by Don Bruns
“So it’s all set. Tomorrow morning you’ll make the dive and we’ll see what we can find.” Mrs. T. stood up and basically herded us out the door.
The three of us walked down the stairs to the beach, hearing the loud laughs and music coming from Holiday Isle and Rumrunners.
“You’re supposed to dive with someone else.” Em eased into a lounge chair, looking across the water at the world famous tiki hut bar. “I’ve read enough to know that it’s stupid to dive alone.”
“Buddy diving would be the safest thing to do,” I had to agree, “but hey, no one here dives, Em. Besides, it’s two feet to twenty feet. Hardly a depth that I should have a problem with.” Considering I hadn’t dived in three years, any depth could cause a problem. But my macho instinct had kicked in.
My instructor used to dive solo. However, I will always remember her instructions. “Wait until you’ve had at least a hundred dives before you try it. And even then, remember that when you’re solo, no one has your back. No one.”
“Pard, I know this may be a stretch, but we’ve already told Skeeter that you’re going down to look for coins. No big deal about that, right?”
“It’s our cover, James. That’s what we decided.”
“Right. So what if we tell that cover story to someone else?”
Em gave him a disapproving glance. “Who else do you want to tell? We could take out an ad in the local paper—”
“Just a thought, folks. I know a diver who can be suited up and ready first thing in the morning. And as long as we don’t tell this diver the real reason we’re going down—”
“James, this isn’t a good idea.”
He nodded. “Oh, and it’s a good idea to send you down there by yourself. Especially after the story Skeeter told us about—” he stopped, a chagrined look on his face. “I’m sorry, Skip.”
“What story? What did this Skeeter tell you?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.” Em’s signature stone-cold instruction.
With that tone of voice, I had to. Damn James. Can’t keep his mouth shut.
“Some guy died on Skeeter’s watch because he ran out of oxygen.”
She stood up and grabbed my hand. “You shouldn’t be out there by yourself. A million things could happen. You need backup. I hate to admit it, but James is right, Skip.”
I hate to admit that James was right? This was not a good sign.
Wait until you’ve had a hundred dives before you try solo. A hundred? Hell, I’d had about ten open-water dives. Ninety to go.
“So who’s this backup?” I couldn’t wait for James to tell me.
“Amy. She decided to hang out with me for a couple more days.”
“Oh, come on, your married girlfriend?”
“That’s the one, Skip. And she’s way more experienced than you are.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Clear your regulator. Clear your partially flooded mask. Breathe without your mask. Swap the air supply from your partner. All the rules that went through my head. What had I signed on for?
Why would anyone in their right mind want to escape the earth’s plentiful supply of oxygen and dive deep beneath the ocean for a brief glimpse of what lies below? Knowing that their breathing supply was sorely limited. Knowing that with a couple of short, quick breaths, they could die.
I pulled on my bathing suit and watched Em out of the corner of my eye.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready,” she said.
“Em, that’s a thong, for God’s sake.”
Her tan thighs, butt, abs and everything else were well defined and the brief suit showed it all off.
“Skip, stop it. It’s not a thong.”
“No. You look—you look fabulous.” I remembered how she looked last night without any of this brief cover-up, but that was a private moment. This was on display for James and anyone else who cared to look.
“Thank you.”
“It’s just that James and—”
“Oh, for crying out loud. This is what I brought, and this is what I’m wearing.”
“For that reason only?”
She turned and shot an angry glance over her shoulder as she adjusted her breasts in the thin material of her bikini.
“And just what does that mean?”
“We have a visitor. I’ve seen her in her bikini. Is this by any chance a one-upsmanship?”
“Would you rather I wear a sweat suit?” She turned to me, displaying a very scantily clad perfect torso. “Or do you want a frumpy one-piece that looks like something your mother would have worn?”
I studied her.
“Do you?”
The answer was no. No. No. No. However …
I loved to check out her body. And the fact that there might be a jealousy contest between the two ladies actually excited me. But I had to admit I didn’t like the idea of James seeing all that I was intimate with.
“So, the way Amy looks has nothing to do with—”
She punched me on the arm. Not a light punch by any means. She could have done damage to a pro boxer.
Em wore a cover-up and carried a beach bag as we stepped into the truck. Amy, James, Em, and I. Amy had a cover-up as well. I was anxious to see her outfit revealed.
“Amy, do you have your own mask?” I was renting mine.
“I do,” she said. “I haven’t had that many dives, but enough that I know I don’t want someone else’s mask and mouthpiece.”
I nodded. That would be a preferable situation. My own mask and mouthpiece. Perfect. However, I never thought this hobby would be more than a college credit course.
James turned the key and the engine roared. A new battery had solved the problem. We pulled out of the parking lot and drove south to Skeeter’s Dive Shop.
“So, Amy—” Em started the conversation with nothing to say. Do you mention the husband? The kid? The guy she came down with? Or the affair with James? It didn’t seem to matter, she was a part of the team. This Amy—no one seemed to know her last name—was my backup. I’d been told that a backup was sometimes useless unless they were good friends. A backup had their own agenda and often was off on that task, rather than watching your back.
As we pulled into the parking lot of Skeeter’s Dive Shop, I thought about that. Maybe I should have just done a solo dive.
I wished to God that I had decided to do that. Then Amy took off the filmy cover-up.
This twenty-three-year-old girl had the figure of a goddess. I must have been staring at her perfect narrow waist and hips and legs to die for.
“Settle down, big boy,” Em whispered in my ear as she shed her cover-up.
I turned and was once again in awe. My girlfriend had a fabulous body. I saw James, his eyes wide open and a leer on his face.
Skeeter had the boat ready and all the diving gear was neatly stowed.
“Here’s your detector. I put in some fresh batteries, and I even tested it. Seems to be working just fine.”
Amy and Em cast a wary glance at our boat, but James and I stepped in, the little ship rocking back and forth. If we hit any waves, I had a feeling this thing could go over in a heartbeat.
“You know where you’re headed?”
I nodded. I didn’t think we needed a GPS for this trip. It was just off the Cheeca Lodge dock.
“Okay, you have that boat back by one p.m. or there’ll be a full-day charge, you understand?”
“Got it.”
We helped the girls in, and they put on life preservers.
Untying the two ropes, Skeeter tossed them to us as James started the motor. Fifteen seconds later, we were headed out to sea.
“Everything okay back there, little buddy?” Leave it to James to start with the Gilligan references.
The engine was loud, and combined with the wind, it was hard to hear, so we spent the next ten minutes in silence, watching for the long pier.
James had the throttle pushed all the way, but the boat
crawled. If we had planned on going any distance at all, it would have taken all day to get there.
Finally, the pier came into view and James veered out, approximately a quarter of a mile off the end.
“Nobody out here.”
He slowed down, from what must have been ten miles an hour, to an even slower cruise. Looking back to the shore I could make out the Cheeca Lodge, the location of the Millionaire’s Club back in the thirties.
“How deep is it supposed to be, Skip?” Amy leaned over the edge and looked into the murky water. The boat rocked slightly and we all sat still until the swell subsided.
“Skeeter says anywhere from two to twenty feet. I think the gold—the coins—are probably in the deepest part.”
She nodded. “And how big an area are you going to explore?”
I had no idea. “We’ll play it by ear. Or until the air supply runs out.”
Em grabbed my jaw and squeezed. “Please, don’t say that.”
We sat there for a minute, the boat gently drifting, water lapping at its battered fiberglass body. The sun was still low in the morning sky and the blue-green water reflected orange rays that bounced along the surface of the ocean. James tossed in the anchor and the rope went down quite a ways.
“What do you estimate?”
“Fifteen, twenty feet.”
“A real treasure hunt.” Amy seemed ready for the adventure. I wasn’t so sure that I was.
“Pard,” James pointed at me, hoisting a plastic bag he’d carried on board. “I brought binoculars.”
“I don’t think those amount to much underwater.”
“I’m using them up here. Keep surveillance on top of the water. You keep an eye on what’s going on down below.”
“I was just curious why you’re diving here?” Amy was going to analyze the situation. That couldn’t do us any good. “I mean, Islamorada has all those Spanish ships that went down in the seventeen hundreds. I hear that a lot of divers find coins on those expeditions.”
“Yeah, well we have information that says this is a good spot.” I was hoping to shut down this line of questioning.
She nodded. “What’s the next step?”
“We dive.”
“Tanks have been checked?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah.”
The old man seemed like he knew what he was doing. Still, some diver who’d used Skeeter’s services had run out of air and we were using the dead man’s metal detector. I was a little nervous.
“Hey, Skip,” Amy was strapping on her tank. “Have you ever dived naked?”
Em looked at her, James looked at her, and I stopped mid-process for a second. The image of this lady diving with nothing—
“Have you?” I asked her.
“I have. It’s a kick.”
“Let’s not try it today while you two are underwater, okay?” Em didn’t sound too happy.
I pulled on my flippers and, sitting on the side of the boat, we adjusted our mouthpieces and masks. I thought about what I was doing. The detector in hand, I realized I had no business being here. But then, what was new? Every time I get into a project with James Lessor, I end up in over my head.
Amy flipped over, entering the water, and I followed her, leaving James and Em by themselves for who knew how long. That was going to be crazy time.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I’d forgotten how peaceful it could be. We were no more than fifteen feet down, and the maximum was going to be twenty, but serenity settled in quickly. I could hear the bubbles as I released my air, filtered by the steady hum in my earphone. Don’t forget how to breathe. Amy was up ahead, her cute butt bobbing as she kicked her flippers. Already I questionied her as my partner.
Working the wand of the detector, I ran it over the ocean floor. Slowly, with the earphone attached to my right ear, I heard the low pitch of a hum. The pitch would rise when I found any metal of consequence.
I’d looked it up on the web, and apparently minerals in the water weren’t enough to set it off. I kicked, and moved another ten or fifteen feet, trying to keep the anchor as my focal point.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amy, gazing at the coral and the school of black-and-white sheepshead that went swimming by.
I kept moving, running the wand along the bottom. At the most I had sixty minutes on this tank. There was a spare in the boat, but if I did my job I might not need it.
And I was breathing too fast. Settle down. Relax. I remembered the instructor telling us, “Breathe slow and not too deep.” You could use a sixty-minute tank up in twenty minutes if you weren’t careful.
I saw a bigger fish in the distance, murky until it came closer. A long gray nurse shark about nine feet long. I shuddered. They were usually harmless, and typically hunted at night, but I’m not a fan of sharks, period. I stopped moving and after observing me for several seconds, the shark swam away, his body twisting in the water. Let the air out. Slowly. Conserve your air supply.
Amy was oblivious to the shark, darting here and there and not checking on me at all. It was okay. I didn’t want her to be too observant.
The crates would be a little over fourteen inches long, so if I found something, the signal should go for over a foot. I was out from the anchor maybe one hundred feet, so I started to retrace my path, only this time sweeping the wand across the path I’d made. Back and forth, twenty or thirty feet either way.
Nothing. After about ten minutes I decided to have James move the boat. Signaling Amy, we swam back to the anchor.
I pulled myself up after her, feeling pretty good about how I’d performed. I’d figured it out, and remembered most of the important points. Hey, I was still alive.
Ten minutes later we’d anchored the boat in a new position and were getting ready to go back down.
“Did she take off her clothes down there?” Em asked.
I didn’t respond.
When Amy and I dropped off the boat, I found the water a little deeper. Coral grew everywhere. Brain coral, star coral, fire coral and I played the wand right beside it. I didn’t want to injure any of the stuff, but at the same time I wasn’t going to let a small amount of coral get in the way of forty-four million dollars. There had to be a way.
Back and forth as Amy would spot a school of parrotfish, angelfish, or a formation of coral, and go after it. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.
And then I heard it. The low gentle hum of the detector was stronger in my ear, then very strong, like a siren. I swear it sounded like a fire engine. Then quieter, then back to the steady frequency. What the heck? I ran it back and there it was again.
Stopping directly over the loud noise, I swam down, pulling up the metal detector and staring at the loamy soil beneath it. There it was. An irregular circle, corroded metal, sitting on the ocean floor. I picked it up, studied it for a few seconds then dropped it in the pocket of my swim trunks. Maybe it was a coin. Maybe it was a piece of cheap metal.
Moving back and forth over the loamy bottom I listened intently. Just that constant hummmmm sound. Then there was another rise in volume, the sirens at full volume, and I stopped. Same scenario.
A semiround piece of metal, covered with corrosion. I pocketed the piece.
Back and forth, back and forth. Nothing. After twenty minutes I found Amy admiring the coral and totally oblivious as to what I had been doing.
I pointed up and she nodded. We found the anchor and rope and rose to the surface, kicking with our fins.
“So what do you think, amigo?”
“I got nothing, James. It’s a big, big ocean.”
“Yeah, but if that gold …” he hesitated, “if that collection of gold coins is there, it would be well worth it.”
I nodded. “I want to check those coordinates again, James.”
“Then I hope we’re wrong.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Wrong about what?”
“The location.”
“We don’t know if we’re right or wrong.”
&nb
sp; James cast a quick glance at Amy who was in conversation with Em.
“Skip, take the glasses,” he handed me the binoculars, “and look off the starboard bow.”
“Starboard?” the boat shifted, turning with the slight breeze.
“Behind us, damn it. About the end of the pier. Coming this way.”
I trained the glasses in that direction and saw a small boat.
“Wow. These things really have some power.”
“Look closer, amigo. Much closer.”
Staring through the glass, I adjusted the center wheel to bring everything into focus. It took several seconds.
“I’ve got it homed in. Now, what am I looking for?” I’d trained the lenses onto the approaching boat.
“You can see the occupants?”
“Yeah.”
“And you can make out their faces?”
“I guess. What am I supposed to be looking for here, James?” I was looking and trying to shed my tank at the same time.
“Damn it, Skip. Look.”
“James, I’ve got my eyes on the—” I stopped. I stopped taking off the tank, stopped talking, and just kept the glasses aimed directly at the boat.
“I thought you’d get it.”
Todd Markim and Jim Weezle were headed directly for our boat, and we had no backup plan.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Their craft didn’t seem to be much bigger than ours and it did not appear that they were moving very fast. Probably a cheap rental from a place like Skeeter’s.
As I pulled in the anchor, James started the boat.
“What’s wrong, boys?” Em saw the look of determination on my face.
“We’ve got friends.” I pointed toward the shore.
“Let me guess. Markim and Weezle?”
“Yes, except that Weezle is dead.”
“Obviously not.” She rolled her eyes. “Or are we on that ghost thing again?”
“What is going on?” Amy stared at us, obviously a bit confused.
“Two guys who want the same thing we want.”
“The gold coins?”