Deep Blue (21 page)

“What?”

“You’re newly married—you’re bound to be needing money. I think we’d better find the mother lode.”

Joe grinned. “You got that right, man!”

It was late afternoon when the boat neared the island. Hope and Conn stood at the rail as they approached.

“What in the hell…?”

“What is it?” But as she looked out at the water, she saw.

“Boats,” he said. “A shitload of boats, all looking for treasure. Christ.” The look he gave her said whose fault it was, and of course he was right. “I take it your article got posted on the Internet.”

She looked at the small armada of sailboats, anywhere from twenty to sixty feet long, bobbing next to motor-powered pleasure craft and luxury yachts. A number of them were anchored south of the reef, closer to the area where the
Conquest
had been searching.

“A few of them have done their homework.”

“There’s nothing in the article that would tell them where you’ve been looking. I was very careful about that.”

“They probably talked to people on the island. God knows the folks there have been watching us for days. A few of these guys are close but not in exactly the right spot. Of course, we don’t know where exactly the right spot is.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Put up some buoys, string some line between them, keep people out of the area we’ll be searching. I doubt these are serious thieves. Just tourists and locals who want to see if they might be able to find something.”

“Can’t you just tell them that any treasure they find in these waters belongs to Treasure Limited?”

“I can tell them. There’s no way I can force them to leave.”

Hope looked out at the sea of boats. “I’m really sorry, Conn.”

“I figure Talbot ought to be the one to apologize. Those articles were his idea.”

“Yes, but all he really wanted was to get me off the Hartley House story.”

“Maybe, but he also wanted the publicity, and so did Eddie Markham.”

“Well, they ought to be happy, then.”

Conn didn’t say more, just turned and started barking orders to the crew. While Pete and King took the Whaler out to string line and put out buoys, Conn, Joe, Ron Keegan, and Wally Short got ready to dive.

It was lucky they did.

The storm that had occurred while the
Conquest
was in port had stirred up the sand in the area they had been searching. By the end of the day, King’s dark green plastic tablecloth once more sparkled with the glitter of gold.

Using first the blower to clear out a hole, then the dredge—a giant vacuum that sucked sand and artifacts into a wire mesh basket where the objects were caught and the sand escaped—the men brought up a gorgeous, emerald-encrusted gold cup, a gold filigree brooch and matching earring, a fourteen-inch length of gold chain, and a little silver box.

The box was nearly black with oxidation but when they popped the lid, they found it loaded with emeralds.

Hope looked down at the deep green stones with awe. “My God, Conn, that big one must be forty carats.” She watched as he fished the largest stone out of the box and laid it in the palm of her hand.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

“It’s magnificent.”

“We just keep finding stuff. Besides what we came up with today, we spotted two more cannons. We’re obviously following the scatter pattern. I can’t figure out why we haven’t found the ballast pile yet.”

“I can’t say I’m disappointed,” Joe said, walking up beside her. “Look what we’ve got so far.”

“Yeah, but if you figure how much Talbot’s got invested and how much we’ll have to pay back, we still haven’t made any money.”

Conn looked down at the pile of treasure lying on the dark green cover. Michael stood over it, fingering a filigree brooch inset with lovely pink coral.

“Boy, this stuff is really something,” the gangly youth said. “I never saw anything so beautiful. I’m glad I got to see it.”

“The thing is, these are all personal items,” Conn said. “Necklaces and earrings, gold chains, belts, and rings. This gold belonged to the passengers. It wasn’t being transported back to the king of Spain. It belonged to the people aboard.”

“You’re saying none of this came out of the hold,” Hope said.

“Exactly.”

“Which means this might not be the spot where the ship went down.”

Joe lifted the heavy gold chain off the table. Dangling it from the tips of his fingers, he watched the delicately carved links flashing in the sun. “I’ve been thinking…remember the
Atocha?
”

“It’s hard to forget four hundred million in treasure,” Conn said.

“The professor told us the
Atocha
was hit by two different storms.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that myself. The first storm sank the ship. The second, two weeks later, separated the top decks from the hull and sent them skipping across the water until they sank about ten miles away.”

“That’s right. Fisher found the top decks first—that’s where the passengers’ gold would have been, the same kind of stuff we’ve been finding. Maybe that’s what’s happening here.”

“If it is, the hull could have sunk anywhere. We haven’t got a clue where to look.”

Big dimples cut into Joe’s cheeks. “Yes, we have. We’ve got the professor. And he’s got all the info on the winds and currents way back then. All we’ve got to do is convince Doc Marlin that the
Rosa
might have been torn apart at two different times.”

Conn nodded, thinking Joe was exactly right. “I’ll get on the satellite cell.”

Doc Marlin showed up two days later, his briefcase hanging from a bony hand. He set it on the table in the chart room while Conn went to fetch the latest batch of treasure they had brought up from the bottom.

The professor examined each piece with reverence, impressed with their findings. “It’s all quite marvelous. But each piece needs to be properly charted. I’ve put my duties at the college on hold for a while so I can make sure the correct archeological procedures are followed.”

Conn wasn’t thrilled at being slowed down, but the professor was right. As salvors, they had a certain responsibility to history and the generations to come. And it was part of the terms the professor had demanded from the start.

“We logged each of the pieces we found the way you told us and mapped the spot for each recovery. There were a lot of other artifacts down there. Wally brought up some interesting pottery shards, but most of it we just left where it was.”

“Good boy. From now on I’ll take charge of the necessary documentation.”

“All right. If you’re going to stay, you can bunk in with me.” Conn flicked a look at Hope. If she wasn’t so damned stubborn, the professor could have the cabin all to himself. Conn would bunk with Hope—exactly where he wanted to be.

He didn’t let his mind wander far in that direction. “What about our two-storm theory, Doc? Think it has any merit?”

“Actually, I do.” The professor opened the briefcase and spread a layer of papers out on top of the table. “These are computer projections of ocean currents back four hundred years. I also e-mailed my friend, Professor Marquez, at the National Bibliothèque in Madrid in regard to weather conditions reported by survivors at the time.”

“And?” Conn prompted.

“And Marquez says there is some evidence—accounts by fleet captains and passengers—that a second storm occurred about ten days after the first. No one paid much attention, as no other ships were lost, but apparently it was fairly severe. If the
Rosa
was already heavily damaged, the second storm could have been the one to completely destroy the vessel.”

“So it’s possible Joe and I could be on the right track, that the top decks could have separated from the hull, like they did on the
Atocha.
”

“It certainly could have happened, and the interesting thing is the accounts say the storm blew in from the opposite direction.” He turned to the map charting the sandbar running along the coast. “If that is the case, the ship may have initially struck farther south. The second storm could have torn the top decks loose and blown them
north,
into the area you’ve been searching.”

“So the ballast pile may be somewhere near the southern end of the shoal.”

“It might, indeed. The main part of the treasure would have been kept in the hold—gold bars, crates of silver coins, heavy gold disks. If you recall, the ship’s register listed the Maiden as one of the prizes aboard. I believe it would have been kept with the rest of the treasure bound for the king.”

The Maiden was a solid gold statue the professor had mentioned more than once. In fact, the artifact seemed to fascinate him. According to his research, the piece had been taken from an Inca temple, a prize now worth millions.

Conn hadn’t given the statue much thought. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they would find the
Rosa.
But he had to admit, now that they’d gotten this far, the possibility of discovering such a valuable artifact was highly intriguing.

“We’ll recalculate the grid in the morning. Ron and Wally can work with King in the Whaler and continue to search this area, while we see what we can find along the south end of the sandbar.”

The professor smiled. “I shall leave all that in your very capable hands. In the meantime, I wonder if King might be able to rustle up something for me to eat. All this talk of treasure seems to have made me hungry.”

Conn chuckled as the older man headed off to the galley. Around him, the scanners, metal detectors, and video cameras were all retrieving information. Turning his attention to the GPS, Conn set to work, recalculating the search grid for what seemed the umpteenth time.

First thing in the morning, they would begin their exploration of the southern portion of the sandbar. They had done a cursory exam, of course, but found nothing of interest. Now a detailed grid search would begin.

Conn was eager to see what might turn up.

It was a perfect Caribbean day, the sun hot but not burning, the sky so blue it hurt your eyes. The sea near the submerged sandbar was mostly flat and calm, a gorgeous shade of blue-green that turned darker as the water deepened. The wind blew across the bow from the east, wafting over the island, filling the air with the faint scent of jasmine.

Sitting on a deck box on the bow, Hope made notes for the final article in the
Adventure
series, adding to the list of discoveries that had been made so far.

And she had just finished typing up another article, as well.

Ever since she had left New York, Buddy’s death and the future of the tenants at Hartley House had nagged her. She told herself to let it go, that it was too late now that Buddy was gone, and she was too far away to change what was surely going to happen. But the injustice of it all still bothered her.

In the end, she’d decided to take one last stab at trying to do something that might help. If nothing else, at least Buddy’s side of the story might get heard.

Doing what she knew best how to do, she had written an article and sent it anonymously to a little Soho paper called the
Village Independent
. Newspapers rarely published anonymous articles, but she had a feeling the small, radically liberal paper just might.

If they did, maybe someone would see it. Enough someones could put pressure on the police or the district attorney. It was worth a try, and it made her feel good to make one last effort for Buddy.

She had finished the article early this morning and sent it over the Internet. On a glorious day like this, with the Hartley House article completed and her work progressing on the final piece for
Adventure,
with the sky so unbelievably blue and the temperature exactly right, she should be happy—and she was, she told herself.

Except that she missed Conn.

She knew he was mad at her. She’d been treating him as if their sexual involvement had never occurred, as if they were no more than friends. It was the way she wanted it, she told herself, the way it had to be. She didn’t have room in her life for a man. She simply didn’t trust them, and after the unbearable consequences of her affair with Richard, she wasn’t willing to risk herself that way again.

An image popped into her head, the tiny pair of yellow knit booties she couldn’t resist buying, though she didn’t even know whether the baby was going to be a boy or a girl. Hope didn’t care. She had just wanted the baby to be healthy. She would hold up the booties when she told Richard the wonderful news.

Hope shook her head, blotting the memories she rarely allowed to surface. But the pain was still there, reminding her of her folly. After Richard, she had made up her mind not to get involved in another relationship, never to risk herself that way again. She would build her career instead, and in doing so, secure a future that didn’t depend on anyone else. It was a promise she intended to keep.

Afternoon turned into evening.

Another day passed, and another. The divers continued to bring up treasure, which was always exciting, yet there was an underlying tension aboard the ship. While Ron and Wally, Conn and Joe brought up an impressive array of gold and silver artifacts—a rosary made of onyx beads, a gold fork and spoon, an incredible claw-like gold dagger the professor said was a toothpick—the ballast pile remained hidden.

It worried the crew as well as Conn. As incredible as each find was, they had begun to get fewer, and the days began to lengthen.

And the nights…

For Hope, the nights seemed endless.

The longer she stayed away from Conn, the more she hungered for him. When he walked into a room, her heartbeat quickened. When he called her name, the sound stirred a tug of desire in her belly. She tried not to remember the last time they had made love, but the erotic picture crept into her mind again and again.

It was embarrassing, ridiculous, how badly she wanted him.

Worse yet, she was beginning to think he knew.

The sun was beginning to drift toward the horizon that afternoon when she heard the sound of his voice. Hope looked up, wondering if her thoughts had somehow reached him. She watched him striding toward where she sat on the bow, the muscles in his long legs flexing, those blue, blue eyes fixed on her face. Her stomach quivered and her mouth went dry.

“Sorry to bother you, but Joe’s busy and the rest of the crew are all working. I could use your help, if you don’t mind.”

She swallowed, tried not to stare at the width of his chest. “What is it you need?”

“I want you to watch one of the screens down in the chart room while I make some adjustments.”

She eyed him warily. Whether by chance or design, for the last few days, their paths had somehow crossed again and again. Still, she could hardly refuse to help. Following him down to the chart room, she seated herself in front of the video screen and followed his instructions to keep her eyes on the monitor until the wavy lines cleared and the picture came back into focus.

Conn reached up and began to adjust the knobs on the screen above. Wearing khaki shorts and a tank top that left his shoulders mostly bare, he was every woman’s fantasy. Sitting as she was, every time he reached up, one of his long, muscular legs brushed her shoulder and her breathing quickened. She tried to concentrate on the screen, but her attention kept sliding up to his biceps as he fiddled with the knob on the monitor overhead, and perspiration dampened the hair at the nape of her neck.

Her composure began to unravel. “Are you finished yet?”

“How’s the picture?”

“Looks fine to me, and I’ve got work of my own to do.”

He looked down at her and a corner of his mouth edged up. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

She could think of a dozen ways he could help, but all of them involved sex and she was determined that that part of their relationship was over.

“Thanks, anyway.” She got up from her chair. “Looks like it’s working okay.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help.”

Joe walked in just then, seemed not to notice the tension sparking between them. He looked down at the video screen and Hope’s gaze followed his.

“What’s that?” Hope asked.

Joe’s eyes locked on the screen. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, there’s a whole lot of it.”

The camera displayed an image rising about four feet off the sandy bottom.

“According to the scanner,” Conn said, “whatever’s down there is thirty feet wide and a little over eighty feet long.”

Joe tapped the screen. “Tell me we’ve found the ballast pile.”

Conn actually grinned. “Looks like it to me.”

Joe let out a whoop of joy that brought half the crew on the run. “We found it!” he shouted to Captain Bob and Andy as they rushed in. “We found the ballast pile!”

“I’ll get us anchored over the spot,” the captain said, hurrying off to see it done.

Conn moved from the monitor to the charts spread open on the table. “The topography of the sandbar in this area doesn’t fit the first map we made. The sands must have shifted during that storm the other night. When that happened, the ballast pile was exposed. In four hundred years, it may have been covered and uncovered any number of times.”

“How deep is it here?” Hope asked.

Conn grinned. “Eighteen feet. We’ll be able to use the hookah. We can work all day at this depth.”

Joe explained that a hookah was a compressor that pumped air down hoses directly to the divers working below, eliminating the necessity of tanks. Hope looked up as the professor hurried down the ladder, followed by Michael and King.

“We just heard the news!”

“Looks like we found it, Doc.”

“What can you see?” The professor came over to study the video screen. Michael and King peered over his shoulder, crowding the chart room.

“Not much of a picture,” Conn said. “There’s about four inches of sand covering the stones and whatever else is down there.”

“There is sure a lot of it,” Michael said.

“A galleon the size of the
Rosa
carried tons of ballast,” the professor told them.

Conn tapped the screen. “The ship must have hit the sandbar so hard the bottom tore open and the stones spilled out right there.”

The professor smiled. “Yes, indeed. In such warm water, the timbers will have mostly rotted away, but there may be some down there, along with the metal fittings, bronze spikes, and whatever treasure was in the hold.”

“Assuming it wasn’t perishable,” Hope said, “like the tobacco aboard the
Santa Ynez
.”

“You hear that magnetometer pinging away?” Joe stood there grinning. “That means there’s more than just rocks down there. If our luck holds, it’ll be treasure.”

“Yeah,” Conn agreed. “If our luck holds.”

Everyone was eager to see what they’d actually found. Hope made a phone call to Tommy Tyler’s cell, leaving a message that the
Conquest
had found the ballast pile of the
Nuestra Señora de Rosa
. She expected to see him off the port-side rail at any moment, standing next to Chalko as the Sea Ray raced out from the island.

Though there wasn’t much time before dark, Conn and Joe suited up for the dive—at eighteen feet, the shallowest they had made so far. The hookah lines would be rigged tomorrow. Today they were eager to see if they had found the mother lode.

“Let’s get that mailbox in the water,” Conn instructed Pete Crowley.
Mailbox
being salvors’ terminology for an aluminum cage that swings down over the prop to convert the propeller wash into a massive undersea blower. At such a shallow depth, it was an invaluable piece of equipment.

As soon as the machinery was running, Conn and Joe carried the balance of their gear down to the diving platform.

“I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed,” Hope called down to them, holding her fingers in the air so they could see.

“Joe’s got all the luck,” Conn called back with a smile. “That’s why I brought him along.” So saying, the two of them scissor-legged into the water, and Hope headed down to the chartroom to watch the video screens.

There wasn’t much to see at first. The blower moved so much sand, the water was a murky cloud the video camera couldn’t penetrate.

Then Andy turned off the engines. The propellers slowed to a stop and the sea began to clear. She spotted Conn and Joe, two black-clad figures in their wetsuits, their long fins moving them gracefully toward the four-foot-deep ballast pile. They swam over the stones and what appeared to be a stack of rotting timbers, spread like pick-up sticks on top. They must have found something interesting because they stopped in one spot and both of them pointed down.

“Silver bars!” the professor shouted. “Dozens of them! And those thick clumps Conner is picking up—those are silver coins!”

Standing in front of the lens, Conn lifted the mass of coins that had oxidized and fused together, wiggled them in front of the camera, then put them in the sack at his waist. He went over and picked up the hand-blower he had set on the bottom and used it to move a little more sand around.

“That is gold!” Michael shouted as the unmistakable yellow gleam appeared among the rocks. “Joe is picking it up. It looks really heavy.”

“A gold disk, my boy! They were listed on the
Rosa
’s manifest!” The professor’s pale blue eyes welled with tears. “We’ve found it, by God! We’ve found the end of the rainbow!”