Wrath of Poseidon

by Clive Cussler

  “You should have your pick of shipwrecks. What are there, about fifty surrounding the islands?”

  “You’re familiar with the area?”

  “Read about it, but never been. Underwater archeology’s always fascinated me. The lure of being the first person to find something that’s been buried for centuries . . .” He smiled. “Is that your job? Archeologist?”

  “I wish. I’m a translator for an international shipping company. Sadly, it’s not the glamorous globe-trotting job I was hoping for. I sit in a cubicle in Long Beach most of the day, wearing a headset.”

  “Which language?”

  “Whichever one they need. I’m fluent in several, passable in a few more. How about you?”

  Recalling Blake’s warning, he kept it vague. “Past job, design engineer. Current job, retail.”

  “Doing what, exactly?”

  So much for glossing over the truth. “Would you believe grocery store shelf stocker?”

  “That’s quite the change in careers.”

  The truth was a bit complicated. Sam, a Caltech engineering graduate, had been recruited by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, to design technology for the Department of Defense. After seven fruitful years, he’d put in his notice, and moved back to California to pursue what had been up until recently a lifelong dream. “It is, but I wanted the freedom to work on a project. An argon laser scanner.”

  Her brows went up, then furrowed slightly. “Which does . . . what?”

  “If it ever gets past the paper stage, it’ll identify mixed metals and alloys at a distance. Gold, silver, platinum, you name it.”

  “For real?”

  “Not yet, but that’s what I’m hoping. My friend,” he said, nodding at the bar, where Blake was still camped out in front of the TV, “set up a meeting with a group of investors in a few weeks. If all goes as planned, they’ll be funding the project, and I can actually take it from paper to reality. For now, the grocery job keeps a roof over my head and gives me time to work on the project.”

  “And yet,” she said, tapping her glass with her perfectly manicured nails, “you’re buying bottles of wine for complete strangers? Not exactly budget friendly.”

  “So I eat a lot of peanut butter sandwiches for the next week? High in protein and very affordable.”

  She laughed. The next several hours passed in a blur as they talked about anything and everything, most of it nautical. Before Sam knew it, the bartender was crying out, “Last call!”

  Remi looked up, her expression mirroring how Sam felt. The night was too short. She’d been discussing her upcoming research trip.

  He reached over, tapped her hand, getting her attention. “You were saying? About your trip, why you picked Greece?”

  She seemed startled by his touch, but smiled. “Sorry. I don’t know where the time went. The trip . . . I spent my junior year abroad. One of the other students’ father heads up the Fourni Underwater Archeological Preservation Society, a nonprofit that’s working to preserve some of the ancient shipwrecks from looting. He invited me for a summer sabbatical. I couldn’t pass up the invite and have a few weeks of vacation coming. Couldn’t think of a better thing to do. Especially with this awful job I have.”

  “So you do have a background in . . .”

  “Oh, no. The only thing I know about underwater archeological sites is from school—”

  “What’d you major in?”

  “I have a master’s in history and anthropology, with a focus on ancient trade routes. And,” she said with a beaming smile, “you’re looking at a newly certified scuba diver—as of yesterday.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. I figured it’s all good training for when I get back here to search for my Spanish galleon.”

  “So how long will you be in Fourni?”

  “Three weeks. Then it’s back here, same old, same old. Until, well—” She looked up as the lights flickered on overhead, warning them that time was up. They were the only two left in the bar.

  “Here’s to a successful trip.” The two had switched to water long before that, and he lifted his half-empty glass. They touched rims once again, drained their glasses, then stood. “Walk you to your car?” he said.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  They walked out into a nearly deserted parking lot, theirs the only two cars remaining. His, a well-used red Jeep Wrangler with a patina of California sun, bleached and sandblasted, and oversized off-road tires complemented her shiny red Porsche 911 GT3. As they neared, she took out her key fob, unlocking it. Trying to ignore Blake’s earlier comments, Sam reached over, opening her door, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

  She tossed her purse onto the front passenger seat, then turned back to him. “You sound pretty sure of yourself. Exactly how will you find me?”

  “Do you know anything about constellations?”

  Her smile dazzled him. “A bit.”

  “That star there.” He pointed into the black sky. “The one at the end of the Little Dipper.”

  “The North Star?”

  “You find that, you’ll find anything.” He stared up at it a moment, then looked over at her. “It’ll always lead me to you.”

  “What if we’re in the southern hemisphere, where we can’t see Polaris?”

  He laughed, telling himself he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew the actual name of the star. He leaned down, kissing her before he lost his nerve. “Just in case, a phone number works.” He stepped back, giving her plenty of space, the cool night air rushing between them.

  The next thing Sam knew, Remi was reaching back in her car for her purse, then pulling out a pen. She found a receipt from the grocery store in one of the pockets and jotted down her number. “You’re definitely a bad influence on me,” she said, handing him the slip of paper. “I’m giving a man I just met—at a bar, no less—my phone number.”

  She slid into the driver’s seat, looking up at him. “I did have an enjoyable evening. Certainly better than dinner with the girls.”

  “Let’s do it again. Tomorrow night. Not the same thing. Something different, but tomorrow night.”

  “You realize it’s already tomorrow?”

  “You know what I mean. Oh, wait a minute.” Sam fumbled in his pocket as Remi watched with a small smile on her face. Obviously, she was doing something out of character. But, obviously, he looked a little like a fish out of water, too.

  “Here, the card is old, but the cell phone number is still mine. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  He closed the door. She started the car, backing up from the space. She started to pull forward, but then the pavement lit up from the glow of her brake lights as she stopped, rolled down her window, and looked back at him. The corner of her eyes crinkled as she laughed. “I accept. Looking forward to today’s tomorrow night!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It seemed Remi had only just fallen asleep when her alarm went off, the vibration so loud her teeth felt like they would crack. Wait. Not her alarm. She didn’t have to go to work. Finally, Remi’s hand reached her cell phone on the nightstand. “What?”

  “Good morning.”

  The voice was far too cheery for this early hour. “Who is this?”

  “Guess I didn’t leave the impression I had hoped for last night.”

  “Who is this? Sam?” Remi sat bolt upright. “Sam.” She took a deep breath. This was not how it was supposed to go.

  “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “What time is it?” She pulled her phone from her ear, trying to read the time through sleep-blurred eyes.

  “It’s just after seven. But I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Now?”

  “No time like the present. You said you were leaving in two weeks and planning to div
e on wrecks in Greece. Do you have your wreck diving certification?”

  “Noooo?”

  “That’s what I thought. Do you have your own dive gear?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that. How do you take your coffee?”

  “I take my coffee from the kitchen.”

  “I’ll be over in an hour. We can talk about everything then. I just need your address.”

  Before she could stop herself, Sam had her address and the line was dead.

  An hour later Sam was at the door with two steaming coffees and the most beautiful warm croissants Remi had ever eaten. There she was sitting in her kitchen, watching Sam as he talked about her Spanish galleon and friends he had who could help her with her research. Then there were certificates for wreck diving, deep diving, and drift diving, and something about kelp. And the next thing she knew they were going to see a friend of his that worked in a dive shop in Santa Ana, a Clive something or other. He was going to get her a really good deal on dive equipment. On the way out the door, all Remi could think about was one big question, is this a first date?

  In the afternoon, they drove to Newport Beach, had lunch at the Crab Cooker, walked the beach, took the ferry to Balboa Island, and as the sun set, Remi found herself at the smallest, most charming French restaurant, where everyone knew everyone’s name, even Sam’s.

  So, maybe it was a first date. But the next morning there was no alarm ringing at seven. As a matter of fact, the whole morning was deadly silent. And when the phone finally rang late that afternoon, she was so angry with herself for waiting for the phone to actually ring that she almost didn’t answer it. After all, she was an independent woman. That thought fled the moment Sam said hello, and she found herself smiling. Of course, dinner would be great and maybe a movie.

  They chose the Lighthouse again and there was so much to talk about, the movie never happened. The idea of kelp diving off the island of Catalina fascinated Remi, and Sam was going to arrange for her to get her wreck diving certification. Sam knew someone for everything. Plans were made, and the next day bags were packed, more bags than Sam ever thought necessary.

  The ferry ride over was the beginning of amazing.

  Meeting them at the dock was Steve Drake, a retired Navy SEAL who ran a charter boat and dive shop. He also happened to be a dive instructor. They stayed with Steve and his wife, Kate, who ran the best bed-and-breakfast on the island.

  The next morning Steve, Kate, Sam, and Remi headed out to the kelp fields. The moment they entered the water, Remi found herself enveloped in a world of muted greens and blues below. Above, the afternoon sun lit up the surface, giving an iridescent glow to the ocher-colored leaves and thick stems of the undulating kelp bed. A school of small fish suddenly turned tail, darting away in a flash of silver. Sam began swimming in and out of the kelp. Remi was fascinated as the long ribbons danced in the water. Slowly, she began to turn and twist among the giant kelp, when a dark shadow suddenly stole the sun from her and the water turned. Catching the long dorsal fin from the corner of her eye, she glanced up, startled, certain it was a shark—then breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the massive sunfish as it slowly turned and faded away.

  After watching it a few moments, she continued her descent, catching up to Sam. Together, they swam to the bottom of the kelp bed, where a reddish-orange spiny-headed scorpionfish lurked. Sam reached past it, picking up an empty snail shell rolling along the seafloor, handing it to Remi. She dropped it into her dive bag, thinking it would make a nice reminder of her first successful dive since being certified. Before she knew it, Sam was signaling that it was time to surface.

  “That was incredible!” she said, pulling her regulator from her mouth. “I could do this forever.”

  Sam, treading water next to her, slid his face mask up. He reached out, drawing her close, then kissed her on the lips. “I could do that forever . . .”

  They slipped down into the water, and he kissed her again, this time holding her tight. When they surfaced a few seconds later, she nodded. “Me too.”

  They left Catalina, Remi with wreck certificate in hand and two friends richer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Remi eyed the stacks of carefully folded clothes on her bed, ready to be packed for her trip to Greece, then looked at the full suitcase for her weekend with Sam. “I think I have everything.”

  Her roommate, Olivia Brady, shook her head. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I may be falling in love.”

  “Are you even listening to yourself? The guy’s a stocker in a grocery store.”

  “For now.”

  “Right. Like we haven’t heard that story before.”

  “He’s an engineer.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “He told me.”

  “I can’t find anything about him on the internet. And you know I’m good at that.”

  Remi looked up from her suitcase. “Why would he lie?”

  “Why do you think guys lie about that stuff? How naive can you be?”

  “He’s not like that—”

  “Says the girl who’s never been out on her own before. College doesn’t count. He picked you up in a bar, for heaven’s sake. You can’t possibly think it’s okay to go away with him.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “For good reason.”

  Remi zipped up her suitcase, then took a second look in her closet to see if she’d missed anything. “I wonder if I should pack a coat.”

  “You know nothing about this guy.”

  “I’ve dated him for almost two weeks. Every day. If he was going to do something shady, he’d have done it by now.”

  “Are you even listening to yourself? You can’t just run off for the weekend with someone you don’t know.”

  “I have before.”

  “I wasn’t here then, but now I am, and I need to put a little sense back into you. You have a plan. This,” she said, nodding at Remi’s suitcase, “does not fit with this.” She swept her hand toward a corkboard hanging on Remi’s bedroom wall. There were articles of the Fourni archipelago shipwrecks pinned to it, notes from research, and timelines she’d mapped out on how she planned to proceed with that venture. Another board showed the Spanish galleon notes.

  Remi had always known from an early age what it was she wanted to do. Working as a translator was a very small step in her overarching goal of one day heading up a team to explore some of the areas she was researching. From there she planned to write a book, then produce a documentary. “You worry too much.”

  “Do I? What, exactly, do you know about him?”

  “Besides that he saved a man’s life at risk of his own?”

  “Emphasis on the risk. He recklessly jumped into the water without waiting for help.”

  “He loves the ocean. He’s nice. And he’s a dreamer.”

  “Which is code for poor.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “Money? That stuff we need to keep us in the lifestyles we’re accustomed to? The clothes in your luggage are worth more than his car.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being poor.”

  “Until you become poor. And you might if you continue down this road. At the very least, take your car. That way if you end up on the bottom of the ocean, his prints will be all over it.”

  Remi dragged her full-to-the-hilt suitcase off the bed and rolled it into the front room, leaving it next to her dive gear bag. “I have a good sense for people.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?”

  “It’s just a weekend.”

  “This from the girl who’s plotted out her entire life like detectives plot out crime scenes for court. Need I remind you that you’re leaving for Greece on Monday?”

  “And I’ll be back Sunday.”r />
  The doorbell rang.

  “Do not do this, Remi.”

  “It’s a date. Nothing permanent.”

  Remi walked to the door and opened it.

  Sam stood there, looking as carefree and handsome as he had the night before when they’d sat at the beachside grill before he left for work. A moment of uncertainty hovered at the back of her consciousness, but it quickly evaporated when he smiled at her. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning.”

  He looked past her to see her roommate standing in the kitchen. This being the first time Sam had actually been to their apartment when Olivia was home, the two had never really met. “Sam Fargo,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Olivia lifted an empty glass, an innocent smile on her face. “Would you like some water before you go?”

  Remi crossed her arms. “Seriously?”

  Sam glanced at Olivia, then Remi. “Do I sense a little tension here?”

  “She wants to get your prints.”

  He laughed, then walked over, taking the glass from Olivia, holding it firmly, then setting it on the counter. “I assure you, I’m harmless.”

  “Which,” Olivia said, “is what all the serial killers probably say.”

  He picked up Remi’s suitcase and gear bag. “Ready?”

  She nodded, then turned to her roommate. “Have fun while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll be doing an internet search the moment you leave.” Olivia stood in the doorway, watching as they started down the stairs toward the parking lot.

  Sam opened the tailgate of his Jeep. Remi glanced into the cab, then into the cargo area. “A backpack?”

  “I tend to be a light packer,” he said, moving everything aside to make room for her full-size suitcase. “I noticed you aren’t.”

  “I like to be prepared for every eventuality.”

  “Nothing wrong with being prepared.” As he closed the tailgate, his eyes strayed up to the balcony, where her roommate stood, holding her camera out, very obviously taking a photograph of his car. He waved to Olivia, then opened the door for Remi.

  “Sorry,” Remi said. “She’s a bit overprotective.”