Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  Rob turned up the volume. The men on-screen seemed engaged in the icy, age-old battle between the news reporter looking for sound bites and the scientist unwilling to give them.

  “Chad Whistler here, with Dr. Weigner.” Jarod noticed that Buton crossed his arms at the scientist’s name. Was some professional rivalry going on? Before Jarod could ask, Chad continued, turning to the starchy scientist.

  “Being a preeminent stellar geologist, could you tell us about these ‘Star Diamonds’?”

  “Well, your first error is in calling them diamonds,” Turned out that Weigner’s tone was as stiff as the fabric of his lab coat. “These precious gems were forged by a collision of stars. It’s a trillion-to-one event. Not soon to happen again.”

  The reporter’s silicone smile cracked just a bit. “Any estimates of how many of these jewels are buried on the dark side of the moon?”

  “Any number I gave you would be wild speculation, due to the crystal’s elusive structure that defies detection by traditional means.”

  “Well,” Chad said with an overly warm smile, “with everyone flocking to the moon, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we, doctor?”

  Oh, nice one. Despite Chad looking like he’d been manufactured in a cookie-cutter, ready-for-prime-time-reporter machine, the guy had some balls. Chad pivoted away from Dr. Weigner, dismissing the scientist without having to say a word. The Ken doll fixed his eyes forward and spoke directly to the camera.

  “There you have it. The ‘Moon Rush’ has officially begun…”

  Brandi stuck her head in from the deck. “Got anything, yet?”

  Jarod gestured for Rob to turn down the volume.

  “Yeah…uh…we’re close,” Jarod answered, trying really hard not to sound busted. “Give me another minute.”

  Brandi wrinkled her pretty nose in irritation. “We need something fast, or we’ll miss our window for the story.”

  “Yes. Absolutely. One more minute.” Jarod turned up the wattage of his smile. And it worked. That little wrinkle smoothed out, and she glanced over her shoulder before heading back out to her oceanside perch.

  Jarod motioned for Rob to turn the volume back up. Grainy, flat images of miners panning for gold in a river accompanied the stiff voice-over.

  “Now, exactly two hundred years later, a brand-new band of ‘Forty-niners’ are racing to the moon.”

  The images exploded outward, enveloping the viewing audience, and then reassembled themselves in the razor-sharp digital Surround-D images of the present day, with quick cuts of spacecraft taking off from the earth’s surface, some from official-looking launchpads, some from backyards, most from shady, albeit tech-forward used spacecraft lots. Interspersed were shots of complicated docking maneuvers at the space station and shaky landings at the Moonbase.

  Crowds of miners stood around in their spacesuits or sat on moon bikes—observing as fresh competition exited the shuttles.

  “Everyone’s rushing to claim the best stake.” As Chad spoke, shots of a ragtag group of ships lined up at the “termination” line, where the light and dark sides of the moon meet. It really was pretty amazing stuff. If his love of the sea didn’t eclipse all else, Jarod might have been tempted to try his hand up there. Then the screen filled with stacks of high tech “huts” making up a modern-day squatters’ village.

  Or maybe not.

  “When you’re only granted an acre, you’d better choose carefully. It’s first come, first served.” The camera focused on a miner in a spacesuit, kneeling in the moondust, panning for jewels.

  Chad’s narrative continued. “Undetectable to any mining devices, there is only one way to find the jewels. Pan the moondust by hand.” The final shot was of a tiny sliver of a Star Diamond, sparkling with unholy fire in the miner’s pan.

  “Are you coming, or not?” Brandi whined from the deck, compact in hand, retouching her makeup. “Once that windbag’s done, we’re on.”

  Damn it. Jarod turned to Buton. “Anything yet?”

  The man might be a computer wizard, but apparently he couldn’t conjure proof that the galleon below was, in fact, the treasure ship that they hoped it would be.

  But they couldn’t miss this window. Not again. If they wanted any press out of this, they needed to air today.

  Jarod unzipped the top of his wet suit, tugging it down to his waist.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?” Cleo asked.

  “Giving them something to look at,” Jarod responded, catching some moisture from his suit and rubbing it on his bare chest. “Duh.”

  That got another low-five from Rob.

  Chad’s carefully cultured delivery followed Jarod out. “And who knows? You may be the next one to ‘Strike It Rich’! “

  * * *

  Brandi fidgeted, working out her pre-airing nerves. She could hear Chad’s weaselly voice droning on in her earpiece, finishing up his segment. That Botoxed jerk had scooped her again. Star Diamonds? Really? She looked around the ship’s deck. The ship looked as though it was manufactured back before J. Lo became a grandmother. This scene really couldn’t compete with space jewels and a mad rush to the moon. She could feel her already tenuous slot within the newscasters’ hierarchy plummeting.

  She turned to make sure that Jarod was ready to go. His pecs rippled as the drops of water glistened in the Caribbean light. She forced herself to swallow. Where had this guy come from? And where had he been hiding those muscles?

  The voice buzzing in her ear had switched over to the main anchor. Thanks, Chad. Continuing our “Striking It Rich” segment, we join Brandi Broadhope in the Bahamas…

  Brandi released the recording disk, which spiraled out of her hand and hovered a yard away, red light blinking. She cleared her throat, hoping the flush in her cheeks wouldn’t be too visible in the bright sunshine. She gazed beyond the tiny lens at her adoring fans.

  “I’m here with the leader of Rogues Incorporated, Jarod Haster. Tell me, Jarod, what exactly do you do?”

  Jarod’s eyes sparkled as he shifted his weight to one side, somehow managing to lounge without any support. “We like to call ourselves ‘aquatic acquisition specialists.’ “

  “You’re what?” she said, looking back at the floating disk, sharing her fake bewilderment with the audience.

  “Treasure hunters, basically.” Jarod hefted the goblet, the gold and jewels ten times more impressive in the midday sun. “We’ve found the San Rafael—a Spanish galleon rumored to have been carrying over two tons of gold coins.” Jarod lobbed the cup from one hand to the other. “And we’re going to see if those historians are correct.”

  Trying hard not to be flustered by those pearly whites, Brandi added, “Well, looks like you’ll be very rich, very soon.”

  “That’s the plan, darlin’.” Jarod’s slash of a smile planted itself firmly in her belly, then radiated downward. Seriously, was her makeup covering the heat in her cheeks?

  “Uncle Jare!” A young voice called from the bridge. “We’ve got serious ping!”

  Jarod winked at Brandi, and spoke to the TV audience before turning away. “That would be fate calling.”

  Brandi watched the well-proportioned man hustle toward the bridge. She caught herself staring and whipped back to the lens.

  “There you have it, Steven. Another man ‘Striking It Rich.’ ” She kept her smile plastered rigidly in place until the red light blinked off. The disk floated down to her outstretched hand.

  Her gaze wandered back to the bridge as she fanned her face.

  It might be her getting lucky after all.

  CHAPTER 2

  Undisclosed location in the Rocky Mountains

  March 18, 2049

  1130 hours, MST

  Dr. Weigner watched the news van disappear around the corner in a cloud of dust. Irritating reporter. He was so ready to spout inaccurate snippets as long as it would help his ratings. The scientist turned to look at the older couple on the sagging porch. They were watching their grandchildre
n play in the yard, chasing the little chicks around and laughing at their high-pitched peeps and squeaks.

  Time to earn his keep.

  He approached the farmer and his wife, clearing his throat politely to gain their attention. “I hate to be a bother, but could I interest you in parting with such an exquisite gem?”

  The weather-beaten face grew shrewd. This was no stranger to the art of negotiation. “Well, it’s no bother.” He yawned. “What would you be offering?”

  “I’m just a researcher, I’m afraid. Nothing over seven million.”

  The farmer’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “I’m sorry, doc, but I’ve got buyers offering double that amount.”

  “Ah. Sorry to delay you, then.” Weigner sighed profoundly, and then pivoted slowly to leave, his steps heavy.

  “What would you want with it, anyway?”

  The doctor tinged his voice with sadness, and spoke without turning. “Research. Cancer research.” Weigner let that land, and then glanced with yearning at the yard, observing the children at play. “Children’s cancer.” He nodded toward the couple. “Thank you so much for your time.”

  Even from yards away, Weigner could feel the glare of the farmer’s wife directed at her negotiator-husband. The scientist mentally counted down.

  Three, two, one…

  The farmer harrumphed. “I guess seven million is a lot of money.” He lifted his voice to call out, “Doc. Wait!”

  Weigner allowed himself a small, secret smile before returning to the porch to seal the bargain. Children’s cancer as the bait always did the trick.

  * * *

  Rob watched his uncle charge back into the control room, excitement radiating from him like cologne. Uncle Jare wore cool as if it was some kind of tailored suit made only for him. Rob jutted his chin at the layered holographic feed that showed row after row of chests in the shipwreck’s hold, sticking out into the main area of the bridge. Nothing like that extra depth of Surround-D to really give someone a feel for just how much was there. He lifted his hand for the obligatory high-five.

  “Who’s the man?” Rob asked.

  “You are,” his uncle chuckled, smacking the waiting palm. “But the question is, are those chests full, or not?”

  Rob nodded at the spectrograph that showed spikes flying off the graph. “Gold’s like crack to my sensors.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jarod crooned. “I’m liking fate.”

  Buton chimed in. “The term ‘fate’ implies a predestined course of events that could either be amicable or hostile. What I believe you are referring to is karma, which does have the capacity to reward or punish based on your actions.”

  “Whatever,” Jarod said as he lifted his hand, obviously looking for another high-five from his nephew. “Fate’s my new best friend!”

  Rob connected once more with his uncle’s palm, the slap reverberating through the bridge. “Those chests have been waiting for us!”

  This was their time.

  Buton countered their optimism. “Even if that is your belief, I will need at least three hours to calibrate the—”

  “We’re going in!” Jarod overrode him.

  “But—”

  “What did you say?” Jarod pressed Buton. “One more quake over a 3.0, and we’ll lose the ship to the ravine. Right…?” Jarod’s gaze challenged Buton to disagree. “Right?”

  The computer expert paused, and then reluctantly nodded. It was clear that he wasn’t happy about the situation at all. But when was he ever? The guy was nice enough, but he took caution to a whole new level of buzz kill.

  “I’ll lower the shark booms,” Cleo stated. Jarod went to argue, but Momma Bear Cleo overrode him. “Just in case.”

  “Sharks?” Brandi’s voice turned every head in her direction. She stopped in the doorway to the bridge and blinked at the sudden attention.

  “Oh, yeah.” Rob spoke, trying to adopt Jarod’s swagger. “We’re sitting on top of hammerhead central. Their nursery is just south of here.”

  “Sharks have nurseries?” Brandi squeaked, taking a step away from the hovering image of the shark that appeared ready to swallow her up.

  “Sort of,” Rob answered. “It’s where they give birth. And let’s just say that they vigorously protect their young. It’s why nobody’s really searched out here but us.”

  “But these booms create a ‘safe zone’?” Brandi asked, the inexperienced, hopeful note of a landlubber in her voice.

  “Are you kidding?” Rob snorted. “In these waters, there ain’t no such thing as safe.” She really was a newbie at this. “And if they smell blood, then it’s all teeth…”

  As much as he had wanted to strut his stuff in front of Brandi, Rob shuddered, tasting blood in the back of his throat. A flash of a dorsal fin. The sharp pain of a dozen razor-sharp teeth. Then a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Rob looked up to find Cleo with her “I’m here for you during this difficult time” face.

  Cleo spoke to Brandi, her hand squeezing Rob’s shoulder gently. “Rob and his father were—”

  Rob ducked out from under her touch. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “It’s all good.” He stared a challenge to everyone in the room. “We can handle it.”

  * * *

  Dr. Weigner coded in his security clearance, and the door whooshed open. Sterile, cold air swirled around him as he stalked into his laboratory, the prize gripped tightly in his fist. His two technicians started, guilty looks on their faces, as the one closest to the television waved his hand to switch off the broadcast.

  Weigner would deal with their laziness later. Right now, there was business to attend to. Weigner released the containment device, which hovered over to the space between the two junior scientists. The top face of the box slid back to reveal the prize. Even under the florescent lights, the jewel glinted fiercely, rainbows scattering across the lab. The techs’ eyes glowed.

  The doctor placed the gem on the nearest table and held out an electron-digital jeweler’s loupe for the techs to inspect the stone.

  “I paid seven million for it.”

  The tech bobbed his head up from his perusal. Surprise colored his response. “With this purity? They could have gotten triple what you paid.”

  “Yes, they could have. But some must suffer in the name of science.” Weigner allowed himself a satisfied chuckle before getting back to the business at hand. “Is the device ready?”

  The other technician stepped forward. “Yes, sir!”

  Dr. Weigner retrieved the tiny sliver from the awed tech, striding over to the complicated array of tubes and wires. He nestled the jewel in a mirror-shielded niche, moved back, and sighted along the longest tube to the lead sheet ten yards off.

  “Activate it, but only at level one.”

  A hum of power coursed through the machine as a kaleidoscopic light beam leapt from the tube. The ray cut cleanly through the lead sheet, the wall, and several walls beyond that before splitting a tree out in the parking lot.

  The tech turned off the power as silence reigned for several long moments.

  “Tell the Pentagon the initial test shows…positive results.” Dr. Weigner peered through the bored holes out into the sunshine. “Definitely positive.”

  The two techs burst into a flurry of activity, as Weigner brushed his fingertips along the length of the laser. The cool metal sighed against his skin.

  This was so much more satisfying than curing cancer any day.

  * * *

  Cleo felt the snug strength of the wet suit against her skin. Wearing her diving gear always gave her such a sense of security. But that was an illusion she could not afford.

  She strode over to Jarod, who was finishing up his predive routine, pacing back and forth, railing at everyone else that they weren’t going fast enough. Oh, and checking his gear, of course. That part had taken him all of three seconds.

  “Here’s the antivenin.”

  Cleo deposited the syringes filled with the serum into Jarod’s hand. Sea s
nakes were a distinct possibility down there. The creatures would normally keep to themselves, but with the aftershocks and Jarod’s urgency, the likelihood of one feeling threatened was too high for Cleo’s taste. When threatened, they would attack, and having the antivenin on one’s hip could make the difference between life and death.

  Jarod casually tossed the needles on the counter. Cleo sighed and scooped them back up. This was also part of his routine. She held them before Jarod’s eyes.

  “Which goes on your belt. Not in your pack, or hooked to the line, but on your belt, Jarod.” She stared him down.

  “Fine.”

  That was the answer she was looking for. Cleo pulled down the shark prods from their customary hooks and handed Jarod the largest one. He placed it on the counter. Seriously, it was like herding cats.

  “Jarod.”

  “All right. All right.” Jarod widened his eyes and jutted out his jaw at her—an expression reminiscent of Rob. He picked up the prod, hefted it, and faced the rest of the team. “C’mon, guys! Let’s hit the water.”

  * * *

  The bridge was a whirling mass of chaos. Brandi couldn’t seem to find a place where she wasn’t in the way. The crew passing gear back and forth, strapping on tanks, and calibrating instruments was some sort of foreign dance, and she didn’t know the right steps.

  It just didn’t make any sense to her. The team was just so…strange. They had the button-down Hindu scholar…nothing figurative about that description. He was wearing a suit, for crying out loud. Who did that on a boat? Brandi had the sudden mental image of what he would look like with an orange flotation vest strapped over his jacket. She did her best not to choke as she stifled a laugh.

  Then there was the uptight marine biologist. First off, what was a marine biologist doing out here hunting for treasure? Shouldn’t she be teaching at a university or working at SeaWorld or something? Second, did she have to be such a…well…Brandi’s sense of female solidarity wouldn’t quite let her finish that particular thought.