Rhames reached out and cut the rope with his knife, and the bell hit the water with a huge splash. It disappeared below the surface, and I watched the chain follow. I could see the trail leading back to the tongue-shaped section of coral. If we survived this, I was sure I could find it.
Mason steered off to port, and when the chain was played out, we ground to a halt with the bell acting as an anchor. The old ship creaked with the strain of the weight of the bell and chain pulling against the forward pressure of the sails, but I could see the chain taut in the water. Dropping some sail earlier had worked, and the two ships were closing.
Even though they were less than a quarter mile away, it seemed like an eternity. Rhames was correct, surmising that they wouldn’t try and sink us with the treasure aboard, and no cannon fired on us, but I could see on deck the flurry of activity that indicated they were preparing to board us. The ship groaned again as Mason made a final adjustment to the boom, and I wondered if it would hold up to the collision that was only seconds away.
With a crash, the lead ship tore into the chain, dragging our ship stern first toward it. Rhames was ready and slammed a hammer into the pin holding the chain to the capstan, and our ship bounced back, almost reacting too much to the swing in momentum. Once we righted, I could see the first ship was done. The captain of the second ship steered hard to starboard to avoid colliding with the first, and a minute later I heard the sound of wood being torn apart. He was hard aground on the coral just outside the channel.
A cheer went up from our crew as we sailed away from the doomed ships and set course for Greater Inagua.
With Van Doren’s description of the location, Mac opened up the chartplotter and studied the approach from Cuba. He saw it instantly. A reef running in the center of a narrow channel leading out of the Bird Key Anchorage.
There was no mistaking its shape as a tongue.
Thirty-Seven
Mac had finally discovered what he thought was the location of Van Doren’s cache. Of course, the fort had not been here back then, but the other islands would have looked the same. Whether he was right or not, he needed Trufante and Ned. Doing anything on the water was harder at night, and if it weren’t for Kurt and his family, Mac would have checked it out himself during daylight. The light was fading quickly, and due to the urgency of the situation, Mac was willing to forego the difficulties and dive it tonight. If he was correct about the location, it might be possible to recover it as well, and for that, he needed help.
Bugarra wouldn’t expect a night dive. Mac was sure the kidnapper was getting updates from Farnsworth, who would have told him that Mac had abandoned his crew and run. Mac could only hope Trufante, Pamela, and Ned didn’t share that opinion and were waiting for him. Sitting behind Loggerhead Key, Mac had an advantage. He put away the journal after placing a waypoint on the location he had found from Van Doren’s description, and as the sun started to set, he pulled the anchor and started to motor to the northeast.
His course led him away from the fort, as there was no such thing as a direct route here. Almost three miles of shoal-ridden water separated Loggerhead Key from Fort Jefferson. It would take more than twice that many miles to reach the northern channel without grounding. His choice to anchor on the backside of Loggerhead Key kept him out of the line of sight, but with shallow water extending almost a mile past the beach, it made it even longer to reach the fort.
He studied the water as he passed over the coral patches beneath him. Even in the dimming light, the reefs lying twenty feet below were visible, with some of the coral heads coming to within a few feet of the surface. It was nerve-racking enough transiting these waters with a depth finder and chartplotter to aid him; he could only imagine how Van Doren felt having only his eyes and some lead weights to guide the old wooden ship.
The water turned a dark blue, and Mac glanced down at the chartplotter, which confirmed he was in the southwest channel leading to Fort Jefferson. He had chosen this approach not only because it was closer, but because it was less visible from the fort.
Coming around the back side of the fort, he was soon able to see the steel pilings, all that remained of the old structure. Knowing it previously had been used as a deepwater dock, he’d planned to tie up to the closest piling and swim ashore to find Trufante. Mac didn’t know where the Cajun would be, but that didn’t bother him—Trufante was rarely invisible, and Mac hoped his crew would be watching for him.
Mac coasted to a stop, looking over his shoulder to make sure this was the best position. He tossed a loop over the piling and tied off the line. After checking the drift, he was able to drop a small anchor off the stern to both stop the swing caused by the tide and to allow him an easy jump to shore. This portion of the pier was just offshore of a small rectangle-shaped island created from the construction spoils. He dropped over the side and waded toward shore.
Water sloshed out of his boat shoes, but they saved his feet from the sharp coral. Climbing onto the island, he stayed low and worked his way through the labyrinth of both old and new construction materials. Several boat trailers were parked close to a small beach that led to the fort, and he briefly wondered what they were doing out here seventy miles from the closest road. Figuring the boat trailers had been brought across on the ferry, he let it go and used them to his advantage as he approached the old fort’s crumbling brick walls. Crossing the small spit of land that connected the spoil island to Garden Key, where the fort sat, was the only approach where he wouldn’t have to swim the moat. He had noticed how clear it was the other day, but now it was dark, and a moat was a moat. Too easy to imagine sharks cruising the perimeter of the fort with their cold, hungry eyes on him.
Looking for an access point to the fort, he couldn’t help but notice how badly the saltwater environment had treated the old brick structure. The walls were in a state of major disrepair, and with a contractor’s eye, he saw why. The large openings used to shoot the cannon had been originally designed with huge steel shutters. The steel supports, embedded several feet into each side of each opening, had rusted, and expanded over the years, causing the surrounding brickwork to fail. The mortar mixture used had long ago deteriorated, leaving some bricks loose enough to remove by hand. Mac used this to his advantage as he started to scale the fort walls.
After an easy climb to the first embrasure, he peered over the edge before crawling in. From here, he could see the dim outline of the hundreds of arches forming what were now open corridors, but once had held wooden doors, creating cells for the prisoners. The fort was dark, and he was able to move about easily without any fear of being seen. Reaching the interior section, he looked out on the parade ground. The pathways were illuminated with security lights, but he noticed many routes through the large, grassy area were dark. Most of the lights shone from the living quarters. Only one room in the fort itself had a light, and that appeared to be the office.
Standing there, he wondered where Trufante, Ned, and Pamela were. Ned was a problem. The old man, in his day, had been a strong worker and diver. Mac remembered many salvage jobs where, even in his sixties, Ned had pulled his weight. Now, probably close to eighty, he might not be up to what lay ahead of them. Even escaping the fort might be too much for him; what came after that would be even more taxing.
Looking out over the fort, Mac saw few signs of life, and his gaze drifted upward. The decorative beacon from the old lighthouse and the security lights couldn’t begin to compete with the most magnificent skies he had ever witnessed. The Milky Way was so well defined that he could imagine himself inside it, like a starry snow globe. He’d seen many memorable skies at sea. Once you were out of sight of land, without the lights from shore to interfere, the stars reached all the way to the horizon. Here the heavens were even more brilliant.
A disembodied voice came to him as he watched, and at first Mac thought it floated from the sky. But then he heard a woman speak, and he recognized the voice as Pamela’s. He followed it, and listened as she explained
the constellations to Trufante. Staying to the seaward side of the corridors, Mac was able to remain in the shadows until he was close enough to see the outline of the two figures sitting side by side in one of the embrasures.
“Tru,” Mac whispered as he got closer.
“Mac Travis,” Pamela said. “I knew you would come.”
He walked up to them, and when he could see out the opening, he stopped. The view from the interior of the fort was nothing compared to what lay before him.
“We seen you come up on the pile there,” Trufante said. “Figured you’d find us before long.”
With one problem solved, Mac stood behind them and told them what he had figured out from Van Doren’s journals. “I want to dive it tonight and, if I’m right, salvage what we can.”
Trufante rose and nodded. He extended a hand down for Pamela. She took it, and the three of them stood together.
“What about old man?” Trufante asked.
“This is going to be too much for him. I’d like to have his brain along, but his body won’t hold up.”
“He’d tell you different,” Trufante said. “Old man’s come in handy more than once.”
Mac imagined how he would want to be treated, facing possibly his last adventure. He knew Trufante was right. Assuming Ned was in the living quarters, Mac decided that Pamela should fetch him. There was too much of a risk if Mac went, and Trufante looked suspicious just sitting on a barstool. Pamela hopefully could find Ned and bring him out. Mac explained what he wanted and told her where to meet them, then watched as she disappeared down the circular staircase and, a minute later, crossed the parade grounds. He waited until he saw her emerge with Ned, and then nodded to Trufante.
Staying to the shadows, they reached the meeting point a few minutes ahead of Ned and Pamela. When the pair arrived, Mac guided them back the way he had entered. They reached the embrasure, and he stayed behind to help Ned while Trufante and Pamela descended the decaying structure like cats. Ned went next, with a little help, then Mac dropped beside him.
Climbing down the walls turned out to be more difficult than the ascent, even without having to help Ned, who spat back every piece of advice Mac gave. Ned was unable to see the footholds, and kicked bricks loose as he scrambled down. Most fell into the water, splashing quietly before disappearing. A few fell onto the stacks of old debris with loud thunks that were definitely not natural sea sounds. With each fallen brick, they had to stop and listen. After they realized how unstable the structure was, they moved more carefully and reached the beach and waded to the trawler.
Mac pulled the anchor while Trufante went forward to retrieve the line around the piling. After stowing the anchor, Mac started the engines and idled forward so the lanky Cajun could retrieve the line. Once clear, Mac headed back toward Loggerhead Key.
Bugarra wasn’t happy. It was pretty apparent by now that, though the park ranger was not in good shape, he wasn’t going to die or lose his leg. He and the two women were secure in the office, and Bugarra had Farnsworth’s support. What Bugarra didn’t know was where Travis was, and that troubled him.
Thinking the best way to find him would be through his mate or the old man, Bugarra had kept his eye on both since arriving. Ned had spent most of the day in the fort’s archives and was now in his room. Trufante had spent most of the day in his room and was now sitting up in the old fort with his woman.
Bugarra could just make out their silhouettes in a moonlit embrasure, when suddenly a third figure approached them. After a few seconds, they all disappeared.
Bugarra sprinted across the parade grounds. Looking around, he saw a two people walking toward the opening, but neither looked like Travis or his mate. Of them, there was no sign. Bugarra approached the dark opening for the old circular stairs and started to climb to the second level, where he had seen them before. The sound of his footfalls hitting the worn concrete echoed off the brick walls, but he didn’t care. If they weren’t inside the fort, he knew where they were.
Exiting the stairwell, he ran to the first embrasure. He stopped short when he heard what sounded like a brick crashing below, and looked out over the old south pier. He could see Travis’s boat tied up to one of the pilings and four figures making their way across the spit of sand connecting the fort to the pier. He had seen enough, and ran back down the stairs.
Farnsworth had been paid well, and the hostages would probably be safe if he left them here. He and Bugarra had created an incident report that would provide a coverup of their fake confinement. But Bugarra didn’t care much about their safety. He had taken them for leverage, and without them along, he knew he would lose his advantage over Travis.
Entering the office, he slid the bolt back on the inner door and saw the trio sitting against the far wall.
“Get up. We have to go.”
“We can’t move him. Look at his leg.” The woman removed the towel covering the wound, revealing a dark purple mess. “It’s infected. If he doesn’t get help, he could lose it.”
The younger one, the ranger’s daughter, looked at Bugarra defiantly.
“You—there’s a wheelchair outside in the corridor,” Bugarra said, pointing at the teenager.
She looked at the older woman, who nodded her assent, then left the room.
“Where are we going?” the woman asked.
“Your friend Travis is up to something,” Bugarra said. Right after the words were out of his mouth, he saw a slight smile ghost across her face. Travis was their ray of hope, and Bugarra now knew he had their cooperation.
The girl arrived a minute later pushing a rubber-tired wheelchair. She and the woman loaded the ranger into the seat and strapped him in. Bugarra had originally been worried about getting the ranger to the boat, but the chair had been customized for the fort’s beach. The seat was a sling that looked like it came off a beach chair, and there were no armrests, but the large grey rubber wheels could handle any terrain between here and the boat.
As they exited through the sally port and started toward the dock, he heard the engine of Travis’s boat fire up. Just as they reached the dock and loaded the ranger aboard the boat, Bugarra saw the outline of the trawler cross the horizon. Instead of heading for the channel that led to Key West, Travis turned in the opposite direction and started toward Loggerhead Key. For the first time in days, Bugarra felt he was getting closer to whatever was Gross’s secret.
Thirty-Eight
With everyone aboard, Mac started the engine while Trufante released the line attached to the pile. Staying to the channel, but running dark, Mac retraced his route around the backside of the fort. The white masthead lights of a few sailboats that had chosen to weather the storm in the harbor were visible, but no running lights could be seen on the water.
The fort was mostly a blocky shadow, backlit by the security lights and the decorative lighthouse. Behind them Mac could see the light on Loggerhead Key flashing every twenty seconds. Otherwise, there was nothing except the dark expanse of the sea, and the overhead curtain of starlight. Moving past the backside of the fort, Mac stared at the screens in front of him. Though there were several markers ahead, spotting them on the moonless night without a searchlight would be almost impossible. He had to rely on Trufante’s eagle eyesight to spot them. Trusting the chart on the right-hand screen, Mac set the zoom to a hundred feet and steered by the instrument.
The left-hand screen showed the bottom as they passed over it. The channel was fairly deep, almost twenty feet, and he didn’t have to worry too much until they reached the Bird Key Harbor, where they would be forced to run cross-country. Trufante called out the markers as they passed them, confirming what Mac saw on his display. When they reached the last one, the breadcrumbs from the track on his screen ended, and they were on their own.
Mac thought again of Van Doren making this same approach in an old wooden ship with only one or two men forward, dropping lead lines. The trawler could reverse if they got into trouble, but there was no way to stop a sh
ip from Van Doren’s time. In the proper conditions backing the sails was possible, but it would only delay the inevitable, not stop it. Mac gained a new appreciation for the men who sailed these waters before electronics.
After passing Garden Key and the fort, Mac saw the open expanse of Bird Key Harbor in front of them. He had to be careful here, as the chartplotter showed the deep water ended in an abrupt shallow bank. In daylight he might be able to discern it from the water color, but in the dark it would be impossible. The journal had described exactly this, and he watched the chartplotter for his turn. Van Doren, along with his navigator Mason, had extensive knowledge of the area, and had found the perfect escape route, a deepwater channel that narrowed to less than a hundred feet. His plan to create a boom and lure Lafitte’s pursuing ships into it was brilliant.
“Can you see anything in the water?” Mac called to Trufante.
“Darker than a mullet’s belly.”
“Stay up there and keep an eye out.”
Mac had been so focused on the chartplotter that he hadn’t noticed Ned come up next to him.
“Seen some lights moving on the other side of the fort,” Ned said.
Mac turned back, but saw nothing. He didn’t doubt Ned, but whatever he had seen had either gone the other way or was behind one of the keys. “Keep an eye out, and tell Pamela, too.”
“I don’t need any damned help,” Ned said, and returned to the stern.
Mac was worried the lights Ned had spotted were from a park service boat, but there was nothing he could do. He was already running dark and had turned the electronics to night mode, so only a small glow emanated from the screens. Looking ahead, he saw nothing but stars, so brilliant that it was hard to turn away, but they shed little light on the water.
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