Free Benchley, Peter by The Deep [txt]

follow him around to the back. “Did you find any more ampules?”
     
    “One,” said Sanders. “It looks like there’s different stuff in it.”
    Gail handed Treece the ampule. “It was in the same place as last time.”
    Treece nodded at Sanders. “You’re right; different chemical.”
    “What is it?”
    “I’m not sure. It could be a number of things. A heroin mixture or some other opium-based liquid. Might even be another morphine solution. Did you mark it?”
    “Yes,” Gail said. She gave Treece the remaining rock marker.
    “There were no others sprinkled around?”
    “No, and that one wasn’t on top of the sand. We had to dig for it.”
    Treece said, “I best have a look tomorrow night.”
    “Do you want us along?” Gail asked, half-hoping Treece would say no.
    Treece sensed her reluctance. “It’s up to you.
    You’re welcome to come if you want. Or, you can cut now.”
    “You bet we’re coming,” Sanders said. He pointed to Gail’s purse. “Show him the other thing.”
    Treece studied the piece of metal carefully, running his finger around the lip on the inner edge. He squeezed it between thumb and forefinger, and the metal bent easily. “You found this where?”
    “In some rocks,” Sanders said. “It was lodged pretty tight. I had to break some coral to get at it.”
    “You might have used the other rock to mark the spot.”
    “Why?”
    Treece grinned at Sanders. “It’s gold.”
    “Gold? Christ, it looks like somebody threw it away.”
    “No man threw that away. If you’d dug deeper, you’d like have found his bones.”
    “How come it isn’t all crapped up?”
    “That’s one of the marvels of gold,” said Treece.
    “It’s chemically impervious. You could put a fresh-minted gold coin in sea water and leave it there till the end of time, and when you went to fetch it on Judgment Day, it’d be as good as new.
    Nothing grows on it; nothing eats away at it.”
    Gail asked, “What was it?”
    “A cameo of some kind.” Treece pointed to the inner circle. “The picture or etching was in here.
    These”-he touched, one by one, the four pockets on the rim-“held pearls, the symbol of purity. The lad might have worn it around his neck.”
    “What does it mean?”
    “Finding it? Not anything, necessarily. Chances are, a ship went up on the rocks out there, somewhere-God knows where-and the tide washed this and the coin you found in over the reefs. Or a survivor might have tried to swim to shore and didn’t make it. This is personal stuff, not ship’s treasure.” Treece seemed to ponder his own words. “But, dammit, those answers don’t sit right.”
    “Why?”
    “I’ve been all over those reefs for twenty years and more. I’m not saying I know every inch of every Bermuda reef, but because of
    Goliath,
    that area I know. If there’s a
    ship out there, I’d have seen a trace of it by now.
    Guns, the anchor, ballast rock-something.”
    “How old is it?” Sanders said.
    “The cameo? A couple of hundred years.”
    Treece turned it over in his hand. “It’s Spanish. And damn fine workmanship. Very caref ally made.”
    “If it’s a couple hundred years old, Bermuda would have been inhabited when the ship went down-if there is a ship. There could be records.”
    “It depends: if anyone saw it go down, if anyone survived, or if anyone’s salvaged it since. That’s the likeliest-salvage.”
    “Why?”
    “The incident would be over and done with. No need to prolong it with searches or detailed survivors’
    accounts, so no pile of records. If I had to guess at the story, I’d say the ship heaved up on the rocks during a storm, but didn’t sink.
    Maybe a few people-this E.f. included-were washed overboard. When the wind died, they might have caulked her and refloated her. Or, if they couldn’t, they’d’ve stripped her clean-guns, cargo, personal effects, everything-and left her on the rocks. Next big wind’d hash her up and scatter the pieces all over the