copyright The water hardly moved under the warm Florida sun, but the seagoing tub at anchor swayed almost as if it was moving in the teeth of a gale. Andy Knox stepped sure-footedly on board from a white-and-blue motorboat, and climbed the scarred and pitted ladder. He could smell the water as he moved, and his toes curled with anticipation at every step. He had expected to see the captain waiting for him just to the right of the ladder, but the man who stood there wasn't an open-air type at all. He was a chunky, pale-eyed, white faced man with an unlit cigar planted at the right side of thick lips. "You're the kid, huh?" he asked finally, looking Andy up and down. "Have you done a lot of scuba diving? This here stuff without snorkels, I mean." "Yes, sir." It was the truth. He had dived for sea bass and mullet off Cannes, had prowled caverns of the great barrier reef in Australia, helped sink oil derricks off Louisiana. Before registering at the University of Florida he had been scuba diving up and down the country. He was small and young looking for his age, but lean and firmly muscled. "What about salvage work?" his questioner asked. "Did you ever dive for valuables? For money?" "Yes and no, sir. I've been to Death's Door, though." His questioner winced. Andy put in quickly, "That's a channel off a Wisconsin peninsula where you can see ships that go back to the 17th century--if you dive down among r the reefs to see them. I've done the diving , sir, but no hunting for salvage." The chunky man sighed. "That isn't just what I wanted." Andy looked puzzled. "I told all this to Captain Gustafsen when he interviewed me for the job." "Gus isn't the one who counts around here right now," the chunky man said. "There's the man over there, Mister big-ball-of-wax himself, in person." The man making his way confidently along the creaking deck was tall and broad-shouldered. His face was bronzed, his teeth almost super naturally white, and his dark mustache curled slightly at the ends. "Is this the one?" he asked in a deep and trained theatrical voice. He was looking at the chunky man. "That's him, Robin. Name of Andrew Knox. Goes to school out here and he's after a summer job. He's done a lot of diving, but not for valuable stuff." The man called Robin didn't seem annoyed by Andy's lack of relevant experience. Instead he smiled. "In that case he won't be too ambitious, Sam," he said to the chunky man. "A very good choice." And he turned on his heel and left the deck as if Andy Knox didn't exist any longer. Andy, still a little surprised at landing a summer job because he wasn't experienced in a certain type of work, glanced at the chunky man. "What's coming off around here?" he asked. "Robin has nerved himself to spend a hundred bucks for a license from the Florida Improvement Board to hunt for salvage in this area for a twelve-month period. He brought me in on it because I used to be his agent when he was in the movies--tell him you remember Robin Locke whether you do or not, kid--and he gets together with me if he's got a sure thing. Well, take off that damned sweatshirt then. My name's Sam Perrin, by the way. " "Glad to know you," Andy said mechanically. "I'd still like to find out what I've been hired for if not to dive. And who'll do the diving in this operation?" "Better take a look at your suite first, kid, and then I'll take you to see the diver." Sam Perrin led Andy down to a cabin below, with a rock-hard upper bunk. Andy was going to share the cabin with the ship's first and only mate, the chunky man assured him. Andy looked at Sam Perrin with something close to alarm. I'm not the guy," Sam Perrin said, throwing his head back and laughing. Now come up and see the diving." The Number Seven flag was up when Andy reached the sun-splattered deck. The mate was easing a yellow-painted chain over one side. Robin Locke watched alertly. The ex-actor was wearing a wetsuit, just as if he was scuba diving in waters of Alaska. Two compressed air tanks had been put on his back and a glass face mask rested over his curly dark hair. He wore a frog-shaped fin on each foot and his lips were curved out of their usual shape by a rubber mouthpiece. "You're here as a stand-by, kid," Sam Perrin said quietly to Andy. "Robin figures to save a few bucks by doing his own stunts, like in a movie. He's a hard guy with a buck, Andy, believe me." Robin Locke climbed over the side and into the water. His shape became thinner and smaller as Andy watched enviously. Air bubbles reached the surface, expanded briefly and then popped. "Plenty of Spanish ships went down hereabouts," Sam Perrin said, the ever-present cigar making a complete turn between his lips. "If he latches onto anything it won't bother him that his acting career has gone all to pieces. "And I'm here in case something goes wrong with him or he gets tired?" Andy's heart sank. "He looks like he could keep going forever." "Sure, and he knows it, but in case there's any trouble it can't hurt to know that--oh-ohl" Sam was looking up, the cigar perfectly still. A trim yacht had appeared on the horizon and was apparently headed toward Hispaniola, as somebody with a sense of humor had named this old wreck. "Can't they see our Seven Flag?" Andy asked irritably. "Sure, but they don't give a damn in hell," Sam answered, his lips drawn down at the corners in grim lines. "Watch!" The yacht came to a stop some thirty feet away. On the deck facing them was a man wearing cream-white pants, a navy blue jacket with gold buttons and a cap with a plastic visor. The lower part of his face was hidden behind a bullhorn, "I'm coming aboard," he called. "Hold it!" Sam had reached for a megaphone, and the shouting made muscles stand in relief in his forehead and throat. He turned to Andy. "You're an expert, kid," he said quietly. "Robin won't get skulled he comes up and the yacht is still out there-will he?" "The chances are pretty small," Andy decided. Sam shouted, "Get away from here!" Through the bullhorn the newcomer's voice was amplified mechanically as he said, "Either you let me aboard for a talk or I send out two dozen lifeboats over the area and your diver will have two half-heads when he comes up." Sam Perrin, paler than usual, turned to Andy. "There's no reason Robin can't stay under for a while longer. " The statement disguised a question, of course. "He's only got seventy cubic feet of air in each tank, so it won't be long before the stuff is exhausted," Andy said. "If he has to hold his breath in the last thirty feet of ascent, the pressure will be going down very fast and his lungs could be punctured." "If that happens I'll get ten percent of nothing," the agent muttered. He raised the megaphone to his lips again and shouted, "Come aboard." The newcomer nodded, turned his back on them and walked down a ladder to a waiting lifeboat. It was rowed by a large, sullen looking man in white pants and sweatshirt and a trim white sailor hat. The lifeboat knifed through translucent water and arrived at Hispaniola's side. The intruder walked up the ladder and stood facing the agent. Andy, watching, got the impression of a man in the late forties. He was over six feet, and a network of wrinkles could be seen under each eye. His eyes were the color of marble and his hands had been made strong by continuous exercise over a long period of time. "I'll make it short," the intruder said, standing with fists on hips. "My name is Orlando Taurel and I'm here because I've got field glasses and a copy of a U.S. coast and geodetic survey map. I know as well as you do that there's a wreck below, but not if the stuff in it is valuable. It could be garbage or it could be part of the 400 million in gold that the Spaniards took out of early America and couldn't get home with." "Why do you come around here?" Sam demanded, jaw thrust forward. "Plenty of other people are working their claims off the Florida coast." "True enough, but when a cheapo like Robin Locke comes out to Florida, which has only got a 25 percent recovery fee for treasure found and he doesn't even buy equipment like electronic metal-detection gear, air compressors or the rest of that stuff, he must be on the inside track of something. Gold, maybe." "Gold is taxable as income," Perrin said, still bargaining for a better position. " You know the laws applying to treasure trove." "Pieces-of-eight aren't taxable," Orlando Taurel snapped, "neither are escudo coins, and one of them can get as much as 1500 bucks from a coin dealer. All that's owed is the state's recovery fee, and Florida doesn't keep any inspectors on board salvage ships. By the time we get ready to go in, we can have stashed away three-quarters of the loot. " "You can't sell that stuff even if you do hide it." "I'll figure a way out of that later on," Taurel said. 'For now I want a promise of a one-quarter share, just like Florida will get--only this share is going to be real. You'd better make up our mind fast if you want Locke back." Andy couldn't help glancing out at the water. Bubbles rose to the surface, proving that the aqualung continued to feed compressed air to the scuba diver down below. The bubbles were becoming bigger. Andy's eyes widened. "He'll be up soon." Sam Perrin shrugged. "All right, buddy. I guess you've got us. Claim jumpin' pays off, even nowadays." Taurel walked to the side, gestured at the sailor in the lifeboat and at somebody in the deckhouse of the yacht. The yacht had been turning all through the length of the talk. Now it started out of the danger area. "It's almost worth waiting," Taurel said, " just to see how that cheap jerk takes to the idea he's got another partner--there he is! Looks like he's in trouble." Robin Locke surfaced several minutes later. than expected. He was gray-faced and breathed so quickly that the ample "wet" suit he wore couldn't quite follow the in-and-out movements of his midsection and seemed to flop around on his body. He was so upset he hardly seemed to care that a claim jumper had taken over a large share of the possible proceeds. Taurel's eyes narrowed to Robin Locke's closed fists. He moved forward with catlike speed and pried the fingers of the hand open. Three large faded coins rolled to the floor. One of them rolled in a semicircle, then stopped. Taurel picked up that one. "An escudo," he said softly. "Three of them, so far. Forty-five hundred bucks in one hand alone." He picked up the other two coins and set them down gingerly on a table, then pried three more coins out of the actor's other hand. Robin Locke drew a long breath and shuddered. "I can't," he started. "I couldn't --" and he clamped his lips shut. Sam Perrin said, "He's not going to do any diving for a little while. You've lost us our diver, Taurel." "I'll get another one." Orlando Taurel turned to his hard-faced helper, who had joined them on deck. "You're going downstairs for the money." "Not me," the helper said surprisingly, shaking his thick head. "I tried spearfishing once, but the fish stayed away and I got a bad scare like he just had." Andy grunted in anger at the idea of spearfishing at all. He had tried it once himself, and had developed nothing but contempt for people who went underwater to kill. He knew, too, that in some way the fish themselves had learned to keep away from their enemies. Even a shark couldn't be considered an enemy for the diver careful to stay underwater rather than give that shark a chance to scavenge what was near the surface. Andy had even pushed a shark away from him once, a few years ago. He was still lost in thought when he realized that his disapproving grunt had caught Orlando Taurel's attention. `You're a diver, kid, aren't you?" Taurel nearly whispered. "You're going down for those coins, kid, and you and me are going to split the take. How's that, huh? Half for you, half for me." Andy said quietly, "Promises are easy." "If you try to pull a fast one," Taurel told him briskly, "I'll find out sooner or later, kid, and you won't be alive for long after that. So you better do like I tell you, kid, if you want a chance at living to old age." Silently Andy went to work, putting on a "dry" suit of thick gum rubber that was supposed to be watertight, rather than admitting water, but giving no room to move. Sam Perrin, square jawed and quiet, helped adjust the tanks on Andy's back. The hoodlum who generally worked with Taurel checked the chain and hoisted the Seven Flag, keeping Captain Gustafsen from doing even a small job on his own ship. In a few moments Andy was over the side and in his natural element again. The A-lung gave him pressures to match the changing weight of cool and crisp water, feeding air to him through the mouthpiece. Once in the water he looped and somersaulted for his own pleasure, barrel-rolled, stood upside down with the right forefinger mockingly extended. There was nothing above his body or below him or at the sides. If he wanted to, he could create a whole new world by moving up or down. Plants swayed to water pressure as he watched, and passing fish made their little click-click-click noises. One fish looked as if it was having a hard time moving and he wanted to chuck off his own air-giving mouthpiece and give it to him. He suddenly stopped himself. The Hispaniola's chain was in sight and he judged he wasn't more than thirty feet down. Never at such a depth had he felt like dancing drunkenly in the water. He knew that his unconcern for safety was a bad sign, and that his life could very well depend on getting out as soon as possible. He didn't want to move up, though, only further down into the weightless world of padded silence. He looked at the chain once more and his mouth nearly fell open, life-giving mouthpiece and all. But then he glanced up toward the surface and began propelling himself in that direction. He held his breath only to a five-count, then let it out slowly. Bubbles formed around him as he moved. He was breathing hard when he came up, and took off his face mask. Orlando Taurel's hoodlum helped him into Hispaniola. He blacked out at last and remembered nothing for a long time. When he awoke again, he stumbled into the kitchen for a light meal and then walked out to what passed, on this tub, for a lounge. Robin Locke was sitting in a soft chair, a copy of Variety in one hand. Sam Perrin had just flicked ash off a cigar. Orlando Taurel sat unmoving, hands on his sun-scorched cheeks. Andy staggered in and glanced at Taurel. "Those two over there, they damn well killed me, Taurel, so if you want to do business it's okay with me." Taurel grinned. "I'll make it worth while for you to switch sides, kid. Now let me hear the straight poop." It was a beautiful scheme these two had, and a crooked one," Andy said. "I'll bet somebody came to one or another of these jokers and said he'd dug up buried treasure in a state with a treasure trove law that makes the stuff taxable, and at a high rate. What's more, the stuff was in old Spanish coins and it couldn't be disposed of as anything but buried treasure. One of these two beauties remembered that Florida has got very lenient treasure laws and it's possible to hook plenty of the stuff if you play it right. So it was suggested that the money be discovered all over again off Florida. A neater and simpler kind of freebooting than you've tried to do, Taurel, isn't it?" Robin Locke's face had turned a pasty gray. Sam Perrin took a step and stared open-mouthed at Andy. "I don't know anything about this," he said quickly. "It s a real shock if this is true." "I'll bet it is," Andy said flatly. "The treasure had been brought up, of course, and now it was carried onto a leaky old tub that Locke chartered after he'd made arrangements to work a claim out here. Locke capitalized on his well-known cheapness, saving on equipment and doing his own diving. He had already built the set-up when he decided to hire me as a witness to what was going to happen." "You mean a witness to discovering the coins?" "Right you are." Andy grinned at Locke's and Perrin's unhappiness, then turned to the friendly Taurel. "He put on a 'wet' suit, which he didn't need but would give him room for hiding the coins on his body, then took some coins from the hiding place on ship and went down with them for a few feet. After that, he'd pull the coins out of the `wet' suit and bring them up clutched in his hands and making believe that the pressure on him had been heavy and he was sick for a while. He would have discovered the first of a long haul of treasure--and the publicity might even have done his faded career some good." "There's not a word of truth," Robin Locke began weakly. Sam Perrin cut in, looking scornfully at his principal as he said, "I'm not going to get in trouble on account of this caper. There's no proof against me, and I don't know anything at all about what you might have done." Andy said, "You gave yourself away, Locke, because you knew you wouldn't go down too far, so instead of buying regular tanks you bought pure oxygen tanks instead. Oxygen turns poisonous at about thirty feet under, though, and when I got sick at that depth or near it I realized what your pitch had to be. If not for being so anxious that you two get your heads handed to you, I might still be down there for all I know." Taurel smiled. "Okay kid, you've done fine. Now me and my helper will find the stuff and divvy it up between us. You don't have to go out and look for it, kid. Better stay where you are and take things easy after that diving you just did." "Nobody's going to find it unless I do," Andy said pleasantly, freezing Taurel where he stood. "I helped you gel to where the money is, as we agreed. But, you see, Captain Gustafsen smelled a rat when he took the charter from these two beauties, and he came to the Florida Improvement Board to talk about it. The F. I. B. sent me out to see what's going on." Andy smiled gently. "I'm not as young as I look." As Taurel suddenly smiled and moved forward Andy said, "If you bother me you'll have to knock off Gustafsen and his mate, too and then how will you get this bucket near shore? Sit down and relax, all of you. This is your last trip for a while, and you might as well enjoy it while you can. " "There's absolutely no proof against me," Sam Perrin said again. "No proof whatsoever." Several months later Inspector Andrew Knox read with satisfaction that Taurel and his helper had both been sentenced to serve a year in prison for their attempted claim-jumping. Robin Locke had been sentenced to three years in prison for attempted fraud, less three months and six days. Sam Perrin, Robin Locke's agent, had been sentenced to exactly three months and six days in prison. "Sam got what he deserved," Inspector Knox told his wife over breakfast. "He was the agent on the deal, and the Court gave him exactly ten per cent of the proceeds!"   ***** Copyright Morris Hershman All rights reserved