Free Byzantine Gold by Chris Karlsen Page B

questions I can answer while we ride over.”
    Nassor didn’t respond.
    “Nassor?”
    No response.
    “Nassor?”
    He remained silent, staring at the shuttle like it was a space ship.
    “Hey, Jafari.”
    Finally, he turned. “Yes.”
    “Did you hear what I said?”
    “Yes, I heard. I apologize. I have much on my mind.”
    “No problem.”
    Whether you call him a fish or duck, either way he was odd. That’s twice in a matter of fifteen minutes the guy lost track of time or his surroundings. What the hell?

Chapter Thirteen

    Onboard the Suraya, Charlotte and the rest of the divers gathered around the map table in the bridge. Refik spread the site survey marking the grids he and Talat established days prior to everyone’s arrival in Salamis.
    In addition to the grids, the survey indicated decompression stops and what the divers referred to as the telephone booths . Air filled hemispheres of Plexiglass that kept the diver dry from the waist up. The domed booths had an emergency bottle of oxygen attached to the cables anchoring the booth to the seabed. They also contained a state-of-the-art Buddy Phone, an ultrasonic transceiver allowing the divers to communicate with the surface and vice-versa. Safety and unforeseen logistical issues could be sent topside for advice and adjustments made.
    Charlotte’s attention drifted from the survey to a row of new AGA Masks on the bridge’s rear counter. The AGA was a full face mask with a “voice-box,” or VOX feature. The voice operated transmission circuit let the diver speak hands-free. It also gave the divers the ability to talk to each other. They weren’t used on the last project. She’d often lamented the inability to talk to Atakan when they dived. The masks were a fantastic addition.
    “Will we use these today?” she asked Refik, pointing to the AGAs.
    “No, they’re not needed for the basic work today.”
    “Bummer.”
    Refik divided the morning teams into two groups. One would finish measuring and gridding off the site. The other, Charlotte’s, would start close-up photography.
    She took the twenty-eight millimeter Olympus digital camera, checked for the sim card, and slipped the strap over her head. Rachel partnered with Derek. They took another camera with different lenses, a wide-angle, and a macro zoom lens.
    “I thought you and Talat were partners,” Charlotte said low.
    “We’ll be together for the afternoon dive. He used his morning underwater time retesting the booths.”
    Like the project the previous season, the wreck was at a depth that didn’t require the more exotic gas mixes. The team kept to oxygen tanks. One of the drawbacks of oxygen was the twenty-minute limit to each dive and the two dive limit per day.
    “I am good with cameras,” Nassor said to Charlotte when she turned back to him. “Perhaps, it is best if you take the light instead.”
    She planted the light in front of Nassor. “I’m good with them too.” Seniority had to count for something. He could operate the light. Photography wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it was more fun than messing around with the lamp cord and positioning.
    They moved to the dive platform and did a final recheck of their equipment.
    “ Ground control to Major Tom,” Charlotte sung softly as she finished the task.
    “What is the song you’re singing? I never heard it,” Nassor asked.
    “An old David Bowie tune. To me, my vision of what we do underwater is comparable to astronauts in space. The song is about an astronaut who is stranded in space.”
    “You like this comparison?”
    “Well, not that part,” she conceded. “But it’s the only song I know about astronauts.”
    They slid into the water, Charlotte first, then Nassor following on the guideline.
    The gentle currents gave them good visibility. As was her habit, Charlotte paused briefly on the seafloor to savor the celestial-like evocative nature around her. At a depth of thirty meters, the water retained its rich blue