Deep Blue Read Free Page B

in college. He’s an expert on this kind of stuff.”
    Professor Marlin had retired from teaching, but the old man had never lost his fire when it came to Spanish treasure. He’d told Conn the coin came from a shipwreck of the 1715 treasure fleet, which was lost to a hurricane off the Florida coast. He also said much of the treasure had been recovered and that salvaging the wrecks was growing more and more difficult.
    But the conversation had sparked Conn’s interest, and over the next few years, he and the professor had become close friends.
    Conn thought of those early days as he continued along the path to the car he had driven from the airport, an old blue Toyota Corolla with a left-hand drive they had bought to get them around the island. He looked down at the coin in his hand, remembering the incredible tale that had led them to the Caribbean and the search for Spanish gold.
    He knew finding it was a long shot—all of them did. And they knew how dangerous this kind of search could be. Mel Fisher had lost his son and daughter-in-law trying to locate the galleon, Atocha. Even the four-hundred-million in treasure Fisher had finally found couldn’t make up for that kind of loss.
    Still, if the Rosa was out there, hidden in the waters off Pleasure Island…
    Conn tried not to think of the problems he and the crew had already faced during the weeks they had been searching the reef. He had known it wouldn’t be smooth sailing. He shoved the coin back into his pocket and wondered what kind of trouble would find him next.

Chapter 2
    Hope disembarked from the Air Jamaica jet that had flown her from JFK to Kingston International Airport and headed for the baggage claim, making a brief stop first in the ladies’ room along the way.
    As she left the bathroom, she paused in front of the mirror. She looked tired, no doubt of that. Her eyes were a little puffy and her lipstick long gone, but her hair looked pretty good. She liked the slightly longer style, swinging smoothly just above her shoulders. It was a really great cut, straight but curling under at the ends, even when she’d just gotten out of the shower. The deep red color had always suited her, different from her two blond sisters, as different as Hope felt she was from her siblings.
    Both Charity and Patience were younger and a lot more naïve. Hope had been eleven when their mother had died. With her father grieving and barely able to function, Hope had stepped in to help raise the two younger girls. Her father had remarried by the time Hope was ready to leave for Columbia University, one of the best schools in the country for journalism, but still she felt she was abandoning her siblings.
    As she got older, recently turned thirty-one, she discovered she was what they call a nurturer. She missed living with a family, taking care of the people she loved. She had always thought she’d have a husband and children of her own by now.
    Hope felt a quick stab of pain. In the years since her disastrous engagement to Richard, Hope had decided marriage was not for her. She would make the most of her career, find fulfillment in that direction. It was certainly the safer road to the future.
    She sighed as she walked out of the airport, into the hot island sun. There was activity all around her: a row of battered taxis, their black Jamaican drivers pressing for passengers to fill the empty seats; an assortment of other men promising guided tours of the island. A makeshift art fair had been set up along the road, artists displaying their paintings on a string of easels, potters selling colorful handmade jars, woodcarvers displaying their work. An open-air food booth sold hot dogs and Jamaican Red Stripe beer.
    A black man neatly dressed in black pants and a white shirt held up a sign with her name on it, and Hope walked in his direction.
    He smiled, his teeth neon-white in a face so black it glistened. “You be Miss Sinclair?” he said with a thick Jamaican