He looked around. At the side of the lagoon Cutter saw his son holding a pistol, two men with their arms raised in front of him. Behind Jamie and carrying her rifle was Madeline.
It took some time for the hostages to get medical care. When they got to shore, his son stood with Captain Hall and some of the Peregrine crew.
Bill asked, “Anyone hurt?”
“No just roughed up,” Hall said. “Remember, these bastards figured on them being worth a million apiece alive.” Hall had a large bandage on his forehead. “They came up on us too fast. We could not maneuver. I had to surrender or they would have machine gunned the crew.”
Bill said, “You did right, Captain. It’s not worth getting people killed. You were right, Jimmie.”
“About what?”
Bill said, “Risking people’s lives to make money. It’s not what I want to do anymore.”
“What are you going to do then?” asked Cutter.
“Get out. I also realized that the more money I make, the more I have to give to others. There’s no advantage to either way. If folks get hurt, I don’t like that. If I working myself to death, so everyone else gets rich, I don’t like that either. Time to get out.”
Cutter said, “I figured that out a while back. I mean, a person needs to pay his or her way in life, but there’s got to be a limit on how much you want to do.”
“You know, Jimmy, I used to get a rush making a score. It was like a drug.”
Cutter nodded and said, “So here we are, beating up on some ignorant pirates out in the Pacific. Turns out they were led by one of the smart businessmen who doesn’t know any limits.”
“You’ve always talked about growing flowers.”
“Yeah, I have. I enjoy that. Like my mother used to do,” said Cutter. “Plant lots of flowers.”
Bill swept his sniper rifle across the jungle. “All of the pirates are dead or surrendered. You know, Jimmy, this was a close one. Good lesson for this old guy.”
Cutter asked, “You still got the dancing girls back there on Wake Island.”
Bill said, “Call it my swan song. Practice makes perfect. I wanted a real greeting for the winning boat. I tried to get a movie star but after dealing with the insurance and lawyers I gave up, hired a few singers and dancers with big boobs.”
“You worried about the Chinese reaction?”
“Hell, if the Chinese men don’t like to look at pretty women, I don’t know what they do like, Jimmy.”
Cutter grinned, “We’ll get the flying boat back up to Wake so you can continue your rehearsals for the grand finish. With Strand being investigated because of Slidell, Louis 14 wrecked, and the Brits out of it, Peregrine is the winner if she can make it the final miles to China.”
“You got that right.”
They stood on the sand of the lagoon beach, near the burning pirate hut.
For once, Cutter did not pay any attention to what Bill Johnson was saying to him. Instead, his mind focused on the two young people coming to him, the blue and ill-fitting US Navy overalls now covering their thin tortured bodies. Cutter felt the tears starting down his face, his tough Ranger face that had never felt his own tears. He went to his son and hugged him. He didn’t let go of either of his children.
A few hours later a freighter arrived at the opening of the lagoon. She had been sent out from a Philippine ship repair yard.
Bill walked down the beach toward it. He shouted over his shoulder, “Come on Jimmy. We’ve got to rebuild our clipper.”
Already small boats were being lowered from the freighter.
As cutter and the others stood watching, Bill said, “Every expert Johnson money can buy is coming in here. Monroe bet on our finding the Peregrine and had them pack up.”
“Our River Sunday people too?”
Bill pointed. Cutter looked at a small figure coming out of a large Navy helicopter. Even at this distance, he recognized Jolly’s Leprechaun grin. Behind his friend he saw two others, Big Smithy and Bilge, both carrying tools.
Chapter 22
September 25, 5 AM
Staten Island
Cutter’s call from the Pacific woke her up very early. His time was ahead of her by at least ten hours. Katy sat up in her bed and shook the exhaustion from her head. Around her small room were several pieces of aluminum and rubber diving gear. She listened as he related the island attack.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. The bad guys are the ones that got hurt. We killed most of them and the Philippine Seal Force took the rest to jail. They were pretty unhappy looking pirates or terrorists, whatever they called themselves.”
“Is Jamie all right?”
“He and Madeline are busy restoring the ship to sailing trim.”
“Was the brig wrecked badly?”
“It lay on its side beached as we had figured. However, except for the rigging they took off to careen her with, she’s in pretty good shape. Paint scraped in a few places. Jolly has been out here going over everything.”
“Was it a terror attack?”
“No. We shot down a helicopter that was trying to escape. Guess who was killed in it?”
“Who?”
“Slidell. He was trying to kill us with a rocket from his chopper when Willoughby went after him. They found enough on his burned body to identify him.”
“Slidell? The Strand people are involved, just as you thought.”
“Not sure. Right now the FBI is working with the Chinese to find out who Slidell was working with. They think he and Dela were behind all this. They also think that Strand knew nothing about it. Turns out Slidell and Dela had huge bets on Johnson stock going down if the race was lost.”
“Can you get to China?”
“As soon as we can. I have to return with Bill to Wake Island.”
“The actresses?”
He chuckled, “Yes. Are you diving today?”
“It’s our first good day since Peter has been back.”
Peter knocked at her motel door. “We’re ready, Katy.”
She called, “I’ll be there.” Then she said to Cutter, “We’re heading out now. Let’s talk again tonight.”
“Love you.”
“I love you too,” she said as she rang off.
As soon as she got her gear to the dive boat, they headed out.
Even though it was still early, Peter looked around and said that he had never worked with so many observers. He went on, “The media coverage of the Peregrine and Captain Tolchester is driving this. We can’t hide what we are doing any more. This is like the crowd that attends a police manhunt, a search for a murder victim. It’s the same audience that surrounds the police lines waiting for the first glimpse of a suspect.”
Over the last few days, reporters from the television shows had brought out boats of their own. Large fifty and seventy-five foot floating offices, complete with dozens of technicians, observed the dive area. Overhead helicopters sent shadows over the sunlit water as the reporters looked for stories. Their videos cast out on television to millions across the United States and perhaps the world who were now more than ever fascinated by this drama. After the release of the Tolchester letter, the media went into overdrive. Pictures of the American captain and his Chinese girlfriend as well as her emerald were pictured on special shows. The Chinese did not miss this opportunity either. The car manufacturer wanted to celebrate the ancient lovers. A red cruise boat held dozens of Chinese newsmen and dignitaries, some from the consulate in New York and others from the United Nations posts nearby. They were there to photograph everything and to celebrate the romance. The launch also carried executives from Johnson Company, the likely new automobile partner of the Chinese.
The marine police and the Coast Guard had been out early on the water. They set up barriers of restraining buoys to insure swimmers and scuba divers could not come close to the wreck site.
Hoffman Island came up quickly and a flight of protected seabirds lofted as the dive boat moved by them, i
ts engine noise as muffled as Captain Tate could make it.
Peter and Katy were planning to dive the site right away. The first target was the contact they had at the end of their former research. Identification of relics required months of reviewing recovered items and they had to start as soon as possible. In the interest of the press and the current attention to the ship, they had to accomplish as much as possible today. Once others knew the exact spot of research, it would be hard to patrol and keep away thieves. Second and as important, they were alert for a treasure of emeralds although none of them felt much chance in finding a tiny cargo like that. A great amount of mud sand and bottom debris inhibited any success.
They set out in a small rubber raft launched to the left of the cruiser. Peter put a small detection instrument aboard that he could use for shallow water. Katy climbed aboard, wearing her snorkel breather.
Working along the bar, and watching their GPS locator, Peter outlined a simple search program. He picked up the contact right away. They relocated the boat and planned a grid for exploration forty feet square. A dive marker was dropped.
“The water's not very clear,” she said as she surfaced from her first dive.
Katy said, “I’ll take the search to the left along the inside of the sandbar.” She adjusted her snorkel and went back under. The water was murky and until she had reached the bottom she had not been able to see anything. Then she noted the mud surface and wisps of seaweed and trash. On this shoreline side of the bar the ocean water could not wash the bottom bare so a soft bottom had formed. She brushed against the marker line. Beyond that, she could see about three feet. She went on, trying to head in the same direction before she had to come back to the surface.
When they surfaced, Katy told her partner she had found nothing. She headed back. The stirred up silt from their activity had further reduced underwater visibility.
Ahead of her, she saw the bulk of the large pipe that had been on the map. It was large, about four feet in diameter and had sunk into the mud. Below her, her hands touched what appeared to be a wooden log in the water. Its end stuck under the side of the pipe. As she approached the pipe she could see that while it headed north and south, the log was perpendicular to it, pointed to the shoreline or east. She mentally noted the piece of log and went up for air.
“I’ve found an object caught under the conduit pipe,” she called to Peter.
“I’ll come see.”
Together they went back to the log. Their faces were close and he could see her excitement through the oval glass of her mask. She was pointing to a projection from the log of what might be heavy encrusted metal coated with sea growth.
Peter got closer to examine the bottom. He signaled to Katy that more small logs or planks of wood headed back toward the sandbar. There was a strip of sea growth that appeared to be a long shape heading into the muck. He had to return to the surface.
They both continued to explore, working hard to find other sections of growth that might resemble the side ribs of a wooden ship. There was nothing visible. After a while they stopped topside and talked.
“It might be part of a keel. It is well sunk into the sandbar. We can try the ocean side. Remember, if we dig it has to be done carefully.”
This time they went down in an area located on the oceanside of the sandbar and opposite the wooden artifact. They had underwater lights and small trowels. On the other side of the pipe there was nothing to be seen on the scoured hard packed bottom. In the distance however they both saw a growth of weed like a small waving island in the tide current.
Peter immediately began to paddle toward the spot, observing his instruments as he did. Katy followed. When they got to the spot they found that it was an upright growth, something that might resemble an upright rib of a ship’s hull. It was not more than a foot above the muck of the bottom and was heavily encrusted with sea growth and clamshells. Around it was flat bottom mostly clear of other growth.
Peter dug at the object but could find nothing but more encrustation. After another few moments they went back up.
Peter had got some readings on his magnetometer. “There’s metal, probably nails. It is about in the similar area where we had recorded what I thought was an anchor.”
“Could it be part of the wreck we found on the other side of the sandbar?”
He nodded. “Might be. Something like the boat’s keel straddled the sandbar when it broke up. Could be a schooner or bigger. With the anchor nearby there’s a sure case for them to be connected. However, with all the shipwrecks here don’t get your hopes up.”
“Could it be part of a hundred foot ship?” asked Katy
“Might be. Figure the water has destroyed it some. Yes, could be wide enough wood for a keel section.”
He added, “We’ve got to map the site and then come back with proper excavation equipment.”
She said, “I’d like to cut a piece of the wood and have it examined.”
“Makes sense,” said Peter.
Katy said, “Unfortunately we need more immediate information. Analysis of sunken wood takes a long time. I haven’t got the time.”
“You’ve got to do this right or not do it at all. If we ruin the site there’s nothing to be found.”
“I have to take off my historian hat on this one, Peter,” she said. “We need whatever we can get and quickly.”
“You’re right about that,” he said, looking up at the helicopters filming them. “I can’t guarantee that the treasure hunters won’t be all over this place now that our dive boat has been seen here.”
“There is one thing we can do. While you are working on this chunk of wood, can I get that anchor out?”
“That we can do. An anchor is an anchor. It won’t have significant archeology we can disturb and we might even be lucky and trace it to the ship.”
“Right. All this work and we don’t even know if we’ve found her,” said Katy.
“I know it’s the ship. I feel it,” said Peter.
The anchor was several hundred feet from where Peter was working. He suggested Katy swim into the deeper water where it was, using her air tanks. She could get some firm lines on it so then the dive boat hoist could pull it up for examination.
The best plan, Peter told her, was to put a harness around the whole anchor and any chain still with it. They rigged a netlike arrangement of various lines that the diver could attach around the object.
Katy went out to begin setting the harness. Peter worked the other sites. The captain and his assistant watched her lines from the deck. Her first report on the radio in her gear was that it was a small anchor with some of the shaft protruding from the bottom.
The captain said, “I suspect it’s a kedge. The ship must have put it out. They’d pull on it to try to get the brig off the sandbar. Can you get the lines around it?”
“I think so.”
By now other boats in the area had nosed closer even though the captain tried to wave them back. Overhead a helicopter was circling, barely high to keep from rippling the water surface.
The captain radioed, “There’s nothing we can do about them. Let’s just get our anchor and get back to shore.”
After a short dive she surfaced giving the ready sign to the captain who began running the hoist. Katy went back to the bottom to supervise the lifting.
As the anchor began to rise she saw an attached square mass of conglomerate that had appeared under the sand and mud. It was a heavy crust of solid mud, dead marine growth and weed that had attached to the links of the old anchor chain.
Her hand slipped under the side of the conglomerate as it lifted out of the sand, a cloud of murky silt drifting up.
Then she was aware of an arm pulling under her chin, pulling her head back. Her air hose was pulled from her mouth. The intruder was pushing her further down, into the bottom sand. She pretended to go limp as her mind overcame her fear. She plotted how she was going to survive.
The fingers of her right hand grabbed
at the mud beneath her, trying to find anything, a stone or something, that she could use to hit with. She felt what might have been a rotten stick. It was round like a pipe. She didn’t wait as she closed the fingers of her hand around it. She brought it upward, twisted suddenly in the killer’s grip, and moved her arm to jam it beneath the mask of her attacker. She pushed hard and then saw a cloud of dark water from around the face of the person. The grip on her loosened and she saw the figure drift backward, its arms hanging lifeless. The cloud increased and she knew she had stabbed deep into the neck of the other diver.
She moved toward the surface and broke into the air, gasping.
“Someone tried to kill me,” she blurted. The captain called for help. His assistant dove into the water.
A few yards away, a bloody face and upper body of a man drifted to the surface, surrounded by dark water. Peter looked at the figure and said, “His head is almost cut off. Whoever he was, he is dead now.”
Then a Coast Guard utility pulled up next to Katy. Another boat with New York State police signaled the captain that it was coming to assist. She was helped into a harness and brought into the utility. Paramedical staff went over her condition. The other person was hauled out too. It was a young man with a beard and he was dead. He lay covered with blood and lifeless on the fiberglass deck of the State Police launch.
“What happened?” asked Peter, kneeling over her.
She said, “I was scared for sure. All I could remember was something my Ranger boyfriend Cutter told me.”
“What was that?”
“A grenade reaction.”
“What’s that?”
“When a person rolls a live grenade at you, you have to decide to run or pick it up and throw it away. You have to overcome the flinch.”
“Good advice from that Ranger,” said the captain. “Doing nothing gets you dead.”
The captain held up a metal object with clusters of conglomerate on one end. “This is what you killed him with.”
China Jewel Page 21
