“Sir!” he cried. “The worms have eaten the medicine!”
York roared with laughter. “The worms are the medicine, Lucky! They’ll eat the bad flesh and leave the good intact. Now pluck out four lively ones and drop them inside.”
Samuel did as he was told, then ran behind the back of the Casa Real and vomited until there was nothing left to come up.
Then the shouting began, Captain Blade’s voice louder than any other. Samuel followed the sound, fully aware that he should probably be running in the opposite direction. The throng of privateers was assembled in front of the large storehouses at the waterfront. The wealth of the New World was collected in these buildings — precious metals from the mines of the natives to the south, and unimaginable riches from the Orient. The treasure was carried overland by mule train from Panama on the Pacific side of the isthmus to this very spot. Here it waited for the great galleons to convey it to the Spanish king.
Samuel had heard the sailors of the Griffin speak of this place on their journey. It was, quite simply, the richest acre on the face of the earth.
The huge doors had been thrown open, revealing the contents of the legendary storehouses. Even from a distance, Samuel could see that they were all empty.
He had witnessed many displays of ill temper and homicidal rage during his time as James Blade’s cabin boy. But never had he seen his captain in such a state. The mayor of Portobelo cowered on the ground before him, offering information in exchange for his life.
“The galleons, they leave — four days since! Take all treasure! We hide nothing! I swear!”
Captain Blade drew out his lash, and the mayor shrank away in terror. The whip cracked — not at the pitiful Spaniard, but over the heads of the privateer crew. It was a call to attention.
“Back to the ships, you scurvy rats! Those galleons are wallowing low with our treasure! Keep your swords handy, lads! The killing’s not over yet!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the light of the moon, the Hernando Cortés chugged quietly out of Côte Saint-Luc harbor, just before eleven o’clock. There were no witnesses. But even if the departure had been observed, it was unlikely that anyone would have been able to identify the apparatus lashed to the foredeck.
The thing looked like the window display of a camera store that had been struck by lightning, fusing cameras and floodlights into a tightly packed mass.
“Does it work?” asked Adriana timidly.
Dr. Ocasek seemed vaguely surprised at the question. “It worked perfectly in my bathtub.”
At the wheel, Vanover brayed a laugh. “Don’t worry. If Iggy built it, it’ll fly.” He frowned as the vessel bounced through the oncoming waves. “Choppy tonight. We could be in for a rough ride.”
When they reached the coordinates of the wreck site, Vanover cut their speed. They proceeded slowly until the sonar told them that they were passing over the point where the Hid-den Shoals sloped down to deeper ocean. Dr. Ocasek’s camera array was then winched up and over the side. As it disappeared beneath the surface, the floodlights came on. Everyone gasped. The illumination was so powerful that the sea lit up like an aquarium. The light dimmed as the contraption descended. But even at the search depth of 250 feet, the watchers could still make out a faint glow coming from beneath the waves.
The four interns rushed below to the closed-circuit monitor Dr. Ocasek had set up in the salon. The screen was split in four, one quadrant for each camera.
Dante frowned. “There’s nothing.”
The screen showed swirling water and an occasional sea creature staring in surprise at this bizarre mechanical intruder.
“We’re off the reef,” Dr. Ocasek reminded him. “That’s where the densely packed marine life is.”
“But where’s the bottom?” asked Star.
“I’m not sure,” said Dr. Ocasek.
“Picture a mountain,” came Captain Vanover’s voice through the two-way radio from the wheelhouse. “Our cameras are sort of floating in space beside it. This slope might not bottom out flat for two or three thousand feet.”
Kaz felt his eyelids beginning to droop. Fifteen minutes of staring at nothing was taking its toll on all the interns as the clock ticked on past midnight. This was turning into a big bust. How could anyone find something on the slope if they couldn’t even find the slope itself?
It came up so fast that they barely had a chance to scream. First a large luminescent jellyfish flashed through the top right quadrant. Then a diagonal wall of sand and seaweed was hurtling toward the camera.
Dante reacted first. “Hit the brakes!” he bellowed at the walkie-talkie.
“Slow down!” cried Adriana.
“Veer off!” shouted Star.
When the camera struck the mud, Kaz flinched, expecting an impact. But of course the boat hadn’t struck anything. Only the camera array, 250 feet below the surface, had suffered a collision.
Following Dr. Ocasek’s instructions, Vanover reversed course, and the contraption came free of the muddy incline. Two lenses were sand-encrusted, but soon washed clean.
From that point on, no one felt remotely sleepy or bored. The Cortés traced slow track lines across the water, allowing the cameras a chance to scan the gradient for five hundred yards in each horizontal direction. Then the winch would lower the array another twenty-five feet, Captain Vanover would adjust course, and the thousand-foot trace would begin again.
Around 2 A.M., while they were lowering the array to 325 feet, a gusty wind blew up in their faces, and rain began to pelt down on them.
“How much longer is this going to take?” yelled Vanover from the cockpit. “We’ve got weather coming!”
With the rough wave action tossing its umbilical line, the camera array bounced and spun far below them. The pictures were chaotic. Kaz’s head pounded as he stared at the screen, fearful that something might go by undetected. The motion of the boat was making him queasy, and he swallowed determinedly, his eyes glued to the monitor. Beside him, Dante, never a good sailor, was hugging his knees and moaning.
Dr. Ocasek was the picture of total focus. “If it’s down there, we’ll find it,” he said calmly.
When the time came to lower the winch to 350 feet, it was obvious that conditions outside had deteriorated even further. The tossing of the deck knocked Adriana flat on her back. Even Kaz, who had superb balance from hockey, had to hold on to cabin tops and bulwarks as the sea manhandled the Cortés.
“Get back below!” shouted Vanover from behind the wheel. “I’m turning us around!”
“Not yet!” begged Dante, screaming to be heard over the wind. “I know I saw something!”
“No!” boomed the captain. “In these seas, if you go overboard, you’re done!”
A wave broke over the bow, drenching the winch and the interns who struggled to man it.
“Just one more track line!” howled Star, shaking herself like a wet dog. “If we give up now, we’ll never finish this!”
Vanover hesitated, the driving rain stinging his face. “One more!” he agreed finally. “But then I don’t care if you find the lost continent of Atlantis — we’re going home!”
Star and Dante sloshed down the companionway, and joined the others in front of the monitor for the last pass.
The ship lurched, and a moment later, the camera array swung away from the slope below. And when the pendulum effect brought the apparatus back into position, there it was in the bottom left quadrant: