He heard her clearing her throat. “Nothing. Most of us are here on the Voreio Asteri.”
“Be there shortly.” He checked his air, saw he had about ten minutes left, and signaled to Nikos that they needed to head up.
The older man nodded, then went back to dusting. He’d uncovered at least a dozen more gold coins very near the location where they’d found the first coin that he’d given to Remi, and was, undoubtedly, eager to find more.
That the Samian ship survived the centuries in the Aegean waters at all was a miracle in itself, but not unheard of. The partial hulls of even older ships, from the late fourteenth century B.C., had been found by sponge divers off the Antalya coast of Turkey in similar depths just east of them. Sam thought that this find would possibly rival that, if nothing else due to the historical connection to Cyrus the Great—never mind Pactyes, the man who’d stolen the gold, then hired the Samian ship to carry it from the mainland.
If this was the fabled Poseidon’s Trident treasure, there was a lot more than these few coins to be found. Other than the one Remi had taken up, they weren’t about to remove anything before they mapped it. A site this significant, the government archeologists would continue to keep the location secret, and be living on-site until the wreck was completely salvaged of the important and valuable artifacts.
Unfortunately, as much as Sam—and no doubt, Remi—would love to be involved every step of the way, the entire excavation could take several years. They’d have to leave the majority of that work to Nikos, the Fourni crew, and the governmental archeologists, who were no doubt setting up shop above them even now.
Sam, seeing that Nikos had no intention of stopping, tapped him on the arm, then touched his dive watch, indicating that they needed to return to the boat.
And, once again, Nikos nodded, then continued dusting the artifact. The water clouded as the particles rose then settled away, revealing the curved edge of a rather large object just visible beneath the sand. Nikos ran his finger against it, revealing something long, round, and encrusted. Too large to be a plate, too small to be a shield. Maybe a serving platter.
Finally, Nikos put away his brush, then signaled that he was ready.
Sam hit the talk button. “On our way up.”
There was a click, as though someone quickly grabbed the radio to acknowledge his transmission. For some reason, that brought to mind Remi’s earlier transmission. While there was nothing outwardly wrong, it struck him that something was off. Not her voice—that had sounded normal.
It was something to do with the boat.
Sam’s Greek was far too rusty. He reached out, tapping Nikos, then picked up his slate board, writing: What is “Vorayo Asteri”?
Nikos eyed Sam’s phonetic spelling, then nodded, taking the pen, writing:
“Voreio Asteri. North Star.”
Sam’s blood turned to ice.
Remi was in trouble.
He scrawled Adrian Kyril’s name on the board, then pointed toward the surface. As they started their ascent, Sam saw two divers silhouetted above. Both carried what, at first glance, looked like metal detectors, something that members of the archeological team might carry.
Except if he was right about Remi’s warning, they weren’t archeologists—and those were not metal detectors.
They were pneumatic spearguns.
He grabbed Nikos’s arm, pulling him back toward the bottom, then pushing him toward a rock about a yard wide. The octopus they’d seen earlier scuttled out and darted across the rounded edge of the platelike object Nikos had been dusting. Sam reached down, grasped the edge, tugging it from the sand. A cloud of silt swept up as he freed the object. It looked like a large round platter encrusted with centuries of buildup.
Sam held it with both hands as one of Kyril’s men stopped swimming, then aimed. The spear shot through the water, hitting the platter. Bits of concretion broke off, floating to the seafloor. The second diver aimed before Sam had a chance to move. He swung his makeshift shield, the water slowing its path. The spear glanced off it, almost knocking the plate from Sam’s hands.
The two men started to reload. Sam, seeing his chance, shoved the plate toward Nikos, then swam toward them. He reached the first diver, who was struggling with his speargun. Sam gripped the end of it, trying to pull it from the man’s grasp. The diver kicked out, then fired, as Sam jerked the barrel upward, the shot going wide. Sam wrested the speargun, dropped it, then grabbed the man by both wrists.
As they struggled, the diver brought up his knees to Sam’s chest, pushing out. Sam kept his hold on the attacker and wrapped both legs around the man’s waist, squeezing tight. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other man, his speargun loaded, aiming it at them. Sam held his thighs around the diver, then, twisting, forced him around. The man jerked, then suddenly went limp, the spear piercing through his side.
A thin cloud of blood drifted outward as Sam let the body go. He saw the second diver toss the now useless gun. The man drew his dive knife and started swimming straight toward Sam.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Time seemed to fragment as Remi stood on the deck next to Dimitris, counting the minutes after Kyril’s men dove into the water to bring up Sam and Nikos. She knew her husband, knew his capabilities, but try as she might, she couldn’t control her growing fear that, when she’d left him, he had only about ten minutes of air left in his tank, and he’d now been down there for twenty minutes.
Adrian Kyril, gun in hand, paced the deck, every now and then stopping to look over the side into the water. After another five minutes went by, he turned to Remi. “Tell your husband that if he fails to come up, I’ll kill the both of you and everyone on board the Odysseus.”
When she didn’t move, he grabbed her by her arm, forcing her back into the cabin.
He pressed the gun into her ribs. “It doesn’t much matter who I kill first. The choice is yours.”