And as if all this wasn’t an odd enough realization, she also admitted that Nick was a good partner. He was smart and strong and reliable. He was everything you would want from a man who was dangling you in midair. True, he could be exasperating and a bit of a loose cannon, but he had good instincts under fire.
She looked back at Nick, gave him a thumbs-up, and slowly lowered herself to the floor, her headlamp shining a narrow beam of light into the dark room. The buckets were numbered and labeled with grid coordinates indicating where the coins had been found on the debris field. She pulled a collapsible pouch out of her pocket, opened the nearest bucket, and recoiled at the smell.
“Are you okay down there?” Nick asked.
“This water reeks. It’s like rotten eggs.”
“Good to know. For a minute there I thought it might be you.”
Kate gave him a stiff middle finger and was about to stick her gloved hand into a bucket when the lab door crashed open.
A man and a woman came into the conservation lab They were kissing and groping, not looking in Kate’s direction. The door closed as quickly as it had opened, and the room was plunged into total darkness. Kate’s heart skipped a couple beats. She snapped off her headlamp, dropped to the floor, and slithered behind a cluster of buckets. She could hear fumbling and grunting and clothes getting discarded.
The overhead lights flashed on, revealing that the woman was now naked and the man bare-assed, with his pants down around his ankles. Kate couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like being in a porn movie.
The lights had come on because the guy had the woman backed up to the light switch. The woman moved and the lights went out. After a moment the lights came on again and Kate saw that the woman had her legs wrapped around the guy’s waist. He pushed into her, slamming her against the wall, and the lights went out.
Crap on a cracker, Kate thought. Could it get any worse?
Bang. The lights went on. Every time the guy slammed the woman into the wall, the lights would turn on or off. Bang, flash. Bang, flash. The pace picked up, and Kate thought if the flashes didn’t stop soon she’d have a seizure.
She heard muffled laughter in the vent above her and decided it was a good thing she didn’t have a gun because she would for sure shoot someone … possibly Nick.
There was a last big bang, the room went dark, and there was a moment of silence. Someone sighed and Kate assumed it was the woman, who had to have a headache after all the wall banging. There was some shuffling around and the rustle of clothes getting pulled on. No words were spoken. The door was eased open, the man peeked out, and something was whispered, but Kate couldn’t catch it. The man and woman slipped out of the room and closed the door.
Kate blew out a sigh of relief. She grabbed a chunk of coins out of a bucket and carefully stuffed it into her pouch, thinking the clumps of coins were stuck together in bits of rock like chocolate chips in a cookie. She took a couple more chunks, put the lid back on the bucket, and clipped the bag of coins to her belt with a carabiner. She was on the rope, midway to the vent, when the door suddenly opened again, spilling in light and exposing her hanging from the ceiling.
It was the man. He turned on the light and began searching the floor around the door and under the light switch.
Kate hung as still as she could, utterly exposed, willing the man not to raise his head and look deeper into the room.
He spotted something, reached between two buckets, and picked up a laminated ID badge. He clipped it to the lapel of his lab coat, turned his back to the room to kill the light, and paused.
Damnation, Kate thought. Now what?
The man felt all his pockets and checked to make sure he was zipped up. He turned the light off, and walked out.
Kate wasted no time climbing the rest of the way up the rope and through the duct opening. She looked at Nick and caught him smiling.
“Really?” she said to him.
“You’re lucky I didn’t completely lose it. When he started slamming her into the light switch I almost fell out of the ceiling.”
“It was freaking frightening! And it was icky. I’m going to have to pour bleach into my brain.”
Nick reached out and hauled her across the opening in the duct so that she was on his side of the air vent. He kissed her on the top of her head and flipped her light on. “You’ve led a sheltered life.”
“Not true,” Kate said. “I saw two dogs doing the deed in a parking lot once, and they were stuck together when they were done.”
“Forever?”
“For about ten minutes. They weren’t happy about it.”
“You do the crime, you pay the time,” Nick said. He replaced the vent and glued it in place. “Let’s move out.”
They made their way back through the duct toward the garage, gathering up their equipment as they went along and patching the hole they’d cut.
They packed everything into the van, replaced the vent, and drove up to the second level of the garage, where police officers were busy taking reports from angry car owners. A tow truck was hitching up Willie’s bashed-up Opel. A police officer stepped in front of their van and cleared a path for them through the crowd. Kate tried to look tired, bored, and unmemorable in the passenger seat and apparently succeeded. The cop didn’t seem to notice her.
Nick nodded and smiled his thanks to the officer, drove up the ramp to the first floor, and then out of the garage, into the sunshine on Paseo Alfonso XII.
An hour later, Nick parked the van on a dirt road in the forested countryside. They wiped the van down for prints and left their jumpsuits and the ignition key inside. Kate carried the bag of gold to a Renault hatchback Nick had hidden previously in the trees. She put the bag of gold in one of the suitcases in the trunk.
Nick got behind the wheel and took them to the A-92 freeway for the 582-mile drive to Lisbon. They stopped four and a half hours later at a gas station to refill the Renault’s tank, stretch their legs, get some food, and change drivers.
“We’re going to be passing close to Seville,” Nick said to Kate. “We should take a detour and make a stop at my favorite tapas bar. It’s a little place in the old town, and it serves the most extraordinary Jabugo pata negra bellota.”
Kate was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other hand stuffed into a bag of Vicente Vidal patatas fritas sabor jamón. She’d gotten the patatas fritas when they’d stopped at the gas station, and they were the most awesome potato chips she’d ever eaten.
“I’ve never heard of Jabugo whatever,” Kate said. “It sounds awful.”
“It’s cured ham from pigs raised in the mountain village of Jabugo and fed only acorns.”
“By hand, I suppose. By virgins.”
“You have no appreciation for fine cuisine,” he said.
“I’m eating prosciutto-flavored potato chips fried in olive oil.”
“That’s not fine cuisine.”
“It is where I come from. Having dinner tonight in a fancy restaurant would mean leaving the car parked on the street with hundreds of thousands of dollars of gold coins in the trunk. I’d rather not take the chance just so you can have a gourmet dinner.”
“Tapas isn’t gourmet,” he said. “Think of it as high-quality fast food.”
“Can you get it at a drive-through?”
“No.”
“Then it isn’t fast food,” she said. “It’s slow food.”
“So are you going to take the turnoff to Seville?”
“Absolutely. I’m all about acorn ham.”
They crossed the border into Portugal and arrived in Lisbon shortly after midnight, approaching the city from the south on the Ponte 25 de Abril. It was a half-mile-long replica of the Golden Gate Bridge spanning the Rio Tejo, the gateway to the Atlantic. A Golden Gate Bridge clone was a good fit for Lisbon, which, like San Francisco, is a coastal city built on steep hills and once devastated by a massive earthquake. The Lisbon temblor hit on November 1, 1755, and was immediately fol
lowed by a huge tidal wave and then a hellacious inferno sparked by cooking fires. The fires lasted for five days and destroyed two-thirds of the city, which still bore the scars more than two centuries later.
Once off the bridge, Kate headed east along the riverfront, past the historic city center to the decaying industrial area.
Running along Rua Cintura do Porto behind a high graffiti-covered stone wall topped with razor wire was a derelict, trash-strewn gravel yard with a rotting wharf jutting out into the river. The gate to the property was open. A rutted dirt road lined with tall, dry weeds led to the wharf, where a 150-foot cargo ship was docked.
The ship had a low main deck, close to the water, and a high proud bow. The crane attached to the deck resembled a claw raised in fury, raging against the moon. The three-story deckhouse was aft. The bridge atop the deckhouse was dark, but a few windows were lit on the floors below, where the cabins, galley, and mess were located.
Kate drove down the road that cut through the lot, the car bouncing and rocking over the uneven ground. As she got closer to the ship, she could see sparks from someone welding on the deck near the crane. She parked beside a pickup truck and a van and got out with Nick, who lifted the hatchback and took out the suitcase full of gold.
They walked to the end of the wharf, and floodlights flashed on atop the crane and the deckhouse, illuminating the boat deck and the steep gangway. Kate and Nick trudged up the gangway and were met on deck by Jake.
“Welcome aboard the Seaquest,” Jake said. “How’d it go in Cartagena?”
“We’ve got the gold,” Nick said. “Your daughter has the makings of a master thief.”
“That’s my girl,” Jake said.
“That’s not me at all,” she said, kissing her dad on the cheek. “I’d much prefer to arrest thieves than be one. There’s a lasting sense of accomplishment that only comes from a deep, methodical investigation.”
“You sound like the keynote speaker at a proctology conference,” Jake said. “And by the way, I’m clean as a whistle.”
Nick grinned. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah, Dad, that’s great.”
“I suppose,” Jake said, “but I feel like I didn’t get my money’s worth. I was sort of hoping they’d at least find a polyp.”
They all crossed the deck to where Tom was working. He was welding a tail fin onto what looked like an enormous mechanical shark with floodlights for eyes, a surveillance camera on his nose, and a basket for collecting treasure where his mouth was supposed to be.
Tom turned off the torch, lifted up his protective mask, and took a step back to admire his creation. “I know it looks rough, but I haven’t added the robotic claw or put all the bling on it yet.”
“What bling?” Kate asked.
“The chrome and blinky lights,” Nick said.
“That’s a remotely operated submersible survey vehicle,” Kate said. “Why does it need chrome and blinking lights?”
“The same reason you used cleavage as bait for the bank robbers,” Nick said. “You knew it would get their attention. If Menendez is hooked by the sub, he’ll go along with everything else.”
“Wait until you see it with the nacelles,” Tom said.
“What are nacelles?” Kate asked.
“The two big, badass tubes on the back of the starship Enterprise that hold the propulsion system,” Tom said. “Only these will be a lot smaller, like the ones on the bottom of the Enterprise’s shuttle craft. Are you ready to see how the command center is coming along?”
“Absolutely,” Nick said. “Lead the way.”
They took the metal stairs to the second level and entered a narrow corridor leading to a conference room dominated by a large boomerang-shaped control panel. The control panel was crammed with a keyboard and an array of knobs, dials, and multicolored buttons. At the center of it all, in front of a console with a forty-inch monitor flanked by several smaller ones, was a joystick that could have come from a fighter jet. There were two smaller joysticks on either side of it.
“Let me guess,” Kate said, gesturing to the center joystick, “our sub fires missiles, too.”
The three men stared at her like she was an idiot, but it was Nick who spoke up. “Why would a remotely operated vehicle have missiles?”
“Why would it have nacelles?”
“To make it go.”
“It has propellers for that,” Kate said.
“In the nacelles,” Nick said.
“What are they doing in there?”
“Looking a lot cooler than propellers that aren’t in nacelles.”
“So if the ROV doesn’t fire weapons,” Kate said, “why do you have a such an elaborate joystick?”
“So it looks fun to drive,” Nick said.
Tom hit a switch somewhere and the multicolored buttons on the control panel lit up and the console began blinking like a Christmas tree.
Jake nodded. “Very impressive.”
“It’s silly,” Kate said. “What are all the lighted buttons supposed to do?”
“Blink,” Tom said.
“What I mean is, in the real world, what are they supposed to control?”
“Nothing,” Nick said.
“Then why do we have them?”
“Have you ever watched Star Trek or Battlestar Galactica?” Nick asked.
“Sure.”
“Well the bridges on those starships are loaded with blinking lights that have absolutely no function and lots of monitors with meaningless readouts constantly scrolling on the screen.”
“This isn’t a starship,” Kate said.
“But it has to look like one or Menendez won’t be impressed. Authenticity is not what we are going for here,” Nick said. “It’s creating a fantasy that Menendez can’t resist. We don’t want him thinking. We want him dreaming.”
“Nick is right,” Tom said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned building treehouses, it’s that all men are kids at heart. They will jump at any opportunity to fulfill their childhood fantasies. Hell, that’s why I’m here.”
“What fantasy is this for you?” Kate asked.
“Tom Underhill, fearless samurai, living a life of intrigue in exotic locales.”
“You’re on an old cargo ship docked at an abandoned gravel yard,” Kate said.
“I’m on a boat in Lisbon with three deadly mercenaries, a master of disguise, a secret agent, and a mysterious security guy.”
“I’m not a secret agent,” Kate said.
“I’m married with two kids,” Tom said. “I live in Rancho Cucamonga, and I build treehouses for a living. Don’t rain on my parade.”
Jake took Nick and Kate to the ship’s mess so they could meet Billy Dee Snipes.
Billy Dee was sitting at a table, smoking a cigar. He looked like a skeleton that had been painted black, dressed in a blue tracksuit, and propped in a chair facing the door to startle people. Kate’s first thought was that the man was either dying of some horrible disease or was at the end of a long hunger strike.
“Billy Dee Snipes,” Jake said. “This is my daughter Kate and her associate Nick.”
Billy Dee stood up and shook hands with them both. For a man with a skeletal hand, Billy Dee had a surprisingly strong grip.
“Thanks for helping us out on this,” Kate said. “We really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure, but if you’d come to me earlier, I could have hijacked a boat like this for you and saved you a lot of money.”
“You did hijack this boat,” Jake said. “Only it was twenty years ago.”
“I’ll be damned,” Billy Dee said. “You found my mark?”
Jake nodded. “There’s a tiny skull and crossbones carved into the bulkhead up on the bridge.”
“Then this was meant to be.” Billy Dee reached for Nick’s suitcase. “I’m thinking you must have the treasure in the suitcase, so I’ll take it off your hands for safekeeping.”
“Where’s it going?” Kate asked.
“I
t’s staying here on the boat, in a bucket of water under my cot. I sleep with my machete under my pillow, and I assure you that I am a very light sleeper.”
“I would be, too, if there was a chance I’d roll over on a machete,” Nick said.
“It’s safer than sharing the bed with a woman,” Billy Dee said, then smiled at Kate. “No offense, my dear.”
“None taken,” Kate said.
Nick grinned. “Kate prefers a loaded gun next to her bed.”
“Is that all?” Jake asked Kate. “Where’s your hand grenade?”
“I don’t have a hand grenade.”
“What happened to the one I gave you for Christmas?”
“I forgot about that,” she said. “I guess it’s around the apartment somewhere.”
“You lost a hand grenade in your apartment?” Nick said. “Next time I visit I’ll be more careful.”
“Next time?” Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve never invited you over. You jerk! You broke into my apartment, didn’t you?”
“That’s what you get for not having it properly booby-trapped,” Jake said.
Nick handed the suitcase over to Billy Dee and turned to Jake. “Shall we meet the other new member of our crew?”
Everyone trooped to the engine room, and as they got closer, they could hear the clanging of tools against metal and Barnacle Bob singing an ancient sea shanty in a heavy, almost incomprehensible cockney accent. “What will we do with a drunken sailor, what will we do with a drunken sailor, what will we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?”
It was hot and humid in the dimly lit room, and there were hundreds of engine parts all over the floor. Standing amid it all, covered in oil and grease like a pig who’d been rolling in mud, was Barnacle Bob, singing away.
“Way hay and up she rises, way hay and up she rises, way hay and up she rises, early in the morning …”
Barnacle Bob, with his squarish, flat-topped head, jutting jaw, and no neck, resembled a cartoon character after a boulder has been dropped on him. He had broad shoulders, and a big belly over a narrow waist and thin legs, as if his belt had been cinched way, way too tight. He banged a tool against a pipe in time with his singing.