Mercer shot back, “You’re nuts if you ever think there’s going to be a next time. In you go.”
Booker leaned one long leg across to the little inflatable, steadied himself for a moment, and then bodily flung himself into the craft. Mercer fought to keep from being pulled in after him, but he wouldn’t let go of the line until Sykes had started the outboard motor that was attached to the Zodiac’s stern. He watched through the squall as Sykes first primed, then yanked the starter handle. To Captain Reyes’s credit, the one-cylinder four-stroke fired to life on a single pull.
Sykes flashed him a thumbs-up and Mercer released the line. Booker cut around the back of the sport fisherman and carved a channel through the heaving seas for the nearest beach, about three hundred yards away. He was an expert small-boat operator, so he had little trouble battling through the surf line and running the Zodiac high onto the beach on a particularly tall wave. The rain was thickening; Mercer could barely see Sykes raise the motor and drag the Zodiac above the tide line, where he could tie it off to one of the countless palm trees. He threw Mercer an exaggerated wave to tell him he was all set, and vanished into the jungle.
Mercer climbed the chrome ladder back up to the bridge. He was soaked and thanked the captain for the hand towel he tossed him. “We’re good to go wherever you feel it’s safest to ride out the storm.”
“Like I said before,” the Aussie replied, “the channel’s safest.”
“The channel it is.”
Twenty minutes later, the walkie-talkie in Mercer’s cargo shorts squawked to life. “Cool to Nerd. Come in, Nerd. Do you copy?”
“At what point,” Mercer asked Sykes, “did people start telling you you’re funny?”
“Day one, brother, day one.”
“You in position?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a good view of the southwesterly approach to the island. I’m at about four hundred meters elevation, so that should give me good range even with the storm. I’m ready to get bearings, and if we get lucky the laser range finder’s good to go, but I think the rain’s going to eighty-six that idea.”
“Do what you can. I’ll be sleeping in a comfortable bed tonight, dry, and with a belly full of warm food. Enjoy your MREs and lonely vigil. Nerd out.”
The storm raged throughout the day and into the night. Mercer and Reyes played cards for a while, then Mercer helped him tinker with the pair of Cummins in the engine room. Although they were in range, Book kept radio silence more out of habit than necessity. And as much as Mercer wanted to call to find out if their hunch was right, he played the waiting game too. It wasn’t until dawn broke clear and sweet, with gentle trade winds and tolerable humidity, that Book finally radioed in.
“Cool to Nerd, I’m ready for extract, over.”
“It’s not over until I say it’s over, over.”
“Do I have to tell you over and over that it’s over, over.”
Mercer laughed. “I take it by your good mood that some balloon-chested island princess found your bivouac?”
Sykes chuckled lecherously. “It wasn’t my bivouac she found.”
Mercer cut him off, anxious to know whether his idea had paid off. “All right, enough…spill.”
“One niner five degrees from my position, no more than five miles off the island, is a spot in the ocean that got walloped all last night by lightning. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, Mercer. The sea seemed to glow for a mile around, like it had absorbed the electricity and fluoresced like neon or something.”
Mercer roared with delight. “I owe Jason a case of his favorite Scotch.”
“I prefer bourbon, don’t forget.”
“I might even spring for a bottle or two of that.”
“Bottle or two? No respect, I swear to God, none at all. Get your butt into gear and pick me up. We can be diving the wreck in less than an hour.”
Captain Reyes had the engines warmed and idling. As soon as he heard they were ready, he engaged the transmission. He eased the boat back around the western tip of Alofi Island and cruised parallel to the southern coast before turning inward to the beach where Booker was waiting.
Booker had stowed his shirt and poncho in his bag, so he stood like a half-naked statue of an idealized male figure, each muscle from beltline to throat etched and edged against his smooth dark skin.
“Jesus, mate,” Reyes said, watching Booker on shore. “I knew your buddy was big, but he is bloody ripped.”
Mercer said absently, “He can’t work out his brain, so he trains his body.”
The charter captain shook his head. “You two are a pair. How’d you meet? Military?”
“What?” Mercer dragged himself to the present. He’d been staring out to sea, imagining what they would find on the dive. “Ah, no. Booker was a sort of babysitter for me when I was working on a government contract. I realized pretty quickly that there’s no one who I’d want watching my back other than him.”
“Good to have a mate like that,” Reyes said. “Rare.”
“Yeah.” Mercer thought about Abe for a moment. He’d been another of those rare sorts.
Sykes dragged the Zodiac into the surf and rolled over the gunwale as had been drilled into him when he took a SEAL training course at Coronado Beach, near San Diego. Like his entrance the day before, he timed his race through the rollers with an expert eye and squirted past the surf’s break line without upending the boat or even dousing himself with spray. In a few seconds he’d motored out to the Suva Surprise. Mercer was at the transom and ready to catch the line Book tossed up. He hauled the inflatable tight to the dive platform, and Sykes slid across and stood.
“Thanks.”
“You can really thank me for the coffee I have for you in the holder at the fighting chair.”
“I take back all my earlier nasty comments. You are a good man after all.”
Together they manhandled the Zodiac out of the water and secured it to its mounting clamps along the port-side gunwale.
Mercer called up to the bridge, “Okay, Rory, you know the bearing and distance. Let’s not waste any more time.”
The idling engines burst to life, and a creaming wake grew from the back of the large fisherman. Mercer and Book used the time to start laying out scuba gear. They weren’t yet sure of the depth, but they had decided they wouldn’t need wet suits in these tropical waters. Reyes’s gear was all well cared for and of the finest quality. Even Sykes, who was used to Uncle Sam buying him the best and latest toys, was impressed. Since he had more experience, he would be lead diver, Mercer his backup.
Twenty minutes later, the engines dropped back to idle and then went silent. Then came a rattle followed by a splash. Reyes appeared above them, his head covered in a big white floppy hat. “We’re here and you’re in luck. Water’s only eighty feet. Shallow enough for me to drop anchor.”
“Excellent,” Mercer said. “Our plan is to do a preliminary dive and get the lay of the land, so to speak. We might get lucky and you’ve put us on the mark. If not we’re going to have to use the side-scan sonar you rented for us back in Suva.”
“You want to tow it with the Surprise?”
“Not necessary. It’s a small enough unit that we can drag it behind the Zodiac.”
“Whatever you fellas want is fine by me. Lay out a spare tank, and I’ll monitor you from the surface. If one of you gets into trouble I can lend a hand.”
That service wasn’t part of their charter deal, and Mercer suspected that Reyes was catching treasure hunter’s fever — that most contagious of diseases that compels a sane person to ignore all odds and gamble everything on an impossible dream.
As they donned their gear, Book checked over Mercer’s equipment every step of the way — weight belt, buoyancy compensator, his tanks and regulators. He even tested the rubber flippers and the seal around his mask. “Dive partners,” he said as each piece of equipment passed through his big hands. “Means that if you’re in trouble, I’m in trouble. This goes for our stuff too. You got faulty gear means I got faulty gear. I check it so I don’t drown trying to save you.”