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“What happened to your rig?” she asked as they floated in the dark.
“The sea gods demanded a sacrifice and it was either the tank or me.”
“Are you all right?”
“Never better. Let’s get back to the boat before dawn breaks,” he said, looking over to where the Bermudez floated peacefully on the ebony swells.
Back on board, Remi removed her gear, and they both stripped off their dive suits. Their intention was to say nothing about their nocturnal adventure until the shipwreck was under guard. Given Benedict’s obvious reach into unknown levels of the Spanish administration, that seemed the most prudent course. No point in tipping him off and eliminating any timing advantage they’d bought themselves.
Sam got a better look at his battered fin, sliced laterally. The prop blade had missed his foot by inches—an unnecessary reminder of how close he’d come. Thankfully, Remi didn’t register it in the dark, and he decided not to share his brush with disaster.
“The statue he got away with looked like the full-height one of Athena,” Remi whispered.
“We’ll notify the authorities, if and when they arrive. I don’t trust anyone on this boat.”
Remi’s eyes widened. “You don’t think one of the team . . . ?”
“I don’t know what to think. I just know that Benedict’s dirty money seems to have bought a lot of indifference to obvious robbery, and I don’t want to take any chances.”
She nodded. “Think we could get another few hours of shut-eye?”
“That’s my hope. We’ll heat up the phones and the radio tomorrow. For now, I’d say mission accomplished, even if he did get away with one relic.”
“Once it’s reported, he’ll be hard-pressed to smuggle it anywhere or sell it.”
“Hopefully, that’s true, but, as you know, some collectors are pretty unscrupulous.”
“But by the time anyone responds to us, he’ll be in international waters. I’d be steaming for the sanctuary of either Morocco or Algeria. It’s only a hundred and something miles. Piece of cake for that vessel.”
“It doesn’t sound like today’s the day he gets his, does it?”
“I wouldn’t bank on it. Now, can I talk you into some serious pillow time?”
Janus Benedict stood on the transom deck, his color high, obviously angry, as the head of the dive team reported that the only thing they had to show for their trouble was one statue. Reginald looked ready to strike the unfortunate man, who was nothing more than the bearer of bad news.
“You idiot. How could you let this happen?” Reginald shouted, his silk Versace shirt shimmering in the sunlight.
Janus held up his hand to silence his brother and spoke in a calm, evenly modulated voice. “H
ector isn’t to blame, Reginald. This does no good.”
“What do you mean, he’s not to blame? We just lost millions because he failed to secure the cargo properly!”
Hector shook his head. He held up a piece of thick yellow nylon rope and pointed to diving gear he’d placed at the deck edge. “No, sir. All the lines were still attached to the ties. These ropes were cut. Look at the ends. And that dive rig was caught in the netting. This was no accident.”
Janus nodded as he stared at the nearby coast, glimmering like a mirage on the horizon.
“It was the Fargos. Had to be.”
“I knew I should have shot them when I had the chance.”
Janus spun to face his brother. “Really? That’s your solution? Commit cold-blooded murder in front of a host of witnesses? Have you taken leave of your senses?” he asked through clenched teeth, then shook his head and addressed Hector. “Very well, Hector. Bring the statue up onto the deck and pack it as agreed, and we’ll hand it off at the rendezvous.”
An Algerian commercial fishing boat would be coming alongside within the hour to ferry the statue to safety, leaving the yacht to continue on its way to Majorca. In the highly unlikely event it was stopped and searched, there would be nothing to find. It would be the word of the Fargos against his, and with what he’d paid in bribes to lubricate the Spanish system, he was confident there would be no lasting trouble.
“I still say a bullet between the eyes would have solved a lot of problems,” Reginald muttered as Hector left, relieved to be off the hook for the failed expedition.
“How many times do I have to tell you that taking rash action is a fool’s game? These are high stakes, and you don’t have the luxury of behaving impulsively. We’re playing chess, not rugby. It’s all strategy, not brute force and silly risks.”