Night Diver: A Novel (17 page)

“I’m on your side.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Now you promise me one thing.”

“What?” he asked.

“Be careful down there.”

He gave her a crooked smile and a pull on her ponytail. “Every time, Kitty Kat.”

With worried eyes she watched her brother shamble out the door and heard him call to one of the divers.

He needs a week of sleep. Or a really big find.

And she couldn’t give him either one.

Grimly she went back to the computer, hoping she would discover something that would help her family out.

In the end, the best she could do was sign off on today’s manifest for the divers. She hit the forward key.

One more time,
she told herself, and switched to the accounting software.

“You need a break,” Holden said from the doorway.

She looked up and smiled wearily. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’ve signed off on the manifest. My computer pinged at me, so I know you have, too. Farnsworth will meet us at the warehouse after he refuels. He can sign off on today’s haul and lock it down. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour, total.”

“Us?”

“As in you and me,” he said with satisfaction. “I’m required to have a representative of Moon Rose Limited accompany me and the goods, due to your new protocols.”

“Oh. I assumed you’d take Larry.”

“Why would I do that? He hasn’t signed off on anything. Even if he had, he’s so knackered I wouldn’t trust him with custody of a flea. Tag, you’re it, but I’ll buy you lunch afterward.”

“I don’t think the dive expenses cover lunch out.”

“I won’t expense it,” Holden said.

With a smile she gave in to what both of them wanted. “Okay.”

Wearing khaki pants, a loose, ratty Manchester United T-shirt, and his habitual frown, Farnsworth met Holden and Kate at the warehouse. The clothes emphasized his compact, wiry build. Except for frown lines, he looked about eighteen.

“There you are,” he said to them. “Good to see you in person, as it were. Seems like we spend all our time in tiny boxes looking at life through little screens and speaking though small microphones. Seeing people in the flesh is always a bit of a surprise.”

Kate smiled. “You have a particularly small box to work out of.”

He gave her a smile that was almost shy. “I’ll give you a quick recce of the warehouse after we lock up today’s valuables. It went well, didn’t it? The emerald is particularly nice. AO was quite excited. The brooch is lovely, too. At least on the screen.”

Kate thought of the piece of jewelry, its silky weight and winking diamonds. “The brooch is fine in person, too. The emerald is wrapped in a separate, cushioned box. The color is incredible, like the heart of summer condensed into a single crystal.”

“Should fetch some pounds on the market,” he said, nodding.

“Certainly more than that disreputable T-shirt you’re wearing,” Holden said, shaking his head.

“A vestige of my heavier days,” Farnsworth admitted. “I can’t quite bear to give it up, though. Reminds me of home.”

“Sounds like you’ve been away for a time,” Holden said. “It softens the edge of the accent.”

Farnsworth ran a hand through close-cropped hair that was in need of another going-over. “Actually, I went to school in the United States, Boston to be precise. Worked abroad far more than at home. Feel like a tourist when I go back. It’s all high-tech and no factories. Though the apartments are still there. Bloody horrible things, all slabs and no personality. You?”

“London, London, and London. They let me out of my cage occasionally, but not often. Turns out that I can yell at people almost as well via teleconference as I can in person.”

“Ah, yes. Unfortunate, that. It just makes our little boxes even smaller. At least this box,” he said, opening the warehouse door, “has breathing room.”

After the tropical sun, the industrial lighting looked dim and unnatural, a not-quite-twilight that never changed.

“You haven’t shipped the silver ingots yet?” Holden asked.

Farnsworth followed the other man’s glance to the stack of ingots sheathed in gleaming, semitransparent plastic. The heavy columns were wrapped in metal bands, sitting on a pallet and waiting to be forklifted aboard a truck for transfer to a cargo ship. There were other boxes and crates laid out around the warehouse, each sealed and stamped and ready for transport.

“AO is waiting for one of our ships to take the heavy goods, except if we find gold ingots. Then we make special arrangements with a licensed, bonded courier service,” Farnsworth said. “London doesn’t trust the natives with gold.”

Holden said, “Antiquities doesn’t trust anyone with gold.”

“Looking at the sheer volume of boxes,” Kate said, “how can your AO complain about the efficiency of the dive operation?”

Holden and Farnsworth glanced at one another. And laughed.

“Right,” Kate said. “They are human and they complain.” She looked at the packet she was carrying and gave it to Farnsworth. “They’ll probably complain about this, too.”

Farnsworth took it, checked that the packet’s seal hadn’t been disturbed, and compared the manifest tag to his pocket computer’s entry. He approved everything as in good order before he tucked the packet under his arm.

“Lovely. The second length of money chain,” Farnsworth said almost caressingly. “What was it—three hundred grams?”

“Three thirty,” Holden corrected. “Thirty grams is thirty grams.”

“Right you are.” Farnsworth walked to the steel desk in a nearby corner, placed the packet in a drawer, and locked it.

Holden’s eyebrows shot up.

Kate said, “Is that it? A locked desk in a shabby warehouse near the docks? How can your bosses be sniffing around my family as thieves? This place is a sieve!”

“Oh, it’s safe enough,” Farnsworth said with a small smile. “Though you can’t see them, there are cameras in every corner, motion triggered and wired into the alarm box over by the roll-away door. The cameras work in darkness and in light as well.”

“Unless things have changed radically since I was last here,” she said, “the local police will sleep through anything but a woman’s invitation.”

“The lock and hinges on the warehouse door couldn’t be shot out,” Farnsworth said, “though they could be drilled if you had a diamond tip and three hours. But the instant you touched the exterior openings to the warehouse, an alert goes to the ship. If you’re here, you would be bloody well deafened by the alarms.” He ducked his head. “I spend quite a few nights with my lady friend, whose house is about a hundred meters away. I’m hardly James Bond, but I do know which end of a pistol to hold.”

“Thus the reason you insisted on that expensive speedboat so you could race around at all hours,” Kate said.

“It costs less than a night guard would. Your brother approved it.”

Holden spoke up when Kate still looked unhappy. “Looks like you’re almost as secure here as the local bank.”

“More, actually. The light goods go out by a bonded carrier tomorrow. I’ll take them to the airplane personally. The heavy goods are just that. Too heavy for local thieves to bother with, and too distinctive to fence even if you could manage to steal them. AO has a whacking great reward posted for information resulting in the trial and punishment of any locals trafficking in England’s sunken treasure.” He turned to Holden. “Speaking of heavy goods, did you bring any?”

“Some bits and bobs,” Holden said, pointing at the Volkswagen, which had been parked close to the roll-away door. “Cannonballs, anchor chain, shot, that sort of thing.”

Farnsworth looked out at the truck in the steaming early-afternoon sun. “Now then, who can I enlist in assisting me in the unloading and conveyance of submarine treasures?”

Kate glanced sideways at Holden and smiled. “Tag, you’re it. I’ve already signed the material over to you, and you’ve accepted. The designated weighty marine treasures are the property of the Crown, which means they’re all yours.”

Holden sighed at the thought of heavy lifting in the tropical sun. “All right then,” he said to Farnsworth. “And while we work, you can explain to me how Man U is going to keep the Cup out of Arsenal’s hands this year.”

“It’s quite clear that the superior ball-handling . . .” Farnsworth’s voice faded as he and Holden disappeared outside, leaving Kate alone with the boxes of salvage from
Moon Rose
.

Awful lot of boxes for stuff that is coming out of a so-so salvage dive,
she thought.
But what do I know? Grandpa was never much for preserving scraps of wood and broken crockery.

If this setup is any indication, it costs a lot to preserve history.

She thought it was worth every penny, but she wasn’t the one paying the bills.

“ . . . and that’s why they’ll win,” Farnsworth said, returning to put a cannonball and a box of lead shot on a processing table.

Despite his wiry frame, he must have had decent muscle, because he wasn’t huffing or dumping the weight with relief.

Holden eased a big armload of metal chain onto the table, saying something that was buried in the clatter.

Two Vincentians came in a side door and walked to the long packing table. As they went to work, they talked in an island creole that was as soft on the ears as a sea breeze, except for the occasional, startling upper-crust British phrase. From what Kate could catch, their lunch had been almost as delectable as the woman who served it.

Kate’s stomach growled.

“You may oversee the packing if you like,” Farnsworth said, looking at his watch. “I have to stay anyway to enter their hours and lock up when they finish.”

“Not necessary for me,” she said, looking at Holden.

“Time for lunch,” he agreed, turning away. Then, as they reached the rolling door, Holden called over his shoulder, “Call me instantly if any alarms go off.”

Without looking up, Farnsworth nodded and waved.

“I heard the divers talking about the food at a local café,” Holden said as they closed the doors to the battered truck. “It’s only a kilometer from here, called the Dive In. Or would you like something fancier?”

“Go for dive food,” she said instantly. “It’s cheap, filling, and the portions are big enough that I won’t have to cook dinner. We’ll just eat the leftovers.”

“What if the food is awful?”

“Then dinner will be, too.”

He laughed as she put the truck in gear and followed his directions.

When they broke out of the forest, the sky was silver blue with heat, the breeze almost nonexistent. Flat-bottomed clouds drifted lazily, sending deep blue shadows over the water. The darker blue looked as cool as ice cream.

Though the area she drove to could most charitably be described as semi-industrial waterfront on the cheap, children shrieked with laughter as they played tag in the sand and debris or slipped like little seals into and through the warm water. Hearing them, she felt something in her relax. She remembered being that young, laughing and playing on the beach and jumping off the dive step of the
Golden Bough
in the shimmering heat of the doldrums. She had loved it, and no matter how her mother had hovered over her with sunscreen and broad hats, Kate still had some freckles to show for it.

Vincentians, mostly older men, but some young ones, sat in the shade of palms and other trees. Many were drinking from shared cans of beer or slicing bits of mango off with pocket knives. The end of the workday was close, though the lion’s share of men had been off work for several days by the look of them. Or longer. Employment didn’t seem to be the most important goal of island life.

The Dive In was an outdoor affair, with a small, weathered cottage where the cook and the serious drinkers could keep their red eyes out of the sun. Even in the shade of the trees, it was sultry, especially when the indifferent breeze vanished. Banners of purple and yellow and orange threw colored shadows over the mismatched tables and chairs. There wasn’t a female in sight, not uncommon for a dive bar during the day.

When the waitress appeared, she wasn’t holding a pad and pencil, much less a portable electronic device. She recommended the spicy seafood chowder, told them what else the cook was serving today—mixed-meat stew and fish every which way but swimming—and took their drink orders. Kate asked for cold tea. So did Holden. The waitress walked away with a languid grace that Kate envied.

“Does it come with being born on a tropical island?” she asked after the waitress disappeared.

“What?” he asked.

“That walk.”

He looked puzzled.

“The waitress,” Kate explained. “Her walk is so graceful.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “The difference between sand and concrete, bare feet and tired feet. Island time, a lovely slow motion. You have it, you know. The longer you spend here, the more it shows.”

“No way I walk like a panther.”

Holden slipped his mirrored glasses up on his hair. “But you do. Makes me want to growl and pounce.”

The multicolored crystal blaze of his eyes against his sun-darkened skin was like a caress.