The Job (13 page)

“So it looks fun to drive,” Nick said.

Tom hit a switch somewhere and the multicolored buttons
on the control panel lit up and the console began blinking like a Christmas tree.

Jake nodded. “Very impressive.”

“It’s silly,” Kate said. “What are all the lighted buttons supposed to do?”

“Blink,” Tom said.

“What I mean is, in the real world, what are they supposed to control?”

“Nothing,” Nick said.

“Then why do we have them?”

“Have you ever watched
Star Trek
or
Battlestar Galactica
?” Nick asked.

“Sure.”

“Well the bridges on those starships are loaded with blinking lights that have absolutely no function and lots of monitors with meaningless readouts constantly scrolling on the screen.”

“This isn’t a starship,” Kate said.

“But it has to look like one or Menendez won’t be impressed. Authenticity is not what we are going for here,” Nick said. “It’s creating a fantasy that Menendez can’t resist. We don’t want him thinking. We want him dreaming.”

“Nick is right,” Tom said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned building treehouses, it’s that all men are kids at heart. They will jump at any opportunity to fulfill their childhood fantasies. Hell, that’s why I’m here.”

“What fantasy is this for you?” Kate asked.

“Tom Underhill, fearless samurai, living a life of intrigue in exotic locales.”

“You’re on an old cargo ship docked at an abandoned gravel yard,” Kate said.

“I’m on a boat in Lisbon with three deadly mercenaries, a master of disguise, a secret agent, and a mysterious security guy.”

“I’m not a secret agent,” Kate said.

“I’m married with two kids,” Tom said. “I live in Rancho Cucamonga, and I build treehouses for a living. Don’t rain on my parade.”

Jake took Nick and Kate to the ship’s mess so they could meet Billy Dee Snipes.

Billy Dee was sitting at a table, smoking a cigar. He looked like a skeleton that had been painted black, dressed in a blue tracksuit, and propped in a chair facing the door to startle people. Kate’s first thought was that the man was either dying of some horrible disease or was at the end of a long hunger strike.

“Billy Dee Snipes,” Jake said. “This is my daughter Kate and her associate Nick.”

Billy Dee stood up and shook hands with them both. For a man with a skeletal hand, Billy Dee had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Thanks for helping us out on this,” Kate said. “We really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, but if you’d come to me earlier, I could have
hijacked
a boat like this for you and saved you a lot of money.”

“You did hijack this boat,” Jake said. “Only it was twenty years ago.”

“I’ll be damned,” Billy Dee said. “You found my mark?”

Jake nodded. “There’s a tiny skull and crossbones carved into the bulkhead up on the bridge.”

“Then this was meant to be.” Billy Dee reached for Nick’s suitcase. “I’m thinking you must have the treasure in the suitcase, so I’ll take it off your hands for safekeeping.”

“Where’s it going?” Kate asked.

“It’s staying here on the boat, in a bucket of water under my cot. I sleep with my machete under my pillow, and I assure you that I am a very light sleeper.”

“I would be, too, if there was a chance I’d roll over on a machete,” Nick said.

“It’s safer than sharing the bed with a woman,” Billy Dee said, then smiled at Kate. “No offense, my dear.”

“None taken,” Kate said.

Nick grinned. “Kate prefers a loaded gun next to her bed.”

“Is that all?” Jake asked Kate. “Where’s your hand grenade?”

“I don’t have a hand grenade.”

“What happened to the one I gave you for Christmas?”

“I forgot about that,” she said. “I guess it’s around the apartment somewhere.”

“You lost a hand grenade in your apartment?” Nick said. “Next time I visit I’ll be more careful.”

“Next time?”
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve never invited you over. You jerk! You broke into my apartment, didn’t you?”

“That’s what you get for not having it properly booby-trapped,” Jake said.

Nick handed the suitcase over to Billy Dee and turned to Jake. “Shall we meet the other new member of our crew?”

Everyone trooped to the engine room, and as they got closer, they could hear the clanging of tools against metal and Barnacle Bob singing an ancient sea shanty in a heavy, almost incomprehensible cockney accent.
“What will we do with a drunken sailor, what will we do with a drunken sailor, what will we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?”

It was hot and humid in the dimly lit room, and there were hundreds of engine parts all over the floor. Standing amid it all, covered in oil and grease like a pig who’d been rolling in mud, was Barnacle Bob, singing away.

“Way hay and up she rises, way hay and up she rises, way hay and up she rises, early in the morning …”

Barnacle Bob, with his squarish, flat-topped head, jutting jaw, and no neck, resembled a cartoon character after a boulder has been dropped on him. He had broad shoulders, and a big belly over a narrow waist and thin legs, as if his belt had been cinched way, way too tight. He banged a tool against a pipe in time with his singing.

“Bob, I’d like you to meet my daughter Kate and her associate Nick,” Jake yelled over the singing and clanging. “They’re running this operation.”

Bob looked dubious.

“It looks like you’ve dismantled the engine,” Kate said. “That’s what I did, guv.”

“But I thought that it was recently rebuilt.”

“Not by me. An engine is like a woman. I have to get to know her. Only way to do that is to get under her skirt.”

“Have you tried talking?” Kate said.

“To an engine?” Bob asked.

“To a woman.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I’m a woman. You’re talking to me.”

“You’re Jake’s daughter. I’m not going to shag you.”

“That’s for sure,” Kate said.

“Glad we got that out of the way,” Jake said. “Is she in good shape?”

“If you want it slow and steady, she’ll do fine. If you want it fast and hard, she’ll pass out in the middle and leave you hanging.”

“Just to clarify,” Kate said, “we’re talking about his opinion of the boat now, right?”

“Will she be ready to go this week?” Nick asked.

“Dressed up pretty with lipstick on.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Nick said. “Carry on.”

Bob went back to work and to singing.
“Give him a dose of salt and water, give him a dose of salt and water …”

Nick, Kate, and Jake headed back on deck.

“Where’s Boyd?” Nick asked.

Jake gestured to the bridge. “He’s been holed up in there since he arrived a few days ago.”

“There are no lights on,” Kate said.

“It’s part of his method,” Jake said.

“He’s a nut,” Kate said.

Nick slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her into him. “True enough, Pumpkin, but he’s
our
nut.”

The moon cast enough light through the bridge’s wraparound windows that Nick and Kate could see Boyd standing at the captain’s station at the control panel. His back was to them as he looked out over the bow.

“Hey, Boyd,” Kate said. “What are you doing up here?”

“Becoming at home with the set. As captain of the
Seaquest,
I need to be completely and naturally at ease on my bridge. I need to be able to express that comfort, and command of my environment, unconsciously in my body language.”

“Why don’t you turn on the lights?”

“So I can learn to find my way blind. Knowing my way around the bridge has to become instinctive. That’s how intimately the captain knows this ship.”

“Well, I don’t know the ship at all, and I don’t want to crash into something.”

Kate searched the wall until she found a light switch and flicked it on. The bridge was clean and modern, the control
panel packed with all the latest equipment. But Kate was familiar enough with a ship’s bridge that she could see that Tom had augmented the standard engine, sonar, communications, and navigation controls, screens, and gauges with lots of extra buttons and lights.

Boyd still had his back to them. He wore a white captain’s cap, a white short-sleeved shirt with striped epaulets, pressed white slacks, and black deck shoes buffed to a glossy sheen.

“Nice uniform,” Nick said. “But why are you wearing it now? We’re a week away from showtime.”

“Captain Bridger always wears his uniform, and I need to be comfortable in the man’s skin.”

“I see,” Nick said. “I admire your preparation for a job.”

“Acting is not a job, Nick. It’s an art.” Boyd turned around, and now they could see he wore a black eye patch over his left eye and a full, but well trimmed, gray-flecked beard that had to be a fake, since he hadn’t had time to grow it.

“What’s with the eye patch?” Kate asked.

“The captain lost his eye in the horrible tragedy that drove him to the sea, where he wanders endlessly in self-imposed exile, alone in his personal sorrow.” Boyd got choked up. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I get emotional every time I think about it.”

Nick nodded and spoke softly. “Take your time.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kate said. “The captain is not real. He’s a figment of your imagination.”

“Not anymore.” Boyd waved a hand over his body. “He lives through me.”

“Vividly,” Nick said. “It’s a complete and utterly convincing transformation.”

Not to Kate. She crossed her arms under her chest, standing her ground. “You don’t think the eye patch is a cliché?”

Nick shook his head. “A great actor can turn cliché into revelation. And Boyd has done that.”

Kate almost coughed up her prosciutto potato chips. “Why the beard?”

“It’s the mask the captain wears to hide his pain from others,” Boyd said, limping toward them.

Kate groaned. “Please don’t tell me he’s got a peg leg, too.”

“Of course not. I keep banging my knee. It’s not easy moving around in the dark with only one good eye. But I know that pain is part of the process.”

The sweep of headlights from a car turning off the boulevard into the empty lot below caught their attention. Kate found binoculars on the navigation desk and looked out the window. A bright red Ferrari was streaking toward the wharf at high speed.

Nick closed his eyes as he listened to the car’s throaty roar. “I know that sound. It’s a 4.5-liter naturally aspirated V8 with a distinct Italian accent, definitely a Ferrari 458.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Kate. “A red one.”

Boyd glanced out the window, and then looked back at
Nick incredulously. “You can tell all that from the sound of the engine?”

“Could you tell the difference between Frank Sinatra and Justin Bieber singing ‘My Way’?”

“Of course,” Boyd said.

“Well, there you go.”

The three of them went down to the deck to greet the new arrival, with Boyd stumbling a few times, the eye patch throwing off his vision.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Willie said. “I hit a hundred and forty miles per hour on a couple stretches.” Willie tossed Nick the keys. He caught them with one hand. “I broke the car in for you, so don’t be gentle.”

Kate turned to him. “Where are you going?”

“To my hotel, of course. It’s getting late and I’m bushed.”

“I thought we were all bunking on the boat.”

“I’ve booked a suite at the Vincenzo Palace.”

“Does it have to be a palace? Why not a Sheraton?”

“I’ve got to establish my cover. I’m Nick Hartley, a very successful treasure hunter looking for a deep-pocketed and unscrupulous investor to fund the salvage of my latest find, a shipwreck laden with five hundred million dollars in gold. If I’m as good as I say I am, then I’ve got money, and I’d be flaunting it by staying at one of the very best hotels in Lisbon. I don’t search for treasure to live frugally.”

“You’re an actor at heart. No wonder you understand me so
well,” Boyd said. “And like a true professional, you fully embody the roles that you play.”

“He does if the role involves wearing the best clothes, driving the fanciest cars, and staying in the most luxurious hotels,” Kate said. “You won’t see him pretending to be a homeless guy.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve been typecast by my good looks and my innate sense of style,” Nick said. “It’s a burden I try to live with.” He crooked a finger at Kate. “Could I speak to you privately a moment?”

Kate followed him out to the deck. “Is there a problem?”

He tucked a wisp of hair that had come loose from Kate’s ponytail behind her ear. “No problem. I just thought you might need a private moment to get used to being married.”

“Say what?”

“From this moment on, we’re Nick and Kate Hartley, greedy archaeologists. And of course we cohabit, since we’re married.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Your choice, but if we aren’t husband and wife, I’ll have to go alone into the lion’s den. And you’ll miss all the fun.”

“Why do we have to be husband and wife?”

“It’s a believable cover.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “How far does this husband-and-wife thing go?”