by Hep Aldridge
I said to no one in particular, "We need to re-cover him before we go." I reached down to move the detector that had dropped next to me while the bags were being filled with air and noticed the LCD display was going crazy. Going full bars then nothing, full bars then nothing. I picked it up, and it continued doing the same thing. A malfunction I guessed and shut it off and turned it back on as I moved further away while the body was being re-covered. The display resumed normal operation, and when I got it close to the gold in the bags, it deflected as it should. I swung the detector back around to the area where I had been kneeling in the sand, and the display went crazy again. What the hell, I thought as I moved the detector over the bottom and the signal stopped and started again. That’s when I noticed the deflection was occurring whenever I passed it over the area where the skeleton’s outstretched right arm disappeared into the sand. I said, “Guys, look at this.” They stopped covering the skeleton and came to look.
“That’s weird,” Joe said. “That detector has been working fine all day. What the hell could cause that kind of reaction?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but whatever it is, it’s right in this area,” pointing to the bottom where the half-buried arm and hand of our skeleton would be. Dimitri got the lift turned on and began vacuuming the sand away. Everything below the elbow was still covered with sand, so he began a sweeping motion clearing the sand from the bones of the forearm. At two feet deep the bones of the hand came into view and, as the fingers were uncovered, we saw that they had a loop of black rope or line in their grasp and on the index finger of the hand was a large gold signet ring. This was no ordinary seaman we had found, not wearing that golden crucifix and a ring like that!
It was then that Tony said, “I just went on reserve." He was using scuba gear on this dive. Wild Bill followed up with, “I’ve got about 100 psi before I hit it too.” Joe, Dimitri, and I had the re-breathers on, so we didn’t have any air issues. I sent the two scuba guys up with the lift bags, telling them we would follow in a few more minutes. As they rose to the surface, we continued clearing sand around the hand and looped rope, uncovering part of one side of a chest that had the rope attached as its handle. I took the detector and held it close to the blackened wood, and it went nuts again; when I moved it away, it was fine.
Joe said, “What the hell?”
“I don’t know, but whatever is in this box is having a screwy effect on the detector.” Dimitri had shut off the lift, and the slight current was helping clear the water. We knelt there, looking at the hand and the side of the box.
“Well?” Dimitri said.
“Yeah,” Joe replied, “What now?”
After a moment’s hesitation, I replied, “Doesn’t make sense to leave it here; I say we dig it out.”
“Hell, yeah,” Joe replied.
Doc had gotten an update when the divers reached the surface and had been following our conversation over the Coms. His voice broke in, “All right, guys, what have you got going on down there? I’m jumping out of my skin up here.”
We all three chuckled. I gave Doc the details of our find and told him we needed the two foxhole shovels from the storage locker on the boat. “Roger that,” he said.
Within five minutes, I saw a diver heading down from the surface; it was Wild Bill, and he was making a free dive to us with the shovels. He handed them off, we gave a thumbs up, and he took a quick look at what we had found. I saw his eyes widen through the glass in his face mask as he took in the scene. With a grin and big okay signal, he headed for the surface, exhaling as he went. Those Navy divers, with just a couple of good breaths of air at the surface, could free dive to depths of 60, 70 feet easily, hang out for a bit, and then return to the surface.
With shovels in hand, Joe and I unscrewed the locking ring at the top and flipped the shovel blades 90 degrees to the handle, making them perfect trenching tools. Carefully using them like a pick, we would dig in the sand and then pull it away from the box. Dimitri had turned on the lift again and, as we stirred up loose sand, he would suck it out of the hole we were creating around the box.
Once we got one side fully cleared, I stopped digging to inspect it more closely. It was black and covered in a substance that looked like tar. Over time, it had hardened, and I guessed it was pitch, used on boats for centuries as caulking and waterproofing. I realized my breathing had increased and my heart was pounding. We had found a crate or box that had been sealed and waterproofed in 1715 to protect something inside. If the waterproofing had done its job, whatever it contained might still be in as good a shape as the day it was placed there 300 years ago.
I resumed digging with renewed enthusiasm and within 15 minutes we had uncovered the entire box. It was about the same size as the crates that had contained the gold bars, maybe slightly larger. I reached down and removed the rope handle from the skeletal hand. I told Joe to get his hands underneath his side of the crate, and we would try to slide it as far as we could away from the skeleton.
Expecting the weight of the previous crates, around 500 pounds, we were surprised when we could not only slide it but pick it up and move it. Once out of its hole, we examined the entire surface of the container and could see no cracks or disturbed sections of the pitch covering. It looked as if the seal was still intact. Dimitri had shut off the lift again and was observing the box when two more divers arrived. It was Wild Bill and Tony; they had gotten new tanks and had Come back down to help. I put them to work finishing covering the sailor’s remains with sand as Dimitri and Joe placed the black box into the net bag of the third lifting device. I filled the hole the box had Come out of and was covering the extended appendage when I saw the ring again.
Carefully, I reached down and removed it from its skeletal resting place and put it in my vest pocket. Taking the ring that might help us identify this person differed completely from taking his crucifix, I rationalized, as I continued helping cover the remains. When we finished, I surveyed the area and was satisfied. Not only had we covered our excavation tracks, but we had covered the remains of this unknown individual in his original resting place.
As we paused, Wild Bill asked over the Coms if we should say something over the remains. I had no idea what to say and since no one else responded, I guessed they didn’t either.
So, I said, “Bill, what do you suggest?”
Bill was kneeling in front of the burial site and bowed his head.
After a couple of minutes, I heard “Lord, we commit this body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead and the life of the world to Come, through our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Through the Coms, I heard the amens, even Doc’s from topside and so added my own.
With our impromptu ceremony completed, we gathered our gear and our mystery box and slowly made our way to the surface.
On the way up, I said “Thanks, Bill, well spoken."
He replied, “Thank you, Sir. It wasn’t much, but I just thought, from one sailor to another, we needed to do something for him."
"You were right, Chief; I’m sure it was appreciated."
I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Yes, Sir."
We got the equipment on board the Falcon and then all worked to hoist the black box on board. It was the center of attention as soon as it hit the deck. Those of us who were helping from the water clambered out, tossed off our gear, and went to get a better look at the mysterious box.
Doc was kneeling next to it when I got there, and I said, “Well, what do you think?"
His reply was no help. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s lighter than the other crates and was sealed in a way to be watertight.”
“Agreed,” I said, “But why?"
“That we won’t know, dear Colt, until we open it and examine the contents.”
Most everyone was eager to do just that, but Doc said, “I recommend we not touch it until we get it in some kind of a conserva
tion laboratory environment.”
Dimitri said, “But we don’t have anything like that at the Lair!"
We cringed at the name but agreed and simultaneously, four of us said “Fitz!"
Doc said, “I think that's a wise choice; I’m sure he has a facility that would meet our needs. We need to contact him immediately.”
“Tony…” I said.
“On it, Boss,” he said as he headed for the wheel-house and our communications center.
Doc said, "Let’s get a cover over it and get it on the Lisa B for transport." After moving all the ingots and the black box over, we gathered around the table for our informal debrief. The guys who had stayed on board were all ears and wide-eyed as we told of the skeleton and the other discoveries.
When we had finished, Gus said, “Son of a bitch. This is the shit they make movies out of.”
“Yeah,” Smitty concurred, “movies!"
"Maybe so," I said "but right now we have one hell of a mystery on our hands and I, for one, can’t wait to get some answers." I reached in my pocket and pulled out the signet ring I had taken from the skeleton and passed it to Doc. It was gold, large, and encrusted with I’m guessing precious stones around the center crest, “Another research project for you, Doc."
“You find this down there?” he asked.
“I took it off a finger of the hand that was holding the black crate."
“Oh, I see,” he said, eyeing it closely.
“I was hoping you could research the crest and maybe it would give us a clue to who that guy was."
“Maybe so; maybe so,” he said, still eyeing the ring intently.
It was getting late in the afternoon, so we decided to take the B and head in. I asked Gus and the guys to spend one more night out there just to help maintain our cover. I told them we would meet with them as soon as we got word from Fitz as to what our next move would be with the crate. Gus said no problem they would do some fishing and head back in tomorrow afternoon and wait at his slip for our call.
“Sounds good,” I said as we cast off the lines that had held us rafted together the last two days. They manned boat hooks, and we pushed ourselves away from the Falcon as Dimitri fired up the diesel. After the initial belching of black smoke settled, we made a wide turn and headed west-southwest toward the mouth of the port at a sedate six knots. No time to draw any attention to our activities, I thought. The seas were calm, just a moderate chop with a nice breeze at our backs. Doc walked up to me in the wheelhouse as the rest of the guys opened beverages and sat around on the rear deck.
“I’ve got an interesting fact for you.”
"What's that?" I asked.
"Something I bet you haven’t thought about."
“Go on.”
“You realize we have found ALL ten crates,” he said with a huge grin.
“No shit!” I exclaimed. I hadn’t thought about it; I was so wrapped up in our discoveries, I hadn’t bothered to count.
“Yep,” he said, “not bad for a bunch of amateurs!”
Now, I was grinning from ear to ear, “Not bad at all, Doc!”
We followed our usual procedure, and this time we eased up to the dock behind Tony’s house instead of our slip at the port. We cleaned all our gear and stowed it, waiting for the sun to go down before removing the gold bars from below decks. Once again, we stuffed them in dive bags, coolers, and other mundane carrying devices. By the time we had everything loaded into the CES van, it was getting dark. Time for one cold celebratory beer and a little conversation before it turned dark enough to load the black crate onto our dock cart and roll it out to the van.
We agreed to meet the next day, said our respective good-byes, and Dimitri, Joe, Doc, and I headed for the Lair. When we arrived, we pulled the van into the loading bay, and when the door was closed and all security systems reset, we began unloading. As we stacked the new load of gold bars in the vault, I surveyed the scene and thought, man, this looks like freaking Fort Knox! We had five stacks of gold bars about two and a half feet high and a shelf full of bundles of 100-dollar bills. We set the crate on the metal table inside the vault and gave it a once over under the overhead lights. There was still no sign of a seam or break in the pitch coating anywhere. What the hell was in that thing, I thought. The crate weighed a few hundred pounds, not as much as the gold crates, but not light either.
Joe said to the group what I had been thinking, “What do you think is inside?"
Dimitri shook his head and said, “I don’t know, but it must be important for them to take this much trouble to protect it from the elements… and the way that guy had a grip on it… even after he was dead, that’s pretty freaky!”
“I know,” I said. “Hopefully, we’ll get some answers tomorrow when we get it to Fitz’s place and get it opened.” We turned off the light, closed and locked the vault door, and headed for our vehicles.
Chapter Fifteen
The ringing phone pulled me out of a deep sleep at 6:30 the next morning. “Colt,” the voice said.
“Yeah, Fitz,” I mumbled, “who did you expect at this number, the friggin’ Easter Bunny?” I’m very grumpy when I’m jarred awake by loud noises. “Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” he replied. “Got your message yesterday and wanted you to know I’m flying in; be there by 7:30.”
“Great,” I said. “Start the coffee if you get there before me,” and I hung up on him. Like I said, grumpy. I got up and hit the shower. Luckily for me, the Lair was only ten minutes from my place. I made it there by 7:15; the chopper had landed out back, and when I got inside, Fitz had put the coffee on! Thank goodness for small miracles. Doc, Dimitri, and Nils were there, and Joe came rolling in on his BMW GS1100 five minutes later, with donuts! Ah, it was a miracle!
Everybody was in the conference room when I joined them and as always Fitz got straight to the point. “Okay, so fill me in,” he said. “What’s this about a skeleton and a black box?” I hadn’t even finished pouring my cup of the rich Columbian coffee, whose magnificent aroma filled the conference room.
“Just a minute,” I said, “I’m not talking to anyone until I get at least one swallow of caffeine.”
He laughed and said, “Grumpy bear. Slide the donuts this way, sit your ass down, and let’s hear this story. Oh, congratulations, now get on with it.”
I smiled as I pulled out a chair grabbed a jelly donut and took a large sip of coffee.
Things were getting better. "Okay,” I said. Thirty minutes later and numerous questions, and Fitz was up to speed, including the incident with the Dizzy D.
He let out a low whistle and said, “My, my, you boys have been busy. So, you want a clean room to open this mysterious box in.”
“Yes” I replied. “Since we have no idea what’s in it, I want to make sure whatever it is doesn’t get contaminated by the environment, or we get contaminated by it. Also, we may need to implement preservation protocols for what’s inside. It has remained sealed, as far as we can tell, since 1715, and we may need some of your high-tech toys, depending on what we find inside.”
He got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and over his shoulder said, “I’ve got just what you need. I’ll alert my people, and we can fly it out when you’re ready.”
“Great,” I said.
“I’m guessing,” he said, “that you will want to make another conversion while we’re at it.”
“That would be nice,” I replied between sips of coffee.
“I’ve got room for four of you, the crate, and “other” cargo. Colt, you can sit co-pilot this time.”
“No problem, just as long as I don’t have to fly that thing.”
Shaking his head, he said, “How much do you want to convert, and FYI the two million limit has been lifted for you guys, so what’s your pleasure?”
I looked around the table at those there and said, “A crate?”
“Sure, why not?” Dimitri replied. I got nods from Joe and Doc.
“That will be around
11 mill, Fitz,” I said.
He said fine and didn’t blink an eye. “It's like I told you,” he said “you have made some powerful new friends, and they're ready and willing to help.” This was still unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable, I thought. "So, the crate weighs approximately 500 pounds and the other one?"
“Around 200,” I answered.
He thought for a moment and then said, “We should still be okay, close but okay. Now, where's this mysterious black box of yours?”
We headed to the vault and rolled out our crate of gold and then the black crate/box. He looked it over, mumbled to himself, then said "Okay, let’s get it loaded and get to my lab." Thirty minutes later, we were walking across the tarmac to the main building at Acme Corp. with techs rolling both crates under cover behind us and four armed men flanking us. Tony and Junkyard arrived by car 20 minutes later.
We had taken the elevator to the secure lab and were watching as two techs were setting the black crate on a table in Fitz’s clean room. He laid out a plan for our approval: first, scan the box to get an idea of what was inside. Next drill a small hole with a device that was an airtight system and take an interior air sample. No sense in letting any 300-year-old bugs or bacteria, out and third, insert a fiber optic camera to view the interior. Only the two techs would be in the room; we would monitor everything through a large safety glass window and Computer screens from the next room. I agreed that his plan and precautions were fine and gave the go-ahead to proceed. The techs were meticulous in their work and soon had the scanning machine moving over the box.
We watched on our monitors as the interior image appeared. There appeared to be blocks or ingots on the bottom, what looked like an open space and then two pouches and some kind of a packet on top of the empty space above the ingots. That was weird. How could the packet and pouches be floating in space six or seven inches above the layer of ingots? We then saw images from a side view with the same weirdness, packet and pouches sitting about six or seven inches above the ingots with nothing in between. I looked at Fitz as he looked at me, “Hell if I know,” he said as if reading my mind. He punched a button and activated the intercom. "Is the equipment functioning properly?” Fitz asked.