“That medallion we found down at the wreck,” Frank said, opening up a bag of potato chips and digging into them. “Do you think it was Esteban’s?”
I nodded.
“Me too,” he said. “It fits the general picture. If Esteban came down here to get himself some treasure, he probably wasn’t the only one. If someone else wanted it all for themselves, they might have gotten rid of any competition that came along.”
“Then what about the ransom note?” I pointed out.
“Just another way to make some money?” he suggested.
“Then Esteban …”
“That’s right. He may already be history.”
“Still, I’ll bet his dad agrees to pay up,” I said. “Wouldn’t you, if it were your son?”
“You bet I would. Sheesh.”
It was getting late in the day, and Dad still hadn’t called back. I wondered why. Pulling out my cell phone, I flipped it open—and saw that there were no bars.
“We’re in a dead zone, Frank!”
He opened his phone, just in case. “Great,” he said. “Dad’s probably been trying to reach us all this time! Come on, we’d better head back to town, where we can get reception.”
We hopped back on our scooters and reversed course, back toward Cruz Bay. Just as we got to the royal palm tree where we’d buried our IDs the night before, our reception came back, and both our phones started chirping at once.
“Messages from Dad,” Frank said. We pulled over, and Frank called him back.
I stood there waiting while he listened and nodded his head. “So we pick it up, drop it off in our room … uh-huh … right. If there’s a problem, we’ll get back to you. Otherwise, we’ll call you from St. Thomas when we get there.”
He hung up. “The money will be on the seven o’clock ferry,” he told me, “as a regular package with our names on it. We’re supposed to pick it up, leave it in our room, and take the last ferry to St. Thomas—the eight o’clock one.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, what? We’re just going to let the kidnappers get away with it?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. Those were Dad’s instructions.”
“Well, I don’t like it. Those guys tried to kill us, Frank.”
“How do you know it was those guys? Cap’n could have been just a rival treasure hunter, not a kidnapper.”
“You think so? What are the odds, Frank? Remember, we found Esteban’s medallion down at the wreck.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “But Dad was very clear—”
“Did he say we had to drop the case?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“Well, then. Just listen to my plan before you say no, okay?”
He made a face. “You’ve got a plan? You?”
“Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Okay, okay. Shoot. Let’s hear it.”
“Okay, then. We get on the ferry at eight, just like Dad said. Whoever’s watching to see that we leave the island, sees us leave the island—except we don’t really leave! Just as the ferry’s about to pass the cape at the end of the harbor, we jump off and swim back to shore.”
“And … nobody on the ferry sees us do this?”
“Not if we set off a little diversion at the other end of the boat,” I said. “I can rig something up—a smoke bomb or something.”
“And what about our bags?” Frank pointed out.
“Ah,” I said, lifting a finger in the air, “I’ve got that covered too—we bury what we need, right here at the tree. Then we stuff our bags with paper so they look full, and take them onto the ferry with us.”
“Okay, I get it so far,” Frank said. He looked uncomfortable with the whole idea, but that didn’t surprise me—he’s used to always being the one with the ideas. “But Joe, what’s the point?”
“The point is, we’re back on the island, but nobody knows we’re here. So the kidnappers think they’re safe. They go to pick up the loot, and we’re watching them, ready to follow them back to their hideout and rescue Esteban if he’s still alive. Then we arrest the bad guys.”
“Joe, we’re unarmed,” Frank said. “What are the odds the bad guys don’t have any weapons?”
“Um … so we call for backup?”
“Chances are we’re in a cellular dead zone.”
“Well …” The truth was, I had no idea what we would do if the kidnappers pulled weapons on us. “I’ll come up with something between now and then.”
“There’s only two of us against however many of them, Joe.”
“No—there are three of us. Don’t forget Esteban.”
“Assuming he’s in any condition to help.”
“I told you—I’ll figure something out, Frank. I promise.”
“Okay,” Frank said. He didn’t look too happy about it, though. “Only because I hate to see anybody get away with kidnapping and attempted murder. And because I don’t have any better ideas.”
“That’s the spirit!” I said. “Now, come on. We’ve got a lot to do between now and seven o’clock.”
We went back to the hotel and stuffed our bags with towels, newspapers, bottles of shampoo—anything to make them seem full. Then we put our valuables in ziplock bags, got back on our scooters, rode out to the tree, and buried them. It was tough with cars passing by every minute, but Frank screened me so I couldn’t be seen from the road.
When it was done, we went down to the ferry dock to meet the boat and pick up our “package.” As the crowd began to gather, we saw representatives from half a dozen small hotels, carrying signs that welcomed tonight’s crop of new visitors.
“Hey,” Frank said. “Over there. It’s Captain Rollins from the National Park Service—the one who rescued us this morning.”
We went over to say hello and to find out if he’d had any luck tracking down Corbin St. Clare, alias “Cap’n.”
“Glad to see you boys have recovered,” he said.
“Thanks again for your help,” Frank told him.
“Aw, just doin’ my job.”
“Did you run down that lead for us?” I asked.
“I did, but I didn’t come up with anything. There’s no Corbin St. Clare registered here, or in St. Thomas for that matter. No Leaky Sieve, either. You boys must have gone out on a ghost ship.”
Neither Frank nor I thought his joke was very funny, but he laughed anyway. “Next time, check the bulletin board over there for the regular charter boats. They’re all very reputable.”
Yes, I thought, but a reputable captain wouldn’t have taken us out to dive at a wreck that was declared “off-limits.”
The ferry pulled in right on schedule, and we picked up our package—a plain brown box that weighed a ton, considering its size. Let me tell you: Money is heavy when you put enough of it together!
We took the box back to our room and opened it. Inside was a metal briefcase, which I took out and put on the night table. “Should we open it?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe it’s booby-trapped or something. If Dad has something up his sleeve, we don’t want to mess it up.”
“Dad wouldn’t pull something like that—not when somebody’s life depends on it.”
“You’re probably right, Joe, but I still think we shouldn’t mess with it.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s do our thing.”
It was seven thirty. Time to put our plan into action. I grabbed a pack of matches—very important—stuffed them into my pocket, and we hoisted our backpacks onto our backs. “Let’s go,” I said.
We tiptoed down the stairs. At the bottom landing, Frank guarded the entrance from the lobby to make sure nobody was looking.
Meanwhile, I went over to the emergency exit and disconnected the alarm, using the miniature screwdriver on my Swiss Army knife. I propped the door open—barely—with a washcloth I’d brought from our room.
Okay, step one was complete. Time to get noisy and at
tract some attention, so whoever was watching us would see that we were leaving the island.
We walked into the lobby. That girl Jenna was behind the desk—and you should have seen the look on her face when she saw us.
“You guys are leaving?” she asked, looking really upset. “I thought you were here for a whole week.”
“Change of plans,” I said. “We’re catching the late boat out.”
“What happened?” she asked, suddenly nervous. “Is everything okay?”
Frank was squirming, looking from me to her and back to me again. I could tell I was going to have to do the explaining.
“Family problem back home,” I lied. “We just got the call this afternoon.”
“Oh. So I guess … this is good-bye, then.”
“I—I guess so,” Frank said.
She came around to the front of the counter and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Me, she just turned to and said, “Bye.”
Great.
“Ciao,” I said.
She leaned into Frank’s ear, and I heard her whisper, “But what about … you know … the phone call I got?”
“I don’t think they’ll bother you anymore,” Frank told her. “I’m pretty sure of it, in fact. After tonight, everything should be settled once and for all.”
“Oh. Good … I think,” she said. “It is good … isn’t it?”
“I think so,” he told her. “I hope so.”
She still had sort of a scared look in her eyes as we left, heading out through the bar.
This part was Frank’s idea—he wanted the bartender to get a good look at us leaving. For some reason, he thought the bartender was in on the plot. He didn’t say why he suspected him—just that he thought someone at the hotel had fingered Esteban for kidnapping, and he had a feeling about the bartender.
Still, Frank’s crime radar is usually pretty good, so I was more than willing to go along with his exit route.
I have to say, the guy looked like a real thug—maybe he was the one who’d fingered Esteban Calderon for kidnapping. I kept an eye on him as we passed through the bar, out the back door, onto the deck, then down the stairs to the street.
He gave us the eye, all right. Which was good—the more people who knew we were leaving, the better.
We got down to the dock with ten minutes to spare, paid for our tickets, and boarded the ferry. We dropped our backpacks at the front of the boat, where we were hidden from anyone in the passenger area.
“Okay, we’re all set,” I said, feeling in my pocket to make sure I still had the matches.
There they were. Good.
Promptly at eight, the ferry blew its horn, the crew cast off the ropes, and the boat pulled away.
I scanned the crowd on the dock. Somebody would be watching to make sure we left the island. But in the glare of the setting sun, I couldn’t make out any familiar faces.
As soon as we were far enough away, I said, “Watch my back,” then went into action.
With Frank blocking the view of any curious passengers, I ran to the front of the boat. Making sure I was hidden from all prying eyes, I whipped out my pack of matches.
I opened my backpack, pulled out the end of a piece of newspaper, and struck a match. Carefully cupping it to protect it from the wind, I lit the piece of newspaper, then tossed the lit match into the backpack. I blew into it softly, helping the paper inside to ignite.
It took a while. For a minute or so, I thought it wasn’t going to catch fire in time. We needed to jump off the boat while we were still within swimming distance from the tip of the island, or we might be swept out to sea by the fierce currents in the strait.
Just in time, the backpack caught fire. Smoke billowed upward, and the wind blew it back at the crowd huddled in the boat’s midsection. I ran back that way, yelling, “Fire! Fire!”
Everyone erupted in panic. The crew started running forward. Everyone’s eyes were on them.
I turned to Frank. “Now’s our chance, brother.” We ran for the back of the boat, unnoticed.
The cape at the tip of St. John was just on our right—our timing had been perfect. “Three … two … one … jump!” I shouted.
We leaped off the boat and into the surf, then swam across the ferry’s wake toward land. We were only about fifty yards from the cape, but the current was pulling us out into the open strait. It was all we could do to fight it.
By the time we reached the rocks and hauled ourselves up out of the water, the ferry had moved into the current. We could still see the smoke, though. The crew was spraying our backpacks with fire extinguishers. They seemed to have things under control, just as I’d expected.
Frank and I were exhausted, but we could only take a moment to catch our breath. Time was running out—we had to get back to the Buccaneer’s Lair before the kidnappers came and picked up their money.
We had left dry clothes and shoes by the palm tree, above ground for easy grabbing—and lucky for us, they were still there. We changed into them, then ran back to town as fast as we could.
We got to the Buccaneer’s Lair and entered unseen through the emergency door I’d propped open. “Anybody coming?” I asked Frank.
“No. The coast is clear.”
We were just about to climb the stairs to our room when we heard a door open and close upstairs.
“Quick! Hide!” Frank whispered.
We both squatted under the stairs by the emergency exit. We waited as the heavy footsteps came down the stairs toward us. They passed right over our heads, then reached the bottom landing.
Peeking out, I saw the back of a green Hawaiian shirt. It was the bartender—and he was carrying the metal briefcase!
8.
The Chase Is On
The bartender turned suddenly in our direction. We huddled in the shadow of the stairs and held our breath, hoping he wouldn’t look down and see us.
He didn’t—he walked right past us, straight to the emergency door. He put down the briefcase and fished out a set of keys to unlock the door. Then he saw that it was already jimmied.
“Huh?” He looked like he didn’t know what to think about it—should he go out through the door, or turn back?
Part of me actually hoped he did turn around and see us. I wanted so badly just to jump him—now, when we had a two-to-one advantage. Surely we could take him down, then force him to tell us where they were hiding Esteban.
But I knew Joe’s original plan was better. The bartender would lead us straight to his partners in crime, if we just left him alone and followed him.
He grabbed the briefcase, opened the door, then closed it behind him. Joe and I were alone again.
We waited about ten seconds, then slowly cracked open the emergency door. There was our man, just down the street. He seemed to be standing there, waiting for something. Luckily, he was staring away from us, looking down the road toward town.
A pair of headlights pierced the evening darkness. A black Jeep roared up next to the bartender and screeched to a halt. He opened the back door and tossed the briefcase inside.
“Straight to the mill,” I heard him say as he got into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him.
At least, that’s what I thought I heard.
With a screech of wheels, the Jeep started up again and roared past us. In the front seat were two of the meanest-looking, ugliest guys I’d ever laid eyes on. I knew right away that they had to be the ones Jenna had seen with Esteban the night before he went missing.
“Come on!” Joe said, shoving the door all the way open. “Let’s get our scooters and go after them!”
Of course, we both knew that our lame, pathetic scooters stood exactly zero chance of keeping up with the Jeep.
But I thought I knew where they were going. If we just kept after them, we might get to the old sugar mill ruins just a few minutes after they did. Then, if they weren’t still there, we could make up time following them on foot.
What oth
er choice did we have, anyway?
We got to our scooters and revved them up. I could still see the Jeep’s taillights several blocks away, pulling past the National Park Service headquarters in the direction of the north coast road.
It was the way to Leinster Bay and the old sugar mill.
Lucky for us, the roads on St. John, especially this one, are incredibly winding and narrow. It’s tough to go very fast on them, especially in the dark, and even in a Jeep.
We soon lost their taillights, but there were only so many turnoffs from the main coast road. If they tried to go up one of the many steep dirt tracks that led up to houses hidden in the mountains, we’d see the dust cloud they left behind.
There were no dust clouds, so I had confidence we were still on their trail. The only paved turnoffs were the ones leading to Caneel Bay Resort, the luxury hotel (and I was sure they wouldn’t be going there), and one leading up to the Centerline Road.
“Which way?” Joe asked when we came to that fork in the road.
“Left,” I said. “To the old sugar mill.”
It was all I had to go on. If I was wrong, we could always go the other way later. Of course, by then they’d be long gone, but I had to choose—fast.
It was dark, and the roads were really treacherous, winding and twisting, with steep mountainside on the right and palm trees fringing the beaches on our left.
Finally, we reached the ruins of the old sugar mill. My heart sank—the parking lot was empty!
“We’ve lost them!” Joe said, hitting his handlebars in frustration.
“That guy said ‘straight to the mill.’ As in, ‘take me there right away.’”
“Well, maybe they came, let him out, and left again,” Joe suggested.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “We can’t have been more than five minutes behind them.”
“Five minutes is enough.”
I thought about it. “If they dropped him off, they must have kept going east, toward Coral Bay. Otherwise, we’d have passed them on their way back.”
“So? Maybe that’s where they went.”
“But if they dropped him off, where could he go from here?”
We stared down toward Leinster Bay, the old pirate stomping grounds. There were a few twinkling lights out in the bay—small boats, and a few larger yachts, anchored for the night.
Trouble in Paradise Page 7