Zavala snapped open the lid on the other case, which contained the ROV’s eight-inch television monitor and controls. He was a skilled pilot, and the single-stick control would be easy to use. He and Austin connected the three-hundred-foot-long low-drag umbilical to the vehicle and control box. Austin lifted the ROV by the handle in the top of the housing and dropped it into the water. Zavala put the vehicle through a few tricky maneuvers to get a feel for the controls. Then he pointed the ROV toward the bottom in a shallow dive and powered the thrusters.

The ROV quickly descended to forty feet. Zavala leveled the vehicle off and checked the TV monitor. Twin cones of light illuminated the muddy bottom. There was no sign of a wreck. He had the vehicle execute a series of parallel lines, as if he were mowing a lawn. Still no wreck.

“I hope our target wasn’t a NUMASat hiccup,” he said. He turned to Austin, who had been peering over his shoulder.

“Not a chance,” Austin said. “Set up a new search pattern to starboard. Keep it tight.”

Zavala activated the lateral thrusters and shifted the mini-ROV to the right. He started a new pattern with twenty-five-foot-long parallel turns. Halfway through the new search, the ROV’s lights picked out a dark, curving line that protruded from the bottom.

Zavala brought the vehicle to a hover. “That’s either a sea serpent rib or a ship’s timber.”

The image on the monitor brought a grin to Austin’s face.

“I’d say we’ve got ourselves a wreck,” he said. “Remind me to sacrifice a Hobbit to the Eye of Sauron.”

Zavala powered the ROV so that it moved past the object. More ship’s ribs came into view. The skeletal outlines of the wreck could be discerned. The timbers gradually diminished in size as the ROV passed nearer the bow section.

“The wood is pretty well preserved, except for the upper ends, where it seems to be charred,” Zavala said.

“That would account for the sinking. She burned to the waterline.”

“How long do you figure her to be?”

Austin squinted at the screen. “A hundred fifty feet. Maybe more. What’s that, off to the right?”

Zavala put the ROV into a quick turn. The lights picked up what looked like a long wooden animal snout. The upper part of the head was burned beyond recognition.

“Looks like part of a big hobbyhorse,” Zavala said.

Austin’s pulse quickened. He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a waterproof folder of transparent plastic. Inside was the computer-generated ship rendering that the Trouts had given him. He held the picture close to the screen. The horse snout on the monitor and in the picture were almost identical.

“Guess again, amigo. We may be the first people in more than two thousand years to set eyes on a Phoenician ship of Tarshish.”