Part 9 (1/2)

”Exactly. Neither eat nor let eat.”

Gamboa threw his cigarette b.u.t.t into the foam breaking on the rocks of the breakwater, and kept talking. Palermo was quite well known in that area. He had that Mafioso look; Coy would understand what he was talking about, very Mediterranean. Morocco was only a few miles away; from Gibraltar and Tarifa you can see it on clear days. That was the frontier of Europe. Palermo had started Deadman's Chest six or eight years before, and was known for being unscrupulous. He had interests in Ceuta, Marbella, and Sotogrande, and he worked with dangerous people on both sides of the Straits, advised by a legal firm specializing in contraband and sh.e.l.l companies that pulled his chestnuts from the fire when things got too hot.

”No one has been able to prove it, but, among other dirty tricks, he's credited with the clandestine looting of the wreck of the Nuestra Senora de Cillas, Nuestra Senora de Cillas, a galleon out of Veracruz that sank in 1675 in the cove of Sanlucar with a cargo of silver ingots.” Gamboa grimaced. ”It wasn't a huge fortune, but during the looting the divers destroyed the s.h.i.+p, leaving it useless for any serious archaeological research. He's suspected of more than one despicable act like that.” a galleon out of Veracruz that sank in 1675 in the cove of Sanlucar with a cargo of silver ingots.” Gamboa grimaced. ”It wasn't a huge fortune, but during the looting the divers destroyed the s.h.i.+p, leaving it useless for any serious archaeological research. He's suspected of more than one despicable act like that.”

”Is he efficient?” Coy wanted to know.

”Palermo? Extremely efficient.” Gamboa looked at Tanger as if he expected her to confirm what he said, but she said nothing.

”Maybe the best of the guys we see operating around here. He's worked on wrecks around the world, and made money by combining that with salvaging and sc.r.a.pping sunken s.h.i.+ps____ Some time ago he tried to link up with one of the attempts by Fisher, whom he'd worked for as diver on the Atocha. Atocha. They intended to make an all-out effort at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, where they calculated some eighty s.h.i.+ps had gone down on their way to unload in Seville with more gold aboard than the Banco de Espana has. But this isn't Florida; they couldn't get official authorization. There were other problems, too. Palermo is one of those guys who defend the cla.s.sic doctrine of treasure hunters-since they do all the work and the State merely issues the permits, four-fifths of the proceeds should go to the rescuer. But in Madrid they said no way, and he had the same luck with the council of Andalusia.” They intended to make an all-out effort at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, where they calculated some eighty s.h.i.+ps had gone down on their way to unload in Seville with more gold aboard than the Banco de Espana has. But this isn't Florida; they couldn't get official authorization. There were other problems, too. Palermo is one of those guys who defend the cla.s.sic doctrine of treasure hunters-since they do all the work and the State merely issues the permits, four-fifths of the proceeds should go to the rescuer. But in Madrid they said no way, and he had the same luck with the council of Andalusia.”

Gamboa was enjoying the conversation. He was talkative and this was his terrain, and he gave Coy a long lecture on the role of Cadiz in the history of s.h.i.+pwrecks. Between 1500 and 1820, two to three hundred s.h.i.+ps carrying ten percent of all the precious metals brought from America had sunk there. The problem was the murky water, the sand and mud covering the wrecks, and also suspicion on the part of the Spanish state. Even the Navy, he added with a twist of his lips, had a good number of wrecks pinpointed. But some old admirals thought of the sunken s.h.i.+ps as tombs that shouldn't be violated.

”How did the interview with Palermo go?” Coy asked.

”It was cordial and cautious on both sides.” The observatory director studied Tanger an instant before turning back to Coy. ”So you know him, then?”

Coy, who was walking with his hands in his pockets, shrugged.

”She exaggerates a little. The truth is we had, uh... superficial contact.”

Gamboa looked at him closely, interested.

”Contact, you sayr ”Yes.”

”How do you mean, superficial?”

'Just that.” Again Coy shrugged. ”Limited to the surface.”

”He head-b.u.t.ted his nose,” Tanger said.

Coy glimpsed a smile through the golden hair the sea breeze was blowing across her face. Gamboa had stopped and looked at them in turn.

”His nose? Go on, you're joking.” Now he spoke to Coy with renewed respect. ”You have to tell me about that, my friend I'm dying to know.”

Coy told him in a few words, with no adornments. Dog, hotel, nose, police station. When he was through, Gamboa studied him, pensive, amused, scratching his beard.

”Hey! And yet, even for someone who doesn't know his story, Palermo is a dangerous man____ Besides, he has that disturbing way of looking at you; you don't know which eye to focus on” He hadn't taken his own eyes from Coy, as if evaluating his capacity for punching people in the nose. ”Superficial contact, you say. Is that right? Superficial.”

He laughed Coy studied Tanger and she held his gaze, the smile still playing on her lips.

”I'm glad someone gave that arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d a lesson,” Gamboa said finally, after they had started walking again. ”I already told you that he came by here the way everyone does. Smoke and mirrors, false trails: the Florida Keys, Zahara de los Atunes, Sancti Petri, the Chapitel and Diamante reefs. Even the Vigo estuary and its famous galleons...”

They had left the sea behind and were walking into town along old streets bordering the cathedral, near the brick tower and walls of Santa Cruz. The plaza sloped downhill, with its Christ in a vaulted niche, and lanterns and geraniums and shutters on the balconies of old houses where whitewashed walls, like most in the city; were pocked by wind and dampness from the nearby sea. Almost everything was in shadows, and the light from the setting sun was fading from the tile roofs. The paving of that plaza, Gamboa told Coy, was cobbled with American stones, ballast from s.h.i.+ps that plied the route to the Indies.

'As I said,” he continued, ”going back to Nino Palermo. I had been warned. So I let him wander around without offering any worthwhile clues.”

”I appreciate that,” said Tanger.

”It wasn't just for you. That sly fox played me a bad turn a while back, when he was on the trail of the four hundred gold and silver bars-though others were talking about a half-million pieces of eight-taken from the San Francisco Javier. San Francisco Javier.... But in those cases, instead of creating an uproar that doesn't do anyone any good, it's best not to say anything about it, and just keep it to yourself. Our paths will cross again.”

They threaded between parked cars blocking the street, pa.s.sing some rough-looking men along the way. The area was packed with dark little bars filled with unemployed fishermen, scroungers, and beggars. A young boy in sneakers, and with the look of someone who could win the 100-yard dash, followed them for a while, his eye on Tanger's purse, until Coy turned, set his feet in the middle of the street and scowled, at which the boy decided to test the air elsewhere. Prudent, Tanger s.h.i.+fted her purse. Now she carried it tucked against her ribs.

”What is it exactly that Palermo asked you?”

Gamboa stopped to light a cigarette. Again smoke escaped through the incense burner of his fingers.

”Same as you. He was looking for plans.” He put away the lighter and turned toward Coy. ”In any research involving s.h.i.+pwrecks, plans are of vital importance. If you have them, you can study the structure of the s.h.i.+p, estimate measurements, and all the rest. It isn't easy to get your orientation under water, because what you find, unlike what you see in the movies, tends to be a pile of rotted wood, often buried under sand. Knowing where the bow is, or the length of the waist, or where the hold was, is a big step forward. With plans and a tape measure you can make a reasonable a.s.sessment of life down there.” He gave Tanger a meaningful look. ”Of course, it depends on what you expect to find.”

”It isn't a matter of looking for anything, at first,” she said. ”This is just research. The operative phase will come later, if it comes at all.”

A thread of smoke filtered from between Gamboa s nicotine-stained incisors.

”Right. The operative phase.” He narrowed his eyes maliciously. ”What was the Dei Gloria's Dei Gloria's cargo?” cargo?”

Tanger also laughed softly, placing a hand on his arm.

”Cotton, tobacco, and sugar from Havana. You know that perfectly well.”

”Sure.” Gamboa scratched his beard. ”At any rate, if someone locates the s.h.i.+p and goes on to-what did you call it?-the operative phase, everything will also depend on what you're looking for. If it's doc.u.ments or perishable goods, there is nothing you can do.”

”Of course,” she said, as imperturbable as if this were a game of poker.

”Paper dissolves, and, poof! Arrivederci.” Arrivederci.” ”Naturally.” ”Naturally.”

Gamboa scratched his whiskers again before taking another drag on his cigarette.

”So... Cotton, tobacco, and sugar from Havana, you say?”

His tone was teasing. She raised both hands, like an innocent little girl.

”That's what the cargo manifest says. It isn't great, but it gives you a pretty good idea.”

”You were lucky to find it.”

”Very much so. It came to Spain among the papers concerning the evacuation from Cuba in 1898. Not to Cadiz, where it would have been lost in the fire, but to El Ferrol. From there it was sent to Viso del Marques, where I was able to see it in the Commercial Navigation section.”

”You were lucky,” Gamboa repeated ”I went to see if I could find anything, and suddenly there it was before my eyes. s.h.i.+p, date, port, cargo, pa.s.sengers... Everything.”

Gamboa studied her intently.

”Or almost everything,” he said in a bantering tone.

”What makes you think there's something more?” Coy asked.

Gamboa smiled calmly. He shook his head.

”I don't think, friend. I just observe this young woman___ And then I weigh Nino Palermo's interest in the same matter. And my own sense of it, because I wasn't born yesterday and I've been at this for years. This voyage from Havana to Valencia without a call at Cadiz-never mind the squeaky-dean Havana manifest you found in Viso del Marques-smells of an undercover operation. And if we consider the date and who chartered her, the conclusion is obvious: there was something fishy about the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria What that corsair sank was anything but an innocent s.h.i.+p.” What that corsair sank was anything but an innocent s.h.i.+p.”

Having said that, the director of the observatory winked and again laughed as dgarette smoke seeped from between uneven teeth.