In the 1800s two large triangular stones were found between the Money Pit and the shoreline. No one knew if they were part of the puzzle or if they were merely natural rocks. Too large to move and with no known purpose, they fortunately remained in place. It took an hour to locate them in the tall grass and scrub, but Harold and Brian were successful. They knew from Simeon Lynds what had to happen next. It would be easier today than in 1497 when the flood tunnels were built.
Brian moved ten men and the bulldozer to the area where the triangular stones rested. The machine moved one of them and the workers dug underneath it. They found a narrow shaft about two feet wide, lined with timbers. Brian lowered a rope until he heard it hit water. He pulled it up – ten feet below one of the flood tunnels ran underground to the Money Pit.
The other triangular rock yielded identical results and another flood tunnel. They now knew exactly where the tunnels were located. Brian referred to the instructions Simeon Lynds had encoded. The workers felled small trees, removed their branches and crammed them tightly into each shaft like toothpicks in a holder. When the tree trunks rested on the floor of each flood tunnel and filled the vertical shafts the men added dirt and rock. The result was a plug that should stop the flow of water from Smith’s Cove to the Money Pit. Shortly they’d find out if the Knights Templars instructions given to Simeon Lynds were true or false.
The Money Pit itself was over twelve feet in diameter. Brian’s new plan was to remove enough fill to lower a man 150 feet into the pit to retrieve whatever was at the bottom. Up to now he hadn’t started that part of the project because he was afraid of flooding at the hundred-foot level. Now he was confident that problem had been solved. They could be mere days away from discovering what the Most Holy Relics really were.
Chapter Sixty
A young man in a Cooper Mini drove across the causeway from the mainland onto Oak Island. As soon as he was on the other side he encountered a burly guard with a holstered pistol and a leashed Rottweiler. The man stood in the middle of the narrow rutted road, blocking it. He held up his hand.
“What’s your business, mister?”
“Good morning. I’m traveling in the area. I’ve read about Oak Island and wondered if I could look around. It seems a fascinating place.”
The man guarding the road noticed the stranger spoke English with a distinct accent. But then half of Canada did that.
“You used to coming on people’s private property without asking?”
The man in the Cooper responded pleasantly. “No sir, I’m not. I wasn’t aware this is private property.”
“You didn’t happen to see the sign on the mainland, right before you drive across the causeway? It says ‘No Trespassing.’ Do you read English?” The man’s demeanor was curt and tough but the traveler in the Cooper remained upbeat.
“I do, in fact. I saw the sign but hoped I would find someone like you with whom I could talk about seeing Oak Island.”
“Well, we’ve had our talk. Turn your car around and get off the place.”
The man did exactly that. He’d learned what he needed. The causeway was guarded, either by the owners of this half of the island or by Brian Sadler’s crew. It didn’t matter which.
At the Money Pit, excavation by hand was underway in earnest. By now the pit had been cleared out so deeply that heavy equipment couldn’t be used any more. Brian’s crew chief put every man to work digging in the hole, removing bucketsful of dirt or pumping air down the shaft. By the end of the day they were down nearly a hundred feet and the shaft was twelve feet in diameter. The work stopped here because a few feet further they should come to the place where boring indicated wooden chests and metal would be found. Brian had a hunch where this stuff came from; if they found anything he’d be able to see if he was right.
Tomorrow morning would tell the tale. Every other time in history someone had gotten to the hundred-foot level, the Money Pit had flooded. Brian hoped Simeon Lynds’ instructions worked.
At two am a rowboat negotiated around the cofferdam Brian Sadler’s crew had built and landed on the shore of Smith’s Cove. Its occupant crept quietly toward the Money Pit, aided by a nearly full moon. He watched and listened closely for signs of a watchman.
Close to the pit itself a guard sat in a chair next to a dying fire. He was drinking coffee from a mug and the Rottweiler that had been at the causeway that afternoon lay next to him. A shotgun was leaned against a tree close by.
The intruder stopped as he heard the dog’s low growl. He retreated softly before the animal could announce his presence and rowed slowly back to shore. He had the information he needed. By day there was a guard at the causeway. At night the guard and the Rottweiler moved to the Money Pit.
Chapter Sixty-One
There was jubilation at the site the next morning. The Money Pit was as dry as it had been the afternoon before. There had been no flooding – Lynds’ directions to stop the flood tunnels had worked perfectly.
Brian was eager to discover the secret of Oak Island. He was pleased to see that Harold Mulhaney seemed excited too, at least as animated as the stodgy farmer could be.
Last evening at the Oak Island Inn Brian had made his nightly call to Nicole. He’d told her his hopes that the pit wouldn’t flood and she said she hoped so too. She was fully comprehending now, asking questions and offering comments. She wasn’t her old self yet, but she was a world better than she had been only a week ago when he had last seen her. After his ten-minute conversation with her Brian called Nicole’s mother in Houston. They discussed Nicole’s encouraging progress. They kept in touch every day by email and she promised to let Brian know if she learned anything new about Nicole.
This morning the crew was anxious to get started and work progressed well. Brian estimated they had two days of digging left before reaching the 150 foot level and what they assumed would be the bottom of the Money Pit. Today the crew in the shaft dug carefully until they came to an unusual platform – this one made of spruce instead of oak like all the others. They carefully removed the old logs and saw a deteriorated wooden chest below. Its lid had disintegrated and a thick layer of dirt caked everything. As the tunnels flooded long ago, mud had flowed upward, oozing over everything it touched. Once it dried anything there became encased in hard soil.
The workers used short picks to flake off the encrusted mud. Finally one of them gave a shout. “I’ve found gold!”
A bucket went down the hole on a rope and everyone heard a clunk as the man deposited what he’d found in it. Back at the surface Brian reached in the bucket and brought out a bracelet. It was filthy but there was no doubt it was made of gold.
“A hundred dollar bonus goes in everyone’s pockets tonight!” Brian yelled. The enthused workers cheered. Down in the shaft two men knelt side-by-side and continued digging with bare hands and small picks.
“Coins! We’ve got gold coins!” The workers on the surface went wild.
This was the most encouraging thing of all. Coins were dated and dates would help determine the earliest time the gold could have been buried.
The workers in the pit sent up a handful of mud-encrusted coins in the bucket. Brian and Harold dipped one or two in water and rubbed off the dirt. The gold coins had Spanish writing and were dated in the 1690s.
Although this wasn’t the prize Brian Sadler sought, this discovery was significant even if nothing else was found. A horde of old Spanish coins would be worth a fortune to numismatists. More investigation would have to be done but Brian figured one of the pirate stories about Oak Island was true. His theory was that a privateer, quite possibly Blackbeard, came to Oak Island and used the Money Pit to hide his booty. Historians knew the pirate frequented this remote area in the early 1700s so the dates on the coins fit well.
As is the case for all archaeological activity in Nova Scotia, Brian’s project had required a permit. He placed a call to the Office of Culture and Heritage Development and advised they had found treasure in the Money Pit. He
was told he could continue excavating. A governmental representative would arrive tomorrow from Halifax. An official called later with instructions on where to temporarily store the items from the pit for safekeeping.
By the end of the day the workmen had removed nearly two hundred gold coins and more than fifty pounds of various gold chains and bracelets. It was a small cache by comparison to other hordes discovered in the past, but Brian knew there were dozens of places along the remote coastline that pirates likely hid their loot. Whoever this pirate was, he hadn’t put all his eggs in one basket.
When the workmen left the island at five, word spread quickly throughout the area that treasure had been found today. That evening Brian and Harold Mulhaney sat at the Oak Island Inn’s busy bar having a celebratory drink. A crowd of locals packed the tavern, re-telling stories of the pirates who had roamed this area. Brian and Harold were instant celebrities; as new townspeople showed up the pair was pointed out at the bar.
The barkeep was as excited as the others about the treasure horde. He asked several questions and Brian gave him a summary of the day’s events.
“How do you keep people from stealing the gold tonight?” the bartender asked. “Is it locked up somewhere? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
Brian saw no harm in telling him what they had done with the things they brought up from the Money Pit. In fact he needed to spread the word that the treasure wasn’t on Oak Island any longer. They didn’t need unauthorized visitors.
“The Cultural Office gave us instructions. We left a guard at the site tonight for security but there’s no treasure left there. The sentinel’s there just in case somebody gets nosy. The treasure itself was moved this afternoon to a bank in Lunenburg. It’ll be safe there until the people from the government in Halifax arrive.”
A young man sat at the bar near Brian and Harold, listening to the conversation. He heard the bartender ask Brian, “So are you through looking? Was gold what you came here to find?”
Brian’s answer was cautious. “We don’t know what’s at the bottom of the Money Pit. We think something is, but no one knows what. So far we’re the first to even reach the hundred-foot level without the shaft flooding. This find is a bonus – I would bet money it’s pirate treasure – but I also bet whoever buried it didn’t dig the Money Pit. He just borrowed the top half of it. I hope there’s more to come. We’re going all the way down.”
“Is there more gold down there, you think?”
“Who knows? Everyone here’s heard the tales about Shakespeare, aliens, crown jewels from fallen monarchies – all that stuff. After all this time nobody has a clue if anything’s down there or what it might be. Maybe we can find out. By day after tomorrow if all goes well we may know a lot more.”
The patron at the bar hadn’t engaged in the conversation. He hadn’t even glanced toward Brian and Harold. He just nursed his beer. When the two left the tavern a half hour later the stranger paid his tab, walked to his Cooper Mini in the parking lot and drove away.
Chapter Sixty-Two
At eight pm Brian was in his room preparing for a shower. It had been an exciting, exhausting day. His cellphone rang and he was thrilled to see the caller’s name displayed. Nicole. It was the first time she had called him since her wreck.
“Hey,” he answered. “Is it you?”
“It’s me,” came the familiar voice. “This is the first phone call I’ve dialed myself. I remembered how to do everything, Brian.” She started crying. Tears rolled down Brian’s face too as he thought how far she’d come, but how difficult even the simplest tasks were to someone who was struggling to regain their cognitive skills.
“I’m proud of you, baby. You’re really getting better fast.”
“I miss you, Brian. I hope you come back soon. And I saw your picture on the news tonight.”
That was a surprise. “You did? Are you sure?”
“Yep. You found a bunch of pirate treasure today. It made the national news.”
With the entire area abuzz about Blackbeard’s gold he wasn’t surprised the networks had picked up the story. But no locals had contacted him for a comment. That was a little surprising.
“Did they interview anybody about the treasure?”
“There was a man on the newscast. I don’t remember his name. He had on overalls and was older than you are. Some man from the government also talked.”
Most likely they had spoken to Harold. The old guy was reclusive but he was getting his time in the spotlight tonight. He’d take a look at the Internet later and see what Harold had said.
“I’m hoping we can reach the bottom of the pit in the next two days, Nicole. Then I can take a few days off and come to Dallas. I can’t wait to see you.”
After ending the call Brian watched the news story. He saw Harold Mulhaney expound on subjects from Edward Teach aka Blackbeard the pirate to what lay at the bottom of the pit. Brian held his breath as the interview continued. Harold was privy to most of the information Brian had learned about the Knights Templars and he hoped the old man hadn’t given away anything that should be kept confidential.
And thankfully he hadn’t. Mulhaney had a mysterious look on his face and a gleam in his eye as he responded to the reporter’s questions. “Us locals have heard for years about what might be at the bottom of the Money Pit. Just today Mr. Sadler and I proved there’s something valuable there, and we ain’t even at the bottom yet. I think I know what’s down there. It’s old, it’s rarer than anything on earth and it’s priceless. That’s all I’ll tell ya.” And he shut up, refusing to answer anything more.
Good for you, Harold.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The representative from the Cultural Office in Halifax was at the Money Pit by nine am. Brian gave him a tour and let him speak with the men who had discovered the gold in the shaft. His visit ate up ninety minutes of valuable time but it was unavoidable. The government of Nova Scotia had been extremely helpful throughout the entire process and today was no exception. The man thanked Brian for his cooperation and left to visit the bank in nearby Lunenburg, where the gold was stored.
Brian took Harold aside and congratulated him on a good interview. “You made national news in the States,” he said.
Mulhaney just smiled. Brian almost laughed out loud. He had never seen Harold smile.
“And thanks for keeping the Templar information confidential.”
“No problem, son. My daddy used to say you gotta learn when to talk and when to shut your mouth. That was one time I had talked enough.”
With renewed vigor the crew went back to work in the pit. Excavation continued and by one pm they were at a hundred and fifty-four feet, stopped by a piece of concrete blocking the pit. This was the best sign yet. It was exactly what Brian had hoped for – the early syndicates reported a cement vault with some type of wood inside at this level. Up until now the excavators had run across nothing more than the platforms of logs every ten feet that were described by earlier diggers, but suddenly they were excited.
Brian stopped the work for the remainder of today. He explained to his men that there was a second flood tunnel just above the level where they were now. If that tunnel held during the night they could break through the concrete tomorrow and see what lay below. But if the Money Pit flooded it would be best not to have opened the concrete vault. If for some reason they couldn’t easily remove the contents this afternoon, whatever was there could be destroyed by flooding tonight. Better to wait for a new day and ensure the flood tunnel was properly dammed up.
Brian gave his men a pep talk, thanking them for their hard effort and encouraging them to be ready to achieve their goal tomorrow. He asked them to get a good night’s sleep and meet him at the site at seven am, just after sunrise. If their luck held and the pit was dry, they would learn the secret tomorrow.
Brian told his crew chief and two other men to stay so they could plan the strategy for tomorrow. As they sat with cups of coffee ten feet from the fabled Money Pit, t
hey discussed what lay ahead.
That night he spoke with Nicole and told her everything that had happened today. The excitement in his words was palpable as he explained the wonderful things that might be the Most Holy Relics. And she understood. She asked probing questions and mentioned things they’d discussed days earlier. He was more encouraged tonight than ever. She was on the way back. Not quite there yet, but definitely on the mend. He went to sleep a happy man in every way.
Chapter Sixty-Four
The same rowboat landed on the beach at Smith’s Cove at 3:30 am. The man from the tavern was dressed completely in black, his face covered by a ski mask. He carried a dart gun and on his belt was a silenced pistol in a holster. He had a small backpack. He walked toward the Money Pit, staying in the shadows and listening for any sound of the guard’s presence.
Thirty feet from the excavation point he saw the guard smoking a cigarette. The man was sitting in a lawn chair facing the intruder. He held an iPad in his hands and was staring intently at its screen. The dog was nowhere to be seen.
The stranger moved quietly through the trees and brush until he was behind the sentry. He could hear the iPad now; the man was watching a movie. He moved to within five feet of the guard, raised his dart gun and fired. The guard toppled forward out of his chair onto the ground. The trespasser had ten minutes before the man would awake from the light anesthetic the dart had contained. That was more than enough time. He tied the guard securely to a tree and gagged him.
Confirming no one else was around, the stranger opened his pack and removed two sticks of dynamite and a cap. With precision learned from years of practice he prepared everything and dropped the sticks into the Money Pit. A timer would detonate the dynamite in half an hour. The explosives were now lying a hundred and fifty feet down the shaft, on top of the concrete vault below. The guard would be safe from the detonation. But the bottom of the pit would be ruined.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 92