“It’s the truth, Mr. English,” Adriana said earnestly, “whether you believe us or not.”
“I believe you,” the guide said gravely.
They were struck dumb. It had never occurred to them that Menasce Gérard might take them at their word.
“Oh,” said Kaz, surprised. “Great. So what happens now?”
The giant ignored him and pulled off his dive hood, checking the security of the Band-Aid on his head.
Dante spoke up. “You know — what’s our next move? How do we stop Cutter?”
English shrugged hugely, his massive shoulders blotting out all view of the pressure hatch that led to the entry lock. “It is not my job for save the world, me.”
“You mean you’re just going to let him steal everything?” Dante protested.
English raised both expressive brows. “This is my property on the bottom of the ocean?”
“Well, shouldn’t we at least call the cops?” asked Star. “That reef is protected, and they smashed it. They’re smashing it right now!”
English laughed mirthlessly. “The cops — you refer to seven Saint-Luc men with the asthma. They cannot dive, so they are the cops.”
“What about the government?” Adriana prompted.
“The government is eight thousand kilometers away, in Paris. The local magistrate is on Martinique, and would not know coral from corral, the place where you keep the horse.” He looked earnestly into their faces. “Tiens, I agree with you. This is a terrible thing — a waste. But this is not my business. I am a diver. Justice is for someone else. A judge, peut-être.”
Dante hefted the bell. “Well, here’s one thing Cutter’s not going to get. What do you make of it, Adriana?”
She took it from him. It was heavier out of water, about the weight of a small TV. “It’s the ship’s bell, all right. We can try to clean off some of this rust. I think these things were engraved, so we might be able to identify the ship.”
“For what?” grumbled Dante. “So Cutter can know whose gold he’s getting rich on?”
“For historical value,” Adriana insisted. “We know the artifacts are Spanish. Maybe the Spanish government keeps online archives we can check.” She turned to English. “Do you think?”
“Why do you look at me?” the dive guide said, almost defensively. “What do I know about the Spanish treasure, me? A Frenchman named English.”
The interns were taken aback. That was almost a joke! Humor from the implacable Menasce Gérard. It didn’t seem possible.
“You know, you never explained that,” Star ventured at last. “Where your name comes from, I mean.”
“Exactement,” English agreed. “I never explain you this thing.”
He turned away to shrug out of his wet suit. And for a moment it seemed as if the subject was closed. But then the enormous guide spoke again.
“My ancestor was English,” he said, his back still to them. “From the shipwreck.”
“Really?” Adriana was impressed. “How long ago?”
The famous shrug. “This is maybe, I think” — he paused, searching for the right word — “baloney? A rumor in the family. Here, aux Antilles, so many boats sink over the years, everybody think his ancestor sail with Columbus.”
Kaz regarded English intently. “I know you don’t like us because we don’t belong at the institute. But now maybe you understand that it isn’t our fault. We’re not properly qualified because Cutter wanted us that way. He picked us because we’re not great divers, and he picked Star because he thought she would be handicapped.”
The guide tossed his wet suit onto the drying rack. He said, “You get better.” And he ducked through the pressure hatch, leaving them alone.
The four interns stared from one to the other. First humor and now this. Had English actually said something nice to them?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The old ship’s bell, after more than three centuries at the bottom of the Caribbean, now sat in a glass tub, soaking in a mild acidic solution. On the other side of the lab area, in PUSH’s entry lock, Adriana pounded the keyboard in search of clues to the identity of the mysterious galleon.
The lists and numbers that passed across the screen astonished her. The web site was maintained by the Spanish government. It contained a complete archive of every ship that had ever sailed to and from Spain, including its cargo. There were passenger manifests and bills of lading all the way back to the fifteenth century.
If that wreck is what we think it is, it has to be in here somewhere, Adriana reasoned.
Outside the viewing port by her shoulder, a lobster hunt was in progress. English was leading Star, Kaz, and Dante on a search for a dinner that was worthy of their last night on PUSH. Seafood was on the menu; peanut butter most definitely was not.
She got up from the chair and knelt down in front of the bell. Using a long-handled soft brush, she dabbed gently at the coating of rust on the brass. A cloud of reddish-brown particles flaked off into the surrounding liquid.
She squinted at the mottled surface. Was it getting cleaner, or was that just wishful thinking? She could make out faint lines of engraving, but nothing was clear enough to read.
She glanced up. Outside the porthole, Dante had cornered one of the clawless Caribbean lobsters in a rock crevice, and was trying to coax it out.
“Stay in there, kiddo,” she advised the creature. “He wants to cook you.” With a self-conscious laugh, she realized she had spoken aloud.
Dante lay on the rocks, his head almost completely inserted in the opening. As he reached out to grab, a huge dark shadow fell over him.
Adriana gaped. An enormous manta ray came flapping down to take a look at the diver with his head in a hole. Frantic, she banged on the window with both fists, hoping the concussion of her knocking would carry through the water. Perhaps it did, because Dante emerged with his captured lobster to find the twenty-foot wingspan of the devilfish looming over him.
Adriana couldn’t hear anything, but it was plain that Dante was screaming his head off. He spat out his regulator, and howled a cloud of bubbles that seemed to have no end. Star and Kaz tried to come to his aid, but Dante was out of control.
English finned onto the scene, with bubbles pouring from him as well. Adriana felt a stab of fear. The guide was afraid of nothing. Just how dangerous was this big beast that hovered like an alien spacecraft?
Then she realized that English was not in the grip of terror. He was laughing.
Somehow they managed to get Dante calmed down. He was inconsolable, though — in the excitement, his lobster had made its escape. With sign language, English instructed the others to watch. Then, astoundingly, he climbed right onto the manta’s expansive back.
Adriana stared through the viewing port. The monster just hung there and allowed itself to be mounted, great wings undulating slightly. Then, with a nudge from its rider, it took off, sailing gracefully over the reef, bearing English like some begoggled jockey. It was out of Adriana’s view almost immediately, but she could see the others watching with undisguised awe.
She returned her attention to the bell, and brushed a little more. The solution was now growing cloudy with rust particles, and the engraving was definitely beginning to appear.
1! But no — there was a crosspiece on top! T, then! She dabbed the brush gently but firmly, holding herself back from scrubbing. If she ruined this artifact, she would never forgive herself.