Deep Blue Death, page 2
Quite obviously, she’d been dismissed.
CHAPTER TWO
Jami stared after Cole, mystified as to how she might have manifested the latte-sipping qualities he apparently thought he’d observed. Of course, she’d been guilty of sipping the occasional latte—who hadn’t—so why had he made a thing of it, making it seem derogatory, like she’d done something wrong?
And she was certainly no city slicker, either. She supposed Cole threw that in for good measure just to make sure she understood that her supposed big-city ways were unlikely to impress out here. She was appalled by the notion that she came across as a latte-sipping city slicker since she’d spent most of the last few years on her hands and knees in the dirt on remote archaeological digs throughout the world. From that aspect, she theorized she could almost be considered a jetsetter, but even that idea didn’t sit comfortably. She was well-rounded. That’s what she was, whether he saw it or not.
Jami shrugged off the beige Armani jacket and slung it over her arm. Armani. She glanced own at the simple but expensive white silk shirt. Perhaps Cole Cadman could be forgiven for the conclusion he’d reached after all. He didn’t know she’d been treated to an early birthday gift by her parents, which included not just the clothes but an extended week in Rome. She’d relished the time, exploring, shopping, and enjoying the culture after the dig at the villa near Messina in Southern Italy, where she’d been working for the season. If it wasn’t for them, there was no way she’d have been able to pay for any of that on her meager salary as a field archaeologist.
Cole Cadman was judging a book by its cover in her case, but she could see why he’d come to the conclusions he had. He didn’t know her circumstances, her backstory. Just as she didn’t know his. Perhaps they both could be a little less judgmental toward the other.
Jami quickened her pace, not at all resentful that he was still wheeling her overstuffed suitcase behind him because the sun’s heat was already draining her energy, and her purse, along with the huge canvas tote bag hanging from her shoulder, were weighty enough without having to haul a suitcase. The scorching temperature was weighty, oppressive as they trekked the few blocks to the bay. It was difficult to believe a storm was forecast because there were only a few scattered wisps of clouds off in the distance.
The wharf was long and narrow, its gray, weathered boardwalk jutting from the safety of the shore and narrowing to a speck in the distance. Only the stark white paint on the supporting pylons provided evidence of any maintenance. Several boats of various colors were tied up alongside Cole’s, as well as on the opposite side of the wharf. It looked as though the area could become quite congested at certain times of the day, but aside from the fisherman and small boy they’d passed, it was deserted.
“How long will this trip take?” Jami asked, eyeing with a degree of apprehension the white twenty-foot cabin cruiser with red trim as it bounced on the choppy sea.
“A little over an hour.” Cole leaped from the wharf to the deck. “But this little vessel cuts through the water like a knife. She’s as solid as a rock. The trip won’t be as rough as you think.”
His tone was confident enough to assuage her misgivings. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Jami followed his lead and hopped from the security of the wharf to the scrubbed wooden deck—her attempt to make it crystal clear she was a capable, independent woman who didn’t need or want any special treatment.
As soon as the engine was humming, off came Cole’s shirt, revealing the buff body Jami had envisioned beneath. He was quite right about the way in which she had gaped at him in the hotel, and despite her resolve, she found herself indulging yet again. Double standards, Jami! She ignored the voice in her head. Cole’s taut muscles rippled in the sunlight as he released the ropes, then pushed the craft clear of the wharf. A flat stomach disappearing into those scandalously crowded jeans practically took her breath away.
She shifted her sights to the shimmering blue-green water, then around the deck.
“Can I help with anything?” she asked.
“It’s done,” he said flatly, then held up the rope used to tie the boat up to the pylons. “But I suppose you could finish coiling this.”
He plonked the rope unceremoniously over her outstretched arm before turning and disappearing under the canopy attached to the small cockpit without another word.
Jami’s shoulders slumped. Clearly, she’d poked the bear. The last thing she wanted was to start this venture off on the wrong foot. The engine revved and the bow lifted slightly in the water as the craft pulled away from the wharf. Jami finished coiling the rope and placed it neatly at the stern. She took a step back to maintain her balance as the cabin cruiser slowly thrust its way through the water, heading for the open sea.
CHAPTER THREE
Jami chose to stay out in the fresh air rather than deal with Cole’s mood in the cockpit. She settled herself on a wooden crate at the stern to survey the receding coastline and enjoy the trip. Despite the sun’s heat, the breeze made sitting on the open deck extremely pleasant, even exhilarating, and soon any conscious remorse over the spat with Cole Cadman drifted from her mind. She wasn’t about to let it sour her working holiday or spoil the learning experience promised by the project. Besides, if the fishing tackle surrounding her was any indication, he wasn’t part of the Seaclaim enterprise, but a fisherman most likely engaged to pick her up and perform other errands to supplement his income.
Soon the wharf and the small township of Rockpool Bay receded into a distant gray-blue haze as the boat accelerated. It lurched increasingly, sometimes staggering momentarily on the upward slope of a rolling wave as the heaving sea increased its momentum, but ultimately, it cut a solid path through the water. Cole was right; it was a sturdy little vessel.
It wasn’t long before Jami’s skin began to prickle, a reminder that her unprotected fair skin needed protection from the sun, but she wasn’t about to pass by the unpredictable Cole and give him an opportunity to make a jab. She turned her face away from the sun and slipped into her jacket, knowing it would soon be needed for an entirely different reason. One look at the gray billowing clouds now rolling in from the northwest told her the storm was on its way.
Jami glanced back at Cole half-expecting a comment about the jacket, only to see him staring straight ahead. They were nowhere near treacherous waters yet, but she was comforted to see he kept a close vigil. She knew it wasn’t wise to become too complacent in these waters, given the continental shelf’s disastrous maritime history. Over the centuries, countless ships had encountered submerged reefs or rocks and met a watery demise. Divers had located only a small percentage of the sunken vessels due largely to inaccessible locations and heavy seas. The Zuytwyck was currently the oldest known wreck off the coast of Western Australia, although Jami had heard rumors of the discovery of a twelfth-century Chinese junk nearby and an ancient Phoenician trireme off King Sound to the north. The existence of both vessels at their alleged locations had not yet been confirmed, but if they ever were, the finds would rewrite the history of Australia in relation to its discovery by Europeans.
The notion excited Jami to the extent she couldn’t resist asking Cole’s opinion. A little conversation to help get them on better footing might be just what they needed. A fresh start. She negotiated the rolling deck, ducked under the canopy, and seated herself in the chair beside him in the cockpit.
“To what do I owe this honor?” was Cole’s flat remark. He didn’t shift his gaze from the water. There was not even the slightest flicker of his facial muscles to indicate any interest in her presence.
Tough audience.
“I was wondering if you’d heard the rumors about the discovery of a Chinese junk or a Phoenician trireme.”
Cole’s eyebrows came together. “I’ve heard the rumors. What do you know about triremes?”
“What do I know about triremes?” If this was some kind of test, Jami decided to go along with it. “I know they were an ancient oar-powered war vessel with three distinct seating levels for rowers and were likely invented by the Phoenicians but perfected by the Greeks.” She refrained from pointing out that as an archaeologist it was part of her job to be familiar with historical watercraft.
“Top marks,” Cole said, still with no change in his expression, even though his sarcasm rang clear.
Jami clenched her teeth, restrained herself from a smart comeback of her own. “Well, most people say the stories are a load of BS. Nothing more than rumors. But there’s this one guy who insists they both exist,” she said. Jami’s quizzical expression failed to extract more information so she pushed more. “What do you think?”
Cole laughed. “I think the naysayers are probably right, but until we see definite proof, I guess we’ll never know.”
“But if someone—a man named Royland, if I remember correctly—has claimed to have seen what remains of these vessels, and it’s my understanding he has, then how can you be so dismissive?”
“Because to the best of my knowledge there’s no historical evidence the Chinese were ever in these waters. Certainly the ancient Greeks never made it this far.”
Jami mulled over Cole’s words for a few seconds. “It would certainly rewrite the history books, that’s for sure.”
“True. I never met Royland, but my father did, and he believed the stories. Said he saw one of the artifacts that supposedly came from the junk, but he never questioned its authenticity, despite Royland never revealing the locations of either the junk or the trireme. If my dad actually did know, he never said so. Not that I asked. I was too young to be interested back then.”
Jami knew she was pushing it, but she couldn’t help herself now her curiosity had been piqued. “Could you ask him now?”
“I’m afraid both Royland and my father are no longer with us.” Cole’s inflection suggested he wanted her to drop it.
She didn’t. She couldn’t help her inquisitive nature.
“But someone must know. Royland must have recorded it somewhere,” Jami urged.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Back in the late 1950s, Royland thought he’d found the Dutch East Indiaman, Vergulde Draeck—translation: Gilt Dragon—off Ledge Point north of Perth. That ship went down in 1656. Unfortunately, he didn’t record the location and was never able to relocate the site. It raised a host of questions about the authenticity of that claim as well as the others Royland made.”
A crease formed between Jami’s eyebrows. To her it seemed unbelievable that any underwater explorer wouldn’t record the position of such an important find. If, in fact, he’d found it. “But surely with today’s technology, those sites could be located again.”
“That’s if they actually exist.” Cole laughed, shifting in his seat. “Believe me, it’s not so simple. If it was, no doubt the Seaclaim expedition would be salvaging Chinese artifacts instead of Dutch. I wouldn’t go getting too excited over it, anyway. If the junk existed, it’s hull likely wouldn’t have survived the ravages of time.”
“But there could be artifacts strewn around the site,” Jami said. “Just imagine salvaging something like that ... and rewriting history.”
“Like I said, if it exists.”
“You’re really not convinced, are you?”
Cole glanced at Jami. “I should probably keep an open mind, but you’re right, I’m far from convinced. It seems so improbable, and the lack of evidence doesn’t help.”
“What do you make of the item your father saw? Did he say what it was?”
“My memory is a bit vague, but if I recall correctly, it was a fragment of pottery with Chinese characters either inlaid or carved into it. It was subsequently identified by the Western Australian Museum as being of Chinese origin and dating from the twelfth, possibly eleventh, century, but its provenance could never be proved.”
“You mean it may not have come from the wreck?”
“Exactly. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but questions were raised about its authenticity and whether the wreck Royland claimed to have found existed. Many believed it was nothing more than a fabrication. Can’t blame them in the absence of cold, hard proof.”
Jami nodded. “That used to happen a lot—people faking objects to gain publicity or turn the so-called site of the discovery into a touristy money-making scheme. Thankfully, that’s unlikely to happen these days … well, at least not within reputable circles. Amateurs occasionally try it by faking Roman ruins and the like, but carbon dating and other technologies quickly squelched those efforts.”
“My father certainly had no doubts. I remember talk of him wanting to join Royland on a subsequent dive on the site, but I don’t think it ever happened. I certainly don’t remember it.”
Jami pondered the possibilities for a few moments before continuing. “What if he did dive the site? What if there really are artifacts to be found down there, more to bring to the surface? It blows my mind.”
“That’s another argument as to why the wreck doesn’t exist. Same goes for the trireme. You can bet if my father did dive the wreck, he would have mentioned it, recorded the coordinates, and the site would have been eventually registered.” Cole flashed her a grin. “My dad was a bit of a stickler for the rules.”
Jami returned the grin. “Sounds like my dad,” she said, before her teeth clamped around her bottom lip with the memory of how he’d flouted the rules, broken his marriage vows. She shook her head to refocus. “If the site was never formally confirmed and registered, it has no legal protection. Same for the trireme.”
“You’ve got it. Anyone with the equipment and know-how, not to mention a certain amount of courage, could pilfer the wrecks and entirely destroy their archaeological value. Treasure hunters rarely trouble themselves to use the meticulous techniques employed by genuine archaeologists while they do their dirty work. You probably know that some even use explosives. Sites can be rendered useless overnight.”
“Hmm,” Jami said, nodding again. She was very much aware of the results of such action on archaeological sites. It happened the world over, and not just to marine locations. Digs on just about every continent had been plundered at some stage during their history, usually with devastating losses to the value of ruined or stolen artifacts, not to mention the loss to humanity in terms of world heritage and knowledge.
It was the latter that was the prime concern for Jami. The monetary value of items interested her little. To her, they were all priceless, their true value being in the history they conveyed. Archaeological sites represented time capsules where the lifestyles of people long gone were brought alive to the current generation. They were a precious inheritance that could be lost all too easily through one careless action.
Ignoring the fleeting thought that Cole knew far more about maritime archaeology than the average fisherman, not that she was acquainted with many fishermen—none, in fact—but she could certainly imagine and draw her own conclusion. “Well, I guess it’s pointless if the stories are fabricated, but they do get my imagination going. Did anyone have a theory about where the fragment of pottery came from? Did you ever see it? I assume the museum’s dating was accurate.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it, and I’ve no reason to doubt the dating.”
Jami drew in a sharp breath. “Wow, if it’s on display in the museum, they must think there’s some truth to Royland’s story.”
“Ah, but it’s not on display. It’s kept in the archives.”
Jami slumped back into her seat. “How did you get to see it?”
“I asked.”
“So, there was a time when you actually believed these stories?”
Cole chuckled. “Not exactly, but I did want to satisfy my curiosity. It’s definitely a genuine piece of Chinese pottery. It’s the provenance that’s the problem.”
“But what if Royland’s claim is true? What if it truly did come from the wreck of an ancient Chinese junk?”
“Doesn’t matter. Nobody knows where she lies, and people have searched for years, believe me.”
Jami shot him a look. “Including you?”
“I may have.” Cole’s tone was flat, noncommittal. She recognized that tone, indicating he wanted her to drop the matter.
But she would not.
“You know where she is, don’t you?”
There was a long moment of silence while he stared straight ahead at the blue ocean. “I don’t know where you get that idea from.”
It was something in his words and the way he avoided eye contact that convinced her. “You do know! I can tell.”
Cole cast her a stony look, and Jami concluded he could be forgiven for wanting to keep the location of the wreck site secret, yet she sensed there was something more to it than that. He was suspicious of her. Maybe he thought her interest in the wrecks concealed an ulterior motive, which was understandable, but she only sought clarification on the rumors she’d heard.
He said, “If I did, I wouldn’t be broadcasting it.”
“I’m not suggesting you reveal the wreck’s position to the entire world, but you might afford me a little trust. Given my background, I’m hardly likely to do or say anything that would cause harm to the site. Besides, I’m only here for a few months, and my time is pretty much spoken for by the Zuytwyck project’s management. It’s not like I intend or will actually have time to dive on any other wrecks.”
Cole didn’t reply for what seemed like several minutes, and when he did, it was through taut lips. “I’m sure you understand the need to be careful. The fewer people who know where she lies, the safer she’ll be. No offense, but how can I know what you’ll do with the information? I don’t know you from Adam—or Eve, for that matter. Take your pick. Offering the location information to the right buyer could make someone a tidy little sum of money.”
Jami shot him a withering look, not that he saw it because his focus stayed fixed on the waves ahead of them. In all her years as an archaeologist, her integrity had never been questioned, and she found his attitude off-putting. True, her colleagues were generally cautious when it came to sharing key information about certain sites and the commercial value of items, but he was really pushing the envelope. She was angry, insulted, and harshly judged without him even knowing her. He had to know criminal intent was the last thing on her mind. She was simply curious. Nothing more. Perhaps if they hadn’t got off to such a rocky start, he might have cut her some slack and decided he was just being overly cautious, but as things stood, Jami felt she was being unjustly treated.
