“But no treasure?”
“If you knew how to find a treasure like that, would you just sit on the information? Keep it a secret as part of some big mythical plan?” Professor shook his head. “I wouldn’t. And I don’t think the old Templars would have either. They would have either invested it in a comeback, or more likely spent it all just trying to stay one step ahead of their enemies.”
Dane wasn’t ready to give up until he’d turned over every rock. “What if it’s more than just treasure? What if we are talking about the Holy Grail or the Ark? Or some source of power that can change the world?”
“Or destroy it,” added Alex.
“Hey, I’m just the trivia expert. Like I said, I don’t know what’s true. But if I had to bet money on it, I’d say that if there was a Templar treasure, it’s long gone.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, drinking their Scurvy and munching on chips sprinkled with salt and malt vinegar. Finally Alex spoke up. “Someone in Allied Command was a Templar. Had to be. That’s the only explanation. They knew what Hancock was carrying and couldn’t risk the Japanese finding it. Don’t you think that’s significant?”
Dane looked at Professor. “She makes a good point.”
He didn’t add that there was also the matter of their bogus search for the Awa Maru, personally ordered by the current Secretary of the Navy. It wasn’t hard to dismiss Edward Hancock and his cronies as a group of self-deluded dilettantes, playacting at being Templars, but that didn’t explain why the United States Navy had been so intent on making Trevor Hancock disappear during World War II, or why they wanted him found now.
“So what’s our next move?”
There was only one answer. “We head back to that shipwreck. This won’t be over until we find the mysterious missing Lord Hancock.”
CHAPTER 11
It didn’t take long at all for Bones to determine that allowing Gabby to join the crew had been the right decision, and not just because she was a lot more fun to hang out with than Willis. Her skill with the ROV meant that the two men would be able to focus their attention on watching both the radar screen and the horizon for the approach of hostiles, although, after two days on the site, without so much as a blip, he was beginning to wonder if he had misjudged the opposition.
He had expected them to show up in greater force — more shooters and bigger guns — and had planned accordingly by procuring a small arsenal, enough to fend off anything short of a guided missile frigate. Now, he was wondering if they had decided instead to let the crew of the Jacinta do the heavy lifting, hit them on the way back when they had the prize in hand.
They’ll be waiting a while, he thought irritably. The search of the wreck had been equally uneventful.
He stretched, working the stiffness of inactivity from his muscles and joints, and swiveled his chair to look over Gabby’s shoulder. Her pixie face was lit up by the glow from the small color monitor screen, her eyes moving back and forth as she used a joystick controller to manipulate the ROV’s utility arm to gently pick through the nest of crumbling bones in what had once been the ballroom of a small ocean liner.
They had cleared hundreds of skeletons, retrieving dog tags as they checked each skull for the metal plate Scalpel had described. So far nothing, and with each set of remains they cleared, the likelihood of finding anything seemed to diminish.
“You know,” Gabby said, without looking away from her task. “He might not have been in the ballroom. There could be other compartments. Or he might have jumped overboard before she went down.”
“I thought all the pessimism left with Maddock. Are you saying we’re out of luck?”
“Not necessarily. We can search the area around the wreck with the metal detector.”
He frowned. Two days of searching this haystack, and now he was being told that the needle might be in another field. “How long will that take?”
“As long as it takes.”
“You wouldn’t just be trying to run up the meter?”
She laughed and brought her gaze up to meet his. “Not on your life. The sooner we find this guy that you’re looking for, the sooner I get that celebration you promised.”
Bones had to admit that he was in need of a good celebration, but before he could tell her that, a familiar electronic chirp cut him off.
Gabby’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve got cell phone service out here?”
“It’s an Iridium satellite phone. It works everywhere.” He didn’t add that the service was almost prohibitively expensive, and he only had it because it had been provided for him, but simply hit a button to receive the call. “Bones, here.”
There was an unusually long delay. “It’s Maddock. Sitrep?”
“Not much sit to rep. We’ve almost cleared the wreck. After that, we’ll start sweeping the surrounding area. Got to say though, it’s not looking good.”
There was a long silence, far too long for simple satellite lag, and Bones thought the call might have dropped, but finally Maddock spoke again. “Keep at it. We’ve got to find him. Anything else worth mentioning? Any unwanted visitors?”
“Nope. Of course, they might be watching and waiting to see what we turn up.”
“Could be. Watch your six. We’re on our way back there. Should be on the ground in Manila by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Want us to come collect you?”
“Negative. I’ll charter another boat and meet you on site. I’ll call again with ETA.”
“Roger.”
“Also, try and stay out of trouble until I get there, Bones. Maddock, out.”
Bones clicked off and returned the phone to his pocket.
“Who was that?” asked Gabby.
“My boss.”
She stuck out her lower lip in a fake pout. “I thought you were the boss.”
Bones grinned. “Well, we’re more like partners really. Business partners, that is. Maddock’s a great guy…well, actually he’s kind of a stick-in-the-mud. Not much of a sense of humor. You’ll see when you meet him.”
“When will that be?”
“Day after tomorrow, maybe. He’s coming here.”
“No fair,” she said, pouting again. “I don’t want to work for anyone but you.”
“Well then, what do you say we find what we’re looking for before he gets here?”
CHAPTER 12
Scalpel gripped the padded armrests of the wheelchair and pushed off, standing erect on his own for the first time in three days. Although the doctor has assured him that two days in hyperbaric oxygen chamber had purged every trace of nitrogen from his tissues, he could still feel it. His joints felt as if they were about to burst.
“That’s more like it,” cheered the man standing behind the wheelchair. “When the horse throws you, you’ve got to get back on.”
Scalpel grimaced. His first impulse was to tell the man what he could do with his horse, but it didn’t pay to aggravate the boss, especially not when the boss was someone like John Lee Ray.
Ray was a handsome man, with the physique of an athlete and the face of a movie star. The first attribute was the product of an almost religious regimen of physical conditioning, the second was the result of a lot of cosmetic surgery. He was in his early-fifties, but was often told that he looked like he was in his late twenties, which pleased him tremendously. Ray cared a great deal about such things; he had not been born into wealth and power, but he was ambitious, and knew that appearances mattered a great deal to the wealthy and powerful men whom he served.