“That’s right, Mr. Henderson,” Purdue said suddenly behind the mechanic, dropping a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and relishing his awkward reaction. “It is definitely bigger than a coral reef and tremors. I’m not sure, but from this initial recon mission Jeff and I gathered there lies a plethora of historical treasures that down.”
“Like paintings and old documents?” Captain Solis asked.
“A lot of that too, yes,” Purdue shrugged whimsically, “but what is really interesting is that there is a lot of this too.” Between his fingers, a pale yellow gleam blinded the skipper as Purdue rolled the doubloon along the digits on his slim hand.
Sweat trickled from Captain Solis’ brow as his wide gaze revealed his astonishment at what he saw. In disbelief, he shook his head slowly, then looked up at Purdue and asked, “There’s treasure down there? Spanish doubloons?”
“Just like in a pirate film, my friend,” Purdue said, winking. “Now, Mr. Cleave will arrive tomorrow morning by helicopter. Thank God the man is resilient and adventurous. Not many reporters enjoy being lowered on a ladder from a hovering aircraft.”
“You’re sending a helicopter to deliver him?” Peter chuckled. Purdue nodded. “Man, I love how money makes any problem go away.” He was amused, and impressed, by the nonchalant manner in which Purdue summoned people with the smallest amount of trouble, no matter how stubborn they might be.
Amelie cornered Jeff to find out more about the discovery and to get a second opinion on the alien vessel that watched from afar without any obligation to identify itself. Jeff was busy dissembling his diving gear, seated flat on his ass on the upper deck.
“I am so curious,” she started carefully.
“About?” he asked without looking up.
“What was it like down there?”
He looked up at her with the last of the dying sunrays compelling his one eye to close. “Why don’t you come down with us tomorrow, then?”
“Ha!” she roared coyly. “Me? I’m no diver, believe me.”
“It’s not rocket science, Amelie.” He smiled cordially. “Although I’d suggest you first try out the shallows closer to the rock folds of the shore, rather than popping your cherry with a specialized wreck dive.”
“Um, no thanks on all of those,” she answered, crossing her arms in the way she did when she felt vulnerable.
“Come on,” he teased, “don’t you have a lust for adventure?”
She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish as she admitted, “It’s not that I don’t have a sense of adventure, Jeffrey. It’s just,” she hesitated, but his kind eyes prompted her to come out with her terrible inadequacy, “I can’t swim.”
“What?” he gasped, still trying to soften the blow of his obvious surprise. “How is it that you work as a marine chef and spend days at a time on the open sea when you know you can’t swim? Jesus, woman, what if the raft capsizes or you end up overboard?”
“Relax,” she giggled. “I don’t intend to. Besides, why do you think I only work on luxury vessels and cruise liners? I have no intention of working on rafts.”
His amusement had shrunk into pure concern as he unscrewed the valves and set his pony bottle aside with his mask. “You realize you’re playing a very dangerous game, right?” he reminded her. “I’m serious, Miss Amelie. What if an emergency hits this yacht and you have to swim to survive?”
It had never dawned on her that the matter was so absolute, and Amelie suddenly felt immensely irresponsible and quite the fool in front of the attractive diver who served as the on-board medic. How did she think, really, that she would manage if anything went south on any of the many cruises she served on? Biting her bottom lip, she looked away from him and allowed her eyes free passage along the contours of the cockpit’s top line. “I suppose I’m just an optimist, Jeffrey. Maybe I was banking on expert crews and unsinkable vessels.”
He rose to his feet and slammed the lid of his trunk to get it shut over the spilling contents. Then he looked at Amelie with compassion. “No vessel is unsinkable. No crew, expert as they may be, can cheat the sea. Ever.”
Purdue overheard his words as he came toward them. “True words, Jeffrey. Utterly true. Nothing in this world is certain.”
“Says the genius scientist.” Amelie smiled, but Purdue was dead serious.
“Now, if a genius scientist is of the mind that nothing is above destruction or calamity, my dear, what does that tell you?” he asked gently. “Believe me, I am long out of my years of perceived superiority over the concealed future of my endeavors. Even on this exquisite piece of marine machinery, freshly tested against nothing short of the powers of God Himself, I know for a fact that, at any time, anything unexpected may happen that would cause it to falter or sink.” He fluttered his eyebrows and casually walked to the nook to sit down and scrutinize the coin. “Could I have one of those amazing smoothies of yours, Amelie, please?” he requested. “That green one with the mint leaf on top?”
She had to smile at his total indifference to his new, healthier diet. “Of course, Mr. Purdue,” she replied, and went to the galley to prepare his spinach and kale concoction.”
“Look at this, will you, Peter?” he summoned the crewman. “Didn’t you say that you knew a guide in Seville who told you some tale about an officially undocumented battle that took place around here in the eighteenth century?”
Peter nodded, “That’s right, Mr. Purdue. But you have to ask Hannah about that. It’s her brother who told me that story. She knows a bit more than me.” He called out for the stewardess, who had been cleaning up. The stick-thin Hannah hastened to Purdue, who invited her to sit down.
“The stories your brother always told you,” Purdue started asking, but Hannah already looked like a shadow was swallowing her up. “What’s wrong?”
She had her palms flat on the table and she was tapping her fingers in frustration as soon as he’d begun to talk about the stories. Hannah sighed, “It’s just, well, it’s just that I am so sick of the same old legends and conspiracy theories, Mr. Purdue.”
The billionaire smiled. “I understand. I do, really. But if I may just impose on you once more to relay your force-fed wisdom, please. After this I will never mention the legends to you again.” Something in what she’d said suddenly struck him as peculiar. Purdue shifted closer to the table and folded his hands together on the surface eagerly. “And what did you mean by ‘conspiracy theories’?”
5
For Wasting or Wanting
Sam left the safe warmth of his bed at three in the morning, abandoning his beloved ginger cat, Bruichladdich, to the neighbors.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as he laboriously lifted the giant feline into his arms before opening his apartment door to leave. As was the custom, wet Edinburgh was being blessed by the clouds. “Remind me again why I let Purdue do this to me,” Sam begged his cat as they stole to Mr. Umney’s, the next-door neighbor. “Oh yes, obscene funds for copious amounts of single malt and sleeping in late. Now I recall.” Bruichladdich was not amused. The night-morning was frigid and wet, even in the wing of his master’s coat cover.