The Treasure of the Bermuda Triangle

by Steve Stevenson

  He invited her to go on with an eloquent wave of his hand.

  “First off,” began the girl. “Why weren’t you overseeing this operation in person?”

  “I suffer terribly from seasickness,” McBain replied grimly. “Ironic, no? I always travel by private jet and helicopter. Not only are they more comfortable for me, but they are faster, and speed is essential to running my business affairs. I expect speedy results from you, too,” he added.

  “Of course,” said Agatha, nodding. “Secondly, where will we find the Loki?”

  “It’s anchored about fifty nautical miles south of Bermuda.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a couple of pages. “Here are the coordinates and a full list of the crew members,” he said, standing. As far as he was concerned, their meeting was over. “My yacht is moored outside, ready to take you there.”

  Agatha shook her head. “We’d rather use Eye International resources,” she insisted. “We’ll be in touch soon, Mr. McBain.”

  The three investigators shook the elderly magnate’s hand and left the villa in silence.

  As they all walked back to the bus stop, Chandler surveyed the ocean. “What Eye International resources?” he asked, worried. “What do you mean, Miss Agatha?”

  “I get the distinct feeling McBain is hiding something,” replied Agatha. “His men could interfere with our investigation.”

  “So how do you intend to get us to the Loki?” Dash interrupted, unnerved.

  A flash of cleverness lit up Agatha’s eyes. “Simple. We’ll get Uncle Conrad to take us!”

  Dash grumbled all the way back, but in the end he agreed that telling their uncle the real reason for their trip was the right thing to do.

  When they got back to the water park, Conrad was crouched by the edge of the pool, throwing sardines in the air. The dolphins jumped up and grabbed them in midair as they did spectacular somersaults.

  Trying to avoid getting soaked by the spray, Agatha and Dash told him everything, not missing a single detail.

  “If I can’t solve this case, I’m washed up,” Dash groaned, dejected.

  “Aha!” exclaimed their uncle, thumping Dash's back. “A budding detective! I knew there was no such thing as a Mistery with sloth DNA!” He flexed his muscles and grinned. “Ready to go, kids?”

  Within moments they were on board his yacht. After warming up the engine, the boat chugged out of the turquoise lagoon, carefully navigating between dry, rocky outcrops.

  “Hey, kids!” shouted Conrad, raising one hand from the wheel to point. “There’s a sight for you northerners. Look over there!”

  Agatha and Dash turned toward a stunning sight. A stretch of beach, curving between the rocks, shimmered rose-pink in the midday sun.

  “Pink sand?” said Dash, stunned. “How is that possible?”

  Leaning against the rail, Agatha unleashed her prodigious memory once more. “If my memory serves me correctly, that’s the magnificent Horseshoe Bay,” she explained. “The powdered remains of ancient seashells make the sand that incredible color.”

  “Well-done!” roared Uncle Conrad. “Why don’t you move here and become a tour guide?”

  Chandler just raised an eyebrow.

  Thirty minutes later, the yacht was heading due south, and their uncle put it on autopilot.

  He invited Dash and Agatha to follow him down a set of steps into the hold, where he pushed a button on an electronic dashboard. With a soft buzz, the metal bulkheads slid into the sides of the boat, revealing huge underwater windows. “This is one of the world’s most unique ways to observe a coral reef!” he announced proudly, tapping his hand on the transparent panels. “Tempered and reinforced plexiglass!”

  The silent realm of the coral reef spread out before them, giving the sensation that they were gliding along the ocean floor. Multicolored tropical fish swam in and out of the coral and hid in the masses of seaweed that rippled like ribbons in the current. Even Watson seemed to enjoy the view, stretching out his paw to grab some illusory prey.

  Conrad returned to the helm, asking Chandler to help him with the ropes. Dash and Agatha remained below to admire the neon-bright tropical fish darting past as a sinister-looking moray eel lurked inside a ravine.

  Finally Agatha managed to tear herself away from the glorious view. “All right, cousin, let’s get to work,” she suggested, taking a seat. “I’ve been thinking about this case, and I have a few doubts . . . Are you with me?”

  “I’m listening,” Dash said, his good eye still glued to the ocean outside. “Go ahead!”

  “I’m wondering if Mr. McBain didn’t want us to pick up too much information,” Agatha whispered. “Maybe he stole the Mayan calendar himself, so he wouldn’t have to divide the profits with the captain or anyone else.”

  “How could he have done that? He wasn’t on board the Loki,” Dash objected. “Oh wait—he told us he has a spy on the crew! Maybe Richie Stark stole it for him!”

  “But if that were the case, why would McBain have told us he had an informant?” Agatha asked. She shook her head. “I have to admit, it really bothers me that we’re conducting an investigation for an unscrupulous shark like McBain. If we find the calendar and give it back to him, we’d become accomplices in his crime.”

  Dash scratched his head. “What’s the right thing to do, then?” he asked. “Should we—”

  “I just don’t know,” Agatha cut him off. “Let’s take a look at the list of crew members. Maybe that will give us some ideas.”

  The Loki’s crew was made up of Captain Olaf Larsson; Raul Santiago, the boatswain; Davey O’Connor, the steward; Richie Stark, the electronics technician and McBain’s right hand; and two scuba divers, identical twins named Ramona and Ramira Sanchez. Dash pulled out his EyeNet and searched through Eye International’s vast archives for information. None of them had a criminal record.

  He and Agatha committed their photos and any pertinent career information to memory. The real rookie of the group was Richie Stark—this was his first salvage mission.

  After three hours at sea, the Loki loomed on the horizon. It was a compact oceanographic ship, bristling with antennas, and it had a large winch and pulley system on the bow, designed for hauling up heavy objects from the ocean floor. The cabin was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint, and the rest of the boat looked as if it could use some attention, too.

  Uncle Conrad got on the marine radio, requesting permission to dock. The yacht pulled in and gently berthed alongside the Loki.

  A tall, strapping figure stepped forward. “By a thousand whalers, who be you?” he grunted suspiciously. His untrimmed beard and shaggy blond ponytail gave him the look of an authentic pirate.

  “Mr. McBain sent us to investigate the incident during the storm, Captain Larsson,” said Agatha, who recognized him from his picture.

  “What does that old vulture want?” roared the captain.

  “He wants to know exactly what happened to the Mayan calendar,” Dash said.

  “So that useless scavenger told you his secret! What else did he tell you, for Blackbeard’s sake?”

  “He was more interested in what you could tell us,” replied Agatha with a smile.

  Larsson burst out laughing and strode toward the bridge, gesturing for them to follow. He leaned against the control panel and began talking angrily. “We hauled up the calendar that afternoon, after a lot of hard work. The blasted thing weighed a ton, but we finally managed to hoist it on board and brought it up to the bow, where we laid it out on a tarp and secured it to the deck with steel bars.”

  “Are you sure it was secured correctly?” Dash interrupted, hoping to solve the case as soon as possible by declaring it an accident.

  “I don’t make mistakes, kid,” barked Larsson, pointing his finger in Dash’s face.

  Dash took a step back. “Um, it was just a theory,�
�� he muttered, intimidated.

  Larsson glared at him for a moment before continuing. “Since it was already late in the day and the sea was beginning to get choppy, we decided to wait until morning to clean up the relic. We knew there was bad weather brewing, but we underestimated the strength of the storm. The wind blew us off course, the rain came down by the bucketload, and there were waves as high as three-story buildings, by the walrus’s tusks!”

  Agatha was entertained by his colorful expressions. “Captain, what were you doing when the storm hit your boat?” she asked, taking notes in her notebook.

  “I was right here on the bridge. Then Ramona Sanchez came up to warn me that the hold had sprung a leak and O’Connor needed my help.”

  “Are you sure it was Ramona?” asked Agatha. The photos of the twins in the file were identical.

  “That’s who she said she was. I haven’t learned how to tell them apart yet.”

  “What happened in the hold?”

  “I helped O’Connor man the bilge pumps; we were taking on water. It was backbreaking work. When O’Connor told me he could finish the job on his own, I returned to the helm. That was when I noticed that the calendar was gone.”

  “What happened next, captain?” Chandler asked politely.

  “I went to check what had happened. The straps that secured the calendar to the steel bars had come loose, which didn’t really surprise me. By that time the storm was really violent, and the ship had tilted dangerously a few times.”

  Agatha was watching his eyes very closely, trying to assess the truthfulness of his story.

  “Where were the other crew members while you were manning the pumps?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure,” he replied. “But as soon as I saw that the calendar was missing, I went below deck and found Santiago there with the Sanchez twins, all of them shivering in their wet raincoats. O’Connor was still bailing out the hold, and that landlubber Richie Stark spent the whole time holed up inside his lab.”

  “Was there anything else missing?” Agatha pressed him.

  “I’ll say! Santiago informed me the AUV had sunk, and then we discovered the lifeboat had blown out to sea.”

  “AUV? What’s that?” asked Dash.

  “Walrus tusks, are you all amateurs?” cried Larsson. “AUV—autonomous underwater vehicle. It’s a robot for underwater research!”

  “What does it do?” asked Agatha, always curious.

  Uncle Conrad answered before the captain could. “It’s an underwater probe; you enter in coordinates and it searches the ocean floor by itself,” he explained. “It has instruments for collecting all sorts of data.”

  “It was the AUV that located the calendar,” rasped the captain. “Richie was operating it. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask him.”

  “We’ll do that.” Agatha nodded decisively. “For now, would you mind if we make a quick search of the Loki?”

  The captain agreed to her request. Who could say no to her clever smile?

  As they climbed back down to the deck, Larsson told them that after the calendar’s disappearance, he had tried to contact McBain, but the marine radio didn’t work. Nor did the radar or the Fathometer.

  “That’s a lot of damage,” Chandler remarked.

  “You’re telling me,” groaned the captain. “The Loki is an old vessel, and she’s always served me well, but she’s reached her limits. With the money that I would have earned from this job, I could have finally bought a whole new boat. Bad luck haunts me, by Blackbeard’s soul!” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. “There’s something I have to take care of. Do whatever searching you need to do and be done with it,” he grumbled. Then he returned to the bridge without saying good-bye.

  Agatha and Dash made their way to the bow, their uncle and Chandler behind them. Watson romped along happily, curious about this totally new environment. As they approached the winch, they could clearly hear the ringing of an enormous hammer.

  The silhouette of an immense sailor seemed to block out the sun. He was even taller than Chandler. Sweat glistened on his shaved head, and his dark skin revealed his Cuban ancestry, just as the agency’s file had reported. A gleaming machete hung from his belt, and he wore a sweat-stained T-shirt and shorts.

  Raul Santiago scanned the newcomers with a suspicious frown, and Agatha hurried to explain their reason for being on board.

  “Storm came, storm went,” replied the bulky boatswain, returning to his hammering.

  “Mr. McBain told us about the Mayan calendar,” Agatha said politely. “We’d be very grateful if you could tell us what you were doing during the storm.”

  Santiago put the hammer down, wiping the sweat from his brow. “When the storm started tossing the boat around and the captain went below, I went up to the bridge to make sure the boat stayed on course.” He stopped abruptly to glare at Watson, who was weaving in and out of his legs. “Hey, is that your nuisance?” he growled.

  Uncle Conrad knelt down to scratch the Siberian cat’s head. “Come on, Watson, why don’t you go for a little walk,” he suggested gently. The cat stalked away, tail straight and expression offended.

  “Was the calendar still in its place?” Dash continued.

  “I checked it myself. It was strapped down securely.”

  “What happened after that?” asked Agatha. “How long did you stay on the bridge?”

  “Not very long. The storm got worse fast. I was heading back below deck when I heard the crash.”

  “What crash?” interrupted Chandler.

  “This winch.” Santiago pointed at a broken pulley in front of them. “There was a loud bang and the AUV sank within seconds.”

  “How can you be sure? Did you see it go down?” Agatha wanted to know.

  “No, I just heard the noise. Maybe it was a rogue wave or the wind that pushed it into the sea. The AUV was attached to the boat by two metal cables. When I got back up here, one cable had snapped, but the other was still holding fast. The shock must have been pretty strong, because the whole pulley was bent around to one side—see?”

  Santiago picked up his hammer. “And now I need to finish bending it back, if you don’t mind . . .”

  “Is it possible for the AUV to sink that fast?” asked Uncle Conrad. “Doesn’t it have a flotation system?”

  The boatswain had clearly had enough. “Look, the thing sank, okay? Who knows where those giant waves took it. We searched and searched the ocean floor, but there’s no trace of it anywhere.” He paused again. “That cat of yours is a real pest, you know?”

  Watson had knocked over a slop bucket. A mass of fresh fish spilled out over the deck, and he yowled with delight, anticipating the snack of a lifetime.

  “Chandler, could you please grab Watson before he does any more damage?” asked Agatha.

  The butler obeyed immediately. Watson squirmed in his arms as the girl went on questioning Santiago. “What happened after the crash?”

  “I battened down the pulley. I was scared it might get damaged beyond repair. Once I’d taken care of that, I went below deck to get out of the rain.”

  “Did you see anybody else on deck while you were up here?”

  “I was working too hard to admire the view,” he said with a sarcastic grin. “You think someone stole that calendar, don’t you? Or is that what McBain thinks?”

  “It seems like quite a coincidence that the calendar was finally found, then immediately disappeared in a storm,” replied Dash. “Don’t you find that odd, Santiago?”

  “Actually, boy, I don’t think it was a coincidence at all!”

  Agatha tapped the tip of her nose. “So you think it was stolen, too?” she ventured.

  “No,” thundered the man. “It was Yemaya.”

  Dash looked around. “Who is that? Another crew member?” He seemed confused.
>
  “My dear cousin, Yemaya is the Caribbean goddess of the sea,” replied Agatha, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Perhaps you should explain what you mean, Señor Santiago.”

  The huge sailor grabbed hold of the pulley, hitting it hard with his hammer. “It was Yemaya who took back the calendar, because that which belongs to the sea must always return to the sea,” he declared. “Yemaya sent the storm and reclaimed the calendar for the spirits of the Mayan people,” he added. He started pounding the pulley even harder. “Now I’ve got to finish fixing this thing,” he concluded, turning his back on them.

  Agatha noticed that Chandler was trying to get her attention. He was standing next to a large stack of crates, with Watson pinned in his arms.

  The girl gestured to Dash and Conrad to follow her. “What’s going on?” she asked the butler.

  The jack-of-all-trades of the Mistery House pointed at something poking out from behind one of the crates. “Miss, I just spotted this stub of metal cable. I thought it might interest you.”

  Agatha bent down to examine it. It was identical to the cable that Santiago had described to them.

  “The other cable from the AUV,” muttered Dash.

  “Looks that way,” Agatha said. “But don’t you think there’s something strange about it?”

  The young detective examined the cable, trying to figure out what she meant.

  “The end isn’t frayed, but severed cleanly,” said Chandler.

  “Are you saying it was cut on purpose?” asked Dash.

  “It would seem so,” whispered Agatha. “Which means we have a new clue to follow!”

  Just then, they heard a noise from behind them. A female figure in a wet suit and scuba-diving gear was climbing over the side of the boat onto the deck, followed by another figure of the same build.

  “Quick, let’s go take a look!” exclaimed Agatha. “For now, whatever we find needs to stay between us.” She led her companions to the middle of the boat, watching the two young women as they clambered onto the deck.