The Treasure of Shark's Reef

By Thomas Cox

Ramon Sanchez and his girlfriend, K.C. Roth, find adventure and danger as they try to rescue K.C.'s friend from an overextended deep-water dive into a ship's graveyard. Legend has it that the sunken vessels are protected by a "ghost shark." Ramon and K.C. already had discovered a large shark in the area. A further danger is the fact that the diving companions are criminals seeking a treasure in illicit drugs in the same location. As they descend into dark, risk-laden waters, the kids face two imminent threats: the monster shark and two dangerous men who will use anyone and stop at nothing to achieve their goal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468573022

Thomas Cox

Thomas Cox is an award winning writer of adult crime stories in the mystery/suspense genre. He also writes adventure and fantasy books for your readers. Currently the author lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.

Book preview

1

Twelve-year-old Ramon Sanchez used his uncle’s binoculars to scan outward from both sides of the anchored boat bobbing on the waves. He could not look long, nor far, due to the sun glistening brightly, as though from polished metal, off the water, hurting his eyes after a few seconds.

When he lowered the binoculars and blinked to restore his vision, he looked at the middle-aged blond woman in her bikini bathing suit lounging in the deck-mounted chair, her head tilted back, her skin beginning to glow from the direct sun, her arms resting on the arms of the padded chair, and her eyes unseen behind the wide-rimmed sunglasses. He could not tell if she was awake or dozing.

Ramon politely coughed, and the woman turned her head toward him.

He said, We have a blanket in the chest. It might be a good idea to protect your skin from too much sun.

Her mouth smiled, though he still couldn’t see her eyes behind the opaque sunglasses. Thank you, Ramon. I have a robe in my bag.

She stirred herself from the chair to open the large canvas bag she had brought aboard and extract a terrycloth robe that she put on and turned the collar up to protect the back of her neck. She sat again and looked out to sea.

Ramon checked his watch. The divers had been down for a little over thirty minutes. Again he picked up the binoculars and scanned the horizons. His thoughts were on the two Anglo men diving with his uncle, plus the fact that when he had moved the leather bag brought aboard by the older man he had observed a pistol in it. He had no idea why any of his uncle’s clients would bring a pistol on the boat. He wondered if the blond woman knew about the gun.

Ramon felt a tinge of sorrow for the woman, having observed her most of the morning in the company of the two men. He guessed that she was married to the older white man, but had no clear concept of what was the younger white man’s relationship to her, or, for that matter, the relationship between the two men. She had spoken very few words with her two men, and, when she had, both had looked at her in a manner that disturbed Ramon, as though they were smugly superior to her and sharing some private joke about her. If she tried to ask a question, her husband, and sometimes the younger man, told her to shut up. Out of her hearing range, they made snide comments about her.

Ramon shifted his eyes to the lifeline that disappeared over the edge at the stern into the water. The lifeline was a condition of this dive even though the two men had shown Ramon and his uncle their certification cards. Ramon had not caught the names on the cards, so he could only assume they were valid. He could not see the bubbles now, so that meant that his uncle had guided the two Anglos away from the boat to the northwest. That would be where Dead Reef and the heralded sunken ships were, and the superstition of the ghost shark. The actual name of the area was El Profundo Oscuro, which, loosely translated, meant the deep and dark.

After another scan with the binoculars, Ramon took a drink of tepid water from the canvas bag near the wheelhouse door. His perch up at the back opening of the wheelhouse, where he had quick access to any equipment should an emergency occur, gave him a downward view.

The woman, without moving her head or removing her sunglasses, spoke. How long can they stay down, Ramon?

Ramon looked quickly at her. That depends on their depth. Don’t be worried. My uncle is an excellent dive master and certified instructor. Would you like something to drink?

A glass of water, please.

Ramon filled a paper cup from the water bag and took it down to her. She straightened up in the chair, adjusted the terrycloth robe around her legs, accepted the cup and thanked him. He watched her drink the whole cup. She handed it back to him, he crushed it and placed it inside the trash-bag lined basket which was already a third full of her two men’s empty juice cans.

How deep will they dive, Ramon?

Ramon looked at her. One hundred and thirty feet, about twenty-one fathoms, is plenty deep enough. This is a tricky area, this Dead Reef, because of the currents and shifting sands. Except for the lights there’s no visibility at that depth, and even the lights won’t penetrate far through the silt. Any depth more than twenty or so fathoms makes the dive risky because of the dark and the pressure. It’s easy to get confused, disoriented. Only the most skilled divers can go much further. My uncle will not take chances with your husband and his friend. So you don’t have to worry.

Me, worry? The woman made a snickering sound at something and adjusted her wide-rimmed sunglasses. What are the chances of finding something down there?

What do you mean?

I mean, suppose you lost something and you’re looking for it?

Oh, said Ramon. It depends on how big it is. But it’d probably be like looking for that needle in the haystack.

What do you keep watching for?

Ramon climbed back to his elevated position. Anything unusual.

Do you mean sharks?

Ramon grinned broadly, flashing his white teeth. Yes, sharks would be unusual.

Why?

Well, Dead Reef is exactly what the name says. There’s no living coral, no feeding grounds for smaller fish. They’re all in the protected areas. Sharks swim and eat. It’s what they do. They won’t hang around at a place where there’s no food. Besides, very few big sharks have been sighted around here. I can’t remember the last time the Coast Guard closed the beaches because of a shark sighting.

She smiled at him. She had a pleasant smile. I heard about the ‘ghost shark.’

Ramon grinned at her. "That’s a superstition. Over a hundred years old. Back before ships had all the new sonar, there used to be light buoys out there close to the reef. On foggy nights that couldn’t stop old vessels from wrecking themselves and sometimes drowning whole crews. The official name of this place is El Profundo Oscuro, but generations ago people started calling it Dead Man’s Reef, then Shark Reef, and now just Dead Reef. They even called it Shark’s Haunt for awhile, and that’s how the superstition started."

How many ships wrecked on that reef?

Four, Ramon said. Right now my uncle is trying to show your husband and friend the shapes of those ships. All you can see are the shapes. The closest one is sort of hanging on the side of the reef. There’s nothing left inside it. Anything worth salvaging was taken long, long ago. He drew a breath and continued: "In the eighteen-twenties, a slave ship, bound for the Gulf, and eventually New Orleans, had a number of African Shamans, or witch doctors, in chains on it. For weeks, crossing the ocean, the witch doctors prayed, chanted, and conjured spells, calling a curse down on their captors and the