Authors: Clive Cussler
Manchester drained his beer. “And crocodiles. Can't forget them. Maybe we should let them have a turn at running the thing. Can't do much worse than we have.”
The conversation stalled, and Vanya did her best to bring it back to
center. “It's confession time. I haven't been completely honest with you two,” she said in a low voice.
“Really?” Remi said with arched eyebrows.
“Yes. I'm a bit of a research fanatic, and when I went home to change, I googled Sam and Remi Fargo. I suppose you know what I found.”
Sam looked sheepish. “Can't believe everything you read on the web.”
“Perhaps.” She eyed Manchester. “Orwen, I'll have you know you're sitting with celebrities. Sam and Remi are renowned treasure hunters.”
Manchester's face could have been carved from granite. “Treasure hunters?”
“A distortion the media loves. They sensationalize everything,” Remi explained. “We've been fortunate a few times in locating significant finds. Some of our archaeological projects have turned up some historically valuable items. But it's not like we find treasure and keep it,” she said, frowning. “It goes to the rightful owners for charitable work and enrichment.”
“That's right. It's a case of man bites dog. Anything to sell papers,” Sam echoed.
“And modest as well as famous,” Vanya said. “The Fargos have discovered more hidden booty than anyone else on the planet, Orwen. Don't let their humility fool you.”
Sam waved a hand. “Most people have better things to do than root around in old temples and the like. That's a meaningless statistic,” he said. “It's like having seen more ghosts than anyone. Doesn't say much.”
“Where did you say you were diving?” Manchester asked, his tone polite but with a hint of frost to it.
Remi smiled megawatts at him. “We didn't. It's our friend's expedition, so not ours to talk about. But I can assure you there's no treasure involved.”
His eyes narrowed. “It's a small island. I'm sure everyone's already
talking about the attack. Secrets like that don't stay that way very long around here.”
“Probably, but we have to respect our friend's wishes. He's an academic and these kinds of things are important to him. Bragging rights,” she said.
Manchester nodded. “I completely understand. I just thought that perhaps I could be of service if you need any help with permits or that sort of thing.”
Remi gave a polite yawn behind her hand, and Vanya took the hint and gestured for the check. When it came, Sam snatched it from the waiter's hand before she could reach it. “Please. Let us buy dinner. That was the best fish and some of the most engaging company we've had in ages. It's the least we can do.”
Vanya's eyes flashed, but she smiled. “That's very generous. Hopefully, that generosity will extend to helping my people.”
“Hell, if I'd known someone else was buying, I'd have drunk more!” Manchester declared with a guffaw.
Vanya dropped Sam and Remi off at the hotel with a promise to e-mail them the clinic plan and they in turn said they'd stop by the hospital soon to check on the injured worker.
“Manchester's a character, isn't he?” Sam said as they shouldered their way through the door under the vigilant gaze of the desk clerk.
“That's an understatement. He seems angry, doesn't he? Not that far below the surface. Resentful.”
“I can't blame him. Sounds like he's fighting a thankless battle and losing two steps for every one he gains.”
“Assuming he's telling the whole truth. He didn't strike me as suffering too badly.”
When Leonid picked Sam and Remi up, two ratty dive suits and well-used rigs lay in the back of the SUV. The Russian looked like he'd had a hard night, his eyes red and two days of salt-and-pepper stubble dusting his jaw.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Sam said as he studied his friend's profile. “You lose a round to the local rum?”
Leonid smiled ruefully. “Don't ask.”
“Were you able to get another crew?”
“I guess we'll see when we get out to the bay. I had to pay double what it cost yesterday, but I think they'll show up.”
Sam checked his watch and pulled the satellite phone from his backpack as they made their way out of town. Selma answered after two rings, her tone businesslike.
“Good morning, Selma,” he began.
“Afternoon. Six hours effective time difference. Although technically it's tomorrow there, so it's actually eighteen hours.”
“That's right. Good to know.” He paused. “Any luck locating a ship?”
“We were fortunate. There's a boat on its way from Australia, although it won't be there for a few days, weather allowing. A hundred-foot expedition yacht that barely makes twelve knots.”
“That's wonderful news, Selma.”
“It was doing research on the Great Barrier Reef when I convinced the institute that owns and operates it to make a little side trip.”
“Quite a side trip.”
“What's a thousand miles each way between friends? Needless to say, the foundation will be making another generous donation this month.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“How are you faring on Guadalcanal? I hear it's about as exciting as watching ice melt.”
He told her about the crocodile attack. When he was finished, she was silent for several moments.
“That's terrible. Why don't you two ever pick someplace safe to go?”
“I keep trying to convince Remi to let me retire, but she's a slave driver,” Sam said, stealing a glance at his wife in the rearview mirror. She glared at him and shook her head in disapproval.
“It will be three more days before the ship gets there, so you'll have to find other ways to amuse yourself in the meantime. Do try to keep away from the man-eaters. Besides the crocodiles, they have plenty of great white sharks there, too.”
“That's good to know. Keeps us on our toes.”
When he hung up, Remi leaned forward as they bounced down the road. “Well?”
“Selma says hello. Said to practice your shark punching, too.”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes. Apparently, she's been researching the area, and there are great whites in addition to the other local attractions.”
“And we're going diving today?”
Sam shrugged. “Nobody lives forever.”
Remi glared at Leonid. “Tell me again why we agreed to fly halfway around the world to do this?”
“Scientific curiosity,” Sam tried. “Friendship. The thrill of discovery. A zest for knowledge.”
“Boredom,” Leonid said, and everyone smiled.
“You know we'll look like seals in our wet suits to any great whites,” Remi commented.
Sam grinned. “I hear wet suits aren't very tasty. Sharks tend to avoid them.”
“You're thinking of
sea otters
,” Remi corrected.
“Ah, I always mix those up. Well, try to act like an otter while we're in the soup.”
“At least the crocodiles aren't a problem in open water. They tend to be mostly dangerous on shore or at the mouths of rivers.”
“As Benji, unfortunately, discovered.”
When they arrived at the bay, a different truck was parked near the sand and only three men waited beneath one of the swaying palm trees, watching the SUV approach. A single boat was tethered to a tree trunk, floating lazily, in the strengthening sun.
After a scan of the shore to ensure no further crocodiles were lurking in the brush, Sam and Remi donned their wet suits and climbed into the boat, followed by the rest of the men. The old outboard sputtered to life with a throaty cough and they were skimming across the bay, Leonid directing the captain with the aid of a handheld GPS.
When they reached the coordinates, the captain kept the motor idling while Sam and Remi finished their preparations. Leonid regarded them in their masks, regulators in their mouths, and offered a halfhearted grin.
“Bottom's at around eighty feet. Visibility should be pretty good, from what the divers said. The water's usually exceptionally clear.”
Sam spat his regulator out. “Except for the storm runoff yesterday. Still, it is what it is. Should be interesting.”
Remi dropped backward off the side of the skiff while Sam lowered himself down a metal dive ladder that one of the men had attached to the stern. Once in the water, he was glad to discover that the temperature was almost bathlike. He slipped below the surface and spotted Remi ten feet away, waiting for him. He gave her a thumbs-up that she returned, and then they began their slow descent to the bottom, which was barely visible from their vantage point.
At the fifty-foot mark, the contours of the mounds drifted up to meet them from the reef. Sam tapped Remi on the shoulder and pointed to their right, where a large, hulking shape rose from the sea bottom. As they approached, it became obvious that they were looking at something man-made. The jutting rise was almost entirely encrusted with sea life, but the shape and symmetry were unmistakableâit was part of a building.
When they arrived within arm's length, Sam felt for the handle of the dive knife he'd strapped to his leg and freed it. Remi watched as he scraped away at the barnacles. After a few moments, he stopped and pushed himself back so Remi could see.
It was a seam. A joint between two blocks. Any doubts about the origin of the protrusions were now put to rest. These were indeed ruins of buildings, albeit submerged ones.
A shadow drifted across the bottom and they froze. Sam turned and looked up to see the long shape of a shark. Not a great white, but, still, at least nine feet of marine predator.
The shark orbited their position and then seemed to lose interest in them as it continued on its way. Remi's eyes had gone wide in her mask, and Sam kept control of his breathing as his heart rate settled back to
normal. If they'd required any evidence of their completely exposed state, the close encounter had been sufficient, and, after a quick swim through the ruins, they ascended, pausing for a decompression stop, eyes roving the water for more uninvited guests.
Once back in the boat, they stripped off their buoyancy compensator vests and peeled off the wet suits. The tropical sun was blistering even near the cool surface of the water.
“Well?” Leonid asked expectantly.
“It's definitely some kind of a compound. And old. That's obvious.”
“How can you be so sure after only one look around?”
Remi explained about the block construction, and Leonid nodded. “Then you're certain?”
“It's exactly what we suspectedâa sunken complex of buildings.”
“You don't dive?” Sam asked Leonid.
The Russian shook his head. “Never learned.”
“You should take a crash course while we're waiting for the dive boat to arrive. You can't very well head up an aquatic expedition if you don't go in the water.”
“I'm not sure at my age this old dog has many new tricks left in him,” Leonid said.
“Nonsense. We'll find an instructor. What else do you have to do over the next few days?”
Leonid looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I haven't exactly kept this”âhe gestured at his bodyâ“in athletic shape.”
“It mainly involves floating around, Leonid. Jacques Cousteau was doing it at twice your age. Come on. Live a little,” Sam teased.
The captain returned the boat to the shore and they disembarked onto the hot sand. Remi gazed down the beach to the grove where the crocodile had attacked and she nudged Sam.
“What happened to our big friend?” she asked in a low voice.
“The locals probably overcame their fear of the area to drag it off.
The hide's worth a small fortune,” Leonid said. He turned to the islanders. “Can you make it tomorrow?”
The captain and his crew exchanged worried glances and then the old man shook his head. “No. This is a bad place,” he said, his accent so thick his words were almost unintelligible.
“Come on. Nothing happened. Easiest money you ever made.”
The islanders looked at one another again and the captain frowned. “Money won't do you any good here. I should never have comeâthis bay is cursed. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave and never return. If not, there will be more misfortune, and may God help you.”
Leonid barked a harsh laugh. “Come on, old man. Cursed? You don't strike me as someone who scares easily.”
The captain fixed him with a cold stare. “I did as you asked, but no more. Pay me so I can get out of here. Just because you're willing to gamble with your lives doesn't mean I am.”
“Little dramatic, don't you think?” Leonid said. The captain waited in silence as Leonid peeled off several bills and handed them to him. “Remember our deal. You tell nobody about this.” He fingered another bill.
“I won't tell a soul. And even if I did, nobody will want to tempt fate. I heard about what happened to Benji. He lost a leg to the curse.” The captain paused. “There will be more. That's just the start.”
Leonid passed him the larger-denomination bill and the man trudged back to the boat. He used the outboard to back it off the sand, and then the remaining two crew members trundled to the truck and took off, leaving Sam, Remi, and Leonid standing alone on the beach.
Remi glanced at Sam. “Did you see the old man's face? He was terrified.”
“Native superstition. Mumbo jumbo. Nonsense,” Leonid scoffed.
“He's heard of this bay before, though. It might be interesting to find out what the rumors are,” she said.
“Doesn't really matter, does it? There's a lost city right offshore
nobody knows about and we've discovered it. Who cares what some childish legends say about it?” Leonid spat.
“There's usually an element of truth to folklore, Leonid,” Sam chided. “Can't hurt to ask around.”
“Well, if you want to waste your time, suit yourself. Sounds like I have to learn how to scuba dive in the next three days.”