The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(79)

Although it’s dark, it’s not pitch-black looking up at the surface. The outline of the Zodiac is clear, and I can see it bobbing up and down in the waves.

I hear the other boat approaching before I can see the shadow of its hull about thirty feet away from Dad. My heart races as I wait for him to give me the signal.

One flash for danger. Two for the all clear.

One flash . . .

Two flashes . . .

I kick upward and pop out of the water as George throws a line to Dad from the stern of the Fool. He’s turned out all the lights and is trying to keep himself from falling over as the waves knock both vessels around.

Dad reaches down and grabs my hand to steady me, then escorts me around the raft and to the dive ladder on the back of the Fool. George grabs the back of my tank and lightens my weight as I climb. We pull Dad into the boat and tie off the Zodiac.

Dad turns his eyes to the clouds. “This is getting bad.”

“And they’re jamming us,” adds George.

“How far away are they?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I thought I saw something a couple miles out. I turned off the lights, hoping the weather would make it harder to see the ship. I don’t know if it worked. I think we should make a run for it.”

“We can’t,” I reply. “Dad found the Kraken.”

“What? Here?”

“About a thousand feet that way,” Dad explains from memory, pointing south. “We moved the raft in case they got to us first.”

“Can we get the cargo?” asks George.

“I need my tools,” Dad replies, trying not to fall as a wave tilts us.

When his sea legs start to give, it’s time to worry.

“I can open the hatch and start bringing up the cases. There could be as many as fifty of them. We don’t know which have the files,” he says. “I suppose we want the ones with the money too.”

“You think?”

Dad goes into the boat to gather his tools. I climb up to the bridge and use the night-vision goggles to scan the horizon. George climbs up after me.

Far to the west, I spot a tiny light. “Is that what you saw?”

George takes the goggles from me and looks through them in the same direction. “That’s it. I can’t see it with the naked eye. So I’m assuming it’s someone with infrared goggles like us, only their illuminator is on.”

“As long as they’re out there, I’m okay with it,” I reply. “We’ll have to figure out how to get past them.”

“I was thinking about that. I have a crappy plan,” he explains. “We find which case has the plans and load them into your little raft with me. You head to port, and I wait a few hours and then head straight into Hobe Sound and beach it.”

“That’s a horrible plan. We’re not going to last a few more hours out here. And that Zodiac will be a death trap. Especially . . .” I don’t point out that he doesn’t have as much ocean experience as Dad or me.

“We could try getting out of range and calling for help,” George says. “The problem is, the DEA agents we want to avoid probably have someone on every coast guard boat out here.”

“They can’t all be bad,” I reply.

“No. But I’m sure at this point they’ve been told you and I have pledged eternal allegiance to ISIS and should be arrested on sight.”

“Damn it. Who do we trust?”

“Nobody out here. I have people. Unfortunately, they’re not out in this crap.”

Dad climbs up to the bridge. “I’ve got a tool kit ready. I need you to lower me down an extra air cylinder.”

“What are you trying?” I ask.

“I’ve got the salvage balloons. I want to try to raise the nose a bit. Winston may have put a hatch underneath. The saddle tank was ruptured, but the interior was pressurized and still has some air.”

“Did you see anyone inside?” asks George.

Dad shakes his head. “There’s barely enough room. But air is a good sign.”

“To breathe?” asks George.

“It’ll make it easier for me to float the thing. Trying to transport fifty cases from down there to here is going to be a challenge,” he replies.

“What if we rope them all together?” I ask.

“The current will drag them away. If I can’t get the whole thing to float, we’ll drag them up one by one.”

I do the math in my head. Assuming two minutes per case at best, we’d need a hundred minutes. That’s longer than Dad should be down there after the other dive.

“All right. Let’s hope that works.” I’d insist on going down myself, but Dad knows how Winston’s boats work better than I do.



I pilot the Fool back to our spot, and George helps Dad into the water. He returns to the bridge once Dad’s beneath the waves.

“Your dad is one brave man,” says George.

“I think it’s equal parts stupid. It runs in the family.”

I go back down to the stern and check the anchor line we set for him. A hundred feet below, the crazy bastard is trying to rescue one of the largest sunken treasures ever, even though none of it is his.

I feel like an ass for calling him a pirate and questioning his ethics. I should have known all along what his real priority was—his idiot daughter, who may yet get him killed.