His wide shoulders, height, and good looks usually tagged him as some sort of Billy Budd, but this particular Budd held two diplomas and a doctorate in underwater forensics—investigating shipwrecks with an eye to what brought them down. His long, sandy blond hair curled up from below the hat. As always, he maintained his regimen of exercise to keep in peak athletic shape. A former Navy Seal, he routinely involved himself in various triathlons across the country and overseas.
Ingles’ attention was suddenly drawn to a figure pushing through the crowd, a young woman who offered a reporter a sharp reply to what looked like either an annoying question about her mercenary tendencies, or an annoying pass. Ingles guessed who she might be, and he thought her stunning, and from her catlike reaction to the reporter, she didn’t take anything sitting down. He noticed how she took in the crowd, eyes darting in every direction as if searching for someone she’d hoped to meet on the pier, someone other than reporters.
Looking over her shoulder like me these days, he wondered, thinking maybe they had something in common —detesting reporters. Regardless, he found himself unable to take his eyes from her. He watched her go about in a circle, making him wonder why she was taking her time on the pier. Looking for a boyfriend who was supposed to see her off, no doubt. Still searching it seemed, when she suddenly looked up at the ship and straight at David. He blinked and pretended to look away. He then turned and leaned into the railing, hair lifting in the breeze. But he soon looked back. Had she found who she was looking for? Was she in search of the so-called hero, David Ingles? Was she a pushy, snooping reporter or was she Dr. Kelly Irvin? Irvin was another of the divers whose specialty was marine biology and creatures of the deep. Word had it that Woods Hole insisted the expedition have a marine biologist aboard, and they expected specimens brought up from the deep.
But if she’s a reporter in search of a story here to ask me to repeat my harrowing escape from death, David told himself, just watch how quickly I’ll lose interest in the woman, despite her beauty. Then again perhaps she’s not a reporter at all. In fact, she looked like a photo he’d once seen of Dr. Kelly Irvin, and if so, perhaps there was an up side to the hero business, he inwardly joked. After all, she is damned gorgeous and obviously in wonderful health.
When he again focused on her whereabouts, she was storming aboard, her gaze set on him. At least it seemed so, which is what he told himself. As she neared, smiling, a hand extended, David gave her a firm nod to acknowledge their mutual stare, and he instantly regretted it when she rested a duffle on wheels that trailed in her wake, her honey hair blowing like wheat in the ocean breeze. Dressed in jeans and a safari blouse, the returning sun bathed her in light. Tall
But it was suddenly apparent that indeed this was Dr. Kelly Irvin, one of his co-divers, when she stepped up to him and Dr. Alandale—her duffel bag carrying the universal sign for divers.
She gave David a perfunctory nod but showered Alandale with a beaming smile, grabbing his hand and pumping it in a handshake. She then proceeded to tell him how she had read everything he’d ever written while still pumping his arm as if she might discover some secret if she only shook long enough. She certainly appeared enthusiastic in her admiration for the elderly man beside David—perhaps one of those father complexes; perhaps simply in awe of being in his presence.
“Such genius… such genius,” she said in a mantra while David frowned. Meanwhile, entirely ignoring Ingles as if he were a fixture—treating him like one of the crew—she began a tirade of questions for Dr. Alandale, all surrounding
By now Ingles wasn’t sure it was a bad thing to be ignored by Kelly Irvin. At the same time, he had to give it to Alandale; the man knew as much about patience as that shown by the biblical character Job. He also knew every detail of
Dr. Kelly Irvin finally introduced herself to Alandale, and then continued a rain of questions, until Alandale stopped her with a single word. “Enough.”
“Enough? I’ve just begun,” she countered. “You’re an expert on marine biology as well as—”
“Enough for now; we’ve weeks at sea together. I must pace myself… I’m an old man.”
“Oh, not at all, sir.”
“Calling me sir further ages me.”
“Oh, no! I-I’m so sorry.”
Alandale waved it off, and she changed the subject with ease, asking, “Just exactly where’re the private quarters for the dive team? So’s to stow my gear?”
“Now you sound like one of us,” offered David, garnering a smile from her. “There’re central changing rooms belowdecks center, but aft you’ll find private quarters for your personal effects.”
Alandale pointed to the nearest stairwell door that would take Kelly into the ship. She gushed once more at Alandale, gave David a micro-smile, and she then took Alandale by the arm to guide her off. Alandale’s body language told David that the older gentleman wanted to part company with her at the stairwell entryway, while her body language insisted that Alandale escort her belowdecks.
David laughed when the pair disappeared with Alandale still on her arm and in fact helping her out with her belongings. It appeared obvious that men found it hard to say no to this woman. Pushy, he thought.
Then again, perhaps he was wrong in his assumptions about her, as first impressions could not always be counted on. Still, she came off as rather cold and somewhat manipulative even if she was genuinely fascinated by Alandale’s history and accomplishments. He wondered what she’d be like for the rest of the trip, especially toward the ‘hired help’—which she obviously thought David happened to be. Then again a person whose life is given over to marine life, plankton, krill, and the like was probably not the most socially graceful of individuals. David decided he’d withhold judgment. See what comes of it, he told himself and returned his attention to the circus on the wharf, a full-blown news conference about the latest
Before David Ingles could find and stow his own gear aboard
“Nothing in the way of news or reports is going out to the press about this mission to
Lou, a big man, filled the space where he stood beside a lectern. “Nothing said that isn’t cleared by the Woods Hole Institute PR machine. I put it to you now… simple and direct—and I repeat: there’ll be no freaking headline-grabbing cowboys here. Not on my dive team!” He’d warmed to it, pacing now, adding, “It’s a purely scientific expedition on the face of it—for the media and the public, but we all know it is a salvage operation this… this expedition, ladies, gents… and so to all who’ve signed on go the spoils—whatever’s dredged out of the belly of that wreck down there, we all have a share in. But make no bones about it, the entire structure is unstable, and what we’re proposing… well it could easily—easily turn into a suicide mission.”
He let this sink in but David knew divers; he knew it wasn’t sinking far.
“You need to know that going in, and if anyone decides here and now that it’s this back-out time, your replacement is waiting in the wings. Mr. Fiske, stand up so that all the others know your face.”
Fiske leapt to his feet, a muscular, square-jawed young man filled with energy and a keen eye as he took in the others, saying, “I want this as much as any of you; should anyone fall ill or have an accident, I’m here to fill in.”
