1. Chapter One

Chapter One

L aura

“I found it! Laura, do you copy?” Garrison’s deep baritone wakes me up as it crackles through my walkie-talkie. “We found part of the ship! Get down here!”

I slept in after staying up late last night triple-checking facts I’ve already checked hundreds of times. Almost three weeks ago, we found a single sword at the bottom of the Norwegian Sea, a hundred miles off the coast of a town I can’t pronounce. Since then—nothing.

I was close to giving up, having come to the conclusion I’d miscalculated the location of the ship Fortuna , but Garrison sure sounded certain that he found it. It’s a legend I’ve been fascinated with since junior high—a sunken Roman ship from 82 AD that was supposedly carrying chests of gold to buy slaves and goods from Britannia.

Although I thought it was an odd paradox that a ship named after the Goddess of Luck disappeared at sea with all aboard, the idea of all that gold at the bottom of the sea triggered the treasure hunter in me.

I yank on my clothes with trembling fingers, jam my feet into my boots, and tear out of my tent into the cool, salty air on the coast of the tiny, uninhabited island we’re using as a base camp. Like most of the thousands of other islands along Norway’s coast, it’s harsh, isolated, and unwelcoming. Even birdwatchers and naturalists don’t venture here. The temperature’s already dropping and it’s only early September.

My body is buzzing with excitement as I make my way from the camp to the windswept shore. It’s rocky, sloping terrain, but I’m going as fast as my feet can carry me, nearly skidding on loose rocks and falling on my ass, to see what Garrison discovered.

As I hurry down the craggy slope, my mind flashes back to the beginning of this long, arduous journey. I was still in grade school when my mom and I were walking with a neighbor in rural Missouri.

As we passed a house that was under construction, our neighbor mentioned this would be a good place to look for arrowheads. At the end of her sentence, she bent down and plucked one right off the dusty ground. That was it! The moment I was hooked. I wanted to dig in the dirt and find things magically, like a treasure hunt.

Twenty years and one advanced degree later, I’m on the brink of what may be one of the century’s greatest archaeological discoveries—not in the dust, but in the water.

Garrison is clutching his waterproof computer pad, his normally booming voice a thousand decibels louder than usual. His craggy, sunburned face is barely visible as strands of his unruly red hair writhe in the wind.

“We found it, Laura! Look!” He tips the pad toward me, but quickly pivots it toward himself, marveling at the pictures the underwater drone is sending us in real-time.

The dark image flickers in places when the signal glitches, but apart from that, it’s perfect. The drone lights illuminate the dark ocean and the sand banks hiding beneath the waves. The camera bobs slightly as it fights the strong currents that have made this strip of the Norwegian Sea famous for its traitorous waters and difficult-to-navigate currents.

Though my head is still reeling, unable to grasp the enormity of this moment, my body gets it. Something explodes in my belly like a depth charge .

All my work would have been worthwhile for a find half this exciting, but look at what the drone’s light is revealing! It’s exploring the partial remains of a wooden ship that sank almost two millennia ago.

My breath catches as the lights reveal a sunken mast covered in seaweed. An octopus, startled by the sudden light, scuttles deeper into what remains of the broken vessel.

“Holy moly.” My tone is hushed, as though I’m in church.

“Live a little, Laura. At a time like this, you’re entitled to say holy shit.”

It’s his not-so-subtle way of razzing me about my strict religious upbringing. I’m far from a perfect Catholic, but I try not to break the commandments when I can avoid it.

Garrison towers over me. Rather than scholarly pursuits. He exudes a raw, primal energy that can be charming when he wants to be—it’s better than when he’s angry, which is rare but terrifying.

“Look!” His deep voice booms so loud my ears are ringing, but who cares? The little drone has burrowed under what’s left of ancient timbers and its light is shining on exactly the type of chest I’ve imagined in my daydreams a thousand times—the type of chest built to carry treasure.

“Rick! Rowdy! Dive to these coordinates,” he shouts at his divers who are standing ready in their diving gear, “and don’t come up without the chest.”

I look at the drone display and tap an icon on the bottom. A measurement scale appears. I trace the mouse across the dimensions of the chest and the measurements of 15 inches by 10 inches by 10 inches appear on the screen.

“Careful. If that chest is filled with gold, it will weigh close to a thousand pounds. After all these years in the water, it will likely come apart if we try to winch it onto shore. Tell them to bring their diving bags.” I raise my voice and speak to them directly. “ Open the chest as gently as possible without smashing it to smithereens and bring up only as much as you can safely carry.”

“Yeah,” Garrison says, “you heard the lady.”

Rather than roll my eyes, I simply close them and take a deep breath. As the old saying goes, when you lie down with dogs…

I want to say that we must prioritize the integrity of the wreck, catalog each piece, and map the area, but I know most of my archaeologist-speak will fall on deaf ears.

I knew what I was getting into when I sought this man out. After working my ass off for my master’s in archaeology, I was stunned to find there were dozens of applicants for every job in my field. Between the tanking global economy and my lack of experience, I struggled to find even the crappiest entry-level positions in my field.

Between short, poor-paying professional gigs, I waited tables and worked on my passion project—finding the missing Fortuna . People have been searching for it for two thousand years. I’m not totally na?ve, I knew I was looking for a needle in a haystack. But I persisted. It was something to keep my mind busy while working for tips and searching for the next paying gig in my field.

The murky picture on Garrison’s pad shows the chest sitting on the ocean floor, ready to spill its millennia-old secrets. My hard work has paid off. A shiver of excitement flies through me like a live wire. This feels big. Like winning the Lottery big. Like being the first person to set foot on a new planet big.

“It might be empty.” Garrison’s lips are a flat line as we wait for the divers to approach the chest.

He’s paying for the expedition, which has been a huge expense. I’d approached several more reputable salvagers and treasure hunters—if there is such a thing—but none of them wanted to take a gamble on me and my research.

Garrison had two big finds under his belt—sunken Caribbean pirate ships. He had enough money to bankroll this expedition, but instead of offering me the fifty percent I was asking for, he bargained me down to nine percent.

To recoup his losses, he needs the chest to be full. Me? Just finding the thing fills me with pride… and it will ensure I’ll be offered the most prestigious jobs in my field for the rest of my career—even if it’s empty.

When I sought him out to partner with me, he reviewed my research. I showed him how Google Earth had become my friend, how I’d pored over the remnants of shipping charters from Ostia, as well as first, second, and third-hand accounts from Egyptian, Saxon, and Viking merchants to uncover details of the boat, its contents, and its destination.

I studied maritime weather until I thought my eyes would bleed—boring stuff. I came equipped with spreadsheets, reams of research, and a white paper I wrote about how global warming made it possible for us to find it even though two millennia of fortune seekers had failed.

He chewed on my proposition for weeks. Then, instead of an email, he called me and said his gut told him this was to be his fortune and his gut was never wrong. We signed a ream of non-disclosure agreements because I’d never given him an inkling of the exact location. He swore me to secrecy, reminding me that every unscrupulous treasure hunter in the world would love to beat us to this scoop. We needed a crew we could trust, so he recruited a team of men he knew and trusted from past operations.

Even though he only offered me nine cents on the dollar, I was lucky to get an experienced backer. Everyone else scoffed at the idea that the Fortuna could be in the Norwegian Sea and only half a mile off the coast of this tiny, uninhabited island, miles from the coast of northern Norway. We anchored our boat, the Endurance , near shore, took the inflatable, and set up camp a few hundred feet inland.

My heart races as I watch Rick and Rowdy dive to the ancient chest, their movements kicking up small swirls in the Stygian water. I grip the edge of Garrison’s waterproof pad, my knuckles turning white.

“Easy, easy,” I mutter as if they can hear me from the depths. The last thing we need is for them to break the chest in their excitement to open it. The chest might be empty and, other than the single sword we found weeks ago, is perhaps the most valuable thing we’re going to find on this expedition.

As I wait for them to make their way down, taking mandatory breaks so they don’t get the bends, I focus on the engraving on the sword we found. The thing didn’t fare well underwater for two thousand years, but when I carefully scraped off ancient barnacles, it said “Invictus” in Roman letters.

It means unconquerable or undefeated. A poem from the 1800s by that title says, “I am the Master of My Fate. I am the Captain of My Soul.” I’ve imagined a thousand stories about the ancient Roman who wielded this sword. What it would feel like to speak to such a man for even an hour…

Garrison’s gaze is glued to the screen, his unshaven jaw clenched tight. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him. This discovery could financially make or break him.

The divers reach the chest, about 100 feet below the surface. I watch as they carefully brush away the sediment encrusting the ancient wood. At this depth, they’ll have about twenty minutes of bottom time before needing to start their ascent.

My mind whirs with possibilities—gold, jewels, artifacts that could rewrite history.

Rowdy signals to Rick, and together they carefully lift the lid. Even through the shadowy water, I catch a glint of something shimmering inside. My throat constricts, as I don’t know whether to keep watching or close my eyes and wait to hear the outcome from Garrison.

Who am I kidding? I have to watch. “Is that…?” My voice is barely a whisper .

As if in slow motion, the divers reach into the chest, and suddenly the screen is filled with a cascade of golden coins, spilling out into the water like a scene from a pirate movie. I let out a whoop of joy, almost dropping the pad in my excitement.

“We did it! We actually did it!” I’m screaming loud enough to be heard all the way to the bottom of the ocean, all thoughts of professionalism forgotten.

“We’re fucking rich, Laura Turner!” Garrison’s ruddy face is split into a wide grin. “Fucking rich!”

This is the moment I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid, the validation of all my hard work and perseverance. Pride explodes in my chest as my head spins with pictures of me accepting invitations for prestigious speaking engagements. And yeah, okay, I’m picturing myself driving a better car than my Ford Fiesta.

This isn’t just a historical discovery—it’s a life-changing one.

Rick and Rowdy carefully scoop handfuls of coins into their diving bags, mindful not to disturb the surrounding area too much. The gold glints even in the dim underwater light. After about fifteen minutes, they signal to each other that it’s time to ascend.

“They’re coming up now,” Garrison explains. “They’ll need to make a safety stop at about fifteen feet for a few minutes to avoid decompression sickness.”

Amid the chaos, I notice something odd on the screen. The drone’s headlights illuminate a crevasse near the remains of the ship. Global warming has done a number on the waters at this latitude in the Norwegian Sea. This boat was probably encased in ice not that many years ago. That deep chasm is still filled with ice.

I grab the drone’s controls and maneuver it closer to the anomaly, my hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As the drone descends, it stops when it reaches solid ice. I hold my breath, unsure of what I’ll find .

And then I see it—a shape that sends chills down my spine. Could I be seeing things? It looks suspiciously like… human remains, frozen solid. But surely that isn’t possible. Maybe a rock formation? A statue, perhaps? Even as I develop hypotheses other than the obvious, my heart skips a beat, and a chill that has nothing to do with the cool air runs down my spine.

“Garrison, you need to see this.” My voice is urgent.

The body—or whatever it is—must have been from the Fortuna , frozen for thousands of years. Finding gold was amazing—who doesn’t want to own over a thousand pounds of gold? But this? This is what true archaeologists dream of, a discovery of significance.

Garrison tears his gaze away from the water’s surface, where he’s been waiting for the divers to emerge, and glances dismissively at what I’m showing him.

“Huh, that’s weird,” he mutters, but his attention is already back on the gold.

I grit my teeth in frustration. This could be the discovery of a lifetime, and he’s more interested in the treasure.

“Garrison, once they bring up the first haul, you and Tony the mechanic can count it while Rick and Rowdy go back down to investigate that anomaly. We need to take a closer look.”

Garrison glowers, his brow furrowed. “What? No, they need to keep bringing up the gold. We don’t have time for a detour.”

I meet his gaze, my jaw set with determination. “This could be important, Garrison. We can’t just ignore it.”

He sighs, running a hand through his wild red hair. “Fine. But they bring up all the gold first, then they can help you play archaeologist.”

It’s not ideal, but it’s a compromise I can live with. I nod as I wonder if that is really a person down there in the ice. Frozen in time. It gives me shivers to imagine how everything on the body could be intact from an era so long ago.

The gold is almost forgotten. Though my nine percent will be nice, I’m now consumed with what’s entombed in that ice.