13

PREDICTABLY, THE CALL CAME AT 7:00 ON A MORNING WHEN MITCH Daniels was trying to sleep in. First Mate Randy Jenkins told him that the Grasp II was sailing in 24 hours, and anyone not on board would be left behind. Mitch said he’d be there, hung up the phone, and rolled over. His wife, Sherrie, was snoring vigorously. He thought about trying to roll her onto her side, but if she woke up she’d yell at him, insist she didn’t snore, and they’d have a fight. Too early for that. He put on his headphones and buried his head under a fat down pillow. He had just started to drift back to sleep when the phone rang again.

Mitch groaned and dragged the handset to his ear. “Hello?”

“Mitch, pick up a can of WD-40 on your way to the dock, okay?” said Ed Granger’s voice. “I’ll see you there at eight.”

Out of deference to the sleeping Sherrie, Mitch didn’t yell. Instead he whispered, “It’s seven in the morning, Ed. Go do your own shopping.”

“Can’t. Jenkins told me Tuesday he didn’t think we’d be sailing until next week, so now I gotta get down to the G-2 and do four days worth of work on Eileen in twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, well that sucks for you. I’m going back to sleep.”

Ed gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to know what else Jenkins told me when he called me this morning, that’s fine.”

“What’d he say?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re on the G-2.”

Mitch flopped his head back on the pillow and stared at the popcorn ceiling. There was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep now. “This better be worth it.”

Ed cackled. “Oh, yeah. And don’t forget the WD-40.”

“Up yours, Granger.”

The familiar scent of bunker oil, seawater, and diesel exhaust met Mitch as he stepped out of the cab he had taken from the 12th Street subway station to the Port of Oakland. The sharp, incessant cry of sea gulls mixed with the sound of the sea breeze and the rumble of the trucks that were picking up or dropping off shipping containers.

The Grasp II lay in her berth, her freshly painted hull gleaming blue and white in the morning sun. She was squat and low, and her two cranes looked like mismatched mantis arms on her deck. The G-2 wasn’t a beautiful or graceful ship, but she had a certain magnificent ugliness that Mitch liked.

He picked up his duffel and stainless-steel mug and walked across the stained concrete dock to his ship. First Mate Jenkins leaned against the gangplank railing, a clipboard in one hand and an Egg McMuffin in the other. He wore a clean uniform shirt, but didn’t look like he’d showered. So even he had been surprised by their sailing date and time. Interesting.

Jenkins checked him in and confiscated Mitch’s cell phone and laptop. When Mitch asked why, the second officer just shrugged. “Captain’s orders.”

“Any idea why? We’ve gone on some pretty hush-hush trips before, but the captain never ordered us to turn in computers.”

Another shrug. “He’s ordering it this time.”

Jenkins didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, so Mitch gave up and went below to stow his gear and find Ed Granger. As he expected, Ed was in the machine shop tinkering with Eileen. Man and machine looked remarkably alike: ugly, powerfully built, and bulging in odd places.

“Hey, Ed.” Mitch pulled a can of WD-40 out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to his friend.

Ed caught it nimbly. “Thanks, Mitch.”

“Just make sure you pay me back.” Mitch drained the last inch of lukewarm coffee from his mug and yawned. “So, what did Jenkins tell you?”

“Hey, you want a reload?” Ed pointed a greasy finger toward a battered orange Thermos. “I got some Italian roast in there. Not the garbage you get from Starbucks—roasted and ground those beans myself. Pretty good if I do say so—that’s as full-bodied and sensuous a cup of joe as you’re gonna find.”

“ ‘Full-bodied and sensuous?’ ” repeated Mitch as he poured himself a steaming mug. “What, am I supposed to drink it or take it to a hotel room?”

“Do both for all I care.” Ed snorted and turned back to Eileen. “Last time I give you good coffee.”

Mitch took a sip. It really was good coffee. “Sorry, man. This is good stuff. It really is, uh, sensuous and full-bodied.”

No response from Ed.

“So, what did Jenkins tell you?”

Still no response.

“Oh, come on, man! You wake me up, make me get your stupid WD-40, and come all the way down here—and now you’re not going to tell me because I made a joke about your coffee?”

“Don’t make fun of my coffee.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again.”

Pause. “Okay.”

“So, what did Jenkins tell you?”

Ed stood slowly, wiped his hands on a towel that was almost as dirty as they were, and motioned for Mitch to come closer. “Okay, so I went down to Jimmy’s last night,” he said in a thick whisper. “Jenkins is already there, so I sit down next to him and we start talking. He’s had a few, and you know how he is when he’s had a few. So I figure this is a good time to ask him what the big mystery is and why they wanted all that new equipment on Eileen. And he says, ‘Ed, you know I can’t talk about that.’

“So I say, ‘Come on, it’s me. Who am I gonna tell? Besides, I already know we’ll be looking for gold.’

“And he says, ‘Who told you that?’ ”

“And I say, ‘Oh, I figured it out, but if you tell me the rest of it, I promise to keep quiet.’ ”

“So he tells me. At the end of World War II, the Nazis have all this gold and jewels they took from the Jews and the French and other people, right? They want to hide it where the Americans and Russians can’t find it, so they put a bunch of it on their biggest submarine and send it to Japan. They stuff it so full they even put loot in the torpedo tubes.”

Mitch grinned. “But the submarine never reached Japan, am I right?”

Ed grinned back. “You are correct, sir. No one knew what happened to it until a fishing boat found some wreckage in its nets a couple of months ago.”

“Wow.” Mitch pondered for a moment. “Wait a sec, who owns it? The French and the Jews because it’s their gold? The Germans because it’s their sub? Or is it really finders keepers?” He took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “There’s gonna be a huge lawsuit over this.”

Ed’s smile narrowed and a crafty gleam came into his eyes. “Only if someone figures out that we’ve found their gold.”