them.”
Sam pulled out his phone, hit Speed Dial, let it ring twice, then hung up. A moment later Remi Fargo turned on the bench, faced the cricket grounds, and gave a single wave.“The man she’s talking to is a Tanzanian police superintendent from Dar es Salaam.”
“Police can be bought. Just as naval officers can be bought.”
“Not this one. He happens to be a close personal friend of the FBI’s legal attache in the U.S. Embassy.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Right now my wife may or may not be telling the superintendent about a man named Yaotl who tried to break into our vacation home last night. He was armed with a gun identical to the one you’re carrying and had no passport.”Rivera’s brows knitted together. “The accident . . . the raft. That wasn’t Yaotl.”
Sam shook his head.
“How did you do it?”
“I took a few theater classes in college.”
“It doesn’t matter. He won’t talk. Even if he does, he knows nothing.”
“Just your name and appearance.” “Both of those can be changed. Give me the bell and return my man to me, and you’ll never be troubled again.”“Let me think about it. I’ll call you by day’s end tomorrow. If you bother us before then, I’ll call our superintendent friend. Care to tell me where you’re staying?”
Rivera smiled grimly and shook his head. “No, I would not.” He recited his phone number. “I expect to hear good news.”
Sam stood up. “You can expect anything you like.”
He turned and walked away.
SAM WALKED across the street to the police station. Remi wrapped up her conversation with the superintendent with a warm handshake and a thank-you. The man gave Sam a nod and a smile, then strode away.“Lovely man, Huru,” Remi said. “Told us to give his regards to Rube.”
“What did you tell him?” Sam asked, sitting down beside her.
“That we thought someone had tried to break into our house last night. He said to call him personally if we have any more trouble. How did your chat with the human skeleton go?”
“As can be expected. He claims he’s been working for some deep pockets who’ve been looking for the Ophelia for years. Problem is, he claims to know almost nothing about her pedigree.”“He tried to wing it,” Remi said. “He thought he could bluff you.”
Anyone who spends even a modicum of time chasing shipwrecks finds themselves well versed in every facet of a vessel’s history. That Rivera feigned ignorance about the Ophelia told Sam and Remi that the ship was vitally important to Rivera and his employer.“Did he mention the hidden engraving?”
“No. That could be telling. It’s another thing an experienced hunter would know. He didn’t mention it because he’s hoping we missed it.”
“Any hint as to what specifically they’re after?” “He implied it was something in the Ophelia’s hold. Treasure of some kind. Even offered us a finder’s fee.”“How very kind of him. Where does this leave us?”
“Rivera claimed he had salvage experience, which may or may not be true, but he also claimed his patrons have been actively looking for the Ophelia.”
In the world of treasure hunting, an active search is a specific beast that involves mounting expeditions-getting wet and dirty while laying out grids, doing magnetometer passes, picking through muck and slime. Not to mention the dry but no less daunting research work: interviewing relatives, scouting locations, and sitting in dusty old libraries looking for the slightest clue as to the target’s possible location.“If Rivera’s been at it that long,” Remi said, “there’ll be public records, news stories, permits . . .”
“My thought exactly. We find those, we get a better idea of what Rivera and his people are really after.”
THEY SAT UNDER the shade trees outside the police station for ten minutes as Sam watched Rivera and his partner leave the cricket grounds parking lot, then overtly make a circuit around the police station. Sam and Remi gave them a parting wave on the last pass.
Once sure they weren’t returning, Sam and Remi walked east to an open-air market, where they gathered food and necessities and walked the labyrinthine alleys while watching for signs of pursuit. Finding none, they walked three blocks north to a rental-car agency. Their reservation, a 2007 Toyota Land Cruiser, was waiting for them. Forty minutes later they were back at their Uroa beach villa.Sam’s phone trilled as they were walking up the driveway. Remi gestured for the bag of groceries he was carrying and continued into the villa. Sam checked the caller ID: Rube.
“Morning, Rube.”
“Early, early morning. How did your meeting go?”
“Fine. Huru told us to say hello.”
“A good man, Huru. Did you turn your guest over to him?” “Not yet,” Sam replied, then recounted his conversation with Rivera. “We already called Selma. She’s working on shipwreck databases for the area. Tomorrow we’re going over to the university for a little homework.”
“Well, I know I already said this once, but be damned careful. I did some digging into Itzli Rivera. The military stuff you already know, but he was also in their defense department’s intelligence section. He retired about eight years ago and went private. Here’s the kicker: According to the chief of station in Mexico City, Rivera’s been arrested six times by the Policia Federal but never indicted.”“What charges?”
“Burglary, bribery, blackmail, murder, kidnapping . . . And all related to national-level politics.”
“So he’s a hatchet man.”
“A militarily trained hatchet man. It’s a distinction to keep in mind. Nobody can pin down who he works for.”
“How’d he beat all the charges?”
“The usual: witness recantation either by change of mind or change in corporeal status, as in sudden and unexpected death.”
Sam chuckled. “Yes, Rube, I get it.”
“The rest is pretty standard stuff: mislaid evidence, technicalities, etcetera.”
“Safe to say Rivera’s got a heavyweight in his corner.”
“A heavyweight with a fetish for shipwreck artifacts. What’re you going to do with the bell?”
“We haven’t decided yet. The truth is, I don’t think they really care about the bell itself. Whether they’re after the Ophelia or the ship belonging to the mystery engraving, it doesn’t change where we found the thing. That’s what’s got them worried . . . Well, that and the fact that we aren’t willing to leave it alone.”“Maybe it’s not about something they’re looking for,” Rube said, “but rather something they don’t want anyone else to find.”
“Interesting,” Sam said.
Rube continued: “That charitable donation business . . . He wanted you and Remi and the bell together in one place. Why not just accept an e-mailed picture of the bell? And if all they wanted was to find the Ophelia, why not hire you? Everyone knows how the Fargos work: A large percentage of the find goes to charity and nothing to you personally. Sam, I think this is about hiding something, not finding something.”
CHAPTER 11
UNIVERSITY OF DAR ES SALAAM
THE UNIVERSITY’S CENTRAL CAMPUS SAT NORTHWEST OF THE CITY center on a hill. Having called ahead, Sam and Remi found the library’s director, Amidah Kilembe, a beautiful black woman in a fern-green pantsuit, waiting to greet them on the steps.“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. Welcome to our facility.”
Pleasantries were exchanged as Ms. Kilembe took them up the steps and through the main doors, at which point she gave them a walking tour of the building, which eventually took them to the third-floor reference area. The decor was a mixture of Old World colonial and traditional African: dark furniture and paneling that glowed from decades of polishing surrounded by splashes of colorful Tanzanian art and artifacts. Save a few of the library staff, the building was empty. “It’s a school holiday,” Ms. Kilembe explained.“We’re sorry,” Sam said. “We thought-”
“Oh, no, no. For the staff it is a regular workday. In fact, as chance would have it, you’ve chosen the perfect
