Peter stared at Purdue in astonishment, yet the billionaire genius only grinned, “A composition of salts containing calcium and phosphate, mostly. Intrigued yet?” he asked Peter. The crewman nodded profusely, his eyes still widened by surprise.
“I knew you couldn’t just sit back and sip cocktails like other normal playboys,” Amelie sighed. Purdue chuckled as he sauntered toward her, “Oh, come now, dear. Tell me you aren’t just a little curious about this discovery.”
“I do not contest the excitement of it, Mr. Purdue,” she replied. “All I’m saying is that you even without bringing most of your toys along with you on this trip, you simply cannot do without exploration of some sort. I do find it admirable. Don’t get me wrong. I just somehow knew you were incapable of not wracking your brain over something for the duration of this trip.”
“Then you know me better than you know my eating habits, dear Amelie,” he gloated, lifting the machine and its intriguing reading victoriously above his head.
The afternoon sun turned his body into a silhouette with a halo. Amelie just shook her head, still shielding her eyes from the glare with her right hand. Her skin was tingling from the harsh heat of the bright Mediterranean rays, and the untainted blue of the sky was no solace. The lack of decent wind movement on the sea made for a piping hot day, even by the standards of Hellenic or Egyptian measures. Only the lapping of the weak swells against the vessel made for any sound. They were still far away from land, so Amelie retreated to the luxury of the air-conditioned cabin below deck.
“Human bone, sir?” Peter asked Purdue with no small measure of fascination. “I feel a dive coming on.”
Purdue nodded happily, but his face appeared to hide more. Peter cocked his head with a twinkle in his eye. “What is it? Do tell, Mr. Purdue, if you please.”
His employer sighed as he perused the data once more. His light blue eyes shot up at Peter’s as he replied quietly, “The quantity is very interesting, my friend.”
“The quantity?” Peter asked, joined by Jeff, another crewman who specialized in diving and recovery.
“There seems to be, according to this, a vast amount of human bone down there. I dare say, a good vault full of dead human carcasses. Now, I don’t know about you gentlemen, but that is macabre to an irresistible level for me. Can we dive in say, an hour, Jeffrey?” he asked the diving expert.
“Of course, sir,” Jeff agreed, surveying the weather conditions and position of the sun. “If we make it relatively quick, I don’t see why not.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Purdue smiled.
Upon hearing about the dive, Amelie and one of the ladies on the crew came up on deck. The sun was fast dipping towards the horizon, for a dive at least, and it was going to be hard to cut in such short time. She winced. “It’s so creepy. I hope that reading is wrong.” A shudder shook her body visibly as she considered the possibilities. A room full of bones? People’s bones? The idea made her cringe, and Purdue’s eagerness only affirmed her suspicion that his drive for exploration bordered on the taboo most of the time.
Still, it was not her place to judge the man. Her only function was to be in charge of his nutrition, but it scared her just a little how the billionaire inventor always had a penchant for the darker finds in archaeology. It had never bothered her this much before, but then again, she’d never before been involved in one of his impulsive excursions. This time it had a direct bearing on her, this unsettling attraction Purdue had to things of the more dangerous variety. But because she was just another person in his employ, she had no right to any opinion.
Amelie recoiled as she watched Purdue and Jeff ready their diving equipment. Something felt wrong, but she chalked it up to her own insecurities.
“What are they hoping to find?” she asked Peter casually, as he walked past her to bring the wetsuits to the two men.
“Bones, I suppose?” he answered with equal befuddlement. He shrugged before he retrieved the neoprene suits from the large holding cabinet, groaning, “Honestly, I think a mass grave under the sea is not that far-fetched, given the history of this region and its wars.”
Before she could ask what he was referring to, Peter staggered over to Purdue, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied. The lady standing in her vicinity was busy putting away some loose lying tie ropes and plastic bottles, but was also listening to the conversation. She lifted a refuse bag to dump the bottles in and sighed, “I think he means the ancient history, the sinking of entire armadas and the battles they never recorded in the official history books.”
Amelie whirled around to address the other female crewmember. “Wait, what? How do you know this?”
“My brother,” she rolled her eyes at Amelie, “drove me crazy all throughout high school with that crap. He’s still like that, but thank God I don’t live under the same roof as him anymore.”
The two women shared a giggle before the woman continued as she worked, “True story. He’d befriended this professor online back then who fed him all this stuff of secret history too sensitive for the world know about it. Almost like a secret . . . ,” she gave it some thought to pick the right phrase, “ . . . pirate pact, or something.”
“Ooh! Well, you can’t say it’s not interesting,” Amelie remarked.
“Absolutely,” the lady agreed, smiling. “If it weren’t such fanatical horse shit.”
A splash ensued while she was still speaking, drawing everyone on board’s attention. “There they go,” Amelie sang emptily. “Brace yourself for the enthusiasm due when Mr. Purdue rears his head back up over that step.” The crew chuckled in concurrence, all familiar with Dave Purdue’s almost undisputable ability to be right about his instinctive suspicions. None of them doubted that he would surface with some success, whether it be the exact thing he was after or something undoubtedly amazing. He would never have made the effort to explore, especially with the great toils of diving preparations, if he had not deemed it worthwhile.
Amelie frowned as she folded her arms. “I wonder . . . .”
“What?” Peter asked.
She tilted her head while asking, “How did Mr. Purdue know to look under the water? What told him that there was a shipwreck right under us at this very moment?”
Peter shrugged, “Kismet.”
4
Lost and Found
Solar Eclipse Imminent: 36%
Upon the orange-painted waters of the horizon a vessel appeared, black in its silhouette. It looked unremarkable at first, but as it came nearer, the crew noticed that it was a large trawler, close to the size of Purdue’s yacht. Though matching it in speed and size, it was lacking in the esthetic prowess of Purdue’s as yet unnamed yacht. It slowed down at about a nautical mile from the yacht, and remained at that distance.
“What do you think that’s all about? Fishing, maybe?” the mechanic asked Peter.
Peter didn’t answer, as he was looking through the binoculars and having difficulty focusing at first. Meanwhile, the skipper was agreeing with the mechanic that it looked like a fishing boat.
“It’s rather huge for something like a fishing boat, sir,” Peter reported, straining his eyes. “Maybe a tug boat? Maybe for towing services . . . .” He looked at the skipper with a worried look. “Oh shit! What if it’s a salvaging company coming for Mr. Purdue’s wreck?”
“That would present a problem,” the skipper, Captain Solis, remarked. “Let me see if I can get them on the com.”
Amelie came out on deck to see what the discussion was about. The ominous shape drifted at a distance, instilling an unsettling peace on her senses. In the background, she could hear Captain Solis ask the boat to identify itself, but after continuous attempts the vessel neglected to make contact.
“I hope Mr. Purdue surfaces soon,” the captain said evenly. “I would like to put some distance between us and them, just for good measure. Nobody needs bad luck on the sea.”
Amelie and the other crew lady exchanged glances. “If they say us women are
the cause of bad luck I will harpoon them, I swear,” she muttered, evoking a hearty laugh from the stewardess.
“If only it were simple superstition that drove me to feel this uncomfortable, ladies, I would have been content with that. But . . . I don’t know . . . something about their sudden appearance just seems off, don’t you think?” Solis replied.
“I agree, sir,” Peter said. “But I hope our assumptions are misdirected, nonetheless.”
“Me too,” the stewardess agreed softly, looking equally distrustful of the new developments. “They’re just sitting there, doing nothing significant.”
A vociferous rush of water startled the women and had Peter jumping in his tracks, too. The welling disturbance yielded a rush of white bubbles and foam as Purdue and Jeff broke the surface, leaving the crew relieved by the friendly din. They hastened to assist the two men onto the deck and Captain Solis came immediately to inform Purdue of the unknown vessel a small distance away.
Purdue took Peter’s binoculars and had a look, but could see little more than any of the others had been able to. “I cannot ascertain the insignia on the flag, can you?” he asked Jeff, giving him the binoculars. Jeff pulled a face as he concentrated, but finally just shook his head. “Nope. I don’t see any discernable identification markers anywhere on the boat,” he told Purdue, “but the sun sits behind it, so it’s probably just a matter of light marring our view.”
Amelie and Peter waited for orders from Purdue, but all he was interested in was making a call to Edinburgh. “Sam!” he cried happily on his satellite phone. “Have I got a golden story for you, old cock! I just discovered something paramount and I think you should come out and cover it. What say you?”
“Sam?” Amelie asked the skipper.
“Sam Cleave, the world famous investigative reporter,” Captain Solis filled her in. “A close friend of Mr. Purdue’s.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “Think I saw him on some earlier excursion footage.”
“That’s him, yes,” the mechanic chimed in. “You do know, of course, what that means, right?”
They did not. Both Amelie and Captain Solis waited for an explanation. The mechanic smiled, “Whenever Sam Cleave gets involved . . . well, the man doesn’t cover small fry stuff, you know? He doesn’t exactly fly out to do exposés on petty crap like the Royals or incidents like assassinations, see. When Sam Cleave gets invited, you know it’s going to be big. That’s when you know something huge is happening.” He grinned excitedly, like a corny publicist at a press conference. Tanned skin made his big teeth look even whiter than they were as he whispered, “If Mr. Purdue calls in Sam Cleave, it means he found something down there. And I’m not talking a new coral reef or some interesting seismic readings, geddit?”
“That’s right, Mr. Henderson,” Purdue said suddenly behind the mechanic, dropping a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and relishing his awkward reaction. “It is definitely bigger than a coral reef and tremors. I’m not sure, but from this initial recon mission Jeff and I gathered there lies a plethora of historical treasures that down.”
“Like paintings and old documents?” Captain Solis asked.
“A lot of that too, yes,” Purdue shrugged whimsically, “but what is really interesting is that there is a lot of this too.” Between his fingers, a pale yellow gleam blinded the skipper as Purdue rolled the doubloon along the digits on his slim hand.
Sweat trickled from Captain Solis’ brow as his wide gaze revealed his astonishment at what he saw. In disbelief, he shook his head slowly, then looked up at Purdue and asked, “There’s treasure down there? Spanish doubloons?”
“Just like in a pirate film, my friend,” Purdue said, winking. “Now, Mr. Cleave will arrive tomorrow morning by helicopter. Thank God the man is resilient and adventurous. Not many reporters enjoy being lowered on a ladder from a hovering aircraft.”
“You’re sending a helicopter to deliver him?” Peter chuckled. Purdue nodded. “Man, I love how money makes any problem go away.” He was amused, and impressed, by the nonchalant manner in which Purdue summoned people with the smallest amount of trouble, no matter how stubborn they might be.
Amelie cornered Jeff to find out more about the discovery and to get a second opinion on the alien vessel that watched from afar without any obligation to identify itself. Jeff was busy dissembling his diving gear, seated flat on his ass on the upper deck.
“I am so curious,” she started carefully.
“About?” he asked without looking up.
“What was it like down there?”
He looked up at her with the last of the dying sunrays compelling his one eye to close. “Why don’t you come down with us tomorrow, then?”
“Ha!” she roared coyly. “Me? I’m no diver, believe me.”
“It’s not rocket science, Amelie.” He smiled cordially. “Although I’d suggest you first try out the shallows closer to the rock folds of the shore, rather than popping your cherry with a specialized wreck dive.”
“Um, no thanks on all of those,” she answered, crossing her arms in the way she did when she felt vulnerable.
“Come on,” he teased, “don’t you have a lust for adventure?”
She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish as she admitted, “It’s not that I don’t have a sense of adventure, Jeffrey. It’s just,” she hesitated, but his kind eyes prompted her to come out with her terrible inadequacy, “I can’t swim.”
“What?” he gasped, still trying to soften the blow of his obvious surprise. “How is it that you work as a marine chef and spend days at a time on the open sea when you know you can’t swim? Jesus, woman, what if the raft capsizes or you end up overboard?”
“Relax,” she giggled. “I don’t intend to. Besides, why do you think I only work on luxury vessels and cruise liners? I have no intention of working on rafts.”
His amusement had shrunk into pure concern as he unscrewed the valves and set his pony bottle aside with his mask. “You realize you’re playing a very dangerous game, right?” he reminded her. “I’m serious, Miss Amelie. What if an emergency hits this yacht and you have to swim to survive?”
It had never dawned on her that the matter was so absolute, and Amelie suddenly felt immensely irresponsible and quite the fool in front of the attractive diver who served as the on-board medic. How did she think, really, that she would manage if anything went south on any of the many cruises she served on? Biting her bottom lip, she looked away from him and allowed her eyes free passage along the contours of the cockpit’s top line. “I suppose I’m just an optimist, Jeffrey. Maybe I was banking on expert crews and unsinkable vessels.”
He rose to his feet and slammed the lid of his trunk to get it shut over the spilling contents. Then he looked at Amelie with compassion. “No vessel is unsinkable. No crew, expert as they may be, can cheat the sea. Ever.”
Purdue overheard his words as he came toward them. “True words, Jeffrey. Utterly true. Nothing in this world is certain.”
“Says the genius scientist.” Amelie smiled, but Purdue was dead serious.
“Now, if a genius scientist is of the mind that nothing is above destruction or calamity, my dear, what does that tell you?” he asked gently. “Believe me, I am long out of my years of perceived superiority over the concealed future of my endeavors. Even on this exquisite piece of marine machinery, freshly tested against nothing short of the powers of God Himself, I know for a fact that, at any time, anything unexpected may happen that would cause it to falter or sink.” He fluttered his eyebrows and casually walked to the nook to sit down and scrutinize the coin. “Could I have one of those amazing smoothies of yours, Amelie, please?” he requested. “That green one with the mint leaf on top?”
She had to smile at his total indifference to his new, healthier diet. “Of course, Mr. Purdue,” she replied, and went to the galley to prepare his spinach and kale concoction.”
“Look at this, will you, Peter?” he summoned the crewman. “Didn’t you say that you knew a
guide in Seville who told you some tale about an officially undocumented battle that took place around here in the eighteenth century?”
Peter nodded, “That’s right, Mr. Purdue. But you have to ask Hannah about that. It’s her brother who told me that story. She knows a bit more than me.” He called out for the stewardess, who had been cleaning up. The stick-thin Hannah hastened to Purdue, who invited her to sit down.
“The stories your brother always told you,” Purdue started asking, but Hannah already looked like a shadow was swallowing her up. “What’s wrong?”
She had her palms flat on the table and she was tapping her fingers in frustration as soon as he’d begun to talk about the stories. Hannah sighed, “It’s just, well, it’s just that I am so sick of the same old legends and conspiracy theories, Mr. Purdue.”
The billionaire smiled. “I understand. I do, really. But if I may just impose on you once more to relay your force-fed wisdom, please. After this I will never mention the legends to you again.” Something in what she’d said suddenly struck him as peculiar. Purdue shifted closer to the table and folded his hands together on the surface eagerly. “And what did you mean by ‘conspiracy theories’?”
5
For Wasting or Wanting
Sam left the safe warmth of his bed at three in the morning, abandoning his beloved ginger cat, Bruichladdich, to the neighbors.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as he laboriously lifted the giant feline into his arms before opening his apartment door to leave. As was the custom, wet Edinburgh was being blessed by the clouds. “Remind me again why I let Purdue do this to me,” Sam begged his cat as they stole to Mr. Umney’s, the next-door neighbor. “Oh yes, obscene funds for copious amounts of single malt and sleeping in late. Now I recall.” Bruichladdich was not amused. The night-morning was frigid and wet, even in the wing of his master’s coat cover.
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