A wooden log flashed past his face, so large it might have broken his skull if it had hit. Gabriel took the stroke of luck as a sign to start moving and ran all the way to the left, looking down to the place where the workboats were stored.
“That is death,” Juan said.
Gabriel agreed, but there was no alternative. A gust of wind staggered him. The ship listed heavily. Waves washed the deck, surging over his boots, taking him off his feet. Gabriel reached out and grabbed a rail, managing to hold himself steady. Juan was on his knees at his side.
Without a word, Gabriel wrapped both hands around the ladder and descended. The sack was tied under his arms at his shoulders. The contents were heavy but not beyond his ability to carry.
Above, Juan’s boots slammed into the rungs his hands had just left. Gabriel was forced to climb down at a rapid rate. Wind tugged at his body. Black seas exploded in front of him, spattering him with water and salt, deluging him. The sack grew soaked and heavier. The screams of men were loud and bodies plummeted all around him, striking wood and water, never to be seen again.
Gabriel jumped into a workboat, a small, narrow skiff with planks for seating and oars so thin they could be snapped by a settling seagull, it seemed. Gabriel took a front seat. Juan sat at the back. Together, they held on to the rope that secured the boat to the ship, waiting for a moment where the hurricane’s onslaught might slacken.
It would have to be soon. The workboat was slamming against the ship’s sides, weakening it. Already a part of the top rail had broken off. Gabriel closed his eyes and prayed. He’d never done so before, but just this once he wanted to finish a job, to see the green fields and blue skies once more. He wanted to farm, to serve, to brew ale or make weapons, anything except sail. The lure of the sea had died within him.
Juan shouted. Gabriel opened his eyes to see blue sky appearing up above. The end of the hurricane was in sight, it had passed over. Maybe the galleon would survive after all. There was a lull. A slightly calmer sea. Gabriel and Juan unhooked the rope and dropped into the sea, hitting the waves and taking on board gallons of water. Gabriel set to bailing whilst Juan grabbed the oars.
The guard needn’t have bothered. The swelling sea fought them and threw them where it wanted. Many times, they were swamped and thought the end had come. The bright skies passed and a furious darkness descended again. The Manila galleon at their backs was tossed to and fro, finally capsized by an immense wave that hit it broadside and threw the enormous, heavy ship over as if it were a plaything.
Gabriel and Juan didn’t see the ship’s end. They were too busy trying to stay alive, trying to follow a faint patch of blue skies in the direction of Acapulco. But even as he bailed and then rowed, even as he clutched the priceless treasures in the sack, Gabriel was very aware of the incalculable fortune of luxury goods from Ming vases to porcelain, jade and gold that had gone down with the Santa Azalea, and possibly the other two ships too.
How long it would lie at the bottom of the ocean undiscovered he could never have imagined.
CHAPTER THREE
Sally Hope battled a stomach-churning mix of nerves as she strapped herself into the four-person, bulbous submersible that was preparing to dive.
It was the most poignant moment of her relatively short life.
The Pacific was almost mirror-calm today, except for where the big supply boat was anchored. It was still early, but a hot, rising ball of orange was already burning off whatever night chills lay over the water. A frail but refreshing breeze was blowing in from the ocean, traveling beyond her to the shoreline where it caressed the uneven profiles of the hotels, restaurants and office buildings that delineated the coast of Acapulco.
Sally drew in a deep breath. She could hardly believe this moment had come. Tears sprang into her eyes, and the woman at her side, Valerie, reached out to squeeze her hand.
“I’m right here with you, honey. We’ll do this together.”
Sally nodded, thanking her girlfriend with a brief nod. The two other people in the sub, both male operators, went about the business they were paid to do. Using them was expensive; every dive was expensive. The company was hemorrhaging money. But once, this once, she wanted to honor the memory of her father by doing exactly what her father had always wanted.
James Hope died seven months ago after a short illness. Discovering the Manila treasure galleons off the coast of Acapulco had been one of his lifelong ambitions. James hadn’t been in a position to start looking until he retired but, when he did start, he was like a man possessed. He put more effort into retirement than he ever did in work, and work had made him a multi-millionaire.
But, searching for shipwrecks anywhere on the planet was an expensive pastime. First, a search for any of the supposed 100 Spanish galleons that went missing involved a trip to Spain’s records department to find out where they were lost. After that, researchers had to figure out what the area was called when the ships sank as, most likely, the name will have changed at least once in the succeeding 300 years. Renting salvage ships and the best technologies came at an incredible cost. Investors are needed and, for investors to part with their sometimes-hard-earned cash, evidence is required.
Evidence you often can’t obtain without the initial investment.
James Hope put his own money on the line and, twenty four months ago, used side-scanning sonars to scour the Pacific off the coast of Acapulco. Eleven months later he was still looking, living on the boats, ignoring calls from his family and his bank manager, obsessed with finding one of the three Manila galleons that, records and local public accounts said, had gone down there. Sally visited him often, and then, toward the end, stayed with him aboard the ship, enduring his obsession as his health grew fragile.
James Hope died just four months before they found the galleons.
For Sally, it had been a crushing blow. Conversely, finding the galleons after her father died was like an arrow to the heart. Still, life went on and the best way to stay sane was to finish what her father had started.
Robot submersibles had been sent down to observe the wreck that had waited in 1500 feet of water for 286 years for her to find. The wreck had been deemed as safe as any shipwreck was likely to be. Salvage could begin.
Wheels had been set in motion, wheels that took forever to grind into action but now, finally, Sally Hope was embarking on the inaugural voyage to see what lay inside the Santa Azalea. She was known to be one of the legendary Manila galleons and might hold in excess of half a billion dollars’ worth of treasures. Her cargo came from the famous Silk Road and China, from Indonesia, Malaysia and India, possibly from Peru and European markets. What waited on the bed of the Pacific Ocean was a veritable smorgasbord of riches.
“We’re ready,” Kenny, their ops man, said.
Sally nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. The crew were on deck, all watching, the press was there through necessity. She was looking forward to sinking below the waves for the privacy it offered.
“New Hope is ready,” Kenny informed the ship.
“Stand by.”
On hearing what they’d called the submersible, a name she hadn’t been aware of, Sally teared up again. It denoted the change in leadership, the passing of the torch, the drive of the new expedition leader. All the crew, everyone involved in the two-year-long search, had wanted to continue when her father died—but it was Sally’s final decision.
“At your discretion,” the ship’s operations leader said.
Kenny nodded before checking with his crew. “All good?”
They gave him a thumbs-up. The orange submersible was lowered and then sank below the waves. Sally was facing the large semi-spherical acrylic glass viewport. The world changed. Dim lights illuminated the cabin. Sally had a wide field of view. The New Hope had more sensors, ports, wires and tools than she could name so they were well equipped to handle anything that might happen. To that end, it also came with robotic arms.
Today though, the New Hope was
as light and small as she could ever be. After the robots had completed their initial survey and they’d seen the results, it was posited that a small manned submersible might be able to enter the shipwreck through a large hole near the starboard bow.
Sally felt her body shift forward as they began their dive. The waters around them darkened and the pressures increased, but the New Hope would not be in any danger today. It was designed to descend up to twice as far as today’s dive. It moved at a steady pace and, as the minutes passed, Sally was able to turn to Valerie.
“I’m nervous.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
Sally gave a short laugh. A thousand thoughts flitted around her brain, hammering at her like fireflies around a campfire. It wasn’t just the tragic loss of her father or the subsequent galleon find, it wasn’t the constant pressure being applied by the investors; it was the treasure itself.
What if it wasn’t worth anything after all this time? What if the gold, the jade and the emeralds were in other ships, still unfound? It wasn’t the money she worried about, it was the debt and the risk to 1,000 employees around the world. Her father had risked it all on this venture. Now, she had to see it through.
Swarms of fish darted out of the submersible’s path. A small white shark, illuminated by the front lights, eyed them for a while before skimming away. The ocean bed came up faster than she realized.
“We’re here,” Kenny said.
Now, Sterling, the other operator aboard, cranked up his lights and surveillance equipment. A decent-sized console showed the video feed from eight strategically positioned cameras. Sterling was able to tap on one camera to blow its feed up or use any variable in between. Sally leaned forward, squinting.
The bottom of the ocean, at this point, was a sandy beach. A rolling mass of shingle and gravel for the few meters she could see. Brown rocks dotted the entire area. Sally knew there were an estimated three million shipwrecks around the world.
Some places, like the Graveyard of the Atlantic off the coast of North Carolina, has become the resting place for more than 5,000 ships. Some death traps like these were occasionally home to ships and airplanes alike. The Bermuda Triangle, off the south coast of Florida, has claimed more than seventy five planes and thousands of ships, and is one of the only places in the world where the compass does not point north.
Sixty billion dollars’ worth of treasure was waiting at the bottom of the world’s seas.
Of course, hauling up all that treasure, even the treasure in a single ship, could take years. Sally would employ the best people to identify the most significant treasures to fund the rest of their operations.
“There she is. The Santa Azalea.”
Kenny’s excited voice was soft. Sally watched as the forward lights illuminated part of the galleon’s bow, now completely encrusted. The galleon came slowly into view, the sea but a deep gloom around it. She lay almost perfect, with her keel on the ocean bed, listing only slightly to the right-hand side. She had gone down after a violent hurricane struck just off the coast of Acapulco in 1733 and, even now, Sally could see the signs.
Part of her bow was smashed. Her masts were broken. Her rails were destroyed. Sally could only imagine the hell a sailor went through when he was trapped and then capsized by a killer hurricane.
Chaos. Pandemonium. Utter confusion and horrifying turmoil.
And then, ironically, an eternity of silence at the bottom of the sea.
“Coming around,” Kenny said.
Sally’s chest tightened. They passed the galleon’s forecastle. The decks were unclear and covered in silt. She thought about the pictures the robot had sent back—barely visible crates that would be full of olden-day treasures. Soon, she would see them.
The large, jagged hole in the ship’s hull appeared, planks of wood torn off when the ship hit, before righting itself. Silt and fish rose between the submersible and the ship, making their vision hazy. Kenny aimed directly for the hole.
Sally held her breath. The submersible passed between the rotting planks so perfectly Valerie clapped. Sally held off. They weren’t done yet.
Inside, the ship’s disposition changed again. It was cramped and unstable, full of drifting debris and denizens of the deep. The water showed up dark green under the glare of the lights, and they made out separate rooms, tables and even a broken desk. Sally saw two damaged porcelain vases in one corner.
“Could that be...”
“No. They’re just decoration.”
Sally recalled this wasn’t a pirate vessel they were exploring. It was a Manila galleon, manned by family men, paid employees in the service of Spain. They would have been approaching the end of their perilous voyage right here, with Acapulco in sight, happy, looking forward to a break, their precious cargo of mostly Asian riches delivered safely, when the hurricane struck.
“Treasure Room One,” Kenny said with satisfaction. “To the right.”
Sally knew there were three treasure rooms, each packed with unopened crates and chests. There was no reason to doubt what they carried. The name of the galleon, Santa Azalea, was a well-known trading ship reserved only for these lucrative voyages.
Sally leaned forward as Kenny guided the submersible expertly into the first treasure room. Valerie squeezed her hand. This was it, the culmination of their search, the final homage to her father. Tonight, she would sleep easier than she had slept in more than two years.
And then Kenny gasped. Beside him, Sterling dropped the remote he was holding. His mouth fell open.
Sally stared hard, unable to believe her eyes. The scene before her did not match the photographs taken by the robot in one crucial area.
“It’s gone,” she breathed in disbelief. “It’s all gone.”
Kenny was dumbstruck. Sterling gestured wildly. “It was right here,” he said. “I guided the bloody robot. The whole room was full to bursting and we’ve been up top ever since.”
“Where could all that treasure have gone?” Valerie whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Michael Crouch was seated behind his dark-oak desk, near the window of his small but functional office, inside his London home, when the phone rang. He sent his hand scrambling across the desk to find it, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen set before him.
“Yes?”
“Michael?”
Crouch frowned, recognizing the voice in the way you might remember the tones of a long ago acquaintance. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Sally. Sally Hope.”
Crouch’s eyebrows knitted together. The name was familiar, but he still couldn’t place it. To give himself time he asked as to her welfare, reaching out unconsciously to touch one of his desk ornaments—the speedometer of a 1971 Ferrari Daytona, set in a marble casing. Crouch was a sentimentalist, and the loves of his past and present were exhibited all around his home and office. They both calmed and motivated him, from old photographs of early army days to a collection of USB flash drives covering his latest adventure. The age of the technology didn’t matter, it was the collection of memories that drove him.
“I’m not so good, Michael,” Sally Hope said in a dispirited voice. “I’m at my wits’ end, to be honest.”
Crouch hesitated, hoping she’d say more, still unable to place her.
“You remember, don’t you? My dad always said—if you run into trouble run to Michael.”
Old memories clicked together like the smooth edges of a jigsaw, allowing him to place her. “Ah, Sally. Yes, your father and I often spoke.”
“Oh, I know. You two were swopping treasure hunting stories my entire life. I know he meant a lot to you.”
Crouch swallowed, feeling deep emotion. James Hope had been a good man who, like himself, had waited until retirement to start pursuing his life’s true love. In the case of Crouch, it had been long-lost gold.
In the case of Hope, it had been shipwrecks.
“We spoke often,” he said softly. “I was devastated to hear th
at he died.”
“Yes, well.” Sally swallowed, her voice cracking a little, before going on. “How much do you know about his most recent venture?”
Crouch knew enough, but didn’t know exactly what to reveal. First, he probed as he’d been trained to do before he aspired to lead many SAS teams into battle. “Did James leave you the company when he died, Sally?”
“Yes. And the debt.”
Crouch touched another ornamental artifact on his desk to remain calm. It was a small piece of the Aztec gold he and his team had found a few years ago.
“I didn’t know James took the company into debt,” he said, “although I did know he threw a lot of money at the Manila galleons.”
“My father depleted his own fortune and then borrowed off the company,” Sally said. “When he died, he was no further forward, despite the millions. He was... an unfulfilled man.”
“I’m sorry.” Crouch didn’t know what to say. Also, he didn’t enjoy the tarnishing of the memory of a man he’d admired and held a certain kinship for. “And I don’t know how I can help you, Sally.”
There was a softening to her voice. “I meant no harm.” She breathed. “I loved my father. He was my inspiration, my rock. And, to honor his memory, I finished the ocean exploration that he began.”
Crouch quickly revised his thinking. “You completed it? That took... guts. You would make your father proud.”
“Thank you. Do you have time to hear me out?”
Crouch understood why she would ask. It was a cold call from a woman he’d never met, barely knew. His only contact with her had been through the proud words of her father.
He sat back in the leather chair, getting comfortable. “Of course. Has something happened?”
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