It did make for beautiful filming. She shot the coral with the tiny fish and panned slowly around to the giant grouper.
There was a drop-off near the shallow area of the reef, and she followed it down; she knew that the ocean went to no more than a hundred feet at the drop-off. She eased down about another twenty feet, aware that Sean was near her then, watching her. He came to her, motioning for the camera. She frowned behind her mask but handed it to him. He indicated her side, and she saw that the giant grouper was still following her, like a pet dog. She shrugged and swam slowly alongside the fish while Sean took footage. She reached out and stroked the side of the fish. He circled her—hoping for a handout, she was certain. Divers must have recently come to the reef with food to encourage the creature to come near. It was amazing that he hadn’t wound up on a dinner plate himself.
He lingered a little while longer, and then swam off.
Sean returned the camera to her. She decided to go to the bones of the old sunken ship that was assumed to be the Santa Geneva. She’d been a wooden-hulled ship and had broken up, however it was that she’d gone down. She was really nothing but wooden bones now, since the sea had caused the disintegration of most of the hull. Vanessa still loved the wreck. It was possible to imagine the size of the ship, where the masts had been, the hold, the cabins, the quarters.
She looked through the camera as she neared a section of the remains.
She almost choked, and started in the water.
Through the lens, she saw a figurehead.
Impossible. The figurehead was long gone.
She looked again, and for a moment, she could have sworn that she was seeing a woman’s face—and the sleek lines of a beautifully crafted figurehead.
She blinked, and it was gone.
She moved the camera away for a moment and lowered herself down to the ruins. She shook the image of the figurehead and filmed the length of the ruins, taking in the fish, the barnacles growing on those sad bare bones that remained.
Something crusted rose from the bed of sand on the floor of the ocean that held the wreck. It was just a dot on the sand, but through the lens, it seemed to be something. Vanessa moved down and reached out, gently swishing sand from the object. She wasn’t sure what it was, it was so encrusted, but it was odd, so she picked it up.
Sean was behind her. He eased himself down on his knees and she showed him what she had discovered. He took the camera from her and pointed upward. He was ready to surface.
They had moved a good hundred feet from the boat and stopped at thirty-three feet to pressurize. Sean reached the dive platform and ladder before she did. He set the camera down on the platform and threw his flippers on board as she grasped hold of the platform. The sea rocked around them, but Sean ably drew himself up and turned to reach for her. She hesitated only briefly and then accepted his hand, throwing her flippers up as well and climbing up the ladder.
They came through the little custom hatch to the deck of the Sea Ray and he spun her around without asking, unlatching her tank.
“I’ll get yours,” she said.
He didn’t protest but accepted her help and stowed the tanks. He came back to her and asked for the object she had picked up from the ocean floor.
He turned it around and around in his hand. “I have friends to take this to,” he murmured.
Vanessa felt a sudden, eerie sweep of air around her. She spun around, looking for…
Something.
But there was nothing around her.
Still, she was suddenly cold. She could remember the figurehead she had seen through the camera lens with a frightening clarity—since it hadn’t really been there. And now…
This. This chilling sensation that…
They weren’t alone.
Sean looked at her suddenly. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Nothing. A goose walked over my grave, I guess. What do you think it is?”
“A coin…or a pendant. I think you’ve found a real relic,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Well, we could find out it’s a 1950s Timex or something…I don’t know enough to take a chance trying to get the ocean crust off it, but as I said, I have friends who do this professionally. We’ll bring it to them. I’m driving in. Want water, beer, soda? They’re in the cooler, over there, portside. Help yourself.”
He pulled down the dive flag and drew in the anchor—it was automatic, all he had to do was push a button. The Sea Ray was definitely nice.
He went to the helm, starting the motor, taking the wheel. She still had the crazy feeling that they weren’t alone, that the air was charged.
She grabbed a couple of bottles of water out of the cooler and hurried back to the companion seat.