Caribbean Gold

by David Leadbeater

  Russo shrugged. “I think, by now, they’ll all have figured out Jensen left them behind.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “Shut up,” Healey said then. “And strap in. We’re doing this right now.”

  As Alicia scrambled to find a seat the young soldier lost a good chunk of altitude, sending her stomach soaring. The blue expanse of the sea appeared in all their horizons as Healey leveled off.

  He turned them toward the beach.

  “What if you overshoot?” Russo grumbled.

  “Then we’ll be deader than we would be if we hit the waves wrong.”

  “Your friggin’ pilot manner needs some work, kid.”

  Healey hauled back on the controls, leveled out the pontoons and cut the engine. The floats hit the relatively flat water hard, skipped, then came down again. Alicia felt like she was fighting her seatbelt, jerked back and forth, ribs bruised and chafed where the material ground against her. The plane skipped again, losing a lot of momentum, and then ran up the beach, furrowing in hard. The final jounce shook every bone in her body and made her teeth rattle, but the craft came to a sudden stop and they were all still alive.

  Unbuckling and leaning forward, she clapped Healey hard on the shoulder. “Well done, Zack.”

  “No worries.”

  Immediately shrugging off the landing and the tension, the soldiers acted fast, focusing on the next potential events where mercs might even now come after them. Alicia flung open the doors of the plane and leapt down, gun up. Russo followed suit on the other side and Healey scrambled after them.

  The beach was empty, the waters clear. No mercs lay in wait for them.

  Alicia looked to the skies. “Oh fuck, here comes Crouch.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Alicia almost ducked as the seaplane carrying Crouch and Caitlyn zoomed overhead and whipped the tops of trees as it rose, closely followed by the second merc craft. Alicia was quick to raise her gun and fire up into the dirty metal underside, ripping several holes as it passed by. Russo was a second slower but just as effective.

  Healey flexed his fingers, shrugged his shoulders and looked for his gun.

  “C’mon, Healey,” Alicia growled. “Get your bloody act together.”

  The wry glare showed just how shook up he was.

  Above, Crouch’s seaplane looped around and once more skimmed the trees. Alicia saw the pilot’s face and then the sudden angle of descent.

  “Oh hell, he’s landing.”

  “They’ll be sitting ducks!” Healey cried.

  “They know that. Something must be damaged.” Alicia quickly cast around for an answer, saw an intact dinghy and raced for it. “Keep on hounding the mercs’ plane!”

  She raced off, but at that moment the mercs’ plane itself roared overhead, and made Alicia almost pull up. The angle of descent was beyond harsh, the beach itself was beckoning. She reasoned that at least one of their bullets must have caused a great deal of damage. Smoke billowed from the engine.

  A man jumped, landing hard in the shallows, and lay unmoving as Alicia watched. The plane then nose-dived into the beach, huge shards of it breaking off and catapulting toward the sea where it would sink and lie and eventually merge with all the old shipwrecks. More men claimed by the depths. An explosion and a fireball sent her diving to the ground. The groan of wreckage and not survivors told her the cost of the crash.

  Unable to stop, she rose fast and looked out to sea. Crouch’s plane still flew, the angle much better now, the craft steady. It bobbed down and then turned and taxied around. Alicia tried to push the burning seaplane from her mind and hurried over to the dinghy.

  Her mind had already turned toward Crouch and Caitlyn and the pilot; she prayed they were unhurt.

  *

  In the aftermath, the Gold Team knew there could be no rest, no reflection. Jensen was already headed elsewhere and no one knew what he’d found. Though they were all safe they were battered and bruised. The drifting pall of smoke from the still-burning wreckage would attract attention.

  And they still had work to do right here, right now.

  On gaining the beach, a sore-looking Crouch loped immediately up its slight slope toward the tree line. Alicia looked over at Russo and Healey, who were ensuring no stragglers remained and forming a perimeter. Russo gave her a thumbs up.

  Alicia followed Crouch as he closed in on three wide holes that Jensen’s men had dug.

  “The placement works in conjunction with the maps,” he said. “We didn’t have the script, he did. That shouldn’t happen again, not completely.”

  “No way of telling what he found,” Caitlyn said. “But he left a few things behind.”

  “Cleared out in a hurry,” Alicia said. “Could be good or bad for us, but I’m guessing at the latter.”

  “Pessimist.” Caitlyn reached the edge of the first hole and peered inside.

  “Comes with the job.”

  Alicia stared down into the muddy cavity. Tree branches and a large stump weaved a tangled web on the far side. Closer and deeper the hole stood empty, echoing like a lost dream. Crouch was already on to the second and Alicia followed. Caitlyn lingered to make sure their inspection was a thorough one.

  The second pit yielded the best find of the three. An open strongbox lay at the bottom and, although it had been rifled, still held several sheets of parchment and an old brooch. Half a dozen objects lay embedded in the dirt and sand, and one sheet had been crumpled up.

  Crouch shook his head. “Not a single ounce of respect.”

  “At this level of pay,” Alicia said. “Plant-life competes with them.”

  “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Crouch jumped into the hole and picked up the strongbox. “Well, it’s the same era as the last, same kind of design. Certainly possible it came from around here and from similar circumstances. No clue as to what else might have been inside.”

  Caitlyn came over. “And the parchments?”

  “Centuries old, but nothing pertinent to us. More work for the historians, I guess. You can take a look, Caitlyn, in case your eyes spot something mine don’t.”

  “Sure.” She scrambled down to his side.

  Alicia stretched and eyed the last hole. Like the first it was empty, with no clues as to what might have been there. Maybe nothing. There were no impressions within the cavity to lead her to think something had once rested there.

  Crouch scrambled up top. “We shouldn’t linger. I think it is time to move.” He turned to the pilot. “Is the plane sea- and airworthy, my friend?”

  “It will be fine so long as I don’t have to explain the bullet holes.”

  “Where we’re headed, that won’t be an issue.”

  “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “You could always sit it out. You don’t have to come along.”

  “You gonna buy me a new plane, right?”

  Crouch hesitated. “I wouldn’t say new. Like for like, maybe.”

  “And if you guys find Morgan’s haul?”

  “Maybe you’ll get two. One for the weekends.”

  “All right.” The pilot watched Alicia. “You take it. I’ll wait on Jamaica.”

  The team gathered and made their way out of the area by plane, taking it easy and trying to attract as little attention as possible. They dropped the pilot off where it was safe and then tried to marshal their determination.

  Jensen was beating them. Henry Morgan was beating them. Hell, even the mercs were ahead. But those that came last often used the mistakes of those that led to pull themselves level, to force a lead, and then to win. More often than not it was a matter of staying power.

  Crouch laid out the next map on the short grass of a tree-shrouded clearing. The plane was bobbing a few meters offshore and the woods were quiet and dense, decidedly tourist unfriendly. The team figured they could spend a little time here.

  “Santa Catalina Island,” the boss said, “was a small island rarely used along the Spanis
h Main. That said, Morgan recaptured it twice and killed quite a few enemies there. He could also use Santa Catalina as a layover point on the way to Panama. Now, there has to be a good reason for these particular islands, these particular maps, right?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “Well yeah, since Morgan no doubt had a hundred secret places.”

  “And, so far, we’ve only discovered local keepsakes,” Alicia said. “Maybe it’s a long-gone sign that he felt remorse, and drew these maps to assuage his guilt. Return the locals’ more sentimental riches and, if you’re good enough, eventually find the hoard.”

  “Santa Catalina is a small place, uninhabited and, in those times, wasn’t even connected to the mainland. There’s now a one-hundred-meter footbridge connecting it to its big brother to the south, Providencia Island. Interestingly, we are now approaching the era of Morgan’s life in which he started to lose England’s support, eventually this would lead to him giving up the life of piracy—or privateering—returning to England, and later return as governor,” Crouch shook his head. “Of Jamaica.”

  Alicia smiled without humor. “Three hundred and fifty years,” she said. “And have we learned anything?”

  “Best not to go there,” Crouch said. “If I’m being truthful the history surrounding Morgan, or any pirate, and Santa Catalina is pretty thin, but it’s safe to say he spent quite a bit of time there. And relatively alone.”

  The team studied the map a little more. Alicia took a few moments for herself, switching off and evaluating this new chapter in her life. The truth was, she was far from where she wanted to be. And for the first time in her life, far from where she felt belonged.

  Never belonged anywhere before.

  But comrades and friends needed her, whether most of them acknowledged it or not. Her new life with its new emotions and goals tugged furiously, but loyalty and honor had drawn her to Crouch and the others, and now it kept her there.

  To the end. Bitter, or sweet.

  “So where is it, this island?” she asked.

  “In between Aruba and Jamaica.” Crouch told her and held up a hand. “As the crow flies, that way.”

  “Not so long by plane,” Healey said.

  “Just try not to crash this time,” Alicia said. “For a change.”

  “Hey, I don’t fly that often.”

  “One out of one don’t make me feel any better, kid.”

  “And stop calling me kid. Last time I checked, I was twenty five.”

  Alicia guffawed, unable to stop herself. The older members of their team turned knowing eyes upon the young soldier.

  “I have to say,” Alicia said as they packed up, stood up and walked toward their plane. “I’m not feeling the pull of the treasure on this one, boss. Not like the last two.”

  Crouch shrugged. “It’s reality. This is how it is in the real world, I’m afraid. Following one rough clue to the next and hoping you don’t reach that dead end. That point where all the clues and all the information runs out. We scramble around in the dark, Alicia, chasing old men’s ancient ramblings, and occasionally get lucky.”

  “Wow, you shoulda gone into advertising with that outlook.”

  Crouch looked grimly to the skies. “Jensen has half a day head start. Let’s move.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Another flight and another few hours behind them, and Alicia was starting to feel decidedly light-headed. Of course, the other option was riding the waves and that prospect excited her even less. Crouch plotted the course to Santa Catalina and called them all to the windows when the island drew close.

  Alicia stared below once more, by now used to the sparkle shimmering off blue waves and expecting nothing less. The gentle roll of the seas lay unbroken below and she saw no sign of other vessels.

  “The way Henry Morgan is portrayed,” Caitlyn posited, “you would think he was king of the pirates.”

  Crouch glanced over. “It has been said before that there was once a great pirate council,” he told them. “Though these days it’s vehemently refuted. Probably rightly too. Pirates have been romanced in both their intellect and their dealings, but I daresay a few, like Morgan and Edward Teach and Calico Jack had the brains and the resources to put together a congress of sorts.”

  “Slightly different eras,” Caitlyn said.

  “Ach, only just.” Crouch grinned. “Give a man a vision to hold on to.”

  “I guess he was a king of his time then,” Caitlyn said. “I wonder what it was like growing up alongside his legend.”

  “Depends how true the stories are,” Crouch said finally. “And we’ll never know. We’re close now, people.”

  Alicia put her face close to the window and ignored her light stomach. She quelled the need to return to everything that was new and held all new promise. She was loyal. She was a soldier and would fulfill her promise.

  And, one day she would get Crouch properly alone.

  Below, the steady glitter gave way to a large lump of gray hills and greenery, a couple of slices of beach to either side. They could quite clearly see the footbridge connecting Santa Catalina to its neighboring island. The misshapen mass looked deserted at this altitude, and Healey started to take the seaplane down.

  “Wait,” Crouch warned. “Take a tour first.”

  Healey corrected and sent the battered seaplane on a circuitous route around the island. Alicia saw his unspoken question and voiced it aloud.

  “How do you make a slow-moving seaplane look unsuspicious, Michael?”

  “Who knows? Act like sightseers.”

  “I guess we are, but what about the bullet holes?”

  Crouch gave her a rare grin. “Flew over a military range?”

  “They armed the seagulls,” Caitlyn said.

  “Caribbean hospitality,” Russo finished.

  Healey circled the island once and then again a few hundred feet lower. Features became more visible, the tops of jagged hills and the spread of the canopy; the hidden places a group might frequent; the density and danger of the rocks near the beach.

  Small inlets scattered to the north and south.

  A large seaplane off the coast.

  “It has to be,” Crouch said, squinting.

  “We’ll look bloody foolish if it’s a local tour,” Russo said.

  “Healey, take her down around the side of that outcropping. We’ll go over the top of the hill. Russo, don’t forget this time we have the script.”

  “Ah, I’d forgotten that.”

  “To the leeward I resolve to stash that which sorely plagues. This time the rocks will tell their story and the rising tides a tale. But rarely when they’re high, never again under sail. Never again. It is here, but fear you must. Peril awaits.”

  “It’s the right side of the island,” Crouch said.

  “But there’s no beach,” Russo peered down as they passed over for the last time. “Just a dirty great chunk of cliff.”

  Alicia closed her eyes. “Ah, Russo, I guess it comes to us all.”

  “What?” A growl.

  “Age and the loss of vision. You saw the dirty great chunk of cliff but not the sea cave at its base?”

  “Sea cave? Shit.”

  Alicia tended to agree. “I don’t mind a bit of swimming,” she clarified. “But like I said, diving’s for friggin’ dolphins.”

  “That’s why I figure we go over the top,” Crouch said. “We might find another way in. Cave. Blowhole. Stream bed. Natural formation. It’s a good bet, and we really need to come at Jensen in a way he least expects.”

  “He lost a lot of men in the last encounter,” Caitlyn said.

  “My guess—he has plenty left and they’ll be even meaner.”

  Healey brought the seaplane down and taxied toward a break in the rock formations that led toward a sloping, mossy bank dotted with trees. Alicia clapped him on the back as the craft drifted to a stop.

  “Progress.”

  “Nice pep talk. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, Zacko.”
<
br />   The team exited the seaplane, piled into a dinghy and made a slightly undignified but short run to shore. Alicia beached the boat and Russo tied it up. Ahead, trees provided cover and gloom-ridden shadows and a break from the heat. They pulled themselves up and then threaded a way between mossy trunks, unable to find any kind of path. The struggle was awkward for a while as the slope steepened. Alicia found herself hanging onto a tree and pulling Caitlyn up. After that the incline eased and they made better progress. The canopy of leaves above began to thin out, allowing specks and then larger spots of sunlight to dapple the trunks and branches.

  Alicia made ready to replace her sunglasses as the tree line thinned ahead.

  Crouch slowed and then knelt behind one of the bigger tree trunks. The vegetation ended rather abruptly about ten meters further on, giving way to smooth, hard gray rock. The rock was a plateau, stretching in all directions, a rolling plain of slippery, unbroken boulders. The formation ended in the distance in a pointed promontory. Alicia and Russo scanned the area. Alicia tapped Crouch on the shoulder.

  “Let’s go, boss.”

  The team eased their way out into the open. Alicia held her fully loaded handgun tightly. The rifle was out of bullets now but the handguns had plenty of reserve. No hidden figures became visible. Slowly, they picked their way across the rock, wary of the drop-offs to both sides. Alicia saw Crouch casting about, clearly hoping for a hole or passage into the rock below, but nothing presented itself.

  Alicia began to grow a little despondent. This hunt was not as forthcoming as those that had gone before. It felt to her almost as if she needed to press the issue a little. Force it all out into the open. But then, that was her true nature.

  Halfway to the far edge now and still they crept along, finding nothing. They kept low, conscious of the sea vistas opening up slowly to the east and west. As they crept nearer to the edge a low roar reached Alicia’s ears, a roar that started to get louder and louder.

  She stopped. Russo stared over at her, nonplussed. Crouch gave a little chuckle from behind.