Or perhaps Bongani’s memory wasn’t what it once was, and they were nowhere near the right spot.
Laura squealed. “I have something!” She held her phone out over the hole, taking a photo, the flash illuminating the depths briefly in the sinking late afternoon sunlight. She checked the photo and grinned, handing it to her husband.
Acton joined in on the grinning. “Definitely something.” He passed the phone to Gorman. “What do you think that is?”
Gorman pursed his lips, showing the phone to his wife. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s a human jawbone.”
28
Swart Farm
Outside Belfast, South African Republic
May 4th, 1900
A whiney and gentle toss of the head had Alexander waking her. Mitzi sat up in her saddle, stretching, her foggy brain taking a moment to reorient, not entirely sure where she was or why she was there.
Then she remembered, a surge of adrenaline jolting her wide-awake. She looked about and breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the family farm ahead. She urged Alexander on and was soon at the veranda, tying him to the post. She gently patted the side of his face. “Good boy.” She gave him a hug and a kiss then stepped inside the house to find everyone sitting at the kitchen table.
Everyone except her father.
Her mother leaped to her feet, rushing toward her, arms extended. “Oh, thank the Lord! I had thought the worst!” She hugged her, hard, then pushed her toward her usual chair, grabbing bread and butter from the counter and shoving it in front of her, followed by a pitcher of milk. “What happened?”
Mitzi hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she caught sight of the food. She attacked it, her younger sisters giggling. She covered her mouth, deciding she better answer her mother. “I handed them over to British soldiers about twenty miles from here.”
Her mother’s jaw dropped. “You did what!”
Mitzi shrugged, fighting the urge to resume shaking, the recollection of her deeds of last night also bringing back the fears. “It seemed the thing to do.”
Her mother rounded the table and hugged her hard. “Oh, my brave, brave girl.” She stepped back. “And my stupid girl! Didn’t they question you? Ask you who you were?”
Mitzi swallowed. “They seemed more interested in my bodice than my pedigree.”
Her mother smiled, patting her on the shoulder, surveying her girls. “Good thing I didn’t have boys, then.”
Mitzi downed her glass of milk, her mother pouring another. “Did you bury the soldiers?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s father?”
“He’s moving the gold.”
Mitzi paused. “To where?”
“He didn’t say.” Her mother sat down. “He said it’s best we don’t know.”
“But what if Pretoria comes looking for it?”
“Then he’ll tell them where it is.”
“And if the British kill us first? What will our troops find in the hole?”
Her mother patted her hand. “Dead British soldiers, and, according to your father, a clue only a local could understand.”
29
Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea
Present Day
Dawson frowned as he fired off another text message to Maggie, his third with no response. He was concerned. It was now morning in Bragg and she had said she was staying in for the night, it not like her to go out on the town without letting him know, and unheard of since the incident in Paris.
Maybe she just fell asleep early.
It wouldn’t be the first time, and normally he wouldn’t worry too much about it, though he had a feeling she was hiding something from him. He wasn’t a fool. He had noticed her massaging her hand over the past couple of days, and she had dropped a couple of things besides the glass yesterday, something completely out of character for her.
And he knew something was bothering her, able to read her better than she realized, though he hadn’t pressed her, she probably not wanting to worry him.
That meant it was serious.
It has to be the head wound.
The doctors had said it could take years to fully recover, and they weren’t sure if there would be any permanent complications, though so far she had been remarkably lucky, so much so, that now with her hair having grown back enough, it was easy to forget how close to death she had come in Paris. He pursed his lips.
“What’s wrong?”
He glanced over at Niner, sitting across from him. “I can’t reach Maggie.”
Niner checked his watch. “Probably still asleep.”
“Probably.” He debated asking the question for a moment, then went ahead. After all, these were his brothers. There were no secrets between them, not with what they had been through. “Have you noticed anything with her lately?”
Niner gave him a look. “Dude, you’re talking to the wrong guy. You mean, is she cheating on you?”
Dawson cocked an eye at him.
Niner waved off the question. “Sorry, you’re right, who would ever cheat on the ultimate male.”
“That’s better.”
Niner wiped a finger across his forehead, wicking away the imaginary sweat.
“No, I meant healthwise.”
Niner shrugged, serious again. “Well, nothing outside of the usual.”
Dawson’s eyes narrowed, concerned. “What do you mean?”
Niner leaned forward, his voice gentle. “Well, BD, she’s clearly got some sort of mental handicap to be engaged to a guy like you, but other than that, she seems completely normal.”
Dawson chuckled, feigning a punch.
Niner frowned slightly as he regarded his friend. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Dawson nodded.
“Well, I’m the wrong guy to ask. I’ve been a little distracted myself, you know.”
Dawson thought of the young Korean police officer that had worked with them recently, and how devastated Niner had been upon her death. “You good for the mission?”
“Yeah, I’ve made my peace.” He leaned back in his seat. “Christ, I barely knew her, but still, well, you know.”
Dawson definitely knew. “Yeah, I do.” He smiled at his friend. “How about we kill some bad guys?”
Niner grinned. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! I always feel better after we do that.” He nodded at Dawson’s cellphone, still gripped in his hand. “Why don’t you have Red check on her if you’re so concerned? Maybe Shirley can drop in on her?”
Dawson smiled, his head bobbing. “Good idea.” He fired a text to his best friend, feeling a lot better.
30
Erasmus Farm
Outside Belfast, South Africa
Acton’s expert eyes surveyed their dig, it the most excitement had on their vacation so far. Some might have said it was no longer a vacation, yet it was, this the most enjoyable thing he could think of doing—discovering history, solving a century-old puzzle, with the woman he loved at his side, and friends to share it with.
This vacation was to escape the bullets, bombs, terrorists, and cults.
It was perfect.
At this point, it wasn’t clear how deep the graves had been originally, though after a century of nature taking its course, they were now about four feet below the surface. Six bodies lay piled atop each other, intermixed with remnants of British uniforms, period specific weapons and gear buried with them.
Laura stretched. “This was no formal burial.”
Gorman agreed, the man having forgotten his earlier complaints of being too old to dig, now on his hands and knees with the rest of them. “It looks like they were hiding the bodies.” He glanced up at Acton. “Didn’t he say his grandmother talked of burying British soldiers?”
Acton nodded. “It would seem she was right.” He smiled. “And that means the gold could have been buried here.” He frowned, searching the hole. “But I don’t see it, so maybe she was right about that too and they moved it.�
��
Angeline held something up in the air. “You mean this gold?”
All lights pointed toward her hand, a dirt-covered object, about the size and shape of Bongani’s gold coin, held triumphantly for all to see. Her husband took the coin, giving her a kiss. “Have you been holding out on us?”
“No, evidently just showing you so-called archaeologists how it’s done.”
Laura laughed, climbing over to Angeline’s side of the hole, pointing a flashlight at the ground, revealing several coins. “Looks like a small bundle here. Definitely no treasure trove, but...wait a minute, what’s this?”
Everyone gathered closer as she pulled out a brush, removing the dirt from around what turned out to be the remnants of a broken jar, several coins in the bottom half.
“What’s that?” asked Acton, pointing at what appeared to be a piece of cloth, wrapped around a small object.
Laura snapped several photos then carefully lifted it, Acton taking several more with his own phone before helping Laura out of the hole. She placed it on an unfolded piece of cloth Acton kept for such occasions, and carefully unwrapped the tiny bundle. Acton’s eyes narrowed at what was revealed.
“What the hell is that?”
31
Northeast of Belfast, South African Republic
May 4th, 1900
A sudden spasm in his hip sent Swart to the ground, unable to move as he gasped for breath. He closed his eyes, staring out at the evening sun as he fought through the pain, a pain he had felt before.
But it was different this time.
This time, it was his time.
He pulled a flask from his pocket, unscrewing the cap and downing his self-prescribed painkiller, twisting the cap back on before returning it to what might be its final resting place. He looked about at the entrance to the old abandoned mine, wondering if this might be his final resting place. He removed the flask, downing another shot, resting it on his still heaving chest rather than returning it to his pocket. He stared down the shaft, satisfied with the job he had done, closing his eyes for a much-deserved rest.
The gold was safe from the British, his duty to his people complete.
It had taken two carts and four horses, but he had reached the site of the abandoned mine without being seen, then had taken all day to unload the gold and move it inside.
But his family was safe, the gold no longer on their farm.
He just wished there had been time to bury the soldiers somewhere else.
The fields were due to be plowed, and he knew his wife. She was a smart, capable woman, and she would make sure that section of the farm was plowed first, leaving no sign a hole had ever been dug.
There would be no evidence of their crime.
And his family would be safe.
I hope Mitzi made it home.
He frowned. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, though he had known it was coming. He hadn’t been well for months, if not longer. Something was eating away at him inside. He’d been coughing up blood, and had seen more when he went to the bathroom. Something was wrong, the pain now nearly constant, his appetite gone. Sores had begun to appear all over his body, to the point he hadn’t bedded his wife for months now, lest she see his condition.
I wish I could have said goodbye.
A thought occurred to him and he reached into his pocket, retrieving a piece of paper and the fountain pen he had brought to leave a note with the treasure should it be found, thanking the good Lord he had been taught to read and write when he was a youngster. His pen hovered over the paper as he contemplated what to write.
What do you say to the woman you love, when you know she’ll probably never get a chance to read it?
32
Erasmus Farm
Outside Belfast, South Africa
Present Day
“Looks like coal.”
Acton agreed with Gorman’s assessment. “But why would they wrap that?”
Laura rolled it gently in her hand, searching for anything that might give them a clue as to why someone had thought it special enough to preserve with a set of gold coins. His eyes popped wide open, as did hers.
“It’s a clue!” they both cried simultaneously.
Gorman stared at them doubtfully. “You mean a clue as to where the actual gold is?”
Acton shrugged. “What else could it be?”
“It’s a rock!”
Acton smiled, his friend exhausted and clearly skeptical. “Exactly, so if it’s a clue, then it has to be the type of rock that’s important.”
Laura agreed. “It’s coal, which is obviously fairly common, but it has to have some meaning. Perhaps it’s meant to suggest a location?”
Gorman’s doubts began to turn. “You mean like a mine?”
Laura jabbed the air between them. “Exactly!” She pulled out her phone, her thumbs flying over the screen, then frowned. “There’re coal mines all over the country, though not in this immediate area.”
Acton sat on a tarp, staring off into the distance as he puzzled out their clue. “It would have to have existed back then…” He snapped his fingers. “And be abandoned!”
Laura smiled, her eyes wide. “That’s right, you wouldn’t hide gold in an active mine.”
Gorman’s head bobbed. “That could make it difficult to find. It’s been over a century. There isn’t a person alive today who would have worked it.”
Acton tapped his chin. “True, but whoever left this message knew about the mine, and must have assumed that locals would know about it. It was a secret message to those who would know the area intimately. They were trying to hide the gold from the British, sorry, hon”—he winked at his wife who shrugged—“so the message had to be obscure, otherwise whoever found the bodies and this jar with the coins in it would know immediately where to look. That’s okay if it were Boers, but not Brits.”
Gorman stared at him. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we have to ask a local. Someone who knows the area, intimately.”
“Okay, who? Mr. Erasmus?”
“Perhaps, but he knows why we’re here. Can we trust that he’d tell us the truth?”
Laura nodded. “You’re right. He could say he doesn’t know where the mine is, then as soon as we leave, head over there and take the gold.”
Gorman frowned. “Then who?”
Acton thought for a moment. “It has to be someone who doesn’t know what we’re looking for, and who knows the area like the back of their hand.”
His eyes widened as he realized exactly who they had to ask, everyone turning toward the driveway at the far end of the property, their safari vehicle parked beside the farmer’s pickup truck, Sipho sitting against one of the wheels.
Sometimes the answers just come to you.
33
Swart Farm
Outside Belfast, South African Republic
May 11th, 1900
Mitzi sat on the veranda, one of their cats in her lap, rocking on the chair her father would normally occupy for hours on end in the evening, watching the sun set on the farm. It had been a long week’s work, but the crop had been harvested, the fields plowed, there no evidence left of the secrets they held.
And her father had yet to return.
And she knew, deep down, he never would.
He had rarely left the farm his grandfather had first planted over fifty years ago, so if he were taking the gold to some place he knew would be safe, it would be nearby.
Certainly no more than a day’s ride.
It meant he had been captured, and if so, was likely dead.
She stopped rocking, her cat staring up at her.
Mother said there was a clue only a local would understand.
She fought the urge to rise, to grab a shovel and dig up that clue. To go find where he had hidden the gold and save her father from whatever fate had befallen him.
She sighed, her shoulders drooping as reality set in. It didn’t matter where the gold was. If he had
made it to the hiding place he would have hidden it and left, so going there would serve no purpose. And if he hadn’t made it, he wouldn’t be there regardless.
Tears burned her eyes as she imagined the worst.
They captured him, for certain!
Her shoulders heaved and she leaned forward, her cat leaping from her lap.
Oh father, why?
She stared up at the heavens, a silent prayer on her lips, hoping her father had died quickly and without pain. The cat rubbed against her legs, purring loudly, trying to comfort her, but the gesture went unnoticed as Mitzi continued to sob, her cries rolling over the empty fields her father had once worked, her sorrow wasted on the horrors of war and the tragedy that too often befell those asked to keep secrets greater than they should.
34
Maggie Harris Residence
Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina
Present Day
Shirley Belme knocked again, and again there was no answer. She could have kept knocking harder, but unlike their humble Married Quarters, this was an apartment with neighbors, many of whom were probably trying to sleep in on the weekend. When her husband had received the message from Dawson, she had begun making calls, no one in the network having seen Maggie. Her Facebook status showed her offline, her phone was going straight to voicemail, and her home phone went unanswered.
It was enough to get her in the car with the spare key to Dawson’s place. From there she had retrieved his spare to Maggie’s apartment, a key she now pushed into the lock, opening the door slightly, her heart pounding as she wasn’t sure what she might find.
“Maggie? You home?”
Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 7