There were only two ways off the conning tower: back down the hatch or down the aft ladder to the gun deck. They would be totally exposed in the event that Gohin turned, but he hoped the noise made by the sub slicing through the water would offer them a chance — as long as they moved before the big man finished his cigarette.

Woolsey kept his eyes on Gohin as the captain eased himself down the ladder backwards. When it was Woolsey’s turn, it took all his willpower to turn his back on Gohin, but it was the only way to get down the ladder. He stepped gingerly, testing his footing on each rung before shifting his weight. Though there were only five steps in all, Woolsey felt his chest loosen a bit when his foot touched the flat steel deck.

Then he felt the sharp jab of a gun barrel thrust against his ribs.

From the corner of his eye, Woolsey saw Lamoreaux backed against the guard rail, his hands raised over his head. Gohin barked something in French. The press of the pistol on his side eased, then something slammed into the side of his head, causing him to stumble and fall to the deck at Lamoreaux’s feet. Damn, he thought, not again. Gohin kept yelling, but as Woolsey’s head cleared, he realized the Frenchman wasn’t directing his words at him. Gohin had turned his back to them. He was pointing the gun upwards at the conning tower.

Woolsey pushed himself to a sitting position, and from there he could see what had distracted Gohin’s attention. Sean McKay stood atop the conning tower ladder, the wooden crate held tight against his chest.

Lamoreaux shouted over Gohin’s tirade. “He’s telling you to come down here, or he will shoot.”

“Bugger him,” McKay said.

“Sean,” Woolsey yelled, “for God’s sake, do as he says, man. He shoots that box and we’re all dead.”

McKay just grinned and raised the box over his head like a prize fighter hoisting the championship cup.

Gohin never stopped yelling, but his voice was drowned out by the explosion from the gun.

CHAPTER FORTY

Aboard the Shadow Chaser

March 27, 2008

12:25 a.m.

“You two have lost me here,” Theo said. “What number? What are you talking about?”

“She’s discovered something.” Cole grinned, then he picked up the coin and held it out to his first mate. “Did you ever notice something written on the tablet under the word Constitution?”

Theo assumed a mock shocked expression. “Me? You’re going to let me touch it?” he said, taking the coin. He paused and turned to Riley. “He’s been a bit territorial about the thing. Never takes it off.”

The two of them continued talking, but Riley had ceased hearing them. Her mind felt like a cotton candy machine spinning wispy fragments. Ponytail man was following her. Cole said Ponytail’s name was Brewster and he was after the coin. The coin that was a key. A key to the location of some old submarine. A submarine full of gold. And now, Diggory Priest lands in the middle of it all. Why? What’s the CIA’s stake in this? Did his handlers even know about it? She was certain Dig didn’t always play by the book, and it took a great deal of money to support him in the lifestyle to which he had grown so very accustomed. Had Diggory turned pirate? Traitor? And where did Michael fit in?

“I see something.” Theo’s words brought her out of her reverie. He held the coin up close to the right lens of his glasses, squeezing his left eye shut.  “Can’t really make it out, though. It looks like a scratch or a flaw on the coin. Are you telling me that’s a number?”

“So you can understand why I never saw it before,” Cole said. “Here, try this.” He handed Theo the magnifier, then grabbed the flashlight and shone it on the coin.

“Good Lord. You’re right. Even with the magnifier, it’s difficult to make them out. How did your pop make such tiny numbers?”

“I have no idea,” Cole said.

Riley interrupted them. “Micro etching with electron beams or lasers — we’ve been doing it for quite a while, but it’s not technology that just anybody can put their hands on. Your father put some effort into keeping that number hidden. Does it mean anything special to you?”

Cole shook his head.

“I’m a little surprised,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve just been going on for the last hour or so about secret societies, so I figured you would have heard of Skull and Bones.”

“Of course I’ve heard of them.”

“You’ve never seen their insignia then?”

“Well, sure. It’s a skull and crossed bones. Like the pirate flag.”

“True. But that’s not all. Under the skull and bones, in small print, is the numerological symbol of their society — that number,” she said, pointing to the coin. “Three-two-two.”

“Oh great,” Theo said, throwing his hands into the air. “Now she’s into secret societies and numerology. You two were made for each other.”

Riley stepped back, her hands up, palms open. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was into this stuff. I consider myself a rational person.”

Cole rolled his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and said, “But you seem to know quite a lot about this society.”

Riley shrugged. “I told you about what happened to my brother.”

“You said he died in a fraternity hazing and he had written this number on his hand.”

“Was the fraternity Skull and Bones?” Theo asked.

“No, Bones isn’t a fraternity. They’re a senior society. Future Bonesmen are tapped in the spring of their junior year at Yale. Their on-campus membership only lasts through their senior year. Of course, they stay members the rest of their lives.”

“I’m still not getting the connection here,” Cole said.

 “Okay. Once I realized the significance of those numbers on my brother’s hand, I read everything I could get about them. The number 322 comes from the year Skull and Bones was founded, 1832. It was started by a Yale student, William Russell, who went to Germany for a year and joined this dark, Goth-like secret society over there. When he came home, he started the second chapter in the US, named it Skull and Bones, and made their symbol 322. The first two digits, three-two, are for the year they were founded, while the last number two signifies that it was the second chapter.”

Cole nodded. “Okay. I get it.”

Then his eyes met hers and she felt that jolt again.

“Did you ever figure out what your brother was trying to tell you?” he asked.

She dropped her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” She paused as she took the coin from Theo, then stared down at it in her hand. “But maybe we’ll have better luck with this coin,” she said.

“We?” Cole said.

When she glanced at his face, his smile was so big his dimples looked like craters.

She cleared her throat. “Wipe that grin off your face,” she said. “We have work to do.”

 Riley glanced at her dive watch, then flopped back against the dinette seat. The table in front of them was covered with a chart of the island of Guadaloupe and several pieces of scribbled-on paper. Pencil scratchings covered the chart, and the table was dusted with the pink fibers of a much-used eraser.

“We can’t give up,” Cole said.

Riley massaged her shoulder and rotated her head in a circle to stretch the muscles in her neck. “We’ve been at this for almost two hours and we’ve got nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We’ve figured out lots of ways that you can’t use 322 on this island.”

She laughed and, in spite of the look of exhaustion on his face, he started to laugh, too. Soon, he clutched at his side, and she felt her eyes fill with tears as she continued to giggle and gasp for air.

Theo stood up from the stool he’d been perched on. “You two need coffee. I’ll put the kettle on.” He crossed to the opposite side of the galley and lit the stove.