by Matthew Rief
The hook was so big, it completely wrapped around his collarbone and the tip stuck out from the neoprene on the other side. Ange grabbed a pair of needle-nose pliers and flattened the pointy barb. Trying to pull the hook out with it still in place would make his wounds a hell of a lot worse.
As carefully and delicately as she could, Ange grabbed hold of the hook and pulled it out. Jack let out a grunt and a few rounds of curses as the bloody point came free.
With the hook removed, I rolled down his wetsuit, allowing us to see the extent of the damage for the first time.
“You’re lucky,” Ange said. “Looks like it didn’t hit your cephalic vein. Just muscle tissue.”
He took in a few breaths, then nodded.
“Alright, patch me up,” he said, ignoring the pain. “I think we’re getting close.”
“I think you should stay on the boat from now on,” I said. “First that .45-caliber to your side a few months ago and now this?” I shook my head. “You’re either the luckiest or unluckiest guy alive.”
“Or maybe I’m on the grim reaper’s most wanted list,” he fired back. “Ever seen Final Destination?”
After removing his gear, Pete climbed over and lent a hand. Just as we were finishing patching him up, Walt climbed up onto the swim platform, having swum over with his hands raised, carrying his boots and metal detector.
“Holy crap!” he said. “Is he alright?”
“Just a scratch,” Jack said as Ange pressed the outer bandage down. “I gotta say, I’ve been running charters for a long time and I’ve never seen that one before.”
Seeing that my friend was just fine, I laughed and said, “You might’ve been a record catch had they been able to pull you in.”
I helped Jack up onto the padded bench, then washed off the blood with the freshwater hose.
“The fishing boat took off,” Walt said, pointing over the bow. “Not sure if they even realized what happened.”
“I didn’t recognize the boat,” Pete said as he glared out over the channel. “Some people just don’t belong out on the water.”
I grabbed a towel from inside and dried off while taking a swig of water, then offered the bottle to Ange. When I reached into the cooler to grab a bottle for Jack, he said that given the situation, he’d prefer something a little stronger. I exchanged the water for a bottle of tequila, handed it to him, then looked over at Walt.
“Who were those guys you were talking to?” I asked, after taking a moment to collect my thoughts.
Walt tilted his head, then fell silent for a moment. His demeanor shifted in an instant. I could tell that he was suddenly uncomfortable and also that he was trying his best to hide it.
“Those three on the shore?” he said. “Just a few old acquaintances.”
“You sure you don’t wanna try answering that again?” Ange said in her no-bullshit voice. “Because that looked like anything but a friendly chat between old friends. We were far off, but we know pissed off when we see it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Anything you want to tell us? Like that maybe we aren’t the only ones you’ve told about this search?”
He looked back and forth between Ange and me, his expression revealing what appeared to be genuine confusion.
“I don’t know what to say,” he began. “They’re a couple of young men I used to know. They were eating over at Island Grill and saw me prospecting the shoreline.”
Ange and I gave each other a look. Neither of us were buying it.
“They didn’t look like locals,” I said.
“Well, they aren’t exactly,” Walt clarified without skipping a beat. “They’re visiting from St. Petersburg.”
“And how do you explain their demeanors?” Ange said. “They looked like they wanted to rip off your head.”
Walt shrugged. “Can’t explain that. Just the way some folks are, I guess. We like to jab and make fun. They invited me to dinner, but I said I had other plans. I headed over as soon as I saw that Jack was about to become the catch of the day.”
Jack laughed, then took a few long pulls from the bottle of tequila.
“Hey, what’s with the twenty questions?” Pete said, confused by the sudden line of questioning.
I kept my gaze zeroed in on Walt, trying to read him as best I could. Having spent a significant amount of time in the Navy, I’d experienced a lot of those “friendly” interactions. Jabbing and attacking guys with friendly banter was a constant. He appeared to believe what he was saying, but still, something about the interaction had seemed off.
I looked at Ange, who gave a slight shrug, letting me know that maybe for now it wasn’t worth it. She was right. But gut feelings are there for a reason. They stem from our primal survival instincts, which have helped humans stay alive and avoid trouble for all of history. And I trusted both Ange and my instincts. We’d be keeping a sharp eye on this guy.
“Nothing,” I said, waving a hand to finally respond to Pete’s question. Stepping toward the saloon door, I added, “Alright, who’s hungry?”
TWELVE
After lunch, we dove right back into the search. Within a few hours, we’d sifted through the entire channel under and within three hundred feet of the bridge. We directed our efforts north, where the channel widened to roughly six hundred feet. I kept focused on the task at hand but glanced every now and then at the nearest shoreline. The three guys Walt had been talking to were still lingering in my mind. I wasn’t certain whether Walt was telling the truth about them or not, but I knew one thing: there were things he was keeping close to the chest.
We got into a routine of search with the mag, blow sediment away with the mailbox, dive the hits, repeat. Though our spirits were high, even after Jack’s fishing incident, it was quickly becoming apparent how daunting our task could prove to be.
I looked around at our search site, the structures, and the shape of the seafloor. Mankind, in general, doesn’t like to leave nature be. We build, we destroy, we manipulate and change landscapes. The Snake Creek we were looking at was much different than the Snake Creek of 1935. Even in just seventy-four years, mankind had made drastic changes. Those projects, combined with storms and the shifting of the tides, made the odds of finding the compass bleak.
By the time the sun began to sink into the islands and distant ocean beyond, we’d searched over five of the most promising acres and had yet to discover anything remotely valuable, let alone the compass.
We ate a quick dinner up on the flybridge and watched the beautiful display of colors. I’ve made it a habit in my life to watch the sunset whenever I can. To take at least a few minutes and enjoy nature’s art show that marks the ceremonious end to each day. My dad used to say that you only get to watch so many in your life, and you never know which one will be your last. I miss him every day, but especially when I’m out on the water. If he were still around, he’d have found the compass before lunch and had us back at the marina in Key West in time for happy hour.
Using high-powered dive flashlights, we continued long into the night. It was a calm evening, with little wind and just a few sporadic clouds. In the darkness above, we could see a brilliant display of stars and a nearly full moon that reflected off the channel. Traffic had died off, making us the only boat still in the channel aside from a tied-off catamaran.
By 0200, Jack and Pete were dozing off. They decided to call it a night just after that.
“I’m gonna keep at it,” Walt said. “You all go off to bed if you want.”
I enjoyed the quiet and the cool air of the evening, so I decided to stay at it longer too. Ange stuck with us for another hour, then passed out on the bench while gazing at the computer screen. I carried her into one of the guest cabins, then filled a thermos with coffee for what felt like the tenth time that evening before stepping back out to rejoin Walt.
The man was a machine. We’d been at it all day, but he hadn’t slowed. I had to force myself to keep up with him, even though he was over twice my age.
> He took a rare break and sat down beside me on the transom to refill his thermos with coffee.
“Some woman you got there,” he said. “You’re a lucky man.”
I nodded.
“I kept waiting for her to come to her senses and ditch me, but it never happened.”
I grinned, but Walt kept his face stuck in a serious expression.
“I once had a woman like her,” he added.
I was about to correct him and state that there was no one like Angelina, but I let it slide.
“What happened?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I messed everything up. Then after she left, I messed everything up with my son as well.” He paused a moment, looking out over the water. “Haven’t seen him in years. He took his mother’s maiden name and eventually moved to Memphis and got married. I’ve never even met my grandchildren.”
I took a sip of coffee and thought over his words. I never liked to give advice unless it was asked for, but I felt the need to speak my mind.
“Well, you aren’t dead yet,” I said. “Maybe you’ll meet them someday.”
I wanted to add that he needed to man up and do some serious apologizing for whatever it was he had done. But I’d just met the guy and didn’t want to delve too much into his personal life.
“Maybe so,” was all he said.
He took a few more sips of coffee, then we went right back to work.
At 0400, we were finishing up our digs of the most recent mag search when Walt surfaced after just a few minutes beneath the waves. He ripped out his regulator and took a few struggled breaths.
“You alright?” I said, leaning over the starboard gunwale.
He coughed twice, then nodded unconvincingly.
“Think there’s a crack in the mouthpiece,” he said. “It’s letting in water.” He turned around and finned for the swim platform. “Be a hero and grab me a replacement, will ya?”
I nodded and stepped toward one of the gear bags. Before reaching inside to snatch another regulator, I glanced at my dive watch and shook my head.
“It’s getting kinda late, Walt,” I said. “We should call it a night and get back after it in the morning.”
He lowered his mask, letting it hang around his neck, then smiled.
“Didn’t peg you as a quitter,” he said, taking a friendly jab at me.
“Look, Walt, I’m an advocate for being determined. But there’s a fine line between tenacious and crazy, and you’re flirting with it. There’s no reason for us to be running ourselves to the bone like this.”
I’d fought and trained all over the world. I’d been pushed to the limit and beyond time and time again. My body and mind have been acclimated to perform even under heavy stress and severe sleep deprivation. But there was always a reason for the rhyme. A method to the madness. We went to the lengths that we did out of necessity, not for the hell of it.
“Those hits aren’t gonna dig up themselves,” he replied.
“Those hits will still be there in the morning.”
Walt sighed and wiped the dripping water from his forehead.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll turn in. But not yet.” He turned and nodded toward the seafloor. “Let’s just finish up these hits. I’ve got a good gut feeling.”
I shook my head. He’d been saying stuff like that since we’d started our search over eighteen hours earlier. He was optimistic, there was no debating that. But optimism without common sense is like having the greatest ship in the world without… well, a compass. A fitting analogy to our present situation.
In the end, curiosity got the better of me. I relented, looked down at the water, and said, “Alright, Walt. Just these hits. Then we’re hitting the sack.”
I handed him the extra mouthpiece, and he quickly switched it out, then dropped back down into the dark water. He dug up a few more promising hits, but none of them turned out to be the compass.
“Your turn,” he said, climbing up onto the swim platform and sliding off his BCD. “I’m all out of air.”
He was finally starting to show signs of fatigue and disappointment. I think all of the crunched-up soda cans and rusted chain links had finally taken their toll on him.
I glanced over at the computer screen. We still had a few hits left, but they were small and scattered along the outskirts of the area we’d cleared. I figured I could drop in, knock them out, and be back on the boat in twenty minutes. By the time we stowed our gear, we might even make it to the rack before the morning glows of the rising sun appeared.
I slid into my wetsuit, then strapped on a fresh tank and tightened my BCD in place. Sitting on the transom, I donned my mask and fins, then checked to make sure my dive light was working.
“Good luck,” Walt said.
He was blinking, and his head was bobbing a little.
I laughed and told him not to pass out.
“The day I fall asleep while in the middle of a treasure hunt,” he said, “is the day the Keys freeze over.”
After one last glance at the laptop screen, I grabbed the metal detector and took a big step out into the water. The dark world engulfed me as I entered negatively buoyant, sinking quickly to the bottom just nine feet down. I adjusted the bright beam of my flashlight, secured it to my left shoulder, then finned toward my first target.
Even though I’d been awake for coming up on twenty-four hours, my pulse still quickened as I dug into the hard-packed remaining sediment. Treasure hunting is quite a rush. There’s nothing like digging for an unknown object and the excitement that comes with grabbing it for the first time. It’s an old and romantic feeling that entrances those who dare to venture out and look.
I lifted the scoop of muck and reached inside. Pulling out an object, I wiped away the dirt and tilted my head as I tried to figure out what it was. I adjusted the light and shook it a few times to clean it off more. When the small cloud of dark settled, I realized that it was a Hot Wheels car. I smiled and shook my head as I dropped the tiny blue Volkswagen bug into the black mesh bag.
My optimism waning and fatigue setting in, I finished off the remaining hits one by one. Nothing.
Okay, Logan, I thought at I glanced at my dive watch and saw that it was almost 0500. Now it’s time to get some shut-eye.
I finned past the edge of our search site and reached to power off the detector. Just as my finger pressed the button, a green light illuminated.
I paused a moment and briefly thought it through. The logical thing would’ve been to call it a night. We’d investigated hundreds of hits already that day. The chances of this one being anything other than a worthless piece of junk were slim to none. But again, curiosity got the best of me.
I reached over, powered back on the detector, and hovered it over the seafloor. Again the green light illuminated, signaling that there was a metal object just a few inches down.
The tide was shifting, and the current was steady at about two knots. I held the detector steady with my left hand and dug with my right. It wasn’t easy. The sediment was even harder than usual, and it took me nearly five minutes of work to make it four inches down.
I took a break, shifted over my detector, and checked again. This time I was roughly three inches from my metal target.
I took a few calming breaths through my regulator and pressed on.
“You find something?” Walt said through the face mask speaker.
“Yeah,” I said. “Trying to figure out what exactly.”
“You finished up all the hits, right?”
I forced the edge of the scoop into the silt, pulling out a baseball-sized rock.
“Going off the game plan here,” I said.
I could tell he was smiling at me even through the radio.
“Now you’re getting the buzz.”
Two more strong scrapes. Then another. On the fourth, I heard the familiar and beautiful sound of metal on metal. I didn’t know what
I was about to find, but I knew for sure that at least I wouldn’t have to dig anymore.
I let go of the scoop, reached my hands into the deep hole I’d created, and felt a hard edge. Reaching beside it, I dug my fingers into the hard sediment and scraped away as best I could. Moments later, the object began to take shape.
My eyes widened in shock.
Holy shit.
I could feel it. It was round and flat on two sides, whatever it was.
Thin clouds of dirt blocked my view as I shimmied and pried the object free.
Could still be anything, I reminded myself. There are a lot of metal things that are shaped like this. Tobacco cans, valves, small containers, and… compasses.
It’s a compass!
My heart raced as I aimed the bright beam of light through the loose dirt that was gradually being carried away with the tide. There was no denying it. I was holding an old gold compass.
THIRTEEN
“Logan, are you alright?” Walt said frantically through the radio.
I’d let out a few ecstatic cheers and hooyahs since realizing what I’d found—sounds that are easily mistaken for cries for help.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, my voice unable to mask the excitement I felt. After hours of scrounging the ocean floor, we’d somehow managed to find it. “You sitting down?” I added. “The last thing I want is for you to have a heart attack on me.”
The line went quiet for a few seconds as I inspected the compass in the light.
“You tell me right now, Dodge,” he said. “I swear to God if you’re messing with me—”
I tuned him out as I quickly filled my BCD with air and rocketed up to the surface like a submarine that just blew its ballast tanks. After breaking free into the night air, I bobbed a few times, then slid off my face mask.
Turning around, I saw Walt standing on the deck and leaning over the side like an excited puppy. He was staring straight at me, and after a moment, he threw his hands in the air. I decided that I’d let the suspense build up enough and lifted my right hand up out of the water. The compass glimmered in the silver moonlight.