The Reef

Due to the tropical weather, the small marble fireplace housed a thriving bromeliad rather than crackling logs. The chairs were buttery leather in tones of burgundy and hunter green. Antiques and priceless artifacts were displayed with taste that just edged toward opulence.
    With a practical nod to the twentieth century, the office was fully outfitted with the finest electronic equipment.
    Never one to shrug away work, VanDyke had crowded his desk with charts and logs and copies of the documents and manifests that guided him on his search for treasure. Hobby or business, knowledge was control.
    VanDyke sat behind his desk, waited a few beats. Piper wouldn’t sit until he was told. That small and vital twistof power pleased. Prepared to be benign, VanDyke gestured to a chair.
    “You’ve finished transferring the notebooks I gave you onto disk?”
    “Yes, sir.” Piper’s thick-lensed glasses magnified the doglike devotion in his brown eyes. He had a brilliant mind that VanDyke respected. And an addiction to cocaine and gambling VanDyke detested and used.
    “You found no mention of the amulet?”
    “No, sir.” Piper folded his always-nervous hands, pulled them apart. “Whoever was in charge of the cataloguing did a first-class job, though. Everything, down to the last iron spike, is listed, dated. The photographs are excellent, and the notes and sketches detailing the work are clear and concise.”
    They hadn’t found the amulet, he mused. He had known it, of course, in his heart, in his gut. But he preferred tangible details.
    “That’s something. Keep whatever might be of use and destroy the rest.” Considering, VanDyke tugged at his earlobe. “I’ll want a full accounting of today’s haul by ten tomorrow morning. I realize that will keep you busy most of the night.” He unlocked a drawer, took out a small vial of white powder. Necessity overcame disgust as he saw the desperate gratitude on Piper’s face. “Use this sensibly, Piper, and privately.”
    “Yes, Mr. VanDyke.” The vial disappeared into Piper’s baggy pocket. “You’ll have everything by morning.”
    “I know I can count on you, Piper. That’s all for now.”
    Alone, VanDyke leaned back. His eyes scanned the papers on his desk as he sighed. It was possible that the Lassiters had simply lucked onto a virgin wreck, and it had nothing to do with the amulet. Years of indulging in his hobby, and the search, had given him a true appreciation for luck.
    If that was the case, he would simply take what they’d found and add to his own fortune.
    But if the amulet was on the Santa Marguerite, it would soon be his. He would excavate every inch of her and the surrounding sea until he was sure.
    James had found something, he mused, tapping his steepled fingers to his lips. Something he had refused to share. And oh, how that grated still. After all this time, the search around Australia and New Zealand had gone cold. There was a piece of documentation missing. VanDyke was sure of it.
    James had known something, but had he had the time or the inclination to share that something with his fool of a brother, or the son he left behind?
    Perhaps not. Perhaps he had died clutching the secret to himself. He detested not being sure, detested knowing he might have miscalculated. The fury of that, the slim chance that he had mistaken his man had VanDyke balling his pampered hands into fists.
    His eyes darkened with temper, his handsome mouth thinned and trembled while he fought back the tantrum as a man might fight a wild beast snapping at his throat. He recognized the signs—the thundering heartbeat, the pounding of blood in his head, behind his eyes, the roaring in his ears.
    The violent moods were coming on him more often, as they had when he’d been a boy and had been denied some wish.
    But that had been before he’d learned to use his strength of will, before he’d groomed his power to manipulate and win. The vicious, furious waves of black rage rolled over him, taunted him to drum his heels, to scream, to break something. Anything. Oh, how he despised being thwarted, how he loathed losing the upper hand.
    Still, he would not give in to weak and useless emotions, he ordered himself. He would, under all circumstances, stay in control, stay cool and clearheaded. Losing the grip on emotions made a man vulnerable, caused him to make foolish mistakes. It was vital to remember it.
    And to remember how his mother had lost that battle, and had lived her