Too Much Stuff

“Nobody out here.”

He slowed down, from what must have been ten miles an hour, to an even slower cruise. Looking back to the shore I could make out the Cheeca Lodge, the location of the Millionaire’s Club back in the thirties.

“How deep is it supposed to be, Skip?” Amy leaned over the edge and looked into the murky water. The boat rocked slightly and we all sat still until the swell subsided.

“Skeeter says anywhere from two to twenty feet. I think the gold-the coins-are probably in the deepest part.”

She nodded. “And how big an area are you going to explore?”

I had no idea. “We’ll play it by ear. Or until the air supply runs out.”

Em grabbed my jaw and squeezed. “Please, don’t say that.”

We sat there for a minute, the boat gently drifting, water lapping at its battered fiberglass body. The sun was still low in the morning sky and the blue-green water reflected orange rays that bounced along the surface of the ocean. James tossed in the anchor and the rope went down quite a ways.

“What do you estimate?”

“Fifteen, twenty feet.”

“A real treasure hunt.” Amy seemed ready for the adventure. I wasn’t so sure that I was.

“Pard,” James pointed at me, hoisting a plastic bag he’d carried on board. “I brought binoculars.”

“I don’t think those amount to much underwater.”

“I’m using them up here. Keep surveillance on top of the water. You keep an eye on what’s going on down below.”

“I was just curious why you’re diving here?” Amy was going to analyze the situation. That couldn’t do us any good. “I mean, Islamorada has all those Spanish ships that went down in the seventeen hundreds. I hear that a lot of divers find coins on those expeditions.”

“Yeah, well we have information that says this is a good spot.” I was hoping to shut down this line of questioning.

She nodded. “What’s the next step?”

“We dive.”

“Tanks have been checked?”

I nodded my head. “Yeah.”

The old man seemed like he knew what he was doing. Still, some diver who’d used Skeeter’s services had run out of air and we were using the dead man’s metal detector. I was a little nervous.

“Hey, Skip,” Amy was strapping on her tank. “Have you ever dived naked?”

Em looked at her, James looked at her, and I stopped mid-process for a second. The image of this lady diving with nothing-

“Have you?” I asked her.

“I have. It’s a kick.”

“Let’s not try it today while you two are underwater, okay?” Em didn’t sound too happy.

I pulled on my flippers and, sitting on the side of the boat, we adjusted our mouthpieces and masks. I thought about what I was doing. The detector in hand, I realized I had no business being here. But then, what was new? Every time I get into a project with James Lessor, I end up in over my head.

Amy flipped over, entering the water, and I followed her, leaving James and Em by themselves for who knew how long. That was going to be crazy time.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I’d forgotten how peaceful it could be. We were no more than fifteen feet down, and the maximum was going to be twenty, but serenity settled in quickly. I could hear the bubbles as I released my air, filtered by the steady hum in my earphone. Don’t forget how to breathe. Amy was up ahead, her cute butt bobbing as she kicked her flippers. Already I questionied her as my partner.

Working the wand of the detector, I ran it over the ocean floor. Slowly, with the earphone attached to my right ear, I heard the low pitch of a hum. The pitch would rise when I found any metal of consequence.

I’d looked it up on the web, and apparently minerals in the water weren’t enough to set it off. I kicked, and moved another ten or fifteen feet, trying to keep the anchor as my focal point.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amy, gazing at the coral and the school of black-and-white sheepshead that went swimming by.

I kept moving, running the wand along the bottom. At the most I had sixty minutes on this tank. There was a spare in the boat, but if I did my job I might not need it.

And I was breathing too fast. Settle down. Relax. I remembered the instructor telling us, “Breathe slow and not too deep.” You could use a sixty-minute tank up in twenty minutes if you weren’t careful.

I saw a bigger fish in the distance, murky until it came closer. A long gray nurse shark about nine feet long. I shuddered. They were usually harmless, and typically hunted at night, but I’m not a fan of sharks, period. I stopped moving and after observing me for several seconds, the shark swam away, his body twisting in the water. Let the air out. Slowly. Conserve your air supply.

Amy was oblivious to the shark, darting here and there and not checking on me at all. It was okay. I didn’t want her to be too observant.

The crates would be a little over fourteen inches long, so if I found something, the signal should go for over a foot. I was out from the anchor maybe one hundred feet, so I started to retrace my path, only this time sweeping the wand across the path I’d made. Back and forth, twenty or thirty feet either way.

Nothing. After about ten minutes I decided to have James move the boat. Signaling Amy, we swam back to the anchor.

I pulled myself up after her, feeling pretty good about how I’d performed. I’d figured it out, and remembered most of the important points. Hey, I was still alive.

Ten minutes later we’d anchored the boat in a new position and were getting ready to go back down.

“Did she take off her clothes down there?” Em asked.

I didn’t respond.

When Amy and I dropped off the boat, I found the water a little deeper. Coral grew everywhere. Brain coral, star coral, fire coral and I played the wand right beside it. I didn’t want to injure any of the stuff, but at the same time I wasn’t going to let a small amount of coral get in the way of forty-four million dollars. There had to be a way.

Back and forth as Amy would spot a school of parrotfish, angelfish, or a formation of coral, and go after it. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

And then I heard it. The low gentle hum of the detector was stronger in my ear, then very strong, like a siren. I swear it sounded like a fire engine. Then quieter, then back to the steady frequency. What the heck? I ran it back and there it was again.

Stopping directly over the loud noise, I swam down, pulling up the metal detector and staring at the loamy soil beneath it. There it was. An irregular circle, corroded metal, sitting on the ocean floor. I picked it up, studied it for a few seconds then dropped it in the pocket of my swim trunks. Maybe it was a coin. Maybe it was a piece of cheap metal.

Moving back and forth over the loamy bottom I listened intently. Just that constant hummmmm sound. Then there was another rise in volume, the sirens at full volume, and I stopped. Same scenario.

A semiround piece of metal, covered with corrosion. I pocketed the piece.

Back and forth, back and forth. Nothing. After twenty minutes I found Amy admiring the coral and totally oblivious as to what I had been doing.

I pointed up and she nodded. We found the anchor and rope and rose to the surface, kicking with our fins.

“So what do you think, amigo?”