by K. T. Tomb
“I don't like this,” Nick said. “These waves are weird. We shouldn't dive today.”
“Calm down, Nick,” Harper's voice transmitted to both of them through the comm link. “Focus on the dive, and I'll focus on the payout. By the end of the day, we are all going to be very rich men.”
Franco reached over in the water to Nick and put his hands around his shoulders.
“Nick, listen to me. You are one of the best divers I’ve ever worked with, if not the best. This dive will be the biggest of our lives so far. Think about what they told you in rehab. One day at a time, right?”
Nick took a breath.
“One day at a time.”
“Harper is right,” Franco continued. “By the end of the day, we are all going to be very, very rich.”
Harper's voice came over the comm link.
“Lisa says his heart rate is still slightly elevated. Do we need to abort?”
Franco shook his head, with his hands still steadying Nick.
“No, Harper, we are okay to go. Aren't we, Nick? Okay to go.”
Nick nodded at last.
“Okay to go.”
With one final glance to the horizon, and then back at each other, the two men finally plunged beneath the blue gray surface of the sea, leaving Harper and Lisa on board manning the communication station. Side by side, they flipped in the water and turned to kick away from the ship toward the dark depths awaiting them below.
Chapter Three
April 12th, 1912
The RMS Titanic, room 108
The rhythmic lulling of the Titanic awakened Darya. She stretched and turned, feeling the cool cotton sheets against her skin in the large canopy bed of their first class cabin. Stephan smiled at her as he stepped out of the washroom with his shaving towel hanging loosely around his neck. Darya watched the man across the room; his sun-kissed blond hair hung just to his shoulders. The tight-fitting undershirt he wore accentuated the muscular build that he had acquired from a life of hard work. His tan arms involuntarily flexed as he tossed the towel aside and approached her lying in the bed. The two days they had spent on the Titanic had been tantamount to a honeymoon. They had not spent more than a moment apart and had spent little time enjoying much more than each other’s company and the view of the room.
“Darling,” Stephan said, settling along the edge of the bed to speak to Darya. “Do you think you will regret it, running away with me? If you had married Igor, you could have continued to live a life of aristocracy and carried on your family's legacy.”
Darya laughed, propping her chin on her hands.
“If I were to marry Igor, I would have intentionally begun to drink, stop horseback riding or any other sort of exercise and let my looks and my waistline go as quickly as possible. He does not deserve a beautiful wife, so I would have done whatever I had to and become slovenly and no longer beautiful.”
“That, my dear, would take some doing,” Stephan said with a laugh.
“Besides,” Darya said, her mood softening. “I don't love Igor. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dasha,” Stephan said. “Till the end of my life.”
“Till the end of my life,” Darya echoed.
Stephan got up and pulled the blankets off of her.
“Now get up, lazy bones! We've been stuck in this hovel since we set foot on the ship. Let's get out and get some air on deck.”
June 17, 2014
Latitude 41° 43' 57" North, longitude 49° 56' 49" West
Nick and Franco descended into the depths. They had both fallen into a slow rhythm of straight body kicks to propel them through the dark water. The sunlight from the surface had dissipated the deeper they swam causing their surroundings to become increasingly dark. Shadows and illusions swirled around the two divers. Occasionally a sea creature, an eel or a school of fish would swim by, undulating their fins in the deep currents. The underwater particles reflected in the headlamps gave the appearance of falling forward through space.
“Let's go over it again,” Nick said in the gloomy darkness.
“Room 108,” Franco replied, welcoming the conversation to alleviate the eerie atmosphere. “We are looking for a small ornate chest and a pouch of diamonds, once owned by one Darya Nikita.”
“Are the diamonds the pay off?” Nick asked. “Is he black market? What's the story?”
“Oddly enough, no,” Franco continued. “Darya Nikita was Leo Matvei’s great aunt; that’s the man who commissioned the dive. Apparently, he wants the diamonds back to give to his granddaughter.”
“What?” Nick said. “He wants us to risk our lives collecting this parcel for him. Diamonds, even! The very currency of the black market, which have been retrieved from the most famous ship’s wreckage known to humanity, and he wants to give them to his granddaughter? Couldn't he just have bought her a pony like every other rich grandfather?”
Franco laughed. Through the comm link, it sounded like a staccato echo.
“It's nothing like that. Matvei explained to me that the diamonds were once part of his family’s legacy; a dowry given to the husband of the eldest daughter upon her marriage, a tradition on the maternal side. Each generation was to add their own diamond before passing the dowry to the next daughter. The diamonds were stolen by Darya Nikita. She was engaged to Igor Davidovich by her father's insistence. According to the family lore, she ran away with a young peasant against her parent's wishes. The last record of her is that she boarded the Titanic with the jewels. Of course, no one truly knows what happened next. She went down with the ship, and the diamonds went with her. But we do know that she stayed in Room 108, which is where we are headed once we find the wreckage.”
“Wow,” Nick said. “That's intense.”
A large shadow passed through their head lamps causing them both to flinch.
“Did you see that?” Nick said.
“Of course,” Franco replied, keeping his voice steady.
“What was it?” Nick said.
His voice had risen with a slight timbre of anxiety.
“We are in the ocean,” Franco replied. “Going on a deep sea dive. It's probably just a school of fish. If we don't bother them, they won't bother us. Stay focused Nick. I need you calm. I can't do this dive alone. You know that.”
“I know, man,” Nick said. “I know. I just don't feel good about it.”
Nick lapsed into a Russian prayer, muttering through the comm link. Franco did not mind this as long as it kept his partner quiet and focused.
“How are we doing, Harper?” Franco said, speaking to the station back on the support vessel.
“Not bad,” Harper replied. “About forty minutes in. Just over an hour and you should have visual on the target.”
“Acknowledged,” Franco said. “Hear that Nick? We're about halfway down. This is just a walk in the park.”
“Right,” Nick said. “A walk in the park.”
April 12, 1912
The RMS Titanic, First Class Deck
The sun shone down on the smooth wooden deck of the large ship where the couple walked arm in arm; Darya with a small white parasol balanced lightly on her shoulder as she smiled up at Stephan. Every once in a while, they would receive a curious glance from another passenger, as Stephan's plain, working class clothing made him stand out from the others. As the couple only seemed to have eyes for each other, no one seemed to give them anything more than a passing glance. Darya had to admit that the sea air felt quite refreshing after spending the first few days mostly indoors. Her hair was tucked up into a loose bun, small tendrils of curls dancing in the light ocean breeze. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“This is beautiful, Stephan.” she said.
“Da,” he replied lapsing into the Russian language they were both fluent in since childhood. “You are the one who is beautiful, Dasha.”
A man nearby leaning against the rail, tall and well dressed, with a small mustache, turned toward them with a smile.
�
��Good afternoon, friend,” he said to Stephan, speaking with an obvious Russian lilt to his words. “I don't mean to intrude, but it is rare to hear the language of my home country. Where are you from, good sir?”
Stephan glanced at Darya, who immediately stepped forward, pulling herself to full height. “What business do you have questioning my escort?”
The man raised his hands in apology and bowed his head to her.
“Of course, Madam, my apologies. The language simply caught me off guard. I meant no disrespect.”
Darya looked the tall stranger over. He had a friendliness to him which caused her to relax a bit despite her initial reaction. She still felt a residual concern that they had been followed, though she knew no one could have come onto the Titanic after them. She knew this in her mind, but her heart still palpitated at the idea that their freedom might be threatened, that they may be found out. The man extended his hand to her.
“My name is Vlad. Vlad Afanasy.”
After a moment, Darya took his hand.
“Darya Nikita,” she said. “And this is my traveling companion, Stephan.”
Vlad threw his hands in the air. “Please,” he said, “allow me to make up for my fumbling ways and share a meal with you this evening; both of you. It is clear that you require discretion in regards to your travels.”
He glanced toward Darya's hand still tucked intimately under Stephan's arm, indicating that their relationship might be more than that of an aristocrat and her servant.
“We can dine in my quarters. Please say you will. It would be such a joy to share some memories of the old country with fellow comrades.”
Darya glanced at Stephan, whose eyes showed a hint of caution. The sea air, coupled with the sight of the ocean expanding to the distant horizon on all sides around them, sparked in her something she had rarely felt before: the desire to toss caution aside. After all, they were aboard a ship headed to America. There was little to be concerned with at this point. She no longer had to follow the rules. She no longer had to be concerned as to her image or her family name. She strengthened her resolve.
“Yes,” she said to the man before them. “We would be happy to accompany you for dinner.”
June 17, 2014
Latitude 41° 43' 57" North, longitude 49° 56' 49" West
“You should be approaching visual within the next ten minutes,” Harper's voice instructed over the comm link.
“Affirmative,” Franco echoed.
His partner remained silent next to him. Harper prompted once more.
“Can I get an 'affirmative' on that, Moore?”
“Affirmative,” Nick finally muttered.
Franco began to talk to Nick.
“When we reach visual, our first priority is to get to ‘A’ deck. That's first class, okay? I've studied the floor plan of the ship, so just follow me. We'll be headed to room 108. That's where she stayed, according to the ship's ledger.”
“Room 108,” Nick repeated.
Within minutes, they began to see a distant shape in the light of the headlamps. Behind the floating debris and the small darting fish, both men were able to focus on what appeared to be a tiny toy ship resting on the bottom of the ocean. Once recognized, they both focused their lamps on the location and picked up the pace of their kicks. Seeing the destination gave them a new resolve. What they saw as they approached was nothing more than breathtaking. They had both seen footage of the previous dives the Titanic, but nothing could have prepared them for the view up close. They descended toward the ship, head down and kicking their large flippers behind them, propelling them forward. Soon, the front pier of the ship came into clearer view, the nose of the ship made famous by movies and paintings; once a vessel of splendor, the Titanic had taken on an eerie cast, covered in algae and other growths drifting from the outposts on the deck of the ship, dancing in the slow current. The ship had the illusion of still sailing as the strands of seaweed created a false wake trailing behind her. As the men approached, they pulled their legs underneath themselves, allowing them to float toward the deck of the Titanic until their flippered feet hovered right above the surface of the deck.
Franco looked around at the eerie surroundings. He could see the wonder in Nick's eyes and imagined that his own face held a similar mask. He could imagine the splendor of the ship had it been viewed in its intended environment rather than at the bottom of the ocean. He could almost see the faces of the first passengers as they boarded the Titanic for her maiden voyage; some of them traveling to America for a new beginning, the trip of a lifetime. Others, such as the first class passengers, had taken the trip as a status symbol; a claim to say 'I was aboard the Titanic'. Now he, too, could make that claim. Franco Michaels hovered over the most famous ship in modern history. Despite the sublime experience of standing on deck of the Titanic, Franco knew they had a job to do. He radioed up to Harper.
“Base, we have touchdown. Initial target is achieved,” Franco said.
“Affirmative,” Harper echoed back. “Gentlemen, welcome aboard the Titanic.”
Nick let out a shrill yelp of joy, immediately wincing with the echo through the comm link. Franco flinched at the sound, though he was glad to see his partner finally showing some enthusiasm. The spell of the Titanic had taken hold at last. Little did Franco realize the magical atmosphere they had entered would bring a change to him that could not have ever been imagined.
The men looked around the deck for a moment, careful as to where they swam. They moved in slow motion, partially against the pressure of the water and partially as to not disturb the clutter and detritus left by the wreckage. Franco motioned for Nick to follow him. Their headlamps illuminated the forward cabin of the giant ship. They both fell silent as they moved forward. There was no denying the atmosphere was that of a cemetery. Shuffling across the wooden expanse of the deck, they finally came to the entrance of the ship's interior. The grand staircase greeted them both, still remarkably intact. Franco knew that it was just a matter of time. Some of the decay would not be apparent to the eye, but if touched or disturbed, could crumble into nothingness dissolved away by the sea salt. They moved through the space, still garnished by ornate chandeliers and oriental rugs piled and grayed by the ocean currents. They entered a darkened hallway which Franco believed would lead them to Darya's room. The doors of the quarters remained fallen open and many of the passenger's belongings cluttered the hall. Old fashioned clothing was strewn about, along with personal items: books, diaries, a small child's toy fire truck, Edwardian styled leather shoes. Franco moved forward with Nick close behind him. They swam through in single file as the discarded items made for treacherous progress. The silence of the surroundings overwhelmed them both. Franco remained focused on finding the room, hoping that Nick had the same resolve.
Suddenly, an unnaturally loud sound of a door slamming startled them both, a foreign sound in the ocean depths that surrounded them. Franco whirled around and saw Nick back against the wall on one side pointing toward the door across from him. Closed. It had been open a moment before. Franco could see the panic mounting in his partner's eyes.
“Nick,” he said. “Nick, look at me. It was just a current.”
Finally, Nick's eyes drifted over to Franco. Slowly he nodded in understanding.
“It was a current, Nick. Nothing more. The movement of the water. It just made the door close. That's all, a trick of the mind. Nothing more,” Franco said. “Besides, look.”
Franco pointed to the next door down the hall, which read in ornate gold plate: Room 108. It stood slightly ajar, but not as fully open as the other doors had been.
“Come on.”
He turned and began his slow motion advance toward the room.
Once Franco reached the door, he pulled his arm forward against the water pressure and pushed the door open, allowing him to see the first class accommodations. The room looked opulent, even after the years of decay under the ocean. In the sitting room, Franco saw an ornate settee which
looked as if it could be plucked from the wreckage to decorate any high-class living room. A small writing table huddled in a corner, with a full set of pens and stationery strewn below it. An electric lamp sat on the table, catching the reflection of the diver's headlamps; the light bulb appeared to glow with the illusion that it was switched on. Franco approached the desk, hoping to find a clue as to where the chest and the diamonds might have been located. A sheet of paper rested on the desktop. Franco could see writing, but the contents looked like gibberish. He slowly reached out to try and pick up the paper, but it crumbled, disintegrating at his touch. A sudden darkness appeared, and he realized that the light in the lamp had somehow gone out. Franco remembered the warnings given by the medic before the dive and assured himself that they were experiencing nothing more than a trick of the eye. With the strange shadows, currents and flickering creatures around them, this seemed like the best and only explanation.
Franco turned, discovering behind him the entrance to the sleeping quarters of the suite. He moved forward, his headlamp throwing a sharp shadow against the walls of the room. He took a breath, allowing the oxygen to strengthen him. As he made his way forward, one inch at a time, Franco realized just how good he felt. The dive had been flawless, so far everything had gone according to plan. A sense of euphoria and confidence began to seep into him. He reached the doorway of the bedroom. Looking around, he could see the large canopy bed. The sheets looked messed and tangled, but other than that, perfectly preserved. He swam into the room. Above him, a smaller but still ornate overhead chandelier swayed in a small eddy. A luxurious wardrobe sat in another corner opposite the bed. Franco stood at the doorway slowly swaying his head from one side of the room to the other, allowing the orb of light from the headlamp to cover every surface of the room. When he saw the chest, he would know it: a small, painted wooden box with Mother of Pearl inlay. He had seen a picture of one like it when he had been hired by Matvei initially. Strange shadows danced about as the light swept the room.
