Hatteras Blue by David Poyer Read Free Book Online Page B

Devil Hill. How long has your family been here?"
    "Long as there's been English. Legend is the first Galloway came ashore in a whiskey barrel. They were probably shipwrecked here around 1700."
    "I've always envied that," said Keyes. "Knowing your family, who your ancestors were. Don't know a thing about mine. And then there was your father—"
    Galloway said nothing. He drank. A low, regular thump came from outside for a few minutes; then the wake of the passing boat died away, and the old PT settled again to a slow tilt.
    "What did he think?"
    "About what?"
    "About your going to prison."
    "He shot himself when the guilty verdict came down. I don't think he believed I did it till then."
    Keyes sat silent for a moment. "That must have been rough."
    Galloway shrugged.
    'You married?"
    "Not anymore."
    "What about your mother?"
    "Stepmother. She's refused to see me since my release. There aren't many people on this island I'm on speaking terms with anymore." "No? Why did you come back, then?"
    "Number of reasons. I know fishing and salvage, I thought I could make a living. There's something I have to decide, and this is the best place for me to do it. And then there's the parole."
    Keyes nodded slowly. Galloway silently refilled his glass again, lifted the bottle with a raised eyebrow. The other covered his with his hand.
    "How long's that for?"
    "Two years mandatory."
    "This Hirsch, she keeps close tabs on you."
    "She's new to her job. Wants to save me."
    "From?"
    Galloway didn't answer. Keyes waited a moment, then sighed. "Were you in the Coast Guard?"
    "Of course."
    "What happened?"
    "Nam."
    '"What did you do there?"
    "I was a salvage diver in Saigon harbor. Later I got a chance to work with the Seals."
    "What kind of work?"
    "Combat demolition."
    "like today?"
    "If this was North Vietnam, and we did it at night, and people were trying to kill us, yeah, it would be kind of like today."
    "Why did you leave the Coast Guard?"
    "Drugs."
    "Selling?"
    "Using."
    "You use now?"
    "Only this," said Galloway, polishing off another shot.
    Neither man said anything for a long time after that. The sun dipped lower. The blond man's face was in shadow now. Galloway felt vaguely relieved. He poured himself a splash more.
    "Too bad about the boy."
    "He'll bounce back. Jack's always been a tough kid."
    'You've known him long?"
    "Since he was born. He's a double cousin."
    "I see. Did I understand him right? He really owns this boat?"
    "It was confiscated. After they found me guilty the Guard sold it at auction. He bought it."
    "With whose money?"
    Galloway flicked up his eyes, but didn't answer.
    "Why don't you buy it back from him now?"
    "Parole condition. I can't own a boat. Plus, I happen to be broke. He went to that knockdown with the last cash I had in his jeans."
    "I see. So he owns it, but you run it."
    "That's right, we're partners," said Galloway. He finished what was in his glass, looked at the bottle, then put it away. "All right. Let's have your proposition."
    "I want you to do a little research for me," said Keyes. "Or with me. Dig around in some local history. If that's successful, I may want your assistance with a dive or two, and the use of your boat."
    "That last part sounds like another offer I got once."
    "The one that put you in prison? Maybe it sounds like it. But it isn't."
    "So what is this research about?"
    "It's a hobby. I'm interested in military history. Always have been. I'm ex-Army, matter of fact I was in Vietnam too. Now and then I write an article. I've published in Military Review; Naval History; Army magazine, and some little academic periodicals nobody reads much. That sort of thing."
    'You've got a story?"
    "Maybe. Got a lead. Just have to track it down."
    'You said diving. Where?"
    "Not sure. Somewhere off the coast."
    "How far out?"
    "Can't say exactly. Maybe forty, fifty miles."
    Galloway glanced toward the chart table. Something gnawed at his memory. He frowned, but nothing came. 'You talking treasure