The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (47 page)

With a practiced methodology ingrained from years with Earl, Mel covered a square section of the ocean floor, passing back and forth as Kirk swam to her side and doubled the width of each pass. They’d occasionally pause to pick up something or fan away some sand but, after an hour, they’d seen nothing to indicate that a wreck was present. As Mel paused to reverse direction yet again, Kirk touched her arm.

As the strands of blond hair swam around her face and she floated in neutral buoyancy, she seemed like some ethereal sea creature, bathed in the subtle changing hues of the ocean. No doubt she was more at home here than the world up top.

She gave him the okay hand signal to ask if he was okay.

He put his hands together in a T to signal that time was up.

She looked at her watch and gauges.

She tapped her watch and gave him the okay signal.

Same old Mel. Pushing to the last minute.

He shook his head and gave the thumbs up.
 

We are going up.

She stared at him and he gave the thumbs up again. Finally, she returned the thumbs up. As they angled toward the bottom of the boat and the ladder protruding down in the water, Kirk signalled to level off with a horizontal swishing of his hand back and forth. Mel paused and held out her hand in a loose fist with pinky upraised.
 

Safety stop?

Kirk nodded and looked at his watch.

Although the depth and length of the dive didn’t mandate a safety stop, it was always good practice. They weren’t in a hurry. No matter the dive, nitrogen was released into the blood stream. By pausing at this depth, it allowed some of that nitrogen to dissipate from the body. Too much nitrogen resulted in decompression sickness, also known as the bends. Kirk had seen enough people who’d suffered from it to not want to go through it. It was only called the bends because the pain of the nitrogen made people bend.

They paused for five minutes as Mel glanced at her watch and then Kirk gave the thumbs up for ascent.

• • • • •

Seydou ran the tips of his craggy fingers through the fine powder of rust at the base of the grating.

“What have we here?” he said, in the soft Creole language native to Haiti.

“What is it, Uncle?” said Emile as he unlocked the padlock.

Seydou stood and unwound the heavy chain.

“We’ve had a visitor,” he said as Emile swung the grate open.

Seydou immediately stepped in and crouched in front of the statue and offering.

“At least our
djab
is undisturbed,” Seydou murmured.

And that was fortunate. This demon was
very
particular. Seydou nodded to himself. That was always the way with the most powerful ones. Gingerly, he picked up the rooster head and feet.

“Toss them,” he said, putting them into Emile’s waiting hands.

“Yes, Uncle,” the young man said, bowing slightly.

“And tell Jaston to
hurry
,” Seydou said.

Worthless Jaston
, thought Seydou.
Probably too drunk to slit the chicken’s throat. Still…
He glanced at the
djab
.
Jaston has his uses.

As Emile passed through the doorway, Seydou looked at the rust again.
Perhaps the
djab
has brought us another victim.
He glanced up to the top of the lighthouse. Yes, they would take a look. Perhaps a passing tour boat had been curious or perhaps they were still nearby. It’d been long enough since the last hijacking.

Mel knew that Kirk had been right to wait for this second dive but, even so, she was in a hurry. Conditions were perfect. They skimmed the sea floor bottom in a box pattern, this time on the other side of Kirk’s boat.
 

They’d had a light lunch while Kirk had made them wait, even though the dive tables had said they’d be fine. The entire time, she’d been jittery.

“You’ll spend all those calories in fidgeting,” Kirk had said. “Save some for the dive.”

Though she probably had more hours in the water than he did, they had fallen easily into their old roles. He’d been the best dive master her father’d ever had–before the betrayal. She glanced back at him.

Bubbles from the tank trailed behind him as he paralleled her course. The slanting sun of late afternoon cast his shadow below him in shimmering hues of green. It moved slowly over the rolling sand and occasional outcroppings of rock. The blue trim of his black body suit accentuated the triangular shape of his torso and his impossibly narrow hips. Lunch hadn’t crept along just because she’d wanted to be back in the water. She’d also had a hard time keeping her eyes off him. Now he wore the buoyancy vest and tank but at lunch, without them, he’d unzipped his suit almost down to the small of his back and peeled off the top half. Luckily, he was as oblivious to her secret stares now as he had been ten years ago. Bronze, rounded shoulders topped his broad and full pectorals. His flat and lean abdomen, with its corrugated six-pack, was partially hidden by the bunched body suit draped in front of them. As she looked back down to the sand below her, she imagined grasping that suit and pulling it lower.

Mel blinked at the thought just as her eyes wandered over an imperfection in the sand. She’d been moving so quickly, that she immediately had to use her hands to back up a couple feet for a closer look. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she drew nearer. The most that could be said for what she was seeing was that it wasn’t right. Years of searching and turning over bits of rock, sleeping sea creatures, and even trash had taught her more what
not
to look at. It wasn’t something she could put into words. It was a feeling–like the one she had now.

As she sank and adjusted her position in the slight current, she waved her hand just above the sea bottom. Something angular was there, below the surface of the white sand. Nature didn’t form right angles or squares. Patterns, yes. Curves, yes. Even spirals. But geometric shapes were like a visual stop sign.

As the sand lifted and swirled in front of her hand, she paused to let it clear. Something glinted and then disappeared. Mel positioned herself so close to the sea bed that she almost lay on it. The current tried to move her away but her stare was fixed on the sand in front of her, no longer aware of the automatic movements that her hands and feet made. There was more glinting now as the drifting particles cleared. It was the yellow of gold. Before the shifting sand could reclaim it, she quickly reached out a hand and touched something solid.

Her heart pounded and she thought consciously of breathing, sucking in and blowing out through the regulator valve.

Stay calm.

But as she lifted her find from the ocean floor, away from the particles that had yet to settle and higher toward the stronger light, staying calm wasn’t an option.
 

A flurry of bubbles escaped as she nearly screamed.

In her hand, she held a cross. Easily eight inches tall and six inches wide, the crossing members were easily half an inch thick. Though large, not that much gold was visible. Instead, the vertical and horizontal beams were completely covered with deeply red, oval cabochons that seemed to gleam with an inner glow. A line of eight giant rubies ran lengthwise, interrupting a row six rubies that ran across. A flat, square stand at the bottom indicated it would once have stood upright.

Mel turned it over and there was writing. There was no way she’d be able to make it out in this light. Even as she looked up to signal Kirk, she saw him already moving toward her. She couldn’t help but wave him to hurry.
 

She gripped it in her fist and waved it and, as soon as he was within reach, she thrust it at him and he took it. She immediately turned back to the sea floor, feeling the surge of adrenalin. Despite the thrill of the find, she hadn’t forgotten the direction she’d been moving. It had to be evidence of the Gold Fleet. Right where her father had said it would be. It had to be–and there had to be more. Literally tons more.

Mel immediately went back to the spot where the cross had come up and waved away more sand. In no time, she’d created a small divot in the sea floor but nothing more turned up. Kirk appeared just to her right and together they broadened the pit in all directions, moving methodically, sweeping away the sand and still nothing. Kirk paused to let the water clear and put a hand on her forearm. With a chopping motion, he pointed back along the direction she’d originally been moving. He wanted her to finish the survey. She looked down at their shallow pit and the cross in his hand. The most natural proclivity in the world was to keep digging where you’d found treasure but he was right.
 

Mel nodded.

The cross might be the only artifact for yards, maybe hundreds of yards. Until they had a better idea of the spread of the wreck, there was no way to tell on the basis of one artifact where the rest of the treasure would lie.
 

Mel led the way and Kirk paralleled her but they moved more slowly now. Another half hour didn’t turn up anything. Suddenly, time was up. Kirk had kept an eye on the gauges. The excitement and slight current had made them both consume more oxygen than the previous dive.
 

It was time to surface.

• • • • •

“Where’s your magnifying glass?” Mel yelled over her shoulder as she jumped down the steps.
 

She’d removed the diving gear as quick as humanly possible, strewing it in a line behind her on the deck. Then she’d grabbed the cross.
 

“In the drawer,” she heard Kirk yell, still on the deck. “In the table with the maps on it.”

She ought to help him stow the tanks and at least grab her own gear but the excitement was too much. She barreled into the small dining room, hit the light switch, and yanked open the drawer, nearly pulling it free. The large magnifier banged to a stop at the front. She snatched it up and carefully laid the cross on its front. She heard Kirk’s steps on the deck above and doors opening and closing as she quickly brought the back of the cross into focus.

Her heart leapt in her throat–writing. To think that they’d found the 1605 fleet in only their second dive didn’t surprise her. Her father had said it’d be here and she had no doubt. But to find an artifact that could potentially be identified and linked with the manifest of one of the ships was incredible!

“ARCHIEP,” Mel muttered, squinting at the faintly embossed and gracile letters. “TURIBIUS.” She tilted the cross to the light as Kirk came down the steps. “Archiep Turibius,” she repeated. Nothing more was visible. She set the magnifier down and stared at the back of the cross. “Archiep?” she said to Kirk as he joined her at the table, looking down at the cross.
 

Neither of them had so much as toweled off, their hair dripping onto the top nautical chart. She handed him the magnifier. As he bent over and examined the lettering, her mind ran over the manifests of the four ships, all of which she’d nearly memorized. Nothing came to mind–not a person or artifact of note.

Kirk stood up and carefully stood the cross on its little stand and turned it to face them.

“Probably a liturgical artifact,” he said quietly, gazing at it. “No doubt bound for some cathedral in Spain.”

For several moments, they stared at it. Were it not for the fact that she’d just seen it emerge from the ocean bottom, it looked like it’d been made yesterday. The mounded oval rubies seemed lit by some fire deep within. Without the mask and water obscuring her vision, Mel could see that the rubies weren’t perfect or exactly the same size, though they were close. The gold cross had been delicately etched around the gems. Swirling curls like vines meandered past them to the tips of the cross, which were faintly flared and rounded. It was a work of utter craftsmanship and easily worth tens of thousands of dollars, even without provenience. Mel realized that Kirk was looking at her.

“You did it,” he said, quietly, grinning at her. “The legendary Bass luck holds.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Today was the day.”

At that, Kirk laughed and Mel had to laugh with him.

“It’s the 1605 Fleet, Kirk. I know it is. I can feel it,” she said, her excitement growing, the words rushing. “I know it’s only one artifact but they’re close. They’re here.”

“I know,” he said looking into her eyes. The same excitement that she felt was reflected there. He
did
know.

“I’ve got copies of the manifests,” she blurted out. “We’ll pore over everything. And we’ve got to get the GPS coordinates mapped in. Start a catalog system and take some photos.” She paused to catch her breath. “We’re going to find it, Kirk,” she nearly yelled. “The 1605 Gold Fleet!” Then, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, standing on her tip toes, her chin over his shoulder. “We’re really going to do this!”

At first, he didn’t move and she thought she must have surprised him. But finally he squeezed her back, his arms around her waist. Still grinning, she lowered herself back to the floor so she could look into his face. Although his smile had dimmed, his eyes still blazed–but with something more than the thrill of sunken treasure.
 

Suddenly, Mel realized where she was: her hands still around his neck, his arms behind her back, their bodies pressed together. His face was nearly too close to bring into focus but his eyes looked calmly into hers and then down to her lips. She nearly gasped as she realized what he was doing. But only his eyes had moved and now they looked back into hers.

As her eyes widened, her heart began to pound in her ears. It felt like not a day had elapsed. Kirk was that impossibly handsome man and she was that awkward teenage girl–and he was looking at her. But he wasn’t just looking. His strong arms tightened around her waist pulling her a little closer. Although Mel felt as though she’d frozen in place, the gentle rocking of the boat made them sway, slowly one way and then the other.
 

Impossibly, unbelievably, Kirk drew her closer and steadily leaned in. And though his hands moved up her back, a tingling shudder of anticipation ran down her spine.