He put the sapphire back into hiding and took up the eighteen-millimeter blue. With extreme care, but no concern for its value or beauty, he fractured it with the jaws of a nickel-plated monkey wrench, making sure the larger pieces and fragments of it fell into a smooth marble mortar. Using a pestle, he crushed the pearl into a powder, then transferred some of the powder to the plate of a small electronic scale, adding a bit more at a time until the readout told him 3.7 carats precisely (four grains equal one carat).
While he was at it he measured out nine more such portions and enclosed those in briefkes, placed the briefkes (his immediate potent future) in his wall safe among other precious things.
He poured a goblet of claret, a 1969 Haut-Brion Graves, and dropped in the remaining portion of powdered blue pearl. Stirred the concoction well with a forefinger and gulped it down, feeling the grit of the fine powder on the membranes of his throat. There was, he saw, still a slight powdery residue in the goblet. He splashed in more wine, swirled the goblet vigorously and drank before there could be any settling. Examined the goblet to make sure he’d gotten every particle.
Enjoyed an additional twenty minutes of anticipation before ringing for this Celia.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Andaman Sea was having one of its kindlier days. Its regular conspirator, the wind, was being lazy. Gusts, off-springs of the wind, were playing on the sea’s surface, swirling and skipping about. Only a wave here and there was high enough to have a crest. Flying fish used those for lift and momentum, to get their winglike fins spinning. They were accustomed to more launch in the Andaman. The sky was also at its best. So whole and indefectable it might have been overall a piece of fine cloth, or the encompassing membrane of an enormous pure soul.
With a prevailing wind of less than four knots Grady had set only the ketch’s mainsail, and that only for stability. The mainsail, deprived of bellow and not even catching enough wind to crowd out its slack, didn’t look as though it was enjoying itself. The Sea Cloud’s eighty-horsepower diesel engine was doing its thing. Eight knots steady.
Grady was at the helm. Julia and William were close at hand in the padded cockpit. There wasn’t anything to do but keep on course. How right Kumura had been when he’d said this new Hinckley fifty-footer would practically sail itself. It was equipped with the most recent sailing and navigating devices, such as a furling system to unwrap and wrap the headsail, and a Magellan GPS (global positioning satellite) NAV5200 receiver to reckon in degrees and minutes precisely where the boat was at any instant.
That morning the skipper of Kumura’s motor yacht had met Grady in the docking shed and thoroughly checked him out on the Sea Cloud. Explained all the electronic devices and shown him where everything was stowed. The boat’s interior was extremely well designed, not an inch of wasted space and yet it didn’t seem cramped. Lockers, bins, shelves, drawers. Life preservers were in here, spare sails in there, extra anchor here, flares there, firearms here. The latter consisted of an automatic rifle, machine pistols and a pair of Glock .40 caliber semiautomatics. Several loaded magazines and clips and boxes of rounds. Grady wondered why such an arsenal but didn’t ask, figured it was Kumura’s boat and Kumura knew what comforts he might need.
Kumura was also concerned with Grady’s needs. While Grady was getting checked out on the Sea Cloud, diving gear, wet suits, backpacks, fins, regulators and everything else needed were brought aboard and stowed. Grady had planned on him and Julia and William driving to Phuket that afternoon to buy the equipment and supplies they’d need, however Kumura had seen to it. At least he’d seen to having someone see to it. A dozen air tanks were lugged aboard and strapped securely in place. After the tanks came the galley supplies, staples and delicacies. And a supply of liquor and soft drinks, cases of Evian. Servants were still bringing aboard and making everything right when Grady returned to Kumura’s house to fetch Julia and William.
So, they’d been able to get under way at noon that day rather than tomorrow. They were now an hour and a half out from Bang Wan on a heading of west by northwest. The coast of Thailand was still in sight but wouldn’t be soon. At the same rate that it was diminishing Grady was feeling better and better. Thinking about how far he’d come. Not from Bang Wan but from a year ago. A year ago he’d been all tangled up emotionally with Gayle and her cheating, all tangled up ambitiously with Harold and his duplicities. Ridiculous how a fellow as sharp as people said he was could get into such a mess. One moment he’d been in the clear, next he couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Gayle and Harold. The mark of them would always be on him. They’d happened to him. He’d allowed them to happen. He was ashamed of that. It certainly didn’t recommend him. Julia had asked about them once, been told honestly and had never asked again.
Anyway, all that was behind him and he was wiser now, happier, had better prospects, what with the pending offer of the high-paying prestigious job with Kumura. After the Harold debacle he’d vowed never again to work for anyone in the gem trade, however he felt Kumura was an exception, not a hustler or business bully. On top of that, Kumura was exclusively in pearls and distanced from the hypocritical day-by-day milieu. It would take a lot not to make that job appealing, Grady thought. He pictured himself in San Francisco in that driven Bentley, in that elegant office, in that bracket. All that right there ahead of him, close enough to smell, almost close enough to bite a chunk of. Kumura wasn’t leading him on, Grady assured himself. Kumura had no reason to lead him on.
The Thai coast was out of sight now.
The ketch’s sleek fiberglass hull was easily cutting its way through the blue-black water, leaving a frivolous wake. Grady’s hands on the wheel seemed to feel the boat’s condescension, its taunt saying to the sea: come on, pitch me, heel me, show me what you’ve got. The Andaman was too vast to hear, just kept on being docile.
Next stop would be the island of Surin Tai fifty nautical miles ahead. Grady had studied the charts and decided Surin Tai and its sister island, Surin Nua, looked about right. They were remote enough and practically on the boundary of Burmese waters. Although they were comparatively large islands and inhabited, there were numerous smaller ones around them. There’d be plenty of places for good, solitary diving and possibly the finding of a pearl oyster or two and inside one possibly a perfect, creamy natural of, say, ten millimeters, or twelve, or maybe fourteen, Grady thought. He tried to convince himself that only the diving counted, but a pearl like that, of increasing size, persisted in his imagination.
Ko Surin Tai.
It came into view at early evening, changing from mauve to gray to green as the ketch proceeded to it. No reason to be satisfied with just having reached the vicinity; there was still light enough left to explore about, and as Grady had surmised, on the western end was a labyrinth of small islands, odd-shaped pieces of land that looked like they’d been negligently scattered. Thick green growth had jumped on them and so multiplied, it overhung their edges all around. There were no beaches, but many coves and narrow channels formed by the disarray.
Grady steered in among them, decided on a cove that appeared no better or worse than others he’d passed up, cut the engine and dropped anchor. Just in time. Daylight gave up suddenly and night pressed down.
They had a tossed salad and fried Bayonne ham supper on the fantail and turned in early. William could have taken the forward berth but chose instead to sleep out on the foredeck. Grady and Julia agreed that the quarter berths situated starboard and port aft of the companionway ladder looked invitingly snug. However, when they’d undressed and were in separate berths the in-between space got to them and they had to counter it by reading.
Julia had brought along her Alice A. Bailey and another book on spiritualism that she’d picked up in Bangkok. The part she was reading at the moment dealt with the premise that an earthly body with a forsaken soul could be taken over by a soul that would value it more and make better use of it. She wished she’d brought along something lighter.
&nb
sp; Grady hadn’t thought to bring reading material, but when he opened the locker above the berth he found plenty, including not only some recent nonfiction books and the last three editions of Architectural Digest but as well a five-volume set of Jardins à la Mode et Jardins Anglo-Chinois, reproduced sketches of gardens designed by the eighteenth-century landscaper Georges Louis le Rouge.
Kumura had, indeed, thought of everything.
Julia found in her identical locker several editions of the magazine Contemporary Artist, two modern gothic novels, an edition of SunaNo Onna (Woman in the Dunes) by Abe Kobo and a Japanese erotic cartoon magazine depicting episodes of possible impossibilities. Julia got right into that. She credited her understanding to the drawings, gave nothing to the Japanese captions. This was, after all, the universal language. Every once in a while a physical exaggeration brought her to a giggle. How long it had been since she’d seen such a magazine, she thought. And then a second thought: hell, when had she ever seen one?
She didn’t get all the way through the cartoons. They were too much of the same. She put the magazine back into the locker and resumed reading about the appropriating of the bodies of forsaken souls, in particular those of persons who’d given up on life and were contemplating suicide. It was contended that Albert Einstein had been one such.
She allowed the book to fall to her chest and glanced over at Grady. He was in the gardens. She wanted his opinion on forsaken souls but let him be. It was entirely unexpected when, without taking his eyes, only his mind, from the landscape sketches, he asked, “What was it that was going on between you and Paulette last night?”
“When last night?”
“When you were dancing by the pool.”
“It was nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“What could it have been?”
He didn’t want to say. He hadn’t even wanted to ask about it but like a little burp it had come out. “You want to talk about it?”
“Hell no.”
“All it was was a couple of women dancing. In France and a lot of places women often dance with one another, right?”
“Hold on to that,” Julia advised, clicked off her reading light and turned over to face starboard and sleep.
At first light they were up, and had strong coffee, cinnamon toast and jasmine honey. Grady activated the electronically controlled transom, that is, the freeboard of the stern. It unsealed and lowered outward so it was horizontal with the surface of the water and would serve as a platform from which they’d be able to dive more easily and come back aboard. To the platform Grady attached a four-step ladder with handrails that extended below the surface.
William meanwhile checked the air and valves of three of the tanks, bright yellow Dacor eighty-cubic-foot tanks.
They put on their skin suits. The water here was too warm for a full suit, even quite a few fathoms down it would still be too warm. A partial lightweight suit was enough, legless, armless, little more than a swimsuit really. Also, they wouldn’t be wearing helmets or booties or gloves. It was, Grady thought, going to be an enjoyable dive, had the makings of his best dive ever.
He helped Julia get into her backpack with tank, attached her balanced regulator and digital instruments for depth, air, elapsed time, strapped a sheathed knife to the inside of her left calf, and while he was down there adjusted the heel straps of her fins. He even spat into the lens of her mask to prevent fogging.
All this she could have done for herself, however she let Grady have the pleasure of looking after her. She’d been diving twice. First time had been four years ago during a ten-day vacation in Cozumel. She’d taken the fundamental lessons then. Her second time had been a year later in Belize. Both times she’d rented the necessary gear. Her enthusiasm never reached a level that would make her want to buy.
She waddled onto the diving platform, turned her back to the water and flopped in. The fins propelled her downward and she reached the bottom at four fathoms, a plain grayish bottom. She looked up. Saw the white hull of the Sea Cloud and then at the stern of it a concussion of bubbles followed immediately by another. The plunging in of Grady and William.
They joined her on the bottom and the three swam along together, exploring. They soon found there wasn’t too much to explore. The bottom was level and silty in spots, the underwater bases of the islands consisted of a molten-looking rock, smooth and uncolorful. No caves. Patches of green to dun-colored seaweed waved weakly and a few coral growths with well-defined arms like saguaro cacti contributed little to the eye. The only saving thing was the fish. Various kinds, mostly little ones in schools of many, an entire school changing direction simultaneously. Looking like a pack of identical dark dots when they were head on, becoming sudden flashings of silver and cerise as they angled off. They seemed to be performing or practicing, Julia thought, surely they didn’t need the exercise.
She was trying her best to enjoy the dive. However, her reaction was taking her the opposite way. For some reason she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She was swimming and breathing easily but it seemed she had no compatibility with the water. What was wrong? She’d never been claustrophobic. No, that wasn’t it. The feeling didn’t have any panic in it. It was more a mixture of self-consciousness and protest and … stifle and … now it was defining itself.
She felt encumbered.
She stopped, gestured to Grady that she was going to return to the boat.
Grady asked with a gesture was she all right?
She assured him with a nod and went up.
Grady and William continued on, around the point of the cove to another of the small islands. There they encountered three other divers. A short ways farther on they came within sight of two more, and as they went along they passed beneath the hulls of at least ten boats.
Before noon they’d had enough. Climbed back aboard the ketch and shed their gear. Julia had changed into white shorts and a T-shirt, was lying face up on a cushion on the cabin top.
She had lunch ready, what she called a “picky” lunch, a variety of delicacies such as cold smoked salmon, pâté de compagne and sliced tomatoes with basil, arugula and olive oil, but nothing solid. Grady and William were hungry. Julia wasn’t because she’d munched considerably while preparing.
Grady asked why she’d quit the dive.
“I just wasn’t in the mood,” she told him
“You didn’t miss anything,” he said.
“The fish were pretty.”
“Yeah, hooray for the fish,” Grady remarked sardonically.
“What did you think, lover, you were going to come out here to an underwater paradise and pluck up a few pearl oysters?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, blame yourself, you chose this place.”
“I didn’t even see a shell. Did you?” He turned to William.
“No,” William said.
“The worst possible place. More divers than a public pool.”
“Poor baby,” Julia consoled. “You had your heart so set on better than this.” She delivered a consoling peck to below his right sideburn, told his right ear, “We should go elsewhere.”
“Where elsewhere?”
“You must have considered a backup.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to be this wrong twice,” Grady said and deferred to William. “You choose the next spot.”
William thought a moment and deferred to Julia. “You,” he said, “we’ll let you choose.”
After lunch, Julia and William went below to go over some nautical charts. Grady fixed a pitcher of lemonade and brought it to them, but he didn’t butt in. He saw that Julia was taking the responsibility seriously, was using a magnifying glass to scan the charts, as though they were trying to hide something from her. He went up on deck with a powerful portable radio he’d found, relaxed in the cockpit while listening to a Sydney, Australia, cool jazz and hot topic station. For ten minutes a conservationist was alarmed about an endangered species and then
for five Wynton Marsalis’s trumpet cried.
Julia and William came on deck.
Julia told Grady she’d figured out where they should dive. She expected Grady would want to know where but he’d decided he wouldn’t ask, would just go along with wherever it was, make a few points for his cooperative nature. Anyway, no matter what her choice, it couldn’t be worse than here at Surin Tai.
With the press of buttons, Grady hoisted the anchor, started up the engine and hoisted the mainsail. He guided the ketch down the circuitous channel to the open sea. “What’s the bearing?” he asked Julia.
“North by northwest,” she replied with snap.
Grady recalled the chart he’d consulted to reach Surin Tai. A north by northwest course would in little more than an hour put them in Burmese waters. Should he call that to Julia’s and William’s attention? Surely they knew, had studied the charts. He wouldn’t mention it, Grady decided. Hell, if they were game so was he.
The readout of the global positioning satellite receiver indicated where the ketch was at that moment. Having determined that, he set the course and wished for more wind so he could truly sail. Both the sea and the wind were the same as they’d been the day before.
The hour passed.
Nothing in sight, no islands, no other vessels. Nothing different about being in Burmese waters, Grady thought, but how far did Julia have in mind? He still wouldn’t ask, figured she or William would tell him soon enough. Probably what she’d chosen was an island just beyond the boundary, one that would allow them, if need be, to make a dash back to Thailand.
At eight o’clock Grady knew that was evidently not the case. They were well into Burmese waters by then and still running full on course.
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