Mark of the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

pointed to an in-box on the side of her desk as the place for the man to leave an armload of files. Instead of leaving, the man lowered his body into one of the chairs facing Brandy’s desk, lit a cigarette, and half-whispered, “What’s buried?”
    Wrinkling her nose at the cigarette smoke, Brandy put an index finger to her lips as Matt’s voice responded, “Let’s say partially buried. Depth, fifty feet. The top was box-shaped with a waffle-like covering. A hard rubbery material. It was sticking out of the sand, three to four feet high, and I couldn’t budge it. No marine growth, so it’s fairly recent or buried and uncovered by the storm.”
    “Although pretty far out, part of an old pier structure from a century or so ago?” she asked thinking out loud. “Over the years, coast lines shift, you know.”
    Using his hand to fan away the smell of gasoline fumes rising from a nearby boat taking on fuel, Matt answered, “Doubt it. I know there are quite a few barges, tugs, and other things sunk several miles out from the mouth of the St. Johns and to the north as artificial reefs, but do you know of anything off Jacksonville Beach? Especially on state land inside the three-mile limit? Steve Park has been working and diving these waters for years, and he doesn’t.”
    “Offhand, I don’t either. Some stuff off St. Augustine, but Jacksonville Beach? Uh-uh. From past times working together, however, I’d bet a bundle you want to see what it is, right?”
    “Let’s just say I’m curious,” Matt admitted. “No problem for me to get my NAARPA people and equipment down from Charleston to check this thing out.”
    The man sitting in front of Brandy’s desk shook his head and jabbed a finger in his own direction. “Inside three miles,” he whispered as loudly as he could. “Ours.” Again shaking his head, he added, “NAARPA, no!”
    “Little too soon for NAARPA to get involved,” Brandy said to Matt. “Especially if the state has to subsidize some kind of operation with no idea what we’re looking for. As you well know, if your people can’t get the money from Congress, you don’t do anything for free. Anyway, at this point, it’s really our responsibility. What is it you want to do?”
    “Take a look. Nose around a bit. What’ve I gotta do to get your okay besides tell you you’re the second most beautiful woman in the world, second only to my wife?”
    “First,” Brandy enumerated, a chuckle in her voice, “even if you
were
born white—a fact not your fault—divorce the first most beautiful woman in the world and get on over here. And second, if you can’t do that, give me a fax number and I’ll have Sally, my secretary, fax you the proper forms. I do, however, want you to promise me one thing.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Absolutely no prop wash chutes or dredging around whatever you found. You do that and I’ll be all over your ass, and not the way you’d prefer. Get my drift?”
    Matt laughed. “I love the way you talk. If only you’d said those things before I married Ashley. Anyway, I get your drift. No dredge, no prop wash, and I’ll give you a written report whether I determine what it is or not.”
    “You do that, but I’m tied up with some things for the governor this week and next,” Brandy responded, reaching for the stack of files in her in-box and nodding toward the young man seated in front of her. “Work with my right-hand man, Eric Bruder. He’s our chief underwater archeologist. Area code four-eight-seven, twenty-five twenty-five.”
    “Got it,” Matt answered as he quickly scribbled the name and number on the white of the console dash. “I’ll call your secretary as soon as I get a fax number from Steve. If I get Ashley to come down, maybe you can come over for a weekend and we can do something together.”
    “Maybe, if I can get away. Want to meet that wife of yours. She must be something special.”
    “Better believe it. Top-of-the-line model and about