1995
John Laurens squeezed his eyes shut as the salty sea breeze whipped through his hair. He grinned as the sea craft crested a wave, dipping slightly and causing his stomach to jolt gleefully.
"John, mon ami, we will be launching soon!"
"Yeah Jack, get your ass down here!"
John grinned, bounding down a short flight of stairs into the lower deck of the small vessel. Grabbing the wall on his way down, he whipped around the corner with a smile.
"Today's the day boys. I can feel it."
Hercules Mulligan rolled his eyes, disbelieving, but grinning none the less as he made final adjustments to the smaller craft that would take them below the surface. John always had a horribly infectious good mood.
Behind him, Gilbert Lafayette mumbled a joyful little song in French, as he navigated their current vessel and absently glanced at the small screen displaying a readout from the ship's forward-scan sonar of the ocean floor, over two miles below them.
"Oui John, how you say, ninth time's the charm?"
"That it is Laf, that it is!"
Ping
Lafayette's eyes snapped back to the screen and he clapped his hands together.
"We are here."
Mulligan let out a little whimper. John turned to face him, concerned.
"What's wrong, Herc?"
"I just…I'm going to be stuck in this little pod for at least ten hours."
Laf swiveled in his seat. "I did not know you were claustrophobic, mon ami?"
Herc pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not. I'm going to be stuck in a pod for ten hours…with you two. God help me."
Laf sat back with a laugh, spinning his swivel chair. "Ah, but Hercule, your life would be so boring without us."
Mulligan's lips twitched. "It'd be more peaceful that's for sure."
"You hate peace."
"I've never had it, how would I know?"
The two continued their banter as they climbed into the small sub, a smiling Laurens shaking his head behind them.
—
"Take the camera, Herc."
"Why?"
"For posterity! History will look back on this day, I promise you that, so we must capture this moment."
"John, you're wearing sweatpants."
"I-I don't care."
"Are you sure you wish to be immortalized in sweatpants?"
"Laf, stay out of this. Herc, just run the camera."
Hercules smirked as he lifted the small camcorder and John struck a dramatic pose near the small window, shielded in thick glass.
"It still gets me every time…"
"What, the water pressure?"
John scowled and made a grab for the camera. Hercules held it above his head and John chuckled, mumbling, "asshole." John jumped, catching the camera in his hand, and sticking his tongue out at Mulligan, before returning to his window.
"It still gets m—Laf stop laughing! It still gets me every time. Seeing the sad ruin of the great ship, a ghost of her former self, entombed in a watery grave where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912 after her long fall from the world above."
Laurens turned away from the camera, theatrically. He heard a sniffle off to the side. He turned to see his friends clutching their hearts and fanning their faces.
"That was beautiful, Jack."
"Why do I put up with you two?"
The pair grinned impishly as they set to work preparing the ROV for launch. John turned back to the camera.
"In just a few moments, we'll be taking the ROV out for a spin on the B deck, where most of the first class rooms once were. Hopefully, we'll have more success here."
"Alright, good to go." Mulligan finished inputing the last bit of new navigation programming, something they had sorely needed, apparently, especially after the bathtub incident of last Thursday.
Lafayette sat at the complex looking controls, the tip of his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth, as he carefully maneuvered the ROV, that Laf had insisted they name Spot, into the wreckage, watching the live video feed.
"Easy, easy."
"Hercule, stop backseat driving!"
"You're gonna hit the doorframe. Shit! Like that!"
"Barely a scratch."
"The ship's really old Laf and ROV's don't exactly grow on trees, you know."
"Do not worry. I will not throw away our Spot."
Mulligan winced as a chunk of rusted metal was ripped away and floated through the small room. John smiled at their bickering as he gazed at the screen before his eyes narrowed.
"Laf, wait! Go back."
As the camera spun, his eyes landed on a door resting on the floor, leaning slightly ajar.
"Lift the door."
Spot's robotic arm extended and flipped the ancient piece of polished wood. Herc winced, but the door was soon forgotten as he saw what lay underneath. As the cloud of silt cleared, a dark object came into view. A safe.
Hercules felt his jaw drop open. Lafayette cried out with glee. John clapped his hands on his friends' shoulders.
"It's payday boys!"
—
Hauling the safe back to the surface was no easy task, but so worth it to see what lay within. At least in John's mind.
As the metal box, red with rusted grime was pulled from the sea, Lafayette popped open a bottle of champagne. Some may have said it was premature, but he had a right to be excited. This was the fruit of their effort. Their mutual goal these past three years. So, damn right they were excited! Even Hercules let out giddy laughs every now and then.
As the hinges of the safe were drilled, the three toasted their glasses. As the metal door fell away, Laurens hopped forward excitedly. He sifted through the contents for a moment, before his shoulders slumped.
Hercules stepped forward. "John?"
Laurens only shook his head.
Herc sighed. "Shit."
John pulled out some old, sodden papers. Some money. A few letters. Old bonds that weren't worth a thing. He sighed. Back to square one.
—
The news crew had arrived by the time the restorers from several museums had set up by the dock, trying to save the documents. John moped a few feet away from them. Whenever a reporter came up to him, he tried to be accommodating and not lose his temper, but it was so damn frustrating. They had nothing. Nothing!
Behind him, he could hear Laf scuffling around the restorers, trying to see what they had found.
He grunted, annoyed, as yet another news van came into view and a bleach blond reporter scurried towards him.
"Mister Laurens, may I have a word?!"
"No."
"If the pin wasn't in the safe, do you think it's out there at all?"
"I—"
"John!"
Laurens turned on his heel at Lafayette's excited shout. It was filled with…hope. He quickly jogged over.
"Look at this."
John looked. A letter, still spotted with grime floated underneath a clear solution. The writing was small, cramped, and elegant. At the top left corner was a detailed sketch of a delicate, silvery brooch inlaid with a dark stone on a man's lapel. The words, though smeared and blurred, were still eligible in parts. John could make out the words "Heart of the Ocean" and "beautiful" without much difficulty. He let out a gasping laugh.
"I'll be God damned."
—
"I'll be God damned."
"Grandpa?"
"Annie, could you come in here for a moment."
Annie entered the room to see her grandfather had dropped his copy of the Odyssey, in the original Latin of course, in favor of staring wide eyed at their small television. Annie's brow creased. Her grandfather hated television. 'The death of intelligence' he called it. 'And the harbinger of migraines.'
Seeing the ailing old man staring at the screen so was…odd.
"Annie." He breathed her name in a whisper.
"I'm here grandpa, what's wrong?"
He pointed a shaking finger towards the screen. A news broadcast was showing some documents recovered from the wreckage of the Titanic. Annie's eyes widened. Her grandfather had been a survivor of the wreck. This had to be terribly stressful for him. She moved to turn off the offending machine before a wrinkled hand closed around her wrist with a hushed, "no." She glanced back, startled. He released her after a moment, wringing his hands.
"Could you get me the phone sweetheart."
Annie nodded mutely, slightly stunned, and passed him the landline.
—
"Oh, this is fantastic!"
"John, phone for you."
"Not now, Herc."
"I really think you'll want to talk to this guy."
John tore his gaze away from the letter and drawing reluctantly, as he was handed the phone.
"Hello."
"Hello, Mr. Laurens, is it?"
"Yes sir, but I really don't have time to answer any—"
"I was wondering if you had found 'the Heart of the Ocean' yet, Mr. Laurens."
John felt his fingers go slack around the receiver and fumbled for a moment so as not to drop it. Mulligan nodded knowingly.
"Alright sir, you have my attention. Can you tell me anything about the letter?"
"Of course. I was there when it was written."
—
"Are we really sure about this guy?"
"Herc, you're the one who told me to hear him out."
"I know, but—"
"So, let's hear him out."
Mulligan growled sourly behind him as the helicopter landed. A woman in her mid-thirties hopped out and reached back to retrieve a wheelchair. Setting it down, she offered her arm to a positively ancient man as he struggled down the steps. He smiled at her, deep lines etched in his face. Long curls of white and silver hair were tied back in a small ponytail that floated like smoke in the slight breeze as the girl wheeled him forward.
John met them halfway, Hercules trailing behind. He extended a hand and a warm smile towards the man who shook it with surprising force.
"Hello, Mr. Jefferson."
"Mr. Laurens. This is my granddaughter, Annie."
The woman shook his hand in kind. There was a dark look in her eyes that said she did not wish for her grandfather to be here.
"Would you care to get some rest after your long flight. It is a ways from Virginia." He hoped to appease the scary woman. The man looked up at him.
"I would prefer to see the letters."
—
John stood back as the old man stared down at the letters, a wistful smile crossing his face. Herc and Laf stood off to the side, pretending to adjust equipment as they watched him. The granddaughter scowled in the corner.
At last, the man sighed and turned to face the trio.
"I suppose you have questions then?"
John walked forward, stuttering slightly. "Uh, y-yes. You see, this letter is dated April 14, 1912, meaning it was written the day the ship was lost. If you were there when this letter was written, you're our best shot at knowing what happened to the diamond."
"Dreadfully heavy thing. I pinned it on and my whole jacket drooped."
The room became deadly silent as the three treasure hunters stared, mouths agape.
"Y-you?"
"Yes, yes Mr. Laurens I wore it once. A long time ago. It's not really of much consequence. Now, if you would care to show me more of your operation here, I'd be much obliged."
The three treasure hunters and Annie nodded mutely, trailing after the old man as he wheeled himself inside.
On a small table rested a few other artifacts recovered from the ship. John watched as the man stood on unsteady legs, shuffling towards the objects. He picked up a tarnished piece of silver about the size of his hand; the head of an elegant cane. His fingers trembled and the handle fell back on the table as his hands covered his face and he let out a small sob. Annie rushed forward, settling him back in the wheelchair.
"Grandpa, maybe you should go rest."
"No."
"Come on."
"No! I've been resting too long Annette. Resting for what seems my whole life. I will not rest now."
John stepped forward. "Really, Mr. Jefferson, you don't have to."
"No, Mr. Laurens, I don't. I don't have to do anything I don't want to. I want this." The old man raised his chin defiantly. "Now, I'd be most interested to see what you have to say on this subject Mr. Mulligan."
"I, uh…"
"You are the resident expert, are you not?"
Poor Hercules nodded quickly, gesturing vaguely towards a computer on the far wall, a simulation displayed on it. Jefferson nodded graciously, wheeling his way over.
Hercules spent the next ten minutes giving a thorough and clinical account of the sinking of the ship, becoming more comfortable as time went on.
"The stern bobs for a few minutes, before going under around 2:20 AM on the morning of the 15th, two hours and forty minutes after the collision.
Jefferson raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Mr. Mulligan for that very scientific assessment. I must say, however, the experience of it was…quite different."
John leaned forward. "Could you tell us?"
The old man closed his eyes. "It's been eighty-three years."
"That's alright, anything you can remember—"
His eyes snapped open. "Do you want to hear this story or not, Mr. Laurens?"
John clamped his jaw shut.
"It's been eighty-three years, but I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in.
Titanic was called the ship of dreams.
And oh, what a dream it was."