Repairman Jack [09]-Infernal (22 page)

But an even more terrifying question roiled his gut: What else did they know?

The savings account itself wasn’t important. He’d deposited a thousand in it years ago simply to establish himself as a customer. He’d wanted to use a phony name, but the bank required a passport as ID for foreign depositors, and the only passport he’d had was the real thing.

Although he needed every penny he could get his hands on, he could let the thousand go. His real stash was in the back.

At least he hoped it was. Tom was almost afraid to ask. He put on a brave face, looked Dawkes in the eye, and…

“This is most puzzling and disconcerting, Mr. Dawkes. I’ll straighten it out immediately when I get home. But at this time I’d like to visit my safety-deposit box.”

Dawkes looked away and Tom’s heart almost stopped.

Oh, no. Oh, shit, don’t tell me—

“I’m afraid that’s frozen too, sir.”

Jesus God. Half a million bucks! His fuck-you money. He had to get to it.

He dug in his pants pocket and found the box key.

“Just a quick visit? For old time’s sake?”

Dawkes gave a sad shake of his head. “I’m afraid I couldn’t do that, sir.”

He held up the key. “Not even as a personal favor?”

He glanced at Tom, then looked away again. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Tom wanted to throttle him. You ungrateful shit. After all that rum I sent you…

“But there is something I can do for you, sir…”

What?
What
?

“… and that’s to tell you to turn around and walk away from here and don’t come back.”

Dawkes’s furtive look and lowered voice cut off the stream of choice epithets that leaped to Tom’s lips.

“What are you telling me?”

“Simply that Mr. Hickson has instructed us to report your presence to him immediately should you show up. I am the only one here at BB and T who knows you by sight, and I will, shall we say, neglect to mention your visit. But I suggest we cut this meeting short before anyone becomes curious as to your identity.”

Tom bolted from the chair and extended his hand. “Thank you, Dawkes. You’re a prince.”

A quick shake and he was on his way.

Shit,
shit
, SHIT! Now he was fucked—
royally
fucked. He saw no options. What could he do?

And then he thought of something. A long shot. A very long shot.

But he couldn’t do it alone. He’d need Jack’s help.

2

Shock blasted through Jack like an icy wave when Tom told him. Not from the news that his account was frozen, but…

“The feds know you’re
here?
”

That meant the feds would also know that Jack was here. A crawly sensation settled on the back of his neck. They could be under surveillance right now.

They stood on Reid Street, a pair of statues among bustling shoppers and workers. Fleets of motorbikes buzzed by on the street, their dinky engines sounding like a swarm of angry hornets.

Tom shook his head. “No. The feds have no idea. Otherwise they’d have been waiting for me. Good thing we came in through the back door.”

But obviously they’ve learned about the account and think I might try to get to it.

“There’s nothing you can do?”

“No. And I’m lucky the guy in there didn’t report me.”

“Yeah, but how do you know he won’t change his mind?”

“He won’t. He’d wind up on the hot seat himself for not calling his boss when I showed up.” Another head shake. “Shit!”

“Well, Tom. I’m sorry about this.” And he was. “But there’s nothing to be done, so let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

“No, wait. There is something to be done. But not about my account.”

“Then what?”

“The
Sombra
.”

“Oh no.” Jack backed away. “No-no-no-no.”

“Jack, it’s a chance—my only chance right now.”

“It’s not a chance. It’s a pipe dream. Look, I’ll lend you money, help you get a new identity. I’ll even—”

“Help me a different way: Help me find the
Sombra
. Help me find the Lilitongue of Gefreda.”

This was crazy. What was he thinking?

“Look, Tom, even if I had time to help you—and I don’t because I promised Gia I’d be back day after tomorrow—how can two men excavate a sunken ship?”

“That’s exactly how most of those three hundred fifty wrecks were uncovered: by two-man teams. We’re not talking the
Titanic
here. The damn ship was only seventy-five feet long. And excavating is an amazingly simple process.”

“Shoveling sand? Underwater? Are you crazy?”

Tom smiled. “Underwater, yes. But no shoveling. There’s a much easier, better way. You just—”

“News bulletin: I’ve never scuba dived. Not once.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Never had a need to. Not a frequently called-upon skill in New York.”

“I’ll teach you. Nothing to it. We’ll only be down about forty feet, so you can learn all you need to know in twenty minutes, tops.”

“I can learn all I need to know in zero minutes because I’m not going.”

“Jack, I need your help on this. I can’t do it alone. You promised you’d help.”

“And I will help. But not on a wild goose chase.”

“The ship’s there, Jack. I know it. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on the map. And if it contains anything of value, it’ll make up for my frozen account.”

“Let’s be sensible here. This map’s been around for four hundred years and no one decided to go looking for the ship before you?”

“Well, it was hidden away most of those centuries. And the few who understood it probably figured it was fake.”

Smart folks, Jack thought.

“Everyone except you.”

“Right. And Wenzel’s research confirmed it. He had no interest in the ship; the map itself was his prize. He’d researched it thoroughly and believed whoever had made it was sincere.”

“Crazy people can be sincere. Some of the most sincere people I’ve ever met have had their receivers off the hook.”

“I won’t argue that. But I’ve been to the spot on the map. Last time I was here I went out with a handheld GPS unit and found it. I dove it. It’s a deep sand hole.”

Jack couldn’t hide his surprise. “If you’ve been there already, what do you need me for?”

“Because I couldn’t find it.”

“And you think
I
will?”

“
We
will. I’ll bet my butt it broke apart on the reef and what’s left of it is still in that hole, covered with sand. And you and I are going to excavate it.”

A perking suspicion bubbled to the surface.

“Was this your plan all along, Tom?”

He looked puzzled. “What?”

“A bait and switch. Do you really have a secret account in there? Or did you make me think I was helping you run some money when all along you wanted to rope me into a sunken treasure dive?”

Tom raised a hand. “Swear to God, Jack, I absolutely do have a frozen account in that bank.”

“Then why make such a big deal of the map on the trip out?”

Tom reddened. “I did
not
make a big deal. I just thought it would interest you.” He looked away. “Okay… I suppose I was hoping to pique your interest enough to get you to dive it with me as, you know, a lagniappe. We’d split whatever we found.”

Bullshit or not? Jack could no longer tell truth from fiction with this guy.

Tom looked at him again. “But we’re not talking bonus anymore. We’re talking desperate necessity.”

“Tom… no.”

Tom’s mouth twisted. “Fine. You want to head home, go to it. But you’ll be going without me.”

“What?”

“And if you leave me here, I’m stuck here. The only way I’ll get back to the States will be in handcuffs. I’d hope you wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Staying will be your choice.”

“And you—how far do you think you can take the
Sahbon
without me?”

Good question. Jack didn’t know if he could pilot the boat through the reefs, let alone all the way back to North Carolina. He’d learned enough on the trip out to hazard a try, but couldn’t guarantee that the
Sahbon
wouldn’t end up on Bermuda’s shipwreck map.

And if the Bermuda coast guard or whatever they were called had to pull him off the reef, they’d want some ID, they’d want to see his passport.

Shit.

Tom’s tone shifted from challenging to pleading. “Two days, Jack… two freaking extra days. If we haven’t found anything by sundown Friday, we head home. I swear—I swear on Mom’s grave.”

Jack could feel himself being backed into a corner.

An old saying came to mind: No good deed shall go unpunished. Right.

Never should have come.

“You’ve got to take my back on this, Jack. I hate to bring up Dad again—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but I have to. If he were here he’d say, What’s two more days in the grand scheme of things if you can help your brother out of the worst jam of his life?”

Jack knew full well the guilt trip Tom was laying on him, but that didn’t make it any easier to shake off.

Yeah, Dad probably would have wanted him to help Tom get another chance.

Jack held up his hands in a surrender gesture. He knew he was going to regret this.

“Okay, okay. If Gia’s cool with me gone a couple of extra days, I’ll stay. But only till Friday. Not a moment longer.”

Tom sagged against the bank’s pink stucco wall. “Thanks, Jack. You don’t know what this means to me. I’ll owe you the rest of my life.”

Jack didn’t want Tom to owe him anything.

3

By midday they were ready to get to work.

Gia hadn’t minded his being away two extra days, but she had minded the scuba part. He’d promised he’d be careful.

After that the rest of the morning had been frenzied activity, starting with hiring one of the local minivan taxis to take them to St. George’s Parish. Tom had called around and found a place there that had what they needed.

The cab dropped them at a salvage company were they picked up a small pickup loaded with a diesel pump and coiled lengths of ribbed plastic hose. The rental charge went on Jack’s card.

A block away they rented two scuba setups: wet suits, vests, weights, air tanks, masks, snorkels, flippers, and regulators. That charge too went on Jack’s card.

Good thing he had a high limit.

The credit card company regularly offered John Tyleski a higher credit limit. And John, good consumer that he was, kept accepting.

Then came the harrowing trip in the truck from St. George’s at the base of the shaft all the way around to Somerset Parish near the barb on the hook where they’d left the boat.

The accent wasn’t the only thing British about Bermuda. Here too they drove on the wrong side of the road.

Tom did okay navigating the narrow, two-lane roads in the left lane, saying you adapt pretty quickly. The only time he seemed to have a problem was at the roundabouts. He started to turn right at the first. He was looking left when he should have been looking right. Jack’s last-minute warning yell saved them from a head-on with a taxi.

And Gia had been worried about scuba. The reefs would be a picnic compared to the roads. It might have been off season, but they were busy. No speeding and few passing opportunities on these tight strips of asphalt, and no shortcuts—at least none known to nonnatives—on this narrow string of islands.

The ten-mile trip took almost an hour, but they’d made it.

Jack immediately started his scuba lessons off the Beresfords’ dock.

Tom had told him it was easy, that they’d be down in that sand hole by midday. Piece of cake.

Sure. Piece of cake.

But he had to admit his brother was a good teacher. And Tom had been right about it not being rocket science: Breathe through the mouthpiece, inflate your vest when you want to rise, deflate it when you want to descend. Know how to clear your mask and equalize your ear pressure every three feet or so as you descend.

In less than an hour he was reasonably functional with the gear and fairly comfortable in the water.

Jack wondered why no one had ever told him about the wonders of scuba diving. Of course, not many of his acquaintances were the scuba type, and Manhattan wasn’t exactly a dive mecca. Still…

No number of Jacques Cousteau specials or repeat viewings of
The Deep
could convey the magic of becoming part of the sea habitat, of hanging out with the fish and the mollusks and crustaceans and all the graceful, undulating plants in their own world.