Phantom Prospect - Alex Archer [10]
“How far’s Prospect from here?” Cole asked.
“About twenty three kilometers to the southwest. We’ll just hop on the 333 and be there in no time. If the traffic’s decent.”
Tom stowed the gear in back and then they all climbed aboard. Cole took shotgun and Annja and Tom slid into the back. Annja leaned forward as Hunter eased the van out of the parking space. “You mind me asking why you wanted to wait until we’re outside before we started talking about the shark attack?’
Hunter shrugged. “No surprise. But we managed to keep the attack out of the local media.”
“How the hell did you manage that?” Cole asked.
“I paid off the local police chief.” He glanced at Cole. “By the way, bro, I’m going to need some more money.”
“What a surprise.”
“You paid off the local police chief? To do what?”
“To say that the death was an accident.”
“But why?”
Hunter put his hands on the wheel and steered them on to the highway. “Look, the thing is, we know where the wreck is. If we all of a sudden start blabbering about shark attacks, then the place will start crawling with media and fishermen, and even rival treasure hunters. That’s a lot of publicity that we don’t need right now. If we can get in, do our thing and then get gone, we’ll be so much the better.”
“And if it turns out there really is a shark up here?”
Hunter grinned. “Oh, there’s definitely a shark in the water. I have no doubt of that. Even saw the damned thing register on the sonar.”
Cole looked at him. “How big?”
“Big. Like, real big. Over thirty feet.”
Annja put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up about a Meg. What if it’s a basking shark?”
Hunter laughed. “I’ve seen basking sharks before. Plankton eaters like the whale shark. Let me tell you something: this was no plankton eater did that to my man. Chomped him into two pieces and then some.”
“A great white of that size would be an enormous specimen,” Cole said. “I’d need to document it.”
“Document it all you want, bro,” Hunter said. “Just keep everything under wraps until we’re done here.”
“And how long will that take?”
Hunter shrugged. “Could take us two weeks to excavate everything from the site. Maybe longer if the currents have strewn it all over the place.”
“You found the main wreck site?”
Hunter nodded. “Hull’s intact. Parts of the ship aren’t there, but the main hold is. I think we’ve got a big one here, bro.”
“Why’s that?”
Hunter shrugged. “A lot of people over the years claimed that the Fantome wasn’t carrying loot from the White House simply because it wasn’t involved in the raid on Washington. Some thought it might just be carrying goods from parts of Maine that the British controlled to Nova Scotia. But if that was the case, then why was it in convoy? A simple customs run wouldn’t dictate such elaborate security.”
“You never bought into that theory?” Annja asked.
“Nope. The Fantome was originally a French privateer that the British took possession of in 1810 and commissioned directly into the British Navy as a brig sloop with eighteen guns on her. She had a good kick in terms of firepower and she had a hold that could handle a large quantity of booty.” He shook his head. “Nah, she was hauling some serious stuff when she went down.”
“And it’s off Prospect as the records claim?”
Hunter nodded. “That was the benefit of survivors from the wreck. They were able to confirm where they went down. Of course, that was over two hundred years ago, and the shifting tide can change things a lot underwater.”
“Not exactly easy to explore when there’s a shark cruising nearby,” Annja said. “Why don’t you tell us about what happened?”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah, sure. We were out just the other day. Good day for salvage work. Sunny, not strong surf. We made it out to the next grid on our search string and one of my guys, by the name of Jock, went down to lead the way for the rest of the team.”
“He always go first?” Cole asked.
“Yeah, kinda like that. He’s from the UK, former Special Forces guy. They lead that way, you know. Likes to be in the water and all that stuff.”
“So, he went down