20

A SHARP WIND WHISTLED THROUGH THE GRASP II’S SUPERSTRUCTURE AND drove bullet-like raindrops against the windows of her lounge. Inside, First Mate Jenkins, Mitch Daniels, and Ed Granger talked over a table bolted to the floor, sitting on the U-shaped bench that was also bolted down. It had been a long, cold, wet day, and they were all drinking Irish coffee.

They had the lounge to themselves, which was a relief. Mitch had nothing against Koreans, but being surrounded by foreigners all day every day was beginning to wear on him— the buzz of incomprehensible language, the stink of strange foods, the unspoken rules that everyone understood except him. Pile all that on top of the hush-hush nature of their trip (they still didn’t know where they were going), and… Well, it was good to have a couple drinks with guys he knew and who only spoke English.

Ed apparently felt the same way. “I don’t like it,” he announced. “All these Koreans.”

Jenkins chuffed. “What’s to like? Buncha jerks.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” Ed sipped noisily from his drink. “Why are they here? Why not let us handle this? They aren’t the first ones to hire the G-2 crew for a treasure hunting trip. No one ever brought their own crew before. Why’d they do that?”

Mitch shrugged and stretched. “Maybe they don’t like Americans.”

Jenkins’s mouth twisted. “They don’t—and it’s mutual.” He swirled his coffee and stared down into his mug. “But is that a good enough reason to bring a whole crew from Korea?”

Mitch’s irritation with the Koreans bubbled higher. “They don’t trust us. They think Americans will screw up whatever it is they’re doing.”

Ed gave a lopsided smile. “So your reputation precedes you, Mitch.”

“If I wanted crap from you, Granger, I’d squeeze your head.”

Jenkins and Ed both started to laugh, but a clipped Asian voice interrupted them.

“Mr. Granger and Mr. Daniels, you should sleep. We will arrive at the search area tomorrow and the remotely operated vehicle and other devices must be ready to go down as soon as possible.”

Mitch looked up and saw David Cho standing behind Jenkins, who stood to face the newcomer. Cho was a tall man of around thirty-five. He was about the same height as Jenkins, but the first mate outweighed him by over fifty pounds—at least half of it muscle.

“We’re almost there?” Jenkins swayed slightly, either from the wave action or the whiskey in his coffee. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You did not need to know.” Cho turned back to Mitch and Ed. “You will need—”

“What do you mean, I didn’t need to know?” Jenkins leaned toward Cho. “I’m the first mate of this ship!”

Cho placed a hand in the middle of Jenkins’ chest and pushed him back. “Leave! I am done speaking with you.”

Jenkins stumbled back several steps, then grabbed a chair and steadied himself. His face was as red as his beard and shaggy hair. He bared his teeth and took a step toward Cho. The Korean moved sideways into the open part of the lounge and stood waiting, feet apart and hands up and open. He didn’t look mad or scared, just… expectant.

Jenkins stopped and the two men stared at each other for several seconds. Mitch held his breath and waited for the burly first mate to pound the obnoxious Korean. But Jenkins narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Without taking his gaze off of Cho, he said, “Better get to bed, guys. Since our guests screwed up and didn’t give us advance warning, you’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.”