The Eye of Heaven

by Clive Cussler

  The captain pointed to a spot ahead.

  “There. By the base of the glacier. It might be tight, but it looks like we can get the ship at least partially beached, safe for the night. We can then take a party and see what awaits us on land at dawn tomorrow.”

  Vidar squinted at the sliver of flat ice and nodded. He leaned his weight against the rudder and turned the craft’s bow to the sloping indentation. The slim remaining light wavered across the surface of the ice-strewn inlet, and the men expended their last resources driving the longship the final distance. The curved bow scraped onto the frozen crust with a jolt, and the crew leapt out to heave the vessel farther ashore so it wouldn’t float away with a rising tide, using their battle-axes to secure grips in the ice. They were able to get half of the mammoth craft out of the water—a testament to the design and lightweight construction of Viking vessels. The captain gave the signal to cease; they’d done their best, and, with the final glow of the rapidly dwindling dusk, would do better to conserve their strength and make camp on deck for the night.

  The captain gazed skyward at the tapestry of stars and offered a silent plea to the gods that they aid him in guiding his men to safety. Tomorrow they would mount an expedition armed with their longbows and, with any luck, bag venison for food while they repaired the shattered mast. While it was not impossible to use the oars to carry them east to their homeland, even a partial working sail would increase the odds of delivering their priceless cargo.

  His final thought before drifting off was that no matter what, he had to make it back. He’d sworn a sacred oath to the expedition’s leader, who had died in a land so far from home.

  The new dawn revealed an ominous gray backdrop of sky. Vidar shifted, his cloak crackling as a thin veneer of ice shattered along its surface. He forced his eyes open to find the entire ship dusted in white—snowfall from a midnight flurry that had entirely blanketed the craft. The captain stirred several feet away from him and then rose. His eyes roved over the slumbering crew before settling on what had been water and was now frozen solid. An ominous horizon of storm clouds brooded over the ocean. He watched as the dark line approached, and moved to where Vidar was struggling to sit up, his limbs stiff from the cold.

  “I fear another storm is approaching. Have the men unfurl what’s left of the sail,” the captain ordered, “and we’ll use it for shelter. Judging by the look of those clouds, we’re not out of it yet.”

  Vidar nodded as he squinted at the heavens. “We don’t have long before the storm returns.”

  The captain turned to his crew. “Men! Up with you. Get the sail free and spread it over the deck for cover. And be quick about it. Unless you want to be up to your necks in sleet!”

  The groggy crew pushed themselves into action, and by the time the freezing deluge fell they’d crafted a makeshift tent and were huddled beneath it. The first wave of hail hit with the force of a blow against the fabric, and to a man they were grateful for the captain’s quick thinking as the weather tore at the vessel with the fury of a demon.

  On and on the storm raged until midday. Eventually the hammering ceased, and the only sound was the heavy breathing of the men, their exhalations warming the enclosure as the blizzard abated.

  When the captain pushed the edge of the sail aside and moved into the now-still air, the landscape was blinding—white as far as he could see, the ship now buried up to the top of the gunwales. He considered their alternatives, which were bleaker by the moment. They were trapped, the ship immobilized, and there was little to encourage him on their chances of survival.

  Vidar’s head poked out beside him, and then, slowly, the crew moved the sail aside, the men pausing as a group to take in the vast expanse of the Arctic wasteland. The captain scanned the surroundings and then squared his shoulders.

  “All right. The worst is behind us. Form an exploratory party, and let’s take the measure of this place while we have a break in the weather. Report back before dark. I want to know what we’re facing.”

  Vidar turned toward the men, his face stoic, his jaw set with resolve. “Thirty of the best archers among you. Gather your bows and swords, and take sufficient provisions for the day. We depart as soon as ready.”

  The crewmen scrambled, energized at the chance to finally get off the ship, and there was much good-natured argument over who was the better bowman and thus more deserving of the duty. After a brief outfitting, the Vikings tromped through the fresh snow, a slow line of shaggy forms moving toward the glacier, searching for a route to ascend from the water’s edge. Finally Vidar cried out and pointed to a narrow gap in the ice where a jagged outcropping of rock jutted from the steep face. The column diverted to the promising area before disappearing, one by one, from view.

  Dusk had darkened the sky when the captain saw Vidar’s familiar red beard approaching across the ice, returning from the gap, trailed by the plodding archers. When Vidar arrived, he gave the captain a curt nod, and the two men moved to the stern of the ship, where they could converse privately.

  “We went for hours. It’s nothing but ice. Didn’t see even a bird.”

  “It can’t be endless. What about the surroundings?”

  “There are mountains in the distance on either side. I think our only chance is to try to reach them tomorrow. Where there’s land, there will be life, and, if we’re lucky, we can hunt something down and return with it.”

  The captain considered his mate’s words.

  “Very well. At first light, form two parties. Forty men in each. You take one, I the other. Split up and we’ll make our way off the ice in opposite directions. That will improve the odds of at least one of us finding food. We’ll leave the rest of the men with the ship.”

  The following morning, the men set off at dawn, a long file of brave warriors with no enemy to vanquish but cold and hunger. Once they were on the glacier’s surface, the captain clasped a strong hand on Vidar’s shoulder and embraced him.

  “Good luck to you. May your game bag be brimming by day’s end,” he said.

  “And to you as well. When we’ve hunted all we can carry, we’ll return to the ship.”

  The captain nodded, looking deep into Vidar’s eyes. Both men knew that their future was uncertain, with no guarantee of anything ahead but misery and starvation. But they were Vikings and they would forge ahead until there were none left standing. The captain took a bearing on a far peak and pointed, his voice measured and strong.

  “Onward, men! There are streams of clear water and fat elk eager to make your acquaintance. Let’s not force them to wait.” And with that, he took the first long steps toward the distant mountains, moving with the grace of a predatory cat, leading as he always had, with the confidence of one born to the task.

  CARTAGENA, SPAIN, PRESENT DAY

  The Bermudez rocked lazily in the mild swells of the azure sea, tugging at her anchor chain like an overexcited dog on a short leash. The ninety-six-foot steel-hulled expedition boat was more stable than most vessels her size, and she gave the appearance of a commercial fishing trawler rather than a marine archaeology ship. A small red-and-white dive flag bobbed thirty-five yards off her stern.

  Bubbles frothed to the surface near the oversize aft dive platform as Remi Fargo emerged from the deep. Water coursed from her black wet suit as she hauled herself up the partially submerged ladder. She pushed her dive mask up on top of her head and reveled in the warmth of the summer sun on her face. Dropping back into the water, she slipped out of her buoyancy control system vest. Sam Fargo padded across the deck and down the steps to her position, pausing for a moment to appreciate her beauty before offering a grin and reaching out to help with her fins and gear.

  “And who might this vision of loveliness from the sea be? A mermaid, perhaps? A siren?” he asked playfully.

  She eyed him with skepticism and swatted his bare chest. “Are you getting fresh with me?”

  He shrugged. “I figured flattery was never a bad option.”

 
; “You’ll go far, young man. You have a bright future.”

  Sam lifted the BC harness with a strong, slightly sunburned arm, the rigid lines of muscle barely strained by the forty-pound rig. “You find anything more?”

  “Nope. I think we’ve cataloged everything.” More bubbles disturbed the surface, and then another head popped out of the water. “I see Dominic’s arrived.”

  The second diver pulled himself onto the platform and shed his tank and gear. Closely cropped black hair slightly fringed with gray topped his lean, swarthy face. He smiled at them and gave a thumbs-up.

  “I think we’re done, no?” he asked, more a statement than a question. As captain of the ship and the leader of the Spanish team of divers chartered by the University of Seville to explore the shipwreck a hundred thirty-five feet below, it was Dominic’s call. He deferred out of courtesy to his two American colleagues, who were renowned treasure hunters. They had originally discovered the wreck and reported it to the Spanish Department of Maritime History. Sam and Remi’s research had concluded that it was probably a seventeenth-century merchant ship that had sunk in a winter storm. It was lying buried in the silt on a ledge, beyond which the seafloor dropped off sharply. The shipwreck had turned out to be the type of vessel in question, and a group of divers and marine archaeologists had been dispatched, with the Fargos assisting in exploring the ship to determine its historical significance.

  “Sure looks like we’re finished,” Remi agreed as she ran her fingers through her hair, faint bronze highlights shimmering as it began to dry. She unzipped the front of the wet suit and her hand unconsciously moved to the tiny gold scarab suspended from a leather thong around her neck. It was a new good-luck charm Dominic had presented to her in an elaborate display when they’d arrived. And good luck it had indeed brought—in spite of the depth, the dive had been a relatively easy one: a week in an idyllic location, doing what they loved. The captain was charming and the crew courteous and efficient. If only all of their adventures were so low-key, she thought, and turned to Sam. “Where can a girl freshen up around here?”

  “Your cabin awaits. The champagne is on ice, the chocolates on the pillow,” Sam said with a small bow.

  “Knowing you, you drank the champagne and wolfed down the candy,” she teased.

  “I’m an open book to you, aren’t I? What was the giveaway?”

  “The brown smear on your chin.”

  The low rumble of powerful diesel engines reached them from across the water, and they turned to watch a large white private yacht cut its power as it neared to within two hundred yards. Remi peered at the transom, but the name and home port were blocked by a long row of dive tanks in a custom-made rack.

  “Any closer and we’d be buying each other jewelry,” Sam said as they continued to observe the vessel.

  “Big, isn’t it?” Remi remarked.

  “Probably a hundred fifty feet at least.”

  “Lot of tanks. Looks like they’re serious about their diving.”

  A crew member moved to the bow of the opulent craft and, moments later, the anchor dropped, its long chain rattling as it lowered into the sea. Two and a half miles away, the rugged coastline jutted into the summer sky; nearer was the Isla de Las Palomas, with its fleet of pleasure boaters and small yachts out for day trips from the nearby marinas. A polar-white cruise ship inched into the Cartagena harbor, a popular port for many Mediterranean cruises.

  “Doesn’t it strike you as strange, Dominic, that a boat would anchor this close to the shipwreck?” Sam asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Dominic said. “A lot of boats here like to overnight within sight of others, in case they need assistance of some kind.”

  “Still, we’re a long way from the beaten path, don’t you think?” Remi said.

  “Maybe they’re just as curious about what we’re doing here,” Sam reasoned. “After all, we’ve been anchored for a week, and the dive flag’s very visible.”

  “That’s probably it. Human nature,” Dominic said, apparently unconcerned.

  Remi held her hand up, shielding her eyes as she watched the ship play out more anchor chain. “I just hope they don’t discover the shipwreck and disturb any artifacts before the government authorities get here.”

  “I wouldn’t be too worried about it,” Dominic assured her. “Most divers know better than to go inside a shipwreck that’s mostly buried like this one. Nobody wants to get trapped. A death sentence—”

  “You’re probably right.” Remi tilted her face up to the late-morning sun and closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at Sam. “Weren’t you in the process of wooing me with chocolates and champagne?”

  “It was more of a veiled threat.”

  “You should know I don’t scare easily, veils or otherwise.”

  They made their way to their stateroom after putting away their gear. Their quarters were large by marine standards, paneled in dark hardwood, the mahogany dulled by the years but still retaining a warm richness. Sam took a seat at the small built-in table near one of the cabin’s two portholes as Remi entered the bathroom, and soon the shower was steaming forth a luxuriant stream.

  “You buy that the boat’s harmless?” Remi called from the stall.

  “No reason to believe it isn’t.”

  “There’s a lot of very valuable statuary in that shipwreck,” Remi reminded him. The merchant vessel had gone down with all hands, and had been rumored to be smuggling priceless antiquities from Greece to Britain, where there had been a large market for them among the royals and the upper class. Their careful inventory of the wreck had confirmed the centuries-old suspicion, and there were untold millions of dollars’ worth of never-before-seen Greek relics in its hold—a different kind of treasure, to be sure, than the usual gold and jewels, but treasure nonetheless.

  The hope had been to keep the remarkable discovery quiet until the government could arrange to retrieve the statuary from the sea, and it was always a concern that mercenary treasure hunters could intrude, damaging the site as they attempted to pilfer it, although the likelihood was low.

  “There is indeed,” Sam conceded. “I’m sure the people of Spain wouldn’t want anyone to try to make off with their property.” Sam and Remi had agreed that anything they discovered would be turned over to the government—a policy of theirs that had made them welcome additions to many of the most interesting expeditions around the world. They were in the game for the thrill of discovery, not for the money, Sam’s fortune having been long solidified by the sale of his company to a conglomerate years before.

  “Dominic didn’t seem too concerned. And he knows these waters well.” The shower shut off and the door swung open. Remi emerged and wrapped herself in a thick towel and dried her hair with another in front of the bathroom vanity as Sam tapped at the laptop computer in front of him.

  “True.”

  “I think we should keep an eye on that boat.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.” Sam’s gaze drifted from the computer screen to the bathroom doorway, where he could make out half of Remi as she brushed the tangles from her auburn mane. “Have I mentioned that you look fabulous?”

  “Not nearly enough. Now, where are the champagne and chocolates?”

  “I might have exaggerated to lure you belowdecks.”

  “It worked. I hope you have a suitable alternative in mind.”

  Sam powered down the laptop and closed the screen.

  “I have a few ideas . . .”

  When Sam and Remi returned to the main deck, they glanced up at the second level, where the crew sat around a card table dotted with beer bottles, laughing and tossing money into the pot as they studied their hands, smoke curling skyward from hand-rolled cigarettes. The expedition was over and now it was time to relax, a pursuit at which the Spanish excelled.

  Remi watched with amusement as one of the men accused the head of the dive team of cheating. The target’s predictable response to the gibe was one of outrage and offended pride, which
was suitably soothed with a round of toasts celebrating his integrity. She turned to Sam, but he’d moved to the stern, where he was staring at the horizon. A light breeze from the south tousled his hair and his white linen shirt. Remi joined him, and together they watched as four divers from the visiting yacht donned their wet suits and equipment and then dropped into the water.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That maybe we’ve been compromised?” Remi asked.

  “Actually, I was more leaning toward it being a nice afternoon for a relaxing dive.”

  “I can’t go very deep. Still need a lot more surface time.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need to. I just want to have a look around and make sure that our suspicions aren’t correct.”

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”

  “Exactly. So what do you think?”

  “That it’s time to go back and put on our bathing suits? You’re going to owe me some serious spa sessions for this after doing the last dive.”

  “You know I’d have gone with you if I could have. The decompression tables don’t lie.”

  “Which means you have limited dive time, too, Mr. Cousteau,” she warned, concern flittering across her face.

  “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.”

  “Now, that’s a little more like it.”

  Five minutes later, they were ready, the crew still absorbed in its revelry, unaware of Sam and Remi’s approach to the dive platform.

  “Visibility still about sixty feet?” Sam asked as he put his mask in place.

  “About that. Maybe a little better.”

  “Then we shouldn’t need a lot of bottom time. Just a fun, recreational dive.”

  “Near the wreck, of course.”

  “Seems like the natural place, doesn’t it?”

  “What about being spotted?”

  “We’ll dive on a trajectory that’ll place the Bermudez’s hull above us as much as possible,” Sam explained. “Besides, if I’m right, they won’t be looking up. You know how it is when you’re wreck-diving. Tunnel vision.”