Page 47 of Claimed By the Deep
His voice is all wrong - that overly careful, formal English he uses when he's on high alert, none of the warmth or those weird harmonic undertones that slip in when he's relaxed.
"Fascinating." Donovan's eyes narrow like he's found something interesting under a microscope. "I'd love to interview you both for my article. The economics of small-scale salvage, the challenges of working without institutional backing. Would make a great sidebar to my main feature."
"We're not big on publicity," I say, trying to deflect without seeming like I'm hiding something. "Most of our work's pretty routine anyway."
"Those aren't routine finds," Donovan counters, nodding toward the bronze bell. "That level of preservation suggests deep-water recovery. Most independent operators can't safely access those depths."
His assessment is too spot-on, too informed. This isn't some journalist's casual interest. Something about how focused he is, the way his eyes keep coming back to Cyreus, makes my skin crawl.
"Just got lucky with the currents," I say, keeping it vague. "Listen, we need to head back to harbor. Tide's turning, and I've got people waiting on me."
"Of course." Donovan pulls a business card from his pocket. "Maybe we could schedule something later? I'll be in the area for another week or so researching my article."
I take the card, noting the official magazine logo. "I'll think about it."
Pete, sensing the weird tension, starts backing his boat away. "We should get back to the fishing grounds anyway. Tide's bringing in the stripers this morning."
"Good luck with the catch," I call, already moving to start my engine.
As they pull away, I notice Donovan lift his camera, snapping several photos of us before they get too far. Cyreus has been unnaturally still throughout the whole exchange, but now he moves closer to me, speaking low where his voice won't carry across the water.
"He knows something."
"Or suspects something," I agree, keeping my expression neutral in case we're still being watched. "Either way, I don't like it."
"Did you recognize the publication he mentioned?"
"Yeah, it's legit. Oceanic Quarterly does cover marine conservation, underwater exploration, that kind of thing." I start the engine, steering us away at a normal, unhurried pace. "But that doesn't mean his interest is just about writing an article."
Once we've put enough distance between us and Pete's boat, Cyreus pulls himself up from the platform, water streaming off him as he joins me at the helm.
"Someone might have spotted us working together," he says. "Your diving abilities have jumped way beyond normal human limits since we partnered up. Deeper dives, longer bottom times, better finds. Was bound to catch somebody's attention eventually."
We fall quiet, both thinking through what this means. For months we've been careful - diving in remote spots, working during off-hours, keeping an eye out for other boats. But it only takes one sighting. One fisherman glimpsing something weird through murky water. One diver spotting movement that doesn't match any known fish.
"We should probably stop operations for a while," Cyreus suggests as we approach the harbor. "Until this blows over."
"That might make things worse. Suddenly disappearing right after being approached would just confirm whatever he suspects." I shake my head, running through our options. "Better to keep normal patterns but be more careful. Fewer deep dives, more conventional salvage."
"And if he keeps digging?"
"Then we give him something that satisfies his curiosity without revealing the truth." I'm already forming a plan. "A limited interview about normal salvage methods, some basic finds to photograph. Nothing extraordinary, nothing that suggests I can do things other divers can't."
***
The harbor's packed when I arrive - weekend boat traffic creating a traffic jam at the main dock. I navigate to my slip carefully, noticing how conversations stop as I pass, several people watching me with more interest than usual.
Fergus is waiting when I tie up, his weathered face tight with tension I rarely see. He helps secure my lines without his usual jokes, then leans in close to talk privately.
"Brian Donovan's been asking questions all over the harbor," he says without wasting time. "Specific questions about you and your mysterious diving partner that nobody's actually met."
"I know. He found me out on the water this morning with Pete." I study Fergus's face. "What kind of questions?"
Fergus glances around to make sure nobody's within earshot. "About your suddenly improved salvage hauls. About 'unusual marine activity' in areas where you dive. About your boat being spotted in places where normal diving would be impossible without specialized equipment you don't have registered."
My stomach knots up. "What did you tell him?"
"That you've always had a knack for finding what others miss. That fishermen see all kinds of crazy shit after twelve hours on the water with a flask for company. That you upgraded your equipment after that insurance settlement last year." Fergus meets my eyes directly. "I didn't mention that no such settlement exists, or that the equipment he's describing would cost more than your entire boat."
