Night Diver: A Novel (6 page)

Holden sized up the piles of electronic equipment—some with leads exposed and running together to tangle like a nest of snakes—that lined the walls. From what he could see, the nerve center of the dive ship had been cobbled together using everything from the streamlined black cases of modern Japanese consumer styling to snarls of coiled wires and green motherboards that would have been at home in a tech museum.

The mismatched equipment obviously did a satisfactory job. Video feed from a diver filled the main screen. The wreck was deep enough to be in the twilight zone, where everything was a watery gray blue except in the swaths cut by dive lights. There, corals showed their true colors in rainbow array.

Most of the heavy work of removing the overburden of sand and silt from the wreck had already been done by directing the wash from the ship’s propellers through tubes, literally hosing off loose material on the bottom. Because the process took a lot of expensive diesel to run the main engines, only the areas deemed most likely to reveal treasure had been uncovered. The rest waited, still laden with the accumulation of centuries of debris.

The delicate work of going through cracks, crevasses, and other areas where heavy metal had slowly sunk through the loose sea bottom to the hardpan beneath—sometimes many, many feet beneath—was left to divers. One of the divers was presently sifting through sand left in the lee of a clump of coral. With each motion of his hand, sand floated up like a slow, silent echo.

Holden was familiar with the strange disconnect divers encountered their first few times down. For humans, the water beneath the surface was a slow-motion world, rather like the old videos of men on the moon. Everything seemed to take place with a time delay.

He remembered that unearthly feeling of diving, an alien ballet that took place when gravity was largely subtracted from the equation. Largely, but not entirely. Heavy objects could still fall and pin unlucky divers, and nobody moved as fast underwater as they could on land.

Not nearly as fast as the shrapnel from an exploding underwater mine,
Holden thought, rubbing his thigh absently. His blood had been a muddy green until he was hauled out of the water and put in a decompression chamber with a doctor in attendance. In the air his blood had been scarlet drying to black.

From the corner of his eye, Holden watched Kate’s reaction to being in the crowded space belowdecks. She had a faint sheen of sweat on her face, but that could have been due to the minimal ventilation in the room. Her face was calm, her hands still. She looked good. Beautiful, in fact.

I’m going to have to check very carefully into her background. I wouldn’t be the first investigator caught in the net of a sexy thief.

The pragmatic part of him hoped she was indeed part of the family scam; it would be so much simpler. But the part of him that sensed she was as honest as she was compelling knew that his life had taken a complex, unexpected turn.

The diver’s wrist-mounted dive computer’s face flashed as it reflected the spill from the dive lights. The compact lightning drew Holden’s attention. Gray-green sea fronds danced lazily in the twilight, undulating to a rhythm all their own while neoprene-gloved fingers whisked like a clumsy broom over the bottom. The motion made sand lift in lazy curls that bent toward a nozzle off to the right side of the screen. An invisible, man-made current siphoned off the sand as it slowly settled into a low, eerie cloud around the diver’s black-clad hand.

A big tiger shark swept into view with the ease of a supreme predator. Holden tightened instinctively. So did Kate. Larry scratched his cheek with a total lack of interest.

The diver ignored the shark.

As for the dive center operator, he was too busy reaching into a bag of fried pork rinds to react to anything, including the people behind him. From the look of his fleshy neck and cheeks, he spent a lot more time eating than exercising.

Not a diver, that one,
Holden thought.
Far too much body fat. I’ve seen bored divers go through thousands of calories, but they burn it off as soon as they get back to work.

Crunching sounds filled the room as the operator shoved in some more crispy bits.

“Goddam, Volkert,” came a voice over a loudspeaker. “Sounds like you be eatin’ right in my ear.”

“It’s bloody boring up here,” Volkert said indifferently.

“You think it be better here? You say you put me in the right place this time,” the diver said in a long-suffering tone, “but I not be findin’ a shaggin’ thing and the tank be runnin’ on fumes.”

The diver’s accent was Spanish, but with the lilt of the Caribbean dancing through the words. Then the man added a few more phrases in blistering Spanish.

Holden looked at Kate.

Sensing his attention, she gave him a wry smile and said softly, “I was raised around divers. I could swear in three languages and five dialects before I was four. As long as the cursing isn’t directed at me, I don’t really notice it.”

Holden had worked alongside women in the military who had the same attitude. They were every bit as competent as the men and could be as blunt in their language.

“Hullo,” came a new voice over a different speaker. “Hullo,
Golden Bough
.”

The London accent was unmistakable to Holden.

“This is Malcolm on board,” the voice said. “Someone pick up, please.”

Volkert pushed his mouthpiece aside and reached for an intercom handset. “Got you, Malcolm. Go ahead.”

“Oh, good,” Farnsworth replied, as if having things working was something unexpected and delightful. “I’ve got the latest lot entered and cataloged, ready for our overlords in Britain. Should I expect anything new from down below or am I sitting on my hands for the rest of today?”

The only British overlord within hearing raised winged black eyebrows.

“And when is it that the bloody busybody arrives?” Farnsworth continued. “Tomorrow morning?”

Larry laughed.

Volkert turned, reacted to his first look at Holden’s startling eyes, and drew the obvious conclusion.

Holden held out his hand for the unit.

After a glance at Larry, who was yawning wide enough to swallow a fist, Volkert handed over the com set.

“Farnsworth, is it?” Holden asked, clipping each word like the well-educated Brit he was. Although he spoke several languages, plus various English dialects—including American English—he found that this particular accent worked best with most English speakers. It radiated upper crust and intimidation. “It seems that your overlords have stolen a march on you. The ‘bloody busybody’ is already present.”

Air noise filled the connection. Then Farnsworth cleared his throat. “Nothing personal, mate. It was just a bit of a lark. Dives can be boring.”

“You don’t say. Are there any further notable acquisitions beyond the report that you filed on twenty-three August?” Holden asked.

“The next report isn’t due until—”

“That wasn’t my question,” Holden cut in.

“Yes, of course. I, ah . . .” There was a quick clacking of keys on a computer and some rustling papers. “Just a moment. Hold on. It’s right here.” More rustling.

Holden imagined the man rummaging about a messy cabin, trying to find the daily dive reports. Apparently Larry wasn’t the only one on the operation who disliked proper filing.

“Ah, here we are,” Farnsworth said. “Yes. Oh, excellent. Very nice. Silver ingots, marked M23 to M56. That’s 7.65 kilograms, give or take. We won’t know until all the corrosion is cleared.”

Holden did a quick conversion in his head. “Roughly forty-eight hundred pounds sterling. At today’s silver prices, that is hardly a fortune to dance and shout about, especially considering all the costs on the debit side of this operation’s ledger.”

“There might be some additional value from the metallurgic or historical perspectives,” Farnsworth pointed out.

Holden recalled the very succinct orders he had been given. “Do remember that this is the Crown’s silver, and the Crown wants it back in circulation, not lining a museum vault.”

Kate looked at him sharply. He might have been talking about scrap metal for all the passion or avarice in his voice.

He isn’t like my parents, captive to the lethal lure of treasure. Or like Larry, in love with the sea itself and treasure just an excuse for doing what he would do anyway.

Or like Grandpa, driven by the need to prove that his only child’s death wasn’t in vain.

“Indeed, Mr. Cameron,” Farnsworth said. “Quite correct. Would you care for an accounting of the pottery and porcelain finds?”

“Intact artifacts?” Holden asked.

“Ah, no. I would have filed a special report on such a find. Just as I shall for the silver ingots,” he added hastily.

“By tonight,” Holden said. “Copy to my e-mail, of course.”

“Of course, sir.” A subdued Farnsworth signed off.

“So your real job,” Kate said, “is to rummage between couch cushions for loose change.”

“That is your brother’s job,” Holden said. “Mine is to ensure that all the change makes it to the piggy bank.”

“Larry wouldn’t—” she began.

“What the hell?” her brother said over her. “Just because we haven’t found a lot doesn’t mean we’re stealing!”

“I didn’t even imply that,” Holden replied. “However, since you’ve opened the subject, in the past some people working on contract have found more than has been reported. That will not be happening on my watch.”

T
HE QUIET IN
the dive center was so profound that Kate could hear her heartbeat. Even Volkert had stopped crunching. Then came a sound over the dive loudspeaker.

“Holy,” whispered the diver, almost inaudible over his respirator. “Holy holy holy holy holy.
Golden Bough,
you be seein’ what I be seein’? Or maybe I be down here too long?”

Kate looked at the screen and gasped, which drew Holden’s attention from Larry. Volkert dropped a chip from his thick fingers and began muttering words in his native South Afrikaans.

The diver’s glove gleamed red as he put his hand closer to the camera and light, driving out the normal blue filter of deep water. Something glimmered in his hand, a glow that only came from high-quality gold. The links were about as big around as a pencil.

“The sixteenth-century version of a portable ATM,” Kate said, recognizing it from the books that had filled her childhood. “The gold links are pure, soft enough to be parted and re-formed without tools. Need a blanket, food, a horse? Just break off the right weight in links and pay on the spot.”

“Indeed.”
And how very lovely to find for my arrival.
Holden took his smartphone out of a pants pocket and snapped a picture of the screen. “Lucky timing, eh? This might not be a total cock-up after all.” With a quick motion he leaned over and took Volkert’s headset. “How long is the chain?”

Holden’s brisk question jarred the diver into a more formal kind of English.

“The length of my arm, twice. Maybe two meters. There might be more, but I’m running low on air.”

“Right. Good work.” He handed the headset back to Volkert and looked at Larry. “Tell your divers to concentrate on that part of the grid. I will see you in the main salon after I check in with Antiquities. Do be sure that your grandfather attends our little meeting.”

Nodding, Larry got out of the way.

Kate didn’t.

Holden looked at her, wishing he had more time to enjoy the effect of her smoldering in the light bath from the monitors.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” she asked in a level voice.

“That is what I’ll be discussing with the chap who is actually running the show—Patrick Donnelly. Do join us.”

Though the words were polite, it was another command.

Holden was gone before she could tell him what a nice man he wasn’t.

After a moment to check her temper, Kate tilted her head toward the door and raised her left eyebrow at her brother.

“What?” Larry asked, yawning. Then, “Oh. Damn, Kitty, I should be taking a nap.”

He followed her out the door and waited while she closed it firmly.

“You should be hiring a permanent business manager,” she said, “not napping.”

“Easy for you to say. I’ve been pulling extra dive shifts. Damn divers these days like drinking better than working.”

“At the wages you’re paying, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

He shrugged. “If we get above a certain amount in expenses, there are penalties. That’s why we asked for an advance and got bloody Holden Cameron instead.”

“You never should have signed that contract,” she said.

“You’ll get us sorted out.”

“And we’ve had this conversation before.” She hesitated, lowered her voice, and went to the point that had been worrying her. “How well do you know the diving crew?”

“They’re cheap and competent enough. Same for Volkert, except the amount he eats, he should be paying us.”

“That’s not what I asked. How
well
do you know them? Are they trustworthy?”