Hatteras Blue (7 page)

"How long's that for?"

"Two years mandatory."

"This Hirsch, she keeps close tabs on you."

"She's new to her job. Wants to save me."

"From?"

Galloway didn't answer. Keyes waited a moment, then sighed. "Were you in the Coast Guard?"

"Of course."

"What happened?"

"Nam."

'"What did you do there?"

"I was a salvage diver in Saigon harbor. Later I got a chance to work with the Seals."

"What kind of work?"

"Combat demolition."

"like today?"

"If this was North Vietnam, and we did it at night, and people were trying to kill us, yeah, it would be kind of like today."

"Why did you leave the Coast Guard?"

"Drugs."

"Selling?"

"Using."

"You use now?"

"Only this," said Galloway, polishing off another shot.

Neither man said anything for a long time after that. The sun dipped lower. The blond man's face was in shadow now. Galloway felt vaguely relieved. He poured himself a splash more.

"Too bad about the boy."

"He'll bounce back. Jack's always been a tough kid."

'You've known him long?"

"Since he was born. He's a double cousin."

"I see. Did I understand him right? He really owns this boat?"

"It was confiscated. After they found me guilty the Guard sold it at auction. He bought it."

"With whose money?"

Galloway flicked up his eyes, but didn't answer.

"Why don't you buy it back from him now?"

"Parole condition. I can't own a boat. Plus, I happen to be broke. He went to that knockdown with the last cash I had in his jeans."

"I see. So he owns it, but you run it."

"That's right, we're partners," said Galloway. He finished what was in his glass, looked at the bottle, then put it away. "All right. Let's have your proposition."

"I want you to do a little research for me," said Keyes. "Or with me. Dig around in some local history. If that's successful, I may want your assistance with a dive or two, and the use of your boat."

"That last part sounds like another offer I got once."

"The one that put you in prison? Maybe it sounds like it. But it isn't."

"So what is this research about?"

"It's a hobby. I'm interested in military history. Always have been. I'm ex-Army, matter of fact I was in Vietnam too. Now and then I write an article. I've published in
Military Review; Naval History; Army
magazine, and some little academic periodicals nobody reads much. That sort of thing."

'You've got a story?"

"Maybe. Got a lead. Just have to track it down."

'You said diving. Where?"

"Not sure. Somewhere off the coast."

"How far out?"

"Can't say exactly. Maybe forty, fifty miles."

Galloway glanced toward the chart table. Something gnawed at his memory. He frowned, but nothing came. 'You talking treasure hunting of some kind? Pirate ship? Spanish galleon?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Purely historical interest. There might be souvenir value, if we found it first, but that's all."

"What ship was it?"

"I'm not sure yet. That's why I need to do the research."

"How deep would it be?"

"I'm not sure. Could be as much as two hundred meters."

Galloway whistled. "Six hundred feet? You're not asking for much, are you?"

"It wouldn't be an easy job. That's why I came to you."

Galloway heaved himself from the bunk and leaned over the chart table. He clicked on a light. "Show me."

Keyes picked up the dividers and rule, consulted the latitude and longitude markings, and laid off several lines with a pencil.

"There," he said. "As best I can figure, what we're looking for, if it exists, should be somewhere in there."

Galloway scratched his head. The lane, or corridor, was ten nautical miles wide. Starting roughly off Kin-nekeet, it passed southward some thirty miles off the tip of the Cape before bending to run southwest. Water depth was thirty fathoms at the landward side, deepening to almost a hundred to the east. 'You can't narrow it down any more? That's hundreds of square miles of ocean." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "If it's a wreck, though ... I could check around the waterfront, up at the inlet. The charter boat captains. When you have a flat sand bottom like this, fish congregate around wrecks—"

"No!" Keyes almost shouted, then restrained himself. "I don't want that. I don't want anyone to know we're interested in this area."

"You mean search it ourselves? You're crazy. I'd love to take your money, but forget it. There's just too much ocean there."

"Oh, I agree. But now there may be a way to narrow it down." Keyes moved away from the table. When he sat down again his voice dropped. "That's where our research will come in. Listen. Do you recall, about two months ago, several bodies were discovered on the beach, a little north of here?"

Galloway had sat down too, and picked up the bottle again; but now he halted it halfway to his lips. He had the expression of a man who discovers another level beneath a conversation that up to now he had toyed with.

"The Indian grave. What about it?"

'You know about it?"

"Just what I read in the
Current.
The local paper."

"It was found by a company called O. R. Galloway. Any relation?"

After a moment Galloway said, "My brother. He's a big developer here. But I haven't seen him for years. We sort of—lost contact."

"I see. Well, one of the wire services picked the story up. That an ancient burial site had been discovered. That's how I happened to see it."

"And that made you come to Hatteras?" said Galloway.

"That's right."

"Go on."

"They weren't Indians," said Keyes.

"How do you know that?"

"I got here yesterday," said Keyes, hesitating a little then, "and called the sheriff, telling him I was interested for historical reasons, I needed more details. I didn't get much out of him. He stuck to the Indian story, but refused to show me the remains. Said there were legal problems, Antiquities Act or something. So then I went over to the site and managed to find one of the laborers, one of the guys who actually dug it up. I persuaded him to tell the truth."

"I hope it didn't cost you too much."

"It didn't. Here's what he told me: There were three bodies. They were dressed in civilian clothes and had six thousand dollars in cash on them. They also had a rubber raft. There was identification, but it was false. The ration coupons they had for gas and meat, on the other hand, were genuine. The coupons were dated 1944. They'd all been killed, it looked like to him, with shotguns."

"Christ," said Galloway, sitting up.

"Exactly. I asked him then if there'd been anything else found with the bodies. He said no—except two very rusty pistols. Well, I think there was more. Maybe not when they were found, but shortly before they died. What we'd have to find is the person, or persons, who killed them. It'd be hopeless for me, I wouldn't know the first place to go. I'm an outsider here, even my accent's wrong. That's where you'd help."

"Kind of late to try to solve a murder," said Galloway. "But I guess it'd make an interesting story, at that. So. Who were they?"

"I figure Germans."

"Obviously. And spies."

"Maybe. Or refugees. The question is, why were they killed?"

"If they came ashore in a rubber boat in wartime, on these beaches, they were spies. And the people here would treat them accordingly. This was before the road, before development. People here are used to taking care of themselves; they always have."

"Summary justice. Sure. But even then, why would the bodies be hidden in the dunes, why would nothing have ever been published about it? And why is the sheriff circulating this story that they're Indian bones a thousand years old?"

"Okay, you've convinced me there's something fishy. Go on. What exactly you lookin' for? That you think they had with them?"

"I'm not quite sure. A book?"

"What kind of book?"

"I don't know. A logbook. Or a chart, the one they were navigating on when they sank. Anything that would tell us more."

"Let's talk about that for a minute. Are you sure you want this bad enough to hire me?"

"I think I can afford your fees."

"Let's make sure. Say a hundred a day to hire me as a, I don't know, a local guide, a research assistant. If it comes to diving, that goes up to four hundred a day, for
Victory.
Hundred an hour diving time for me, hun-dred-fifty an hour over a hundred feet, and two hundred over two hundred feet—if I feel like going that deep; we'd have to use mixed gas, and that costs. And another thing. I don't work alone."

"I'd help, of course."

"No problem there, but I'd want Jack."

"At the same rate?"

"Oh, hell, no. Jack comes for half my fee. Once he's on his feet, I mean."

"We can use your partner, if he's not too banged up. But what about this girl? Hirsch? She won't butt in, will she?"

Galloway tapped his fingers together. "Christ, I don't know. See, she can come aboard anytime, she's my conscience. I don't get the feeling she has too many other customers at the moment. Actually she makes herself useful. She doesn't dive, but she's not afraid to work. I let her handle the boat when we're below."

"But she's in law enforcement."

"So it
is
illegal."

"No. I'd just like to do this story quietly."

"Lot of competition in the history business?"

"Something like that." Keyes grinned.

"Well, I'll try to discourage her. But that might not be easy. Especially if she gets auspicious."

"Are you sleeping with her?"

Galloway frowned. "You asked me that before. No."

Keyes looked at the overhead. A smile gradually worked its way into his eyes. "Even if she came along ... having her might not be inconvenient. We'll see. Anything else?"

"Only one more thing. My contingent fee." Galloway paused. 'You say you're after a story. Fine. Whatever you make from that's yours. But let's say we happen, some long shot, to find something valuable. No, don't say anything. But I'm putting in right now for thirty percent of whatever you make on whatever your deal is here."

"I agree to your fees, Mr. Galloway, except for that. It's not necessary. There's nothing valuable involved."

"I understand that. I'm talking, say, theoretically, if we stumble on something unexpected, you'd expect the biggest cut, wouldn't you? Since you'd be paying the expenses. Right? Or are you saying, if we find anything, it'd all be mine?"

Keyes looked reluctant even to discuss it. At last he said,
"If
we found anything like that, I'd consider five percent of it yours."

"I'll settle for twenty."

"Seven."

"Go to hell," Galloway growled. "I'd make ten percent for straight legal salvor's fee. Which something tells me this ain't."

"All right. Fifteen."

"And like I said, if we did go on to some diving, I'd need expenses, gear—a depth sounder, buoys, anchors, lots of line, food."

"We'll discuss that if it happens."

Keyes held out his hand then. Galloway took it. They both smiled tightly.

"Now. About finding out who killed them—"

"I said Fd give it a try."

'You have someone in mind?"

''Think so. She won't want to see me, but she will."

Keyes stood, stretched, and looked around the cabin. It was dark now except for the little light over the chart. "Well. A busy day. Where do I sleep?"

"There's a motel—" started Galloway, then stopped and grinned. "No motel?"

"I'd rather stay aboard." Keyes had leaned back in his chair again. He did not elaborate. After a moment Galloway bent for the bottle again and examined it. An inch of whiskey remained.

"There's a foldin' bunk in the dive locker. You can sleep there. I'm going out for a bite."

"Seafood?"

"Mostly."

"Sounds good."

'Tou're a trusting son of a bitch, aren't you?"

'You're the only one who knows about this so far, Captain," said the older man. His voice hardened in the near-darkness. "Let me warn you now, I wouldn't like it if you talked about this with anyone else. It would benefit neither of us."

Galloway sat in the shadows, thinking about this. He was very drunk, but even so he perceived that there seemed to be something screwy in the way Keyes was approaching him. He said there wasn't anything valuable involved, but he'd jumped out of his skin when Galloway suggested talking to trawler captains. He didn't want to discuss a cut, even theoretically, but he didn't want him to talk to anyone. And how had he known to investigate the Indian-burial item? Tiller knew he wasn't at his best at the moment, but he could come up with only two possibilities. Either the guy was dead serious about this history thing, and wanted bad to be first in print with it, or else there was something else out there—something valuable.