A Whisper of Danger

by Catherine Palmer

  Jess drifted in the half-light on the ocean floor, enjoying the total freedom of hanging suspended in salt water. Although at this depth the pressure made her ears hurt a little, she felt fairly comfortable with the breathing device. In the distance, Splinter worked alongside Andrew Mbuti. One by one they carried newly uncovered artifacts from their resting places to the hoisting basket. Rapt, the boy had hardly even noticed his mother’s presence. He was as at ease in the water as a fish.

  Since the discovery of the captain’s quarters, the texture of the excavation had changed. All of Hunky’s crew were gathered around the pit they had dug with the huge vacuum hose Rick called an airlift. The work progressed with great care as the men searched for any signs of hidden treasure.

  Based on his knowledge of this sort of ship, Rick had predicted that the crew would be bringing up china, wine bottles, guns and knives, buttons, and clay pipes. If they were lucky, they’d find some jewelry. And if the wreck hadn’t been plundered in the past, there was probably a chest down there somewhere. It ought to contain silver bars, uncut gemstones, maybe even gold.

  Jess felt oddly pleased that Rick had asked for her help. Sketching the artifacts was proving to be interesting, even fun. And it gave her a reason to come out to the boat now and then. She told herself she wanted to be there to keep an eye on Splint. But she also enjoyed Rick’s presence. She liked talking with him. Liked hearing his ideas. He was smart, funny, and good at what he did. What intrigued her most, though, was his obvious interest in her.

  How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a man’s attentions? Sure, her well-meaning friends in London had tried to fix her up with dates. She always made certain she was too busy to go. And when she met a man through some unexpected encounter, she felt dismayed when she recognized anything more than a casual interest in her company.

  But Rick was different, Jess realized as she swam over to the plastic map of the shipwreck. She enjoyed the way his blue gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. When he touched her—a nudge on the elbow, a gentle guiding hand, a tentative finger on her hair or cheek—she reveled in the sensations that soared through her. The woman inside her felt awake again . . . a wife stirred by the powerful beckoning of desire for her husband. Was it wrong? How could it be?

  Uncomfortable, even though she knew that she and Rick were married, Jess ran her fingertips over the evolving diagram of the wreck. Passion had once played such an important part in their relationship. Too important, perhaps. It had clouded her reason. She had built her marriage to Rick on romantic dreams and an unbridled drive for intimacy with him. Now, the fear of making a similar mistake riddled her with doubt. She couldn’t deny how physically attracted to him she was. But she wasn’t about to build anything on that.

  Jess’s newly affirmed resolve nearly evaporated when a current of water stirred her, and she turned to find Rick gliding down to join her at the map. Even underwater, his tanned skin and dark hair gave him an aura of masculine confidence. When he draped an arm around her shoulders, a shiver ran through her. He stretched his other hand toward the map, and she found herself noticing the shape of the muscle and the dark hair that covered his forearm.

  Rick pointed out the location of the captain’s quarters. He showed Jess where that area lay in relation to the spilled ballast that initially had led searchers to the wreck. Then he indicated other areas of interest on the grid—the possible location of the galley, the mizzenmast, and the wheelhouse.

  Jess studied the diagram, imagining the terrible storm that must have driven the ship over the reef and into the bay so many decades before. She could almost see the sailors’ wide eyes, smell the windblown rain, and hear the shouts of panic and cries of fear as the jagged coral reef ripped the bottom out of the ship. Timber had splintered; glass had broken; metal joints had wrenched apart. Ballast stones had spilled across the sea floor like peas falling from an opened pod. The ship had begun to sink. The mast had snapped and tumbled into the sea.

  But why had the long wooden spar come to rest at an angle perpendicular to the trail of wreckage? Odd. Jess left Rick’s side and swam over the chain grid he and Hunky’s men had laid across the actual wreck site. The sand where the prow should have been was smooth, barely disturbed by telltale lumps of conglomerate or coral growing on fallen timbers. She knew the potholes dug there by the airlift had turned up almost nothing.

  Very odd. Splinter had told his mom there wasn’t usually very much “good stuff ” at that end. Only an anchor—and nobody had found it yet. Rick theorized that the ship’s crew must have dropped the anchor on the other side of the reef in hopes it would prevent their crashing into the coral crags. But the water over there was deep, and no one on Hunky’s salvage team had taken time to search for an anchor that had failed in its duty. Anchors had little value to a treasure hunter.

  Jess drifted back to look at the map one last time. Then she signaled Rick she was going up. Enough was enough. Too much time in that salty water, and she was starting to shrivel up like a prune. Besides, she had a lot of sketching to do if she ever hoped to catch up with the growing piles of artifacts from the wreck.

  When she broke through the surface and spat her mouthpiece from her lips, she realized Rick had followed. Brushing wet hair from her face, she tugged off her mask. A deep breath of fresh air filled her lungs.

  “I like the way Andrew works with Splinter, including him in everything,” she said. “He’s having a ball down there.”

  “Splint’s in his element.” Rick’s gaze roved over her face and down her neck. Then he met her eyes. “I guess I’ll go back and help them get the hoisting basket ready to pull up. It looks like it’s full of goodies.”

  “See you, then.” She gave him a smile and started for the boat. Remembering her question, she paused. “Hey, Rick, how come the mizzenmast is lying at such a strange angle?”

  He paddled toward her again. “A storm at sea can do weird things to a boat. No telling which way the mast fell when it snapped. The underwater currents could have carried it off in a different direction.”

  “I noticed you’ve laid your grid out so perfectly in a straight line. But how can you be sure the front half of the boat’s not lying somewhere else? Bits and pieces here and there?”

  “Well, it’s pretty clear from the ballast spill. . . .” He studied her. “The captain’s quarters are right where they should be.”

  “But the rest of the dig isn’t turning up a thing.”

  “The prow is usually pretty slim pickings.”

  She shrugged. “It just occurred to me that parts of the boat could be other places in the bay. You know what I mean? I saw those artist’s renderings of the Titanic in National Geographic. When the ocean liner broke in half, part of it spiraled down like a spinning top. Couldn’t that have happened to your ship in a big storm? Especially since it had hit a reef?”

  He stared at her. “Jessie, do you want to take a stab at looking for the prow?”

  “Me? I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t even know what I’d be trying to find.”

  “Angular shapes. Coral growing in unnatural patterns— straight lines, parallel lines, right angles, perfect circles. Obvious things like anchors or masts lying around.”

  “Needles in a haystack, in other words. No thanks. I’ll leave the treasure hunting to you and Hunky.” She paused. “But if I were you, I’d use that mizzenmast as a guide. Maybe the prow just broke off and swung around. I mean . . . it’s a thought.”

  Again, she started for the diving boat. But Rick’s hand closed around her arm. When she stopped swimming, she drifted against him. At the intimate contact, she caught her breath and drew back.

  “What, Rick?”

  “Come back down with me, Jessie,” he said. “Show me where the prow is.”

  “But I don’t know where it is.”

  “Come with me anyway. I’ll help you look. We’ll be a team.”

  Her instinct to snap back a sarcastic comment abou
t the past was snuffed by the look in Rick’s blue eyes. He wanted to be with her. He wanted her near. She could hear him beckoning even in the silence between them.

  He held out a hand. Slowly she slipped her fingers through his. “Rick,” she whispered. “I’m afraid.”

  As his eyes searched hers, she knew he understood what she meant. She wasn’t afraid of the water. She could coexist with octopi and sea urchins. It was him. Rick McTaggart. She was scared to death of the way he made her feel.

  “I told you I’d protect you, Jessie,” he said. “That means I’m going to guard you from all pain. Even from hurt I might cause myself.”

  “I don’t see how. How can we be a team . . . in anything?”

  “We already are. Paul said, ‘We are all one body, we have the same Spirit, and we have all been called to the same glorious future.’”

  “Rick, how do you know all these verses? It’s like you have a Scripture for everything.”

  “There is a Scripture for everything. God didn’t create us and abandon us here without any guidance. You and I—and Hannah, Daniel, Tillie, Graeme—and everyone who has surrendered to Christ’s call are on the same team.” He ran a finger down the side of her face. “Jessie, please don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you again. Try to trust me one step at a time.”

  Vibrantly aware of his touch, aching to know the warmth of his arms around her, Jess nodded. “All right. Let’s go look for your ship.” A huge coral head lay twenty yards from the place where Hunky Wallace’s crew was salvaging. Jess had noticed it on her earlier dive. She had wondered briefly if it might be a home for some interesting fish, and then she’d dismissed it.

  Now she and Rick left the others behind and swam toward the coral. Outfitted with scuba tanks to free them from staying near the diving boat, they kicked in unison to propel them forward. Jess didn’t like the feel of the heavy metal tank on her back. She didn’t quite trust the contraption, which took more getting used to than the simple breathing gear for the surface-air supply system Hunky used.

  Before they left the diving boat, Rick had given Jess a brief refresher lesson. Years before, of course, they had dived along the Kenya coastline—but Jess had shelved her memories of scuba diving, motorcycling, parasailing, and anything else that might remind her of Rick McTaggart. For ten years, she had avoided even the taint of adventure.

  Together in the Indian Ocean again, he had retaught her the importance of the buoyancy control, the device that could make her sink or rise at the press of a button. Then he had reminded her about the regulator, the exposure suit, the octopus tubes, and the underwater pressure gauge. The whole process had nearly dampened the limited enthusiasm she felt for the project. After all, what did she know about hunting for shipwrecks?

  But once Jess and Rick sank beneath the surface and began making their way toward the coral head, her artist’s fascination took over. The monolith was draped in waving fronds of seaweed. Large gorgonian fans decorated craggy nodes. A school of tiny, luminescent, turquoise fish darted away from Jess’s hand as she swam toward them. Black-spined sea urchins nestled in pockets and clustered like miniature porcupines in the hollows. She could almost hear James Perrott exclaiming, “Kima the Monkey and the Unfriendly Urchin! Jessica, what a lovely concept for our twenty-first book!”

  Scanning the bottom, she noted that the sand surrounding the coral head was vast and almost smooth. White ripples barely disturbed its surface. An occasional starfish with brilliant orange or red markings lay unmoving on the ocean floor. A sea cucumber rested near a broken conch shell. A large yellow-and-blue fish swam beneath her. Three striped angelfish glided past.

  And then Jess swam right over the anchor. She sucked in a deep breath of air and nearly choked. Bubbles exploded from her tube. A sheet of her own hair drifted across her face mask, scaring her half to death. She managed to grab the end of Rick’s fin, stop him, and point excitedly downward at her discovery.

  In less than a minute, he had dived the dozen feet to the anchor. Jess stayed above, madly blowing through her nose to try to even the pressure in her ears. Oh, she had never been meant for deep-sea diving! But she ached to get to the anchor and examine it.

  Breathing hard, she stroked downward to Rick’s side. He was combing the enormous coral-encrusted hunk of iron, his gloved hands touching every surface. It appeared the crew of the ship had tossed the anchor near the coral head in hopes of securing a hold. But the ship must have been too far gone.

  As Rick studied the anchor, Jess swam on alone around the coral head. She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears, and she knew she was breathing too fast. Rick had cautioned her to take it slowly. Chill, excitement, and fear could quickly use up the air tank of a novice diver, he had reminded her. She sucked a deep breath through the mouthpiece and willed herself to calm down.

  Impossible!

  She now recognized wreckage from the ship lying clearly outlined all along the seafloor. A mast here, another mast there. A large, round metal tank lay on its side. Timber ribs from the ship’s prow jutted up from the sand. This was it! Half the ship had sunk right here!

  Pinching her nose, Jess blew air into her ears again and swam deeper. This must have been what Splinter had imagined when he’d pictured a shipwreck. A large section of the ship was still intact, and Jess paddled toward the gray hulk. This was incredible!

  Glancing behind her, she saw that Rick was still exploring the anchor. She debated going back for him, then decided to have a little adventure on her own—a private Jacques Cousteau moment. Running her hands along the sand, she picked up a crusty metal rod with a block of corroded iron attached to one end. Then she paused and dug out what looked like the center of an old wheel—a round central hoop with four two-foot-long spokes radiating outward.

  Respecting Rick’s commitment to archaeology, she set a couple of coral chunks in the places from which she had taken her finds. No doubt he would want to mark down everything on a new grid. For the first time, Jess understood his excitement. She felt a sense of the unmatched joy of discovery. And to know she held in her hands a piece of history—untouched for decades—thrilled her.

  Swimming toward the intact section of the prow, she wondered what she might find next. Another anchor? A china plate? Perhaps even a sunken treasure chest? She ran her hand over the wooden timbers. Spongy, covered with wormholes, they were draped with dank green algae. They felt slimy to the touch, and she sensed they could be broken easily. If Hunky got into them with his airlift, they would disintegrate.

  Jess took a breath . . . and nothing came. Nothing. Stricken with instant panic, she glanced down at the gauge on her air tank. Empty. She searched the murky waters. Rick! Rick!

  Head down, he was engrossed in chipping the coral crust from the anchor. Rick! Her eyes filling with tears of terror, she kicked toward him. Her foot struck the timber prow. A long, snakelike shape darted out. Mouth open, rows of teeth bared, it lunged straight at her.

  FOURTEEN

  This was the anchor that had been fixed in the prow, no doubt about it. The plow anchor. Rick swam around the mass of corroded iron. Here was its ring, head, stock, shank, and crown. Both arms were intact, and both flukes—though coated with coral—still held. This was quite a find. The museum on the island would welcome the anchor, if there was any way they could figure out how to raise it. No telling how much the thing weighed.

  Jessie was amazing, Rick thought as he used his knife to nick a barnacle from the anchor. She had led him almost straight to the anchor. In spite of her outward disinterest in the salvage project, she had an uncanny feel for the ocean and its mysteries. Wondering what she might have stumbled across while he’d been examining the plow anchor, he lifted his head.

  Through the hazy gray water he could see a distant movement. Frantic movement. A discarded air hose. Arms and legs flailing. Jessie!

  Adrenaline surging through him, Rick shot toward her as fast as his flippers would propel him. Instantly he could see she was i
n serious trouble. An eel hung suspended half out of its hole, darting at her with its long teeth bared. Jessie had lost the mouthpiece to her scuba tank, and she was futilely waving some kind of rod at the creature.

  As he approached, Rick realized she was losing ground fast. Already her face had turned an ugly shade of blue gray, and her movements were lethargic. She was too deep. Too frightened. She was drowning.

  Lord, help me! Please don’t take her, God! Not now!

  Surging forward, he threw one arm around Jessie and brandished his knife at the eel. Without a speargun, there was no way he could kill the thing. It was angry and aggressive in defending its territory. But Rick knew that almost any wild animal could be evaded. Holding Jessie around the waist, he paddled backward. The eel followed for a moment, taking nips at his fins, then it hung back.

  The instant he felt they were at a safe distance, Rick grabbed one of the octopus hoses that was attached to his air tank. The secondary air source had been designed for a situation like this, but Rick had never used one except in training. As he kicked toward the surface, he placed the breathing gear in Jessie’s mouth and turned on the air supply. She was limp, dangling in his arms. The light reflecting through the water gave her skin a gray pallor. As they rose, the water cleared to indigo, blue, and finally emerald green.

  “Jessie!” Rick cried as he burst above the surface. “Jessie, can you breathe? Come on, sweetheart, breathe for me!”

  He swam her to the diving boat. With a strength born of terror, he hauled them both on deck in seconds. Fighting fear, he jerked off his face mask and hers and began to compress her chest with his hands.

  “Jessie, breathe. Breathe!” He covered her mouth with his and exhaled. Her rib cage rose as her waterlogged lungs filled with air. He pushed again. Breathed into her again. Prayed.