by Rachel Lee
As if they were likely to turn that mask up in the next twenty-four hours. God Almighty, he had to find a way to get them out of there that night. He had meetings on Friday. Ginny might be sending up flares tomorrow night.
Time was closing in on him like the muck raised by the dredges. Veronica believed that safety lay in finding the mask. Without it, she might well refuse to leave. Emilio was going to get pissed if the Coast Guard started searching for the Mandolin, and there was no telling how he might react. On the other hand, if they got away, Emilio still might take revenge on them at some later date.
And he was getting sick of running over and over this ground again. Every time he made up his mind that there was only one way to handle this situation, it would occur to him that he might only be making things worse.
But regardless, the clock ran out tomorrow night.
That was when he noticed that the dial on his metal detector was peaking like mad. Probably another cannon. They’d already found three.
He almost ignored it, but then he remembered Veronica and the real reason he was staying wet for hours every day. Blowing a sigh through his regulator that sent up a spume of bubbles, he homed in on the signal.
Setting the detector aside, he began to clear away the muck with his hands. Twelve inches down, he found an iron band attached to some rotting wood. Clearing away as much of the mud as he could, he thought he might have found a box of some kind. Cargo? Not gold bars, certainly. All those they had found had been in heaps, the way they had been stashed in the cargo holds.
Expecting to find tools or something equally prosaic, he tugged at the ironbound wood. It came away in his hands easily, rotten as it was. Below he found more silt and after clearing away several inches of it, he was about to quit.
Then he saw the glimmer of gold.
Dinner that night was the same as the night before. Snowy white tablecloth, impeccable service, jewel-toned glasses of wine. Except for the man with the gun standing just inside the door, it might have been any elegant dinner on an elegant yacht.
The entrée was Beef Wellington served with baby peas. Dugan passed on the wine as he always did because alcohol and diving didn’t mix well. Veronica sipped hers, but only lightly. Basically, Emilio and his son Teo were the only ones eating and drinking with genuine pleasure.
And the big brass bell that Dugan had found was the centerpiece on the table. Veronica’s gaze kept straying to it, her eyes reflecting something between longing and disappointment. Even Emilio noticed it finally.
“Take a look at the bell if you wish, Veronica,” he said. “It’s a beautiful specimen.”
She looked at Dugan, who repeated what Emilio had said, then smiled faintly at Emilio and reached for the bell.
“Doesn’t that annoy you?” Emilio asked Dugan.
“What?”
“Having to repeat everything for her.”
Dugan felt a flicker of something hot in the pit of his stomach, something a lot more vital than the fear, worry, and bouts of despair he’d been having for the last two days. Something closer to killing anger. “No. It doesn’t annoy me at all.”
Veronica reached out and touched his arm. “Dugan, what’s wrong?”
“Not a damn thing.” For all he played the dapper gentleman, Dugan thought, Emilio didn’t understand the most basic elements of courtesy. Or decency. And they didn’t have much time left to escape his clutches.
Veronica looked down at the bell she held. “It’s beautiful,” she remarked.
It was. Shiny and bright, except for a single long dent on the side, it might have been new. Her fingers traced the engraving along the lip: La Nuestra Señora de Alcantara Deo Gratias 1696.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she continued, her voice hushed as her fingers caressed the brass. “Imagine how it must have been ringing in those last hours.”
Then, carefully, she put it back on the table. “I wonder who wore those earrings we found today.”
Emilio shrugged. “We will never know. Nor does it matter.”
Dugan saw the flare in Veronica’s eye as he told her what Emilio said. She turned to their captor, and said firmly, “It’s all that really matters, the lives these items can tell us about. Their value lies in the stories they have to tell, and that’s beyond price.”
He shrugged, apparently not caring to argue with her. The waiter soundlessly began to remove their plates while another man brought in a dessert cart.
“I have no history,” Emilio said. “I was orphaned by the age of seven, and I lived in the streets. By eight I had learned how to feed and clothe myself without help. Stories are nice to listen to, but all that matters is money. Money is security.”
When Dugan repeated what he said, Veronica shook her head. “I feel sorry for you, Emilio. You don’t understand the magic.”
“Magic? Pah! Magic is for fools.”
Dugan didn’t bother repeating that, because he sensed that Veronica had gotten the gist of it.
“I have money,” she said. “My mother’s family left me a wealthy woman. But my life would be meaningless without the magic.”
“There is no magic.”
“Yes, there is. What do you think makes the mask of the Storm Mother so important? The little bit of gold in it? No, Emilio. Its value, both monetary and otherwise, arises from what it represents. And what it represents is elemental magic. More than three hundred years ago, a woman donned that mask to control the power of the storm in order to protect her people. She put it on, and in doing so, she and her people believed she became one with the Storm Mother, the hurricane. If those people hadn’t believed that, if that woman hadn’t worn that mask for that purpose, it would be just another trinket, nothing particularly special. If some artisan made one today, what would it be worth, Emilio?”
“It’s valuable because it’s unique.”
“Only partly. There are many unique things in the world that aren’t that valuable. This is valuable because people want it. And people want it because of what it represents. Because of what it once was.”
He shrugged. “And you want it because of the story,” he said.
Dugan quickly repeated his words. Veronica listened soberly, then shook her head. “No, I want it because it belongs to me. Because it is my heritage. Because my mother died looking for it. Because of the story it tells, and the magic it bears. Because someday I hope to be able to put it on and feel the connection with my forebear.”
Emilio sighed. “Have it your way. If we find it, I’ll let you put it on.”
For all of thirty seconds, Dugan thought. If he had anything to say about it, Veronica was going to get to wear that mask until she’d gleaned everything from it she’d ever hoped to. Hell, if she wanted to stand out in a storm and wear it and chant to the Storm Mother, then he was going to make sure she could. Because he was damn well going to get them away from here.
Yeah, right. It was an impossible list of things to do when he had a gun aimed at him. Which reminded him.
“Emilio? We have a small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“If I don’t sail back into Key West by Friday, my secretary is going to call out the searchers.”
Emilio frowned and sat back in his chair. “Use my radio. Tell her not to.”
“It’s not that easy. She knows how many days of provisions I’m carrying. By her reckoning, I’m going to be out of food by tomorrow night. She’ll give me one day after that. Besides, I have business meetings scheduled on Friday with some out of towners. I can’t skip them. I can’t call them off.”
He waited nervously while Emilio mulled this over. He was well aware that by telling the man that there was a clock ticking, he might be unleashing the unthinkable. On the other hand, maybe it would pressure Emilio into taking a different risk.
“You know,” Emilio said presently, “I can finish this excavation without you.”
The implied threat was chillingly clear. “I know that. I’m just warning you
what’s going to happen.”
“So I remove you, let the Coast Guard look high and low, and come back in a few weeks to finish the task.”
Veronica spoke. “You keep forgetting, Emilio. I have the permits. You can’t conduct an excavation out here without me. Not for long. And after we disappear, everyone’s going to suspect it had something to do with pirates or looters because it’ll be inexplicable otherwise.”
Emilio looked at Dugan. “She understood me.”
“Sometimes she can.”
He sighed. “All right. I admit it is a convenience to have the protection of your permits. But that is all it is, comprende? Keep that in mind. If you become too inconvenient, I can always resume my search in a year or so.”
There was a hardness in Emilio’s eyes, a hardness that made Dugan distinctly uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, “I guess I can radio my secretary, but I don’t think it’ll work. I’ve never been able to lie to her. It might just set her right off.”
His hands were right on the arms of his chair as he waited. The ticking clock in the back of his mind seemed to be ticking faster than ever. But he had to focus Emilio on something else, on another apparent plan to escape.
“I’ll think about it,” Emilio said finally. “I’ll have a decision in the morning about what we will do. In the meantime, I’m going to put a guard on your boat.”
His plan had backfired. All he had done was make the situation worse.
Chapter 21
It was late by the time they returned to the Mandolin, but that was expected. Emilio very much followed the Spanish custom of a late meal. It was nearing midnight, and the three of them were feeling pretty tired as the launch returned them.
And, unhappily, a guard came to stay on the boat with them. Apparently Dugan had made Emilio uneasy by talking about what his secretary might do, and, fearing that the Coast Guard might have already been alerted, he didn’t want the three of them to have a chance to say anything that might cause trouble if a search vessel came upon them.
Dugan wanted to kick his own ass for not keeping his mouth shut.
The guard stayed above deck with his gun and an ugly knife for company while the rest of them went below. The hatch, they were told, had to stay open, which made it hard for them to talk.
“I’m going to bed,” Veronica said wearily.
Dugan didn’t like the way she looked. Where earlier a whole gamut of emotions had run through her, something about the guard on deck seemed to have left her whipped, as if she couldn’t imagine any hope remaining.
“We need to talk,” Dugan said. Tam perked up immediately, looking at him eagerly. Veronica hadn’t made out his words, and she said, “What?”
He laid a finger across his lips and pointed above. While he’d gotten used to Veronica’s habit of talking way too loudly, he was also well aware that she might easily be heard from above, especially with the hatch open.
She didn’t take his caution amiss. She simply nodded and spread her hands questioningly.
One of her notebooks was on the galley table. He grabbed it and a pencil, and scrawled quickly, “We need to talk. Quietly. Your cabin.”
She nodded and turned immediately, the two men following her.
Once there, Dugan closed the door quietly and again laid his finger to his lips. On the pad, he wrote, “We’ve got to talk quietly or the guard will hear us.”
Veronica nodded. Taking the pad, she wrote, “I’ll just write what I have to say.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded.
“Okay. We’ve got to get out of here tonight.”
Tam spoke. “No shock there, man. I don’t like the guard. That’s a major bad development. They’re getting ready to off us.”
“If something happens to make Emilio think it’s necessary,” Dugan agreed. “Unfortunately, I screwed up.”
Veronica made a quiet, questioning sound.
“I miscalculated. I’d made up my mind we had to get out of here tonight, and I was trying to make him think he was safe at least until Friday.”
Veronica nodded, but Tam said, “It didn’t work.”
“No. Apparently all I did was make him think we were going to try to pull something.”
Veronica shrugged and scrawled, “Doesn’t matter. We can’t leave without mask. It is only protection against him later. And we have no way to leave.”
She passed the pad to Dugan, who scanned it quickly. “You’re a sweetheart,” he said. “But I fucked up. The last thing I wanted tonight was a guard on this boat.”
“So okay,” Tam said. “Let’s cut to the chase, huh? How are we going to get out of here?”
“We’re going to go swipe the raft.”
“No.” The word came out of Veronica, and she caught herself. Taking the pad from Dugan, she wrote. “No! Too dangerous!”
Dugan took the pad and wrote on it in large, firm block letters. “WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T MAKE A SOUND.”
She nodded and placed a hand over her mouth.
“Okay. I found the mask.”
Both Tam and Veronica were apparently so stunned that neither of them moved for several seconds. Then Tam let out a low whistle, and Veronica made a squealing sound that was smothered by her hand.
Then she shook her head. “Don’t kid me,” she said.
“Shh!” He laid his finger over his lips again. “Veronica, you’re the sweetest thing since honey, but you talk too loud. Especially for right now. Watch it, okay?”
She nodded. “Tell me,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, tell me.”
“I found it on my last dive. I kid you not. I wandered away from the others because I was feeling kind of pissed off, and I was thinking about how we could get out of this mess. It was underneath some wood with iron bindings, sort of like a chest. And it’s definitely the mask you wanted.”
“Draw it. Please.” Her whisper was strained.
He obliged her, taking the pad to do a rough sketch, a mask with big eyeholes, a pronounced nose, and a small hole for the mouth. And radiating from it were cyclonic shaped spirals.
“That’s it,” Veronica whispered reverently. “Oh, wow, that’s it.” Her fingers traced the drawing almost lovingly. “Can I see it?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“Under the boat in all that crap we’re fouled in.”
She looked down at the drawing again. “My God, do you know what this means?”
“Later,” he said. “We’ll worry about that later. For right now, we’ve got to get us and the mask out of here. The way I figure it is this. We’ll wait another couple of hours. What I’m going to do is try to get the guard a little drunk. Tam, you’ve got a bottle with you, haven’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“When did you ever travel without one? I’ll need it. I want this guy to drink enough to get sleepy. Then I’m going over the side to get the raft. It’ll be your job to keep the guard occupied if he wakes up, okay?”
“I can do that,” Tam agreed.
“We may have to disable him,” Dugan continued.
“Disable?” Veronica repeated the word with distaste, but at least she kept her voice way down.
“Tie him up so he can’t raise the alarm. But I don’t want to do that unless we have to, because he’s carrying a radio, and I’m willing to bet he’s supposed to check in regularly.”
“Probably,” Tam agreed. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t be comfortable putting one guy over here with the three of us.”
“Anyway, I’ll get the raft over here, we’ll get the mask and get the hell out of Dodge. Once we’re out on the sea somewhere in the dark, we can set the emergency beacon going and the Conchita won’t have a hope in hell of finding us before the Coast Guard does.”
Because the Gulf of Mexico was a big body of water, and a raft drifting on the currents for even a couple of hours could get helplessly lost. The Coast Guard would be able to triangul
ate on the emergency beacon, but the Conchita wouldn’t. The way Dugan felt, he didn’t especially care whether anyone found them. He was perfectly prepared to paddle the whole distance to shore. Anything was better than hanging around like sheep being used for their wool before being taken to the slaughterhouse.
He sent Tam to get the bottle of booze and take it above deck. Before long, he and Veronica could hear the sounds of Tam and the guard laughing. So it was working.
Half an hour later, Tam came below again and gave the report. He’d offered the guard a couple of swallows from the bottle, and the guard had taken them. Then he’d left the bottle above where the guard could get it. All they could do now was hope the man would drink some more. A lot more.
Veronica was too wound up to sleep, but Dugan made her stretch out on the bunk anyway, on the off chance that she might drift off. Then he changed into his wet suit, hot and uncomfortable though it was out of the water. At least it only covered him to a few inches above his knee.
He sat beside her, keeping an eye on the luminous dial of his watch. All the lights had been turned off, to make it appear they were all in bed and allow his eyes to adjust thoroughly to the dark. The Mandolin rocked gently on the waves, making him feel almost like a baby in a cradle.
She was a good boat, he thought. And if he managed to survive this mess, he was going to get her fixed up and take a long sail, just for himself. No archaeological problems, no bad guys, just one man and the sea.
“I can hardly wait to see the mask.” Veronica’s whisper came out of the dark. He didn’t know how to respond to her, because she wouldn’t be able to read his lips. Finally, he settled on a sound of agreement.
“Is it really beautiful?”
“Mmm.” Although actually, he didn’t think so. It was kind of chunky, and the artisanry wasn’t exactly overwhelming. But he supposed, given the tools its makers had to work with, it was probably pretty good.
She reached out, and he sensed her hand was trying to find something. Then it landed on his bare knee, sending a pleasurable shiver through him. This was not the time, Dugan, he told himself. Not the time at all.