awe in her voice, as if Junior had just shown her the Mona Lisa and said he painted it.
    Big deal, Steve thought. The rich kid tells the architects to stick portholes in the hotel rooms. What’s he want, the Nobel Prize?
    “Here’s where Dad surprised me,” Junior said. “The construction costs will be astronomical, so at first he balked. A real sense of