The last time Grant had gone scuba diving was when he was in middle school for a marine life camp. He had fond memories of it but had since become aware of its dangers. Many divers, no matter how much experience they had had perished in the water due to a miscalculation in oxygen management or simply getting lost in the deep. Even getting tangled in their own lines or kelp had claimed the lives of some divers.

Grant was still feeling jet lagged as the boat carrying him and Estelle sped out to sea.

"I could go for a nap right now," said Grant.

"Go for it," said Estelle, from below. "It was take us a bit to get to the diving spot."

Brock Sanderson was piloting his own boat a few yards away from them. Though he wasn't interested in working together, he had the same idea of searching the wreck of the Duchess of Scotland.

Estelle came out from below deck in a yellow one piece swimsuit.

"It's not polite to stare," said Estelle, noticing Grant looking at her.

"I wasn't," said Grant. "Just surprised by your choice of color.

"I like bright colors because it makes it easier to spot me," said Estelle. "There is a real danger of getting trapped in the wreck or getting lost in the dark."

Grant stood up with a groan and examined their diving gear. Aside from the usual tech including a regulator, oxygen supply, and goggles, Estelle had also brought along spear guns and diving knives.

"Where did you get these weapons?" said Grant.

"I know a guy," said Estelle, switching off the autopilot on their boat. "We will reach the diving spot in half an hour."

The Duchess of Scotland had been struck by another ship and sank within twenty minutes. Over a thousand people had perished on the luxury ocean liner. No one had been able to identify the vessel that rammed the ship however. In fact no one on deck that night could recall ever seeing a ship ramming into the Duchess of Scotland. The disaster was ruled out to be an accident with no one at fault.

"We are here," said Estelle after a long period of piloting their craft.

Grant got into his diving gear with Estelle. He wondered if he would see any whales, exotic fish, or sharks. The ocean scared him as a child, the idea of a cold dark abyss below that hid anything that could be there below you. A creature of the sea could swim right above or below a person and they would never know it. The swimming lessons he took in elementary and middle school helped him conquer that fear, however he still sometimes shuddered at the thought of being alone in the dark depths of the sea and the unseen horrors that were all around.

"I'll go first," said Estelle.

Before Grant could reply, Estelle flipped off the boat and disappeared below the surface.

"Yeah right behind you," Grant muttered to himself. He slipped on his mask and regulator before taking the plunge.

Estelle was suspended in the water only a few feet below waving at him with her light. Grant gave her a thumbs up with show that he acknowledged her.

As soon as Grant was right up beside her, Estelle tapped her transducer, a device used to convert a person's voice into an ultrasound signal. With the right receiver this allowed for vocal underwater communication.

"Can you hear me?" Estelle's voice came through the earpiece.

"Loud and clear," said Grant. "I'll follow close behind you."

"Ok," said Estelle. "Don't try to stray too far from me. I've got a lot more diving experience than you and I'm happy to be your guide but if you get out of sight I can't help you."

"I'll try not to get too distracted."

Estelle pointed down and together they began their descent. Grant found the darkness all around them frustratingly confining. The further they got from the sunlight, the more they had to rely on the limited vision the flashlights provided. Anything outside the yellow beams of their flashlights was pitch black.

"50 meters," said Estelle. "We should be coming up on it now."

Sure enough after a minute more of their slow descent, a metallic shape in an advanced state of deterioration. Several small fish swam near the rusted surface of the ship's starboard side. Though the darkness made it impossible to see the entire span of the wreck, Grant could still get a feel of its size. Shining his light up and down, the wreck of the Duchess of Scotland seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see from his position.

"She landed on her port side," said Estelle. "I've studied her interior closely and know it like the back of my hand. Our destination is the room where Hugh Trenton stayed. It’s on the second class level.”

“No sharks down here right?” Grant asked. “These spear guns don’t look very powerful.”

“Sharks don’t like to eat humans actually,” Estelle reassure him. “Look you can go back to the boat if you’re just going to express dread the whole time. That being said if you see a shark don’t act like the aggressor ok?”

“Right.”

They continued on through one of many entry points into the ship where it was pitch black. It was here that Grant began to feel hints of claustrophobia creeping under his skin. He felt like he was trapped in a damp dark school locker. Nothing that wasn’t illuminated by the diving light was visible at all. Grant would have liked to see the ship, even its wrecked state brought to the surface so he could marvel at it clearly in daylight.

It didn’t take long for Grant to eventually come to terms with his surroundings. The fact that the hallways of the luxury liner were once filled with excited passengers made Grant feel melancholy. Many people found themselves trapped and drowned that fateful night. The number of lifeboats weren’t the problem rather the rate in which the ship took on water. The Duchess simply sank too fast for all the passengers to escape.

“All the bones from the dead must have disintegrated long ago,” said Grant as they moved down the dark hallway of the second class level. “Bad way to go.”

“The sea has served as a cemetery for countless,” said Estelle. “At least their grave is marked even if the remains have been destroyed by the elements. Many lost on the surface world cannot say the same.”

Estelle stopped by an opening where a door once stood. On a plaque were the numbers 284 “We are here. Help me search quickly.”

The walls of the room which Grant was sure were once beautiful has long since rotted away and was covered by twisted brown growth. What was left of the bed was still recognizable and the study table was still fairly intact as was a large oval mirror that hung on the wall to the left. The tub in the bathroom was the only thing that looked almost untouched save for the algae and ocean grime that stained parts of it. Pipping had been left exposed after the bathroom wall has collapsed.

“Nothing worth salvaging so far,” said Grant, studying the broken in bathroom. “How’s the market for antique faucets?”

“There’s a safe partly buried here,” said Estelle.

Grant rushed back into the bedroom. “What?”

Sure enough Estelle was using her hands to free a tall safe from a small pile of garbage and ocean growth. With Grant’s help they were able to stand the safe upright though with great difficulty given that were in full diving gear.

“It’s already been opened,” said Estelle, sounding glum as she examined the safe. “Nothing in here but dirt.”

“But the painting could have been in here,” said Grant. “A tall safe like this would have been perfect for transporting such a work of art.”

“That’s what I thought but I imagined that a painting of such great value would have been kept in the frame. Oh well I knew it couldn’t be that easy. Perhaps some other divers made off with the painting.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though. Wouldn’t you want to bring the safe to the surface first? That way the painting suffers minimal damage from being transported through the water. Maybe the sharks ate it.”

Estelle sighed. “Or the painting simply drifted through the water or went down with the Mr. Trenton. He might have tried to save himself and the painting.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Are you saying me we might have to search all possible locations where Hugh Trenton might have drowned that night? Look he might even have slipped into one of the lifeboats and no one noticed. I read that there were passenger list inaccuracies with the Titanic too would made it difficult to get a proper count of the survivors.”

Grant noticed Estelle check her oxygen.

“Let’s wrap this up,” she said and resumed her search.

Grant kicked towards the study desk and wrenched the drawers. To his surprise he found a plain steel strongbox.

“Look at this,” Grant said, showing Estelle the strongbox. “We should break it open on the boat.”

“Let’s go then,” said Estelle. “Our currently supply of oxygen wouldn’t let us explore more of the ship anyways.”

With Estelle in the lead they kicked their way back to the boat. As they distanced themselves from the ship Grant looked back. He had not noticed it before when they initially approached the wreck but there were large cuts made into the ship of the ship almost in a claw like pattern. Though the reports had mentioned that another vessel had rammed into the Duchess of Scotland, Grant couldn’t imagine any vessel inflicting the sort of damage he was seeing. He did not have time though to ponder on it and quickly followed Estelle back up. Brock was waiting for them in his own craft which he had pulled up beside theirs.

“Find anything?” he asked.

Grant proudly held up the strongbox and climbed aboard after Estelle. “Could be something in here.”

Estelle used a hammer to break open the strongbox which wasn’t hard given the deterioration from decades of sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Inside was a very wet journal, which Grant could tell, even from its current state was one of great quality.

“Pages are waterproof,” said Estelle carefully flipping open the journal. “Looks like it was written by Hugh Trenton himself.”

Brock rocked the boat by stepping on. He was a heavily built man. Grant noticed that he had a pistol holstered at his hip.

“So what did you find?” Brock asked.

Grant made a face. The man smelled of sweat and booze.

“Journal of the last known owner of the painting,” said Estelle, pouring over the book. “According to Trenton he feared that he was being stalked in a sense onboard the ship. Someone had taken an interest in the painting. A passenger by the name of Norman Corea.”

“That was one of my theories,” said Grant. “When I saw that the safe had been opened I figured someone might have broken into it.”

Grant heard the unmistakable click of a pistol and turned slowly as did Estelle. Brock stood with a dark expression, a Beretta in his hand.

“What is this?” Estelle demanded.

“I’m sorry but my true employer isn’t your cousin Grant Foreman,” said Brock. “Like you I did have this theory that the painting might have been stolen from Hugh Trenton the night the ship sank. There was a lot of digging I had to do but eventually I came across a piece of writing from one of the crew of the Duchess. He mentioned that one passenger in the lifeboat that he helped man had a large roll of parchment or something. The passenger was adamant about hanging onto it despite it taking up room. The sailor did not confirm whether it was a painting but I had to go off the implied possibility that someone did in fact carry off the very artifact we three are searching for.”

Grant put himself between Brock and Estelle even though he knew that if Brock fired the bullet would likely piece right through him anyways.

“Look can’t we talk about this? We could benefit from helping each other.”

“You must think the universe is on your side,” said Brock, smirking. “Arrogant of you to assume you two are the only one’s capable of finding the painting. Sorry boy but I’m going to kill you know and then Miss Burnette there. A shame to waste such a beautiful woman. But you can handle yourself I know that which is why I’m not going to risk getting too close.”

Grant’s mind raced. It wasn’t worth going for the gun, Brock seemed too sharp to be caught off guard. There wasn’t any room in the boat to really maneuver out of harm’s way. He considered making a dive off the boat but Brock would likely hit him as he made for the other boat. There was no guaranteed that Estelle was thinking the same thing either.

“Say a final word,” said Brock. “I’ll give you that much. It’s nothing personal.”

Grant swallowed, holding out a hand. “Ok well at least tell us who—“

Something flew from under Grant’s right arm. Brock made a sound like the wind had been knocked out of him and stumbled back, a thin metal rock protruding from his chest. The Beretta went off but missed Grant and the bullet struck the water out to the side. A mixture of fear, surprise, and hate crossed Brock’s face for a moment before landed with a heavy thud onto the surface of the boat.

“Thanks for covering me,” said Estelle, brushing past Grant and reloading her spear gun.

“Nice shot,” said Grant slowly, collecting his nerves. “I really thought we were going to die there.”

“You did a good job keeping his eyes on you,” said Estelle, removing the pistol from Brock’s hand. “I owe you one. But first help me dump him overboard.”

Once Brock’s body was disposed of Estelle swam over to his boat and began ransacking it. Aside from the typical sea travel equipment, Estelle transferred to their own boat Brocks laptop, notebooks, phone, and weapons which included a Remington Model 700 and a second Beretta.

“We’ll leave the boat,” said Estelle. “Not interested in piloting the craft of a killer.”

“But aren’t you a killer too?” said Grant as he removed his diving gear.

Estelle glared at him. “I did what I did in self-defense. It wasn’t easy for me alright. Even now my hands are shaking.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Estelle, getting back to boat’s controls. “Look through our finding while I get us back to land.”

A few hours later Grant and Estelle found themselves at the Redtree Hotel in New York. Grant hadn’t been able to go through the contents of Brock’s laptop given that it was secured by a password. He was however able to find information on Norman Corea, the man who had stolen the Grace of the Fountain. Apparently his last place of residence was in California.

In the shower Grant let the excitement and terror of the days excursion wash away with the hot water that soothed his body. His whole body felt weary and tight. The shampoo provided by the hotel had a strong lavender scent which he hated. The bar of soap smelled unpleasantly like chemicals.

As Grant stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his lower half, he savored the cool air of the hotel room that hit him. Steam rushed out through the door at once alongside him.

“You took even longer than I did,” said Estelle, who sloppily lay atop her bed comforters in nothing but her underwear and unbuttoned dress shirt.

“I like a long hot shower,” said Grant. “Put some clothes on by the way. You forget that we are sharing this room tonight.”

“After Brock’s betrayal I think it’s safer if we stayed close,” said Estelle.

“You think it’s possible that someone might try to kill us in our hotel rooms?”

Estelle sighed and propped herself against the pillow. He looked good with her face clean of makeup and her long black hair wet and ruffled. “They don’t exactly have airport level security in the hotel lobby ok?”

“Great now you’re making me nervous,” said Grant. “But I guess you have a point. Should we take turns with the watch?”

Estelle shook her head. “I’m too tired. I wouldn’t be able to trust myself to stay awake in this state. You can watch the door. You’re a strong man. Just don’t let them disturb my sleep ok?”

“Very funny,” said Grant, moving towards his bed. “Now let me put on my clothes.”

“Scared to let a woman see your buttocks?” Estelle teased.

Grant snorted. “I got a pretty hair ass lady. You better avert thine eyes.”

“So you say but I’m willing to bet that a women have seen that sight before not counting your mother or nannies.”

Grant shook his head and ignored her as he put on a pair of cotton shorts and a white t shirt. “That’s none of your business.”

“Oops, so you have a girlfriend. In that case maybe we should get you your own room for her sake.”

Grant turned to face Estelle. “I did have a girlfriend. We parted on good terms recently. We should probably get out too while you still can. Clearly this job is more dangerous than we anticipated.”

“Oh? You’re giving up on your cousin?”

“I never said that,” said Grant harshly. “We got lucky today but next time we might not be. You’ve been kind and helpful but I don’t want to see a nice girl like you getting killed for our family’s troubles.”

“Hey I want to find the painting on a personal level too,” said Estelle. “It would look good on my resume. And no offense but so far I’ve been doing more of the heavy lifting.”

Grant put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Your right. I’m no diver so we wouldn’t have found out about Norman Corea without you and you saved me from Brock. Still though the fact remains that this is a dangerous job. I’m not backing out now but I guess… I wanted to make sure you know what you are getting yourself into.”

Estelle’s expression softened which brought out more of her regal like beauty. “I-I appreciate your concern, but I have no intention of backing out now. Sometimes you just got to live a little.”

Grant nodded. “Well alright. Guess we will remain partners then.” He began pacing around the room. “By the way I wanted to speak to you about something I saw when we left the wreckage.”

“Yeah?”

“The damage patterns that the ship sustained were unusual. Thing slashes spaced close together almost like a big claw tore into the ship. It looked animalistic in nature.”

Estelle raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of sea monsters here in the waters of New York.”

“Ok when you say it like that it does sound ridiculous. But to me it didn’t look like a ship rammed into the Duchess.”

“What’s your theory then?”

Grant shrugged. “For now there isn’t one. But I know what I saw. Perhaps the final report was falsified in some areas. Something was covered up.”

Estelle did not refute his theory and in fact seemed to ponder on it. “Well given the mysterious history of the painting I suppose anything goes. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow we fly back to California and pay a visit to Norman Corea’s home.”

“I’m going to call for backup to meet us there,” said Grant, laying back.

“Backup?”

“A friend from my last trip overseas.”

Estelle sat up straighter. “From the Taiping treasure find?”

“Yes?”

“I forget that you have experience with this sort of thing. I read about your story in the news. It was almost wild to be true.”

Grant has never actually spent the time to pay attention to any of the stories written on his adventures in Asia. “Depends on what they wrote about me.”

“They say you got in trouble with the mob. They say you shot people.”

“They shot first. Like today it was self-defense. Was today the first time you killed someone?”

Estelle nodded.

“Well best not to dwell on it or it will eat you up from the inside. If there is a God, I hope I can be forgiven.”

“Good night Grant,” said Estelle and shut off the lights.

Grant closed his eyes and let sleep take over him.