“He’s not my…” Dane’s voice trailed away under Bones’ expectant look. “We’re in SEAL training together.”
“How’s that going, anyway?” Cosenza asked.
“So far, so good. We made it through BUDS. We’ve still got a way to go, though.”
“I always knew you’d make something of yourself. I know your dad is proud of you. How’s he doing anyway? I haven’t heard from him lately.”
“He’s off in Nova Scotia doing his pirate research. I don’t know why he goes back to the same place every summer. You’d think he’d exhaust the possibilities and move on to someplace else.”
An odd look passed across Cosenza’s face and vanished as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Come on, let’s get going before the night gets away from us.”
Within half an hour, Cosenza had piloted Sea Foam out beyond the mouth of Boston Harbor. The temperature quickly dropped a good fifteen degrees and Dane breathed deeply of the cool ocean air. As the dive boat churned through the water at fourteen knots, Dane and Bones brought Cosenza up to speed. The university library had held plenty of information about the sinking of the Somerset, and enough information about currents and the ocean bed around Massachusetts for him to make a solid guess as to the ship’s present location.
“I doubt there’s much of Somerset left to find. A wooden vessel down in the waters of the North Atlantic more than two hundred years?”
“It’s not probable,” Dane admitted, “but it’s possible. In any case, there might be detritus strewn about, items left over from the wreck. They’ve even found cargo of ships from ancient Greece, and that’s a lot older than what we’re looking for.”
“That’s the Mediterranean. But, if you kids want to swim around down there in the dark, I won’t stop you. Better get suited up. We’re almost there.”
They donned their Lycra suits, Dane’s a bit baggy around the middle, and Bones’ too short at the wrists and ankle, and checked their air tanks. The steel AL80 cylinders were in suitable condition and filled to their seventy-seven cubic feet capacity. Dane doubted they’d be down long enough to need it all, but they each took a pony tank just in case.
Cosenza stood on the deck, arms folded across his chest, a light breeze ruffling what remained of his hair. The searchlight from a nearby lighthouse, high above the shoreline, sliced the darkness with a beam of white light, stretching toward the east.
“We’re smack dab on the coordinates you gave me. Ready to do this?”
“See you soon, Coach.”
Dane and Bones made their final checks, donned their cylinders, and moved to the deck rail. Dane gave Cosenza a quick, two-fingered salute, and flipped backward into the water.
He activated his dive light and plunged into the ocean’s inky depths, shivering as the cool water enveloped him. A beam of white lanced through the water nearby as Bones activated his own light. Kicking steadily, they went deeper into the darkness.
Their lights found the silt of the ocean floor minutes later. He kept his breathing regular as the respirator filled his lungs with sweet air. The two men stayed close to one another, sweeping their lights back-and-forth. As they swam, Dane saw nothing but a featureless seabed.
It did not take long for him to determine their search was likely to be in vain. If any part of Somerset had withstood the corrosive power of the salt water, it had likely been carried away, either by human hands or the strong current.
Bones’ dive light blinked three times, and Dane kicked toward him. He followed the beam down to the seabed. He couldn’t help but swallow a little extra air as his heart skipped a beat. He recognized the large, curving wooden object immediately. Somerset’s keel!
They swam down for a closer look at the relic that hadn’t seen the dawn in two hundred fifteen years. The meager light shone on the ship’s wooden ribs, the timbers emerging from the silt like fingers reaching up from the grave. There was, however, no cargo to be seen. They probed the silt, but found nothing.
Dane’s sense of wonder at seeing this ship out of a pivotal point in America’s history battled with his disappointment. He supposed he hadn’t truly expected to find the lantern down here, but his meticulous personality required him to at least eliminate the possibility. Plus, it had afforded him the chance to do the thing he loved most: dive on a wreck.
Bones tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up toward the surface. Dane nodded and they followed their bubbles upward. As they ascended, he spotted not one, but two hulls floating above them. He broke the surface and his vision exploded with white light.
Bones spat out his mouthpiece and squinted. “What the hell, dude?”
“United States Coast Guard,” a deep voice boomed. “Come aboard, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Bones looked at Dane. “Babes and bar-hopping are looking pretty good right now, aren’t they?”
CHAPTER 8
“I still can’t believe they let us go.” Bones waved a slice of extra crispy bacon for emphasis. When the Coast Guard had accosted them the previous night, Dane, Bones, and Cosenza had all given the Coast the same story — that they were merely searching for the wreckage of the Somerset. They’d been released after a stern warning about the dangers of night diving. Thankfully, Bones hadn’t mentioned the fact that they were in training to be Navy SEALS. Maxie wouldn’t have approved of his charges running afoul of their Coast Guard brothers in arms.
“It wasn’t my finest moment,” Dane muttered, taking a sip of coffee.
“Neither was your driving yesterday. It’s a good thing we weren’t in a boat. There was no freaking lighthouse around to keep us off the rocks or, in yesterday’s situation, those pedestrians you almost hit.”
“I didn’t almost hit any…” Dane paused, staring straight ahead. “What did you just say?” The pieces were suddenly falling into place.
Bones blinked. “I said you almost ran over pedestrians,” he began, but Dane waved him off.
“Jillian, do you have the lighthouse book with you?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Why?”
Dane signaled for the check and dug a few bills out of his wallet.
“I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s get out of here.”
As they headed toward the coast, he filled Bones and Jillian in on what he had in mind.
”You got me thinking. Bones, remember what Professor Remillard told us about the Old North Church and how, in 1775, it was sometimes used as a…”
“A lighthouse,” Bones breathed.
“Lighthouses of Cape Cod. Professor Andrews had this book for a reason.” The book lay in Jillian’s lap and he tapped the cover for emphasis.
“So you’re thinking that just maybe…”
“That maybe when Somerset ran aground, and the people divvied up the spoils of the wreck, somebody might have put that lantern to use.”
“There was a lighthouse right above where we were diving.” Bones sounded eager.
“In North Truro?” Jillian asked. “Let me look it up.” She thumbed through the pages. “Here it is. Highland Light.” She read further, her eyes widening with excitement. “It dates back to Colonial times!”
“Let’s check it out.” Dane stepped on the gas pedal and they zoomed toward the outer cape.
Dune grasses flanked the path to the Highland Light, which ran through the middle of a small, nine hole golf course. Several people were out on the greens, ignoring the stiff wind that whipped in from the ocean.