“It’s a big job, but it’s what we do here.” The man smiled. He was American, and shorter than average with a wiry frame presumably from years of hard work. He offered his hand and said, “Adrian Sanders. You must be Sam Reilly?”
Sam took it. “Yes, and this is Veyron my chief engineer.”
“Pleased to meet you sir,” he replied turning to shake Veyron’s hand.
“What do you think happened here?” Sam enquired casually.
Adrian shook his head. “Not paid to work that out. I just strip the poor ship of anything valuable.”
“Even so, you must have some ideas,” Sam persisted.
“I’ve seen a lot of fine ships end up in this shipping yard. Each being dismantled for scrap, piece by piece. For the most part, we find the most likely event is often the case.”
“Occam’s Razor,” Veyron noted.
Adrian made another note in his folder. “What?”
“It means that given two hypothesis, the simpler one is most often the correct one.”
Adrian smiled. “Exactly.”
“You don’t buy all this superstition about the plankton being evil?” Sam asked.
“No, this ship was struck by an almighty wave. Her size should have allowed her to ride it out, but it didn’t. That simple.”
Sam pointed to the Mexican who’d now finished tying his woven image of an eye onto the viewing platform. “What’s that man doing?”
“It’s called an Evil Eye. They’re Mexican good luck charms. They believe it will keep them safe.”
“And the other guy — the one slowly pouring those chemicals into the bilge?”
“He’s called a ‘Curandero.’ A traditional Mexican folk healer.” Adrian smiled. It was clearly intended to be condescending. “The bag contains a concoction of natural potions and herbs purported to keep evil away.”
Sam grinned. “It smells like chlorine to me?”
Adrian laughed. “Yes, well nothing quite like a little bit of science to help boost an ancient healer’s abilities!”
“He was here yesterday, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Because Donald told us the bioluminescent plankton that has everyone so worried about, was alive yesterday.”
“They’re all pretty spooked about this thing. They’re saying there’s evil here. And this is purifying it!”
Sam laughed. “Donald doesn’t mind letting the healers into his shipyard?”
“Mind? Are you kidding me? He pays for them.”
“Really?”
Adrian looked serious for a moment. “Of course. The sooner these healers declare the evil spirits dead, the sooner our workers focus on the task at hand.”
Chapter Forty Two
That night, Sam stayed at a room in a local motel. It was pretty cheap, but would serve the purpose and allow him and Veyron to get some rest before tomorrow.
His head had just reached the pillow. It was soft, and after the day he’d just had, Sam was quick to fall asleep. He’d barely reached that deep state of sleep before his cell phone began ringing. He wanted to ignore it — but his work ethic told him to answer the damn call.
A glance at the phone as he accepted the call showed that it was Ryan, the biologist and lab technician to who he’d sent the seawater sample from the bilge. “Did you get the sample that I sent you?”
“Yeah, but it appears to have been contaminated.”
“Contaminated — let me guess, chlorine?”
“Yeah, but there was something else too.”
“What?”
“Silicon.”
Sam sat up on the side of the bed. “What the hell would that be doing in there?”
“It’s normally used in computer chips for microprocessors. Among other things. Maybe the ship was carrying it in its hold?” the biologist suggested.
“I know what silicon’s used for, but I can’t think of any reason the seawater was contaminated by it. What about the dead plankton? Can you tell me anything?”
“It’s definitely been genetically modified, but how and why I don’t know. We’ll need a live sample to find out more. Get me that, and I’ll find you some answers.”
Chapter Forty Three
Tom breathed easily as he began his descent towards the shipwreck graveyard. It was 6:30 a.m. exactly. He would have dived earlier if Matthew had let him. Instead of sleeping he’d spent the night mentally preparing for the dive. Somehow, there was a deep sense of anticipation that he was about to find answers to one of the longest questions that plagued Sam Reilly. It’s not every day he got to show his friend the answer.
Next to him Genevieve confidently watched her dive gauge as they descended. She’d been diving for less than a year, but she was naturally good at everything she ever did. With an analytical mind, she could grasp the complex formulas and science behind deep sea diving. In the two years since Sam had brought her aboard the Maria Helena she had probably logged more dives than most are given the opportunity to in a lifetime. Even so, a 400-year-old wreck dive at 160 feet is not something to take lightly.
Tom checked his pressure gauge.
They’d just reached eighty feet. He looked over at Genevieve. The whites of her teeth stood out behind her clear full face dive mask and her dilated pupils nearly swallowed her blue eyes whole, with anticipation. “How you feeling?”
“I’m good.”
He shined his flashlight downwards. As the beam of light shot towards the bottom of the sea, Tom could just make out the image of the first bow of a shipwreck. He couldn’t yet tell if it was the one he was after.
Tom continued to descend until he came to a stop at a hundred and twenty feet when the ancient trimaran came into view. “Wow, what a sight, hey?”
“Everything about Sam’s oil color painting was wrong, wasn’t it?” Genevieve said.
“It would appear so.”
The oil painting did little in the way of justice for the gallant old warship. The artist had captured the fact that it was built with three large tree trunks — used as dug outs, like oversized canoes. But that was where the accuracy of the depiction ceased.
Her massive tri-hulls were at least half buried by the centuries of sand, but even so it wasn’t hard to grasp the sheer size of the vessel. Unlike the simplistic tribal rig that Tom had expected, the Antique Antiqui Nautae trimaran appeared to have been built by expert carpenters on a monumental scale. The three hulls were made from monstrous tree trunks. Most likely Sequoias. A startling discovery, given that the shipwreck was now lying on the east coast while Sequoia trees had only ever been found in the Californian west coast. This meant the Antiqui Nautae had either sailed from the west coast, which would involve passing the southern tip of South America — or transferred the giant tree trunks over land. A feat, just as impossible given their pre-westernized tools.
Tom guessed each of the three hulls was at least thirty feet in diameter and nearly two hundred in length — making her the largest ship of her time, considering the Chinese Treasure Ships were all either destroyed or dismantled by then. Between each pair of hulls were another four tree trunks. Although a few hundred years’ worth of marine growth had covered any possible connections, Tom already imagined that the ancient carpenters had joined each of the massive structures by using reciprocal cutouts so that they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle — making them exceedingly strong.
Next to him Genevieve took several photographs of the ancient warship.
“Are you ready to get a closer look at her?” Tom asked.
“Sure.”
Tom slowly descended until he rested just above the bow of the first of the three hulls. He carefully placed his hand on the hull. She felt sturdy despite her years spent at the bottom. There were barnacles and other marine life which had now made their lives on her hull, but there was no missing the strength of the original vessel.