that?”
“The Charles Scott Ghanet thing.”
“Charles Scott made the paper? I’ll have to read it when I get time.”
I got up and walked across the bay to the firefighters’ quarters and my locker, changed into my uniform, and inspected my face in the bathroom mirror. I only needed to shave every two or three days, but I ran the electric shaver over my face anyway.
The news about Ghanet had hit me like a falling house. If Sears didn’t nab us, the local gendarmes would, and if the local gendarmes didn’t, the FBI would, and if the FBI didn’t, some tenacious reporter would do it for them—all of which didn’t even take into account the treasure seekers who were bound to show up. I could turn myself in right now, but at this late date I couldn’t see how it would make any difference.
My only consolation was that we hadn’t made bigger targets of ourselves by indulging in conspicuous binge spending. If you were going to be a criminal, you’d better be a smart one—like Ghanet. Look poor; act poor. Keep your money where nobody will find it. Avoid ostentatious displays of wealth.
I relieved my man early—actually, my woman, Stanislow—and busied myself in the apparatus bay doing normal morning maintenance in the hope that keeping busy would stave off my mounting anxiety. I half expected Tronstad and Johnson to call in sick, but they showed up at their normal times, Ted at 0729, one minute to spare, and Robert six minutes later, at 0735. Sears and I were the only ones who routinely came in early. The drivers on the other shifts resented Johnson, who came in precisely five minutes late every shift. Whenever he needed somebody to trade shifts or stay over a half hour, he got stiffed, a fact he attributed to racial prejudice, when in fact it was due to his chronic tardiness, a habit that, ironically, several others unfairly attributed to race.
If Johnson and Tronstad knew about Ghanet, they didn’t let on. Tronstad was bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning ear to ear, and Johnson moved about the apparatus bay whistling as he checked the lights on the rig, the fuel level, and the water level in the tank, looking over the hose beds and equipment and glancing at his watch periodically.
Johnson approached the workbench, where I was running the Lifepak through the morning tests. “You see the newspapers?” I asked.
“I saw.” He grinned, his teeth white and even. “We got the real deal. Think about it. No taxes, either. We’re rich.”
“We’re not rich, Robert. We’re in trouble.”
“How do you figure?”
“To start with, there’s a thousand cops looking for what we have. And Sears doesn’t know about Ghanet right now, but once he does, he’s going to figure out what that bond was all about. I wouldn’t be surprised if the chief of the department and the police show up for roll call.”
The permanent frown lines in Johnson’s forehead deepened into trenches, as if this was the first time he’d considered the bonds a liability instead of an asset.
“I think we should turn it in right now. Tell them we thought it was worthless. That Tronstad took it and we would have given it back earlier but we thought it was junk.”
“No way in hell. I’m not doing it.”
“What if I turn it in? I’m the one who has it.”
“I’ll tell them you stole it.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.”
“Jesus, Johnson. You’re losing your marbles here.”
“
You
are, if you think I’m giving back twelve million dollars.”
“You two having another lovers’ quarrel?” said Tronstad, grinning as he passed us on his way to the watch office for eight o’clock roll call.
As usual, Sears had typed out a schedule for us. No other officer I’d heard of was as meticulous, or as obsessive.
“Listen,” Sears said after we’d gathered in the watch office for roll call, “I’ve been out of town at a women’s rugby tournament with Heather, so I haven’t had time to think about
“The Charles Scott Ghanet thing.”
“Charles Scott made the paper? I’ll have to read it when I get time.”
I got up and walked across the bay to the firefighters’ quarters and my locker, changed into my uniform, and inspected my face in the bathroom mirror. I only needed to shave every two or three days, but I ran the electric shaver over my face anyway.
The news about Ghanet had hit me like a falling house. If Sears didn’t nab us, the local gendarmes would, and if the local gendarmes didn’t, the FBI would, and if the FBI didn’t, some tenacious reporter would do it for them—all of which didn’t even take into account the treasure seekers who were bound to show up. I could turn myself in right now, but at this late date I couldn’t see how it would make any difference.
My only consolation was that we hadn’t made bigger targets of ourselves by indulging in conspicuous binge spending. If you were going to be a criminal, you’d better be a smart one—like Ghanet. Look poor; act poor. Keep your money where nobody will find it. Avoid ostentatious displays of wealth.
I relieved my man early—actually, my woman, Stanislow—and busied myself in the apparatus bay doing normal morning maintenance in the hope that keeping busy would stave off my mounting anxiety. I half expected Tronstad and Johnson to call in sick, but they showed up at their normal times, Ted at 0729, one minute to spare, and Robert six minutes later, at 0735. Sears and I were the only ones who routinely came in early. The drivers on the other shifts resented Johnson, who came in precisely five minutes late every shift. Whenever he needed somebody to trade shifts or stay over a half hour, he got stiffed, a fact he attributed to racial prejudice, when in fact it was due to his chronic tardiness, a habit that, ironically, several others unfairly attributed to race.
If Johnson and Tronstad knew about Ghanet, they didn’t let on. Tronstad was bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning ear to ear, and Johnson moved about the apparatus bay whistling as he checked the lights on the rig, the fuel level, and the water level in the tank, looking over the hose beds and equipment and glancing at his watch periodically.
Johnson approached the workbench, where I was running the Lifepak through the morning tests. “You see the newspapers?” I asked.
“I saw.” He grinned, his teeth white and even. “We got the real deal. Think about it. No taxes, either. We’re rich.”
“We’re not rich, Robert. We’re in trouble.”
“How do you figure?”
“To start with, there’s a thousand cops looking for what we have. And Sears doesn’t know about Ghanet right now, but once he does, he’s going to figure out what that bond was all about. I wouldn’t be surprised if the chief of the department and the police show up for roll call.”
The permanent frown lines in Johnson’s forehead deepened into trenches, as if this was the first time he’d considered the bonds a liability instead of an asset.
“I think we should turn it in right now. Tell them we thought it was worthless. That Tronstad took it and we would have given it back earlier but we thought it was junk.”
“No way in hell. I’m not doing it.”
“What if I turn it in? I’m the one who has it.”
“I’ll tell them you stole it.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.”
“Jesus, Johnson. You’re losing your marbles here.”
“
You
are, if you think I’m giving back twelve million dollars.”
“You two having another lovers’ quarrel?” said Tronstad, grinning as he passed us on his way to the watch office for eight o’clock roll call.
As usual, Sears had typed out a schedule for us. No other officer I’d heard of was as meticulous, or as obsessive.
“Listen,” Sears said after we’d gathered in the watch office for roll call, “I’ve been out of town at a women’s rugby tournament with Heather, so I haven’t had time to think about
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