by David Wood
She struggled to return to her work, but her duties as director of the British History Museum suddenly seemed mundane, even trivial, in light of what her people might soon uncover. Rock-hard discipline overrode any distractions, and she made quick work of her list of emails and telephone messages. She then took a half-hour to compose a carefully crafted opinion piece for The Times in which she questioned, but did not criticize, the Prime Minister’s position on a key budget item.
Since being elevated to the leadership of the Sisterhood, she had used her connections to gradually raise her public profile, carefully crafting the image of one who took great pride in her nation’s heritage and fought for its history without being perceived as backward. Though never presenting herself as having any interest in politics, her name was already being bandied about as a candidate for Parliament, even Prime Minister. Her aspirations, of course, were higher.
By the time she’d sent her submission to the editor, she could no longer curb the flow of energy that coursed through her. She buzzed Jacob.
“Close the offfice and meet me in the fitness room.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He almost managed to cover his tone of resignation. The fitness room was never fun for him.
Smiling, she tapped in a code on her telephone keypad and watched as the painting on the far wall, “Le Morte D’Arthur” by James Archer, slid to the side, revealing her private collection of weapons. Morgan’s eyes swept lovingly across the sharp, gleaming blades and angry spikes. She excelled at hand fighting and with firearms, but medieval weaponry was her true love. She selected a long sword and held it out in a two-handed grip, savoring its weight and balance. With a step and a twist, she sliced a whistling arc through the air. Yes, this was the one.
She caught sight of her distorted reflection in the blade. Like this image, the world did not yet see her for what she truly was, but they would. Oh yes, soon they would know.
Chapter 7
Dane drifted in for a closer look at the cross. He shone his light across it and saw a thin circle carved around the image.
Matt ran his fingers across the surface of the carving, his fingers gently probing the recess.
“Careful,” Dane warned. There was something odd about it, but he could not put a finger on it.
“I think I can get a grip on it.” He shoved his fingers into the groove and twisted.
“Matt! No!” But Dane’s warning was too late. The stone circle rotated a quarter turn and, with a whooshing sound like a drain opening, the stone vanished, pulling Matt’s arm into the wall.
Matt shouted and struggled against the force of the water that was being sucked into hole. Dane grabbed hold of Matt’s arm but, before he could pull him free, he heard a hollow thud and Matt’s cry of pain burst through the transmitter.
“My arm!” Matt yelled.
Dane directed his light into the hole and saw, to his horror, that a section of wall had come down, crushing Matt’s arm and trapping him. The smooth, regular edge of the stone told him in a single glance that it was not a natural rockfall.
“A booby trap,” Dane said. “Hold on.” He called into the transmitter. “Bones, Willis, Corey, you guys copy?”
Nothing.
He made a second attempt and again got no reply.
“We’re too deep under the rock.” Matt’s voice was thick with pain. “You’ve got to get closer to open water if they’re going to hear you.”
“I don’t want to leave you here.” Dane knew Matt was right, but he hated to leave an injured man behind.
“What? You think I’m scared of the dark? I’m a Ranger, not some girly SEAL.”
Dane grimaced. “All right. How much air do you have?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go.” There was just enough light that Dane could see Matt glaring at him through his mask. “I’ll watch my air supply. If you aren’t back when it gets to ten minutes, I’ll cut my arm off and swim the hell out of here. Now go.” Matt closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rock wall.
Dane swam with desperate fury, all the while calling for his team members. He squeezed over the pile of rubble and, with powerful kicks, zipped back up the passageway toward open water. He had just caught a glimpse of light when one of his calls finally got a response.
“Yo, Maddock, what’s keeping you? We’re done.” Bones said.
“I need you guys here quick. The tunnel was booby-trapped. Matt’s stuck and he’s hurt. Bring pry bars.
“Roger.” Bones and Willis spoke on top of each other as each acknowledged Dane’s message.
“Corey, you call for help.”
“Already on it,” came the reply.
Dane gave Bones and Willis a quick description of the underwater tunnel, then turned and headed back down the passage. When he reached Matt, he feared the worse. His friend sagged limply against the wall, his trapped arm supporting his weight.
“Matt, you still with me?”
“Yep,” came the weak reply. “I’m hanging in there. Get it?”
The next few minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Dane watched and waited for help to come. He worked at the stone that pinned Matt’s arm down, first with his bare hands, then with his knife, but could not budge it. He knew it was futile, but Matt needed hope to strengthen his resolve. All the while, Dane kept up a steady stream of encouragement until Matt told him to shut the hell up and go look for the others. Just then, a glimmer of light appeared, and two dark shapes swam into view.
“His arm is trapped under a stone block. You guys pry it up.” Dane instructed. “I don’t know if he has the strength to pull himself free.”
“That’s what you think,” Matt growled, rising up and placing his free hand against the wall. “You guys just get me loose.”
Bones and Willis worked their pry bars into the open space beneath the rock and heaved. The rock moved, but no more than a centimeter. The two men tried again, groaning from the strain, and it budged a little more. Matt pulled back, roaring in anger and pain, but his arm scarcely budged.
“Again!” Dane barked.
They continued to work at the stone. Dane took Bones’ knife in one hand, his own in the other, and used both to help lever the rock upward. The effort was tiring them rapidly and none of them had much air left.
“Cut it off.” Matt gasped.
“No way.” Willis said. He and Matt were tight, and he seemed be taking this accident as a personal affront.
“It’s not going to work.” Matt’s voice was barely discernible. “We’re all going to run out of air soon. Just do it.”
“We’ll give it one more try,” Dane said. “When we lift, you pull with all you’ve got.”
“That’s not much, but okay.”
Dane counted down from three and they all lifted one last time. Dane’s muscles burned and the strained grunts and groans of his team rang in his ears.
“Now, Matt!” he shouted.
Matt threw himself into the attempt and his arm gradually slid free of the trap.
And then he collapsed, folding onto himself like an accordion.
Dane dropped the knives and grabbed hold of his friend, yanking him free of the trap just as the stone crashed back into place. Together, they hauled their semi-conscious comrade up the tunnel and out to their waiting boat.
Dane bandaged Matt’s crushed arm while Corey piloted them to shore, the sound of approaching sirens telling them help was on the way. By the time they got him to shore and into the waiting ambulance, Matt was alert, though in tremendous pain.
“You guys don’t worry about me,” he said. “And don’t let those asshole pirates beat us. Finish the job.”
“We’ll talk about it at the hospital,” Dane said as the ambulance doors closed. He turned to his crew. “We’re done for the day. Does Charlie know what happened?”
Corey nodded.
“Good. We’ll head to the hospital and we can talk about it more while we wait.”
“I’m telling you right now,” Bone
s said, “I want another crack at that tunnel.”
Everyone gave him a quizzical look.
“I got a look inside just before the stone fell. I don’t know what it is, but something is back there.”
There it was again. A flicker of shadow, like someone moving past the back window. Rodney muted the television, rose slowly from his chair, and headed to the back window. Squinting against the afternoon sunlight, he scanned the back patio, but saw nothing. Weird. He was working later, so he’d had only one beer. Must be his imagination.
He returned to his chair, a cracked leather number he’d bought cheap at a garage sale, and reached for the remote.
“Do not move.” The voice was cold and hard, but carried a hint of a pansy British accent.
Still pissed about being jumped by that Maddock guy and his friends, Rodney sprang to his feet, whirled about, and flung the remote in the direction he’d heard the voice. It flew through empty space and shattered against the wall.
He saw a blur at the corner of his eye and something struck him a hard blow in the temple, followed by a flurry of kicks and punches so lightning-fast he hardly knew what was happening. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground, knee buckled, head ringing, ribs screaming, and fighting for breath. Someone bound his wrists and ankles with cable ties. He twisted his head around and caught sight of his captor.
They guy was not what he expected. He looked like a banker, clean shaven and dressed in a coat and tie. The only odd thing about his appearance was the pair of latex gloves he wore.
And the razor he drew from his breast pocket.
Rodney gasped, the relief of the sudden intake of breath failing to overcome his abject terror.
“What do you want?” He hated the way his voice squeaked and the hot, damp feeling in his crotch as his bladder released. “I’m broke, man, but take what you want.”
“What I want,” the man said in a voice like a schoolteacher in an old movie, “is information.”
“I don’t have any information. Ask anybody.”
“On the contrary, you do indeed.” The man knelt and pressed the flat edge of the razor against Rodney’s cheek. “Tell me what you know about Captain Kidd’s sea chests.”
“What?” How did the guy know about that? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man flicked his wrist and a line of hot fire blossomed on Rodney’s cheek. He was too shocked to cry out.
“This will go much easier for both of us if we do not lie to one another. To encourage you to be truthful, I will cut something off each time you lie, or attempt to hide something from me: ears, fingers, toes eyelids, lips.”
Rodney whimpered and tried to squirm away, but the touch of cold metal on his eye socket froze him in his tracks.
“In the interest of fairness, I shall, of course, be truthful with you. You posted a query on a message board last night, asking about the legend of the Kidd chests. You also indicated that a researcher gave you this information. Now, tell me what you know.”
“I heard that Captain Kidd hid treasure maps in his sea chests.”
“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it? What else do you know?”
The man’s friendly tone chilled him almost as much as the razor. It was like the guy did this every day. He racked his brain, trying to remember exactly what he’d overheard.
“There’s one in a museum.”
“Which one?” The man’s voice was sharp as the crack of a whip.
“I don’t know which one. Aren’t they all the same?”
“Not which chest, which museum, you imbecile.”
“The New England Pirate Museum, or something like that.” He didn’t mention Avery’s connection to the chest. She might hate his guts, but he still felt like he ought to protect her. It was the closest thing to a brave act he could manage in what might be the rest of his very short life.
“Excellent. You’re doing very well. Now, do you know the locations of any other chests?”
“No. Only the one.”
“Anything at all? Rumors, legends?”
“No. I swear.” he pleaded. He wanted desperately for the man to believe him. Maybe if he realized just how little Rodney knew, he’d let him live. “That’s everything.”
“Very well. Now, I need to know from whom you learned this information.”
He couldn’t give the man Avery’s name. He just couldn’t.
“I heard somebody talking in a bar.”
The man sucked his teeth and gave his head a disapproving shake. With a deft movement, he sliced Rodney’s ear and held the bloody gob of flesh, his earlobe, out for Rodney to see.
“I told you to hide nothing from me. You might have been given this information in a pub, or bar, as you put it, but you know the person who told it to you. What is he or she called?”
“Maddock!” Rodney blurted the first name that came to mind. “Dane Maddock. That’s all I know about him.”
“Very good. I appreciate your honesty.”
Rodney relaxed. Whether the man killed him or let him live, at least it was over.
“I now have the unfortunate duty of confirming your honesty. That requires a more severe test of your veracity. We shall start with your thumb, I think.”
The man stuffed something into Rodney’s mouth, which made it very hard to scream.
Chapter 8
“All right! Let’s dam this baby up!” Charlie rubbed his hands together and grinned, the lines on his face crinkling. He paced to and fro along the rocky bluff overlooking tunnel seventeen, his exuberance lending a youthful bounce to his step. The prospect of solving the mystery seemed to have taken twenty years off of him.
Dane had to smile at the old man’s excitement. Matt’s arm was broken in several places but, given time, he’d heal. Once his recovery was assured, Matt had maintained his insistence that Dane and the crew finish what they’d started. He further vowed to be back on the job the minute he was released from the hospital.
After spending much of the night at the hospital, Dane, Bones, and Willis gone back to work. They returned to the passageway and made a failed attempt at opening the trap, after which they used GPS to chart the twists and turns of the tunnel, though their signal crapped out before they got to the area behind the wall. Charlie’s plan was to block up the passageway, pump the water out, if possible, and drill down directly into the chamber. It was far from the craziest thing the man had tried in his lifetime.
“I’m telling you, Charlie, I don’t know what I saw back there,” Bones said. “Not trying to shoot you down, or anything, but it might not be anything big.”
“You’re full of crap, boy.” Charlie dismissed Bones’ words with a gesture like shooing a fly. “Why would anyone put a booby trap in front of a chamber unless they had something they wanted to protect?”
“To be a douche?” Bones volunteered
“Bah! All the evidence says that tunnel’s important. They didn’t carve a Templar cross at the chamber entrance for no reason. And, you said yourselves, it looks like someone dammed it up.”
“How did searchers manage to miss it all these years?” Angel asked. “There have been, what, thousands of people looking for the treasure. You’d think someone would have found it by now.”
“They’ve all been focusing on the Money Pit,” Dane said. “There probably haven’t been too many skilled divers experienced in marine archaeology who’ve explored these channels.” He looked out across Smith’s Cove, where a single boat plied the waters, a white dot on the gray horizon. “Those who did could easily have missed this particular passage, or found it, but were fooled by the debris blocking the way. Matt and I almost missed it.”
“Well, you boys found it and that’s what matters.” Charlie clapped his hand on Dane’s shoulder, his grip strong, despite his age. “We are going to be the ones to finally solve the riddle. I just know it.”
“How long do you think it will take to dam up the tunnel?”
“Sh
ould be finished this afternoon. Then we’ll start pumping the water out and see what happens.” He looked like he was going to say more, but something out on the water caught his eye.
Dane turned to see a police boat drift up to shore. Two uniformed deputies sat inside. The pilot gave a curt nod, but that was all. They gave neither an indication of landing the craft, nor leaving.
“Wonder what the hell they want.” Charlie scratched his chin. “They’d best leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”
“Maybe they heard about Matt’s accident and came to check things out?” Angel said.
“Then why don’t they get out of the boat?” Charlie kicked at the ground with his booted foot. “Meddling government types is what they are. Can’t let a simple businessman go about his work.”
“Uncle, you are hardly a simple businessman,” Bones said.
The sound of an approaching vehicle cut off Charlie’s retort. They all looked toward the road in surprised. It had been closed long before their arrival and had fallen into a state of disrepair. The trucks that delivered Charlie’s equipment were the only traffic they’d seen.
Dane’s instincts told him something was not right, and he keenly felt the absence of his Walther. He hadn’t felt there was a reason to be armed on the island, so he’d left it back at the cottage. The impulse fled as quickly as it had come, and he suddenly understood the reason for the police boat.
“I think we’re about to be paid a visit by the local authorities,” he said.
“What for?” Bones frowned.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
A police cruiser appeared around a bend in the tree-lined road and coasted to a stop near where they stood. Two deputies climbed out, exchanged nervous looks, and approached Dane and the others.
“They look scared.” Bones grinned, his eyes alight with ill intentions. “Should I mess with them a little?”