But that didn't prevent private rentals, and Tom had arranged a package deal for the truck and the pump.
Forget the truck, forget the traffic. The bank… the bank… what if he offered Dawkes—?
"Let's just go back to the beginning," Jack said.
Jesus Christ, he's like the paperboy in
Santa Something
Shadow
"Obviously because the ship was carrying a lot of valuables and he wanted to be able to locate it later for salvage."
"Who in the sixteenth century could salvage anything from a wreck forty feet down?"
"Maybe they didn't know how deep it was."
Jack shook his head. "You're not seeing the big picture. You said Bermuda was uninhabited back then—not just uninhabited,
"But they
"Right. Obviously rescued. But who picked them up? They were off the trade lanes with no radio to call for help."
"Who cares who picked them up? Who cares how the map got to Spain? The important thing is it got to me and yesterday we found proof that it isn't a fake."
"Which worries me even more."
"Why?"
I can't wait to hear this.
"What… what if the
A wave of discomfort swept through Tom. Jack was blundering near the truth—at least part of it. He had to turn him in another direction.
"That's crazy."
"No, what's crazy is the dead zone in that sand hole. Something that went down with that wreck is either killing or repelling every form of life around it. Who knows what'll happen to us if we hang around it too much longer?"
Tom forced a laugh. "You mean there's something
Jack crushed his empty coffee container and tossed it onto the floor of the cab. His expression was unreadable.
"I know it sounds crazy, but things aren't always what they seem. There's more going on out there than we know."
"You mean in the sense of, 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'?"
"Yeah. Call me Hamlet."
This was interesting. Tom had never experienced anything paranormal, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. And now, considering what he hoped to find, he prayed it was.
But he couldn't let Jack get spooked.
"Oh, come on. You don't strike me as the kind who believes in mumbo jumbo."
"Who said anything about believing?"
Tom glanced at his brother. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"That I used to laugh off a lot of things. Now I'm very choosy about what I dismiss out of hand."
"And this is because…?"
Jack stared straight ahead. "Experience is a great teacher."
"Wait-wait-wait. You're not really telling me you've seen a ghost or spoken to God or had an out-of-body experience of something like that?" He laughed. "Come to think of it, I've had a few out-of-body experiences myself, usually with the help of a lot of Grey Goose."
He expected at least a courtesy grin from Jack. Instead, the haunted look in his brother's eyes chilled him.
"What are you
Another chill. Had Jack really experienced something paranormal? Tom hoped so. Because if there were inexplicable occurrences out there, events and objects linked to unknown powers or forces, then maybe what he'd learned about the Lilitongue was more than a madman's delusion.
"Care to elaborate?"
Jack shook his head. "You'll think I'm crazy."
Jack didn't seem crazy, but Tom had run into clandestine nutcases before. They seem sane and anchored and sensible, and in ninety-nine percent of their lives they are. But touch the button that triggers their fragile one percent and it all comes out.
Maybe Jack was one of those. If so, did Gia know?
Gia… Tom had dreamed about her every night since he'd met her. He couldn't get her out of his head.
He'd been shocked to learn she was pregnant. She wasn't showing much and so he hadn't spotted it at Lucille's. But at the wake it became obvious.
So… Gia had Jack's bun in the oven.
Oddly enough, it didn't matter. If anything, in some perverse way it made her even more attractive.
Maybe he was kidding himself, but he felt he'd scored some points with her on the drive from New York down to the wake. He'd used the hour and a half to dazzle her with his knowledge of the ails. Mostl) secondhand opinions, true, but Tom thought he'd managed to come off as witty, urbane, and cultured. If her little girl hadn't kept interrupting, he was sure he'd have mesmerized Gia. Cute kid, that Vicky, but she talked too damn much.
At first he'd wondered if she might belong to Jack, but soon learned that Vicky was a product of Gia's first marriage. Divorce: One more thing Tom and Gia had in common.
What kind of spell had she put on him?
Spell… there it was again: the paranormal.
He shook it off. Either way, crazy or sane, Tom needed Jack on board, lry me.
Another head shake. "Too complicated, too far out. Maybe someday. Let's just let it ride for now and suffice it to say we should drop this treasure hunt and go home."
"I can't give it up, Jack." The plaintive note in his voice wasn't put on. "I've got no other options."
Jack was shaking his head. "No good's gonna come of it. I've got this feeling in my gut—"
"Can't we just put all that aside and just look at the situation rationally? There isn't a reef in the world that doesn't have patches of dead coral; the sand hole we're working just happens to be one of them. Isn't that the simplest, most sensible approach? It doesn't require dark supernatural forces at work to explain it. It's just the way it is."
"Occam's razor," Jack said.
"Exactly!"
For a college dropout, Jack seemed pretty well read.
"Yeah, well, I've discovered that old Occam's razor isn't anywhere near as sharp as people think."
"One more day, Jack. That's all I'm asking. Besides, you promised two days."
Jack stayed silent awhile, then sighed. "Okay. One more day. Today and that's it. Then we pack up and leave."
"You've got a deal!"
Well, sort of. If they didn't find the Lilitongue today, maybe he'd be able to squeeze an extra day out of Jack. After all, what was Jack's alternative? Not as if he could just up and hop a plane back to the States.
Jack was trapped.
But not as trapped as Tom. Not with his Bermuda assets frozen. But… if he found what the map hinted was here…
The Lilitongue of Gefreda—whatever it was—just might save what was left of the rest of his life.
They were on their second tanks and had found nothing besides scraps of rotten wood ranging in length from a finger to an arm. The ship must have shattered when it hit the reef. Centuries in salt water had done the rest: The larger remnants crumbled under the slightest pressure.
A colossal waste of time.
But Jack held up his end, hugging the bottom, digging his gloved fingers into the sand, pulling free anything he found. He spotted the corner of another board, got a grip, and pulled. A big chunk broke off. Small fragments and dustlike particles floated away downstream.
He turned it over in his hands. Just like the rest. At first he'd wondered why no worm holes, then realized that whatever had killed the coral had probably killed the worms as well. He tossed it aside and gripped the rest of the board. As he hauled it free he caught a reflection of sunlight just below it, then sand refilled the cavity.
Metal?
He tapped Tom on the leg and pointed to the spot. Tom directed the stream into the depression. Sand billowed and sprayed while Jack worked his hands deeper. More flashes of yellow reflection. Gold?
His earlier apathy vanished. Something down there… something more than rotted wood. Despite all his misgivings about this wreck, he couldn't deny a surge of excitement. They might be uncovering something that no human eyes had seen for centuries.
There—metal. A bright yellow band, curved across a curving surface… a surface that resembled carved wood…
Jack let out a barking laugh. "It's a combination lock."
Tom's frown indicated he didn't think it was funny. "Combination… but when did combination locks first appear?"
"Not sure," Jack said, "but I know they were around before the
"Well, no, but—"
"No buts about it. You saw it. This thing not only floated, it shot to the surface like a balloon. Care to explain that?"
"I wish I could. I also wish I could explain why you're so suspicious. Why do you keep going on about me hiding something from you? Here's what we found. It's sitting right here between us. I'm asking your help to open it. Where's the subterfuge here?"
Good question. Tom
Jack stared at the seven wheels of the combination lock. Seven… ten million possibilities… what seven-figure number would do it? Good thing the wheels weren't coded with letters. Twenty-six to the seventh… he couldn't come close to calculating that.
Letters… numbers…
And then he had an idea.
"Just for the hell of it, try these. Start from the left: seven… five… six… wait." Jack did a quick count on his fingers. "Okay, make the fourth eight, then five… four… one."
As the last wheel turned, Jack could hear the click of the bolt from where he stood.
"Christ almighty!" Tom looked up at him with a baffled expression. "How the hell…?"
"Seven wheels, seven letters in 'Gefreda.' I took a stab."
Tom grasped the lid on both sides and tilted it back. It moved easily, smoothly, without a single squeak from the rear hinges. Inside Jack saw an irregular blue dome. It took a few seconds to register that it was a piece of silk—
Jack blinked when he saw what lay beneath.
No gold, no jewels—not even close. An irregular, slightly oblong sphere, somewhat larger than a basketball, sat in the box. Looked like an ugly piece of slightly rotted fruit with a leathery, olive-hued rind.
"What the hell is that?"
"I… haven't a clue." Tom ran skittish fingers over the surface. "Jesus, it feels like skin."
Jack squatted next to him and gave it a feel. Cool, slightly rough to the touch. Yeah… like skin. Not necessarily human skin; some kind of hide?
"You think this is it?"
Tom glanced at him. "Is what?"
"That Lilitongue thing you talked about. Could this be it?"
"I don't know. I've never seen a drawing of it."
"Doesn't look like any tongue I've ever seen. It—" Jack pulled his hand away as an unsettling thought hit him. "You don't think its hide is made from tongues, do you?"
"No. It may not even be the Lilitongue." He reached his hands around it. "Help me get it out."
Jack got a grip on two sides and together they lifted the thing from the chest. At most it was only a quarter again larger than a basketball, but it was a hell of a lot heavier. As they moved it Jack squeezed it between his hands—not a hint of give.
Once it was out he could see that it had rested in a silk-lined well.
"Custom-made for it," he said.
They gently laid it on the rocking deck. Jack steadied it while Tom checked the chest, poking about, lifting it and shaking it. He pulled his diving knife from the sheath strapped to his leg and began prying at the insides. He worked the blade around the edge of the well and popped it out in one piece. Then he upended the chest and tapped its sides. Nothing dropped out.