Golden Legacy

by Robert James Glider

  “What does Jac Kidd have to do with searching for treasure?” Abigail said as her thoughts meandered. She remembered looking up at Jac. She usually was taller than most at five foot eleven. Jac was six foot four with the deepest azure blue eyes she had ever seen on a man.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. There was a big story about Jac in last Sunday’s paper. I saved the article for you.”

  “I’m too tired to read it now. Just tell me what the article said.” Abigail leaned forward and shook her head to clear it. The memory lingered.

  “Jac and his partner—some famous chef named something like Scmoo-ond—are treasure hunters!” She ran her hands through her long auburn hair.

  “Pericles Schmoond?”

  “Yeah, that was it. How did you know?”

  “I saw him a couple of times on a cooking show. You know, The Intimate Chef, with Erica Macciado. Pericles Schmoond appeared as her guest chef.”

  Jac … I miss you. I don’t know if I can handle seeing you again, Abigail thought.

  “That program is a hoot. She’s so forward with her male guests.” Roni spoke faster than usual, no longer with a Southern twang.

  “Erica called him Peri dearest or Pericles, my love. It seemed to embarrass him. But I remember the exciting stories he told of how he became known as the Food Archeologist, and a featured writer for Gastronome magazine.” Abigail carefully placed the china teacup on the table next to her.

  “Jac did say that if I ever needed anything to—” Oh, my God, Jac I need you.

  “Not hesitate, and call him … right?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “I need to sleep. I’ll call Jac later. Tonight, I promise.” Abigail stalled since Roni had never known about her affair with Jac. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and she had caused it. Guilt plagued her again after all these years. She needed time to think. Upstairs in her room, she collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Memories of the destruction of her marriage, and her husband’s death, plagued her mind. She cried, but before she gave herself to sleep, the memories came flooding back.

  “I have a minimum of two months of new procedures and training before we ship out,” Reg said.

  The days became longer. Reg was out of the house by six in the morning, and not home until midnight. When Abigail tried to talk to him, he would say he didn’t have time but that he would make it up to her later. As the days passed, he became distant and harder to approach. Reg was stressed. He was given command of a company of men just out of combat flight school, and they were training for a mission to the Gulf.

  Abigail was busy too. Medical school and a surgical residency kept them passing like ships in the night. Then one day Reg said he had a day off coming that they could spend together. Abigail was ecstatic as she planned it. She took herself off the surgical schedule, looking forward to a day off for both of them from their tough routines. They could talk and renew themselves. But instead, it would be the beginning of the end of their marriage.

  The day started out with the sun shining bright in a cloudless sky. A happy day. Idyllic in all aspects. Nature was tranquil, and their relationship returned to near perfect. They began the day after a night of tender love making and pledging to renew their vows upon his return from Iraq. It was the last time she felt that he truly loved her, and it was also the last time he touched her. She made them a hearty breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon, and they indulged in a lot of conversation about the vacation they would take. Deep down, Abigail knew she would worry, like all the wives of servicemen that her man would never return. It came with the territory. It was a fact; he was regular army. She had resolved herself to the nomadic life of a serviceman’s family. He would be sent all over the world to defend freedom, and his life would always be at risk. She would have to settle in at a nearby base and find work at a local hospital. They had resolved not to have any children until he was assigned to a permanent job.

  It was late that morning when the phone rang. Reg didn’t want to answer it, but he did. He had a spirited conversation with someone and hung up. He told her they wanted him at the base. So much for the thought of having a whole day. It was the army way. Reg hugged her and promised they would have another day soon. He kissed her good-bye, teased her about her new hairdo, and waved at her with a big smile on his face as he got in the car. He came home late that night and wouldn’t talk; he was irritated about something. Abigail had never seen him this up tight. All she could get from him was that he attributed his foul mood to a bad day on the base. When she tried to get him to smile, and playfully kissed him on the cheek at the dinner table, he turned around, yelled at her, and stormed up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

  The mood was not short lived. She tried to get him to talk, but he ignored her. They continued like this for several weeks, and then he began staying on the base, telling her that their training schedule had stepped up and he needed to stay close. After three months, she called Jac Kidd, Reg’s best friend, and second in command. She wanted to tell Reg that Jac was really just a very good friend. But how do you tell your husband you have fallen in love with his best friend?

  Abigail cried herself to sleep repelling the image of Jac Kidd’s face that tried to fill her mind. She instead dreamed about her ancestor, Anne Bonney, and her demise.

  CHAPTER 10

  Somewhere in the Caribbean

  Huge white sails swell, filling with a strong breath of air. A black flag emblazoned with crossed white bones and a skull snaps in the breeze. Abigail looks upward through the morning haze into a light-blue sky and feels the familiar sway of the ocean beneath the ship’s creaking timbers. She catches a whiff of brine in the gentle wind.

  Two seamen huddle together on the deck nearby whispering something, the words, unintelligible. They warily turn to ensure no one can hear their secret chatter and look right through Abigail as if she were a pane of glass. Knowing she is invisible, Abigail ventures closer to hear what they are saying. She is startled to discover they are not men, but women, Anne Bonney and Mary, dressed like men.

  “I tell ye that no one knows about our salt-away,” the taller of the two women says. “They all be down in the hold, all rummed up. Is time we make our break, Mary.”

  “Let’s take the dory until we find our own ship and go to get our rightful shares.”

  “What’s that?” the taller of the two women cries out, pointing to a large object emerging into view off the port bow.

  “By God, Anne, it be a king’s frigate!”

  “We been had!”

  As the larger ship moves closer, a deep voice bellows out from the distance, “Heave to! This is Jonathan Barnett … who be your captain?”

  “I be Jack Rackham … from Cuba,” a slurred voice answers.

  “It is you we seek. Ye be wanted by Governor Tewes. Give quarter peacefully, Jack Rackham.”

  Abigail looks up to the quarterdeck at the imposing figure of Calico Jack Rackham as he stands there puffing on a cigar, staring out at the ship that is closing in on him. Rackham looks like a dandy; he is wearing a bright-blue waistcoat and carries two pistols in his belt. What seems like fire shines from Rackham’s eyes, and a malevolent grin covers his face. “I give ye me answer!” Rackham suddenly turns to a small cannon mounted on the railing. He swivels it until it points at the oncoming marauder. He lights the fuse with his cigar and steps back. A puff of smoke and a boom signal that a cannon ball has been launched toward its mark. Abigail watches the shot fall short, splashing into the water several feet in front of the oncoming ship.

  A series of rapid explosions suddenly rocks the deck beneath Anne and Mary. Smoke fills the air. Fire streaks blazes across the deck around Abigail. The frigate has responded with a single volley from seven of its starboard cannons. Abigail follows Anne and Mary’s r
etreat to take cover below where Rackham had stood. After a moment of eerie silence, Abigail hears a loud snap. Rope lines dangle loosely in front of her. Then another noise, like a sheet makes when it is held out in a stiff wind. A series of cracking and snapping sounds, followed by a whoosh of air, and the mast pole and rigging crash to the deck.

  “Quarter! Quarter!” Rackham screams. “I yield!”

  “We will have no part of surrender,” Anne yells as she and Mary draw their pistols.

  “Wake up and fight! The king’s men are upon us!” Mary screams through the open hold, trying to roust the drunken seamen below deck to arms. She cries out again, and when no answer comes, she grabs a wooden bucket and throws it down into the hold. She hears a laugh, and grits her teeth. “Damn ye, fools, we be had!” Angered, Mary fires a shot down into the sleeping quarters. She hears a groan and a thud. She doesn’t even realize she has killed one of her shipmates.

  With knives and cutlasses flailing and slicing, Anne and Mary charge the boarding party. As they fight like enraged lionesses, blood from their onslaught spews from the inflicted wounds to the governor’s men, changing the color of the deck around them to a dark red.

  Before both ladies are subdued, two of the governor’s men fall mortally wounded.

  Abigail watches Barnett order his men to put chains on Rackham and his crew. Anne and Mary are wrapped, chained together, and thrown into the hold of their ship with the drunken seamen.

  CHAPTER 11

  Malibu, California

  Early Evening

  The twenty guests seated at the large oak table in the artfully decorated dining room in Peri’s beach house were finishing the last of the elegantly prepared main courses of the themed dinner. Peri had prepared the dinner from original recipes he had acquired in the several countries he and Jac had visited on this recent hunt.

  Peri stood at the head of the table. Jac was seated at the other end. Peri had been speaking for the last ten minutes about the clues that had been found and tested against known facts—clues that had set their investigation in motion. Peri paused and smiled. “And that, my friends and fellow gourmands, is how our ordeal began. Thank you.” He’d finished his animated account of the preparation, planning, and evidence. “Now, here’s Jac to tell you the whole story. It’s a tale I will never forget, and believe me, you won’t easily forget. Peri sat down. All twenty dinner guests stood up and began clapping. Several guests yelled out kudos for the delectable dinner. A few others even called for dessert.

  Jac stood up and was about to address the group when Nikki reached over and grasped his hand. He’d met Nikki in Hawaii. She had been unwittingly duped by an enemy of Jac’s father, Mandrago Kidd, to acquire confidential information about Jac and Peri’s search. When she found out her employer was going to kill Mandrago, she had disclosed the plot and helped Jac save his father’s life.

  “Please everyone, sit,” Jac said as he looked across the table. He saw that Erica Macciado was sitting very close to Peri. Even at fifty plus, Erica was beautiful. She had aged gracefully and looked and dressed like a model in a perfume advertisement in Vogue magazine. Jac suspected that a few face-lifts over the years had kept her looking young. She was six feet tall with graying, short, expertly coifed hair, and had startling green eyes that were undoubtedly contact lenses. She was known as the Intimate Chef and was the host and creator of a romantic and sexually suggestive syndicated television reality series that had hit the top of the rating charts and stayed there for the past two years. Unique recipes were prepared by guest chefs for couples who did a lot more than just savor the edible treats. The audience got to see the preparation of some really weird recipes for aphrodisiac food. Her most recent show was a classic. He and Peri had watched intently as a native chef from Kowloon crushed and powdered the tailbone of a giant two-foot-long frog, and mixed it with oils he’d rendered from an Asian parti-colored bat. Fascinating, but disgusting. Yuk, Jac thought. The mixture was then added to spice a soup made with a bull’s penis and testicles. The couple ate the concoction while Jac gagged. Peri laughed, and said, “The more bizarre the recipe is, the more people watch the show, and talk about it. And it’s making Erica rich!”

  Peri had been hired by the network to critique the televised show. X-rated scenes were cut to get past the American censors. Masterful editing also eliminated most of the sexual gymnastics together with a few time delays for commercials, making it palatable for a mature audience. In Europe and in Asian countries where the program was syndicated, the shows were broadcast au natural.

  Tonight, Erica was obviously drunk. She was all over Peri. Peri was embarrassed when Erica called out in a loud voice, telling all those at the table to mind their business. She then proceeded to tell Peri she was leaving town tomorrow and heading to the Caribbean and that he’d better satisfy her tonight. Peri looked mortified.

  “Erica! Are you finished now? Or would you like to show us more?” Jac stared angrily at Erica.

  “Careful, darling,” Erica warned. “Why don’t you carry on with your cute story?”

  “Thank you.”

  Jac paused to sip from his water glass before he resumed telling the story of how Peri had received his wounds.

  The door to the kitchen opened. Carlton, Peri’s house manager, entered the dining room and stopped next to Jac, who was in the middle of his story: “…blood running down his right arm, which was dangling loosely at his side … Peri staggered … and fell to—”

  Jac paused and leaned over so Carlton could whisper in his ear.

  “Take her number … I’ll call her back,” Jac whispered.

  “Regretfully, sir,” Carlton said, “she said to tell you she was a Mr. Reg’s wife, and you would understand.”

  Stunned, Jac shut his eyes. Deeply submerged images erupted from a vault in his guarded memories. The image of Abigail Chance’s face invaded his vision just as it had earlier when he and Peri were flying. In a flash, her face dissipated, and a vision from his past, which had been haunting him over the past several years, burst into his awareness: Abigail stood at the airfield fence waving and yelling to get his and Reg’s attention as they boarded a C-54 that would take them to Afghanistan. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vision was gone. Another distorted image formed in his mind. He felt pain in his head with the echoing sound of gunfire. Jac was flying his Apache AH-64 helicopter two clicks behind Reg Chance’s, trying to catch up. Reg had left the airfield without him. Their mission was to provide immediate support for six ambushed Marines engaged in a firefight with over twenty Iraqi desert fighters. Flashes … flashes coming from ground fire looked as if hundreds of fireflies had suddenly been let loose in the daylight. Then he heard clunks as bullets bounced off the heavy armor on his gunship.

  Through his reverie, he heard Nikki saying, “Jac, are you all right?” And then she was gone. Jac put his hands over his eyelids to try and block the memory he knew was coming.

  A bright flash from the ground … and a gray smoke trail painting the sky … “Break off!” Jac yelled when Reg’s gunship took a crippling hit. It hurtled down into the ground sending up an explosion of sand. A hard landing, but he could survive. Jac saw Reg trying to climb out of the ship. Jac was almost in range to help. He screamed when a second Grail missile found its mark through a broken window of Reg’s aircraft. The gunship exploded into a ball of fire. Reg was gone. Jac let loose a barrage from his machine gun and fired a rocket at the mound where the missile had come from. It was an ammo dump. The explosion rocked his ship and sent a fiery plume of black smoke into the sky.

  A tremor from the memory flash sent a stinging sensation into the back of Jac’s eyes. The pain of sudden loss, and the shadowy image of the gunship in flames caused him to cry out, “Reg!”

  Conversation at the table stopped. All eyes in the room turned toward Jac.

  Nikki was hugging him. “Jac, Jac …”

 
“Mr. Kidd, are you all right?” Carlton said as he gripped Jac’s arm to steady him.

  “Yeah … I’m okay … thank you, Carlton.” Jac stood up on shaky legs and looked out at the stunned guests. “Sorry for the interruption. Please go on with your meal. Please excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Jac? Are you really all right?” Nikki stood up and hugged him.

  “How long was I out?”

  “About a minute,” Nikki said with a look of concern

  “I’m okay now. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back. Nothing will spoil tonight … I promise.” The torrent of emotions he’d experienced showed on his face. The ghostly pictures faded as he regained a modicum of composure. But the lingering image of Abigail’s face haunted him for another minute.

  Jac moved toward the door, and a smile crossed his face. He noticed Peri remove Erica’s probing hand from his lap.

  “Good God, I don’t know what gets into that woman.” Peri said as he joined Jac at the doorway.

  “She just wants you for dessert.”

  Peri smiled.

  Jac sat down in the office behind Peri’s antique oak desk and picked up the phone. Peri followed him into the room and stood off to the side, worried about his friend.

  “Hello?”

  “Jac?”

  He noticed a quiver in her voice. “Yes.” It’s her! His expression turned from one of caution to recognition.

  “You sound distant,” she said.

  “You caught me off guard, Abigail.”

  “Sorry, but I need your help.”

  Jac listened to silence for a few minutes. “Always … if you need anything … any—”