water, Nick and Keith turned their headlamps on. Beams of light cut through the dark, particle-filled water. Bright flashes of silver fish darted in front of them. They swam down, steering toward a ridge that connected to the Juan de Fuca, the resting place of the El Oro Señora .
Nick checked the depth on his gauge. 120-feet. In another 30, they would bump into the mast of the 265-year-old Spanish ship, a tombstone of gems, gold, and other treasures worth millions of dollars. They estimated the artifact they coveted, the statue of Rán, at $2 million. That kind of money could bring out the worst in people, which Nick had always grasped, but was now discovering firsthand. While he had known Keith for half of his life, had considered him a close friend at one time, he questioned lately if Keith even believed in friendship. Anymore, he seemed to have an agenda, and tonight, Nick followed it into a cold, dark abyss.
Ahead, a large shadow emerged, ominous as the storm clouds earlier in the day. Keith signaled for Nick, the more experienced diver of the two, to lead the way. Nick passed by him, approaching what he could now distinguish as the massive Spanish vessel, El Oro Señora . The ship was breathtaking. Nick found himself slowing to absorb its entirety. The bowsprit protruded out like a bellow fish, and the stem’s sharp point, which once cut through the water, was half-buried in the ocean floor. Railings and ladders were still intact, as well as two of the shrouds, the riggings that held up the masts, and other instruments on the main deck.
Keith swam up beside him and pointed to a large hole in the side of the hull where it must have broken apart during its descent. The El Oro Señora hadn’t had a chance and neither had its crew. Rán made sure of that.
Nick swam closer, through another small school of fish, until he could see the intricate carvings and details at the starboard. Crustacean sea life clung to the metal, brass, and iron of the boat and accrued along the railings. He pulled himself into the opening of the hole in the hull, careful not to shake up sediment that had collected inside. Many of the ship’s compartments had caved in after centuries of rot and corrosion. Nick tied a fluorescent yellow rope to a plank, and then motioned to Keith to swim toward where they presumed the crew might have stored some of the treasures. The water churned with particles and clouded around them, becoming thicker the farther they went. Nick checked his tank and saw he had already used up a quarter of his oxygen. His chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe.
Cautiously winding through the tight space, weaving the rope behind them, Keith and Nick slowly made their way to the back of the ship, the captain’s quarters, and the most logical place for hidden valuables.
In the largest quarters, Keith located a chest buried in a corner; on it, an old, rusted chain with a lock wrapped around two loopholes. He drew lock cutters from his belt and worked to break through it. Mostly eroded, the chain snapped easily, but the lid proved difficult to lift. Nick gave him a hand. With their combined strength, the lid broke free of its casings as they heaved it up. Keith peered inside with his flashlight. Muck and silt coated broaches, necklaces, and fine eating utensils that had once glimmered, but nothing that couldn’t be cleaned and polished to a bright gleam again.
Keith scooped up handfuls and filled his netted bag. Nick shined his light around the rest of the cabin, at the dark rotted wood and rusted metal. He located another chest in the corner next to an old crate. The chest lid was open and the lock busted. Jim’s doing? He peered inside and found three iron knifes and other assorted cutlery and weaponry. One small box, made of steel, was empty. It was similar in size to the statue.
Keith swam over and inspected the box with him when a rumble shook the space around them. Particles sifted up and swirled in front of
Nick checked the depth on his gauge. 120-feet. In another 30, they would bump into the mast of the 265-year-old Spanish ship, a tombstone of gems, gold, and other treasures worth millions of dollars. They estimated the artifact they coveted, the statue of Rán, at $2 million. That kind of money could bring out the worst in people, which Nick had always grasped, but was now discovering firsthand. While he had known Keith for half of his life, had considered him a close friend at one time, he questioned lately if Keith even believed in friendship. Anymore, he seemed to have an agenda, and tonight, Nick followed it into a cold, dark abyss.
Ahead, a large shadow emerged, ominous as the storm clouds earlier in the day. Keith signaled for Nick, the more experienced diver of the two, to lead the way. Nick passed by him, approaching what he could now distinguish as the massive Spanish vessel, El Oro Señora . The ship was breathtaking. Nick found himself slowing to absorb its entirety. The bowsprit protruded out like a bellow fish, and the stem’s sharp point, which once cut through the water, was half-buried in the ocean floor. Railings and ladders were still intact, as well as two of the shrouds, the riggings that held up the masts, and other instruments on the main deck.
Keith swam up beside him and pointed to a large hole in the side of the hull where it must have broken apart during its descent. The El Oro Señora hadn’t had a chance and neither had its crew. Rán made sure of that.
Nick swam closer, through another small school of fish, until he could see the intricate carvings and details at the starboard. Crustacean sea life clung to the metal, brass, and iron of the boat and accrued along the railings. He pulled himself into the opening of the hole in the hull, careful not to shake up sediment that had collected inside. Many of the ship’s compartments had caved in after centuries of rot and corrosion. Nick tied a fluorescent yellow rope to a plank, and then motioned to Keith to swim toward where they presumed the crew might have stored some of the treasures. The water churned with particles and clouded around them, becoming thicker the farther they went. Nick checked his tank and saw he had already used up a quarter of his oxygen. His chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe.
Cautiously winding through the tight space, weaving the rope behind them, Keith and Nick slowly made their way to the back of the ship, the captain’s quarters, and the most logical place for hidden valuables.
In the largest quarters, Keith located a chest buried in a corner; on it, an old, rusted chain with a lock wrapped around two loopholes. He drew lock cutters from his belt and worked to break through it. Mostly eroded, the chain snapped easily, but the lid proved difficult to lift. Nick gave him a hand. With their combined strength, the lid broke free of its casings as they heaved it up. Keith peered inside with his flashlight. Muck and silt coated broaches, necklaces, and fine eating utensils that had once glimmered, but nothing that couldn’t be cleaned and polished to a bright gleam again.
Keith scooped up handfuls and filled his netted bag. Nick shined his light around the rest of the cabin, at the dark rotted wood and rusted metal. He located another chest in the corner next to an old crate. The chest lid was open and the lock busted. Jim’s doing? He peered inside and found three iron knifes and other assorted cutlery and weaponry. One small box, made of steel, was empty. It was similar in size to the statue.
Keith swam over and inspected the box with him when a rumble shook the space around them. Particles sifted up and swirled in front of
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