by K. T. Tomb
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late
Joel Rosenberg.
Ghosts of the Titanic
Chapter One
April 10th, 1912
Southampton, United Kingdom
The young woman clutched the large carpet bag she carried, her knuckles nearly white with tension. The rush of the crowd pressed around her, voices blending together in the salty sea air. The hull of the ship loomed before her and the hundreds of other passengers stood around waiting to board. She had never seen such a ship in her life and the sight of it took her breath away. Her other hand pulled the woven brown scarf tightly around her unruly black curly hair. She had it tucked under the coarse fabric in an effort to hide her aristocratic station. With the scarf and the long, rough workman’s coat, she very nearly blended in with the others waiting to board; but if someone cared to look closely at her, they would have noticed the smoothness of her porcelain skin, which had never been in the sun for more than an afternoon stroll, the softness of her hands which had never known hard labor. She pulled the coat closer around her body, hoping that no one could see the fine silk fabric of the dress she wore underneath it. She had left in a hurry from her family's estate; escaping everything with only the contents of the carpet bag, a few belongings and a small chest containing her dowry, a little satchel full of diamonds. Once she took the final step onto the ship, everything she had ever known would be gone from her life forever. Even so, she welcomed the prospect of it, because everything she had ever hoped to live for would be waiting for her once they reached the shores of America; an ordinary life with her true love.
Shuffling into the crowd of emigrants had been her first step to escaping her father's manservant, whom had surely followed her as she had slipped out of the estate, despite all her efforts to be careful and avoid being followed. Donning the outer garments of the lower class, she could blend into the crowd, becoming nearly invisible to prying eyes. A plethora of dialects surrounded her from the voices of those in the crowd. A woman, not much different in age from herself, bustled by holding tightly to the hands of three small children; one in one hand, two in tow on the other side. The woman rattled off a deep Scandinavian admonishment to the children as she rushed by. The young aristocrat glanced at the ramps leading into the ship. A delicate webbing, layers of walkways with multiple check points where the throngs of people bottle necked with their tickets and bags. Some in fine clothes, some in the only garments they had left.
“Dasha!” a voice called to her through the crowd calling her by the pet name he had given her.
She turned to see the face of her lover, Stephan Ivanovich, struggling toward her through the crowd, waving two boarding passes. Darya tried to signal for him to be quiet as she glanced around nervously. She had not seen any of her father's servants since she had left the estate, but she knew they could be near nonetheless. Once on board the ship, they could behave more freely; no one would know them, and she knew no one could board without a ticket. He had secured a room – a nice room, just as he had promised her, despite her insistence of a low profile. Stephan explained that he wanted nothing less than what she had grown up with.
He reached her at last, and clutched her free hand with his.
“Be careful, my love,” she whispered into his ear over the noise of the crowd. “I don't know who may have followed us.”
He smiled at her, just inches from her face, his ice-blue eyes locking with her own. He replied, “We are moments from freedom.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Tickets!”
They had reached the checkpoint and a surly looking man looked at the two of them, expectantly waiting for one of them to produce the document indicating that they could board the ship. Stephan handed him the tickets. The man glanced at the couple suspiciously after seeing the first-class room number and accommodations listed on the documents. Darya held the carpet bag with both hands, certain that they would be found out. Stephan smiled at the ticket master, placing his arm around Darya's shoulders. For a moment, the three of them remained frozen in an absurd tableau; the ticket master certain that he had received forged boarding passes, Darya certain that police arrest was imminent, and Stephan smiling serenely and exuding an aura of confidence, certain that in moments they would be aboard the ship.
“I see your confusion, good sir.” Stephan spoke first. “I can assure you our tickets are genuine. My traveling companion and I have had no choice but to dress somewhat incognito as we are traveling in such a manner as we did not wish to draw attention to ourselves.”
“Stephan, no!” Darya said in a hushed tone.
“Darling,” he continued. “If this man is to let us board this ship, we must tell him the truth. He is rightly doing his job to be suspicious of a pair of working-class emigrants who have tickets to a first class suite aboard the grandest ship ever built.”
He turned back to the ticket master.
“You see, my fiance and I are going to America. There we will wed and begin our new life together. I have sold everything I own for those tickets.”
Sensing the man's continued doubt, Stephan continued.
“I may not have had much in the way of material possessions, but my family had a bit of land and a farm which I have sold. I was able to secure a good price and with that gain, I purchased these tickets for my love and I.”
The ticket master glanced from one to the other as he began to raise his hand to the armed guards on the other side of the docks. Darya noticed in a moment what the man was about to do. She unbuttoned the coat she wore, exposing her aristocratic silk day dress tied with a pale sash at her waistline.
“I purchased the tickets,” she said, with a firmness she had not felt up to this moment. “My companion is telling the truth about us being wed. As you can see, I am traveling in such a manner as to avoid drawing attention to us. Now while I still possess a great deal of influence among the society of my family, we are trying to remain unnoticed. It would be a shame for us to experience any misfortune. Certainly you understand, we are young and see nothing but our future. Perhaps you were in love once?”
Darya tilted her head and smiled at the man who lowered his signaling hand.
“I see,” he said.
A distant look drifted over his eyes as he took in Darya's words.
“You see?” Stephan repeated.
“Of course.”
He placed a small mark on each of their tickets and handed them back to the couple. With a sweep of his arm, he stepped aside and granted them access to the boarding ramp leading into the ship. Darya did not only see a ramp into the ship. She saw before her the opening of a cage door, to which she could at long last escape the stiff rules of her aristocratic upbringing. Once they reached America, they would sell the dowry diamonds and use the money to start a life together. The man next to her may not have met with her parents’ approval, but she would not live without him. She took his hand and they stepped forward toward their shared destiny. The sweetness of the sea and the bright blue sky embraced her as if the sky itself were sharing in her joy.
“Stephan Ivanovich, Darya Nikita,” the ticket master said, with great ceremony. “Welcome to the Titanic.”
June 17th, 2014
Off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada
“We need to see your verification forms!”
“Let me stop the boat,” First Officer Franco Michaels called to the large Coast Guard cutter that had pulled up next to the diving vessel. The wake of the other ship caused the small diving support boat to sway in the currents. Franco barely noticed. He’d spent more time on the water than he had on land for most of his life. He wore a r
ed knit cap to protect his bald head from the midday sun and salty air. His leathery hands rested on the railing of the prow of his boat, the DSV Diamond. Franco glanced behind him into the captain's outlook, seeing the man resting his feet upon the console through the window.
He waved over to the Coast Guard, who had made it clear that they were coming aboard for inspection. Franco had known this job would be risky, but he knew the guy who had provided him with the forged permits. He had owed Franco a favor. The Coast Guard pulled alongside the small diving vessel, dwarfing the small boat. The cutter's red prow jutted out bright against the silver-gray sea. The Coast Guard officer boarded the ship, pulling himself up by the ladder alongside the prow. He carried himself like most other seafarers, knowing how to move in the rhythm of the ocean's sway.
Franco handed him the permits. The forms stated that Franco and his crew were sailing off the coast for the purpose of underwater documentary filming; they had full clearance with the Newfoundland Film Commission. The man took them from Franco and glanced them over, his eyes hidden by his mirror lens sunglasses.
“Documentaries, eh?” the officer said, pulling the shades down and giving Franco a once over.
“Yes, sir,” Franco nodded, jutting his chin toward the documents. “Everything should be in order there.”
“What, uh... what kind of equipment is used for an expedition such as this?” the officer asked.
“Have a look, sir.” Franco motioned to the small diving pod, remote underwater camera and deep-sea gear tied securely to the edge of the deck, the brand new diving suits stood alongside the equipment. This had been one of the main selling points for the expedition; new experimental material, allowing a deep sea diver to experience more dexterity while simultaneously reducing the effects of decompression sickness. The officer eyed the equipment. Franco guessed that the man did not know much about diving, being mostly an 'above the surface' type of seafarer. But it was clear that he wanted to put on a good show.
“I'll also need to see the ship’s roster,” said the officer.
“Of course,” Franco glanced behind him. The ship's captain came down the stairs from the outlook, his full, white head of hair blazing in the sunlight, offsetting the salt and pepper beard. Captain Martin squinted at Franco and the officer with a clear look of annoyance on his face. In his hand, he held the ship’s manifest and a listing of the crew's names and functions aboard the ship. He approached and handed the roster to the uniformed man. Captain Martin looked at Franco and tossed the list of names over to Franco giving him a stern look that bordered between parental consternation and boredom. Franco handed the list to the officer. Neither Franco nor the captain wanted the Coast Guard to find out about the wanted criminal hiding below deck.
“It's all there. Lisa Noye, ship’s medic. Nick Moore, second diver. Captain Jonathan Martin, and myself, officer and diver Franco Michaels. Now if you don't mind, sir, we only have a small window of time with good light. We need to get this operation underway.”
“There's no one else on the ship?” the officer asked.
“No, sir.”
The man shuffled through the papers, flipping to the end page and verifying the set of signatures there. After a moment he closed the pages and thrust them back toward Franco, letting out a subtle exhale.
“Anything else I can do, sir?” Franco said, for good measure.
“Nope, everything seems to be on the up and up. Be careful out there,” The Coast Guardsman turned toward the open sea, stretching out blue and wild before them. “She's a fickle beast.”
“That she is, officer,” Franco said, turning his eyes to the sea. “That she is.”
The officer climbed back down the ladder, giving the crew of the Diamond a small wave as he jumped over to the steps of his own ship, the other crew waiting to guide him back on board. Franco watched as the boat turned and faced back toward the craggy shoreline of Newfoundland and the ship’s harbor.
“Nice going, Michaels.”
The voice behind him belonged to Nick Moore, his associate and friend. They had worked together many times before on a variety of previous jobs, but this one held a bit more of a risk factor. Franco turned toward Nick, who scratched absently at his face, vacant eyes looking out to sea. Part of the reason Franco had invited Nick on this job was because he had known Nick had fallen off the wagon again. His friend had managed to gain his degree in Aquatic Sciences with a minor in Russian language, but he had a penchant for addiction. Nick was a smart kid despite everything. Franco felt the need to watch out for him. Having known him both in and out of rehab, the only thing Franco had ever experienced that brought Nick back to himself was the dive. Nick had promised to go clean, but Franco could see he still suffered from the last stages of detox. Despite all of it though, he was one of the best divers Franco had ever known and he needed good divers for this job. Nick had been his first recommendation for this expedition.
“Where's Harper?” Franco said.
“Below deck,” Nick answered, “and quiet as a mouse.”
“Good, let's hope he stays that way,”
The captain gave the two a glance, climbing back to the outlook now that the coast guard had left them. The presence of Harper had been a sore spot for Captain Martin. He had no desire to house a wanted criminal aboard his ship. In the end the influence of the client and the promised payout swayed the man to turn a blind eye to much of what would occur on this trip.
“That was close,” Nick said. “How worried were you? What with the wanted criminal just below deck?”
“Above deck too, if you will recall,” Franco said. “I knew I could handle the Coast Guard. And let's keep the disparaging remarks about Harper to a minimum. After all, our lives are in his hands once we reach the dive site.”
“And don't forget it, either.” Harper's lazy, relaxed voice greeted them as he climbed up from the galley. Franco turned to look at the man, whom he had only just met when they’d picked up the equipment. Prior to this job, Franco had not known James Harper, but Harper knew the equipment and was therefore a vital member of the expedition. The young man climbing out of the galley wore jeans and a worn, black T-shirt. His red hair sprouted around his head in thick dreadlocks falling just past his shoulders. Franco remained suspicious of him from the beginning, despite Harper's relaxed manner and easy smile. He reminded Franco of a sly fox.
“So what is this job?” Harper asked, planting himself on the starboard bench. “They gave me a price. Quite a good one, I might add, that's why I'm here. But what's the story on this? Who are we working for?”
Franco wasn't quite sure if he was ready to give him any details yet. Leo Matvei, the man behind the job, had hired Franco directly. Harper, however, had been brought on through a third party, so he knew less about the details. Harper had a dangerous reputation and Franco was certain that Leo had wanted to keep some distance between himself and the man.
“We're looking for diamonds,” Franco said, keeping his voice even.
Nick danced his feet in an impromptu jig repeating ‘Diamonds! Diamonds! Diamonds!’ in a cartoon-like falsetto. Harper rolled his eyes, but continued to smile.
Franco continued.
“The diamonds allegedly disappeared aboard the RMS Titanic and belong to the family of the man who hired us.”
Nick jumped in, interrupting. “Check this out. Apparently the guy’s great-aunt or something went down with the ship and she’d been carrying the diamonds at the time. According to all the records, they’re aboard that ship somewhere.”
Nick jaunted over to the dive suits, standing like disembodied mannequins in the clear containment units against the wall of the engine room. “Thanks to these babies, we're going to walk right in and get them. Just pick them up with our hands. Easy peasy!”
“Lemon squeezy,” Harper concluded. “So what if we fail? What if we don't find the diamonds?”
“We won't fail,” Franco said, still staring out to sea as they propelled across the surface
of the water.
“We could,” Harper said. “I mean, the Titanic, that's no small potatoes. That thing's been underwater for over a hundred years. Our equipment is experimental and all kinds of things could go wrong down there, you know. Did the man who hired us have a plan if we don't recover the diamonds? Do we still get paid?”
“You.” Franco turned to look Harper directly in the eye. “I've been led to believe that you are the best at what you do. Is that correct?”
Harper's grin widened.
“I hate to brag, but, yeah.”
“You can run this equipment, walk us through the dive and bring us safely back to the surface?” Franco jutted his head toward the dive suits.
“Of course,” Harper said.
“Good,” Franco said. “As long as all those things happen, let us worry about finding the diamonds. You'll get your fee in the end.”
He turned his face back to the rush of the air as they sped toward the dive zone. Behind them the distant shores faded into the sea horizon.
Chapter Two
April 10th, 1912
The RMS Titanic, room 108
Darya and Stephan laughed as they stumbled in through the door of their opulent first class suite. The anteroom was decorated with more splendor than either of them had ever seen before. Darya set down her carpet bag and gazed at the oriental carpets, polished oak tables and gleaming lamps along the walls. Behind them in the hall, other passengers laughed and chatted loudly as they made their way to their prospective suites. Many ran back to the deck to witness the Titanic set sail from the vantage point of the bow.
“Oh, Stephan,” Darya gasped at the opulence before her. “How did you afford...”
“Don't worry about that. I had nothing left for me here, and I could not have my beloved traveling in anything less than luxury.”
Darya turned to look at him.
