by Helen Brenna
Some time later, however, the collective enthusiasm had fizzled to deep disappointment. For several hours, they explored the outer areas and found nothing more than a rusted contemporary toolbox, probably fallen from a tourist or fishing boat. Only Jake maintained a furious sense of purpose.
Though the area seemed somehow familiar, it was not the main cargo hold wreck site Annie remembered. That explained why her parents had missed the musket she’d found that morning. She finally grabbed Jake’s arm and pointed at her watch. It was close to noon, and her stomach grumbled for lunch. He glared at her, shook his head and indicated another area to cover. One more, and then she pointed toward the direction of the boat, thought he was following her, and took off without a backward glance.
They’d traveled much farther from the boat than was safe, so it took some time to get back. She popped her head above water and blew the regulator out of her stiff mouth.
“I’m surprised Jake let you quit.” D.W. held out his hand to help her climb onto the boat.
“He didn’t. I’m in direct violation of captain’s orders.” Seawater dripping off her wetsuit, she flipped off her mask and threw it on the bench. “He managed to express quite clearly what he thought of me needing to pee and break for lunch. I swear his eyes could drill a hole in the bottom of this boat.” She peered into the water. “Where is Jake, anyway? I thought he was behind me.”
“He probably saw something he just had to check out. This is what happens when you find a matchlock musket within the first two minutes at a dive site, then nothing, not even ballast, for the next two hours,” D.W. said, helping her shrug off her tank. “You get yourself somethin’ to eat and put your boots up a bit.”
“Thanks, D.W.” She sat and towel-dried her hair.
“Did I hear someone mention food?” Claire walked across the deck with a paper plate loaded with a sub sandwich, some chips and a banana. She handed it to Annie.
“You’re a mind reader.” Annie gratefully accepted lunch.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that after a morning of practically nonstop diving we’re going to have a hungry crew.” She sat on the bench near D.W. and motioned toward the galley. “Simon and Ronny surfaced almost a half an hour ago.”
“I should have made sure he was behind me.” The food suddenly stuck in Annie’s throat. “Jake shouldn’t be diving alone.”
D.W. grunted. “He’s broken every other rule in the book at one time or another.”
Annie looked to Claire for confirmation.
“Unfortunately, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Neither did Sam.”
Annie tried ignoring the surge of apprehension brought on by that revelation. She had no control, or right to control what Jake did or didn’t do. “Apparently, you’ve amassed all the common sense in your family.” She took a big bite of the sub.
“He’ll burn himself out by this afternoon,” D.W. said. “Then we can all take a breather.”
“Maybe this isn’t the right spot.”
Claire shook her head. “Annie, honey, there’s got to be a wreck around here somewhere. That musket didn’t fall off a cruise ship.”
“No, it came from a Spanish galleon.” She popped a few chips into her mouth. They tasted wonderful. Funny how food seemed better out on a boat with the sun in your face and a sea breeze in your hair. “I’d feel better if our magnetometers turned up a cannon or an anchor.”
Jake’s head splashed above the surface. She tore another big hunk off her sub.
“I’ll go get him something to eat,” Claire offered. D.W. stood. “I’ll help ya, sugar.”
Annie chuckled. “Leaving me here alone to bear the sea god’s wrath?”
“You seem to handle him just fine.” They took off for the galley.
Jake hoisted himself into the boat and flipped off his mask. Biting into her banana, she braced herself for his verbal attack. Though his motions were abrupt, he didn’t say a word. He shrugged silently out of the tanks, unzipped his wetsuit to his waist, baring a tanned chest covered in black, curly hair, and snatched the towel she’d recently used to dry herself off. Something about that seemed incredibly intimate.
For one moment their eyes locked. Instead of annoyance or anger, she saw desperation, bone-weary tiredness and something else she was unable to put a finger on. She couldn’t escape the odd sense that she’d somehow betrayed him by leaving the search.
Claire broke the tension by appearing with another plateful of food. She handed it to Jake. “Nothing, huh?”
He shook his head and proceeded to devour his lunch. He brushed off his mouth and looked from Claire to Annie and back again. “We need to move the Mañana.”
Annie nearly choked on her last bite of chips.
“Got one of those feelings, huh?” Claire smiled.
Jake finished chewing a bite of his sandwich. “I figure about two to three hundred yards out.”
Claire’s dark eyebrows rose, clearly excited at the prospect. “Hot diggity!”
“We haven’t finished surveying this site,” Annie sputtered in alarm. “If we move now, we’d never be able to pinpoint where we left off and the entire morning would be wasted effort.”
“There’s no point in finishing.” He sounded even more exhausted than he looked. “We found a musket. There’s nothing else here.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got a feeling.”
“A feeling! You’re moving on a feeling?”
“We don’t mess with Jake’s feelings.” Claire chuckled. “They’re famous in this industry. In fact, the last time he had one, we found one of the biggest finds OEI has on record.”
“Pull up anchor,” Jake said. “We’re moving out. Annie, I want you diving with me.”
While Claire went to the helm and followed Jake’s direction, Annie got on her gear. She glanced toward shore. It was the same angle from the island, only several hundred yards farther out to sea. A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Jake could be right.
As the anchor dropped, Jake slipped on a fresh tank. “Everybody else stays topside until we figure out if we’re at the right spot.”
Annie and Jake dropped together into the water. Within minutes, they’d made it down the fifty or so feet to the ocean floor. At first, this site looked no different from the last. As they moved around, passing the magnetometer over the ground, a queer feeling squelched around in her stomach. Very few fish swam near this particularly sparse section of shelf landscape. A lone barracuda dashed away at the sight of them, and a couple of spiny balloon fish hung near the floor. There were no sea stars, no clams, no urchins. Only sand, rocks and a few wispy plants.
He gripped her arm and pointed. Anticipation vibrated through his touch. The magnetometer indicator practically flew off the scale. There, off to their right, not five feet away, was an anchor fluke, partially obscured by sand. They bolted toward it. If Jake had been on land, she felt sure he’d be jumping with joy like a little boy with a new bike.
She wished she could feel the same. It was unusual for the fluke to be so clearly visible above the sand. Normally, they would have located a high iron concentration spot and used a prop wash to blow sand away from the area, eventually exposing the anchor several feet below the ocean floor.
He brushed away the few inches of sand covering the huge anchor. She looked for markings of any kind. There were none. She shook her head at Jake. Without any markings, they couldn’t know for sure if this belonged to the Concha. She already knew it did, but without the Santidad Cross, the Mañana crew along with the rest of the world would need some type of verification.
She looked for the telltale outcropping of rocks and boulders where her parents died. Only flat layers of sand stretched as far as she could see. Ballast was scattered around the area. It was common to find rocks and other materials the seafarers of old used to balance their ships. They sifted through it. Something flickered through the debris. She reached down, her heart racing, and
discovered a coin. She seized Jake’s arm. He smiled around the regulator in his mouth. They searched the area where she’d found it and came up with five other coins and a leather-looking satchel.
He motioned for them to surface.
“We found an anchor and some coins,” Jake yelled.
They climbed into the boat. The others gathered around, each one snatching a coin for detailed examination.
“This one’s a 1617,” Claire said.
“I’ve got a 1620,” D.W. said.
“I’ve got two 1621s.” Annie smiled at Jake, finding herself swept up in the group’s excitement. “If your two are 1622 or before, there’s a pretty good chance this is the Concha. What are they?”
“I can’t read one.” He rubbed at it.
“This one’s…1619!” Ronny held it in the air.
Annie separated the folds of the leather satchel. “It looks like something which may have carried documents.”
“Antiquity? Or garbage?”
“If it’s from the Concha, it’s surprisingly well-preserved.” The seams still held the actual stitches. Quite possibly a recent storm had unearthed it. Inside the last fold, she found only a scrap of fabric. Anything else once safeguarded there had long since disintegrated. She unfolded it to examine the mass of writing and lines. Something about it looked familiar, like some form of historical diagrams she may have seen at the museum.
“What is it?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know. It’s too hard to decipher the writing. I’ll take a look at it later.” If left exposed to open air, it would turn brittle and unmanageable. To preserve it for the time being, she dunked it in a container filled with ocean water.
“Jake, I want to dive,” D.W. said. “Man, this is too big to miss out on. You’re killing me.”
Jake looked from Annie to Claire and back to D.W.
“I’ll stay topside,” Claire said. “I am a little tired.”
“We could use a fresh set of eyes,” Annie offered.
“All right. Go suit up.” D.W. quickly stepped into his wetsuit and other gear. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
Without a moment’s delay, D.W., Ronny and Simon raced to get on their tanks. Three distinct splashes sounded behind her as the men dropped into the water.
Jake snapped his tank and mask in place. “Claire, I want you to get a flare gun from the galley and keep an eye on Westburne. If he starts to move in, send a hot one into the water. I’ll be here in a flash.” He turned to Annie. “You coming?”
“I have to hit the head first,” she told him.
Jake jumped into the water and Annie jerked her feet out of her flippers, dropped her tank and went below to her cabin. She reached under her mattress and for a brief moment panicked, thinking Jake had taken the cross. Then she felt its power only inches away. Her fingers found the bundle, and she stuffed it inside her wetsuit.
A cloud of grief immediately threatened to overtake her, and she stumbled. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she whispered and forced herself to continue out the door. “You’re going back where you belong, cross.”
Back on deck, she geared back up and dove to the ocean floor. Jake had joined the others around the anchor. Hiding the cross’s bulge, she swam past them and searched the area. First she went left and swam for several hundred feet. Then she went right and doubled back to the boat. After forty or so feet on her third pass, she noticed some boulders ahead and slowed. This was it.
The same feelings, the same sense of foreboding that had washed over her upon diving to the Concha site with her parents so many years ago, overcame her now. This site definitely had an unearthly feel about it. Ten plus years had added no more sediment, coral growth or plant life than she remembered.
Most shipwrecks deteriorated to the point that they almost became a part of the ocean. Not the Concha. At least not to the same degree as other wrecks. Many wooden beams remained intact. The shape of the deck was easily discernible.
She inched forward and spotted the boulders that killed her parents. Surprisingly, it didn’t send her into a panic as she’d expected. Ten years and spilling her guts to Jake had taken most of the sting away. Her parents were dead. Nothing would bring them back, and those boulders wouldn’t hurt her. She’d have been dead long ago if the curse was meant for her.
Her mission kept her focused. Return the cross and leave. The problem was finding a place where divers would never find it. Jake would leave the cross, but there would most certainly be other treasure hunters who would pick this area apart with a fine-tooth comb.
An area near the top of the boulders, set back away from the Concha, drew her in. Treasure hunters never looked up for gold. They always looked down in the sand. A small crevice where a group of boulders came together looked perfect. She unzipped her suit and pulled out the cross. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she dug her hand deep into the gap. She put the cross in as far as her arm would reach and covered the hole with sand and rocks.
There. The cross was back where it belonged, where no one would be hurt by its curse. A sense of pure elation lifted her soul. She felt light, free. Now she could live. Really live. Now she could return to Chicago.
But as she swam back toward the anchor and the other crew members a new sense of regret crept into her consciousness. She would miss this, the ocean, diving, her new friends on the Mañana. And Jake. She’d miss him the most.
HIDING IN THE SHADOW of nearby boulders, he watched her dump one handful after another of rocks and sand into the crevice. After looking about for a moment, apparently satisfying herself the hole was completely covered, she swam away. She never looked back. Amazing. Most treasure hunters would die to hold the cross in their hands. She’d buried it like garbage in a landfill.
Once she was out of sight, he swam over and carefully dug the rocks and sand from the crevice. It was a good thing he’d been watching her. Otherwise, it would have been highly unlikely for anyone to have ever found this.
After several scoops, he hit hard metal and wedged his fingers around the edge, gently dislodging the cross. Under water and freed from the weight of the surrounding sand and rocks, it still seemed heavy.
He pulled it out and stared. The Santidad Cross. Sunlight, bent and distorted by the water, cast wavy lines of illumination onto the rich golden links. Its emeralds gleamed, its pearls shimmered. It glowed as if alive.
For a moment, he hesitated, thinking about the curse. What if it was real? Hogwash. He’d never before bought into curses. He wasn’t about to start now. Unzipping his wetsuit, he tucked it inside. Again, he hesitated, his conscience rearing at thoughts of Annie. Resolute, he stuffed the cross inside his wetsuit, zipped it tight and swam away.
What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“TIME TO CALL it quits, guys.” Jake bobbed in the water next to D.W., Annie, Ronny and Claire. Throughout the day, he’d driven the crew hard, himself even harder, and, once again, they’d nothing definitive to show for it. Simon, on the frail side to begin with, hadn’t been up for the physical challenge. He’d hung up his tank not long after lunch.
“Now that you mention it, I am getting hungry,” Ronny said.
“I’m not quitting! What’s gotten into you, Jake?” D.W. vehemently shook his head. “Everything we’ve found so far could’ve come from any old Spanish galleon. Not a single thing confirms this is the Concha.” He frowned at Jake. “You, of all people, should be cracking the whip.”
D.W. passing on supper was a sure indication of how desperate the entire crew had become. Despite discovering early on what appeared to be the main cargo hold, they’d found nothing of substance beyond the initial coins and anchor. Jake considered telling them all the truth about Annie’s cross. Though he’d promised to keep it a secret, everyone had become disheartened as the hours in the day slipped away without finding indisputable evidence. They deserved something.
He glanced at Annie across the water, as if he might disc
ern an answer from the depths of those pale green eyes. All he found was exhaustion. She’d tirelessly searched by his side for most of the afternoon, trying to find something—anything—that would identify the wreck as the Concha in order to satisfy him and his crew. “Ready to call it a day?” he asked.
“Not me.” Triumph brightened her face.
Though he knew it was personal for her and not meant at their expense—she’d returned the cross and accomplished her goal—it hit him all the same. She’d said there’d be no treasure, and they’d found none.
This wasn’t how finding the Concha was supposed to go down. Fulfilling his life’s dream and keeping the promise he’d made to his dad was supposed to be a heady experience. The wreck site was supposed to be spilling over with booty. If Sam were here he’d have the crew hooting with laughter, shouting with determination.
D.W. was the only one who hadn’t given up. “All right, D.W., I’ll go back down with you,” Jake said. “Anyone else who wants to join us is welcome. I won’t hold it against anyone calling it a day.”
“I’m gonna have to take you up on that offer, Jake.” Without hesitation, Ronny swam toward the ladder. “This old body ain’t what it used to be.”
“Sorry, Jake.” Claire followed suit. “I’ll hit it again bright and early tomorrow. For now, I’m pooped.”
“You two sure you’re up for this?” Jake studied D.W. and Annie. “I don’t want anyone hurt.”
“Dang right I am.” D.W. resituated the mask on his face.
“I’m fine.” Annie smiled.
“Let’s do it.” Jake made for one of the few areas they hadn’t covered. Annie and D.W. followed.
Though less than forty feet below the surface, the fading sunlight was making it hard to see. They would have only another half an hour, an hour tops, before it would be too dark to see much of anything. They could break out the underwater lights, but they would be better served getting a good night’s rest and starting again with the sunrise.
Splitting down a line, Annie in the middle with Jake and D.W. on either side of her, about five feet between each of them, they canvassed one of the last uncovered areas south of the main cargo hold. They worked fast, demonstrating teamwork and familiarity in procedure only possible with divers having spent years in the business.