out at sea, as well as the calming serenity that came with each sunset.
It was the long hours in between that were proving difficult.
They'd been lucky to find the Savarona at such short notice. From the Caribbean to the coast of China, the demand for undersea exploration vessels had boomed in recent years, limiting availability and fueling prices. In addition to the marine biologists, oceanographers, oil companies, and documentary filmmakers that traditionally accounted for most of that demand, two new groups of end users were now driving the market: adventure divers, a growing legion of people who were willing to pay tens of thousands of dollars for a chance to get up close and personal with the Titanic ox cozy up to hydrothermal vents eight thousand feet below the surface of the ocean near the Azores; and treasure hunters, or, as they preferred to be known these days, 'commercial archaeologists.'
The Internet had played a crucial role in helping locate the research ship. A few phone calls and a short flight later, Vance and Tess had made their way to the port of Piraeus, in Athens, where the Savarona was moored. Its captain, a tall, striking Greek adventurer called George Ras-soulis who sported a tan that looked like it went deep enough to reach his bones, had initially turned down Vance's proposal due to a scheduling conflict. Preparations were already under way for him to take a small group of historians and a film crew into the northern Aegean in search of a lost fleet of Persian triremes. Rassoulis could only offer his services to Vance for no more than three weeks before having to take his party north, and three weeks, he had explained, wouldn't be anywhere near enough. As it was, his ship had been booked for two months, which was in itself a relatively short window given that locating ancient shipwrecks successfully was something akin to finding a needle in a haystack. But then most expeditions lacked something Vance had at his disposal: the astrolabe, which, he hoped, would narrow the location of his quarry down to within ten square miles.
Vance had told Rassoulis that they were after a Crusader vessel, hinting at the possibility of it carrying gold and other valuables that were being spirited out of the Holy Land after the fall of Acre. Intrigued, Rassoulis had reluctantly agreed to take them on, swept along by Vance's enthusiasm, the professor's infectious belief in the ancient instrument's ability to deliver them the Falcon Temple within that limited time frame, as well as a tinge of greed. The captain was more than happy to indulge Vance's request for total discretion. He was used to treasure hunters—commercial archaeologists—and their need to avoid publicity. And given that he had negotiated a cut of the treasure's value for himself, it was also in his best interests to make sure no outsiders crashed their party. He had explained to Vance how the ship would trawl the search site from the outside in for no more than a few hours at a time before sailing away to other 'fake' search spots in order to divert attention from their target area, a tactic that suited Vance perfectly.
What Tess was now rediscovering—the last time she'd been through it, she remembered, was off the coast of Alexandria in Egypt, the time Clive Edmondson had made his clumsy pass—was that the trawling process required a lot of patience, something she didn't exactly have in abundance right now. She was desperate to find out what secrets lay beneath the gentle swell that undulated beneath her feet, and she knew they were very close. She could feel it, and it made the long spells at the railing even harder to bear.
As the hours floated by, she would drift away into her thoughts, her eyes unconsciously riveted on die two cables that trailed behind the old ship and disappeared beneath its foamy wake.
One pulled a low-frequency side-scan sonar, which mapped every noticeable protrusion on the undersea surface; the other dragged a magnetic resonance magnetometer, which would detect any residual iron in the wreck. There had been a couple of moments of excitement in the previous days.
On each occasion, the sonar had detected something, and the ship's ROV—the remotely operated vehicle, affectionately named Dori after the absent-minded fish in Finding Nemo—had been sent down to investigate. Each time, Tess and Vance had rushed into the control room of the Savarona, hearts racing, full of hope. They had sat there, eyes glued to the monitors, watching the hazy images coming back from Don's camera, their imaginations spurred into overdrive, only to have their hopes dashed by the realization that what the sonar had found wasn't exactly what they had been hoping for: in one instance, it was a wreck-sized outcropping of rock and, in the other, the remains of a twentieth-century fishing boat.
The rest of the time was spent waiting, and hoping, at the railing. As die days drifted by, Tess's mind roamed the recent events of her life. She found herself constantly reliving the moments that had led to her being here, sixty kilometers off the coast of Turkey, on a diving ship with a man who had led an armed robbery on the Met in which people had been killed. Her decision to leave Reilly and join Vance haunted her over the first few days. She would feel pangs of guilt and remorse and experience panic attacks, and she often had to work hard to smother an urge to leave the ship at any cost and get away. Those worries had slowly subsided with each passing day. At times, when she wondered about whether or not she should have done it all, she did her best to rationalize her decisions and push the unsettling thoughts away, convincing herself that what she was doing was important. Not just to her— although, as she'd told Reilly, a discovery like this would make a huge difference to her career and, by extension, to hers and Kim's financial security—but to millions of others around the world, a world in which Kim would grow up. A better, truer world, she hoped.
Ultimately, though, she knew it was pointless to try and justify it. It was something she felt inexplicably compelled to do.
One concern she couldn't smother was about Reilly. She thought about him a lot. She wondered how he was and where he was. She thought about the way she had abandoned him and run off like a thief in the night and found it hard to rationalize. It had been wrong, horribly wrong, and she knew it. She had endangered his life. She'd left him out there, in the middle of nowhere—and with a sniper on the loose. How could she have done something so irresponsible? She wanted to know he was all right; she wanted to apologize to him, to try to explain why she'd done it, and it pained her to think that this was one blow for which she would never be able to make amends, at least not as far as he was concerned. But she also knew that Vance had been right when he had said that Reilly would hand their discovery over to people who would bury it forever—and that was something she couldn't live with. Either way, she realized, their relationship had been doomed—ironically, by the very thing that had brought them together.
Presently, with a six-foot swell rolling lazily under it, the Savarona turned to begin yet another run down the premapped grid. Tess's gaze drifted away from the cables and up to the horizon, where wisps of dark clouds were intruding on an otherwise clear sky. She felt a tightness in her chest.
Something else had been nagging at her ever since the night she had driven off with Vance. It was an unsettling feeling that was always there, clawing away at her from the inside, never letting go, and, with the completion of each trawling run of the Savanna, it got harder and harder to ignore: was she doing the right thing? Had she thought things through enough? Were certain secrets better left buried? Was pursuing the truth in this case a wise and noble quest, or was she helping unleash a terrible calamity on an unsuspecting world?
Her doubts were cut short by the appearance of Vance's tall figure. He stepped out from the wheelhouse and joined her at the railing. He seemed annoyed.
'Nothing yet?' she asked.
He shook his head. 'After this run, we'll have to clear out of here for the day.' He stared out, sucking in a chestful of ocean air. 'I'm not worried, though. Three more days and we'll have covered the entire search area.' He turned to face her and smiled. 'We'll find it. It's out there, somewhere. It's just playing hard to get, that's all.'
His gaze was distracted by a faint buzzing in the distance. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon, his brow furrowing when he spotted the source of the noise. Tess followed his eye line and saw it too: a
tiny dot, a helicopter, skimming the surface of the sea several miles away, on a seemingly parallel heading. Their eyes remained locked on it, tracking it as it followed a straight course before banking away. Within seconds, it was out of sight.
'That's for us, isn't it?' Tess asked. 'They're looking for us.'
'They can't do much out here,' Vance said, shrugging. 'We're in international waters. Then again, they haven't exactly been playing by die rules, have they?' He glanced up at the bridge, where an engineer was entering the control room. 'You know what's funny?'
'I can't imagine,' she said dryly.
'The crew. There's seven of them, and two of us, which makes nine,' he mused. 'Nine. Just like Hughes de Payens and his gang. Poetic, don't you think?'
Tess looked away, failing to find anything even remotely poetic in what they were doing there. 'I wonder if they ever had the same doubts.'
Vance arched an eyebrow as he cocked his head and scrutinized her. 'You're not having second thoughts, are
