by Otto Schafer
Jerry took a slow sip from his glass of scotch, then sucked air through his teeth. “Charles, I don’t know who he is.”
“What? Come on, I get it if you won’t tell me, but how do you expect me to bel—”
“I don’t know who he is, Charles! I have never seen him, and all the money is handled through electronic wire transfers. I’ve never met the man.”
Her father sat back in the camp chair, removed his fedora, and ran a hand through his hair. “Dammit, what the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
“Don’t worry, old chap,” Jerry said, waving off the concern. “He has kept his end of the bargain up to this point.”
“You realize nothing about this makes sense. Look, you’re my friend and, man, we go way back, but if you know something and you’re holding out, you owe it to me to tell me.”
“For God’s sake, don’t you go all barmy. We have come too far.” Jerry’s voice betrayed a hint of offence.
“I’ll tell you, Jerry, this does not make sense. Just hear me out. We have this mysterious anonymous billionaire taking an interest in Oak Island. By the way, the Oak Island myth has not been considered credible by anyone in ages. Obviously, before I came on board, mystery man had done some serious research, because he decides to spend millions draining and excavating the swamp, which turns out to have nearly two hundred skeletons buried under it. Now take—”
“Of course, you’re right,” Jerry interrupted. “It is bloody strange that he wants to keep himself anonymous, and yes, he followed the history and believed there was something here. He has the means and wants to prove it, and thanks to you, he has indeed.”
Finishing off his wine, Charles stood and walked to the picnic table, pouring the rest of the bottle into his glass. “That’s fine, but it doesn’t make sense. It has been too perfect. This tunnel we found in the swamp led to a natural cavern in the bedrock. Now, they didn’t stumble into this cavern from the top by chance – they tunneled into the side.” He pointed his finger horizontally at the palm of his hand. “They also must have known that within several feet they would be able to carve a doorway through the bedrock, gaining access to the cavern. Jerry, come on, how in the hell could anyone possibly know how to do that? How could they predict it?”
“Bollocks! There’s a logical explanation, Charles. I’m quite sure of it.” Jerry straightened in his camp chair before standing to refill his glass.
“I would have topped you off.”
“Nonsense, I need to stretch the old back anyway. I’m afraid we’re not getting any younger.”
Breanne pressed herself closer to the window, careful not to be discovered. She knew her dad was right – something wasn’t adding up.
Her father swirled his wine in the glass, the creamy liquid catching the firelight just right, giving the chardonnay a golden glow. “That’s just part of what’s bothering me, though. The phone call was strange too. When I described for him what was in the chest, he acted like he didn’t even care. No, wait a minute – now that I think about it, I didn’t even get a chance to describe what was in the chest. He only asked questions about the chest itself. Has he told you anything over the last year about what he thought would be here?”
Jerry paced back and forth in front of the fire, allowing the blood to flow to his back and legs as he stretched. “In the last year we have spoken very little, and when we did it was mostly me who did the speaking, and always in regards to your progress. He usually spends the majority of our conversations giving me the what for and demanding speedier results. He has never shared with me his thoughts, and I have never asked.” Jerry stopped pacing and turned to face Charles. “My friend, I am earnest with you when I tell you he came to me with a proposal and has paid me the agreed-upon fees for my services. Tonight, when we spoke, I told him of the treasure, but all his questions centered around the chest. He became irritated with my answers and asked to speak to you.”
Dr. Moore studied his friend for a long moment. “We go way back, and we’ve been through a hell of a lot. I want you to know, I’m damn glad you’re in this with me. You’re a good friend.”
Jerry gave Dr. Moore a tight smile and nodded. “As am I, Charles – as am I.”
“Well, tomorrow morning I’m going back in the cavern for a more thorough examination, plus we need to process the knight as soon as possible since we have exposed the chamber to fresh air.”
Jerry paused his pacing long enough to tip his glass, drawing a sip of scotch between his teeth before looking inquiringly to his friend. “What do your instincts tell you?”
“I don’t know, but something isn’t giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling.”
Finally calmed down enough to give sleep another try, Breanne crawled back into bed. As she drifted off, all she could think was, I haven’t had the warm and fuzzies about this place since day one.
Waking before the sun, she found herself once again engrossed in darkness. Throwing back the covers, she quickly dressed and began preparing breakfast for the family. She wanted to earn some points with her father. After inadvertently – okay, maybe purposely – eavesdropping on last night’s conversation between Jerry and her dad, there was no way she wasn’t going with him into that cavern.
Dr. Moore appeared from the camper, hastily pulling on his overshirt. “Bre, you’re up early this morning, and I see you’ve made quite the breakfast!” He navigated the camper stairs and made a beeline for the picnic table.
“Well, Daddy, I figured we’d want to get an early start and you would need a full tank for the work ahead.” She smiled as she set a loaded plate in front of him.
“I see, so you thought maybe you would bribe me with food to ensure your place on the cavern expedition this morning?”
Breanne’s eyes gave nothing away as she skillfully maintained the ruse.
“But I don’t understand. The treasure is here – don’t you want to stay topside and finish cataloging?” he asked, digging into the pancakes with purpose.
Jerry was up now and moving towards the picnic table. “Ah, lovely! Thank you, dear girl,” he said, heaving a leg over the bench.
“Daddy, most of the basic categorizations have already been completed. Now we need to start running the items through the database so we can actually start identifying where these pieces fit in history.” She nodded towards Jerry, placing a plate in front of him. “Since Jerry specializes in antiquities and you asked him to lead that effort, I thought I would assist you in the cavern with our Templar Knight. At least for today. If Jerry needs help tomorrow, I will stay with him to assist.” She gave a shrug, then put on her best innocent smile and handed him a glass of orange juice.
Her father turned towards Jerry. “And there it is. First she starts off with ‘Daddy,’ usually a dead giveaway she wants something. Next, she makes her argument, but does so while I sit here, cramming my face with the delicious breakfast she made me.”
“Nice touch,” Jerry said, stuffing a forkful in his mouth.
“Then finally, she closes with the innocent smile you see plastered on her face right now,” he said, a knowing smile creeping across his face.
Breanne’s own smile faded as she realized she wasn’t fooling her father in the slightest.
“You’re too clever for your own good, baby girl. How much did you overhear last night?”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said unconvincingly.
Dr. Moore set his fork down on the table and sighed. “Bre, you’re smart as a whip, but you’re a horrible liar.”
Breanne’s shoulders slumped as she accepted her fate. “Fine. But come on! I’ve known something was wrong with this place since the beginning. Your feeling is right, Dad! We are missing something. I just want to help you figure out what it is!”
“So you listened in on my conversation with Jerry?” he asked.
“Not on purpose,” she said softly.
Dr. Moore cocked an eyebrow.
She sat down next to her
father. “Not at first?” Her eyes began to well up.
Her father glanced to Jerry.
“I think she has a point, Charles.”
“Alright, baby girl, you’re with me,” he said, smiling a knowing smile.
“Really! I can go?” Tears fell freely now, but they weren’t sad tears. She flung her arms around her father’s neck and squeezed, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you!”
Her father’s barrel chest bounced as he chuckled. “I love you too, baby girl, now stop crying. All I wanted was for you to be honest with me. Besides, how can I tell you no after a breakfast like this!”
21
Keeper
Present day
Petersburg, Illinois
Garrett and Lenny arrived at the dojo just in time for class. They donned their doboks and knotted their belts. Tonight’s class was only for the most advanced students, black belts and above. Since Lenny and Garrett were the only black belts, class would only include the two of them and their master, Mr. B.
Since the first day the boys met, they had watched, studied, and discussed every martial arts movie they could get their hands on. But back then, to take lessons, real lessons, would have required going to Springfield, and that simply wasn’t going to happen. There was no way their parents had the means to transport the boys to or pay for classes. Then one day they had heard whispers that a real martial arts academy was opening up town.
That day, a few years back, it seemed fate had brought them an impossible opportunity. Hell, after their watching, wishing, and praying, it was nothing short of a dream realized. A taekwondo academy had opened uptown, right on the square. They ran to beat hell as soon as the rumor got to them, and sure enough there was a sign out front that read Coming soon to Petersburg, the Academy of Taekwondo.
When the boys stepped inside the dojo, eager to introduce themselves and determined to find a way to attend, they were shocked by the mess. Last Garrett knew, the place had housed a failed restaurant. A construction worker was precariously balanced high on a ladder near the center of the large room, messing with some light-fixture wiring. The sweaty man was wearing painters’ pants, a tool belt, and a flannel shirt. The worker was quite portly, probably pushing three hundred pounds, and looked completely out of place high up on the ladder.
“Excuse me, sir – can you tell us where to find the owner?” Garrett had asked.
“Hello, boys, I am Mr. Brockridge. How can I be of service?”
“You’re… the instructor?” Garrett asked, making no effort to hide his confusion.
“I am,” Mr. Brockridge said, smiling down at them.
“Oh, wow… well, yeah, we saw the sign out front,” Lenny said.
Mr. Brockridge chuckled as he descended the ladder, unfastened his tool belt, and draped it over one of the ladder’s rungs. “I’ll tell you what, boys, I need a break anyway. How would you like a demonstration?”
“Heck, yeah! We sure would. If it’s not too much trouble. I mean… yes, sir, we sure would.” Garrett straightened up, knowing enough from the martial arts films that you always addressed the teacher as sir.
“No problem at all – come with me.”
The boys followed him across the dojo, carefully stepping over piles of building materials and skirting stacks of drywall before finally reaching the back door of the building. “This should be good,” Lenny whispered with a giggle.
Garrett elbowed Lenny, shooting him a silencing glare.
In the alley behind the building, Mr. Brockridge gathered four patio blocks from a pallet stacked full. He stood each patio block on end, one after the other, on top an old cabinet, creating what looked like an oversized domino line.
“First, I will demonstrate mind over matter in the form of raw power. This row of blocks equals about eight inches of solid concrete.”
“No way,” whispered Lenny.
Again, Garrett elbowed him.
As the boys watched with saucer eyes, Mr. Brockridge assumed a fighting stance, positioning both feet about a shoulder’s width apart. He drew his right fist all the way back by his rib cage. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward, launched his fist out, and opened his palm towards the sky before striking the first of the patio blocks.
The boys gasped as the man’s hand blasted through the block with stunning force. But the momentum did not stop with the first block; it carried through block after block with lightning speed, creating a magnificent explosion that rained small pieces of concrete all over the alley. It was as if a wrecking ball moving at full speed had collided with the patio blocks, which had never stood a chance.
“Wow! No way!” the boys shouted out in unison.
Mr. Brockridge smiled. “The key is in the focus of the mind. You look beyond the blocks, through the blocks, and then you simply go there.” The large man then walked to the center of the alley. “Now, I will demonstrate form.” He bowed to the boys and began a complex, high-ranking form, which included front kicking above his head and head-high sidekicks to both the left and the right, followed by a fast succession of various strikes. With perfect technique, he performed roundhouse kicks, jump kicks, and finally a jump back kick, before ending his form in the exact same place he had started. Once again, he bowed to the boys. The display would have been impressive if performed by a physically fit person, but to see it performed by a man of his girth seemed to defy the laws of physics.
The boys stood with mouths agape, unable to speak for a long moment. Finally, they picked up their jaws and found their words, eagerly inquiring about the cost of lessons. But when the boys found out it would cost fifty-five dollars a month, plus the cost of the required dobok, they were crushed with disappointment. They knew neither they nor their parents could afford the lessons.
Garrett could hear his mother now. “Now, honey, you know that would be a nice-to-have, but we can barely afford the have-to-haves right now.”
The teacher noted the disappointment on the faces of the boys and pursed his lips in thought. After a moment, he asked the boys one question. “Why do you want to take martial arts?”
Something about the tone, the look, or the question itself made Garrett realize his answer was critical. He felt like the universe was listening, holding its breath waiting for him to speak, so that he could be weighed and measured. His and Lenny’s dream could live or die on this answer.
“Well, sir, we don’t want to fight or anything like that, but we are best friends in a small town where people aren’t so friendly to people who are different, and we want to be able to defend ourselves.”
“And I think chicks would dig it,” Lenny said, eliciting another elbow from Garrett.
Mr. Brockridge chuckled deeply, smiled, and said, “Okay, boys, one final question.”
“Shoot,” Lenny said.
Garrett nodded expectantly.
“What do you boys know about drywall?”
The rest was history, and the boys had been taking classes for a few years and now were the highest-ranking students in the school.
Tonight, the boys started their routine as normal, warming up on the heavy bag, followed by running the outside edges of the large blue-matted dojo. Once sufficiently warm, they practiced drills with each other – kicking, blocking, punching, blocking, kicking. Then on to hapkido throw drills and grappling. After donning their sparring equipment – including head gear, gloves, shin guards, and chest protector – they practiced their fighting skills with contact sparring. Lastly, they practiced their forms.
Mr. B watched on, commenting occasionally as he corrected their technique.
On his third form, Garrett removed a practice sword from a rack on the far side of the dojo, bowed, and began to move the sword in a complex series of strikes and blocks.
Suddenly, Mr. B called them to attention. “Garrett, I need to see you in my office. Lenny, please stay here. I will return momentarily.”
Garrett and Lenny traded confused glances as Garrett handed Lenny the sword and followed M
r. B towards his office.
Mr. B closed the door and motioned Garrett to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk. The office, located in the front of the school, was small; tonight, with the shades of the window facing out onto the town square drawn closed, it felt even smaller.
“Garrett, how have you been doing?”
Mr. B had never asked Garrett about his life outside the dojo, and Garrett was taken slightly aback by the question. “Good, Grand Master.”
“Sir,” Mr. B corrected, waving a hand. “You know how I hate that pomp and circumstance. Are you sure you’re good?”
“Yes, sir, I am sure. Why do you ask?”
Mr. B looked at Garrett for a long moment. “I want you to know you can trust me. You can tell me if something is bothering you or if something is going on.”
Garrett scrunched his forehead in confusion. “Yes, sir.”
“And you are sure nothing is bothering you? There is nothing that you want to tell me?”
“Yes, I am sure.” What the hell is this about?
“You have been running a lot. Yes?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” Is this because I was slacking during practice?
Another awkward moment passed as Mr. B studied Garrett. Finally, leaning forward in his chair and looking intensely at the boy, he said, “Well, you have been acting strange – distracted – and you lack focus. I need your assurance you are ready to test.”
Holy shit, is that what this is about? Mr. B was calling a test? Students never knew when a test would be called, and at his and Lenny’s level it could take years to earn even one degree. “If I am selected to test, I will give it everything I have, sir.”
Another long moment of silence passed between them. “You will test Wednesday after school. You will be getting home late. I will call your parents and inform them. Garrett, this is a closed testing session. No one will be allowed here but the three of us.”
The three of us? Perfect, Lenny must be testing too. He could not imagine Lenny not testing with him. They had tested for every single belt together. Crap. He was supposed to work Wednesday, but he would have to get out of it. This was considered an honor, not an option.