The Job

  “I was more interested in seeing how the things around the ROV reacted to sudden movement,” Nick said. “It didn’t all stay still.”

  “Of course not,” Rodney said. “It’s a fully reactive ecosystem.”

  Kate pushed the joystick forward and scraped the underside of the ROV over a large rock, making the camera shudder, and the lights wobble.

  “The ROV is reactive to the environment, too,” Rodney said. “As you can see.”

  “Do you want me to drive?” Willie asked Kate.

  “I did it on purpose.”

  “Sure you did. You’re going to destroy a very expensive piece of equipment before our guy even gets here.”

  “It’s not real,” Kate said. “And even if I do trash it, it’s not like this video has a memory.”

  “Actually, it does,” Rodney said. “If you pick up an item from the ocean floor on one foray, you don’t want it to still be there when you come back again later. But we’ll erase the memory of this session and start fresh next time.”

  “So where’s the Santa Isabel’s debris field?” Kate asked.

  “Check the sonar map,” Nick said, tapping another, smaller monitor to the left of the main screen.

  The monitor was like the GPS navigation screen in a car. It showed a graphic representation of the ocean floor topography and a black arrowhead moving across it.

  “Think of this as your underwater navigation system,” Rodney said. “It’s tracking your movements across the ocean floor. The debris field is the red area to the north.”

  Kate steered the ROV along the bottom, over a field of sand and jagged rocks, until a glimmer to the right caught her eye.

  “What have we here?” Kate turned the ROV toward the glimmer, caused by the light reflecting off something in a pile of stones. And as she got closer, there were more sparkles on the pile, which she now saw wasn’t made of stones at all. It was actually hundreds of spilled gold coins, caked with concretions. “We’re rich.”

  “Not until we get the coins to the surface and cash them in,” Nick said. “Let’s take a sample.”

  Kate spent the next hour using the ROV’s robotic arms to scoop up the gold and dump it into a bucket. She was impressed and relieved that it all worked, and she declared the operation good to go.

  The entire crew met one more time to go over the choreography of the con, how it would all go down from the moment Demetrio Violante stepped on board until the moment when he left the ship again.

  Kate went back to her cabin and contacted Jessup to ask him to have one of his CIA buddies deliver a particular piece of bugging technology to her at one of their dead drops, a place for passing messages to undercover or double agents, in Lisbon.

  The dead drop was a hollow brick on the grounds of Castelo de São Jorge above the Alfama. Kate retrieved the tiny device, about the size of a thumb drive, that same night with Jake as her backup. Afterward they had a father-daughter dinner at a mom-and-pop café tucked away in one of the twisting streets down the hill from the castle.

  They sat at one of the three tables and ate grilled sardines and diced pork covered with clams while the owners, and two local patrons, watched a Portuguese soap opera on the TV mounted on the wall.

  “This is nice,” Jake said. “I wish we’d been able to do this more often when you were growing up.”

  “Mounting international cons to capture fugitive drug lords?”

  “Family dinners. Every time I was stuck in some wet, mosquito-infested jungle, crouched in the mud eating my K rations, I thought about what I was missing back home.”

  “You loved it. You still do. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I loved you and Megan,” he said. “I’m not sure I showed that enough. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I live with her.”

  Kate reached out and squeezed his hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. You were a great dad then and you are now. You were a single father in the military. You did the best that you possibly could for us. Megan and I both know that. So give yourself a break.”

  “You’re telling me I should just shut up and enjoy this.”

  “Yeah. As much as possible considering we’ve got clams on our pork. I know I’m supposed to be loving all the local color, and I sort of like Portuguese soap operas even though I haven’t a clue what they’re saying, but this meal would be a lot better if everything was breaded and deep fried.”

  “Next time I’ll Google a Popeyes.”

  Willie steered the Seaquest away from the dock and down the Rio Tejo. It was the biggest vessel she’d ever piloted, and Kate was at high alert on the bridge with her.

  “Relax,” Willie said. “Our top speed is twelve knots, lumbering at best. How much damage can I do?”

  “There are a lot of small boats out there,” Kate said. “You could run over one of them.”

  “If they can’t see me coming and get out of the way, good riddance.”

  Kate knew it was gallows bravado. Willie for the most part had good instincts, and she was aided by Billy Dee at the bow and Jake on the bridge. Jake watched the radar, sonar, and GPS, keeping them in the channel and headed in the right direction.

  Málaga was 254 nautical miles from Lisbon. The Seaquest could have made it there in a day at top speed, but they took it slow along the Portuguese coast and through the Strait of Gibraltar, arriving at the port in a day and a half. As soon as they docked, Nick reminded everyone to assume that they were under constant surveillance by Violante’s people.

  “The Hartleys and their research vessel have arrived in Málaga,” Reyna told Violante.

  Violante was in his office, keeping tabs via satellite on the flow of drugs and money through his global criminal empire. His eyes were locked on three screens that showed the email communications between his people, a running tally of the money moving into and out of his accounts, and a map indicating the positions of each of the airplanes, boats, trucks, trains, and cars that were smuggling his drugs.

  “I want their boat and every crew member watched at all times,” he said. “I want to know what they do and who they see.”

  “They aren’t doing much. They’re just restocking their supplies. We’re looking for opportunities to slip tracking devices into whatever they bring back on board … including you.”

  “You’re not putting a tracking device up my ass,” Violante said.

  “It might be fun.”

  “It wasn’t last time you tried it.”

  “It’s an acquired pleasure,” Reyna said.

  “So far I haven’t acquired it.”

  “Very well, we’ll make sure you’re covered without requiring surgery or other insertions into your body. However, along that line of thought, I’d like to torture the woman.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  “I know I could break her while you’re away.”

  “What if Kate lies to you just to stop the pain? What if she really doesn’t know the exact location and only her husband, Nick, has the coordinates?”

  “We won’t release her when you return and then we’ll give her back to Nick in pieces, say fingers and toes to start, until he tells us what we want to know.”

  “What if he’s willing to sacrifice his wife for seventeen and a half million dollars?”

  Reyna shrugged. “Then we really have nothing to lose by torturing her.”

  He looked up at her again. “How do you figure that?”

  “They are both greedy and desperate. They want the money too much to walk away from the deal just because I’ve electrocuted her and removed a few of her fingernails. It’s trading a little discomfort, or perhaps exquisite pleasure if she’s wired that way, in return for lavish compensation.”

  “You’re forgetting that there are other potential buyers,” Violante said. “The Hartleys could take their offer to them.”

  “Not if we kill the other buyers first.”

  Violante sighed. “I know how much you’d enjoy torturing Kate Hartley,
and that it’s been a while since your needs have been satisfied, but I don’t want to take the risk. I want the treasure too much.”

  “That’s exactly why we should take advantage of every opportunity we have to get the location of the treasure for you.”

  “It’s premature,” he said. “We don’t even know if the Hartleys have really found the shipwreck.”

  “This is how we can find out.”

  “Let’s do this their way for now,” he said. “I’ll find you someone else you can torture. There are plenty of people who possess information that I’d like to have or who simply deserve some agony. You can make a list of them while I’m gone.”

  The next morning, promptly at 10:00, Violante’s Mercedes and a black Range Rover rolled down the wharf toward the Seaquest and parked at the bottom of the gangway. Nick, Kate, and Tom were on the wharf, waiting for Violante.

  Four armed men in sunglasses, their black suit jackets not quite hiding their weapons, got out of the Range Rover and spread out around the Mercedes. Once the security detail was in position, Violante and Reyna got out. She was also dressed in an elegant black suit, the breeze brushing open her jacket to reveal her shoulder holster.

  Violante was wearing sunglasses, a windbreaker, an untucked shirt, jeans, and running shoes. His belt had a large silver buckle.

  “I didn’t know how long we’d be out at sea,” Violante said, “so I brought some clothes and toiletries.”

  His driver popped the trunk and took out a Vuitton suitcase, which he set down beside Violante.

  “I want to remind you, and your security team, that you agreed to let us search you,” Nick said. “And to allow us to do whatever is necessary to ensure that you won’t be able to discover the location of the shipwreck during this trip.”

  “Be my guest.” Violante raised his arms. “Pat me down.”

  “We’re a little more high-tech than that,” Nick said and nodded to Tom, who stepped forward with an electronic wand, similar to those used by the TSA. “This is designed to detect GPS chips, like those found in cellphones and iPads.”

  Tom began by holding the wand above Violante’s head. It started beeping almost immediately. He reached for Violante’s glasses, and two of the guards reflexively went for their weapons.

  “Relax,” Violante said to them, raising his hand to ward them off, and then he removed his glasses and gave them to Reyna. “I forgot these had a GPS chip in them. It’s so she can locate me quickly if I am abducted.”

  “I completely understand,” Nick said. “You’re a wealthy man and a desirable target for kidnappers. It was a wise precaution.”

  Tom continued running the wand down Violante’s body. It beeped again when it hit his belt buckle.

  “It must be all that silver,” Violante said.

  “This only detects GPS signals,” Tom said.

  “Oh.” Violante glanced at Reyna as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops. “I didn’t know about this one.”

  “I should have told you,” Reyna said. “Again, it’s for your protection. I didn’t give it a second thought. My mistake.”

  “We all make them,” Nick said.

  Tom continued his sweep, crouching down to scan Violante’s legs and feet. The wand beeped again over his shoes.

  “Smart shoes,” Violante said. “The latest thing. They track your heart rate and blood pressure when you run. It seems everything has a computer in it these days. I didn’t realize there was a GPS chip in the shoe, too. What a surprise.”

  “It’s such a high-tech world we live in,” Nick said. “You never know what you’ll find. There was even a tracking device in the bag of flour we bought yesterday.”

  “Astonishing.” Violante slipped off his shoes, bent down, and handed them to his driver. He turned to Nick again. “I have an old pair of running shoes in the trunk. Dumb shoes. You can run the wand over them. Are we done now?”

  “Not quite,” Nick said and gestured to the boat. “One of my crew members in the bridge is holding a device that detects electromagnetic tagging particles, like the ones used by Predator drones to pinpoint targets. I don’t want to alarm you or your men, but if there are any of those particles on you, which I’m sure there won’t be, it will appear as if you’re being painted by a sniper’s targeting beam.”

  Before the words were even out of Nick’s mouth, Violante’s suitcase lit up with red dots, as did his windbreaker. It looked like an entire firing squad had him lined up in their laser sights. It clearly made Violante’s security detail uncomfortable, but not the man himself.

  Violante shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying.”

  “You’re not making it easy to establish a relationship built on trust,” Nick said.

  “I’m the one you’re asking for seventeen and a half million dollars and who is putting himself at your mercy.” Violante slipped off his windbreaker and dropped it on the suitcase. “I am the one who should be concerned about trust.”

  “That’s why you’re getting me,” Kate said.

  “No,” Reyna said. “I am.”

  “I’m sure you girls will have a marvelous time together,” Violante said. His driver brought him the old running shoes. Tom scanned them, and Violante slipped them on and tied the laces. He straightened and looked at Kate. “You are my guest, Mrs. Hartley. Feel free to enjoy my wine, my chocolate, and all the creature comforts of my home during your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said. “That’s very generous.”

  “I’m afraid there aren’t many creature comforts on our ship,” Nick said to Violante. “But we’ll try to make up for it by showing you the most spectacular treasure anyone has ever seen.”

  “When will you be back?” Reyna asked Nick.

  “We’ll give you a call when we’re approaching the port,” Nick said, handing Reyna a prepaid cellphone. “More than a day and less than a week.”

  “Remember that,” Reyna said. “Because eight days from now at dawn, if I haven’t heard from you, I will slit your wife’s throat.”

  “That won’t happen,” Nick said.

  He stepped up to Kate, slipped his arms around her, and gave her a deep, passionate kiss that sent a flash of red-hot lust curling through every part of her.

  “Because you mean everything to me, I’ll be back soon,” Nick said to Kate.

  “G-g-good,” Kate said.

  Violante glanced over his shoulder as he walked up the gangway. The Mercedes was driving off with Reyna and Kate Hartley in the backseat. The Range Rover, and his security team, remained on the wharf and would stay there until the ship left port.

  He’d underestimated the Hartleys, Violante thought. He should have known that if they had the technology to find the Santa Isabel treasure, they would have the tools to thoroughly screen him for tracking devices. He’d made a strategic mistake and would learn from it. He’d assume that when the time came to kill the Hartleys, they would be prepared for it, not that it would save them.

  His attention turned from the cars on the wharf to the ship’s captain waiting to greet him on deck. The man had an eye patch, a beard, and a crisp, white uniform. Not what he’d expected to be chauffeuring this research scow. He’d expected someone more casually dressed with skin like cracked leather. This guy looked like a refugee from The Love Boat.

  “Welcome aboard the Seaquest, Mr. Violante. I am Captain Bridger. Although I work for the Hartleys, I am in command of this vessel, and I will do everything in my power to make this trip a safe and enjoyable one for you.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain.”

  “I hope you will join me for dinner tonight.”

  “I don’t have any other plans,” Violante said.

  “We’ll be casting off now,” the captain said. “Enjoy the sunshine while you can. In a few minutes, you’ll be taken to your room and locked inside until dinner.”

  Violante had never been locked up before by anyone, and he hated the idea of it happening now. One more reaso
n the entire crew would have to die. Nobody could know Violante had allowed himself to be held prisoner.

  “I’m sure you’re not happy about this, but I can sweeten the deal,” Nick said to Violante. “Let me show you our pride and joy.”

  They walked to the bow where a robotic submarine as sleek and sexy as Violante’s own Lamborghini Aventador, and about the same size, was strapped to the deck under the arm of the crane. The unmanned submarine was bright yellow with two chrome nacelles in the back and two long mechanical arms with pincers in the front. There was an array of lights along the body, spotlights on the top, and a camera housed in a sleek transparent casing on the pointed nose.

  “This is our ROV,” Nick said. “We lower it to the bottom of the ocean with this crane. The ROV remains attached to the ship via an armored umbilical cable that powers the vehicle and relays data back to our command center, so there’s no limit to how long this baby can stay submerged. It’s got a high-definition camera array as well as sonar equipment for mapping, tools that analyze the mineral content of the mud, and devices that measure water temperature and density, among other things. It’s like our own version of the Mars rover.”

  Violante didn’t need the song and dance. As soon as he saw the shiny ROV, he knew he didn’t have to worry that he was the victim of an elaborate kidnapping scheme. This ROV was the real deal, and it made his heart race, because it meant the treasure was likely to be real, too.

  “What does something like that ROV cost?” he asked.

  “We built this ourselves to suit our needs, so it’s a proprietary design,” Nick said. “But ballpark is about a half a million dollars, not including the three thousand feet of tether and umbilical cable. You’ll need a different sort of ROV, designed primarily for salvage, to bring the larger items up from the seabed. There are some off-the-shelf models you could buy, but it could attract attention you don’t want.”

  Violante was beginning to realize just how complex the salvage could be, but the challenges didn’t dampen his excitement. If anything, they only increased it. “How long until we get to the shipwreck?”