“Could you ask the Captain for us?” Culann asked with the most naive expression he could muster.
Gus burst out laughing. Frank supplied a laugh of his own, a little wooden for Culann’s taste, but Gus seemed to buy it.
“Go ask him yourself,” Gus said with a grin. “I dare you to go knock on the cabin door right now and ask him.”
“I tried telling him, Gus,” Frank said with a wooden smile. “But you know how those college boys are. They gotta know the answer to everything.”
“Kid, there’s some things you’re just better off not knowing.”
10
Culann and Frank were topside, leaning against the rail at the bow. The waves came short and choppy from the east, slowing the ship’s progress. A haze of clouds obscured the sun and cooled the air. A few miles out, lightning bit down on the horizon.
They only had a few hours until they hit port.
“How do you think this is going to play out?” Culann asked.
“Beats me,” Frank replied.
“Do you think Worner and McGillicuddy will help us?” Culann asked.
“Why not? I’m sure they’d love to see you get your head blown off.”
“Okay, but what about the cannonball? Do you think he’ll let us have it?”
“Ah, that’s going to have to be handled just right.”
The two headed down to the mess. McGillicuddy and Worner sat together at a table, sharing a can of concentrated orange juice. A few other anglers played poker at another table. It was odd for Culann to see the crew gone idle. The frenetic pace of the past two-and-a-half weeks had seemed an immutable aspect of the
The four huddled together for a few minutes while Culann explained the plan.
“You’re really going through with this?” Worner asked.
“Yes,” Culann replied. “Everyone is upset with the Captain, and I am going to make it right.”
“You’re nuts,” McGillicuddy said.
“You may be right,” Culann said, “but you have to agree that it would be nice to pull one over on the Captain.”
“Yeah,” McGillicuddy replied, “but is it worth it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Culann said. “I never planned to make a career out of this, so if I get caught, it’s no big deal to me. And I’ll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong. I won’t let on that any of you knew anything about this.”
“It’s not the job, greenhorn,” Worner said. “He’ll kill you.”
“Not if we do this right.”
Worner and McGillicuddy and even Frank seemed to look at Culann with a certain level of respect that hadn’t been there before. This whole idea was absolutely asinine, but Culann was filled with determination and confidence when he spoke of it.
Without quite understanding how they’d reached this point, all four men had become convinced that stealing the orb held some significance beyond the childish prank it appeared to be.
“Okay, greenhorn,” Worner said. “What do you want from us?”
“We need your cannonball,” Frank said.
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Worner said. “My granddad gave that to me.”
“What would you rather have?” Culann asked. “A hundred-and-fifty-year-old Civil War cannonball or a three- thousand-year-old artifact from the lost city of Atlantis?”
Worner reached back and tugged on his ponytail. Culann bit back a smile. Frank had been right about how to appeal to Worner.
“But it’s my good luck charm.”
“You’re damn right it is,” Frank said. “That’s why it brought you here. The cannonball led you to the most amazing find in the history of the world. You give us the cannonball, we’ll give you the Atlantis orb.”
“I get to keep it?”
“Absolutely,” Culann said. “If you provide the financing for this venture, you reap the profits.”
“I thought you were going to try to sell it to make up for the money we’re losing.”
“That’s still on option,” Culann said. “But it will be your decision. I don’t really care about the money. The mission itself is all I care about.”
“So what’s in it for me?” McGillicuddy asked.
“Come on,” Frank said. “You heard the plan. You know damn well that you can’t resist playing a prank this big — this is worth at least ten greenhorn fishslaps.”
“Fair enough,” McGillicuddy said with a smile. “I’m in if Worner is.”
“Okay,” Worner said after a moment’s reflection. “What else you need?”
“We’re going to need a diversion,” Culann said.
McGillicuddy’s blue eyes sparkled. “You leave that up to me.”
11
They finalized the plan and then assumed their positions. They were about ninety minutes out of port and could see the craggy coastline climbing out of the black water ahead. They were hoping the Captain would go for one last cigar before docking; if he didn’t, the whole plan went out the porthole. They’d have about five minutes to grab the orb while the Captain strolled around the deck a couple of times. Frank and Culann stood by the rail on the starboard side, about twenty feet from the door to the bridge. They wanted to keep within eyeshot without being too conspicuous.
Forty-five minutes later, the plan unfolded. The Captain stepped onto the deck, paused to light his cigar, and then ambled away. He walked with measured steps and he paused often to lean against the rail and look up at the heavy clouds above. Culann hoped the rain would hold off until they were done, lest it force the Captain to cut his stroll short.
With the Captain out of the way, that just left Gus. Culann and Frank couldn’t move until McGillicuddy completed his diversion. The cousins stood at the rail, muscles tensed, just waiting for Worner’s signal. The seconds felt like hours, and Culann began to doubt the reliability of the two rednecks who were so vital to the success of the mission.
And then they heard Worner’s weathered voice call out from the deck: “Man overboard!”
The engines shut down, causing Culann to lurch forward as the ship slowed.
Frank caught him. The door to the bridge flew open, and Gus charged out onto the deck.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “I thought I was done babysitting these little faggots.”
When Gus had gone far enough away, Frank darted to the bridge, and Culann followed as quickly as he could with a cannonball jammed in his jockeys. Culann was expecting to see a large wooden wheel like in pirate movies, but the bridge looked more like the cockpit of a passenger jet. The wheel itself was indistinguishable from the steering wheel on a car, but it was surrounded by high-tech equipment with digital displays and an array of switches, buttons and dials.
“Over there,” Frank whispered, pointing to a small door at the back of the bridge.
The Captain’s quarters were small and Spartan, although far more luxurious than the cramped berths the crew members wedged themselves into each night. Shelves built into the wall held the Captain’s clothes, a few books on weather and navigation, and a pair of expensive-looking binoculars. A twin bed on a metal frame that was bolted to the floor took up most of the room. The bed was made, the blanket stretched so tight that no creases
