A colossal waste of time.
But Jack held up his end, hugging the bottom, digging his gloved fingers into the sand, pulling free anything he found. He spotted the corner of another board, got a grip, and pulled. A big chunk broke off. Small fragments and dustlike particles floated away downstream.
He turned it over in his hands. Just like the rest. At first he'd wondered why no worm holes, then realized that whatever had killed the coral had probably killed the worms as well. He tossed it aside and gripped the rest of the board. As he hauled it free he caught a reflection of sunlight just below it, then sand refilled the cavity.
Metal?
He tapped Tom on the leg and pointed to the spot. Tom directed the stream into the depression. Sand billowed and sprayed while Jack worked his hands deeper. More flashes of yellow reflection. Gold?
His earlier apathy vanished. Something down there… something more than rotted wood. Despite all his misgivings about this wreck, he couldn't deny a surge of excitement. They might be uncovering something that no human eyes had seen for centuries.
There—metal. A bright yellow band, curved across a curving surface… a surface that resembled carved wood… lacquered wood.
But how…?
Tom had seen it too and was working the hose nozzle back, forth, and around in a seeming frenzy. Didn't take too long to realize they'd discovered a small sea chest wrapped in rusty links of heavy chain.
Tom knelt and concentrated the stream along the left end of the chest with one hand while working his free hand deeper and deeper until he found a handle. He leaned back, pulling upward while playing the hose back and forth across the surface.
As the top was revealed Jack saw that it was a camelback style chest with a convex top crossed by three brass bands. He'd seen lots of them—even owned one, though nowhere near as ornate—but had never seen one this shape: square, running maybe two feet on each side. The most startling thing about it was its cherry condition. The chain around it had wasted to a rusted skeleton of its former self. But the chest… no rot, no oxidation of the brass, no dulling of the lacquer finish.
And that was wrong. The rest of the Sombra wasn't fit for a beach bonfire, but this thing looked as if it could have fallen off a passing boat ten minutes ago.
Despite the vague dread roiling his gut, Jack leaned in to help. He didn't see that he had much choice.
He worked a hand down along the chest's opposite side, found a handle that felt like leather—strong, unrotted leather—and began to pull. With the stream from the hose plus their combined efforts rocking it back and forth, they managed to work the chest free.
As they knelt in the sand, holding it between them, Jack looked at Tom's face. He was grinning around his mouthpiece and his eyes were wide and bright behind the faceplate of his mask. He released the hose, letting it snake away behind him, and tugged on the rotted chain. The links fractured and fell away amid a cloud of rust flakes.
Jack lowered his gaze to the little square chest. Except for the domed top it was pretty near a perfect cube. And as pristine at its base as it was along its top.
This was all very wrong. Jack had no idea what it was or what it held, but he sensed that everyone would be better off if they just left this thing where it was. That look in Tom's eyes, though, said that would never happen.
Another strange thing about the chest. Its weight… much lighter than he'd have thought. Almost weightless.
Tom motioned for them to put it down. They lowered it to the sand and released the handles. To Jack's amazement the chest began to rise. As it picked up speed in its wobbly ascent, neither of them grabbed for it. They knelt and stared like a couple of awestruck children. Before they could react it was out of reach.
Tom pushed off the bottom and kicked after it. He caught up to it halfway to the surface and tucked it under his arm. Then he continued toward the surface.
Filled with foreboding, Jack watched him go. Everything about this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Reluctantly he shot some air into his vest and began his own ascent.
3
"Damn thing's locked," Tom said. "Not that I'm surprised, but shit!"
Jack watched his brother kneel on the rocking deck in his dripping wet suit. He hadn't bothered to remove his tank. He had the chest tilted back and was peering at the front seam of its lid.
Jack shrugged out of his BC vest and pulled off his hood. He ruffled his hair to shake out some of the water. The wind had picked up, raising some swells. Clouds were building in the west, reaching toward the sun. The weather looked ready for a change.
He didn't see a keyhole in the front of the chest, so he leaned in for a better look. He saw a curved surface, like the edge of a cylinder, divided into seven sections. Each segment sported an embossed number.
Jack let out a barking laugh. "It's a combination lock."
Tom's frown indicated he didn't think it was funny. "Combination… but when did combination locks first appear?"
"Not sure," Jack said, "but I know they were around before the Sombra's time."
Locked… not necessarily a bad thing. But as much as Jack wished this thing were still buried in the sand below, he had to admit to a curiosity about its contents—and about his brother's intense interest.
"What's in it, Tom?"
Tom was turning the little number wheels.
"Shit. They run zero to ten. That means…"
He paused, calculating, but Jack was ahead of him.
"Ten million possibilities. But you didn't answer my question: What's in there?"
"Who knows?" He sounded annoyed now. "Gold? Jewels? The Lilitongue of Gefreda?"
"Whatever that is."
"Well, we'll never find out if we can't open it."
"I think you already know."
He looked up at Jack. "Now why would you say that?"
"Just a feeling. A very strong feeling. Time to level with me, bro. What's going on here?"
Tom looked up at him, his face a mask of frustration. "You know anything about locks? Any idea how to bypass this?"
Yeah, Jack knew about locks, knew how to pick them, but this baby was not the pickable kind.
"Yeah. Got a pry bar?"
Tom looked shocked. "No! We might damage whatever's inside!"
"Would that be a bad thing?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Jack pointed to the chest. "It's been underwater more than four hundred years but it looks brand new. Now lift it, Tom. Tell me how much you think it weighs."
Tom hefted it. "Twenty… twenty-five pounds."
"I helped you haul it over the transom. More like forty or fifty."
Tom grinned. "Gold is heavy."
"Yeah, it is. But tell me: You're the scuba diver. You're the one who gave me lessons on the rules of buoyancy and displacement. Should something that size and that weight be able to float?"
"Well, no, but—"
"No buts about it. You saw it. This thing not only floated, it shot to the surface like a balloon. Care to explain that?"
"I wish I could. I also wish I could explain why you're so suspicious. Why do you keep going on about me hiding something from you? Here's what we found. It's sitting right here between us. I'm asking your help to open it. Where's the subterfuge here?"
Good question. Tom was being pretty open about all this.
Jack stared at the seven wheels of the combination lock. Seven… ten million possibilities… what seven-figure number would do it? Good thing the wheels weren't coded with letters. Twenty-six to the seventh… he couldn't come close to calculating that.