“We found and raided the Aryan Order’s compound last night,” she said, getting straight to the point after I answered. “It was empty, but it looked like they left in a hurry.” She paused, then added, “Lynch uploaded a video this morning and we were able to trace it to an IP address near Orlando. It looks like he’s making a run for it.”
I shook my head. Of course he was making a run for it. The white supremacist leader had no other options.
“You find anything useful at their compound?” I asked.
“Not much yet,” she said. “But they left the pit bulls behind, so we’re taking care of them.” She said something to someone beside her that I couldn’t hear, then added, “We’ve got a good chance of nabbing him here, Logan. He’s not getting away this time. I wanted to thank you again for all you and Ange did.”
“No thanks necessary. And I’m glad to hear you’re all close to finding Lynch.”
She told me she’d keep me updated if anything new came up, then we ended the call. I pocketed my phone and looked down the sidewalk as my family and friends waved me to catch up with them.
With Lynch and his guys out of the picture, and with the new information that Scarlett had figured out, I thought that it was high time we took another boat trip to the Upper Keys.
I smiled and strode toward them.
Maybe throw a towfish of our own into the water and see what we can find.
TWENTY-EIGHT
With “Margaritaville” playing from a nearby corner restaurant, we made our way down the dock and sat around the cushioned seats up in the flybridge of Jack’s Sea Ray 45. Jack popped open a cooler and divvied out drinks. I’d told them what Jane had said while we’d navigated our way through the nighttime streets of one of the world’s wildest and most unique towns.
“This guy Lynch seems to give new meaning to the phrase ‘bottom of the barrel,’” Pete said, cracking open a beer. “But it’s a shame he got away again.”
“It’s only a matter of time with people like him,” Ange said. “It’s like playing the odds at Vegas. You can win a few hands—hell, you can make out like a bandit for an entire night. But in the end, the house always wins.”
“And right now, this guy’s chips are way down,” Jack said. “To continue on with the analogy.”
We fell silent for a moment, and their eyes gradually gravitated toward me. I hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived at Jack’s boat. I was too stuck in my own thoughts.
“What are you thinking, Logan?” Ange said, placing a hand on my leg.
I took a swig, let out a satisfied breath of air, and leaned back into the cushion.
“I was just thinking about how it’s been a little while since we went on a treasure hunt.”
They all smiled, but Pete’s was the biggest.
“Ah, not since the Florentine Diamond back on Fort Jeff,” Pete said. “That sure was a pretty stone.”
Jack pointed the neck of his beer at me. “Scar and her research got to you, didn’t they?” he said. “You’re a believer now, then? In the story of the original Avengers?”
“With all respect for the dead, I’m not sure they really fit the title,” Ange said. “After all, they never really avenged anything.”
Pete shrugged. “True, but they still managed to sneak away from the city and enlist. That alone was a blow to the northern supporters who’d taken control of Key West. And they may have lost their grip on the gold after they stole it, but they still stole it nonetheless. To them, and I’m sure to Mallory, that mission was more a success than a failure. After all, the Union never got to spend an ounce of that gold either.”
Ange snuggled in close, lifted my left arm, and draped it over her. “You think the gold’s there?” she asked.
I peered out over the dark harbor. “I think it’s worth taking a look. We owe that much to John Ridley, and to ourselves after dealing with Lynch’s boys.”
That was all the encouragement Jack needed to bound down to the main deck, grab his laptop and a cardboard tube with a chart inside from the saloon, and skip back up to the flybridge. Within seconds he had the computer cracked open on the table in front of us. Pete removed the chart, unrolled it, and pinned the corners with beer bottles and his Taurus Raging Bull revolver.
The fact of the matter was, if I was going to attempt to find a treasure, Jack and Pete were the two men I’d want by my side. Few men alive knew the history and geography of the Keys better than Pete. And Jack spent most of his waking hours on the ocean and knew boat engines, nautical navigation, and scuba diving as well as anyone I’d ever met. Plus, this wasn’t our first rodeo together.
Within no time, they had a search grid set up. Unlike a number of our searches in the past, the issue wasn’t sheer size but the landscape. If Professor Ashwood’s prediction was correct, we were looking at a search area of just five acres, or roughly five football fields not including the end zones. The problem was the terrain itself. The shallow water, the tangles of mangroves, and the thick seagrass would make the going slow. But we were all up for the challenge.
Though I didn’t have Scarlett’s research on hand, I’d taken snapshots of the pages with my phone. We used the charts, internet searches, and the info from Scarlett to piece together a plan of action.
At one point, Pete took a break, standing, stretching, and gazing out over the downtown waterfront area.
“Hard to imagine this whole thing was originally thrown into motion by Stephen Mallory himself,” Pete said. “And I’ve got a gut feeling that this tall tale isn’t over yet.” He clinked his beer against Jack’s, then killed the rest of it. “As my old treasure hunter friend Walt Grissom used to say, ‘Once you catch the treasure bug, you never lose it.’”
After an hour, we decided to call it a night. With the weather report in our favor for the next few days, we’d agreed to head north the following morning.
When Lauren showed up and saw what we were up to, Jack greeted her with a kiss and asked if she needed anything.
“Uh-oh,” the pretty auburn-haired woman said. “You look like you want something.”
Jack grinned. “Sweetie, you mind if I go and—”
She waved him off. “Course not, Jack. You guys go and play Treasure Island. With all your talk about it this past week, you got me excited, so you four have fun and come back with some good stories to tell.”
Rising to our feet, Ange and I told them that we’d meet them there at the marina bright and early the following morning. We cruised home and met with Scarlett just as she was about to go to bed. We told her about our upcoming trip and that Harper was more than happy to look after her and Isaac while we were gone. She wanted to come, but I told her that just wasn’t possible.
“When you’re older, I have no doubt that you’ll undertake many exciting adventures of your own,” I said. “But until then, if you want to be a high schooler, you need to go to school.”
She sighed. “I should’ve chosen to be homeschooled.”
Ange and I laughed.
“You can decide that if you want, but after the school year,” Ange said. “After all, it’s only a few more weeks until summer vacation starts for you, so you want to finish strong. And if you do decide to be homeschooled, you’ll have to take some classes at the college like Isaac. Neither Logan nor I are much good at math or science.”
“I’ve got PE on lock,” I said with a wink. “And Diving 101. And weapons training.”
“Sounds like your typical high school curriculum,” Ange joked.
I leaned closer to Scarlett, then smiled and said, “Being typical is overrated.”
TWENTY-NINE
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of shrimp and eggs Benedict and a pile of garlic potatoes, we said our goodbyes to Scarlett.
“It’s just for a few days,” I told her. “And thanks again. If this gold is there, it would stay lost for many years to come if it weren’t for you.”
“Just take a lot of pictures, all right?”
she said. “I need to quench my adventurous thirst vicariously through you, at least until I’m older.”
Ange and I packed and set off. On the drive to the marina, I questioned whether we were doing the right thing.
“It just feels strange leaving her again so soon,” I said.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s almost sixteen, Logan. And it’s just a few days. Hell, Harper’s older and wiser than us; she’s probably just as good if not better with her.” She grinned, then added, “That girl’s becoming a daughter of the Conch Republic, not just of the Dodges.”
When we got to the marina, Jack and Pete were nearly packed and ready to go. In addition to my magnetometer, Jack loaded up his as well, just in case there was a mechanical issue. He also loaded up an extra kayak, full sets of dive gear, handheld underwater metal detectors, and everything else necessary to fulfill an underwater prospector’s fantasies.
We’d decided on bringing most of our armada, including the Baia, Jack’s Sea Ray Calypso, and a Whipray skiff by Hell’s Bay Boatworks. The Whipray is an anomaly, its patented hull design allowing the over-sixteen-foot-long boat to have a draft of just over three inches. It offered us the best chance to navigate the shallows of Jones Lagoon without running aground. The unique craft had belonged to Gus and had been left to Jack along with the marina. Jack would tow the Whipray behind the Calypso. All told, we had enough equipment and horsepower to make the great treasure hunter Mel Fisher proud.
By 1000, we were back in Islandia, this time with a crew ready to track down the Avengers’ loot. We anchored down off Little Totten Key, then prepared the skiff. We’d spotted just three boats near the lagoon. Two were obviously fishermen, and they motored past in a blur. The third was anchored on the northern side of the lagoon, its owners paddleboarding and exploring an area far from where we’d be conducting our search.
We loaded up the skiff with dive gear, handheld metal detectors, and the magnetometer. We also grabbed a cooler to help us combat the heat. Pete opted to stay behind for the initial search to keep an eye on the boats. Though the threat of Lynch was apparently nonexistent, the events of just a few days earlier still weighed on our minds.
Ange, Jack, and I climbed into the Whipray, powered on its 40-hp outboard, and wound our way into the lagoon. It was a near-perfect day. A few scattered clouds littered the horizon, hinting at potential rain, but the wind was barely blowing at five knots. With the wall of thick vegetation surrounding us, the lagoon was flat and calm as we chugged into it. With no whitecaps, we could easily see the bottom and all the life that called the little oasis home. Schools of fish, scurrying crabs, jellyfish, wading birds, and of course the occasional nurse shark.
We motored across to the eastern side of the lagoon. The water varied in depth from five feet to just a few inches, so we kept it slow and kept our eyes locked on the seafloor in front of the bow. Once in position, we set up our Proton underwater magnetometer. It was top-of-the-line, and we’d used it many times on our various adventures over the past few years.
“Let’s hope these guys tossed it overboard in the chest,” Jack said, “or this is gonna be one anticlimactic search.”
We calibrated the torpedo-shaped yellow device for objects no deeper than ten feet down and adjusted the frequency. If the stories were true and the gold had been tossed over in a chest, the metal clasps and hinges would be our best bets. Pure gold wouldn’t be picked up by the device since it isn’t magnetic.
Securing the cable to the stern of the skiff, we turned on the towfish and dropped it into the water. We paid out just twenty feet, then kept the device neutrally buoyant on the surface while accelerating the engine to just a few knots.
Few things light me up brighter than searching for lost treasure. There’s romance in it. Suspense. It inflicts that special brand of curiosity that grabs tight and doesn’t let up until every stone is turned.
“You know,” Jack said, after wrapping up our first couple of sweeps, “pirates used to sail up and down these coasts. It was a great jumping-off point to catch galleons off guard. They’d sail up from Havana, riding the trade winds north, and then east back to Europe. That is unless they had any unfortunate visitors on their hands.”
“I was thinking about that the other day,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll stumble upon someone else’s lost treasure. As Pete always says, ‘These islands are good at keeping secrets.’”
We finished the first pass, having followed along a five-hundred-foot line we’d drawn on the chart, then turned around and headed back. Since the mag had a wide swath, we would only need to perform six passes in order to complete the grid. Then, if we got a beep on the receiver, the real fun would begin, digging through a hundred and fifty years of silt and hopefully hitting a chest.
We completed another lap. No dice again. The magnetometer’s receiver hadn’t made a peep since we’d tested whether or not it was working with my dive watch before dropping it in.
“With these shallow waters, this thick seagrass, and these mighty mangrove forests, this place isn’t exactly a treasure hunter’s paradise,” Jack said. “Amazing that Ridley ever had the tenacity to search here.”
“It’s because of its difficulty, I’m sure,” I said. “I imagine that those are the best places to search nowadays. Those difficult spots on the map that everyone else has written off.”
After finishing up all six passes of the grid in under an hour, we decided to do it again. Even the best equipment can make mistakes. After rechecking and recalibrating the towfish, we dropped it back in and let it swim. By the time noon came around, we finished round two with the same outcome. Nothing. Zilch. Not even a wayward soda can. It was like the place had never been touched by man.
Hungry, hot, and somewhat dejected, we pulled the towfish up onto the deck and motored back across the lagoon. After navigating through the short maze of trees, we entered the bay and headed for the Calypso.
Pete was lounging on the main deck. He had a beer in his left hand and a fishing pole held in place by his hook. As we approached, we heard the sound of Jimmy Buffett singing “Growing Older but Not Up” through the outside speakers.
“Good thing we didn’t worry about him,” I said with a laugh.
He looked about as happy as Atticus, who was chewing on a knotted rope beside him.
“You guys find it?” he asked, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.
Jack killed the engine and shook his head. “Either this mag needs maintenance, or that lagoon has less metal than a Neanderthal’s cave.”
I grinned broadly. Jack’s analogies got more creative with every passing year.
“The mag’s fine,” I said. “We tested it. The grid’s clear. We checked it over twice. All things considered, it’s nice to see that the place has remained so pristine over the years.”
“Always seeing the bright side,” Ange said with a chuckle.
Pete tied us off to the stern, then wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his hook.
“I guess it’s back to the drawing board, then,” he said. “Come on inside. I caught and cleaned a nice mangrove snapper, and the filets are ready for the grill.”
Pete had been smart and remembered his pole. And thanks to his wisdom, we had a fresh seafood meal as consolation.
We stepped into the Calypso’s galley and Pete powered on the grill. He already had a row of filets coated with pepper and herbs. When he got the grill good and hot, he sizzled them to blackened perfection.
“You know, part of me is glad that you didn’t get any hits,” Pete said while cooking.
“And why is that?” Ange said, shooting him a puzzled look.
Pete plated the filets along with some potatoes and veggies and brought them over to the dinette.
“Well, that would’ve been too simple,” he explained. “Too easy. This gold deserves better than that. It deserves to require a degree of difficulty. Some good old-fashioned struggle in order to sniff it out.”
“Funny,” Ange said, “I would’ve thought that taking down a group of white supremacists would be struggle enough.”
Pete smiled. “Let’s give it time. Nothing good comes easy. You all are well aware of that.”
While we scarfed down the delicious fish that had been swimming beneath our feet an hour ago, Ange peered over the search grid.
“We need to expand the search area,” she said after swallowing a bite and washing it down with ice water. “Especially here.” She pressed a finger on the shoreline beside the grid we’d followed.
“The water there’s two inches deep for the most part,” Jack said. “We’re not getting a boat there, not even our minimal-draft wonder.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing we brought handheld metal detectors,” Ange retorted.
“There’s also the overhanging spiderweb of branches that will make searching the ins and outs slow going,” I said. “But Ange’s right. It’s either that or we scrap this whole thing. And like Pete said, this gold deserves more effort than that.”
After lunch, we grabbed wetsuits and loaded up the skiff for another go. Seeing Pete’s success with his rod and reel, Jack volunteered to stay behind and take a turn watching the boats.
“You guys have fun,” he said, kicking back in the shade as he tied one of his lucky lures. “Call me if you find anything.”
THIRTY
Casper Nix stumbled out from his dirty brush camp to take a leak. He was hungover after having finished off the last of his beer the previous night. The young man had migrated south from his hiding place near Sands Key two days earlier and had taken up residence in a tent on Old Rhodes Key. There was better fishing there, and the island was bigger, with more places to hide.
He was less than a quarter mile from Porgy Key and the old Jones settlement. All that remained of the Joneses’ house was old slabs of concrete. Casper had the place to himself for the most part. Small groups came to the lagoon every now and then, charter trippers from the mainland on kayaks and paddleboards, mostly. Earlier that morning, one group had been led to the Jones homestead, but he’d kept his distance. The place was a secret to all except the most experienced guides and adventurous locals.
Avenged in the Keys Page 13