The Vision

Bethany looked at her in surprise. “What’s the matter? He’s got a great reputation.” She giggled. “And damned good buns, too. And pecs. And biceps. And those eyes…”

“Bethany…”

“What?”

“Go for it.”

“Oh, no. I’m not flirting with him or anything. He never fools around on a job.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“I read it. There was a magazine article on him not long ago. He’s the kind who’s married to his work. He grew up on the wrong side of town. Father walked out on his mother, she wound up dying of a heart attack at forty, trying to raise the kids on her own. He just doesn’t want a family, I guess.”

“How noble,” Genevieve muttered.

“What is the matter with you? I’d think you’d want to work with someone who wasn’t hitting on you all the time. Everything with him is all business. Though I guess he’s been a little hard on you over the…what you thought you saw in the water.”

“A little hard? He thinks I’m certifiable.”

Bethany giggled, sobered quickly and apologized. “Genevieve…we’ve all seen what we haven’t really seen in the water at some time.”

Yes, but have we all awoken soaked in seawater, with seaweed in our beds? she nearly asked aloud.

“Let’s get something to eat. We have to make the first discovery. And we have to make it today,” she said, catching her friend’s arm and urging her toward the tiki bar.

Thor knew the history; he never went into anything without studying every shred of information about the project. Still, for some reason—perhaps to enforce the part about avoiding destruction of the reef in any way—they were seated on and around the picnic tables and benches by the docks, listening to what they knew already.

If ever a man had looked like he should be a professor of history, it was Henry Sheridan. He wore the kind of glasses that had Coke-bottle lenses, black frames, and, sure enough, he must have broken them, because they were held together between the eyes by a Band-Aid. His hair—a combination of mousy-brown and gray—stuck up in tufts from his head, without benefit of mousse. His face was very thin, ascetic, and his form was equally meager. Thor had the feeling the man seldom thought about eating, so lost was he on some intellectual plane.

Coast Guard Lieutenant Larry Preston was the antithesis of Sheridan. He was big, tall and hardy. He could swim and dive with the best of them, and though his job was to see that they followed the dictates of the state, Thor was pretty sure that history itself bored him. Preston liked action. He was wearing sunglasses and a uniform hat, along with his white shorts and shirt, and beneath those glasses, Thor had a feeling the man was keeping his eyes closed.

To the credit of the divers from both boats, they were at least putting on the pretense of rapt attention.

“As you all know, I’m certain, we estimate that there are at least two thousand undiscovered wrecks in the waters around the state. But the sea is harsh. Ships don’t usually sink intact. Winds and rains crack masts, and timbers split. On the way down, ships are at the mercy of tides and currents and their own weight and construction. Sometimes small vessels fare better, but huge ships—even broken up—can be an easier find. A ship such as the Marie Josephine might have left a field of discovery a mile long. She was brutalized by pirates in the midst of a storm. It’s more than likely her remains are in far more than two or three pieces. Despite that, and as you’re aware, we’re not going in with any vacuuming devices. Especially since we’re working on nothing more than speculation right now. It’s likely that, should you succeed in finding the ship’s resting place, you’ll begin to find small relics. Coins, of course. Pottery, porcelain. Last year, as Thor can tell you, we unearthed a Civil War barge in the St. Johns river because an 1860s razor was found. By Thor.” Sheridan nodded his way in acknowledgment. Lizzie applauded, and Alex Mathews let out an appreciative whistle.

“Cool,” Bethany murmured, offering him her generous smile.

Thor felt restless, anxious to be out on the water. He found himself studying Genevieve Wallace, who was staring straight ahead at Sheridan, her face betraying not so much as a flicker of emotion. The woman was fucking weird. She walked out in a nightshirt and jumped into the water?

While all kinds of noises were coming from her cottage?

“Raccoons,” he heard someone whisper.

Victor Damon was leaning casually against the edge of the next table over. He wasn’t listening at the moment; he was grinning as he looked at Bethany.

“Excuse me?” Lieutenant Preston snapped.

“Sorry, sir,” Victor said. “Bethany heard some kind of commotion last night. She forgets just how many cats and raccoons we have around here.”

“Well, they won’t be under the water!” Preston reminded him.

“Right, sir, absolutely not,” Victor agreed.

Sheridan cleared his throat. “I think it’s important that you all understand the full history of this wreck. The Spanish settled Florida in the early 1500s—St. Augustine is the oldest continually inhabited European settlement in the United States. The English got nervous about the Spanish being so close, and the French were trying to get a piece of the action, too. In 1763, Britain gained control of Florida in exchange for Cuba. Then came the Revolutionary War, and Florida remained loyal to the mother country. In 1784, the Spanish gained control again as part of the peace treaty that ended the American Revolution, but in 1821 they ceded Florida to the United States.”

Alex yawned. He caught the others staring at him and sat up straight.

“Hey, sorry, but I grew up here. I learned all this stuff in school,” he said.

“Yeah, but were you listening then?” Victor asked.

“This is important,” Sheridan said impatiently. “It explains why our ship is where it is. During the American Revolution, the French helped the U.S. Unofficially, the Spanish helped the French give us help. Before he was a pirate, José Gasparilla was in the Royal Spanish Navy. He knew these waters from his military experience, and he continued his career as a pirate until he died in 1821. Rumor has it that before his ship could be taken, he cast himself overboard with weights tied to his feet—one of his favorite ways to do away with prisoners. But shortly before his death, he heard of the Marie Josephine.” He paused dramatically.

“An English ship, despite her name,” Genevieve said into his silence.

“Yes, and Gasparilla was loyal to Spain. Unless, of course, there was a good Spanish ship to be attacked.” He laughed, then continued. “At any rate, he heard that the Marie Josephine was nearby, having taken a late exchange of prisoners to Cuba, and heading back to jolly old England laden with the ransom that had been paid,” Sheridan said.

“He probably felt he had a right to steal it,” Marshall said with a shrug.

“Exactly!” Sheridan agreed.

Thor was startled when Genevieve disagreed. “I don’t think that was it at all. Gasparilla had fallen in love with the captain’s daughter, Anne, who had managed to travel with her father and the prisoners to Cuba, because she wanted to be with a young Spanish nobleman they were exchanging. He and Anne had both been Gasparilla’s prisoners previously—that’s how they’d met—and had been ransomed together by the English, who then made the young Spaniard, Aldo Verdugo, their own prisoner. Rumor has it that Anne tricked her father and managed to become a passenger on the ship once again to remain with Aldo. And Aldo, who should have been safely in Cuba, had stowed away on the ship so he could remain with his beloved Anne. Gasparilla, however, had also fallen in love with Anne when she was his prisoner. He had returned her to the English because of the ransom, and his fellow pirates wanted the money. He, however, wanted her back. That’s why he went after the Marie Josephine.”

Alex snorted. “Gen, that’s nuts. Let’s see…all that ransom money—in gold—or a woman. Come on! Women would have been a dime a dozen to a pirate.”

Genevieve waved a hand in the air dismissively. “He wrote letters about his love for her,” she claimed.

“Where are these letters?” Sheridan demanded, frowning.

“Your university,” Genevieve said. Everyone was staring at her. “Hey, I made a trip up and studied everything in the library about the Marie Josephine, Gasparilla, the storm, everything. I was cross-referencing, and that’s when I found the letters.”

“Come on, you can’t put a romantic spin on pirates,” Victor teased her. “They were dirty, nasty thieves.”

“You should have read the letters,” Genevieve said. “Even a nasty, dirty pirate can fall in love.”

“He could have had tons of women,” Victor insisted.

“Yes, but she was the one he wanted. Who knows why someone falls in love. Or maybe it was only an infatuation. The one he couldn’t have. Anyway, he wrote about her in those letters, and he said he was in love.”

“Leave it to a girl,” Victor countered, rolling his eyes and sighing.

Genevieve laughed. “Leave it to a girl to beat the pants off you,” she countered lightly.

Thor sensed camaraderie in their teasing. It was apparent this group knew one another well, that there was a deep underlying friendship between them. He realized that he envied it. He had a damned good crew, but they didn’t always work together. Zach and Lizzie were totally reliable, but they were too close as a married couple to bond with anyone the way Marshall’s people were bonded, even when they were teasing and testing one another. He’d thought he liked it when business was business, but there was something approachiing an actual family relationship between Marshall’s divers, and it not only appeared to be fun, it clearly worked.

“Hey, baby, please don’t beat me up,” Victor said in mock fear. “Hey, Alex, watch out. Our Gen is tough.” He paused, grinning and sliding closer to her on the bench to set an arm around her shoulders. “Except, of course, when she’s seeing things in the water.”

Genevieve shook off his arm and smiled sweetly in return. “Eat shit and die, Victor.”