“True. But, objectively, I can’t blame the Coast Guard, the Bahamian police, the FBI or any other law-enforcement agency. They’ve hit a brick wall. It’s impossible to drain the ocean—by today’s technology, at any rate. I’m sure that all over the Southeastern United States and at Caribbean ports, people are still on the lookout for the boat.”
“Right—and how hard do you think they’re looking now? People forget, and they move on. Other crimes happen. It’s sad, but true,” Vanessa said. “And by the way, you do make an excellent omelet.”
He grinned. “Yep, I do dishes well, too. It’s only the laundry thing that escaped me. But how about you clean up for me, I’ll get David on the phone, gather some supplies and meet you down at the dock. We’ll get your buddy Jay out there as well today, and I’ll interview both of you while we’re on the Conch Fritter.”
“I’m great at dishes,” she assured him.
He set his in the sink. He carefully kept his distance from her. He wanted the day to be productive. At this moment, touching her would be counterproductive.
It was a beautiful day. Calm seas, bright sun, cool air.
Jay was called upon to act as cameraman, though David and Sean set up the shot. They spoke about beginning their documentary. They were both excellent speakers, and it was a really good and casual segment, explaining that they were going to follow the legend and speaking about the events that had occurred on the recent film shoot. They talked about the fact that Vanessa was Katie’s friend and had come to them, and how they were they hoping to shed some light on the mystery.
Sean then repositioned himself and the camera so that he in turn could interview Jay about the film. Sean explained to David where he would want sea charts and other visual aids edited in, and they all seemed to be getting along quite well.
Katie had come on board with David, so there were five of them out. When they were ready to go into the water, Katie determined that she was just going to lie in the sun—she was tired. It was a busy time at O’Hara’s, and she was trying to make sure that Clarinda would be ready to take over for her when they set out through the Bermuda Triangle for the Bahamas.
On film again, Sean explained that they were looking for good footage of the “bones,” or the wreck field of the Santa Geneva. Over the years, with storms and currents, wreckage could move for miles. The initial sinking or breakup of a ship could begin the process, and time could keep it going into eternity. The site was fairly shallow, and it was popular with divers; you would think it had been picked clean by salvage divers in the eighteenth century, and yet still more relics had been found in the present, including the mermaid pendant Vanessa had discovered.
Jay paired up with David, and Vanessa naturally paired up with Sean.
It was cool in the water, but Vanessa’s skin was still enough for her. Sean and the other men also opted for skins.
Vanessa was thrilled that the sea was clear that day and the visibility was amazing. She hovered with Sean just below the surface, trying to capture the enormity of the spread of the wreck over the years, and the size and shape of the ship itself. Overlays could be edited in that would describe the Santa Geneva when she was afloat—and how she had been blasted by the pirate ship and came to sink and break up, forced onto the reef now known as Pirate Cut.
The ship had sunk north to south, and it was actually from a position of about five feet below the surface that Vanessa discovered she was getting the best long shot of the bones of the ship. It was amazing to see the shape and tragically disjointed outline of what had once been a regal and majestic sailing ship. She moved slowly and smoothly over the bones of the wreckage, keeping a straight sweep of the site, and then panning in slowly to show what divers saw as they got closer. If it wasn’t known that a great ship had gone down, a diver might have explored the wreckage for a long time without knowing what it was when he got too close.
She adjusted the zoom, and it was then that she saw something from the periphery of her eyes. The figurehead.
A chilling sensation burned through her as cold and hot as dry ice.
She drew the camera away and looked down at the site. The Santa Geneva seemed settled, at peace, in her sunken graveyard.
How many had died in this area? The pirates had given the ship a vicious cannon salvo; they had boarded to kill and maim with cutlasses and pistols, and kidnapped Dona Isabella for the ransom she would bring. Those who had fought, who had perished in the water, were here somewhere, now long gone, flesh eaten, bones bleached and disarticulated, food for the creatures of the sea. Ghosts and memories were all that remained.
Vanessa looked through the lens again.
And there she was, hazy at first, seeming to look up from jagged coral and sand, the myriad of fish in their amazing colors—and the remains of the deck of the Santa Geneva far below.
Vanessa wanted to scream but knew she’d choke, spitting out her regulator. She wanted to give a swift kick with her flippers, burst up the few feet to the surface, leave the water and never come near the reef again.