“What do you see?”
“It looks like a name.”
“Cole! What name?”
“It looks like Joseph Roux.”
“Who the hell is that?”
Aboard the Dive Boat Odysea
Mediterranean Sea off Djerba Island
April 22, 2014
Virgil checked his watch for the third time. They’d been down there for thirty-five minutes and the sun was sinking fast. He needed to know if there was something there or not, and he wasn’t going to wait until morning.
He picked up his backpack and pulled his phone out of the side pocket. He checked his messages. His daughter had emailed him earlier that she wanted to talk to him. Soon. He’d sent her a brief note saying he was working, he’d be in touch when he could. There were no more messages. He put the phone away.
The boat driver was an Arab kid who spoke no English. He wouldn’t be able to get any info from him. He slouched against the bulwark, ignoring Virgil and only occasionally tweaking the controls so they could hold position according to the GPS unit attached to the windscreen above the helm. Virgil hadn’t liked giving them the coordinates, but there was no other way to get out here.
This thirty-five-foot dive boat with twin 200 HP outboards was the best thing he could charter when the cab dropped him off at Port Houmt Souk. It wasn’t much of a marina—barely more than a manmade harbor cut into the coast and protected with a meager breakwater. The surge in the harbor kept most yachts out. It was only a few fishing boats and the government boats that needed to be in these waters. The little dive boat was owned by an entrepreneurial Frenchman who thought he could pick up business from the many hotels along the beach. Lucky for Virgil, he hadn’t been too successful at that, so he jumped at the chance to take Virgil out.
From Virgil’s ride out in the helicopter, he had marked the exact GPS coordinates where Thatcher’s boat had been when he flew over. He understood from a phone call with the policeman who had boarded them that Thatcher had been in the water when the officials arrived.
That they had left so quickly was problematic. Or were they merely pretending to leave and in fact meaning to return to complete their work? He would find out when Remy and the other diver surfaced—hopefully soon.
About fifty yards away from the boat, the two divers surfaced.
“Hey, kid,” Virgil said. “Do you see that?” He pointed to the men in the water.
The Arab kid was sitting on the side of the boat, smoking a cigarette. When he saw the divers, he threw it into the water and walked to the wheel.
Virgil didn’t normally find anything wrong with the smell of cigarettes. Hell, he’d smoked since he was sixteen years old. But this kid’s cigarette smelled more like sweet spice than tobacco. The stink of it was making Virgil nauseated.
Of course, it might have had something to do with the swells, too. There wasn’t much wind, but the boat kept rolling in these long swells. His gut clenched into a tight ball with every roll. It wasn’t a natural motion.
The boat pulled up alongside the divers. The men shucked their dive gear while still in the water, and the Arab kid hauled it on board.
Remy was the name of the owner of the dive boat. Virgil didn’t know his dive partner’s name. He didn’t think that guy spoke any English, either. They’d taken a camera down with them, and whatever they found they promised they would record. Both men stood on the aft deck, peeling off their wetsuits, as the young crewman stored the tanks and equipment.
“So talk to me,” Virgil said. “What did you find?”
The Frenchman grinned. “It is quite a find. A submarine. Not a modern nuclear one, but from the Second World War.”
“Is it British?”
“I cannot say for certain. I don’t know them that well, but I took many photos.” He said something in French to the Arab kid boat driver. The kid walked over to the wheel and got the boat under way. “It’s late. I want to get back to the marina before dark. There’s nothing more we can do out here. Let’s go inside the cabin. It will be easier to talk in there.”
Virgil thought it was an exaggeration to call it a cabin. The forward part of the boat had a hard top, plastic side curtains, and a plywood-enclosed head. They were a bit farther away from the outboards, though, and out of the wind.
As Remy toweled himself off, Virgil asked, “Could you tell if there was any way to get inside the sub?”
“Yes, the main hatch is open, but it is too dangerous to go inside. I would need a team.”
“Why?”
“Wreck diving is a very special art. The entrance hatchway to a submarine is so narrow, a diver could easily get stuck and drown. Also, inside, you don’t know what you will find. It’s too dangerous to go in without using an ROV to do a video search of the wreck first.”
“And what if a man was really reckless? What if he thought he had one chance and one chance only to find something of value? Is it possible he went in and got it and made it out safely?”
“Of course it is possible. Maybe he’d get lucky, but he’d be a fool to do it.”
Virgil thought about what Priest had told him. Too many times people had underestimated this guy. He took chances. He’d probably gone in on his own. The question was whether or not he found something.
Remy was talking, and Virgil focused back on the dive master. “I can do the research for you if you like,” he was saying. “Tell you what type of sub it is and even exactly which one. There were some numbers on the side of the hull. Then, if you want, I can set up a dive to enter the wreck.”
“Just give me the pictures.”
“I know some guys at Cap Monastir who have an ROV. Do you know what this is?”
Virgil nodded.
“We could have it down here in a couple of days.”
“Take me back to the marina and give me a flash drive with all the photos. That’s all I’ll need.”
When they got back to the dock in Port Houmt Souk, Virgil went into the head to take a piss. When he came out, the three boatmen were up on the bow, messing with the dock lines and trying to rig the gangway that they used to cross to the concrete dock. Virgil went back to the stern. With the knife from his pack, he slit a fuel line that fed one of the big outboards. Liquid spewed out onto the deck. From his pack he pulled out a small electronic device and armed it.
When he started walking to the bow, he saw the underwater camera resting on a table. He opened the waterproof housing and pulled out the data card from the compartment on the bottom of the camera. When he reached the foredeck, he had his wallet open showing all the colorful bills inside.
“So what do I owe you guys?’
“We agreed on three hundred euros, right?” Remy said.
“You’ve been very cooperative. Thanks.” He handed him a sheaf of bills.
“Are you going to report the wreck? It’s a big deal to claim a find like that. That will really change the face of the dive industry around here.”
“Not interested.”
“Do you mind if I do?”
“What you do is up to you. Look, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“What about the images of the wreck?”
He waved them off. “I have your card. I’ll email you for them.”
Remy yelled at the guys to let Virgil pass.
The two Arabs stood aside.
Virgil crossed the parking lot and used his key to open the door of the Peugeot he’d rented at the airport. He tossed his backpack into the passenger’s seat, climbed in, and placed his cell phone on the dash. Once the car was running, he backed out of his parking place and headed slowly for the exit. He reached for the cell on the dash and dialed a number. Then he pulled to a stop. He couldn’t resist. He turned around in his seat so he could watch. Then he tapped the screen.
Manoel Island Yacht Marina
Marsamxett Harbour, Malta
April 23, 2014
Cole pulled back on the throttle as the big boat came out
of Msida Creek, where they had just cleared in with all the authorities. He and Riley were sitting up in the helmsman chairs, where they had spent most of the night.
“We’re cleared and ready to dock, and it’s not even noon yet,” he said. “Not too bad.”
“You know, after the last six years of sailing Bonefish more than halfway around the world, it’s hard to believe we just did two hundred miles in a bit over sixteen hours. We were hauling ass.”
“The original Shadow Chaser was no ball of fire, either.” Cole sat forward and patted the dash. “I’m very happy with the new boat. Now we’ve just got to make sure we keep us and her safe. I’m not crazy about the fact that by clearing in, we just popped up on the grid again.”
Cole heard Theo and Leia come up the stairs behind him.
“It’s a bit difficult to hide when you’re driving around in an eighty-three-foot expedition yacht,” Theo said.
“Look ahead there,” Riley said. “It’s the old Lazaretto Submarine Base. It’s right next to the marina I booked us into.”
Cole swung his head to take in the whole scene before them. “Pretty amazing to think of this place with half a dozen submarines in the creek and one or two tied up to a pontoon off that old stone building.”
“What does it look like?”
“I wish you could see it, buddy. The Lazaretto, like most of the old buildings here in Malta, is built of this local limestone, which has a beautiful yellow-gold color. At the Lazaretto, they cut small stones like bricks. On the ground floor, there is this gallery with columns of stone that support these arches. The limestone they use here is soft, which makes it easy to cut, but it also erodes in the weather faster than, say, something like marble. So the buildings here, both Fort Manoel and the Lazaretto, are crumbling and eroding away. Some of the damage probably dates back to the bombings during the war.”
“I guess the Upholder spent a lot of time here, then.”
“She did,” Cole said. “When I was doing research on the passage down to Djerba, I found this photo of Wanklyn and his crew right after he was awarded the Victoria Cross. They looked so young and happy. I’m looking at the spot right now where those men were standing and smiling. And just yesterday, I dove on their grave.”
No one said anything after that. Cole hadn’t meant to dampen the good cheer of their arrival, but he felt the weight of the loss of those good men. The big yacht was moving through the water at less than a knot. The harbor was plenty big enough, and there was no boat traffic, so he took the time to appreciate the ruins on Manoel Island.
“Looks like there’s a fence between the Lazaretto and the marina,” Riley said. “Guess we won’t be able to go in and explore.”
“Yeah, the Lazaretto and the fort are both in such bad condition it’s not safe to let people climb around there now. But there’s a plan to develop the island, renovate the Lazaretto complex, and turn it into shops, offices, flats, and a casino.”
“I kind of like it the way it is,” Riley said. “It’s easier to imagine the ghosts of Captain Wanklyn and Tug Wilson roaming around those ruins.”
“Hey,” Cole said. “Aren’t you the one who keeps insisting you don’t believe in ghosts?”
Riley sat up straight, but her phone rang just then.
“Hello?” she said after she’d slid it out of her pocket. “Oh, hi, Hazel.”
Theo inclined his head in an effort to listen. Cole had noticed it before, the effect that woman’s name had on his first mate.
“We’re fine. We just got docked at the Manoel Island Marina here in Malta.” Riley sat forward in her chair, and her free hand flew up to her collarbones, her fingers spread wide. “Really? Oh my God.”
“What is it?” Cole said.
She held up her hand as she listened. “No, I’m glad to say it wasn’t us. Sorry that you were worried. Yeah. Okay. You go back to enjoying Corsica. We’ve got lots to do today. I’ll call you later to let you know what’s happening. Ciao.”
“What was that about?”
“Hazel just heard on the news that three people were killed in a boat explosion yesterday on Djerba Island.”
With the help of the marina launch to run their stern lines ashore, Riley and Cole had the Shadow Chaser II med-moored to the seawall in no time. Cole congratulated his crew when they sat down for a quick lunch of cheese, yogurt, and crackers.
“Thanks, guys. We make a good crew. Eat up, then Riley and I will go see Dr. Günay.”
“What with standing watches all night,” Theo said, “we haven’t really had time to sit down together and go over what happened down at Djerba. And now with this news from Hazel, I think we need to talk about this before you two take off with that shield in hand.”
“Are you becoming a mother hen?”
“No, but I am the one in this group who has felt the effects of pissing off some bad guys. Let’s not be stupid and go blundering into this blindly, so to speak.”
“Theo’s right,” Riley said. “We’ve been reacting, and so far, we’ve been lucky. We need to get ahead of this.”
Theo said, “And I’m not even sure what ‘this’ is. I can’t see the big picture here.”
“To be honest,” Cole said, “I can’t, either—but that’s only because we don’t know what these Knights of Malta are after. Is it the shield or something else?”
Riley scraped the inside of a plastic yogurt cup with her spoon. “Besides the name, did you find any other markings that might tell us something?”
“Riley, wait,” Theo said. “Before we get to that, let’s start at the beginning. Cole became interested in the Knights of Malta. He started doing some simple research, and the next thing you know, you’re being followed. What I want to know is why. How did we unwittingly kick a hornets’ nest?”
“Theo, they are never going to leave me alone. I’ll be on their wanted list forever just for the Surcouf incident, let alone for what happened in the Philippines.”
Theo reached up and rubbed his eyebrows.
“Don’t give me that ‘Here we go again’ look.”
Theo held his hands up in front of his face. “How can a blind man give you a look?”
“You know what I mean.”
Riley stood up and walked away from the table. “Boys, boys,” she said. “Stop your squabbling.” She picked up her shoulder bag, then turned around. “Look. I think I can explain how the Knights of Malta got interested in Cole. And, much as I love your little paranoid, conspiracy-loving self, I don’t think it’s because the Knights had you on their Most Wanted list.”
“Oh really,” Cole said. “Would you care to explain?”
“Well.” Riley crossed her arms and looked at the floor. “I have a confession to make. I haven’t been entirely honest with you guys.”
She looked up, but Cole didn’t say anything. He just waited. She’d have to spit it out, if he was going to just keep quiet.
“That last day in the yard in Turkey, while you guys were getting ready to launch, I went into the office and asked to go over the tapes from the closed-circuit security cameras.” She opened the flap on her purse and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers. “I went back to the night before the explosion. And several days before, to see who might have been following Cole or keeping us under surveillance.”
Cole couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to do it. “You found something and you didn’t tell us?”
“Things have been moving pretty fast.”
“Riley, we had a five-day passage down to Djerba.”
“And you and I stood opposite watches. There was rarely a time the three of us were together.”
“And what about the days we were running the search?”
Theo put his hand on Cole’s arm. “Skipper. Do you want to hear what she has to say or not?”
Riley unfolded the papers and set them on the table. “I took some screenshots.” She spread out a couple of the pages and pointed. “That’s Blondie who was in the helicopter yesterday,” she
said, and then she slipped out a page beneath it. “And this one is of Diggory Priest.”
Aboard the Ruse
Mgarr Harbor, Gozo
June 10, 1798
The sky in the east was growing light when Alonso helped Arzella aboard the Ruse. She spread her arms and spun around in a circle.
“I cannot believe I am free.” The past weeks at the convent, she had dreamed of Alonso coming to take her away. She’d thought of those daydreams as silly indulgences with no hope of ever coming true.
“You won’t be for long if we don’t get moving.” He stood in the launch still. “Pass me that line so we can hoist the launch aboard.”
“Where are your men?” she asked as she swung the spar over and he grasped the hoist.
“You are the crew, my dear Arzella. We are going to sail the Ruse, just the two of us.”
“But why?”
Alonso jumped onto the deck, wrapped the line around a capstan, and began to turn, hoisting the smaller boat out of the water. “The men assumed we would be fighting against Bonaparte’s fleet. Rightfully, they assumed that would be suicide. The fight here is between the Knights and the French. The Maltese want no part of it.”
When the launch was above deck level, they swung it inboard and settled it into the chocks built into the wooden deck between the two masts.
“So I gather you and I are not rushing into battle?”
“No, dear. We are taking off on a long voyage. You’ve often said you wanted to see more of the world than just Malta. This is your chance. Come help me raise the anchor. Let’s get out of here before the French notice us.”
By the time they had secured the anchor and set both sails, the sun was well up. Alonso came out of his cabin carrying a large wooden strongbox crossed all around with straps of steel. She admired the metalwork, from the beautifully peened-over rivet heads to the elaborate designs around three different keyholes.
Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3) Page 24
