The Nautical Chart Part 13

"She thinks Gibraltar is fine. But she won't come to the office. She prefers neutral ground."

The smile now revealed teeth that were strong and white. The shark was swimming in his own waters, thought Coy. Catching a scent.

'And what does that woman consider neutral ground?" "The viewpoint on the Rock that looks down on the airport would be fine."

Palermo reflected.

"Old Willis? Why not? What time?"

"Tonight, at nine."

Palermo glanced at his watch and thought a second. The cruel smile began to take shape again.

"Tell her I'll be there__ Will you come, too?"

"You'll know when you show up."

The less than friendly eyes studied Coy from head to toe, and the treasure hunter laughed a disagreeable laugh. He didn't seem even slightly impressed.

"You think you're a tough kid, don't you?" Suddenly his tone was more intimate, but much less pleasant. "G.o.d almighty. You're a puppet, like all the others. That's what you are. They use us like... Use us and throw us away. Oh yes. That's what they do. And you...

I know your situation. I have my ways____ Well... You know what I'm saying. I know your problem. After Madrid I made it my job to find out. That ship in the Indian Ocean. Two years' suspension is a long time, isn't it? I, however... What I mean is that I have friends with ships who need officers. I could help you."

Coy frowned. Palermo's words made him feel intruders were going through all his drawers. The sense of turning to a window and finding someone there, spying.

"I don't need help."

"Sure. I see...." Palermo looked him over again. "But you're not fooling anyone, you know? You must think you're different, but__ G.o.d almighty. I've seen a hundred like you. Wise up. You think you're the only one who reads books and goes to movies? But these aren't Asian ports, and you're not... Your story wouldn't make a good B-movie. Peter O'Toole had a lot more cla.s.s. And when she... Well. She'll set you adrift, like those plundered ghost ships whose crews have vanished- In this novel there aren't any second chances. Let's see if you can get that straight. In the mystery of this lost ship the captain loses his license permanently. And the girl. s.h.i.t. The b.i.t.c.h spits in his face____ No, don't look at me like that. I don't have any power to see into the future. But your problem is so elementary it makes me laugh."

He didn't laugh, however. He was somber, still leaning against the table, gripping it. The green and the brown eyes were focused somewhere beyond Coy, absorbed.

"I know them inside out," he said. "b.i.t.c.hes."

He shook his head. For a while he seemed to be in a trance, then he looked around, as if recognizing where he was. His own office.

"They play," he added, "with weapons we don't even know exist. And they're much cleverer than we are. While we were spending centuries talking in loud voices and drinking beer, going off to Crusades or football games with our pals, they were right there, sewing and cooking and watching___ "

Gold clicked as he went to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of Cutty Sark and two short, wide gla.s.ses of heavy crystal. He took ice from a bucket, poured a generous shot of whiskey into each gla.s.s, and returned with them.

"I know what you're reeling," he said.

He kept one gla.s.s and set the other on the table in front of Coy.

"They have been, and still are, our hostages, you know? He took a drink, and then another, his eyes never leaving Coy. "That means that their morals and ours are... I don't know. Different. You and I can be cruel because of ambition, l.u.s.t, stupidity, or ignorance. For them, though... Call it calculation, if you want. Or necessity... A defensive weapon, if you get my meaning. They're bad because they gamble everything, and because they need to survive. That's why they fight to the death when they fight. The d.a.m.ned wh.o.r.es have no fallback position."

The shark's smile was back. He pointed to his wrist.

"Imagine a watch... a watch that has to be stopped. You and I would stop it like any other man-smash it with a hammer. Not a woman. No. When she has the opportunity, she takes it apart piece by piece. Lays out every single part, so no one can ever put it back together. So it will never tell time again. Ever. G.o.d almighty. I've seen them- Yes. They take even the most manly manly man's works apart, with a gesture, or a look, or a simple word." man's works apart, with a gesture, or a look, or a simple word."

Again he drank, and his lips twisted. A rancorous shark. Thirsty.

"They kill you and you keep walking, not even knowing you're dead."

Coy resisted the impulse to reach out for the untouched gla.s.s on the table. Not just for the drink, which was the least of it, but to be drinking with the man there before him. Crew Sanders was too far away; he was tempted by the ancient male ritual, and after all, he reflected, it was only logical he would be. He was now desperately nostalgic for bars filled with guys spouting incoherent words with alcohol-thickened tongues, bottles turned upside down in ice buckets, and women who didn't dream of sunken ships or had stopped believing in them. Blondes who weren't young but were bold, like the ones in the song of the Sailor and the Captain, dancing alone, not caring that lots were being cast for them. Refuge and oblivion at so much an hour. Women who didn't have silver-framed photos of themselves as little girls, times when dry land was habitable for a brief while, a kind of stopover before returning past cranes and sheds gray in the pale morning light to any ship about to cast anchor, while cats and rats played hide and seek on the dock. I went ash.o.r.e, the Tuc.u.man Torpedoman had said once in Veracruz. I went ash.o.r.e, but I only got as far as the first bar.

"Nine o'clock at the viewpoint," said Coy.

He was filled with an uneasy, desolate self-loathing. He gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles of his jaw tighten. Then he turned on his heel and walked to the door.

"You think I'm tying?" Palermo asked to his back. "G.o.d almighty. You'll find out before long- d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l, man. You should be at sea. This is no place for you. And you'll pay for it, of course." Now his voice was exasperated. "We all pay sooner or later, and your turn is coming. You'll pay for what happened at the Palace, and you'll pay for not wanting to listen to me. You'll pay for believing that lying b.i.t.c.h. And then it won't be a question of finding a ship, but of finding a hole to crawl into___________ When she, whatever she has in mind, and I, have both finished with you."

Coy opened the door. Only one voyage will you make without cost, he remembered. The Berber was there, quiet and threatening, blocking his way. The secretary peered with curiosity from her desk, and in the background, on his chair, Kiskoros was cleaning his fingernails as if none of it had anything to do with him. After consulting his boss, questioning and silent, the Berber stepped aside. As Coy walked out the door, the treasure hunter's last words echoed in his ears.

"You still don't believe me, do you? Well, ask her about the emeralds on the Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria. a.s.shole." a.s.shole."

ACCORDING to navigation manuals, the reckoning point was when all the instruments on board failed, and there was no s.e.xtant, moon, or stars, and you had to find the ship's position by using the last known position along with the compa.s.s, speed, and miles sailed. d.i.c.k Sand, the fifteen-year-old captain created by Jules Verne, had used that method to steer the schooner to navigation manuals, the reckoning point was when all the instruments on board failed, and there was no s.e.xtant, moon, or stars, and you had to find the ship's position by using the last known position along with the compa.s.s, speed, and miles sailed. d.i.c.k Sand, the fifteen-year-old captain created by Jules Verne, had used that method to steer the schooner Pilgrim Pilgrim during the course of its troubled voyage from Auckland to Valparaiso. But the traitor Negoro had put a sliver of iron in the compa.s.s, throwing off the needle, and so young d.i.c.k, in the midst of furious storms, had sailed past Cape Horn without seeing it and had mistaken Tristan da Cunha for Easter Island, finally running aground on the coast of Angola when he thought he was in Bolivia. An error of that magnitude had no equal in the annals of the sea, and Jules Verne, Coy had decided when he read the book as a young seaman, didn't know the first thing about navigation. But the distant memory of that story came to mind now with all the force of a warning. Sailing blind, basing everything on reckoning, did not present grave problems if a pilot was able to fix a position from distance traveled, drift, and deviation, and apply that information to the chart to establish the supposed position. The problem only became serious as you approached landfall. Sometimes ships were lost at sea, but much more often ships and men were lost on land. You touched pencil to chart, said I am here, and in fact you were during the course of its troubled voyage from Auckland to Valparaiso. But the traitor Negoro had put a sliver of iron in the compa.s.s, throwing off the needle, and so young d.i.c.k, in the midst of furious storms, had sailed past Cape Horn without seeing it and had mistaken Tristan da Cunha for Easter Island, finally running aground on the coast of Angola when he thought he was in Bolivia. An error of that magnitude had no equal in the annals of the sea, and Jules Verne, Coy had decided when he read the book as a young seaman, didn't know the first thing about navigation. But the distant memory of that story came to mind now with all the force of a warning. Sailing blind, basing everything on reckoning, did not present grave problems if a pilot was able to fix a position from distance traveled, drift, and deviation, and apply that information to the chart to establish the supposed position. The problem only became serious as you approached landfall. Sometimes ships were lost at sea, but much more often ships and men were lost on land. You touched pencil to chart, said I am here, and in fact you were there, there, on a shoal, on reefs, on a lee sh.o.r.e, and suddenly you heard the crunch of the hull splitting open beneath your feet. And that was the end of it. on a shoal, on reefs, on a lee sh.o.r.e, and suddenly you heard the crunch of the hull splitting open beneath your feet. And that was the end of it.

Of course, there was a traitor on board. She had put a bit of iron in the compa.s.s, and once again he found he had badly processed the information available to him. But what once had been less important, and even lent emotion to the game, now, in the uncertainty of approaching land, seemed disturbing. All the alarms in Coy's maritime instincts were blinking red as he walked along the wood quay of Marina Bay. There was a breeze blowing across the isthmus, ringing the halyards of the sailboats against the masts, a background to Tanger's calm voice. She was talking with incredible serenity about emeralds, as cool as if it were something they'd alluded to many times. She had listened to Coy's recriminations in silence, not responding to the sarcastic remarks he had prepared during the walk from Nino Palermo's office to the marina where she was awaiting his report. Later, after he had exhausted his arguments and was standing looking at her, furious, barely able to contain himself, demanding an explanation that would keep him from tying up his bedroll and cutting out that minute, Tanger had begun talking about emeralds as if that were the most natural thing in the world to do, as if for days she had only been waiting for Coy's question to tell him everything. He wondered whether everything everything was everything this time. was everything this time.

"Emeralds," she had said by way of introduction, thoughtfully, as if the word reminded her of something. She had fallen silent, contemplating the waters of that very color that filled the semicircle of Algeciras Bay. Then, before Coy started cursing for the third time, she began her disquisition on the most precious and most delicate of stones. The most fragile, and the one in which it was most difficult to find the desired attributes combined-color, clarity, brilliance, and size. She'd even had time to explain that, along with the diamond, sapphire, and ruby, the emerald was one of the basic precious stones, and that like the others it was crystallized mineral. But while the diamond was white, the sapphire blue, and the ruby red, the color of the emerald was a green so extraordinary and unique that in order to describe it you had to fall back on its own name.

Coy stopped walking after this peroration, and that was when he blasphemed the third time. A sailor's curse, short and direct, that took the name of the Lord in vain.

'And you," he added, "are a f.u.c.king liar."

Tanger stared at him, unblinking. She seemed to weigh those six words one by one. Her eyes were hard again, not like the fragile stone she had just described with such sangfroid, but like the dark stone, sharp as a dagger, that lies hidden beneath the breakers.

Then she turned toward the end of the quay where the mast of the Carpanta Carpanta rose among others, the mainsail carefully furled on the boom. When she turned back to Coy, her eyes were different. The breeze blew tendrils of hair across her face. rose among others, the mainsail carefully furled on the boom. When she turned back to Coy, her eyes were different. The breeze blew tendrils of hair across her face.

"The brigantine was carrying emeralds from mines the Jesuits controlled in the Colombian beds at Muzo and Coscuez____________ They were sent from Cartagena de Indias to Havana, and then taken on board with all secrecy."

Coy stared at his feet, then the wood planks of the quay, and paced nervously. He stopped and stared at the sea. The bows of the boats anch.o.r.ed in the bay swung slowly into the breeze from the Atlantic. He shook his head, as if denying something. He was so dumbfounded that he kept refusing to admit his own stupidity.

"The emerald," Tanger continued, "has two weaknesses: its softness, which makes it vulnerable as it's cut, and inclusions- opaque areas, spots of uncrystallized carbon sometimes trapped in the stone, spoiling its beauty. That means, for example, that a one-carat stone is more valuable than a two-carat one if the first has better attributes."

Now she was talking smoothly, almost sweetly. The way you explain something complicated to a slow child. A military plane took off from the nearby airport, the sound of its engines thundering in the air. For a few seconds the noise drowned out Tanger's words.

"... for the faceted cut made by specialized jewelers. That way, a twenty-carat emerald with no inclusions is one of the most valuable and sought-after gems." She paused, then added, 'It can be worth a quarter of a million dollars."

Coy's eyes were still focused on the sea, above which the airplane was gaining alt.i.tude. At the other end of the bay rose the smoke of the Algeciras refinery.

"The Dei Gloria," Dei Gloria," said Tanger, "was transporting two hundred perfect emeralds, from twenty to thirty carats each." said Tanger, "was transporting two hundred perfect emeralds, from twenty to thirty carats each."

A new pause. She moved to stand facing Coy and looked him straight in the eye.

"Uncut emeralds," she insisted. "Big as walnuts."

Coy could have sworn that her voice trembled slightly this once. Big as walnuts. It was only a fleeting impression, because when he focused on her, he found her as self-controlled as ever. She was indifferent to his accusations, free of the need to utter a single word of apology. It was her game and she made the rules. It had been that way from the beginning, and she knew that Coy knew. I will lie to you and deceive you. On that island of knights and knaves, no one had promised the game would be clean.

"That cargo"-she was emphatic-"was worth a king's ransom. Or, to be more exact, the ransom of the Spanish Jesuits. Padre Escobar wanted to buy the Conde de Aranda. Maybe the cabinet of the Pesquisa Secreta Pesquisa Secreta as well. Perhaps the king himself." as well. Perhaps the king himself."

Almost despite himself, Coy realized that curiosity was replacing his anger. He blurted out the question.

'And they're down there? On the bottom?"

"They may be."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know. We have to dive to the brigantine to find out." We We have to. That plural felt like salve on a wound, and Coy was aware of that. have to. That plural felt like salve on a wound, and Coy was aware of that.

"I was going to tell you once we were there_____________ Can't you understand?"

"No. I don't understand."

"Listen. You know the risks. With all those people around, I didn't know how you might react. I still don't know. You can't blame me."

"Nino Palermo knows. Every b.l.o.o.d.y soul seems to know." "You're exaggerating."

"Bulls.h.i.t I'm exaggerating. I'm the last to know, like a husband." "Palermo thinks there are emeralds, but he doesn't know how many. And he doesn't have any description of them or know why they were on the brigantine. He's only heard rumors."

"Well, to me he sounded very well informed."

"Look. I have spent years with that ship on my mind, even before I confirmed that it existed. n.o.body, not even Palermo, knows what I know about the Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria. Do you want me to tell you my story?" Do you want me to tell you my story?"

I don't want you to tell me another string of lies, Coy was about to say. But he didn't say it, because he wanted to hear. He needed more pieces, new notes that would score with greater precision the strange melody she was humming in silence. And so, standing there on the quay with the breeze blowing at his back, he prepared to listen to Tanger Soto's story.

THERE was a letter, she said. A simple yellowed sheet with writing on both sides. It had been sent from one Jesuit to another, and then, forgotten by everyone, had lain in a pile of papers seized at the time the Society of Jesus was dissolved. The letter was written in code, and came with a transcription, done by an anonymous hand, possibly a functionary charged with examining the confiscated doc.u.ments. Along with many other letters on various subjects and with similar transcriptions, it had spent two centuries at the bottom of an archive catalogued as "Clergy/Jesuits/Various n 356." She had come across it by accident doing research at the national historical archive while writing a thesis on the Machinada of Guipuzcoa in 1766. The letter was signed by Padre Nicolas Escobar, a name that at the time meant nothing to her, and was addressed to another Jesuit, Padre Isidro Lopez. was a letter, she said. A simple yellowed sheet with writing on both sides. It had been sent from one Jesuit to another, and then, forgotten by everyone, had lain in a pile of papers seized at the time the Society of Jesus was dissolved. The letter was written in code, and came with a transcription, done by an anonymous hand, possibly a functionary charged with examining the confiscated doc.u.ments. Along with many other letters on various subjects and with similar transcriptions, it had spent two centuries at the bottom of an archive catalogued as "Clergy/Jesuits/Various n 356." She had come across it by accident doing research at the national historical archive while writing a thesis on the Machinada of Guipuzcoa in 1766. The letter was signed by Padre Nicolas Escobar, a name that at the time meant nothing to her, and was addressed to another Jesuit, Padre Isidro Lopez.

Esteemed Padre: Divested of support, defamed before the King and the Holy Father, and object of the odium of fanatical persons whom you, Esteemed Padre, know but too well, we are come very close to the conscientiously intrigued Catastrophe being elaborated with such stealth. The Ecclesiastics themselves, who feel enmity toward the Society, have no aversion to acting as couriers and procurers of the calumnies that circulate with such impunity. As a result we are being forced to fall back upon our own resources by those who believe any act is licit in achieving (heir ends and in capturing the will not only of Our Sovereign, who is suspicious of us by reason of bad advice, but also our former friends.

Everything, Esteemed Padre, presages a coup against our Order, to be effected in the ominous manner of the crime in France and in the Portugal of the impious Pombal. By safe and most direct conduct Abbot G. has confirmed the list known to your most esteemed person, that of the individuals who are plotting the maneuver and (he manner in which they are working to execute it. But in that vast enterprise cloaked as a Secret Inquiry, there remains a tiny glimmer of hope. I write you the present missive, which will reach you by safe-conduct along our habitual route, for the purpose of urging you to endure as we carry out the undertaking that may influence in our favor the will of the most powerful.

In previous consultation with our superiors, and with regard to the proposition of which you are already apprised, I am preparing to voyage with the hope that-Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam (with that name and that refuge I prepare to embark)-the wind will blow from an auspicious quarter. Two hundred arguments in the form of untouched flames of green fire, perfect and large as walnuts (the Devils irises, the good abbot calls them), await in Cartagena de Indias in the care of Padre Josi Luis Tolosa, who is a dependable young man and well to be trusted. I shall be in Havana, be it G.o.d's will, toward the end of the month; and in the same manner expect to return to Our Port as quickly as possible, and with as much stealth, and as directly, as the privileges of the Society afford, avoiding dangerous intermediary calls in port. Our admired don P.P. has promised the abbot to wait, and despite all that has happened, and even in the face of his new dispositions and ambitions, we may still consider him sympathetic, for what he may find of benefit in this enterprise is very great. (with that name and that refuge I prepare to embark)-the wind will blow from an auspicious quarter. Two hundred arguments in the form of untouched flames of green fire, perfect and large as walnuts (the Devils irises, the good abbot calls them), await in Cartagena de Indias in the care of Padre Josi Luis Tolosa, who is a dependable young man and well to be trusted. I shall be in Havana, be it G.o.d's will, toward the end of the month; and in the same manner expect to return to Our Port as quickly as possible, and with as much stealth, and as directly, as the privileges of the Society afford, avoiding dangerous intermediary calls in port. Our admired don P.P. has promised the abbot to wait, and despite all that has happened, and even in the face of his new dispositions and ambitions, we may still consider him sympathetic, for what he may find of benefit in this enterprise is very great.

I shall add, E.P., the happy news that yesterday I learned through our esteemed abbot that some close friends privy to the circle of the deeply mourned Queen Mother have remained amicable toward us, as is the worthy V. and also H.-although this latter cannot be entirely trusted because of his bent for intrigue. As for the abbot, he continues in the favor of royal persons and is plying to our benefit the threads of the enterprise, and he tells us that don P.P. remains very receptive to what occupies our concern. Until my return, therefore, nothing but Tacere et Fidere. Tacere et Fidere. And trust that Divine Providence will prevail. And trust that Divine Providence will prevail.

Accept, Esteemed Padre, respectful greetings from your brother in ' Christ Nicolas Escobar Marchamalo, S.J. In the port of Valencia, November 1 A.D. 1766 Over time, Tanger had identified all the people mentioned in the letter. Queen Mother Isabel Farnesio, very favorable to the Society of Jesus, had died six months before. The recipient of the letter was Padre Isidro Lopez, the most influential of the Spanish Jesuits, who enjoyed an excellent position in the court of Charles III and would die in Bologna eighteen years after the dissolution of the Society, without being allowed to return from exile. As for the initials, they presented no difficulty for someone accustomed to working with historical sources: P.P. was Pedro Pablo Abarca, Conde de Aranda. Behind the initial H. was a thinly veiled Lorenzo Hermoso, born in the New World but now located in Spain, an intriguer and conspirator who was involved in Esquilache's uprising, and who after the fall of the Jesuits was taken prisoner and exiled, although the prosecutor asked for tanquam in cadavere, tanquam in cadavere, severe corporal punishment. The person designated as V. was Luis Velazquez de Velasco, Marques de Valdeflores, a man of learning and intimate of the Society, who would pay for that friendship with ten years in the prisons of Alicante and Alhucemas. And the initial G. alluded to Abbot Gandara, known in the court of Charles III as the Jesuits' princ.i.p.al supporter within the circle of the king, whom he accompanied as gun bearer in his hunting parties. His real name was Miguel de la Gandara, and his misfortune may have inspired severe corporal punishment. The person designated as V. was Luis Velazquez de Velasco, Marques de Valdeflores, a man of learning and intimate of the Society, who would pay for that friendship with ten years in the prisons of Alicante and Alhucemas. And the initial G. alluded to Abbot Gandara, known in the court of Charles III as the Jesuits' princ.i.p.al supporter within the circle of the king, whom he accompanied as gun bearer in his hunting parties. His real name was Miguel de la Gandara, and his misfortune may have inspired The Count of Monte Cristo The Count of Monte Cristo or or The Iron Mask. The Iron Mask. Taken prisoner shortly before the fall of the Order, he lived in prison the remaining eighteen years of his life, and died in the dungeon of Pamplona without anyone ever having established a clear cause for his incarceration. Taken prisoner shortly before the fall of the Order, he lived in prison the remaining eighteen years of his life, and died in the dungeon of Pamplona without anyone ever having established a clear cause for his incarceration.

The story of Abbot Gandara had fascinated Tanger, to the point that she ended up writing her thesis on him. That led her to examine all the papers relating to his trials and imprisonment, which were kept in the Grace and Justice section of the national archive in Simancas. She even determined the name of the Jesuit ship referred to only in veiled fashion in the letter-the Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria. Through her research she had ascertained that Padre Nicolas Escobar's farewell to Padre Lopez, in which he mentioned Gandara, was written one day before the latter's arrest, effected on November 2, 1766, the same day Escobar sailed for America aboard the brigantine on which, during the return voyage, he would disappear at sea. Tanger's thesis was tided "Abbot Gandara, Conspirator and Victim," and earned high marks for her master's degree in history. It was filled with facts about the abbot's long years in prison, his interrogations and judicial trials, and his imprisonment in Batres and then Pamplona, where he was secluded until his death. No one ever provided a reason for the zealous cruelty Aranda and others of Charles's ministers reserved for him-except perhaps his friendship with the Society of Jesus, whose members, among them the recipient of the letter, were arrested five months after the abbot and exiled to Italy, their Order disbanded. As for Padre Escobar's voyage to Havana, and those two hundred flames of green fire to which he cryptically alluded, he never received an answer from Gandara, although some of the interrogations referred to the subject. The secret of the Through her research she had ascertained that Padre Nicolas Escobar's farewell to Padre Lopez, in which he mentioned Gandara, was written one day before the latter's arrest, effected on November 2, 1766, the same day Escobar sailed for America aboard the brigantine on which, during the return voyage, he would disappear at sea. Tanger's thesis was tided "Abbot Gandara, Conspirator and Victim," and earned high marks for her master's degree in history. It was filled with facts about the abbot's long years in prison, his interrogations and judicial trials, and his imprisonment in Batres and then Pamplona, where he was secluded until his death. No one ever provided a reason for the zealous cruelty Aranda and others of Charles's ministers reserved for him-except perhaps his friendship with the Society of Jesus, whose members, among them the recipient of the letter, were arrested five months after the abbot and exiled to Italy, their Order disbanded. As for Padre Escobar's voyage to Havana, and those two hundred flames of green fire to which he cryptically alluded, he never received an answer from Gandara, although some of the interrogations referred to the subject. The secret of the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria died with him. died with him.

Afterward life followed its course, and Tanger had other matters to occupy her. The compet.i.tive examinations for the Museo Naval and her work consumed her attention, and new interests took the forefront in her life. Until Nino Palermo appeared one day. In searching through books and catalogues, the treasure hunter had happened upon a reference to a report in the maritime section in Cartagena, dated 8 February 1767, regarding the loss of the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria in battle with a corsair. The index referred to doc.u.ments that had been sent to the Museo Naval in Madrid, so Palermo had gone there seeking information, and chance had set Tanger in his path. She was the person a.s.signed to respond to the Gibraltarian's inquiries. He had approached the subject in the way of his trade, camouflaged with false scents and a studied lack of interest in his real purpose. But in the middle of their conversation, she had heard the name in battle with a corsair. The index referred to doc.u.ments that had been sent to the Museo Naval in Madrid, so Palermo had gone there seeking information, and chance had set Tanger in his path. She was the person a.s.signed to respond to the Gibraltarian's inquiries. He had approached the subject in the way of his trade, camouflaged with false scents and a studied lack of interest in his real purpose. But in the middle of their conversation, she had heard the name Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria. A brigantine lost, said Palermo, en route from Havana to Cadiz. That triggered Tanger's recollections, forming specific connections among what had until then been loose ends. She had hidden her excitement, dissembling as much as she was able. Later, after getting rid of the treasure hunter with vague promises, she verified that the doc.u.ment that interested him had been sent some time earlier to the general maritime archive in Viso del Marques. The next day she was there, and in the section on Privateering and Prizes she found the name of the ship: "Account of the loss of the brigantine A brigantine lost, said Palermo, en route from Havana to Cadiz. That triggered Tanger's recollections, forming specific connections among what had until then been loose ends. She had hidden her excitement, dissembling as much as she was able. Later, after getting rid of the treasure hunter with vague promises, she verified that the doc.u.ment that interested him had been sent some time earlier to the general maritime archive in Viso del Marques. The next day she was there, and in the section on Privateering and Prizes she found the name of the ship: "Account of the loss of the brigantine Dei Gloria, Dei Gloria, 4 February, 1767, in combat with the xebec corsair presumed to be the 4 February, 1767, in combat with the xebec corsair presumed to be the Chergui. Chergui..." There was everything officially known about the sinking, along with the statement of the only survivor. It was the answer to the mystery, the denouement of the adventure whose beginnings she had glimpsed years before in the Jesuit's letter. There was the reason the brigantine never reached port, and why the abbot Gandara was interrogated until his death in prison. There was clarified the fate of the two hundred flames of green fire that were intended to convince the members of the cabinet of the Pesquisa Secrete, Pesquisa Secrete, and maybe the king himself, not to annul the Ignatian order. and maybe the king himself, not to annul the Ignatian order.

She was dazed and fascinated, but also furious. She had all this right before her eyes years ago, and hadn't seen it. She hadn't been ready. But unexpectedly, as when you find the key piece to a complex jigsaw puzzle, everything fell into place. She went back to her notebooks and her old research notes, adding the new information. Now the tragedy of Abbot Gandara-which not even the papal nuncio could explain to the Pope in correspondence-was clear. The abbot knew what the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was transporting. His proximity to the king, his presence at court, made him the appropriate intermediary for the ambitious bribery scheme the Jesuits were weaving; he was the person charged with negotiating with the Conde de Aranda. But someone had wanted to forestall the maneuver, or to make off with the booty for himself, and Gandara was arrested and interrogated. Then the corsair was transporting. His proximity to the king, his presence at court, made him the appropriate intermediary for the ambitious bribery scheme the Jesuits were weaving; he was the person charged with negotiating with the Conde de Aranda. But someone had wanted to forestall the maneuver, or to make off with the booty for himself, and Gandara was arrested and interrogated. Then the corsair Chergui Chergui sailed onto the scene, either by accident or by plan, and everything ended badly for everyone concerned. The Jesuits were expelled, the ship was sunk under hazy circ.u.mstances, and Gandara was the key to the entire affair. Which was why the authorities had kept him under lock and key for eighteen years. Now the clues scattered among the records of the various trials took on meaning. Until his death they were trying to get him to reveal what he knew about the brigan-tine. But he had kept silent, carrying the secret to the tomb. He lifted a corner of the veil only once, in an intercepted letter written by him in 1778, eleven years after the events, to the missionary Jesuit Sebastian de Mendiburu, who was exiled in Italy: "They ask about the large and perfect Devils irises, orbs clear as my conscience. But I say nothing, and though I am the tortured one, it is that which in their ambition tortures them." sailed onto the scene, either by accident or by plan, and everything ended badly for everyone concerned. The Jesuits were expelled, the ship was sunk under hazy circ.u.mstances, and Gandara was the key to the entire affair. Which was why the authorities had kept him under lock and key for eighteen years. Now the clues scattered among the records of the various trials took on meaning. Until his death they were trying to get him to reveal what he knew about the brigan-tine. But he had kept silent, carrying the secret to the tomb. He lifted a corner of the veil only once, in an intercepted letter written by him in 1778, eleven years after the events, to the missionary Jesuit Sebastian de Mendiburu, who was exiled in Italy: "They ask about the large and perfect Devils irises, orbs clear as my conscience. But I say nothing, and though I am the tortured one, it is that which in their ambition tortures them."

With all that material Tanger had been able to construct, almost step by step, the history of the emeralds and the voyage of the Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria. Padre Escobar had sailed from Valencia on November 2, unaware, paradoxically, that Abbot Gandara had been arrested in Madrid that very day. The brigantine, commanded by Captain Elezcano-brother of one of the superiors of the Society-crossed the Atlantic, arriving in Havana on December 16. There he met with Padre Tolosa, the "young, dependable, and well to be trusted" Jesuit who had been sent ahead with the mission of secretly gathering two hundred emeralds from mines the Society controlled in Colombia. These were uncut stones, the largest and best in color and purity. Tolosa had fulfilled his mission and then sailed from Cartagena de Indias aboard a different ship. His crossing was delayed by unfavorable winds between Grand Cayman and the Isle of Pines, and when finally they rounded Cape San Antonio and pa.s.sed beneath the guns at El Morro castle, the Padre Escobar had sailed from Valencia on November 2, unaware, paradoxically, that Abbot Gandara had been arrested in Madrid that very day. The brigantine, commanded by Captain Elezcano-brother of one of the superiors of the Society-crossed the Atlantic, arriving in Havana on December 16. There he met with Padre Tolosa, the "young, dependable, and well to be trusted" Jesuit who had been sent ahead with the mission of secretly gathering two hundred emeralds from mines the Society controlled in Colombia. These were uncut stones, the largest and best in color and purity. Tolosa had fulfilled his mission and then sailed from Cartagena de Indias aboard a different ship. His crossing was delayed by unfavorable winds between Grand Cayman and the Isle of Pines, and when finally they rounded Cape San Antonio and pa.s.sed beneath the guns at El Morro castle, the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was already waiting in Havana Bay, at a discreet anchorage between Barrero cove and Cruz key The transfer of the cargo was undoubtedly made at night, or camouflaged amid the declared merchandise on the ship's manifest. Padres Escobar and Tolosa were listed as pa.s.sengers, along with a crew of twenty-nine men that included the captain, don Juan Bautista Elezcano, the pilot, don Carmelo Valcells, the fifteen-year-old ship's boy, don Miguel Palau, an apprentice seaman and the nephew of the Valencian shipowner Fornet Palau, and twenty-six sailors. The was already waiting in Havana Bay, at a discreet anchorage between Barrero cove and Cruz key The transfer of the cargo was undoubtedly made at night, or camouflaged amid the declared merchandise on the ship's manifest. Padres Escobar and Tolosa were listed as pa.s.sengers, along with a crew of twenty-nine men that included the captain, don Juan Bautista Elezcano, the pilot, don Carmelo Valcells, the fifteen-year-old ship's boy, don Miguel Palau, an apprentice seaman and the nephew of the Valencian shipowner Fornet Palau, and twenty-six sailors. The Dei Gloria Dei Gloria set sail from Havana on January 1. It traveled along the coast of Florida to the thirtieth parallel, continued five degrees north and sailed toward the east between just to the south of Bermuda and the Azores, and on this journey suffered the storm that damaged the rigging and made it necessary to man the pumps. The brigantine continued on her course east, avoiding the port of Cadiz- spared that obligatory call by the still-effective privileges of the Society-and pa.s.sed Gibraltar between the first and second of February. The next day, after she had doubled the Cabo de Gata and had set a course northeast in search of Cabo de Palos and Valencia, the set sail from Havana on January 1. It traveled along the coast of Florida to the thirtieth parallel, continued five degrees north and sailed toward the east between just to the south of Bermuda and the Azores, and on this journey suffered the storm that damaged the rigging and made it necessary to man the pumps. The brigantine continued on her course east, avoiding the port of Cadiz- spared that obligatory call by the still-effective privileges of the Society-and pa.s.sed Gibraltar between the first and second of February. The next day, after she had doubled the Cabo de Gata and had set a course northeast in search of Cabo de Palos and Valencia, the Chergui Chergui gave chase. gave chase.

The part played by the corsair xebec remains an enigma that may never be clarified. Its ambush from some hidden inlet on the coast of Andalusia, or perhaps its departure from Gibraltar itself, may have been coincidental... or perhaps not. It was doc.u.mented that the Chergui Chergui sailed with English or Algerine letters of marque- depending on the circ.u.mstances-and that Gibraltar was one of its usual bases, although at that time a precarious peace between Spain and England was still in effect. Perhaps it chose the sailed with English or Algerine letters of marque- depending on the circ.u.mstances-and that Gibraltar was one of its usual bases, although at that time a precarious peace between Spain and England was still in effect. Perhaps it chose the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria as its prey by chance, but the tenacity of the chase, and her presence at that precise time and place, appear too opportune to be coincidental. It was not difficult to imagine a part for the corsair in the complex game of self-interests and complicities of that era. The Conde de Aranda himself, or any of the members of the cabinet of the as its prey by chance, but the tenacity of the chase, and her presence at that precise time and place, appear too opportune to be coincidental. It was not difficult to imagine a part for the corsair in the complex game of self-interests and complicities of that era. The Conde de Aranda himself, or any of the members of the cabinet of the Pesquisa Secreta Pesquisa Secreta that had ordered the arrest of Abbot Gandara-who was a political adversary of Aranda-could have had information about the plan and had designs on the treasure of the Jesuits even before it was offered to him, killing two birds with one stone. that had ordered the arrest of Abbot Gandara-who was a political adversary of Aranda-could have had information about the plan and had designs on the treasure of the Jesuits even before it was offered to him, killing two birds with one stone.

Whatever the fact, the pursuers had not counted on the tenacity of Captain Elezcano, which must have been reinforced by the presence of the two resolute Jesuits on board. He chose to fight, both ships were sunk, and the emeralds went to the bottom of the sea. The information provided by the surviving ship's boy was satisfactory, and the naval authorities charged with the initial investigation had no reason to dig deeper, a ship sunk by a corsair being routine in those days. By the time the order came from Madrid to make a more detailed inquiry, the witness had flown-a mysterious and timely disappearance, organized by the Jesuits, who had not as yet lost the cooperation of local authorities. Undoubtedly the Society studied the possibility of a clandestine recovery of the brigantine, but it was too late. The blow fell: imprisonment and diaspora. Everything was lost in the mora.s.s that followed the fall of the Order and its subsequent dissolution. The silence of Abbot Gandara, and the exile and death of those who knew the secret, cast an even heavier veil over the mystery. There was evidence of two official attempts by naval authorities to find the wreck during the time the Conde de Aranda was still in power, but neither was successful. Later, as new dramas shook Spain and Europe, the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was forgotten. Apart from a pa.s.sing mention in a book ent.i.tled was forgotten. Apart from a pa.s.sing mention in a book ent.i.tled La flota negro, La flota negro, The Black Fleet', written by the librarian of San Fernando in 1803, there was one last and curious proposal, made two years later to Manuel G.o.doy, first minister to King Charles IV, requesting a search for "a certain ship said to have sunk with emeralds from Cuba," this according to G.o.doy s own account in his memoirs. But the plan did not flower, and in handwritten annotations in the margin of the proposal, the original of which Tanger had located in the national historical archive, G.o.doy's skepticism was evident: "... because of the illogic of the idea and because, as is well known, Cuba never produced emeralds." So, for nearly two centuries, the The Black Fleet', written by the librarian of San Fernando in 1803, there was one last and curious proposal, made two years later to Manuel G.o.doy, first minister to King Charles IV, requesting a search for "a certain ship said to have sunk with emeralds from Cuba," this according to G.o.doy s own account in his memoirs. But the plan did not flower, and in handwritten annotations in the margin of the proposal, the original of which Tanger had located in the national historical archive, G.o.doy's skepticism was evident: "... because of the illogic of the idea and because, as is well known, Cuba never produced emeralds." So, for nearly two centuries, the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria had sunk back into oblivion and silence. had sunk back into oblivion and silence.

TANGER and Coy had stopped near the bow of a small schooner. She was looking across the bay, where the skyline of Algeciras was sharp and dear. The water was calm, a blue-green barely rippled by the breeze. There were more clouds in the sky now, moving slowly toward the Mediterranean. Opposite the port, at the foot of the ma.s.sive Rock, ships at anchor dotted the water. Maybe the and Coy had stopped near the bow of a small schooner. She was looking across the bay, where the skyline of Algeciras was sharp and dear. The water was calm, a blue-green barely rippled by the breeze. There were more clouds in the sky now, moving slowly toward the Mediterranean. Opposite the port, at the foot of the ma.s.sive Rock, ships at anchor dotted the water. Maybe the Chergui Chergui had sailed from this very spot on its last voyage, after lying to in the shelter of the English batteries on Gibraltar. A lookout aloft with a spygla.s.s, a sail glimpsed on the horizon, moving west to east, an anchor quickly and stealthily weighed. And the chase. had sailed from this very spot on its last voyage, after lying to in the shelter of the English batteries on Gibraltar. A lookout aloft with a spygla.s.s, a sail glimpsed on the horizon, moving west to east, an anchor quickly and stealthily weighed. And the chase.

"Nino Palermo knows there were emeralds," Tanger concluded. "Not how many or their size and quality, but he knows. He's seen some of the doc.u.ments I've seen. He's intelligent, he knows his business, and he knows how to draw conclusions. But he doesn't know everything I know."

'At least he knows you deceived him."

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't deceive men like him. You fight them with their own weapons."

She turned toward the far end of the quay, where the Carpanta Carpanta was tied up. Through the masts and rigging of neighboring boats, Coy could see El Piloto, who was completing some ch.o.r.es topside. He had arrived that morning, sleepy and unshaven, with dark skin cracked by sun, rugged hands, rough when you shook them, and eyes that always recalled a winter sea. Three days' sail from Cartagena. Steamers, he had said-El Piloto always called merchant ships steamers-had not let him get a wink of sleep the whole trip. He was getting too old to be sailing by himself. Too old. was tied up. Through the masts and rigging of neighboring boats, Coy could see El Piloto, who was completing some ch.o.r.es topside. He had arrived that morning, sleepy and unshaven, with dark skin cracked by sun, rugged hands, rough when you shook them, and eyes that always recalled a winter sea. Three days' sail from Cartagena. Steamers, he had said-El Piloto always called merchant ships steamers-had not let him get a wink of sleep the whole trip. He was getting too old to be sailing by himself. Too old.

"I worked it all out, you know," Tanger continued. 'All Palermo did was accidentally provide the mental click that fit everything into place. Set things in order that had been there, waiting... The kinds of things that for some reason you sense will have meaning someday, and that you store in a corner of your memory till that time."

Now she was being sincere, and Coy realized that. Now she had told the real story, and was still talking about it; at least with regard to concrete facts, she had nothing left to hide. Now he had the keys, the account of events. He knew what was at the bottom of the ocean and about the mystery. Even so, he was not exactly tranquil, or relieved. I will lie to you and deceive you. Some unknown, unidentifiable note was vibrating somewhere, like an almost imperceptible change in the rhythm of a diesel or the melodic insinuation of an instrument whose appropriateness is not possible to establish immediately, a deliberate or improvised line that seems mysterious until the end, when it can be properly a.s.sessed. He was remembering a piece by the Thelonious Monk Quartet, a blues cla.s.sic that was called precisely that-"Misterioso."

"Intuition, Coy," she said. "That's the word. Dreams you are sure will materialize someday." She kept gazing at the sea as if replaying that dream, her skirt blowing in the breeze, hair blowing in her face. "I worked on that even before I knew where it was leading me, with a persistence you cannot imagine. I burned the midnight oil. And suddenly, one day, d.i.c.k! Everything was clear."

She turned, a smile on her lips. A reflective smile, almost expectant when she looked at him, squinting slightly because of the light. This was a smile that extended to the freckled skin around her mouth and cheeks, so warm he could sense the flush spreading down her neck and shoulders and arms beneath her clothing.

"Like a painter," she added, "who's carrying around a world inside, and suddenly a person, a phrase, a fleeting image, creates a painting in his head."

"She smiled in that way beautiful and wise females have, serenely self-aware. There was flesh behind that smile, he thought, uneasy. There was a curve that blended into other perfect lines, a miracle of complicated genetic combinations. A waist. Warm thighs that hid the greatest of true mysteries.

"That's my story," Tanger concluded. "It was destined for me, and all my life, my studies, my work at the Museo Naval were lead- ing me to it before I realized it_______ That's why Palermo is nothing more than an interloper. For him it's only a ship, one among many possible treasures." She turned her eyes from Coy to gaze again at the sea. 'Tor me, it's the dream of a lifetime."

Awkward, he scratched his unshaven chin. Then the back of his neck, and finally he touched his nose. He was looking for words. Something ordinary, everyday, that would wash the impression of that smile from his flesh.

"Even if you find it," he pointed out, "you won't be able to keep the treasure. You can't just go out and salvage a ship."

Tanger was focused on the bay. The clouds were gradually turning the water gray. A splotch of sunlight slipped past them before striking the water lapping the quay, flashing emerald.

"The Dei Gloria Dei Gloria belongs to me," she said. 'And no one is going to take it away. It's my Maltese falcon." belongs to me," she said. 'And no one is going to take it away. It's my Maltese falcon."

IX.

Forecastle Women There is nothing I love as much as I hate this game. JOHN MCPHEE MCPHEE, Looking for a Ship Looking for a Ship It's time," said Tanger.

He opened his eyes and saw her across from him, waiting. She was sitting on a teak bench in the c.o.c.kpit of the Carpanta, Carpanta, looking at him intently. Coy was lying on the other bench with his jacket as cover, his head toward the bow and feet close to the tiller and binnacle. There was no wind, and the only sound was the gentle slapping of the swell against the sides of boats tied up at the quay in Marina Bay. Overhead, beyond the slightly swaying mast, the highest c.u.mulus clouds were touched with soft pink. looking at him intently. Coy was lying on the other bench with his jacket as cover, his head toward the bow and feet close to the tiller and binnacle. There was no wind, and the only sound was the gentle slapping of the swell against the sides of boats tied up at the quay in Marina Bay. Overhead, beyond the slightly swaying mast, the highest c.u.mulus clouds were touched with soft pink.

"Right," he answered hoa.r.s.ely.

Coy had the habit of waking up alert, fully lucid. An ability acquired from many early shifts on watch. Setting his jacket aside, he stretched a bit to loosen his stiff neck and went below to splash water on his face and hair. He returned and combed it back with his fingers after shaking his head like a wet dog. His beard rasped as he felt his chin; he had neglected to shave because of his long nap, which was necessary since they planned to sail at night. Tanger hadn't moved, and now she was studying the heights of the Rock with the preoccupied air of a mountain climber preparing to make an a.s.sault. She had changed from the long blue cotton skirt to jeans and a T-shirt, with a black sweater knotted around her waist. They were surrounded by the screams of gulls in the fading light. El Piloto was polishing the brightwork with a rag, his hands black. Take care of your boat, he always said, and she will take care of you. The Carpanta was a cla.s.sic sailboat with a center c.o.c.kpit and single mast, built in La Roch.e.l.le before plastic replaced iroko, teak, and copper.

"Piloto," he said.

The gray eyes, circled with dark wrinkles, glanced up from beneath thick eyebrows and gave Coy a friendly, tranquil wink. According to his own words, although ne wasn't much given to words, El Piloto had sailed for sixty years with the wind at his back. He had given orders on the cruise ship Canarias Canarias when one still gave orders with a cornet, and had also worked as a fisherman, sailor, smuggler, and diver. His hair was the same lead gray as his eyes, curly, and very short, his skin tanned like old leather, his skillful hands rough- Less than ten years ago he was still good-looking enough to have played a heartthrob in an action film-say a sponge diver or a pirate-with Gilbert Roland or Alan Ladd. Now he had put on a little weight, but his shoulders were as broad as ever, his waist reasonably trim, and his arms still powerful. As a young man he'd been an excellent dancer, and in those days women in the bars of Molinete had fought over a bolero or paso doble with him. Still today, mature women who rented the when one still gave orders with a cornet, and had also worked as a fisherman, sailor, smuggler, and diver. His hair was the same lead gray as his eyes, curly, and very short, his skin tanned like old leather, his skillful hands rough- Less than ten years ago he was still good-looking enough to have played a heartthrob in an action film-say a sponge diver or a pirate-with Gilbert Roland or Alan Ladd. Now he had put on a little weight, but his shoulders were as broad as ever, his waist reasonably trim, and his arms still powerful. As a young man he'd been an excellent dancer, and in those days women in the bars of Molinete had fought over a bolero or paso doble with him. Still today, mature women who rented the Carpanta Carpanta to fish or swim or just sightsee in the vicinity of Cartagena felt their legs tremble when he held his arms in a little circle and invited them to take the helm. to fish or swim or just sightsee in the vicinity of Cartagena felt their legs tremble when he held his arms in a little circle and invited them to take the helm.

"Everything OK?"