The Eye of Heaven

4

As morning drifted lazily by, Dominic failed to get any response from his contacts, and Remi decided to take matters into her own hands. She activated one of the satellite phones and called a familiar number. Selma Wondrash answered on the fourth ring.

“Selma? It’s Remi. Sorry to call so late.”

“There you are! I haven’t heard from you for almost a week. I get worried when you two go dark on me.”

“We were busy with the dive.”

“How did it go?”

“We’re finished, but there’s a wrinkle.”

“Isn’t there always? What can I do to help?”

“What kind of contacts do you have with the Spanish Navy?”

Selma thought about it, processing furiously. “Spanish Navy … let me dig around some. If I don’t have an in, I can probably find someone who knows the right people. What did you have in mind?”

Remi explained her thinking and Selma grunted assent. “I understand. Let me get on this. It’s one in the morning here, but I’m still up, so might as well make use of myself.”

“I was afraid I’d woken you.”

Selma hesitated. “No, I’ve been somewhat of a night owl lately. Insomnia. Comes and goes.”

“I hate that. You should take something for it — you sleep little enough as it is …”

“If it lasts much longer, I will. But for now, it’s a good thing I was up. I’ll call you back once I have something to report. Is there anything else?”

“Have the Gulfstream fueled and ready for takeoff for tomorrow evening. That’ll give us the twenty-four hours we need from our last dive. File a flight plan for San Diego. We’re coming home.”

“That’s wonderful. Consider it done.”

Sam had purchased a Gulfstream G650 business jet with an effective range of over seventy-five hundred miles from a bank that had repossessed it from an investment group that had fallen on lean times. Since acquiring it, their ability to move around the globe had increased markedly. The extravagance was unlike him, but as the accountants had pointed out, there was never a U-Haul following the hearse at a funeral — you couldn’t take it with you. The sale of the company and the ongoing royalties from Sam’s latest inventions ensured that they would always have far greater financial resources than they could spend in ten lifetimes.

Remi hung up and leaned in to Sam, who was standing on the aft deck, gazing at the blue expanse of the Mediterranean distrustfully as though Benedict’s yacht would reappear at any instant.

“Selma’s putting on the full-court press. Knowing her, she’ll have the Seventh Fleet here by lunchtime.”

Sam put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Have I told you lately how lucky I am to have you?”

She turned to face him, stood on her tiptoes, and rewarded him with a long kiss. “I’m glad you’re finally realizing it. Does this mean my spa time and hedonistic pampering start soon?”

“The moment we arrive home.”

They took in the calm sea, a few recreational craft puttering in the distance near the island, and Remi touched her lucky scarab necklace. “All things considered, this could have been a lot worse. At least we didn’t have to take on a small army of guerrillas armed only with a spade and a flintlock.”

“Ah, the good old days. You’re right, of course, I just wish I’d gotten to that last statue in time. Thirty more seconds and we’d have had it clear.”

“I know, but you can’t win them all, and I’d say that we did pretty well for a last-minute improvisation.”

Dominic approached them from the pilothouse, a dejected expression on his handsome face, the dusting of a five o’clock shadow and the red bandanna covering his hair lending him the air of a pirate. “Still nothing. I’m afraid we won’t be hearing anything until Monday, but at least the yacht has left the area, no?”

“But it might come back — and the wreck still needs guarding. We’ve put some things in motion on our end. It’s a long shot, but you never know,” Sam said.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed as he smiled his infectious Castilian grin. “That would be wonderful. Everything’s closed down at the university, so I’m getting nowhere.”

Half an hour later, Remi’s satellite phone trilled and she had a murmured discussion with Selma before disconnecting. “The cavalry’s coming over the hill,” she said.

Sam nodded. “How long?”

“Two hours. They’re going to send a boat from Cartagena, but it’ll take some time to get it under way.”

Sam and Remi had returned to the main deck when they heard the distant roar of large engines from the west. Remi scanned the water and pointed at a gray shape bearing down on their position. A two-hundred-foot Serviola-class naval patrol vessel approached from the harbor at Cartagena, and as it drew near she could make out its name: Atalaya.

They both stood and watched as it anchored nearby. They were soon joined by Dominic.

“I’d say that should keep any treasure hunters away until a proper recovery of the wreck’s cargo can be mounted,” Sam said. He filled Dominic in on the predawn raid on Benedict’s boat and handed him a slip of paper with coordinates scribbled on it. “The nets are at this waypoint. The yacht’s divers were kind enough to retrieve them from the wreck, so it should be child’s play to raise them from the bottom.” He took another look at the warship and nodded. “With our early-morning dive, we won’t be able to fly until tomorrow. Any chance we could impose one more night?”

“A pleasure — and I’ll take you to the mainland myself.”

The next morning they packed their belongings, including the night vision dive gear to return to Sam’s source. Dominic shared a farewell luncheon with Sam and Remi. The crew had had a very successful fishing expedition that morning. Enjoying a last glass of the excellent local Albarino white wine, Sam said, “We appreciate all the hospitality, Dominic. But looking at the time, we need to get ashore. Can we catch that ride you promised us?”

“Of course. Give me five minutes.”

They loaded into a fiberglass skiff, twenty-four feet long with a single powerful outboard, and then they were slicing through the gentle waves, an occasional bump and splash as they encountered a bigger swell sending a curtain of salt spray high into the air. Sam and Remi sat amidships on a hard bench seat as Dominic captained the craft from the stern. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the commercial port in Cartagena, where, after saying their good-byes, they flagged down a taxi to take them to Murcia — San Javier Airport, fifteen miles away.

Their jet waited on the tarmac. The two pilots, Brad Sterling and Rex Fender, were running their preflight checklists while Sandra, the flight attendant, supervised the provisioning of the sleek plane, watching the catering personnel with a sharp eye as food and drink were loaded aboard. When the Fargos arrived, she greeted them warmly, her weeklong vacation in Spain now at an end, and Remi noted that she’d found time to catch some sun in the seaside town, no doubt having a more relaxing time than they’d had on the Bermudez with a round-the-clock diving schedule.

“We filed a flight plan and should be in the air within twenty minutes, tops,” Brad informed them. “Flight time will be eleven hours at forty-eight thousand feet, and it should be smooth sailing — we’ll be above any weather.”

Sam and Remi settled into the oversize, hand-stitched leather seats. A separate cabin in the rear was furnished with a bed that occupied most of the width. Sandra had thoughtfully arranged for a chilled bottle of 2004 Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame champagne and two crystal flutes to ease their wait for takeoff. Sam popped the cork with a flourish and poured them each a portion, which they sipped with relish.

The powerful turbines whined as Sandra closed and secured the fuselage door, and after a brief taxi to the far end of the runway the sleek jet was streaking into the sky in defiance of gravity, climbing at a steep angle over the Mediterranean before executing a gentle bank west.

Once they were at their cruising altitude, the Spanish mainland disappearing behind them, Sam and Remi logged on to their respective computer terminals to prepare for their next outing: an expedition in the northern reaches of Canada to assist in a U.S. Coast Guard — sponsored exploration of the fjords of Baffin Island to study the cataclysmic melting of the glaciers. They’d been invited by their friend Commander Wes Hall, and would spend a week there using Sam’s specialized equipment to collect data on the geophysical changes.

They touched down at San Diego International Airport just before nine p.m., where they were greeted at the charter terminal by Selma, who was driving the Cadillac CTS-V. Remi hugged her while Sam loaded the bags into the expansive trunk and soon they were on their way to their oceanfront home in La Jolla.

“So, did you miss us?” Sam asked.

“Of course. The house isn’t the same when you’re not there,” Selma said.

“How’s Zoltán? Is he being a good boy?” Remi asked. Zoltán was their king-sized German shepherd, brought back from Hungary after one of their adventures involving Attila the Hun’s lost tomb.

“You know him. He doesn’t know how to be anything but good. Although you can tell he misses you, of course. Remi, you’re the love of his life. I really think if he could talk, your husband there would have a run for his money,” Selma joked.

“Hey. He’s a handsome beast, but I’ve got opposable thumbs,” Sam reminded, and everyone laughed good-naturedly.

When they pulled into the garage, Sam and Remi could hear Zoltán barking even with the car doors still closed.

Sam said, “You go ahead. I’ll bring up the rear with the bags. Sounds like your second love is going berserk. Better say hi before he tears the wall down.”

The garage door closed behind them, and Selma popped the trunk while Remi made for the entrance. When she opened the door and stepped into the connecting hall, Zoltán’s barking ceased, replaced by a low whine as his sensitive nose detected Remi’s presence. She entered the kitchen to find Zoltán sitting obediently, quivering with anticipation but too disciplined to rush her. She approached, got down on one knee, and gave him a long hug, and he reciprocated with a kiss and a nuzzle, in a kind of canine heaven to have the mistress of the house finally back, his lush tail sweeping the floor in a fan of joy.

Selma came in, followed by Sam with their luggage, and Zoltán whined again, his every dream now reality. Sam dropped the bags by the refrigerator doors and clapped his hands together, inviting Zoltán to him, and the dog gladly leapt forward. Sam scratched behind his ears, and Remi joined him, petting Zoltán, as Selma watched the reunion with a smile.

“Do you want me to take your stuff up to your room?” Selma asked.

Remi shook her head. “Sam will do it. After a week of loafing around, he could use the exercise.”

“That’s right. It was nothing but gin and donuts out on the water. I let Remi do all the hard work. Didn’t want to pull something or hurt myself,” Sam said.

Selma’s poker face didn’t twitch. “Well, then, if you don’t mind, I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Thanks for picking us up, Selma,” Remi said.

“No problem. All in a day’s work,” Selma said, and then retired to her suite.

Up in the master bedroom, Remi threw herself down on the king-sized bed with a sigh of happiness, Zoltán already curled up on the floor by the footboard.

“It’s good to be back,” Sam said. “And as an added bonus, the floor’s not rocking. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Relax. We’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Yeah, but the time difference has got me coming and going. I don’t know whether I should be having breakfast or a nightcap.”

Remi sat up. “Did Selma seem odd to you?”

“Odd? In what way?” Sam asked as he pulled off his shirt.

“I don’t know. Subdued. Maybe a little preoccupied.”

“Possibly. But didn’t you tell me she’s been having problems sleeping recently? I know I get kind of grumpy when I’m short on rest.”

“Kind of grumpy? More like a bear whose hibernation was disturbed.”

“Bears need ‘me time,’ too.”

“Maybe you should talk to her tomorrow. Ask her. As for me, I’ve got seven thousand miles of travel dust to hose off.”

“I didn’t see much dust inside the plane you wing us away on these days.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And soon, squeaky clean as a newborn.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”