The Reef

Buck up for the operation, for the therapy and the prosthesis. And he’s going to need a place to live after. But I’ve got work, and when that job peters out, I’ll get another one.”
    “I know you’re good for the money, Matthew, just as you know I don’t care about being paid back.”
    “I care.”
    “Yes, I understand that. I’ll write you a check on the condition that you keep me apprised of Buck’s progress.”
    “I’ll take the check. On the condition that you keep this between the two of us. Just the two of us, Ray. All of it.”
    “In other words you don’t want Buck to know. And you don’t want Tate to know.”
    “That’s right.”
    “You’re hoeing a hard row for yourself, Matthew.”
    “Maybe, but that’s the way I want it.”
    “All right, then.” If it was all he could do, he would do it as he was asked. “I’ll leave the check at the front desk for you.”
    “Thanks, Ray.” Matthew offered a hand. “For everything. Mostly it was a hell of a summer.”
    “Mostly it was. There’ll be other summers, Matthew. Other wrecks. The time might come when we’ll dive for one together again. The Isabella ’s still down there.”
    “With Angelique’s Curse.” Matthew shook his head. “No thanks. She costs too much, Ray. The way I’m feeling right now, I’d just as soon leave her for the fish.”
    “Time will tell. Take care of yourself, Matthew.”
    “Yeah. Tell . . . tell Marla I’ll miss her cooking.”
    “She’ll miss you. We all will. And Tate? Anything you want me to tell her?”
    There was too much to tell her. And nothing to tell her. Matthew only shook his head.
    Alone at the bar, Matthew shoved his beer aside. “Whiskey,” he told the bartender. “And bring the bottle.”
    It was his last night on the island. He couldn’t think of one good reason to spend it sober.

PART TWO
PRESENT
    The now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
    — James Joyce

C HAPTER 11
    T HERE WERE TWENTY - SEVEN crew members aboard the Nomad. Tate was delighted to be one of them. It had taken her five years of intense year-round work and study to earn her master’s degree in the field of marine archeology. Friends and family had often worried, told her to slow down. But that degree had been the one goal she felt she could control.
    She had it. And in the three years since, had put it to use. Now through her association with the Poseidon Institute and her assignment with SeaSearch aboard the Nomad, she was taking the next step to earning her doctorate, and her reputation.
    Best of all, she was doing what she loved.
    This expedition was for science as well as profit. To Tate’s mind that was the proper and only logical rank of priority.
    The crew quarters were a bit on the spare side, but the labs and equipment were state of the art. The old cargo vessel had been meticulously refitted for deep-sea exploration and excavation. Perhaps it was slow and unhandsome as ships went, she mused, but she’d learned long ago that an attractive outer layer meant nothing compared to what was within.
    One summer of naive dreams had taught her that, and more.
    The Nomad had a great deal within. She was manned by the top scientists and technicians in the field of ocean research.
    And she was one of them.
    The day was as fine as anyone could ask for. The waters of the Pacific gleamed like a blue jewel. And beneath it, fathoms deep where the light never reached and man could never venture, lay the side-wheeler Justine, and her treasure trove.
    In her deck chair, Tate settled her laptop on her knees to complete a letter to her parents.
We’ll find her. The equipment on this ship is as sophisticated as any I’ve seen. Dart and Bowers can’t wait to put their robot to use. We’ve dubbed it “Chauncy.” I’m not sure why. But we’re putting a lot of faith in the little guy. Until we find the Justine and begin to excavate, my duties are light. Everybody pitches in, but there’s a lot of free time just now. And the food, Mom, is incredible. We’re expecting an airdrop today. I’ve managed to charm a few recipes from the cook though you’ll have to cut them down from the bulk necessary to feed almost thirty people.
    After nearly a month at sea, there have been squabbles. Family-like, we snipe and fight and make up. There are even a couple of romances. I think I told you about Lorraine Ross, the chemist who shares a cabin with me. The assistant cook, George, has a major crush on