by Amy Shaw
"It's not a chest. It's a room hidden here in the lighthouse." Mark stood up and held out his hand. Abby hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes inspecting his hand for signs of character. It was a strong looking hand but not big like a farmer or construction worker.
Who is this man who seems to know more about my Grandpa than I do? Abby wondered.
As her delicate fingers entwined with his, he gently lifted her from the sofa. His skin was soft yet there were faint scars that told a story. These hands had seen action outside of normal web designing duty.
Keeping hold of her hand, Mark smiled and said, "Come with me."
6
The Kings Tunnel
Mark led Abby back down the lighthouse stairs, away from the lantern room. Reaching the ground floor he pulled across the thick heavy bolt on the front door, locking it to the outside world.
He walked over to the old mahogany closet and opened the heavy squeaky door. Extending out his arm past the muddy waders, Mark fumbled around for a few moments at the back of the closet. Suddenly he pulled up hard and there was a simultaneous clack of bolts sounding like soldiers loading their rifles before an execution. The loud echo jolted Abby as she eagerly watched Mark's every move. With a twist of what appeared to be a brass metal coat peg Mark gave a tug and the entire back and floor of the closet swung out into the lighthouse entrance foyer.
Abby let out a gasp as she peered down into the stone walled hole. Concrete steps led down into darkness.
"I hope you're not expecting me to go down there," she said.
"It's perfectly safe. And not as dirty as it looks," Mark replied. "Wait here a moment."
Abby stood frozen with fear and excitement as Mark disappeared. This looked like something from a James Bond movie. There was a clicking noise as Abby saw a light come on illuminating the stairs. Mark came back up and out of the steps holding out his hand.
"It's a bit narrow down there but the steps are all solid and even. You go first and I'll be right behind you."
Abby said nothing and just raised her eyebrows, taking a tentative step into the closet and onto the first step. Looking down the steps it was narrow but there was plenty of head room. She felt relieved not to be crawling. She looked back at Mark who was waiting and ready right behind her. Slowly, she started the descent down some 20 or so steps. Mark stopped a few steps down where the light switch was placed on the wall and put his hands around a wheel on the opposite side. As he turned it Abby could hear the sounds of wood and metal scraping across stone as the closet floor and rear panel moved slowly back into place.
"Are we locked in down here?" she asked nervously.
"No, we can either turn this wheel or give the door a big push with our hands. But the bolts can only be locked from the outside if you know where to look."
"Well that's a little more comforting," she replied walking along the lit tunnel to a closed door. "What is this place?"
"This is part of an underground tunnel built in the 13th century by King John. Not far from the lighthouse was an Iron Age fort, and it was thought that when the Romans invaded, they took over the fort and built a tunnel network originally leading out to the cliffs to surprise any attacking troops."
"Good Lord Mark, please tell me this tunnel hasn't been here since the 13th century?"
"Don't worry, it won't collapse. It's been reinforced over the years when it was used in the World Wars." Mark could sense her nerves and seeing that she was about to sneeze he couldn't resist. "Just don't make any loud sounds. And make sure whatever you do, don't.. "
"ACHOO!"
"Sneeze!"
Abby's sneeze sent out an echo bouncing off the old red bricks and crouched to her knees with her hand over her head. Her wide eyes staring up at the roof waiting for the inevitable caving in. Mark laughed.
"Are you kidding?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."
"Oh my goodness Mark I nearly died!"
Mark wiped the childish grin from his face and placed his hand against the door ahead of them.
"Your key will fit into this door. On the other side is your Grandpa's world."
It was a large old wooden door, reinforced with metal braces across the width. A tarnished brass name plate was bolted to the middle.
It simply read 'Amber Room'.
7
The Amber Room
Abby placed the key into the lock and twisted, hearing the familiar bolt action sound coming from behind. She paused.
"Why is it called the Amber Room?"
"It's your Grandpa's sense of humor. The original Amber Room was in Russia, made in the 18th century and had gold leafed walls and contained over six tons of amber. A proper treasure room, it was also known as the Eighth Wonder of the World."
"Was?"
"Yeah, not anymore. It went missing."
"Missing. How does a room go missing?"
"It was stolen during World War II. Nazis. They dismantled it and it was never seen again."
"It's not in here is it?"
Mark laughed. "No, like I said it's your Grandpa's sense of humor. This was his treasure room, that's all. I promise the walls are not gold leafed."
Abby let out a sigh of relief, pushed her thumb down on the handle and opened the door into darkness. Mark reached over her shoulder and flicked on the light revealing an Aladdin's cave of adventure. Abby cautiously stepped inside. A row of metal detectors leaned up against a wooden rack with various utility belts and pouches, knives and daggers dangling down. Abby scanned her eyes over several old notebooks, sea charts, maps and drawings which were scattered over a large desk. Tucked tightly together on wooden shelves were books. Lots of books. Books on diving shipwrecks. Books on treasure hunting. Books on Roman Britain. Books on secret beaches. Books on hidden hoards. Books on Civil War hoards. Books on treasures of the Spanish Armada.
The collection was vast. All were treasure related in some specific way. Abby tried her best to take it all in and just when she was about to speak she'd notice something else. Like the wooden cabinets with strange looking plastic pots on the shelves.
"What's that in those pots," she asked Mark.
"They're rings."
"Rings? As in wedding rings? Those pots are full of wedding rings? There must be hundreds," she said in stark amazement.
"Yes, wedding rings and normal rings. Gold, silver, diamonds, you name it. I told you your Grandpa had a knack of finding lost rings. And these were just the ones he was allowed to keep."
"I didn't know it was that many. We could open a jewelry shop with all those."
Mark nodded his head in agreement.
"What about these?" she asked pointing to a selection of coins.
"Different coins through the ages. Some Roman, some medieval. The small ones with the horses on are Celtic."
Abby was in awe of her Grandpa's collection as she moved along the different display cases. "Where did all this come from?"
"Here and there. The exact locations are all marked in the blue folders in the corner shelf."
"Where does this go?" Abby asked pointing to another tunnel.
"That leads to another smaller room where the safes are, and the little boys room is down there too."
"Little boys room? You have a bathroom down here?"
"Yep. It's just connected to the cottage's drainage pipes."
"You did that too?"
"Me and your Grandpa," Mark said with a sense of pride. "Wasn't that difficult because there was already sewage piping down here."
"From who?"
"These are wartime tunnels. This main room was a command center for naval operations along the south coast. They've been a secret ever since."
"So who else knows about this?"
"Well until a few weeks ago, just me and your Grandpa. Now, just you and me. They aren't even on the deeds for this place."
"So how did you know about it, did Grandpa buy this lighthouse for the tunnels and secret room?"
&nbs
p; "No, he bought it with your Grandma because she loved lighthouses and he wanted to search for pirate treasure. He had been here for a few years until he invited me over for coffee. And then I found it."
"How did you know it was here?"
"I didn't."
"So how did you find it?"
"Because I'm a treasure hunter. I find things."
Abby smiled. As she turned to look over her Grandpa's desk, something caught her eye on the middle shelf. Photos of her Grandpa and Grandma on vacations in England. There were photos of her Mom and Dad with Abby as a young girl with puppies from their dogs rescue center. Nestled in the middle was an urn. An exact copy of the one she had brought over. She placed her finger tips on the side of the urn and closed her eyes. "Is this, my... "
"Yes," Mark answered immediately. "He loved having her watch over him and sharing his discoveries with her."
"Mom was really angry when he took her away. She wanted her buried nearby so she could visit. It was her Mom, but Grandpa was stubborn. I guess he knew what he was doing, and always said this was their special place. I just assumed he laid her ashes to sea like he wanted for himself."
"Your grandpa would always talk to her," Mark said. "Even when I was down here with him. He'd be chatting away and even asked her opinion on things. Her spirit was very much with him all the time."
"Maybe I should put him next to her for now?"
"I think he'd love that."
"So would Grandma."
Abby then spotted a model of a big bright blue Lamborghini on the next shelf. "That's not Grandpa's model is it?"
"No that's mine I'm afraid. It's a... oh it doesn't matter."
"An Aventador. Yes I know."
"You know what an Aventador is?" Mark was stunned.
"I might be a girl but I do know a Lamborghini Aventador when I see one. A dream of yours I presume?"
Mark raised his eyebrows and nodded in silence. Abby scanned across the desk, seeing the computer with dual monitors.
"Well that explains the broadband bill."
She pulled out his chair to sit down and saw a familiar package sat neatly on the seat. Her Grandpa's writing was on the front and read 'For Mark, The Royal Treasure Hunter'. She picked it up and handed it to Mark. "Looks like you have a book too. You're not Royalty, are you?"
"Royalty? No. No, not at all." Mark took the package and inspected it carefully.
Sitting down in the chair and wheeling closer to the desk, Abby put both hands on the paperwork and asked, "So what is it my Grandpa would do down here?"
Still looking at the package, Mark replied, "In a nutshell - he would look for treasure. Clues. Legends. Wealthy people who had died in battle. Dr. Budzynski at the British Museum would get in touch if there was a client who needed help locating an artifact, and your Grandpa would work his magic and attempt to track it down."
"How?"
"Just like he did when he was a private investigator. Research. Lots and lots of research. Old books, old photographs. He would even sometimes get his hands on people's private diaries," Mark explained as he opened his package.
"And then he'd tell you where to start looking and you'd go treasure hunting?"
"That's right."
"Wow, sounds like fun. Is it dangerous?"
"It is fun. And sometimes dangerous. And sometimes not always law abiding."
"You break the law?"
"Sometimes. It depends on the circumstances," Mark said as he pulled his book out of the padded envelope.
"A book on coins?"
"Yeah... looks like it," Mark said unsure.
"Do you have a key too?"
"No I don't think so,"he said flicking though the pages.
Suddenly he stopped. Something was placed in a cut out hole in his book too.
"It's not a key," Mark said looking up at Abby. "I think it could be the answer to your prayers."
8
The Gold Double Leopard
Abby looked up to see what Mark was holding. A gold coin glinted between his fingertips.
"How would you like to keep hold of the lighthouse?" Mark asked.
"Keep hold, how? With one coin?"
"It's a special coin. So yes. With one coin."
"I don't know what to say Mark, this is all somewhat strange. I mean, I come over to the UK to scatter my Grandpa in the sea from above his favorite place thinking that's what he wanted. My Mom arranges for an auction house to sell the property because Grandpa didn't leave any of his money for her, so I arrange to clear it out expecting never to see it again." Abby took a hard swallow and continued. "And then you have a book left to me by my Grandpa with a key in it to a secret room, where he leaves you a gold coin supposedly worth enough to buy this place? I mean c'mon. I know my Grandpa loved secrets and mysteries but isn't this whacky? Even by my Grandpa's standards."
Mark leaned against the book shelves. He had to admit, it was whacky. He had gotten used to Gene's oddities but now it dawned upon him how odd this all was. Now here he was trying to piece together Gene's trail of clues and convince her to keep the lighthouse. But maybe it was time to let it all go and move on. As if that was a possibility. Once the treasure bug bites and gets into your blood you can't shake it. Like a curse that doesn't let you sleep.
"Yes," Mark said, "It is a little whacky."
Abby looked at him with relief that she wasn't losing her mind. "So why not write me a letter? Why all these books and hidden compartments cut out into them?"
"Just in case it wasn't you who came over I guess. And because he thought you'd enjoy piecing it all together and seeing what he got up to all these years. Rather than just tell you, he wanted you to become part of it. And feel it."
"So it's all my decision?"
"Yes."
"But why not discuss this with my Mom, he was her Dad after all?"
"You mean like a real adult chat?! Gene wouldn't want any of all that stuffy nonsense!" Mark said folding his arms. Slowly the smile faded from his face as he tried desperately to organize the thoughts that were coming at him from all corners of his brain. He lent forward and picked up the writing book from the table as though he was going to read a passage from it. But instead it became a symbol of Gene's legacy. More than just a book, it's meaning was far deeper than the instruction on writing it contained. It was a symbol. And by placing the key to his secret room, he wanted to show his granddaughter the difference in following your dreams rather than plodding along, hoping. Mark held the book in his hand like it was a bible, his face turning serious.
"Gene lived his life sitting in cars on stakeouts watching deadbeats all day who were trying to fraud insurance companies," he began. "He spent days, weeks and months just tracking down low-life criminals who the police didn't have time for. He spent nights setting up sting operations to catch cheating husbands and wives. Catching up with people who couldn't pay, wouldn't pay. People who were abusing their children, and pedophiles who were abusing other people's children. Then he gets hired for a different kind of job where it isn't a person he is tracking down but a treasure. Something went off in his brain that day and he wasn't the same after."
Abby could sense her grandfather's frustrations in Marks voice as she listened.
Mark continued, "He looked back at all that time wasted sitting in cars waiting, looking at life through a lens and seeing disgust and negativity everywhere he went... he looked back at all that with heavy regret. The last few years of his life was his best. His most adventurous. But he was pissed off."
"Pissed off with what? I thought he was happy," Abby asked.
"He was pissed he needed me. He wanted to be out there every day himself, experiencing it, looking for the treasure with his hands rather than just his mind. He wanted it to be his fingers digging in the mud rather than tapping away on a keyboard. Seeing the trees in 3D life rather than watching it happen on a monitor via a GoPro camera mounted to my head."
Mark turned to face the shelves of maps, stacked on top of e
ach other with green and pink highlighters marking areas of interest. "We were a great team for sure, and I would have gotten into some real trouble if it wasn't for his eyes and ears looking out for me. I knew he got a buzz talking me through an escape route, but I also knew he was secretly wishing it was him hiding from the bad guys, close enough to hear their breath while holding a cold artifact down your front which you've just taken from them. I knew he wanted to follow me down the wells and into the secret tunnels using night vision scopes. And I knew his frustration when I got caught in underground rivers and got into breathing difficulties because of all the heavy gear I was wearing and trying to carry," Mark said looking down at the floor where breathing tanks lay amongst various back packs, ropes and metal clasps. "There were times when I couldn't talk to him because I didn't have a cell of energy left and all he wanted to do was pull me out with his bare hands. But he couldn't because in recent days he barely had the energy to walk up and down the lighthouse stairs. This became his mission control and finding the adventures became his adventure. So this is probably why Gene would never sit down and try to explain this to you because he'd rather you saw it, and felt it. Now that I know you've dreamed of becoming a writer, and he's left the key for you in this book, I can see he wouldn't want you to waste your life like he felt he wasted his."
Abby was in shock. She had never seen her Grandpa or his life through those eyes before. Nor had she heard anyone talk with that level of passion.
"But I'm not wasting my life. I like my job. I work for a forensic genealogy company that traces missing heirs. Thanks to me, families are located..."
"Sorry that's not what I meant. That's not what your Grandpa meant. He felt he wasted his life because he didn't discover what he wanted to do until he was too old and frail to do it. Leaving you a book on writing is your Grandpa's way of giving you a shove in the direction of your dreams. To start writing. Not get caught up with life, with jobs or with helping other people without helping yourself. You can still do all that, but make sure you give yourself time to pursue your dream of writing and not wait until you're too old to start, lest you realize you could do it, love it and end up wishing you started sooner."