The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (54 page)

Mel heard footsteps behind her but didn’t turn to look. It had to be Seydou. Jaston couldn’t move that quickly, nor did he stomp.

“What is
this
?” Seydou demanded, coming around in front of her.

Kirk’s head still lay in her lap and, though his body hadn’t stirred, his eyes were moving at a furious rate under the closed lids. Mel looked up as Seydou thrust something so close to her face, she had to jerk her head back.

“What is
this
?” he yelled.

Despite the growing darkness as the sun set behind clouds, something glinted. Dangling from his fist was a thick gold chain with a gold pendant. Though she could barely see it in such close proximity, she at least knew it was a coin.

“Probably a gold reale,” she said. When Seydou continued to glare at her, she elaborated. “A gold coin from a treasure ship, like the ones we found earlier.”

“You said those coins were the first,” he accused. Then he shook the pendant in front of her. “You lie.”

She could have laughed if their situation weren’t so wretched.
 

“That’s not from the 1605 Fleet,” she said flatly. “Look at it.” She made an attempt to take hold of it so she could demonstrate but he yanked it out of her reach. “Fine,” she said. “Suit yourself.”

Just then it occurred to her what he was holding. It had to be the medallion Kirk had been wearing the first day they met. Seydou must have been searching his room. Seydou stared down at the coin, his mouth still pressed into a thin line below the bulbous nose, but his curiosity must have got the better of him. He let the coin dangle lower.

“Look at it,” he ordered.

With a sigh, she took the coin between her fingers and angled it toward the light.

“Just the fact that it’s been mounted as a pendant,” she said, looking at the coin, “tells you it didn’t come from the wreck we’re trying to find.”

The familiar patterns of a coin from the New World quickly fell into place.

“A coin from the treasure fleet,” she said. “So, a ship in the same line of business.” She paused, making out the lettering at the rim. “Phillip the Fifth. Dei Gratia Hispaniarum. By the Grace of God, King of the Spains.”

Before she’d even finished reading it, something gnawed at her. It wasn’t just the familiarity of a gold peso. She’d seen this inscription before–dozens of times. Although the wreck of the Gold Fleet of 1605 was ruled by Philip III, this coin was from a much later period, under the kingship of Philip V. The famed lost fleet of 1733 had sailed under his name. It was the fleet that her father had searched for off the coast of Florida for decades. Coins and bars had appeared but never the cannons and never the motherlode. She quickly flipped the coin over.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

The assayer’s mark was “F” and that stood for Felipe Rivas Angulo. This coin had come from the San Juan.

“What?” asked Seydou.

Mel looked down at Kirk’s face.

“This coin comes from the San Juan Bautista, wrecked off the coast of Florida in 1733,” she said, almost not believing it. “It belongs to Kirk. He dove on the wreck.”

Kirk had told the truth
. In all the years her father had dived the site and searched for the motherlode, Kirk had
never
made contact with them. If he had this coin, he could only have obtained it before her father had visited the site.
Kirk
had found it, not her father.
Kirk
had been the one betrayed and her father had lied.

Without realizing it, she’d gripped the peso in her fist but Seydou tugged it free.

“How much money?” he asked.

Mel shook her head, still staring at Kirk.

“I don’t know…maybe twenty-thousand dollars.”

“Twenty-thousand,” Seydou repeated in a hushed tone. “
Ven mil
.”

Emile whistled lowly.

Seydou took up a seat next to him on the bench and the two of them conversed in whispers. Not that it mattered. Mel wasn’t listening. All she could hear was Kirk’s voice.
 

I didn’t betray your father. He betrayed me.

• • • • •

Bodies were everywhere. As Kirk drifted with them in the churning water, they sank lower and lower–sailors, officers, and even some wealthy passengers. The storm took no notice of rank or social standing. It didn’t care that the 1605 Gold Fleet carried the wealth of the Americas to a country in the middle of a costly war. Kirk floated, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, watching the Santa Domingo sink not fifty yards from him, trailing canvas to the surface and spilling bubbles as she rolled.

All hands were lost.

The storm above raged on. The hurricane would be hours in passing. But by the time the eye of the storm passed over and brought its brief calm, there would be no trace of the fleet. The sea would be like glass and only the sea floor would bear witness to the devastation he was watching.

The Captain had to have seen it approaching and yet he’d been unable to save his ships. An image of the storm that he and Mel had dived in overlaid the surreal scene. As he watched the Santa Domingo sink faster, filling with water, a familiar murkiness began to swirl. He drifted down, sinking with the ship, with its crew and passengers, with the treasure it contained.

As though he could hear it creaking through the dark water, Kirk watched the hull touch bottom. Slowly, the Santo Domingo rolled to starboard as sails, ropes, and the masts settled into the sand. Centuries from now, nothing of them would be left. No wood from the massive timbers used in her construction would survive. No paper from her log. No clothes or even bones. Only metal.

As he hovered over the new wreck, Kirk looked down into the black portals of the gun deck. They were empty, the heavy cannons tumbled to the other side of the ship. They’d lie on top of one another, some broken free of their wooden rollers, others not. Like giant bronze X’s or children’s jacks, they’d wait while everything else around them dissolved and the silt of hundreds of years covered them.

Wait. I’ve seen them. In the murk, in the storm surge.

I’ve seen them!

As the water became turbulent, Kirk swam hard against the sudden current. It tossed him as he strained to keep his eyes on the wreck but it was growing dim.

No wait! Where’s the aftcastle? Where’s the motherlode?

But suddenly he surfaced, gasping for air.

Kirk bolted upright and sucked in a huge lungful of air. The water had vanished but all was dark.

“
Kirk
,” he heard Mel whisper.
 

Then her arms were around him and her hair was in his face.

“
Oh thank god
,” she whispered.

Kirk automatically hugged her back as he got his bearings. They were outside, on the deck of his boat. Behind Mel, leaning against the wheelhouse, Emile was asleep. It was nighttime.
 

Suddenly, Mel pulled away to look him in the face.

“Are you okay?” she said, staring into his eyes and lightly brushing his hair out of the way.

“I know where one of the wrecks is,” he said quietly, gripping her arms. “I saw it.”

“What?” Mel said, her eyebrows knitting together.

“In my dream,” he said. “And on our last dive.”

“Kirk,” Mel said, shaking her head. “We didn’t see anything. It was too murky.” She caressed the side of his face. “You were hit on the head with a wine bottle and you’ve been unconscious. I think you might be imagining things.”

“I know what I saw, Mel. It was the cannons, buried in the sand. I didn’t know what it was but now I do.” He smiled at her. “Seriously. I’m not hallucinating. I saw the cannons.”

Though she smiled back, she didn’t seem certain.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, smoothing the hair back from his temple.

Kirk thought about it. In his hurry to tell Mel about his “discovery” he hadn’t really noticed. But now…he reached a hand to the back of his head. There was a bump there the size of a golf ball and it felt like a bruise.

“Like I got hit on the back of the head,” he answered.

“The bleeding stopped about an hour ago,” she said quietly.

Suddenly, he remembered the gun.

“Mel, are you all right? The gun went off.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Nobody was hurt…except for you.” She paused. “Kirk, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s all right,” he said, hugging her to him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Not just about that,” she said into his hair, hugging him tightly.

At the moment, though, it didn’t matter to him what she was sorry about. She sat on the deck, facing him, still wearing her pink body suit. The feel of her in his arms sent memories of her flooding through his mind.
 

“I saw your medallion,” she whispered. “The one from the San Juan.”

He froze and she separated from him. Her deeply blue eyes gazed directly into his.

“You found the wreck first,” she whispered. “I understand that now.” She looked down between them as he glanced over her shoulder to make sure Emile was still sleeping. “What I don’t understand is–”

Kirk leaned in, grasped her lightly around the waist, and kissed her. The sharp inhale through her nostrils told him that he’d taken her by surprise. Her full lips trembled against his, gentle and soft, moving against his slowly and tentatively. Her arms wound around his neck and, though her lips were parted, his tongue swept along them instead of probing inside. As much as he wanted to capture her plump lips between his and feel their bodies melded together, now was not the time. Instead, he kissed her gently and reveled in the sensual glide of her lips along his. Though her mouth opened to him, he captured her upper lip between his, then he tilted his head as his mouth covered hers. The image of her naked body writhing below him blazed into his mind.
 

She ran her fingers into the back of his hair–and right over the bump.
 

Though he didn’t utter a sound, he went rigid.

She immediately backed away from him.

“Oh my god, Kirk,” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

At that Emile stirred and mumbled something.

“It’s okay,” Kirk said, as he dropped his hands to his sides.

Emile approached them, his gun drawn. To Kirk’s surprise, Mel stood.

“Emile,” she said. “Do you think we could get something to eat?”

Kirk couldn’t remember if Mel had ever used the boy’s name but it had an obvious effect. He cocked his head at her and stared, his mouth open just a bit.

“You know,” Mel said, motioning to her mouth. “Food?”

The light dawned in his eyes and he nearly took off at a run but stopped himself after only one step. He looked down at the gun in his hand and then at the two of them.

“Seydou,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Food!”

Even though they’d been forced to sleep on the deck, Mel felt good. Dinner had been pasta, though it’d been frightfully al dente. Emile had brought up a couple of pillows and the warm night air had been comfortable in their dive suits. Apparently they were deemed too dangerous to be below or maybe it was just easier to keep an eye on them both if they were together on deck. Mel didn’t know. Although they had slept at opposite sides of the deck, it had been better than being in the dark and musty prison cells–way better.

Kirk seemed fine, just as he claimed. When no one was looking, he smiled at her. After fearing he’d suffered a head injury or that he might not ever wake up, it felt as though she had a new lease on life.
 

She handed him the second tank. As usual, Emile hovered nearby. Seydou had been up at the flybridge scanning the area with binoculars but came down the ladder just as Jaston came up from below. Jaston’s nose was a swollen and angry red. He didn’t carry a gun today, just another wine bottle. The three of them stood together as she and Kirk started gearing up and they watched the entire safety check.

Finally, Kirk turned to her.

“Ready?” he asked.

• • • • •

Like the first day they’d dived, conditions were perfect. Kirk immediately took the lead and headed for the anchor. Though it had moved as they went back and forth to the island, it was the only starting place they had. He glanced back to see Mel following close behind.

I must be crazy to think I saw the cannons.

But the dream had seemed so real.

Maybe it was a hallucination from being hit on the head.

Either way, we’ll know soon enough.

The clear aqua water shimmered all around them and, though Mel hadn’t said it, Kirk had the distinct feeling that today was the day. He ignored the usual grid search and passed the anchor. Though he swung his gaze left and right, he wasn’t looking for coins or emeralds. To the northeast, off the bow of the boat, he headed straight for an area of the sea bottom that wasn’t flat. Though he’d only glimpsed the cannons for a moment, through the murk and the storm surge as he and Mel had quickly surfaced, he at least knew they wouldn’t be under flat and level sand.

Finding the cannons would be yet another way to help clinch the identity of the wreck or wrecks. In all, four ships had been lost. Though the raw materials themselves would be worth a fortune, their value would skyrocket if the ships could be identified.

Especially if it’s the 1605 Gold Fleet. One of the most treasure laden convoys in all history.

He was kicking fast, he knew, but the thrill of the hunt had finally taken hold. He swam on, not realizing how far the uneven bottom lay, but after a hundred yards or so, they were there. Kirk looked behind to see Mel right next to him. He pointed at the lumpy and undulating sand. Mel gave him the okay sign and they moved in to take a closer look.

From this angle, Kirk didn’t see the distinctive criss-cross forms that had reminded him of jacks or X’s. But they were at least the right approximate size. Again, he took the lead, picked the high spot among the bumps, and began moving sand.

Light, beige colored particulates billowed away in the small eddies created by his hands. As he and Mel alternately fanned and dug through the sediment, it began to change color, becoming darker. They paused to let the dark billows drift away and then they started up again. Although only a small patch of bright green appeared, it was immediately apparent next to the brown sediment. Mel signaled with an emphatic pointing gesture, though Kirk had already seen it. He gave her two okay signs.