Vinland: A Dan Burdett Mystery (The Cape Cod Mystery Series Book 1)

by T. Hunt Locke

  Brick stood up and cast his eyes towards the harbor. “It is a place one would return to if you wanted retrace the steps of your youth. Did he talk with anybody? He would have recognized you, Bobby.”

  “Briefly. But no words were exchanged. Honestly, I was spooked. In any case, Johnny Kill was not somebody you approached. Not then. Not now.”

  Dan had known Bobby since his father had taken him and his mom for Castle Island picnics as a young kid. Always ready with a smile, a pearl of wisdom, or a pat on the back, Bobby Sullivan stood as tall as the monument in dedication to Donald McKay. There was no reason to involve him. It was enough to know Johnny Kill was back in the game.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Sullivan called to Anna in his deep Boston accent. “Help old Bobby get these young bucks their plates.”

  They waited for Anna and Bobby to make the slow shuffle back to the grill.

  “It will make Wednesday evening a bit more interesting,” Dan said as soon as Bobby was out of ear shot.

  Brick opened a beer. “Ok, I’ll bite.”

  “Captain Mick Beckham has put together a crew for the sole purpose of storming Naushon Island.”

  “Which means my man, Mark Burns, has been keeping secrets from the Brick.”

  “And the story gets even juicier,” Dan continued.

  “I am all ears, Counsellor.”

  “Vasco Gomes is putting together his own raiding party.”

  Brick let out a low laugh. “Payback is a bitch. Vasco is out for revenge with profit as a cherry on top. Where do we come into play?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Dan said. “I’ll fill you in later. Looks like dinner is on the way.”

  A Monday morning hangover was never a way to greet the week. Still, an ear to ear grin Mark Burns could not suppress. The Patriots had won. His wallet was significantly fatter as he had laid five hundred on the game. Usually he stayed away from the bets. Better to reap the rewards of being a bookie. But he felt lucky. Finally, a big score was on his plate. Wednesday night, a raid on the infamous treasure long thought buried in the mysterious Naushon Island mound.

  His ship had come in at last. Off the Cape. Open a little bar in Florida. No more thirty percent off the top to Vasco Gomes. His long thought out plan was as fine as the smell of his lunch which was placed before him.

  “I’ve been meaning to stop in here. They say this joint has the finest clam roll there is to be found.”

  Another fine meal spoiled by the presence of Brick Cleary. “Even you can’t ruin my mood today, Cleary.”

  Brick nodded towards the newspaper opened to the Patriots headline. “Shoveled in some coin last night I take it.”

  “Sure did. Enjoying a bit of my winnings. I was that is. You wager?”

  “Yeah. But I’m going big this year. Laid all my chips on the Super Bowl. Five large, all in on the Pats.”

  Burns whistled. “Big casino. Twenty to one odds. A good reason for me to root against them actually. Say your piece, Cleary, and then on your way.”

  Brick motioned for the waitress. “Why waste such a nice view. Speaking of big casino, I heard your chips are riding on a heist come Wednesday night. Seems dangerous. A bit out of your league aren’t you?”

  Burns looked Brick Cleary straight in the eyes and steamed. How had he found out? He also knew Cleary’s ilk. They weren’t so different. Neither were law and order types and they each looked for an angle. Brick Cleary used muscle while he was clever. Maybe he had underestimated Cleary’s shrewdness.

  Brick accepted his beer and rose from the table. “I prefer to enjoy this fine afternoon with my lady,” he said pointing to Molly who was sitting at a nearby table. “Tonight, at Grumpy’s Pub, I’ll stop by.”

  “Not sure I’ll be there, Cleary.”

  “Monday Night Football, brother. Oakland against Denver. Oh, you will be there alright. This is simple. I need to know the time, how many men, and how heavy an assault is this. Don’t screw with me. I can have you shut down and tossed in a cell with a snap of my fingers.”

  Burns knew when to retreat and regroup. “Yeah, ok, I think I can get that. Now, can I get back to my meal?”

  “Enjoy the day, Burns. By the way, put me down for a hundred on the Broncos. I’ll collect tomorrow. That is if you are still up and running.”

  He didn’t miss life up in the big city. The Cape suited him fine. Still, there were things Dan Burdett did crave. One of those delicacies was a late afternoon at the Bell in Hand Tavern. He took a seat near the front window with a clear view of his Jeep parked just out front on Union Street. Anna was safely at his side and the map securely in its case stuffed under the back seat. Professor Francis George’s house was a five minute walk down the street.

  Their meeting was two hours off. Dan wanted to arrive early and assess the situation. He didn’t trust the Harvard professor. His own instincts would see him and Anna through the night and the first order of business was to see if he was being followed.

  Anna Chase secretly relished the moment. She would again meet the hunkish Professor George this time fully aware of the high stakes historical implications that he and Dan were a party to. Adding to the intrigue, Dan wanted them to act like tourists on a romantic getaway. He didn’t have to twist her arm.

  She nuzzled under his arm. “What are you thinking about, Indiana?” she teased.

  “Johnny Tremain,” Dan answered honestly.

  “I think that was the book that captured my love for history,” Anna replied.

  He smiled and brushed a soft kiss along her cheek. “Right outside, on those cobblestoned streets, is where most of the action occurred.”

  Anna gently rubbed the inside of his thigh. “Yeah, the Sons of Liberty and the Freemasons marching over the hill and down to the wharfs. A lot of tea was wasted that day.”

  He chuckled and nibbled on her ear. Anna gave a slight shiver as her body and mind flamed with passion. “And Jimmy Wilson, the town crier, bellowed out the news. The Revolution was on.”

  “Excuse me,” the waitress chirped. She smiled down on the two love birds and placed Dan and Anna’s drink order.

  “Wow, you do have a good memory for detail,” Anna said taking a sip from her Spiked Lemonade.

  Dan pointed to his mug of ale and shot of Jameson whiskey. “The Jimmy Wilson,” he stated with pride. “My dad’s drink of choice when he would visit the pub. And old Jimmy, when he hung up his bell, opened this joint back in 1795. Oldest pub in the States.”

  The scene took on the look of a macabre costume party. Locked in an old musty cavernous tomb, all the characters donned a costume. An ornate ritual was studiously performed.

  Papi now knew his only road to survival was to adopt a subservient disposition. He wanted to lash out. But that would be suicide. The Templar Crossbow, the equivalent to the long range rifle in medieval warfare, was ceremoniously presented to Henry Sinclair. This information had clearly saved his life. The man who gave Sinclair the weapon, now known as Sir John, knelt before his lord.

  Sinclair himself sat in a massive oak chair which had deep carvings of serpents, demons, and fairies etched into its arms and legs. The throne sat atop a wooden platform raised a foot above the ground. He produced a magnificent sword. Papi was surprised the smallish Sinclair could even lift it. But with great effort he brought the sword above his head and gently touched John Kilkenny on both shoulders.

  Now knighted, Kilkenny was led across the chamber where a lady was tied and gagged. She looked up in horror. Attired in an old yet lustrous gown, she frantically tried to unleash herself. It was of no use.

  “Sir John, on this grand occasion, I give unto you a bride. She is high born and worthy of your noble status. This dame will serve you well.” Sinclair handed the sword to Sir John who then released her from her bondage. The lady fell clumsily onto the dirt floor. “Now,” Sinclair said while pointing to an improvised bedroom set up in the farthest edge of the hollowed out compartment, “Take your bride and consummate your bond.�
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  Kilkenny bent down and roughly grabbed his property. She tried to resist but even if she had not been drained of energy it would have been futile. Sinclair brought a lantern close to the bedroom which was walled only by sheets. The brutal rape could be seen through silhouette and heard through grunts moans, and shrieks of terror and pain.

  Papi did not look. He was ordered to prepare the ‘wedding’ feast. A table for three was set with fish, turkey, potatoes, and beer. A television and video cassette recorder was placed in front of the table.

  After a while the horrific sounds of rape and lust abated. John Kilkenny emerged from the improvised wedding chamber with his chest pounding and a look of pride engraved on his face. He dragged his ‘wife’ roughly to the table. Henry Sinclair joined them. Papi served them and filled their cups with beer. The disheveled lady did not raise her head to recognize him and her sobs went unnoticed as Sinclair and Sir John raised their cups in cheer.

  “On with the video,” Sinclair ordered. Papi inserted the tape. If the rape he had just witnessed was more than he could bear, it was nothing in comparison to what was contained on the tape. The savage artistry of Kilkenny’s expertly conducted blood eagle along with desolate screams of Professor Lane Morgan illuminated the room.

  Papi and Sir John’s bride were ordered to watch. Their horror was matched by Sinclair’s fascination and blood lust merriment. At its conclusion he arose to leave. Before his exit he turned around and pointed his finger towards Papi and the lady. “Now you can see what happens to traitors. Here, in the safety of his own home, a gentleman found there was no escape from my wrath. Shortly you will be given back your lives. But do beware. Always, and I do mean always, will you be sworn to obedience and the bidding of Sir John and I.”

  Dan and Anna had finished off their plate of calamari and were now walking along Union Street to the home of Frankie George. Dan kept a keen lookout. The immaculately groomed tree lined street held court for a certain class of people. Johnny Kill would stand out. But, as they came upon George’s urban elite address, it appeared as they were alone.

  Vivi Carcasonne greeted them coolly. George ushered them into the dining room also with little warmth.

  “You have the map I see,” he said extending his hand.

  “Before we complete this transaction,” Dan began refusing to relinquish the canister, “I have a few questions and one request.”

  The Professor answered with an annoyed look.

  “Possession, as they say, is ninety percent of the law and, as a lawyer, I can attest to that. People have died, framed, and gone missing on account of this academic exercise. Who knows what lays ahead? So please humor me.”

  “What is on your mind, Burdett?” George questioned giving voice to his annoyance.

  “First, the map itself. I want to know its significance. Tonight. It needs to be detailed precisely.”

  George chortled while his lover frowned. “You have no right,” she spat.

  Dan got up and motioned for Anna to do the same. “Oh but I have, Miss Carcasonne. I can find someone just as capable to tell me the significance of this,” he stated holding the map canister in the air.

  “No,” George shouted. “Please sit down. I’ll walk you through the process. You said one request. What is that? If I can grant it we’ll move on.”

  “I need you to guarantee Anna admission into Harvard. Simple as that.”

  “There is nothing simple about a Harvard University admission, Mr. Burdett.” Then George sat down and flashed the smile that has made him a History Channel favorite. “But, if what I think this map means is true, I’ll be able to pull just about any string at the Crimson.” He then looked at his lover. “A small price to pay, Vivi.” The thought of the strange man looking up at his office came rushing to his mind. “Plus, we may need a little muscle and Burdett seems to be adroit at that.”

  Everybody exchanged wary looks and a compromise seemed to be reached. Dan handed the canister to Frankie George.

  George led them through the kitchen where he opened a door which led to the basement. Descending the stairs Dan felt transformed back in time as old posters from the early twentieth century and beyond lined the walls. Professor Francis George certainly hung his hat on the past. ‘Romantic nostalgia can be dangerous,’ Rachel’s voice echoed in his brain as he warily made his way into the basement. Stacks of old Life magazines were neatly bundled against the back wall.

  A light was turned on. The room was all brick and stone except for a wood paneled wall set to the right. George picked up the television remote and pushed the on button. Slowly, a small door opened within the panel. Burdett was unarmed and it was a fact which now gave him pause.

  Walking through the doorway they were instantly confronted with a brick wall marking the far end of the basement. A small archway, no more than three feet high and four feet wide, led to the other side. Vivi was the first on her knees and crawled through the cramped opening. She was quickly followed by George. A bright light emerged.

  “Come on,” the Professor called.

  Dan looked at Anna. Her eyes were bulged with excitement. Caught up in the moment, she didn’t sense the danger. “Maybe it would be best if you stayed here,” Dan suggested.

  “Surely you are joking,” Anna replied with an awe inspired grin.

  It was not a time for a discussion. “Ok, but be careful.”

  “Wow!” Anna exclaimed once inside the narrow tunnel.

  “Quite a setup,” Dan agreed.

  Looking around the brightly illuminated shaft he observed a high tech computer and a monitor connected to a camera which provided surveillance for the rooms and front door of George’s home. The high tech nature of the cramped compartment into which they squeezed lay in stark contrast to wistful nostalgia of the basement on the other side of the wall. Perhaps, Dan thought, by design.

  George affixed the map to what appeared to be the type of overhead monitor Dan used in his classroom. It was not. A grayish bright light illuminated the map and the image came up on the computer monitor. At first it did not register. But upon closer look Dan could see what appeared to be a crude rendering of the Cape Cod coastline.

  Dan and Anna inched closer. George rebuffed them. “Stand back,” he snapped. Vivi turned off the light and for a moment the room was bathed in darkness. Dan stiffened. Then the projector on which the map was placed slowly beamed to life. The map again came up on the screen. This time another image became visible. A cross.

  George gasped. Vivi brought her hands to her mouth. Anna was the first to speak. “What does it mean?” she asked.

  Vivi was the first to answer. “It is an image of the True Cross.”

  “Lost to history, or so the story goes, at the Battle of Hattin over eight hundred years ago,” Professor George added.

  Anna looked confused. “It was a fragment of wood from the cross on which Jesus died,” Dan explained. “The wood was imbedded in a golden cross. It was the most sacred possession of the Templars and it led them into battle.”

  “Tough to imagine in this day and age,” George continued, “But it was a powerful symbol and capable of pushing Templar Knights to heroic heights. That is, until their defeat.”

  Anna looked directly at Vivi and George. “Lost to history you say. Yet, I sensed you are more expectant, relieved even, seeing this image,” she said pointing at the screen, “than surprised.”

  “Very clever, Anna,” George replied. “I, we, Vivi and I, have been deep in research. The connection of the Cathars to the Templars. And…”

  “No,” Vivi hissed cutting George off.”

  Frankie George shrugged and gave Vivi a kiss on the cheek. “It is ok. They have brought the final piece of the puzzle to us after all.”

  “Not that. Look!” she said pointing to the surveillance monitor.

  They all diverted their attention from the map. There, at the front door, stood a familiar face looking irritated and knocking feverishly.

  “I trust y
ou have a gun,” Dan remarked dryly.

  The crowd at Grumpy’s had morphed from the summer holiday types to a more local trade. Monday Night Football and an extended happy hour made sure all seats and stools were full.

  Brick and Molly had taken a seat near the entrance. He had not told her about Mark Burns nor the one hundred dollar note he had placed on the game. This was a night for romance. A nice dinner at the Naked Oyster followed by an early evening walk down by the harbor. Now a stop here at this funky little tavern for a nightcap. His conversation with Burns would be brief.

  Burns was at his customary seat. The halftime score was in his favor and it looked as if he would have a light payout. Cleary, unfortunately, was in the winning corner. With the information he would supply, Burns figured he’d keep the winning ticket as a fee.