A CRY FROM THE DEEP (20 page)

~~~

Catherine’s mind swirled as she drove back to Killybegs. “
Someone you love was taken from you.” “You weren’t able to finish what you started.” “Life has a way of working things out if you believe
.” Disturbed by what the psychic had said, she almost missed a turn. When she veered to get on the right road, a truck came whizzing by, nearly hitting her. Shaking, she had to park by the side of the road until she settled her nerves.

How did Magdalena know about the water? She seemed so sure the ring was trying to tell her something. But what? The ring’s motto was
Let Love and Friendship Reign.
She had no problems with friends. As for love, well, she’d tried it once, and it hadn’t worked. Besides, there were tons of people wandering the earth looking for Mr. Right and they weren’t being haunted by spirits.

Magdalena had also mentioned a previous lifetime. She’d said that whomever Catherine may have loved then was in her life right now. Was it Richard? Or could it be Daniel? But for all she knew, it could be any one of the other men in her life. Frank? No, he had a lovely wife. Jerry, or Mark or the divers she’d met? Or even Hennesey? Now, that would be a laugh.

Back on the road, as the miles whipped by, she began to think she was putting too much stock in what the psychic had to say. She had never been a flighty person. She’d always been level headed. Now that she’d taken on this assignment, she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by some dreams and visions that probably had more to do with her fear of the sea than some paranormal bullshit.

She was driving a stretch of road with no traffic. With one hand on the wheel, she held up the other with the ring on it. Admiring it, she said, “The next thing, you know, I’ll be talking to you. Bedlam, here I come.”

TWENTY-ONE

Hennesey manoeuvred the
Golden Eye
out of Donegal Bay. Standing on the starboard side, Catherine gazed at the seagulls swarming over the marina. Many of the locals were still in bed but the sea was already throbbing with dozens of fishing boats out for the early catch. With the harbor humming with fishermen chasing their own dreams, it was the ideal time for Hennesey to slip away from the dock without attracting too much attention. They passed brightly painted vessels of every kind, including small half-deckers and large trawlers. Amongst them, a weathered grey rowboat wobbled in the wake of a motorboat leaving its berth.

“Love this time of the morning,” Daniel said, as he came up beside her.

Turning to him, she smiled. “A little chilly, but nice.” Daniel was wearing one of those grey wool fishermen’s sweaters that enhanced his rugged looks. Together, they stared at the town growing smaller as they drove out to sea.

“You have to admire Hennesey,” said Daniel, glancing back at the wheelhouse. “He has his radio off. Any hint he’s after a wreck loaded with treasure could alert other salvagers. I’m sure there are plenty in these parts.”

“I don’t know about that, but there’s more than a half-dozen diving clubs just over there alone.” She pointed to St. John’s Point, a little south of Killybegs.

His eyes crinkled. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

She laughed. “I read it in a tourist pamphlet. Great diving here because the water’s warmed by the Gulf Stream.” She crooked her head. “What am I telling you for? You know this stuff.”

Resting his arms on the gunwale, he said, “Even with his stealth, it’s near impossible to keep secrets.”

“What do you mean?”

“By applying for a license to survey the area, he’s let the cat out of the bag. Someone who knows could compromise his situation.”

“They could, if he did apply.”

“With his share of wrangling in the courts, he’d be stupid not to.”

“Right.” She said, looking over her shoulder. This wasn’t the time to entertain eavesdroppers.

“It’s okay. No one’s picking up what we’re saying. Want a coffee? I have to get one to wake up.”

“No thanks. I drank a gallon at the B & B.”

After Daniel left, she looked back at the fishing village. Killybegs must’ve been tiny when the remains of the Spanish fleet showed up at its port in 1588. Three ships had made it as far as the bay; the most famous was the Girona, whose treasures were now on display in a museum in Belfast. The men who’d come ashore and stayed were referred to as the Black Irish. It was easy to understand the attraction between the two groups. Both the Irish and the Spaniards had fire in their blood and passion in their music.

They passed a sprinkling of homes along the shore, the development fading as they motored past inlets and bluffs towards the north. The haze that had hovered over the sea had vanished, unveiling a golden sunrise. As Catherine took in the view, she couldn’t help but think back on the Irish folk tales she’d read as a child and the ones she’d read to Alex. Ireland’s rolling terrain was a perfect backdrop for a fanciful world populated with leprechauns, fairies, and other whimsical creatures.

She took a few photos and then looked at the helm, where she could see Hennesey through his wheelhouse window. While she questioned his methods, she had a high regard for his skills. He’d been salvaging for decades and was now regarded as one of the world’s best treasure hunters. In a matter of days, she’d discover if he had changed his ways. When he’d started in the business, he’d lived the life of a pirate, taking what was there without any conscience. But now, with environmentalists, government agents, and marine archaeologists breathing down his neck, he had to be more careful, more respectful. Still, once a thief, always a thief.

As if the elements were aware of her thoughts, they did their best to soothe her. The wind played with her hair and the smell of the ocean calmed her. She could now see Carrigan Head, a rugged coastline with towering hills of rock jutting up from the shore.

“It’s something, huh?” said Joy, joining Catherine on the deck. She was wearing an apron with a dusting of flour over it and her black unruly hair was pushed off her face by a hot pink elasticized hair band. Her ebony skin shone from working over a hot stove.

“It sure is,” said Catherine. “I understand now why the Irish are known for their blarney. The whole place looks unreal. I can’t believe all the greens. They say there are forty shades of green in Ireland. I didn’t think that was possible until I got here. Pictures don’t do this place justice.”

“You got that right.” After a few moments of drinking in the scenery, Joy said, “I keep forgettin’ to ask you. How’s that little munchkin of yours?”

“She’s visiting my ex-mother-in-law in the country.”

“Are you cool with that?”

Catherine made a face. “Sybil’s not an easy grandmother. Her standards are so high I don’t know if anyone can please that woman.”

Joy snorted, “One of those, huh? Don’t worry. From what I’ve seen of Alex, I’m sure she’ll give the old lady a run for her money.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Catherine knew she had a tendency to be over protective but that knowledge didn’t stop her from worrying. If there were any problems, she hoped Richard would intervene.

When Catherine had phoned him the evening before to talk about Alex, he was out for dinner with Monique something or other, who kept interrupting and saying they were going to be late for the theatre.
The cow
. Catherine had never been jealous of the women in Richard’s life, whether they were his patients, friends, or colleagues, but this was different. For some reason she didn’t like the sound of this woman’s voice. She sounded too territorial for Catherine’s liking. She’d have to ask Alex about her, find out whether she’d met Papa’s new girlfriend or not. She couldn’t imagine another woman being involved with Alex’s parenting, but she was getting ahead of herself. Why wouldn’t Richard date someone else?
Of course, he would
. It’d been three years since the divorce. He’d probably dated many women by now. So, why was she so surprised? She sighed. Maybe because his personal life hadn’t come up before. And maybe because she was now recognizing what she’d lost. He was handsome, intelligent, financially astute, and a man who dressed well.
Who wouldn’t want to marry him?

Joy nudged her. “Well, back to the salt mines. Hennesey hates it if I don’t get the meals out on time.”

Richard always hated lateness, too. So, he was going out with Monique.
French
.
He’d always had a thing for French women.

~~~

Hennesey was making good time. They’d been out almost an hour and were close to their destination. Catherine was on deck when they rounded Carrigan Point with its majestic view of Slieve League Cliffs. Rising sharply from the sea to flat bluffs, the cliffs were mountain high and uninhabitable. Waves crashed on the rocks below, sending plumes of water several stories high, but out where they were, the sea was relatively calm.

With the boat slowing down, Catherine went to the bridge, where the excitement was palpable. Hennesey, Daniel, Jerry, Olaf, and Gabe were discussing their survey plans.

Frank had told Catherine that Gabe De Vries was one of the best magnetometer operators in his field. He’d been instrumental in finding a few ancient Egyptian vessels in the Mediterranean, ones that had kept antiquity collectors around the world awake at night lusting after its potential treasures. Now, the people behind
National Geographic
were gambling on Hennesey’s skills in salvaging and Gabe’s reading of the data to find the vessel that had escaped detection for centuries.

Hennesey passed the steering wheel to Olaf and then huddled with the others around the computer. The screen, with its visual grid, showed the boat’s position.

The boat was moving in a methodical fashion—at five to eight knots parallel to the shore—much like someone cutting grass. It was slow enough for the men at the computer to identify any anomalies. They were all looking for those dark images on the screen that could mean some part of a wreck.

Hennesey rolled his chair closer to a map on a side table. He pointed to two spots, north of their current position. “Mullaghderg and Rinn a’Chaislean. This is where I think those two galleons went down. They could’ve been travelling with the Girona. There were sightings, but nothing’s ever been found to identify either ship. But with all the storms and tides, one of them could’ve ended up in these waters.”

Daniel said, “Wrecks are always shifting. That could explain why no one’s found anything.”

Hennesey nodded and scratched his chest. “With Gabe here, we should be able to detect a brass cannon or an iron anchor within two to three hundred feet. They had a lot of cannons on board, so hopefully a lot of that metal is in one place.”

“And if it isn’t?” asked Catherine.

Gabe said, “It means the ferrous articles are broadcast over a larger area. We won’t have the same range of detection.”

Catherine knew this search could take days, weeks, even months. She remembered the stories of Mel Fisher, the famous treasure hunter who’d found the Atocha. He’d gone up and down the coast of Florida for a year before he’d found anything from that wreck. Changing tides, seasonal storms, and years of erosion or decay had affected their game.

But one thing all salvagers took comfort in, was the fact that heavy gold objects like goblets stayed intact. Gold retained its properties and shine, unlike silver that corroded with time. It would be as brilliant today as it was hundreds of years earlier. They remained buried near a ship’s final resting place, even if that ship had broken apart. That was the part that intrigued Catherine. How something that old could endure for centuries under the sea.

TWENTY-TWO

The team’s first outing had ended with disappointment. No iron was detected. And with the following day socked in, it didn’t look like they’d find anything anytime soon. Hennesey told everyone they had the morning free, on the stipulation he could reach them in an hour’s notice if the weather improved.

Catherine decided to use the time to do more sleuthing. Though dismissing the psychic’s reading, she hadn’t entirely given up on finding the old man on the road. She checked the local phone book and made a few calls. Of the six O’Donnells listed, none of them answered to Martin nor any other elderly gentlemen that fit her description.

Then she remembered what Adam had said when she’d talked to him on the pretext of searching for her family roots. He’d suggested parish records. There were three churches under the Churches’ heading in the yellow pages. She phoned each one hoping to find someone with access to the records of the diocese, but it being a weekday, two of the three were closed. She had always wondered about the logic of closing a church for part of the week. Not that she was interested in going at some random time, it was just nice to know that God’s house was always open.

When she finally tracked down the Protestant minister and the two Catholic priests of the three local parishes, not one of them knew the man in question. But then she thought, what if Martin wasn’t a God-fearing man? What if he’d never attended church?
But how likely was that? In Ireland, especially in his generation, the majority were church-going Christians.