by Jo Sparkes
Wall fell back, horrified. Still asleep, she arched towards him, begging, pleading. Her skin was still whole - he hadn’t hurt her yet.
He fled.
Wall shot up.
He was in the galley booth, laying as best he could in the hastily converted bed. The Sadicor itself was dark and silent.
He’d dreamt that he was dreaming. Who had such nightmares?
Squinting at his watch, he saw it was after four a.m. The Sadicor had reached the wreck site in record time, and everyone now slept in preparation for the task ahead. He chose the galley bed…why had he chosen the galley?
Jill.
She’d refused to tell Jon about the attack, and gotten angry when he’d pushed. And no matter what he told her, the brunette was adamant it had not been Mike on the terrace.
Still shaky when Jon saw them later, she’d laughed about having too much to drink. And her cousin, eager to sail, had accepted her words at face value.
So Wall slept here to guard her door.
Looking now in that direction, he saw an odd flickering. From the compressor room, he realized. His hands reached to leverage himself out of the booth, to check on Jill.
Remembering the dream, he froze. And forced himself to lay back down.
It was awhile before he found sleep again.
When the sun rose his power waned. The returning strength of the warrior threw him out and sent him back.
No matter. They were all back, their very proximity feeding his will.
Jill poured her coffee, spooned her sugar. As one hand stirred, her other crept up to her neck.
The tiny mirror in the bathroom cubbyhole had revealed the purple on her shoulder, the gouged teeth marks obscured beneath flecks of dried blood. Ruthlessly she’d scrubbed it, but some flecks turned out to be scabs. In the end she’d resorted to her prize t-shirt to hide the wound.
Now, with the sun glaring through the portholes, Jill wasn’t sure which memories were real from last night and which mere remnants of nightmares. Just like the old dreams from her childhood, when she used to fear the dark, fear having those whom she loved snatched away. It had been decades since she’d had those dreams.
When she tried to remember the face of her attacker - she saw only a beard. A stranger - yet somehow familiar. There was a wisp of a dream…
She drank too fast and burned her tongue. “Damn.”
Wall popped up in the booth, scaring the bejesus out of her. She spilled hot coffee on her fingers. “Damn!”
The Brit rubbed his head, blinking to clear his vision. “You’ve got to find more swear words.”
Anger flared…and died. He’d actually come to her rescue last night - that part at least was true. And now he looked just as she felt: bone-tired.
“Jill...” He was watching her carefully, she realized.
“Wall, it wasn’t Mike. How could you possibly think he would do such a thing?”
“I know what I saw. I wasn’t the one in shock.”
That was an insult - she hadn’t been some stupid girl fainting in the hero’s arms. A nasty retort rose to her lips - but she bit it back. He didn’t deserve insults. Wall had faced a monster to save her last night. This man, who Mike loved to call a coward.
So she kept quiet, watching him extricate himself from the narrow booth-bed. It took a full thirty seconds just to untangle his legs.
When at last he joined her in the tiny galley, he reached over her head to dig a coffee mug from the cupboard. “Anyone,” he told her as he filled his cup, “would be in shock. Hell - I’m in shock.”
She leaned away from him, the counter edge digging into her spine. Not because he invaded her personal space - but because she liked it too much.
“I’m okay. I am. But Mike didn’t do it. Anyway, he’s got an alibi.”
The Brit stilled. His eyes widened, and she realized he saw the door. Her fingers brushed his arm in sympathy.
The cabin door - the cabin he shared with Melanie - had a splintered hole the size of a fist.
Wall strode to it, peered inside. Jill knew what he saw: the bed with torn sheets, the pillow thrown across the room. Even as he digested this, the door flew open and Melanie stepped out, smoothing the large red shirt over her bare legs. A large red shirt with “Sadicor & Burke” on it - the one Mike always wore.
“Good morning,” she cooed. “Mike and I had the littlest…accident…last night.”
The whole day had started wrong.
Jon found himself chaffing at the delays, the odd currents suddenly swirling in the water. The odd currents suddenly swirling around his friends. Wall, normally even-tempered, fumed at something, something he would not discuss. Jill jumped a mile when he asked her about it, then frantically denied any knowledge.
Only Melanie smiled this morning. And he didn’t trust that smile.
As for his partner - who should have been pushing him, demanding they go faster, insisting they do this - Mike was hungover.
Now the big man hunched at the booth table, an untouched bowl of cereal before him. Jon slid a coffee cup under his nose. “Can you even do this today?”
Mike clutched his head in his hands. “I don’t remember last night. You didn’t let me drink - did you?”
Jon physically took one of those hands and wrapped it around the mug. “Drink.”
One eye rotated in his direction. “Nita pissed with me?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. I was in the casino, Mike. Didn’t know you needed a babysitter.” He watched his friend a moment more, then sighed. “Shall we postpone? Till this afternoon, maybe?”
“No.”
Mike raised the cup, slowly pouring the entire steaming contents down his throat. Then he shook his head like a retriever coming out of the water. “No. We do the thing now. Won’t take long - giving us plenty of bottom time this afternoon.”
Relaxing, Jon grinned. His grin faded at the sight of the splintered door. “What the hell happened there?”
Mike eyed him questioningly - then turned to follow his gaze.
“Bloody Brit. If he thinks I’m fixing stuff smashed during his little sex games…” Wincing, the muscle man rubbed his aching head.
The launch motor cut out.
Jon turned to check that they were in position. The Sadicor floated close to the island, set perfectly between the tallest palm on the beach and the launch itself. Giving a rough reference point. Crucial today, especially as everything else seemed off this morning.
Mike slowly kitted up, lacking his normal energy. Beyond him, Wall seemed faintly…hostile.
Right, Jon thought. If we’re doing this, let’s do it and be done.
“Maintain your position,” he told the Brit as he grabbed his tanks. “Don’t let her drift. And keep an eye on our bubbles - if we get a little off, follow us. I don’t want to have swim for it once we surface.”
Mike tugged a flipper over his toes. “We got ten minutes. Plenty of time.”
“Electronic timer?” Wall asked.
The big guy opened the bag to produce a wrapped packet with a long wire-ish tube protruding. “Not exactly. The length of fuse is the timer.”
Jon eyed it apprehensively. “You sure? Ten minutes worth?”
“That’s what the kid said.” Flippers on, he rooted around for his mask. “You know, ten minutes is a long time for something to go wrong … fish might eat it or something. I could cut this fuse in half…”
“NO!” Both Wall and Jon stopped him.
Disgusted, Mike stuffed the thing back in the bag and set it down. And then threw himself backwards into the Caribbean, his long machete scraping the launch as it slid.
“Why take that thing?” Wall demanded.
Pulling up over the gunwale, Mike grabbed the blue bag. “It’s lucky,” he said, attaching the bag to his B.C. as Jon donned his own mask.
Mike has done this before. It’s no big of a deal.
Still, it took all his willpower to roll backwards over the side into the sea.
Jon sank through a blast of bubbles. Mike must be jittery - or he was. Likely both.
Catching his buddy’s eye, he saw his excitement shining through, the schoolboy thrill in doing something different and dangerous. Mike had only attempted this once before.
That time they’d used too much dynamite.
They seemed to descend in slow motion, yet reached the bottom all too soon. Sand whipped off the ocean floor, born away in swirling ribbons that wrapped around their bodies before vanishing into the distance. He’d never seen current this strong here - already it had swept the gap area clear, revealing what could only be a ship’s deck.
A perfect square outline stood out. The cargo hold hatch. Mike swam straight for it and detached the bag. Reluctantly, Jon followed.
The current buffeted, blasting Jon backwards. Catching himself on the edge of the stern cabin, all he could do was watch.
Mike set the charge atop the hatch - instantly the ocean swept it up. The big guy barely saved the bundle before the sea claimed it.
The surge ceased, and he swam over as Mike thrust the explosive back in the bag and handed it to him. Jon felt greatly reluctant to take it. Slipping his arm through the handle at least kept both hands free to latch onto the cargo hold crack.
Mike swam away, disappearing in a funnel of sand.
A strong surge swung Jon’s legs, yanking his fingers. He dug in, hands curling in claws. It won’t detonate. It can’t.
The last time Mike tried this, Jon had questioned and probed till Mike’s exasperation snapped. Without the fuse being lit, the charge couldn’t accidentally go off. Still, fifty feet underwater in a record current, clinging to a piece of an old wreck with an explosive on his shoulder, doubt crept in.
Mike appeared, bearing three heavy rocks.
Again his partner laid the thing in place, this time anchoring it with the rocks. It seemed precarious, in danger of being swept away. Maybe even, Jon had a sudden thought, of being swept to the Sadicor herself. He tried to communicate this, but his buddy didn’t grasp his concern - or didn’t share it.
Snapping an underwater stick-torch, Mike lit the fuse. And calmly set his watch to count down the time. Jon rapidly did the same.
Shooting him a steady look - eyes brimming with excitement - Mike signaled ‘Up’. Jon released his fingers from the groove, already tumbling backwards as he stabbed his air valve.
They ascended.
Reaching to clip the now empty bag to his B.C., Mike brushed his machete. Somehow it wasn’t properly secured.
The lucky blade sank to his fin - gently wobbled for a few seconds - and then slid off into the deep. Jon winced, foreseeing time this afternoon wasted trying to find it. They wouldn’t, of course. Eventually Mike would realize that.
Apparently Mike realized it now. A swift check of the countdown, a quick dump of air, and the big man duck-dived in pursuit.
Wall relaxed when the first diver broke the surface just beside the launch. As he reached for Jon’s fins, however, there was no sign of his buddy. “Where’s Mike?”
“I don’t know,” was the shaky answer. “Seven minutes till it goes off. He knows that. Only seven minutes left.”
“Jon … how accurate is that fuse length? I mean, some kid at closing time cuts the thing. What’s the margin of error?”
“Sweet Jesus.” Jon frantically spun, clamping his mask back over his face so he could peer beneath the surface. “JESUS!”
Wall realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to let it out. “Let’s get you in the launch. One less thing to worry about.”
He stirred.
Still depleted, he yet knew that they were near. Doing silly things in a futile quest. Without thought he stretched out, found the manta ray. Possessing it was easy after last night’s accomplishment.
If he could distract the one…
Finding something on the bottom of the ocean floor was almost impossible - so Mike had kept his eyes on his blade the whole time. He now dropped to the sand beside it, grasping the handle before anything else could happen. He lifted it with genuine relief.
Not that he was superstitious or anything. But losing it, today of all days, would have been bad.
He was just reaching for the proper carabiner when the manta appeared. The damned ray nuzzled him, rubbing its head against his shoulder. Begging for attention.
Almost six full minutes remained, his timer showed, so Mike stretched out his gloved palm, allowing the creature to cuddle against it happily. There it stayed, body ruffling gently to maintain its position in the water.
Mike thrust the machete underneath.
The manta froze, seemingly stunned. Deliberately he ripped the blade down its center, making sure it was dead.
That’s for Jill.
Reattaching his machete, he casually checked his watch: 4:07. Lots of time, he assured himself, even as he inflated his B.C. and rose. Cool as a Catholic nun.
When he thought he might be rising just a hair too fast, he breathed out all his air rather than slow down. Sunlight swelled, sounds rose in his ears. He burst through the surface.
“Where the hell have you been?!” Jon shouted.
“Chill out, you pussy. We’ve got plenty of time.” Yanking off his fins, he glanced at his watch before handing them over. “More than three minutes.”
Jon snatched the flippers out of his grasp. “Island time, Mike.”
Slowly the words sank in. Island time.
“Fucking son of a…” Mike grabbed the side of the boat, yanking himself up and clamping an arm over the gunwale. “Go! GO!”
Wall revved the motor.
Lounging in the Sadicor cockpit, Jill heard the roar. She glanced over to watch Wall fumble with the engine, Jon springing to help.
“Something’s not right. Hey Melanie - something’s wrong.”
The blonde lay on her belly atop the cabin. Lifting her face to the sun, she smiled.
The motor dropped into the water and the launch leapt forward, roaring towards them. Jill stood, watching Mike’s body dragging dangerously in the water. Jesus - what were they playing at? If he lost his grip…
Then the boat was there, Wall wheeling it in a tight circle to bump against the dive platform. The engine cut off.
In the sudden silence, Wall and Jon huddled together over Jon’s watch.
“Six, five, four, three…” Jon called off. Both men’s heads bobbed with the count. “Two, one…” They all watched the water above the wreck.
A tiny puff of bubbles hit the surface, subsided.
Then nothing.
“Is that it?” Jill demanded. After all the hype…surely that hadn’t blown a hole in anything.
“Wait for it,” Mike told her, arm still clamped over the side. Eagerly she did.
After a few minutes, Jon straightened. “I think that was it.”
“Knew we should have used more explosive,” Mike said, and then tried to move. “This bastard arm’s gone numb!”
Jill scraped the blob of mayonnaise she’d plopped on the bread.
“Don’t tie yourself to a wood splinter,” Jon continued. He’d been in full instructor mode for ten minutes running. “Find something solid, and test it. We’ve got plenty of line - so don’t make the mistake of feeling you have to tie off right at the entrance.”
Slapping a slice of cheese atop her lunch meat, Jill folded the bread. Half a sandwich would do - she was too excited to eat properly anyway. She grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the table.
Jon, Mike, and Wall crowded the booth, peering down at Jon’s inevitable sketches. The man was a frustrated artist, and could never resist drawing things to illustrate a point.
“How far in do we go?” Wall sipped a soda, a sure sign he was planning to dive again. Jon and Mike would drink the occasional beer before a second dive, but Wall always waited until his diving was done for the day.
“That was a huge trap door,” Jon grinned, tapping the deck sketch between them.
“Got to be the cargo hold access. We drop straight through, and cash in.”
Wall shook his head. “Wouldn’t a galleon have several levels? We may have a ways to go - and that’s assuming she’s intact.”
Her cousin caressed his drawing. “They hoisted their cargo through that huge thing. Which means we should drop straight into the middle of it.”
Jill stared at it, irresistibly drawn to the image. If there really was gold…if that really was a Spanish Galleon…
“You boys don’t get all the fun,” Melanie emerged from her cabin. “Jill and I want to dive too.”
Silence. But a pregnant one, Jill knew.
“Not inside the wreck,” Wall broke it first, looking to Jon. He didn’t even bother addressing Melanie. “They’re barely out of beginner class.”
“You can’t worry about ‘overhead environments’ when you just blasted away the overhead,” the blonde laughed. A sparkly laugh - oozing with amusement and contempt. “And you can’t insist we sit up here when the real fun’s below. Besides - you’ll need all the help you can get searching. Maybe carrying stuff.”
Mike pondered, and slowly nodded. “If we’re not going any farther inside, should be fairly simple.”
“We don’t know what’s down there,” Wall spoke to Jon. “I’m still new at this. There’ll be other dives.”
“You do over-think things, Brit-man. Let us at least go see this big crater you guys made. If you’re afraid at that point, Jill and I can always surface again.” The blonde grinned. “After all, Jill’s the best diver in class. She wouldn’t want to miss out on this tiny little adventure.”
Meeting the sparkling green eyes, Jill felt the back of her neck prickle. She had absolutely no desire to go back inside that thing…and Melanie knew it. The woman was deliberately goading her.
How did she come to this? Fearing to try something that Melanie - the wimp of the dive class - eagerly demanded to do?
“They’ve got guts,” Mike chuckled. “What’s the harm in taking them down to the deck?”
Mike, Jill realized, was giving her that look of kindred spirits, that sharing of his intrepid nature. Two warriors, he’d once said.
