Wood's Tempest

by Steven Becker

  “Makes sense, Mac,” Ned said.

  Mac was quiet for a few seconds. Kurt was right, but they had to act now or lose their advantage. “Me and the old boy’ll take the boat now and see if he follows. I’ll have Tru meet us around the bight, and we’ll switch. Let him and Pamela take the boat ride.”

  Kurt faded into the shadows while Mac and Ned ran to the Ghost Runner. Once aboard, Mac sent Ned to the helm while Mac readied the trawler. The engine started at the same time as he tossed the lines, and Ned pulled forward out of the slip. “I got it,” Mac said.

  “I’ve been driving boats since before they had motors. Tend to your business. I’ll take her around the bight.”

  Mac grunted and moved to the side of the wheelhouse. From here, he could watch Bugarra. The cab hadn’t moved, but he saw the interior light go on. Assuming that a door had opened, he asked Ned to slow down. They were baiting a trap, not escaping one. Unable to see in the darkness, Mac killed all the lights and studied the pier. He thought he saw a shadow, there for a second, then gone. A figure appeared a few feet from the dock. Mac’s eyes locked on the man as he moved down the dock and stopped at one of the boats.

  His phone had Trufante’s number already on the display, and he pressed the connect icon and waited. When Trufante answered, Mac explained what he wanted Trufante and Pamela to do. “He’s coming,” Mac said to Ned. “Give her a little push. Not so much he loses us, but we need to make the swap before he gets to the Cruise Ship Pier.”

  Ned shot Mac a look that said he understood and didn’t appreciate the coaching. “We’ll get ’er done.” He passed the breakwater and pushed down on the throttles. “You got a fuel issue if you want to go much further.”

  Mac moved to the helm and read the gauges. Both read about a quarter tank, but he knew this was a high estimate. Their current speed was not fast enough to get the boat up on plane, and with the transom down and the fuel sensor located in the rear of the tanks, the reading was misleading. Instead of relying on the gauges, he looked at the hour readout on the tachometers. Some quick math told him they had only about fifty miles of range remaining. Normally, with marinas dotting the waterways, this wasn’t a problem, but after Ruth, there was no telling what was available. They weren’t going far enough to worry about it now, and he dug five hundred-dollar bills out of his stash in the cabin to give to Trufante. Some of the cash would inevitably go to filling the refrigerator with beer, but if most of it got into the tanks, Mac would be happy.

  Looking up, he saw an iron railing to port, which told him they were passing Mallory Square. If a cruise ship were in port, it would be visible from here, but none appeared. Any ship that was capable of diverting around the storm or running from it had left days ago.

  Mac looked back and saw the green and red lights from Bugarra’s bow. He had taken the bait.

  “He’s behind us and moving fast.”

  The trawler shot forward as Ned applied more pressure. Mac turned back to his phone to call Trufante, but saw Ned’s old VW parked by itself near the pier. Two tall figures stood by the railing. One pointed at the boat, and he swore he could see Trufante’s grille. Picking up the phone, he called Trufante and directed them to the end of the pier.

  “Right there,” Mac said, pointing to Trufante and Pamela.

  “I can see,” Ned said, squinting.

  Mac fought the instinct to take the wheel, but resisted. They would be better served if he worked the lines. As Ned approached the pier, Mac looked back and saw Bugarra round the point of the bight. The plan was working. It looked like Bugarra was going to maintain the gap and see where they were headed, rather than come after them.

  Ned slid the boat within a few feet of the pier while Mac coiled a third of the line in his right hand. With the remainder in his left hand, he tossed it across the water to Trufante. The lanky Cajun easily caught it, and together they pulled the boat until it was only a foot from the dock. Mac motioned for Pamela to come aboard, then helped Ned onto the higher dock. Mac followed and, after giving Trufante a few instructions and the money, the boat moved off. It had taken less than ten seconds to switch crews and only a small detour in course.

  Mac and Ned moved back into the shadows and watched as Bugarra continued to match the trawler’s speed. When his boat passed by them a few minutes later, it was clear that there was only one man aboard. Mac called Kurt to let him know that Bugarra was alone, and Mac and Ned turned to the street.

  “You said something about the Conversos?” Mac asked. He had gotten Bugarra off the rock, which would give Kurt a better chance of locating Justine and Allie, but finding the treasure was still the best way out of this.

  “Let’s go visit the synagogue. Hopefully the rabbi stayed behind.”

  They reached Ned’s car and, with Mac driving, headed toward United Street. Mac wasn’t sure where this was going to lead, but he had no other clues.

  The predawn streets were clear of traffic, but this was the time Key West was normally asleep. Avoiding several branches and palm fronds, Mac wove through the streets. They reached B’Nai Zion a few minutes later and left the car out front.

  Ned led the way to the side door and knocked. For a few minutes they thought that the rabbi had evacuated, but after striking the door harder, they heard noise inside. The door cracked open, and the rabbi smiled when he saw Ned.

  “An old friend appears,” he said, opening the door.

  “I figured you’d ride it out,” Ned said, entering the small apartment.

  “This time of night I don’t think you’re just checking on an old man?” the rabbi said.

  “We’re in a bit of a bind,” Ned said.

  Mac looked on, sure that the rabbi would help if he could. He knew genuine caring when he saw it, and the rabbi had it. He had opened the door and greeted them with no questions asked. After declining coffee, Ned explained what they wanted and the urgency of their situation.

  “Most of the old books and journals relating to the Conversos are in back. Come on.”

  There was a space where academics dwelled that adventurers were loath to enter. As they walked through the apartment and into the synagogue, Mac knew he was out of his element. Ned became more and more animated as the rabbi led the way to an old library.

  “The Jewish community of Key West goes back centuries. Although there was little in the way of records before the city was incorporated in 1832, the Jewish presence here was well known. Most were the ancestors of the Conversos, Iberians running from the Inquisition. They found a safe haven here, and, finally able to openly return to their faith, established themselves.” The rabbi went to a shelf and pulled down several old journals.

  “Gross’s work was mostly centered around the period before the Civil War,” Ned said. “Quite a few mentions of Lafitte and Henriques.”

  “I’ve heard before that there was something between those two.”

  Mac started pacing the old tile floor, wondering how the men could have anything in common when they were separated by two centuries. He knew there was no other option, but for a man inclined to action, library research was painful. Mac looked over Ned’s shoulder as the rabbi opened one of the journals. He blew off a layer of dust and started paging through it.

  “Here we are. Nicholas Van Doren.”

  Like every other salvor on the east coast, Mac knew his pirate history, but this name was not familiar. Despite his impatience, he listened to the rabbi.

  “Van Doren and his family were captured by Gasparilla in the early 1800s. There is no record of what became of his parents, but one can assume.” He paused. “Gasparilla must have seen something he liked about the boy and took him under his wing. When the Navy took out the old pirate, Nick escaped with ten men, a handful of small boats, and several chests containing Gasparilla’s treasure.”

  “How does that tie in with Lafitte?” Mac asked.

  “We’ll get there. It’s important to know who you’re dealing with.”

  Ned was leaning over th
e rabbi’s shoulder looking at the journal. “This is the journal Gross had pictures of.”

  The excitement running through the three men became palpable.

  “Nick never wanted to be a pirate, and spent years trying to prove he was otherwise. It seems he was about to head across Panama to the Pacific and start fresh, when his boat was blown up off the Yucatan.”

  “And that boat held the treasure?” Mac asked.

  “That’s another story entirely, but he recovered much of it. What we’re looking for here is much bigger.”

  There were stories about buried treasure and lost mines in that area, going back to Columbus. Mac knew most were myths, and the ones that were real would never be found.

  The rabbi must have seen his interest waning. “After losing his ship, Van Doren needed help and turned to Jean Lafitte.”

  “Why him?” Mac was skeptical.

  “To start with, Van Doren had met the old pirate several times previously while he was with Gasparilla. Back in the day, the two pirates ruled the gulf. From what Van Doren says, it was apparent to both that they shared a common ancestry. It’s come to light lately that Lafitte was a Sephardic Jew. Amsterdam had become a safe haven for Jews, and knowing that’s where Van Doren was from, it’s a pretty good chance he and Lafitte shared the same heritage. The Middle Eastern features of the sect was a trait that would have made them look like brothers.

  “How does that bring them back together in Mexico?” Mac asked.

  “Rumor had it that after the Navy had run Lafitte out of Galveston, he had taken refuge in Campeche.”

  “So, Van Doren was close by, sought him out, and Lafitte offered his help?” Mac asked.

  “For a price, yes. Until Lafitte double-crossed Van Doren,” the rabbi said.

  “How does this tie into Gross’s research?”

  Ned interrupted. “Gross could have been focusing his efforts on the federal waters of the gulf in general to escape the oversight and greed of the state of Florida. I know what’s being spread around, about him selling out, but that’s mostly coming from Bugarra. Gross was a dreamer. He wanted a galleon, not just gold to sell.”

  The pieces were starting to fall into place. Mac looked again at the rabbi, anxious for him to continue the story.

  “It appears that Van Doren had regrouped and, with the help of another Sephardi he had found shipwrecked on the Mexican coast, discovered Henriques’ treasure while salvaging what was lost when his own ship was destroyed. Which is where things get interesting.”

  “Who’s Henriques?” Mac asked.

  “Another pirate Jew,” the rabbi said. “Moses Henriques captured the entire sixteen-ship Spanish plate fleet in 1628. He took the treasure to Brazil, where he established an island colony, but the Inquisition found him, and he fled to Campeche.

  “It was purely by coincidence, almost two hundred years later, that Campeche declared its independence from Mexico and offered privateers commissions to anyone who would sail against their enemies. Lafitte, having been removed from Galveston by the Navy, was now based out of the rebel state. As he had done in New Orleans and Galveston, he cornered the market and soon had a fleet of ships patrolling the gulf waters.

  “But Lafitte was a true pirate. He found out about the treasure and tried to double-cross Van Doren. Van Doren took the bait, but was able to hide the treasure before Lafitte found him.”

  “This is an interesting story, but it’s getting us no closer to finding it,” Mac said.

  “The journal mentions Garden Key. Do you know what that is now?”

  Mac shook his head.

  “Fort Jefferson.”

  Thirty

  Justine glanced at Allie, then studied the room, looking for anything that might aid in an escape. The TV was on, and the man left to watch them had a smile on his face as he watched the early reports of the destruction Hurricane Ruth had wrought. His reaction to the misfortune of others only infuriated her more. With his pistol sitting on the table in front of him, there was no way she could subdue him and escape. The only way out was subterfuge.

  She was a scientist, and critical thinking was her wheelhouse. Her work as a forensics tech for Miami-Dade often made her think outside the box, and that’s what she had to do now. She’d had offers of higher-paying research positions in the private sector, but Justine liked the excitement and intrigue of using science to solve cases, plus the added complexity of people in the puzzle. At first it had been all about the science of forensics, until she learned there was an art to interpreting the evidence as well. Now, she sat staring at the news, trying to figure out how to use her background to escape.

  The first tendrils of light were just visible around the borders of the blackout curtains. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that unless you counted a few bottles of water and a candy bar, she and Allie hadn’t eaten since being abducted yesterday. She remembered Bugarra instructing the men to keep them comfortable.

  “Hey, we’re hungry,” she said to the man.

  He turned toward them and grunted. Justine could see he was tired and probably hungry too. The two men were taking turns watching them, and she had studied them both. From their looks and the way they responded to Bugarra, she assumed they were ex-military. She had garnered from their conversations that they were from Miami and not all that happy that they had been forced to leave their families to weather the storm alone.

  “Yeah, I’ll get my buddy to bring some food.”

  Justine had hoped that he would go next door, giving her and Allie a chance to hop the second-floor balcony and escape, but instead, he texted his partner. Watching him type, she heard the conversation pinging back and forth.

  “If he can find something open, we’ll get some food.”

  She cleared her throat. “We need some girl stuff too—you know, that time.” Allie gave her a questioning look, but Justine ignored it. “Some rubbing alcohol, too—helps with the cramps.” Chances were strong he didn’t know if that was true or not, and she hoped he wouldn’t question it.

  She saw his look change and knew she had gained her first advantage, though she wasn’t sure if it was sympathy for her or the guilty pleasure of his partner having to make an embarrassing purchase. He put his head down and texted the additional requests. As badly as she wanted to tell Allie what she had planned, Justine just squeezed Allie’s hand, trying to tell her that they were going to be all right.

  With Ned lingering behind, Mac excused himself, thanking the rabbi for the information. Once outside, he called Trufante. The cat-and-mouse game with Bugarra was about to run its course, and if they were going to head back to the Dry Tortugas, he needed the trawler. Pamela answered, and he asked her to have Trufante bring the boat around to the Edward Knight Pier on the east side of the island. Anywhere on the Atlantic side of Key West would have been battered and possibly even seriously damaged by the storm, but Mac expected the concrete and steel structure on the east side would be intact.

  “I’ll need you to stay here and coordinate everything,” Mac told Ned when he came out.

  “If you’re going after it, I’m going with you.”

  Mac decided that argument could wait until later. “I’m meeting the boat in a few minutes,” he said, and turned to the rabbi. “Can we get some copies of the journal?”

  “Of course, as long as I get the full story when you get back,” the rabbi said. Taking the journal, he stepped out of the room. The rabbi was back a few minutes later and handed two copies of the journal to Mac. They thanked him and promised updates.

  “Let’s go,” Mac said, hopping in the passenger seat. Ned started the old VW and headed toward White Street, where he made a right and drove toward the pier. It was immediately apparent that the Atlantic shore had taken the brunt of Ruth. The island had fared well with the wind, but the debris line brought in by the storm surge was well past the road. They crossed Atlantic Boulevard.

  “Here’s good,” Mac said. “It’ll be faster on foot. This might take a w
hile—you sure you don’t want to go back and start reading? Once we hit the water and we’re out of cell range, it’ll be hard to look up anything.”

  “Damned well can’t lug my whole library around. You leave me, Travis, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Mac took the win and left the car. As he ran down the pier, dodging piles of seaweed, buoys, line, and all manner of refuse, he hoped they’d found the answer. As he reached the end of the narrow walkway, the pier opened up to a wider area. Mac went to the rail and scanned the water. He saw his boat coming and waved.

  Thirty-One

  Kurt peddled the beach cruiser into Ned’s driveway. At the same time the VW, after almost sideswiping him, pulled in. He had been spinning in circles trying to canvas the island on the bike and opted to come back for the car.

  “Any luck with those girls of yours?” Ned asked as he climbed out of the VW.

  Kurt shook his head. The sun was climbing into the sky now, and he knew time was running out. On the way into the house, Ned updated Kurt on what he and Mac had found. Just as he finished, his phone rang. Mac.

  “I’m back at Ned’s,” Kurt said when Mac asked for his status.

  “Find Sonar. She may have a lead. I’ll send you her number.”

  Kurt heard the sound of engines in the background. “Ned says you’re heading back to the fort?”

  “Small problem in the way.” Mac explained that Bugarra was still following the boat.

  Kurt thought for a moment. The best-case scenario was to lure Bugarra back onto land and hope he would lead them to Allie and Justine. Allowing Mac to go find the treasure without Bugarra on his tail was an added bonus.

  “Send me Bugarra’s number. I have an idea.”

  They disconnected, and Kurt waited while the two messages with Bugarra and Sonya’s contact info came in. He pressed Bugarra’s number. Whether it was the unknown number or Bugarra couldn’t hear his phone ring over the boat’s engines, the call went to voicemail. Kurt left a message that he had some information, then texted him the same.