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I’d been researching potential wrecks in this section of ocean for years. Even before Dad found my first clue to the ancient wreck I wanted to explore this morning, I knew there would be shipwrecks here. The hidden reef and unpredictable current caused by the island would have caught many inexperienced sailors off-guard.
I poured boiling water into Dad’s mug, gave it a stir, and as I carried the coffee to Rhino’s boxy bow, I peered into the shifting blue and green ocean beyond the deck.
If I was right, hidden amongst the extensive coral bed below was the Siren’s Lure wreck. After departing Sydney on the 2nd of January 1959, the mid-sized coastal freighter bounced along Australia’s coastline, dropping off and picking up passengers and cargo. On January 14th, the Siren’s Lure was hit by a violent cyclone that would have rocked the passengers and cargo like sharks in a bathtub.
I was convinced that the ship hit this reef, about sixty yards away from where I stood, then sank.
The Siren’s Lure was carrying a load of high-priced items destined for the luxury resort on Kangaroo Island—custom-designed furniture, Egyptian cotton sheets, French caviar, but the cargo I had my eyes on was the twelve cases of 1953 Penfolds Grange.
Since that ship sank, Penfolds wines reached legendary status. One bottle from the 1953 vintage alone sold for nearly thirty thousand dollars. Add in the story behind the sinking of the Siren’s Lure, and the price per bottle will skyrocket.
Rich bastards paid good money for shit like that.
That could mean a spectacular payday for us.
Three bottles would be enough to get a new engine on my boat. If the whole lot survived the sinking of that ship, then over eight million dollars worth of wine would be all ours.
I chuckled. I would even let Dad drink a bottle of that shiraz all to himself.
If I found them intact.
That was a big ‘if’ though. The Siren’s Lure probably wasn’t whole when she sank. And for over four decades, brutal currents had battered what was left of the two-hundred-foot vessel.
The chance of finding the wreck, let alone intact bottles of seventy-year-old wine, was minuscule. But taking risks was in my blood, and my diminishing finances meant this was a risk I had to take.
Dad’s hacking cough preceded his arrival on the top deck.
“Finally!” Smacking my hands together, I marched back to him. “Let’s go. Chop. Chop.”
Dad wore faded blue Stubbie shorts and a denim peaked cap. The gray hairs on his chest glistened in the dawn glow. As he ran his hand down his scraggy beard, he squinted across the ocean to the distant island as if trying to work out where we were.
I clicked my fingers in front of his face. “Hey, you with me?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” His eyes rolled so hard that I wasn’t sure they’d come back.
“Come on, Dad. I need your help.” I shoved the coffee mug into his hands. “Drink.”
I strode to Rhino’s stern with him following.
At the rear dive deck, I stripped down to my bikini and pulled on my 3mm wetsuit. I hated wearing a wetsuit, but I learned the hard way that water-soaked skin was no match for rusty, jagged edges on sunken shipwrecks. The scar on my forehead was nasty, but at least I didn’t have to look at it, unlike the two claw-like scars along my right thigh. They were the result of one of my first rebellious acts against my father.
I’d been eleven years old and adamant that his insistence on me wearing a wetsuit was just because I was a girl. I was wrong. The ancient, rusted cannon I’d scraped against twenty feet below the water had resulted in jagged cuts that required twenty-eight stitches. The same day I got those scars, my mother was murdered in front of me. My stupid rebellion was the reason why we’d stopped that scuba dive.
Those nasty scars were a constant reminder of the worst decision of my life.
Not that I needed reminding. What happened after I was injured would forever stain my childhood memories. But I’d learned from that mistake. Just like I did with all my stupid decisions.
Learning from my mistakes was one of the reasons why I was thirty-three and still single. The only lover I’d ever let into my heart turned out to be a sneaky, lying bastard. I hadn’t even been close to a relationship since I kicked him in the nuts nine years ago.
The occasional one-night stand with a man I would never see again was good enough for me.
“You really doing this?” Dad croaked.
“You know I am,” I snapped. “That’s why we’re here.”
He raised his palm. “Calm down. Just checking.”
I groaned. “Sorry. It’s just . . . we need this find.”
