Severed Threads (13 page)

Chase pushed his self-serving notions aside and continued his exploration. Within seconds, he realized the water temperature had taken a sudden plunge. He glanced down at his fluctuating gauges. As it was, he'd be pushing his limits to reach the safety zone. He circled around and pointed his flashlight at the interior wall. A glimmer bounced back – a brilliant sparkle unlike anything he'd ever witnessed.

Yes!
His heart leaped inside his wetsuit. He slowed his ragged breathing and stole a few valuable minutes, extracting the weighty object. After one last look around, he exited the cave.

In the distance, sunlight filtered through the strong current – a beacon lighting his way home. He headed topside, allowing the necessary time for his stops. He broke through the surface with his fist raised high over his head and spat out his regulator.

"Gold!" he screamed.

Ian moved to the stern and reached out a hand to snatch Chase's shimmering discovery. "Yeeeoooo!" he hollered. He pranced about on one foot then the other in an outlandish jig.

"Ian! Give me a hand!”

Chase’s yell brought Ian back to the ladder. After passing off the metal detector, Chase hoisted himself onto the boarding platform and dropped his load. Still reeling with excitement, he untied his goody bag and followed Ian into
Alegria’s
galley.

"Whatcha think?” Ian dangled the long chain in front of A.J. Hobbs, their newly acquired technician. A.J. looked up from his notes. He slapped his archeological book shut and cleared a space on the table before accepting Ian's offering. Then he began slowly unraveling it.

"Got to be near ten feet long. Definitely Spanish. Probably had a medallion of some sort attached.” The technician’s square spectacles rested near the end of his thin nose. He used a jeweler’s pick to meticulously scrape away grains of sand and carefully examined each link. "Quite a find you’ve got here,” he said.

"Ya done good this time,” Ian assured Chase. “Tis a bit of a spoiler, me saying this and all, but we got us a fuckin’ yeahootie on board. Ya know that kid’s been in me wheelhouse all afternoon takin’ readings with me sextant. Thinks he’s Cap'n O’Neill or somethin’." Ian stared at the ceiling. “I tell ya it’d be a sight more peaceful if we jest fed ‘im to the sharks. Save ourselves a whole lot of grief, it would."

Chase slipped his arms out of his wetsuit. "We're a man short as it is and from what I've seen, Blaine’s been doing us a real service with that computer of his." He gestured toward the stack of papers on the sideboard. "Research, grid calculations, log postings…you name it. He's taken a load off of my mind." He noted Ian’s furrowed brow and added, "Just find a way to mentally drown him, okay?"

Ian ambled away, leaving Chase with more pressing matters to address. "I don't want to get everyone's hopes up until I know for sure what we’re dealing with,” he told A.J. “I discovered a virgin cave at the end of an anchor. That's where the gold chain turned up."

Interest sparked in A.J.’s eyes. "You want me to go with you? I can be suited up in nothing flat."

"Not yet. Gonna grab some field lights and head down. But don't worry. I won't be long. While I’m gone, I want you to check on this too."

The porcelain jar was in remarkably good condition. The faint bird design and embedded stamp on its base hinted at Chinese origins, adding excitement to Chase’s discovery. "Only got two hours before we head in," he said. "I still need to verify the ship’s name. If we’re lucky, all the proof we need is in your hands." He smiled, exuding confidence. If everything panned out as he anticipated, come morning, he’d pick up his official papers and be back in the water claiming the ship and the treasure they’d been enlisted to find. He glimpsed A.J., flipping through one Asian antique book after another – sheer determination pleating his brows.

You’re not getting away this time.
Chase pulled the arms of his wetsuit back on. He zipped up just as Ian returned, looking strangely perplexed.

"Was checkin' the blower and line anchors. There’s somethin' ya need to see."

“
Don’t tell me the seagulls have been heckling you again.” Chase chuckled and followed Ian to the foredeck. His smile vanished in an instant when he grasped the cause of his helmsman’s concern. Ten yards out, a long moving gray sheen curled back on itself. A second dorsal fin trimmed the surface, moving in the opposite direction.

Sharks
? Aloud he asked, “What do you make of them?”

“
Not sure yet. Been keepin’ their distance.”

The creatures swam broad circles around the orange buoys, marking the north quadrant dive zone. Suddenly, a third conical snout came into view.

"Whites!" Chase announced, his suspicion clearly vouched. The astounding sight was beyond his cognition. The clan leader appeared to be coming straight at them, systematically lifting its head as if spying its prey. By Chase’s best estimate, the agitated creatures were between twelve and fourteen feet in length and more than curious.

Ian scratched his oily scalp before replacing his grungy cap. "Jaysus, I was only jokin’ bout the pip.”

Hunting grounds for Pacific sharks were a good six miles away – south of the jetty and near the dilapidated dock where harbor seals and sea lions were known to collect. The Coast Guard had cited the area as off bounds, and as a result, all the dive boats from San Palo kept their distance. All of them except
Red Star Charters
. Aaron Birch and his reckless crew made a practice of dumping chum for photo ops to earn larger tips from wealthy tourists – an illegal and highly dangerous practice.

The thought churned Chase’s stomach. "You haven’t seen Burch today, have you? Those idiots could be anywhere out here."

Ian shook his head. “Not even a dingy. No tellin’ what’s got ‘em riled.”

The sharks made another pass, skirting their hull, before diving and passing beneath. As quickly as they appeared, they vanished from view, leaving only one explanation behind. With no apparent food source or noticeable threat, the creatures had to have been drawn by the electrical fields
Alegria
was generating.

Chase raked his fingers through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck, debating on how to proceed.

”
Best be shuttin’ her down,” Ian suggested.

With nature at odds with them, Chase had to have faith in A.J.’s confirmation. He stared out to sea and offered a silent prayer. “Take her home,” he told Ian.

With
Alegria’s
aft anchors pulled, Ian made his way to the helm. Chase finished stowing his gear just as the winds kicked up. He snagged a shirt out of the master cabin and returned to the galley to look in on A.J.

"Any luck?" he asked.

Reference books were scattered on the small table and A.J. appeared to be totally engrossed in the largest volume. His scribbled notes completely covered a pad of paper.

"Nothing firm," he reported. "No mistake it’s Chinese, just can’t pinpoint the province or exact date. It's unlike anything previously found. But don't worry, captain. I have enough information here to get us a temporary claim."

"Not good enough,” Chase said. “Temporary means nothing. Especially with the
Legend
breathing down our backs." He could feel the rise under the hull, the breeze pushing
Alegria
into a slow drift. Ian had already fired up the engines and was attempting to bring her about. Chase had to make a quick decision. Say something he wouldn’t later regret. “We’re not going anywhere,” he announced.

Chase was on his way to the bridge to delay Ian’s progress, when Blaine appeared from above.

"According to Gotheborg.com,” he said, “what you’ve got there is a Ming globular jar. It’s dated somewhere between 1573 and 1620 and definitely an Imperial piece. Would have had an answer sooner, but that damn spicy fish Ian made for lunch and the constant rocking gave me the worst stomach ache I’ve ever had in my –" He covered his mouth and ran for the closest head.

"Yes!" Chase’s fist punched the air. He bounded up the ladder to join his helmsman. "Full speed ahead," he charged.

Nothing was going to stop him now. Not the
Legend
, the tight-ass bankers, or any of his bloodthirsty creditors. What's more, Rachel Lyons would soon regret insulting his integrity. That alone made finding the treasure worthwhile.

Twelve

There it was, the Crow’s Nest Bar…home of the local commiserating club. The worn shack-like establishment was fronted by a suspended four by eight foot sign sporting a black squawking bird and red hand-painted letters. Rachel stepped inside and the door slammed behind her, lifting her an inch off the floor. It took a full minute for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room but as soon as they did, she found a place at the end of the counter and dropped onto a padded barstool.

Naomi peeked out from the back room. “What a surprise finding you here.”

Rachel offered a weak smile. It had been years since she’d been in the place and her brief encounters with Naomi had been limited to occasional post office and grocery store visits.

“
Put on a fresh pot on an hour ago. Would you like a cup?” she asked.

“
Sure,” Rachel said.

On cue, an attractive Asian woman emerged with a black steaming pot and enormous white mug. “Hi, I’m Mika Yamada. Naomi is finishing up in back. She’ll be right with you.” She removed her stained apron and snatched a black coat from the hook. With a quick smile and a nod, she dashed out the door.

Cute.
Must be related to the new family that moved into town, Rachel thought. She picked up the oversized cup and began blowing the heat from her coffee. She glanced around at the shiplap walls, recalling the day ten years earlier when she found her father sitting on this very stool. He'd been buying rounds for half the town, foolishly accumulating a tab they could ill afford. When she attacked his rationality, he’d proclaimed his good fortune at having witnessed the destruction of his mortgaged-to-the-hilt boat and all of his fully leased gear.

Naomi had to hold Rachel back to keep her from knocking him onto the floor. Luckily, the bartender had been quick on her feet and at setting her straight. As it turned out, the owner of the largest ship building company in the county had assumed full responsibility. In order to keep his juvenile delinquent son out of jail and the only witness’s mouth sealed, he’d presented Sam with the keys to one of his finest yachts.

Yet what good did it do him? Even though he’d converted
Stargazer
into a working ship by installing a ten-ton knuckle crane, eight-ton auxiliary winch and full-time salvage crew, her father ended up with nothing more than a handful of coins and a shed filled with worthless junk.

Why did he have to be such a fool? Just like her brother Devon? Scheming all the time. Risking everything to get rich quick. Always testing her loyalty, her patience, her love. And now she’d been reduced to coming here – the most unsavory place in town – in an attempt to save Devon’s unappreciative ass.

Tension stirred the anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't slept more than two hours the night before. Instead, she’d spent nearly every waking minute questioning every sound in the house. Every movement in the dense border shrubs.

She stared into her dark mug and considered adding a shot of whiskey to the steamy brew. But in her present state of mind, the reinforcement would simply leave her snoozing on the bar. Not unlike the poor sap spread across the table in the room’s darkest corner. The same guy who’d been coming here for years, she realized.

Glimpsing her own image in the bar’s age-spotted mirror, Rachel winced. The new trauma in her life had already taken its toll. She found some makeup in her clutch and set to work applying light foundation under her eyes and a fresh coat of pink lip-gloss to her full lips. She leaned forward to reassess her appearance and was jotted by the reflection of Logan’s face in the mirror. She clamped her eyes shut and willed it to go away – to wipe the image from her memory. When she lifted her lids, the gruesome portrait was gone. Yet the jarring impact remained. No matter their differences, she couldn’t allow Devon to share Logan’s fate.