But he couldn't let Jack get spooked.

"Oh, come on. You don't strike me as the kind who believes in mumbo jumbo."

"Who said anything about believing?"

Tom glanced at his brother. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"That I used to laugh off a lot of things. Now I'm very choosy about what I dismiss out of hand."

"And this is because…?"

Jack stared straight ahead. "Experience is a great teacher."

"Wait-wait-wait. You're not really telling me you've seen a ghost or spoken to God or had an out-of-body experience of something like that?" He laughed. "Come to think of it, I've had a few out-of-body experiences myself, usually with the help of a lot of Grey Goose."

He expected at least a courtesy grin from Jack. Instead, the haunted look in his brother's eyes chilled him.

"What are you saying, Jack?"

"That things aren't always what they seem."

"Hell, you think I don't know that? Everybody knows that."

"No, I mean in the larger sense." He swept his arm at the world beyond the windshield. "Ever get the idea that this is all a set, and the real action's going on behind the scenery?"

Another chill. Had Jack really experienced something paranormal? Tom hoped so. Because if there were inexplicable occurrences out there, events and objects linked to unknown powers or forces, then maybe what he'd learned about the Lilitongue was more than a madman's delusion.

"Care to elaborate?"

Jack shook his head. "You'll think I'm crazy."

Jack didn't seem crazy, but Tom had run into clandestine nutcases before. They seem sane and anchored and sensible, and in ninety-nine percent of their lives they are. But touch the button that triggers their fragile one percent and it all comes out.

Maybe Jack was one of those. If so, did Gia know?

Gia… Tom had dreamed about her every night since he'd met her. He couldn't get her out of his head.

He'd been shocked to learn she was pregnant. She wasn't showing much and so he hadn't spotted it at Lucille's. But at the wake it became obvious.

So… Gia had Jack's bun in the oven.

Oddly enough, it didn't matter. If anything, in some perverse way it made her even more attractive.

Maybe he was kidding himself, but he felt he'd scored some points with her on the drive from New York down to the wake. He'd used the hour and a half to dazzle her with his knowledge of the ails. Mostl) secondhand opinions, true, but Tom thought he'd managed to come off as witty, urbane, and cultured. If her little girl hadn't kept interrupting, he was sure he'd have mesmerized Gia. Cute kid, that Vicky, but she talked too damn much.

At first he'd wondered if she might belong to Jack, but soon learned that Vicky was a product of Gia's first marriage. Divorce: One more thing Tom and Gia had in common.

What kind of spell had she put on him?

Spell… there it was again: the paranormal.

He shook it off. Either way, crazy or sane, Tom needed Jack on board, lry me.

Another head shake. "Too complicated, too far out. Maybe someday. Let's just let it ride for now and suffice it to say we should drop this treasure hunt and go home."

"I can't give it up, Jack." The plaintive note in his voice wasn't put on. "I've got no other options."

Jack was shaking his head. "No good's gonna come of it. I've got this feeling in my gut—"

"Can't we just put all that aside and just look at the situation rationally? There isn't a reef in the world that doesn't have patches of dead coral; the sand hole we're working just happens to be one of them. Isn't that the simplest, most sensible approach? It doesn't require dark supernatural forces at work to explain it. It's just the way it is."

"Occam's razor," Jack said.

"Exactly!"

For a college dropout, Jack seemed pretty well read.

"Yeah, well, I've discovered that old Occam's razor isn't anywhere near as sharp as people think."

"One more day, Jack. That's all I'm asking. Besides, you promised two days."

Jack stayed silent awhile, then sighed. "Okay. One more day. Today and that's it. Then we pack up and leave."

"You've got a deal!"

Well, sort of. If they didn't find the Lilitongue today, maybe he'd be able to squeeze an extra day out of Jack. After all, what was Jack's alternative? Not as if he could just up and hop a plane back to the States.

Jack was trapped.

But not as trapped as Tom. Not with his Bermuda assets frozen. But… if he found what the map hinted was here…

The Lilitongue of Gefreda—whatever it was—just might save what was left of the rest of his life.

2

Yesterday's excitement at finding and starting to exhume a four-hundred-year-old wreck quickly devolved to drudgery on day two.

Jack found the routine of sifting the newly exposed sand in the wake of Tom's water stream deadly dull. So dull that he'd all but forgotten about the lifeless coral walls around them.

They were on their second tanks and had found nothing besides scraps of rotten wood ranging in length from a finger to an arm. The ship must have shattered when it hit the reef. Centuries in salt water had done the rest: The larger remnants crumbled under the slightest pressure.

A colossal waste of time.

But Jack held up his end, hugging the bottom, digging his gloved fingers into the sand, pulling free anything he found. He spotted the corner of another board, got a grip, and pulled. A big chunk broke off. Small fragments and dustlike particles floated away downstream.

He turned it over in his hands. Just like the rest. At first he'd wondered why no worm holes, then realized that whatever had killed the coral had probably killed the worms as well. He tossed it aside and gripped the rest of the board. As he hauled it free he caught a reflection of sunlight just below it, then sand refilled the cavity.

Metal?

He tapped Tom on the leg and pointed to the spot. Tom directed the stream into the depression. Sand billowed and sprayed while Jack worked his hands deeper. More flashes of yellow reflection. Gold?

His earlier apathy vanished. Something down there… something more than rotted wood. Despite all his misgivings about this wreck, he couldn't deny a surge of excitement. They might be uncovering something that no human eyes had seen for centuries.

There—metal. A bright yellow band, curved across a curving surface… a surface that resembled carved wood… lacquered wood.

But how…?

Tom had seen it too and was working the hose nozzle back, forth, and around in a seeming frenzy. Didn't take too long to realize they'd discovered a small sea chest wrapped in rusty links of heavy chain.

Tom knelt and concentrated the stream along the left end of the chest with one hand while working his free hand deeper and deeper until he found a handle. He leaned back, pulling upward while playing the hose back and forth across the surface.

As the top was revealed Jack saw that it was a camelback style chest with a convex top crossed by three brass bands. He'd seen lots of them—even owned one, though nowhere near as ornate—but had never seen one this shape: square, running maybe two feet on each side. The most startling thing about it was its cherry condition. The chain around it had wasted to a rusted skeleton of its former self. But the chest… no rot, no oxidation of the brass, no dulling of the lacquer finish.

And that was wrong. The rest of the Sombra wasn't fit for a beach bonfire, but this thing looked as if it could have fallen off a passing boat ten minutes ago.

Despite the vague dread roiling his gut, Jack leaned in to help. He didn't see that he had much choice.

He worked a hand down along the chest's opposite side, found a handle that felt like leather—strong, unrotted leather—and began to pull. With the stream from the hose plus their combined efforts rocking it back and forth, they managed to work the chest free.