Infernal - Страница 28

The BB&T occupied a pink stucco building on the uphill side of Reid Street in Hamilton. The idea of a pink bank had put Tom off at first, but then this was Bermuda where it was no strange thing to see businessmen—bankers included—dressed for work in a jacket, tie, short pants, and knee socks.

Dawkes appeared, a slim, silver-haired gent in dark blue jacket and matching Bermuda shorts and knee socks. Tom had made a point of dealing with the same man on every visit he'd made to BB&T. He'd also made a point of calling the Gosling Brothers' store on Front Street and having them send Dawkes a bottle of their 150-proof rum every Christmas. Never knew when you were going to need a favor.

As they shook hands and exchanged greetings, he sensed tension in Dawkes. Maybe he was having a bad day.

Tom didn't have much time so he got right to the point.

"I'll be relocating to the West Coast soon, so I'm afraid I'll have to close out my account."

Now Dawkes looked even more troubled. "I'm sorry to tell you this, sir, but at this time that will not be possible."

Tom's stomach did a flip. "Why not?"

"Your government has been in touch with the hank and… I…"

With his knees going soft under him, Tom reached for a chair.

"May I sit down?"

"Of course, sir."

"What do you mean 'my government'?"

"I'm not sure, sir. Some agency approached the bank. The president, Mr. Hickson, dealt with them. He has not seen fit to inform me of the details."

Dawkes pursed his lips and sniffed, obviously slighted.

Tom didn't give a shit about this twit's wounded feelings. The feds! The feds had been here!

"What's the bottom line here, Mr. Dawkes?"

Dawkes looked embarrassed. "Your account has been frozen, sir."

Tom leaned back and closed his eyes. This was scary. No, it was beyond scary—this was fucking terrifying. How did they find out about it? How had they connected him to BB&T?

Chiram… the Sahbons former owner, Chiram Abijah. Had to be him. Probably made a deal and gave up Tom.

But an even more terrifying question roiled his gut: What else did they know?

The savings account itself wasn't important. He'd deposited a thousand in it years ago simply to establish himself as a customer. He'd wanted to use a phony name, but the bank required a passport as ID for foreign depositors, and the only passport he'd had was the real thing.

Although he needed every penny he could get his hands on, he could let the thousand go. His real stash was in the back.

At least he hoped it was. Tom was almost afraid to ask. He put on a brave face, looked Dawkes in the eye, and…

"This is most puzzling and disconcerting, Mr. Dawkes. I'll straighten it out immediately when I get home. But at this time I'd like to visit my safety-deposit box."

Dawkes looked away and Tom's heart almost stopped.

Oh, no. Oh, shit, don't tell me—

"I'm afraid that's frozen too, sir."

Jesus God. Half a million bucks! His fuck-you money. He had to get to it.

He dug in his pants pocket and found the box key.

"Just a quick visit? For old time's sake?"

Dawkes gave a sad shake of his head. "I'm afraid I couldn't do that, sir."

He held up the key. "Not even as a personal favor?"

He glanced at Tom, then looked away again. "I'm sorry, sir."

Tom wanted to throttle him. You ungrateful shit. After all that rum I sent you…

"But there is something I can do for you, sir…"

What? What?

"… and that's to tell you to turn around and walk away from here and don't come back."

Dawkes's furtive look and lowered voice cut off the stream of choice epithets that leaped to Tom's lips.

"What are you telling me?"

"Simply that Mr. Hickson has instructed us to report your presence to him immediately should you show up. I am the only one here at BB and T who knows you by sight, and I will, shall we say, neglect to mention your visit. But I suggest we cut this meeting short before anyone becomes curious as to your identity."

Tom bolted from the chair and extended his hand. "Thank you, Dawkes. You're a prince."

A quick shake and he was on his way.

Shit, shit, SHIT! Now he was fucked—royally fucked. He saw no options. What could he do?

And then he thought of something. A long shot. A very long shot.

But he couldn't do it alone. He'd need Jack's help.

Shock blasted through Jack like an icy wave when Tom told him. Not from the news that his account was frozen, but…

"The feds know you're here?"

That meant the feds would also know that Jack was here. A crawly sensation settled on the back of his neck. They could be under surveillance right now.

They stood on Reid Street, a pair of statues among bustling shoppers and workers. Fleets of motorbikes buzzed by on the street, their dinky engines sounding like a swarm of angry hornets.

Tom shook his head. "No. The feds have no idea. Otherwise they'd have been waiting for me. Good thing we came in through the back door."

But obviously they've learned about the account and think I might try to get to it.

"There's nothing you can do?"

"No. And I'm lucky the guy in there didn't report me."

"Yeah, but how do you know he won't change his mind?"

"He won't. He'd wind up on the hot seat himself for not calling his boss when I showed up." Another head shake. "Shit!"

"Well, Tom. I'm sorry about this." And he was. "But there's nothing to be done, so let's get the hell out of Dodge."

"No, wait. There is something to be done. But not about my account."

"Then what?"

"The Sombra."

"Oh no." Jack backed away. "No-no-no-no."

"Jack, it's a chance—my only chance right now."

"It's not a chance. It's a pipe dream. Look, I'll lend you money, help you get a new identity. I'll even—"

"Help me a different way: Help me find the Sombra. Help me find the Lilitongue of Gefreda."

This was crazy. What was he thinking?

"Look, Tom, even if I had time to help you—and I don't because I promised Gia I'd be back day after tomorrow—how can two men excavate a sunken ship?"

"That's exactly how most of those three hundred fifty wrecks were uncovered: by two-man teams. We're not talking the Titanic here. The damn ship was only seventy-five feet long. And excavating is an amazingly simple process."

"Shoveling sand? Underwater? Are you crazy?"

Tom smiled. "Underwater, yes. But no shoveling. There's a much easier, better way. You just—"

"News bulletin: I've never scuba dived. Not once."

"You're kidding."

"Never had a need to. Not a frequently called-upon skill in New York."

"I'll teach you. Nothing to it. We'll only be down about forty feet, so you can learn all you need to know in twenty minutes, tops."

"I can learn all I need to know in zero minutes because I'm not going."

"Jack, I need your help on this. I can't do it alone. You promised you'd help."

"And I will help. But not on a wild goose chase."

"The ship's there, Jack. I know it. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on the map. And if it contains anything of value, it'll make up for my frozen account."

"Let's be sensible here. This map's been around for four hundred years and no one decided to go looking for the ship before you?"

"Well, it was hidden away most of those centuries. And the few who understood it probably figured it was fake."

Smart folks, Jack thought.

"Everyone except you."

"Right. And Wenzel's research confirmed it. He had no interest in the ship; the map itself was his prize. He'd researched it thoroughly and believed whoever had made it was sincere."

"Crazy people can be sincere. Some of the most sincere people I've ever met have had their receivers off the hook."

"I won't argue that. But I've been to the spot on the map. Last time I was here I went out with a handheld GPS unit and found it. I dove it. It's a deep sand hole."

Jack couldn't hide his surprise. "If you've been there already, what do you need me for?"

"Because I couldn't find it."

"And you think I will?"

"We will. I'll bet my butt it broke apart on the reef and what's left of it is still in that hole, covered with sand. And you and I are going to excavate it."

A perking suspicion bubbled to the surface.

"Was this your plan all along, Tom?"

He looked puzzled. "What?"

"A bait and switch. Do you really have a secret account in there? Or did you make me think I was helping you run some money when all along you wanted to rope me into a sunken treasure dive?"

Tom raised a hand. "Swear to God, Jack, I absolutely do have a frozen account in that bank."

"Then why make such a big deal of the map on the trip out?"

Tom reddened. "I did not make a big deal. I just thought it would interest you." He looked away. "Okay… I suppose I was hoping to pique your interest enough to get you to dive it with me as, you know, a lagniappe. We'd split whatever we found."

Bullshit or not? Jack could no longer tell truth from fiction with this guy.

Tom looked at him again. "But we're not talking bonus anymore. We're talking desperate necessity."