Phantom Prospect. Alex Archer
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“I paid off the local police chief.” He glanced at Cole. “By the way, bro, I’m going to need some more money.”
“What a surprise.”
“You paid off the local police chief? To do what?”
“To say that the death was an accident.”
“But why?”
Hunter put his hands on the wheel and steered them on to the highway. “Look, the thing is, we know where the wreck is. If we all of a sudden start blabbering about shark attacks, then the place will start crawling with media and fishermen, and even rival treasure hunters. That’s a lot of publicity that we don’t need right now. If we can get in, do our thing and then get gone, we’ll be so much the better.”
“And if it turns out there really is a shark up here?”
Hunter grinned. “Oh, there’s definitely a shark in the water. I have no doubt of that. Even saw the damned thing register on the sonar.”
Cole looked at him. “How big?”
“Big. Like, real big. Over thirty feet.”
Annja put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up about a Meg. What if it’s a basking shark?”
Hunter laughed. “I’ve seen basking sharks before. Plankton eaters like the whale shark. Let me tell you something: this was no plankton eater did that to my man. Chomped him into two pieces and then some.”
“A great white of that size would be an enormous specimen,” Cole said. “I’d need to document it.”
“Document it all you want, bro,” Hunter said. “Just keep everything under wraps until we’re done here.”
“And how long will that take?”
Hunter shrugged. “Could take us two weeks to excavate everything from the site. Maybe longer if the currents have strewn it all over the place.”
“You found the main wreck site?”
Hunter nodded. “Hull’s intact. Parts of the ship aren’t there, but the main hold is. I think we’ve got a big one here, bro.”
“Why’s that?”
Hunter shrugged. “A lot of people over the years claimed that the Fantome wasn’t carrying loot from the White House simply because it wasn’t involved in the raid on Washington. Some thought it might just be carrying goods from parts of Maine that the British controlled to Nova Scotia. But if that was the case, then why was it in convoy? A simple customs run wouldn’t dictate such elaborate security.”
“You never bought into that theory?” Annja asked.
“Nope. The Fantome was originally a French privateer that the British took possession of in 1810 and commissioned directly into the British Navy as a brig sloop with eighteen guns on her. She had a good kick in terms of firepower and she had a hold that could handle a large quantity of booty.” He shook his head. “Nah, she was hauling some serious stuff when she went down.”
“And it’s off Prospect as the records claim?”
Hunter nodded. “That was the benefit of survivors from the wreck. They were able to confirm where they went down. Of course, that was over two hundred years ago, and the shifting tide can change things a lot underwater.”
“Not exactly easy to explore when there’s a shark cruising nearby,” Annja said. “Why don’t you tell us about what happened?”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah, sure. We were out just the other day. Good day for salvage work. Sunny, not strong surf. We made it out to the next grid on our search string and one of my guys, by the name of Jock, went down to lead the way for the rest of the team.”
“He always go first?” Cole asked.
“Yeah, kinda like that. He’s from the UK, former Special Forces guy. They lead that way, you know. Likes to be in the water and all that stuff.”
“So, he went down…”
Hunter shrugged. “The rest of us were a little slow getting into wet suits. I was nursing an awful headache that I woke up with and the team was a bit slow. All of a sudden, the captain calls me on to the bridge and jabs a finger at the sonar. I thought it was a submarine at first, you know? This big thing just moving along.”
“You think about radioing down to Jock?” Cole asked.
“Would have if he’d gone down with a radio unit. But Jock didn’t like them. Said they didn’t allow him the freedom he liked underwater. He used to rely on hand signals only.”
“And he was down there all alone,” Annja said.
“We saw the shape moving—Jock didn’t show up on the sonar—and then it was gone. Someone screamed off the stern and when we went out, we saw an upwelling of blood break the surface of the water. We knew something was wrong so we went down.”
Annja leaned back. “You went down there knowing that the shark might still be around?”
“My man was down there,” Hunter said. “It’s my responsibility to get him back, even at risk.”
“What’d you find?”
“Two pieces of body. Shredded wet suit with these long tears. His air tanks were crushed. It was a horrible sight. His head was gone, too.”
Annja frowned. “You sure it’s him? The body, I mean.”
Hunter stared at her. “Why would you even ask that question? Of course we’re sure. Jock was the only one down there, then this big thing cruises by and then Jock’s remains are found. Seems like an easy equation to me.”
Annja held up her hand. “Just asking.”
“Well, it was a bad question,” Hunter said. “Jock was a good man and I don’t like the memory of him being questioned.”
“But you’ll lie in order to protect the salvage operation you’ve got going on here,” Annja said. “I get it.”
Hunter frowned and glanced at Cole. “Just who is this chick, bro?”
“This ‘chick,’ as you call her happens to be a pretty damned good archaeologist. You’d do well to remember that she’s not only pretty smart, but also a pretty tough woman.”
“Pretty tough?” Annja smirked. If only you had the first clue about that one.
Cole turned around. “I don’t want your ego getting out of check.”
“Thanks for the concern.” She looked at Hunter. “Look, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here, so let’s just agree that this is a real tragedy and that we will do everything we can to help you make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Hunter paused and then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Cole pointed at the sign for Prospect. “Not much farther now, is it?”
“Five minutes or so to get down to the harbor and catch the dingy out to the boat. That shouldn’t take that long.”
Annja looked at the small town as they drove through. It didn’t look like there was a lot of traffic in the area. Small homes bordered streets and she could make out eateries and neighborhood taverns. It was a cozy town.
“There haven’t been other shark attacks here, have they?”
Hunter laughed. “You kidding? The Canadian Atlantic is considered to be one of the safest places to swim. I mean, the water temperatures are fairly cold year round, so that’s a major factor. Less people in the water, means less chance of interaction with sharks.”
“Yeah, but great whites swim these waters, too,” Cole said. “They can tolerate the cooler temps.”
“Last