“I will pass on your thanks,” said Mitchell, knowing that Sam wouldn’t care who she was working on. It was her job, and she was good at it.
“What will you do now?”
“I need to find where they are holding the remainder of the hostages. I still have a job to do.”
“Very well. Good luck to you and your people,” said Chang, holding out his hand.
Mitchell didn’t shake the man’s hand, instead; he turned about and walked away from Chang.
A minute later, Mitchell and all his people vanished back into the thick jungle.
Like a cat, Grace slid over to Chang’s side.
“Did you manage to slip the tracking devices on them?” asked Chang.
“It wasn’t easy. That sniper was watching me like a hawk. However, I managed to put one in the woman’s medical bag and another on the sling of Mitchell’s rifle.”
“Your youth as a pickpocket wasn’t wasted,” said Chang with a smile.
“Sir, what do you want us to do now?”
Chang looked over at Grace. “Fetch me a satphone. I need to call back to Freetown. If we are going to fulfil the terms of our contract, we are going to need to replace our losses.”
“From where?” blurted out Grace.
“There are hundreds of ex-rebel fighters working for petty criminal organizations all over Sierra Leone. I only hope my contact in Freetown can find me some decent fighters and get them to us in the next few hours.”
Grace nodded and ran back to her Rover to dig out her satphone.
Chang looked down at the wreckage strewn across the road and realized just how close he had come to being killed. Experienced troops would have smelled an ambush kilometers before they blundered into it. His pool of good troops was shrinking fast. If his man did manage to round up some former rebel soldiers, he doubted that their quality would be up to standard. Chang knew that if he was going to pull off this assignment that it would take a miracle.
And those seemed in short order these days.
25
Outskirts of New Haven
Connecticut
Jen pulled off the main highway and drove into the parking lot of a quaint-looking coffee shop. After parking her Jeep, she and Fahimah walked inside to grab a quick bite to eat and to look over the notes Donaldson had just sent to them on Fahimah’s iPad.
They took a booth in the corner of the café. Jen ordered them both a cup of tea while they perused the menu.
Fahimah opened her iPad and placed it on the table in front of them. She entered her password and then scrolled over to her inbox. She opened her email from Donaldson and saw that he had identified three possible collectors in the New Haven area who may have the journal once belonging to Thomas Gordon in their possession. Their names and addresses were listed, along with a rating system Donaldson had created based upon the person’s wealth, their desire for privacy, and the type of security system they had in place in their homes. The more expensive the security system, the more to hide, reasoned Donaldson.
He also provided them with a map to all three homes. His last line wished them well as none of the three collectors had bothered to return the calls he had placed to their homes earlier in the day.
They took a quick look at the addresses and decided to start with the closest home and then work their way out until they found who they were looking for, or had to call Donaldson to ask for more assistance.
“Did you get a chance to look into James Lucifer?” Jen asked Fahimah in between bites of her salad.
“I didn’t find much on him,” replied Fahimah.
“Neither did I. If we’d had more time, I could have dug deeper, but I guess we’ll have to go with what Ryan sent back to us.”
“It’s amazing to think that a fortune in diamonds is waiting to be found somewhere in the jungles of Liberia.”
Jen put her fork down. “Aside from the obvious monetary value attached to these diamonds, why go to all this trouble? Why incite a civil war to cover your tracks? I bet the people involved could have bought off a politician or two and obtained a permit to look for the diamonds.”
“I wondered that, too. The only thing I can think of is that there are competing interests involved here and neither side is willing to let the other get their hands on the fortune in diamonds.”
“Apart from making wonderful gifts for us ladies, what can you do with diamonds in the world today that can’t be done with artificially made ones?”
“In a word—lasers,” said Fahimah. “The world of laser technology has grown in leaps and bounds over the past decade because of diamonds. The armed forces have been researching the practical application of laser-weapons technology for decades. A missile-defense shield is not a pie-in-the-sky dream, anymore. With the advent of more powerful lasers, it is only a matter of time before we have a fully functioning anti-missile shield built. What is important to understand here is that pure, not artificial, diamonds greatly enhance the power generated by lasers. If a person could obtain a treasure trove of diamonds reputed to be worth billions in today’s market, just think of what they could build and sell to the highest bidder. We’re not the only country pursuing ballistic missile-defense technology. The Russians, Chinese, the EU, all want a shield against incoming missiles.”
“A frightening prospect if this technology fell into the wrong hands,” said Jen.
“Yes, indeed.”
Twenty minutes later, they were on the road heading for the first destination on their map. It turned out to be a dead end as the homeowner was away visiting his grandchildren in Venezuela. The next home was in Fair Haven. They parked on the street. Jen and Fahimah looked up the long driveway that led to a black-and-white, Tudor-style home. Smoke wafted lazily up into the sky from a red-brick chimney.
At least someone is home, thought Jen.
Jen saw that the home belonged to David Templhof. According to the notes Donaldson provided, the man was a retired sailor, which made sense, since they were looking for someone interested in maritime legends.
There wasn’t a doorbell; instead, a heavy, old, brass doorknocker shaped like an anchor hung on the front door.
They knocked loudly twice. Jen and Fahimah stepped back and waited for someone to answer the door.
After about thirty seconds, Fahimah was about to reach for the knocker again when the door cracked open slightly.
“What do you want?” asked a crotchety and uninviting voice from behind the door.
“Good day, sir,” said Fahimah politely. “My name is Fahimah Nazaria. My friend and I are here to see if you know anything about the journal of an English sailor named Thomas Gordon, who sailed with Captain James Lucifer in the early 1700s.”
The door opened slightly. A man still dressed in his pajamas, with unkempt white hair and a leathery face, stood there, suspiciously eyeing Fahimah.
The man gruffly asked Jen, “What’s your name?”
“Jennifer March,” she replied with a smile.
“Why do you two young women care about some four-hundred-year-old journal?” asked the man.
“Because we believe that the information contained within the journal may help some friends of ours find the treasure reputed buried by James Lucifer and his crew,” answered Jen.
The man chuckled to himself. “Treasure hunters. Bah, I should have known. Do either of you young ladies realize that more money has been spent looking for buried treasure than was ever lost? Chasing treasure is a fool’s errand.”
Jen said, “Sir, honestly we don’t really care about the treasure. A civil war has broken out, and we believe the conflict started because some people are trying to find the reputed fortune in diamonds that James Lucifer took with him into the jungles of Liberia. Our friends are stuck in the middle of it. If we could read the journal, we may be able to help them get out of there alive.”
The old man looked deep into Jen’s eyes. He could see that she was telling the truth. Sorrowfully, he shook his head. “I’m sorry l
adies, but I don’t have it anymore. I sold it last year.”
Jen’s heart leapt; it truly existed. “Sir, who did you sell it to? Perhaps they’ll let us examine the journal.”
“He might. However, I’ve read the journal from cover to cover several times over the years, and I never read anything written in it that might make me believe that there was any buried treasure. The journal is probably nothing more than the ramblings of a disease-ridden fool on his deathbed.”
“Sir, you may be right, but we really need to take a look at the journal. Can you tell us who you sold it to?” asked Fahimah with a disarming smile.
“Peter Jurkowski. His name is Peter Jurkowski. He lives in West Haven with his mother.”
Jen smiled. “Thank you for your help, Mister Templhof.”
“Don’t be too quick to thank me, young lady. Peter’s a bit different. He’s got more money than brains, if you know what I mean. You may live to regret going to see him.”
After exchanging a puzzled look between them, Jen and Fahimah thanked Templhof one more time and then headed back to the Jeep to look up Jurkowski’s home address.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a long driveway. Both women were surprised to see that the home was a three-story, red-brick mansion that looked to have been built in the late nineteenth century. Out front was a sign welcoming them to New Haven’s finest bed-and-breakfast. It hardly looked like the home belonging to a wealthy person. Quickly checking the information proved by Templhof, they agreed that they were in the right spot.
“I guess we should get out and check if Peter Jurkowski lives here,” said Jen.
Fahimah nodded and got out of the Jeep.
Together the women walked up to the front door. Jen rang the bell. From behind the door a small dog barked excitedly.
A woman’s voice told the dog to be quiet.
The door opened. A short, slender woman in her mid-seventies with a smile on her face welcomed Jen and Fahimah and asked them to come inside. Following the woman, they walked into the drawing room.
“Please do take a seat, ladies,” said the woman. “My name is Roberta Jurkowski. Are you looking for a room for the night?”
Jen made the introductions and then got right to the point. “Mrs. Jurkowski, we were hoping to speak with Peter about a journal he bought from David Templhof sometime last year.”
Roberta scrunched up her face for a minute while she tried to remember if her son had bought anything from the eccentric collector across town. Finally, with a smile on her face, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t recall him buying anything from Mister Templhof. But then again, he has bought so much stuff since he won the state lottery last year.”
That would explain a lot, thought Jen to herself.
“Could we speak with your son?” asked Fahimah.
“Certainly, he’s in the basement,” said Roberta. “I must warn you ahead of time that my son is a big kid at heart.”
Fahimah smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Roberta led them to the top of the stairs and then called out, “Peter, there are some ladies here to see you.”
“I’m busy, mother,” called back Peter Jurkowski, with a horribly fake English accent.
“They’re quite attractive,” said Roberta, winking at Jen and Fahimah.
“Well then, don’t keep them waiting; send them right down.”
Roberta reached over and placed a hand on Jen’s arm. “Don’t let him make you drink any of his rum. The last person who went down there had to be sent to the hospital for alcohol poisoning.”
With a weak smile on her face, Jen told her that she wouldn’t touch a drop.
Slowly walking down the stairs, Jen and Fahimah’s curiosity grew with each step. At the bottom of the stairs they stepped into the basement and right onto the deck of a pirate ship. With a rakish smile, standing by the ship’s wheel was Peter Jurkowski, dressed from head to toe like a pirate captain.
“Ahoy, me pretties, welcome aboard The Devil’s Revenge,” said Peter with a flourish of his feathered cap.
“Pleased to meet you, Captain Lucifer,” said Jen, smiling from ear to ear. Their host looked to be in his late forties, and wore a long, curly, black wig under his tricorn hat.
“You’ve heard of me have you?”
“Of course we have. Who hasn’t heard of the infamous pirate captain, James Lucifer?”
“And who might this pretty maiden be?” said Peter, taking Fahimah’s hand and delicately kissing it.
Fahimah had to stifle a giggle. Quickly introducing herself and Jen, she asked if they could take a seat.
Rolling over a couple of wooden barrels for them to sit on, Peter placed his hands on the brace of flintlock pistols he had jammed into his black leather belt. “So how might old Captain Lucifer help you two exotic-looking young ladies?”
Jen smiled and decided to go along with the act. “Captain, we were wondering if you might let us take a peek at Thomas Gordon’s journal.”
“You’re not here to steal my treasure, are you?” said Peter, dramatically eyeing his guests.
“Lord, no, Captain!” said Fahimah. “We’d just like to have a read of your journal. We promise that we won’t try to take your treasure, nor will we tell a soul that you let us read it.”
“Aye, that sounds fair. Now, let us seal the deal. Who will have swig of rum with me?”
Fahimah looked over at Jen and said, “I guess you just volunteered.”
Jen smiled and hesitantly raised her hand.
Quickly pouring two tankards of rum, Peter walked over, dug into his heavy woolen jacket, then with a wink, he handed Fahimah the journal.
“To me buried treasure,” said Peter, holding his tankard high up in the air.
“To your treasure,” replied Jen. She took a sip and almost choked on the rum as it slid down her throat. My God, how strong is this stuff?” asked Jen, shuddering as the rum burned all the way down.
“This is Jamaican white rum. It’s one-hundred and eighty proof,” replied Peter proudly.
“Well, it kicks quite a wallop that’s for sure,” said Jen, putting her tankard down.
“Well, don’t you worry none, pretty lady. I have several kegs of it in the hold. We won’t run out before we get back to the Caribbean.”
“Later, perhaps, Captain. I really need to read a little of the journal while I can still see straight.”
Peter pouted and said, “Promise me that you’ll have another after you’re done looking through Thomas’ journal.”
“It’s a deal,” said Jen, shaking his hand.
A smile returned to Peter’s face. “Very well then, I’ll run the crew through gunnery drills while I wait.” With that, he strode over to the nearest cannon and started to load a cannon ball into it.
Fahimah and Jen exchanged a look of disbelief as they watched Peter calling out imaginary targets for his equally imaginary gun crews to engage.
They walked over to a side railing. Fahimah delicately opened up the journal and began to read.
For the next hour, they were lost in Gordon Thomas’ account of how he walked out of the jungle and made his way home to England where he died a wealthy man. Realizing that they needed more time with the journal, Jen walked over and with a smile, asked if the good captain would be serving supper anytime soon.
Peter pirouetted on his heels, let out a loud whoop, and ran to the bottom of the stairs to ask his mother if she would make them something to eat. He ran back to his ship’s wheel and called out that they had to make port.
With a shake of her head, Jen rejoined Fahimah. Her eyes focused on a hand-drawn map near the back of the journal. Slowly, a smile crept across her face.
“What is it?” asked Jen.
“Thomas Gordon’s journal is written like a riddle. No wonder Templhof thought it was nothing more than nonsensical ramblings. There are key words and phrases that I keep finding repeated throughout the journal,” explained Fahimah.
“They
have to be clues. How can I help?”
“Grab my iPad and open it up to a map of Liberia. I think he’s trying to tell us where to look for the diamonds without actually coming out and saying where they are.” “How?”
“For example, he’s used the word league in several entries; however, it doesn’t make much sense how it is being used, unless you look at a league as a measurement of distance; that being three miles,” explained Fahimah.
“Clever.”
“He also talks about a bittacle and its sway on his heart.”
“What on earth is a bittacle?”
“I think it’s a box, they used to hold their compass in it,” said Fahimah. “Its sway would tell him where to go.”
Jen smiled. “My goodness, Fahimah, you’re full of useless trivia.”
“I had a thing for a guy in university. He was so into pirates that he makes Peter look like a rank amateur.”
“You have my sympathy.”
With that, they started to comb through the journal, looking for clues that could help them discern the real resting place of Lucifer’s treasure. They were so engrossed that neither heard the front doorbell ring.
26
Dig site
Ten kilometers north of Weasua
The sound of pick and shovel digging into the soft earth filled the air. Hundreds of Liberian civilians, regardless of age or sex, had been rounded up at gunpoint and forced to dig. Guarded by dozens of rogue soldiers, several large pits had been dug into the ground in the area where the satellite photo had shown a rectangular fort buried beneath centuries of dirt.
Bright lights powered by noisy, smoke-belching generators turned the night into day. Braxton Gray walked along an open pit and looked down at the people toiling away. His confidence in Lieutenant Colonel Taylor was fading fast. The man’s control over his men was far from absolute. Several of his officers and at least a quarter of his men had broken ranks and refused to pressgang the local population. They now worked side by side with the people forced to look for Lucifer’s missing diamonds.
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