boats.”
“Merchant ships,” Holden said.
“Right. They weren’t protected like a treasure galleon with its escort of armed vessels.”
“That’s in line with Chatham’s theory of the wreck being the Moon Rose. ”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Farnsworth said. “AO mentioned a plump bonus if the salvage went beyond a certain amount.”
“There was nothing about that in the dive contract I saw.”
“Oh, the crew wouldn’t get much. I was speaking personally. Although it is about as likely as a blind man finding a needle in a haystack. Moon Rose was perhaps twenty-five meters at the waterline, according to the documentation AO gave me, and presently is spread out like an egg smashed onto concrete from a third-story window.”
“That’s the problem with wooden ships,” Holden said. “The sea bottom constantly changes, coral grows, and things come apart in storms. Radar scans were reasonably clear, though. The wreck is indeed down there. Has anyone recently run metal detectors over the site?”
“Volkert would know about that. Or Larry, if you can catch him awake and above water. Poor devil is doing the work of three men. The most recent detailed metal scan that I have a file of was”—papers rustled, computer keys clacked, and Farnsworth continued—“sector C2, just off center of the main hulk. That’s where the ingots and a handful of the gold coins came out. Two were unique. Lovely coins, so much history in the reversed face. AO was quite excited and told me not to say a word.”
Holden hadn’t been told about finding more of the special coins, but it explained why some people at AO were so determined to continue with the dive. Hoping his superior was correct, Holden studied the images of the wreck that he had. “In theory, every grid square should be producing something, if only pottery.”
“The gold chain was rather nice.”
“My inbox is full of specific requests that one grid or another be hoovered up and spilled out onto the dredge platform,” Holden said.
“Did they give you specific depths to search in each grid?” Farnsworth asked eagerly.
“No. I pointed out that lack to Chatham. He said they were doing the best they could with the information at hand, and if I needed more, I should get it without interfering with the salvage process itself.”
“I think that would be rather difficult and probably a waste of your time. On the subject of wasted time, AO hasn’t demanded a visual review of the dive records, have they?”
Holden thought of the hours and hours and hours of dives recorded and archived as .mpg files. Going through them would be less interesting than watching grass grow.
“Some poor drone spends her days in London doing just that,” Holden said. “If Ms. Pinkham had found anything dodgy, the local constables would already have boarded the Golden Bough and locked up everything in sight.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“Not at all. I’m here to assess the efficiency of the dive itself,” Holden said. It wasn’t the whole truth, but the rest was nothing Farnsworth needed to know. “You’ve spent a lot of time on board. Have you noticed anything unusual in the crew or the salvage operations?”
“Sorry. Usually I work on land. This is only my second time on a marine salvage site. I wouldn’t know what is common, much less out of place.”
Holden tried another angle. “What’s your impression of the elder Donnelly?”
“I’ve had almost nothing to do with him. His grandson seems a hard worker.”
“What of the granddaughter?”
“Larry mentioned once or twice that he had a sister. Sorry, mate. I’m not being much help, am I?”
“Why don’t you ask me?” said a cold voice from the doorway.
Kate’s voice.
Abruptly Holden ended the connection with Farnsworth and turned to her. When he saw her eyes widen, he remembered that all he wore was briefs.
“If it bothers you,” he said, “I’ll dress.”
“No,” she said, then
“Merchant ships,” Holden said.
“Right. They weren’t protected like a treasure galleon with its escort of armed vessels.”
“That’s in line with Chatham’s theory of the wreck being the Moon Rose. ”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Farnsworth said. “AO mentioned a plump bonus if the salvage went beyond a certain amount.”
“There was nothing about that in the dive contract I saw.”
“Oh, the crew wouldn’t get much. I was speaking personally. Although it is about as likely as a blind man finding a needle in a haystack. Moon Rose was perhaps twenty-five meters at the waterline, according to the documentation AO gave me, and presently is spread out like an egg smashed onto concrete from a third-story window.”
“That’s the problem with wooden ships,” Holden said. “The sea bottom constantly changes, coral grows, and things come apart in storms. Radar scans were reasonably clear, though. The wreck is indeed down there. Has anyone recently run metal detectors over the site?”
“Volkert would know about that. Or Larry, if you can catch him awake and above water. Poor devil is doing the work of three men. The most recent detailed metal scan that I have a file of was”—papers rustled, computer keys clacked, and Farnsworth continued—“sector C2, just off center of the main hulk. That’s where the ingots and a handful of the gold coins came out. Two were unique. Lovely coins, so much history in the reversed face. AO was quite excited and told me not to say a word.”
Holden hadn’t been told about finding more of the special coins, but it explained why some people at AO were so determined to continue with the dive. Hoping his superior was correct, Holden studied the images of the wreck that he had. “In theory, every grid square should be producing something, if only pottery.”
“The gold chain was rather nice.”
“My inbox is full of specific requests that one grid or another be hoovered up and spilled out onto the dredge platform,” Holden said.
“Did they give you specific depths to search in each grid?” Farnsworth asked eagerly.
“No. I pointed out that lack to Chatham. He said they were doing the best they could with the information at hand, and if I needed more, I should get it without interfering with the salvage process itself.”
“I think that would be rather difficult and probably a waste of your time. On the subject of wasted time, AO hasn’t demanded a visual review of the dive records, have they?”
Holden thought of the hours and hours and hours of dives recorded and archived as .mpg files. Going through them would be less interesting than watching grass grow.
“Some poor drone spends her days in London doing just that,” Holden said. “If Ms. Pinkham had found anything dodgy, the local constables would already have boarded the Golden Bough and locked up everything in sight.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“Not at all. I’m here to assess the efficiency of the dive itself,” Holden said. It wasn’t the whole truth, but the rest was nothing Farnsworth needed to know. “You’ve spent a lot of time on board. Have you noticed anything unusual in the crew or the salvage operations?”
“Sorry. Usually I work on land. This is only my second time on a marine salvage site. I wouldn’t know what is common, much less out of place.”
Holden tried another angle. “What’s your impression of the elder Donnelly?”
“I’ve had almost nothing to do with him. His grandson seems a hard worker.”
“What of the granddaughter?”
“Larry mentioned once or twice that he had a sister. Sorry, mate. I’m not being much help, am I?”
“Why don’t you ask me?” said a cold voice from the doorway.
Kate’s voice.
Abruptly Holden ended the connection with Farnsworth and turned to her. When he saw her eyes widen, he remembered that all he wore was briefs.
“If it bothers you,” he said, “I’ll dress.”
“No,” she said, then
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