16

THE GRASP II WAS EVERYTHING CHO HAD EXPECTED. IT HAD STATE-OF-THE- art technology throughout and a powerful winch and claw that should be more than sufficient to lift whatever they found on the ocean floor. His commander, who was going by Mr. Lee on this trip, had told the Americans it was a treasure-filled German submarine. Maybe that was true and maybe not. “Mr. Lee” had been extremely tight-lipped about the details of this trip for months.

Cho and Mr. Lee sat on one side of a small table in the Grasp II’s galley. The captain and first mate of the ship sat on the other side. The captain was Harry Wither, and he fit his name. He was a stooped white-haired man of at least seventy. He had a neatly trimmed beard, watery blue eyes, and a prominent nose laced with red veins. Perhaps he had been a strong captain once, but those days appeared to be long behind him. As far as Cho could tell, First Mate Randy Jenkins more or less ran the ship now. He certainly was trying to run the conversation they were having right now.

“Are all these men necessary?” Mr. Lee asked, pointing to a list of the ship’s crew.

Jenkins folded thick tattooed arms across his broad belly. “Yeah. They are.”

Mr. Lee’s eyebrows went up two millimeters. “Please explain.”

Jenkins frowned at the demand, but took the list of names and ticked them off with a stubby pencil. “Adams is Chief Engineer. Sanford is the Engineer’s Mate. Curtis—”

“I can read their names and titles,” Mr. Lee cut in, speaking in the precise and commanding tones Cho had heard many times before. “We have men who can perform all those duties. They will be here soon. Your men can give our men whatever information is necessary.”

Jenkins snorted and scratched his thick red beard. “Let me explain how things work on this ship.” He pointed to the captain. “This is the captain.” He poked a meaty finger into his own chest. “I’m the first mate. We decide who comes on board and what jobs they do. And when this ship sails, we’re 100 percent in command. We are both God and the devil to everyone on board. You are our guests, but we run this ship. Got it?”

Neither Mr. Lee’s expression nor his authoritative tone changed. “You are mistaken.” He pinned the captain with a hard look. “Captain Wither, I believe your employer sent you a copy of the contract by e-mail last week.”

The captain made a vague throat-clearing noise, and his eyes moved from Mr. Lee to his first mate. “Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t, ah, always read my e-mail.”

Mr. Lee looked into the captain’s eyes until the American dropped his gaze to the table.

Mr. Lee turned back to the first mate. “Perhaps you had a different role on other trips. This time, you are owner’s representative only. We are renting this ship and will control. The contract will explain this to you.” He plucked the crew list from Jenkins’s hand with a quick motion. “We do not have someone to operate the ROV,” he said as he read it. “How many men are required for this job?”

Jenkins turned red and his eyes flashed. “Three, but we can make do with two.”

“Acceptable.” He looked at the list. “Chief Pilot Granger and Assistant Pilot Daniels will come. The rest of the men are unnecessary and will not come.”

The muscles of Jenkins’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ll look at the contract.”

“Very good. Your men are to be off the ship in two hours to make room for our men.”

Mr. Lee stood without waiting for a reply and walked out. Cho trailed him.

When they were out of earshot of the Americans, Mr. Lee turned to Cho and spoke in Korean. “Make sure that stupid red-haired geseki does what I told him to.”

“Yes, sir. I doubt that he will properly understand his role even after he reads the contract.”

Mr. Lee considered for a moment. “Once we are at sea, find an opportunity to educate him.”

“Yes, sir.”