“Whoa. That’s going to be tough to beat, isn’t it, Susan?”
“That’s going to be very tough to beat, John. She was really perfect, in the air, in the water and…there it is. She’s gotten what she needs. The gold is hers. Given the degree of difficulty on Talia’s next dive there is no way she can overtake Chu Lau. Not even with tens.”
“Do you think Talia will even bother at this point?”
“If I was her coach, I would tell her to sit it out and take a no dive. She actually has enough points that, even without the last dive and given her competition’s next dive, she will probably still come in third. Bronze is a very respectable finish. She can’t win gold, but she could do some real damage to her hand by going for the silver.”
“Isn’t that her coming out of the locker room?”
“She’s probably just checking the scores. Figuring out what the situation is. That’s her coach talking to her now. Telling her it’s over.”
“Is it my imagination, Susan, or do they look like they’re fighting?”
“She’s definitely shaking him off. And—I don’t believe it—she’s heading for the steps. I can see the tape around the first two fingers. She’s climbing up. John, I’m shocked. She’s going to dive.”
“This is amazing. She knows she can’t win. Her fingers are broken.”
“Forgive me, but I’m actually getting a little choked up at this. I happen to know that this is Talia’s last competition. She’s waited to go to college, felt she couldn’t focus on school and diving at the same time. She told me she would be attending Tulane in Louisiana this fall. I think she wants to finish this out. It’s really a remarkable display of courage.”
“You don’t think she’s looking to win silver?”
“I don’t think she cares about the medals at this point, John. I think she simply wants to dive her last dive. She’s on the platform. Her scheduled dive was going to be a backward three— Wait, I can see she’s changed that. She’s facing forward on the platform. She’s not doing her listed dive…and look at that. She’s going with the swan. The original dive, really…and perfect. Just perfect, John. Beautiful takeoff, absolutely elegant in the air, no splash at all. That’s what a ten looks like, John. Only that wasn’t for points. That was for her. I think we just saw Talia Mooney say goodbye to diving.”
The cameraman watched as the girl climbed out of the pool. The guy downstairs was using the shoulder camera to follow her progress and once again he was getting the call from upstairs to tell the two announcers to cut to Chuck. He made the motion with his hand for them to stop talking and watched the monitor as Chuck raced to try and catch the girl. He knew the business was all about catching the right moment, but he couldn’t help but think that they should just leave her alone.
“Talia, can you talk to us for a second?”
She turned around and everyone watching was able to see her reluctance, her pain and her strength in keeping it all together as she evidently struggled to hold back tears. It was a great shot. And it was going to make for some fabulous TV.
“Let me start with…how’s the hand?”
“Uh…it hurts. I’m going to go get some X rays taken and see what the damage is.”
“Talia, you were so close to gold. What were you thinking when you knew it had slipped from your grasp? And what prompted you to make that last dive?”
“I wanted to go out on my terms. And it’s my favorite dive.”
“You can see the scores, tens, but of course without the difficulty it’s not a lot of points. Wait, I’m just now hearing in my earpiece that you did earn enough to win silver. Talia, you’re an Olympic silver-medal winner. Congratulations.”
“Silver’s great,” she smiled genuinely, brushing a tear from her cheek.
“And will this be your last competition?”
“Absolutely. No offense, Chuck, but I hope I never have to have a camera shoved in my face again.”
The cameraman in the booth upstairs smiled.
Chapter 1
“Hello! My name is Evan Aiken and I am your host for what is going to be the adventure of a lifetime for eight lucky contestants. This is a game for the strong and for the determined. This show will go beyond survival and challenge each of these contestants’ ultimate endurance. Okay, Joe, cut. That works.”
Joe, the cameraman, whose large frame had been perched somewhat precariously on the bow of the boat, lowered the large battery-powered shoulder camera to his lap.
Talia Mooney was curious what would happen if she picked it up and tossed it over the side of the skiff into the Pacific Ocean. She had a hunch Evan wouldn’t be pleased.
How the hell did I get here?
It wasn’t the first time Talia had thought it, but now that she was actually being filmed, it was starting to hit home that for the next several weeks, however long it would take to whittle down eight contestants to one, her life was going to be played out in front of a camera. Again.
She was going to kill her father when she got back. Despite the fact that she was doing this to save his damn hide.
“I’m in a wee bit of trouble, my dear.”
He always liked to bring out the Irish whenever he was telling her bad news. He thought it softened the blow. The more wees he added, the worse the news. She should have hung up after wee number three.
Instead she’d dutifully driven from her apartment in Miami to Islamorada in the Keys, to the marina and the boat she’d called home since her mother died of cancer when she was only ten. Her father had supported both of them by taking sport fishers out on day tours. And while growing up on the Slainte wasn’t exactly a routine childhood, it had allowed her always to be close to her two favorite things: the water and her dad.
Of course she’d go to him in his hour of need, as he called it. She loved the rascal, despite his tragic flaw. The man was the ultimate dreamer. In truth it had been his idealism and hope that had urged her on throughout her diving career. She would have been content diving for fun. A competition here or there because she liked the challenge of testing herself.
But her father had dreams of Olympic gold.
An adult now, she could recognize that being an idealist and a romantic probably wasn’t the worst flaw to have. If only it didn’t make him such an easy mark.
“He had maps. Maps and charts and a diary. He knew the course the Spanish galleon was headed on when it sank. And there were records of Spanish royalty onboard. It would have been filled to the brim with doubloons.”
“Did you see this map?”
“I— Well…I…was going to…eventually. I suppose.”
Fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand dollars he’d borrowed—not from a bank since no respectable institution would dare give him that kind of money, but from a local loan shark, a muscle-bound goon named Rocco. Then Colin Mooney had handed all that money over to a man named Buck Rogers in the hopes of finding lost treasure and quadrupling his investment.
As if the name alone hadn’t been a clue that the treasure hunter was a fake.