They rose at dawn and shoved off from the dock under a cool breeze. Dirk opened the crate they had picked up from the airport and unpacked a towed magnetometer unit. Once they were under way, a fish-shaped sensor was towed behind the boat. The cable was attached to a small processing station with an audio monitor, which would signal the presence of ferrous metal objects with a high-pitched buzz.
Using a handheld GPS unit to mark their path, Dirk drove the boat in narrow survey lanes across the cove while Summer monitored the magnetometer, adjusting the length of the towed cable to keep the sensor from grounding on the bottom. On their third lane, the monitor shrieked — it was a large target. Dirk cut the motor and Summer jumped over the side with mask and fins for a quick investigation. She surfaced a minute later and climbed into the boat with a frown.
“Somebody lost a nice anchor, but it’s much too new to be from a Spanish galleon.”
“We can fish it out later.” Dirk restarted the motor.
They surveyed until midday, stopping only for a quick lunch at the cottage. Returning to the dock, Summer motioned offshore. “Looks like we have some competition.”
A faded green skiff with a lone man aboard was bobbing off the cove. Clad only in a pair of cutoffs, the man waved at Summer, then slipped on a mask and jumped over the side, clutching a speargun. A minute later, his head popped above the surface for a quick breath of air, then he disappeared again.
Dirk sailed the Boston Whaler to their last position in the middle of the cove and motioned to Summer. She lowered the magnetometer and they resumed surveying as a bank of low clouds rolled in, offering respite from the hot sun. The magnetometer buzzed with small targets here and there but found nothing of consequence. After two more hours, they drew near the other boat. The Jamaican diver pulled himself onto his boat with a long string of silver fish tied to his waist and guzzled a drink of water from a plastic jug. He smiled broadly at the Boston Whaler. “What you looking for, mon?”
Dirk slowed, forcing Summer to reel in the magnetometer.
“A Spanish shipwreck,” he said. “Supposedly sank in this cove in 1525.”
The man nodded. “Samuel show you.”
Without another word, the Jamaican pulled up his anchor and started the motor on his skiff. He chugged offshore, veering slightly east before cutting the motor and tossing out his anchor. Dirk pulled up alongside and followed suit.
“It here,” Samuel said. “Forty feet water.”
“Kind of you to show us,” Dirk said before introducing themselves. “This cove apparently has good fishing all the way around,” he added, eyeing Samuel’s speargun and catch.
Samuel smiled. “All Jamaica good fishing.”
The water was still shallow enough to make out the bottom, and Dirk could see the rising green shape of a coral reef a few yards to the side. The winds began kicking up as a squall crept in from the northwest, turning the surface gray.
Samuel stood in his boat and motioned to Summer. “Pretty lady come with me. I show you wreck.”
“Please do,” she said. She pulled on her mask and fins and slipped into the water first.
Samuel jumped in and dove straight to the bottom. Summer caught up and followed him as he swam a short distance, then pointed to the seafloor. At first, all she saw was a crusty bottom. A subtle mound then took shape, which stretched into the nearby coral mass. Summer fanned away the soft sand, exposing a pair of smooth, rounded rocks. With a tinge of excitement, she recognized them as river rock, often used for ballast in early sailing ships. The large mound in front of her was ballast from a ship that had sunk a long time ago.
Her ears began to pound, telling her it was time to surface. She glanced at Samuel, who was calmly digging in the sand, then kicked to the surface. It was a few short strokes to the Boston Whaler, and she grabbed its anchor line as the boat jostled in the growing seas.
“Any luck?” Dirk asked, poking his head over the side.
“It’s a wreck, all right. Plenty big and all covered up. He put us right on top of its ballast mound.”
“Sounds just what we’re looking for.”
Samuel surfaced a second later. “Is this the wreck you want?”
“I think so. What do you know about it?”
Samuel shook his head. “Not much. It’s called the Green Stone Wreck. People say green stones in its cargo washed up on the beach for many years a long time ago. That is all I know.”
He tossed Dirk a small stone he had dug from the bottom. It was smooth and dark green and had a radiant luster. Dirk looked at it for a moment before sticking it in his pocket and helping Summer aboard. Samuel climbed onto his boat just as the first sprinkles from the squall began to pepper them.
“Thanks, Samuel. This looks like the wreck we’re searching for. We’ll find out tomorrow when the weather clears and we can take a better look.”
Samuel flashed a toothy smile. “I bring tanks tomorrow. We work together. You pay me one hundred dollars.”
Dirk nodded. “You have a deal. But only if you throw in one of your snappers for dinner.”
Samuel picked out the largest fish from his stock and tossed it onto the deck of the Whaler.
“See you in the morning.” He winked at Summer and motored off through the rainstorm.
Dirk turned toward shore and sped to the dock, bouncing hard over the rising swells. The rains struck heavy, dousing the siblings.
“The wreck site looks pretty old,” Summer shouted. “You think Samuel gave us the Oso Malo?”
“I know he did.” Dirk fished the green stone from his pocket and tossed it to his sister.
“That’s green obsidian,” he said. “It was probably mined in Mexico. Dr. Madero showed me an Aztec spearhead made from the stuff. He said it was a highly valued commodity to the Aztecs. Seems likely the Spaniards would have exported some of the stuff during their early days of conquest.”
Summer examined the stone and nodded. “If it had any value, they probably would have loaded it aboard a galleon.”
They tied up the boat and walked back to their cottage, wearing confident grins despite the pelting deluge.
27
I think Samuel likes you,” Dirk teased as they walked toward the pier the next morning.
“Well, he’s a good swimmer,” Summer said. “And he does have nice teeth.”
“Nice teeth? That’s what you look for in a man?”
“Some things are nonnegotiable. Bad teeth is one of them.”
“Haven’t you heard of corrective dentistry?”
“I suppose you’re right. Bad teeth are probably easier to fix than a bad personality.”
They hopped in the boat and motored into the cove. The rainstorm had long since passed, leaving a nearly flat sea. True to his word, Samuel was waiting at the wreck site with a small stock of air tanks. Dirk pulled alongside and tied up to his boat as Summer gazed over the side. She could see clear to the bottom, easily spotting Samuel’s anchor wedged in the sand.
“Good morning,” the Jamaican said. “You enjoy the fish?”
“Yes, though my brother overcooked it. I see you brought plenty of air.”
“You ready to dive?”
“Yes, we are,” she answered. “I’m happy to see you’ve brought us better weather.”
“My pleasure.” Samuel grinned. “So, what you look for? Gold or silver?”
“Sorry to disappoint you but there’s no treasure, at least as far as we know. We’re looking for a carved round stone.”
Samuel’s broad mouth turned down. “Okeydokey. I help you find that, too.”
They dove to the bottom, where Dirk and Summer surveyed the ballast mound. Using a reeled tape measure, they computed its width and length to the point where it was swallowed by a large coral outcropping. Dirk motioned toward the surface.