Crown of Serpents

by Michael Karpovage

  Jake turned into the vacant driveway and parked at the rear. Even though the SUV was concealed from the main road it sat under a spotlight shining down from the roof.

  Grabbing the September 12 journal excerpt, he read down to the keg inventory for one last reminder of what they were going after. “Plunder in keg is inventoried as: Butler’s 200 Guineas and a bear claw necklace taken from the spy; location of sunken cannon near Catherine’s Town; Swetland’s silver broach, cipher directions to his cave and case containing his cave map drawing; 3 silver rings, 7 pipes, 5 knives, 2 wampum belts from Savages; a British Ranger Officer’s corset, compass and gold match case.”

  “I just hope it’s all there,” said Joe, exiting the vehicle.

  Jake placed the paper back in the folder and left the packet on Joe’s seat. He too exited the vehicle and proceeded around to the rear, where Joe already had the back hatch open and equipment duffel bags unzipped.

  South end of Conesus Lake.

  “Mr. Nero, he’s stopped about a half mile away in the vicinity of the old Indian village,” said Rousseau, over his headset. “Off East Lake Road. I think this is it. He may be heading out on foot now. How do we proceed?”

  “Where are you now? Can he see you?” asked Nero, on the other end of the cell phone connection.

  “Negative. We are blacked out. Parked at a gravel pit. We cannot be seen from the main road.”

  “Good. Keep Kay with the Hummer there. I want you and Jasper to approach his location on foot. See if he’s there. If so, let him conduct his business. He’ll do our dirty work for us. He should be trying to dig something up in the area. But when he gets back you’re going to ambush him.”

  “My pleasure,” Rousseau said, his lip turned up.

  “Confiscate whatever he digs up,” ordered Nero. “It should be a small wooden keg loaded with Revolutionary War loot. I want everything that’s in it but make sure you get three items in particular — a small fragment of paper with a code on it, a wooden cylindrical case with a map drawing inside, and a silver broach with an engraving of a deer on it. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” Rousseau replied, nodding his head. “Then what do you want me to do with him?”

  “The business deal will be concluded. Terminate the subject. Make it hurt. And don’t forget to take the locator off his truck. Search it for anything of value too. Leave the body in the truck. Then burn it.”

  “Yes sir.” Rousseau smiled.

  “Report back to me when you’ve accomplished the mission.” The phone connection ended.

  22

  Former site of Kanaghsaws.

  “DO WE REALLY need these weapons and the radios?” asked Joe, pulling on his gloves. “The boulders aren’t but a hundred yards away. Just back at the base of that ridge.” He pointed, but the ridge had already faded into darkness.

  “Somalia 1993. Rangers,” answered Jake. He clipped a two-way Motorola radio onto his belt. “Was supposed to be an easy daytime raid to grab some prisoners. The Rangers decided to go in light. They got complacent with using their proper equipment. They left behind their night vision gear, extra ammo, and extra water.” He pulled on his head cover. “Little did they know they would be engaged in one of the deadliest urban battles since Nam. It didn’t end until the 10th rescued them the next morning. We go in prepared no matter how inconvenient or how short the mission may be.”

  “Lesson learned, Major. Go to channel three,” sighed Joe.

  “Roger Big Bear. Get your earpiece in too. Make sure that your microphone is clipped on your collar. You need any help?”

  “No, I got it,” Joe struggled with wire around his large belly.

  “Good. Is your radio on vibration ring?”

  “Yep, good to go. I’m all set. All loaded up. Freakin’ cold out here.”

  “Keep your focus on the mission,” Jake directed. “Got your shotgun loaded?”

  “Yeppers. Deer slugs. On safety too, Major.”

  “Okay, let’s do this thing,” commanded Jake.

  His uncle gave him a nod. Jake then shut the rear hatch of his SUV and led the way back behind the barn. Three horses inside snorted as they passed by. Slung on a 3-point harness across his chest was his black matte Colt M4 semi-automatic assault rifle mounted with a powerful Generation Five 4x14 night vision scope. He had kept it at Joe’s house when visiting where he would often go out for target practice on the wide-open reservation. Jake’s M4 had a shorter 11” barrel on a rail interface system with an expandable polymer stock — a true close quarters killing tool. Twenty eight rounds of .223 caliber Hordany plastic tip bullets were loaded in the magazine, with one round now in the chamber. Another three spare magazines were hidden in his pants’ pockets. Over his shoulder, rested a speared edge shovel on top of an empty backpack. He wore, as Joe did, a one-piece, close-fitting, dark Goretex coverall suit to protect against the elements. Around his waist, a web belt held his flashlight, multi-purpose tool, and his two-way radio. An earpiece and microphone clipped at his collar led down to the radio. Covering his head and face, except for the eyes, he wore a black balaclava — the bottom tucked under his collar.

  “You’re one scary SOB, Jake,” quipped his uncle.

  Jake waved his hand forward. “After you Big Bear. Show me them boulders.”

  Joe led on. Slowly. Even though the terrain was flat and grassy, his large body was weighed down with a metal detector and a Remington 870 pump action shotgun mounted with a Tasco 2x15 scope. Every so often he sent a flashlight beam of light ahead to keep his bearings. Behind him Jake panned his eyes back and forth.

  “Use the flashlight as little as possible,” ordered Jake, as he almost stepped on his uncle’s heels.

  Joe walked along the wooden fencing that enclosed the horse pasture. Several barrels and hay bales obstructed their path. About seventy yards back they ducked underneath another line of fencing and entered the equestrian exercise area. Joe’s large frame and the extra weight caused him to nearly topple over after the barrel of his shotgun caught on a fence beam. Another twenty-five yards of bypassing several jumping stations and they arrived at the rear of the property. It backed up to a tree-filled ridge, which bisected the parallel running creeks.

  Joe stopped. He pointed down at three boulders. “And here we are,” he whispered.

  Jake shot a quick blast of flashlight to illuminate three knee-high, moss-covered rocks aligned south, east, and west. He noted that the arrangement was consistent with the way a Mason’s Lodge was laid out inside. Clever of Boyd and McTavish, he thought. Between the three rocks was a grassy circular area five feet in diameter. The light beam went out. “Get that metal detector sweeping and I’ll pull perimeter security.”

  “Yep,” acknowledged Joe. He rested his shotgun against a boulder. He pulled his detector’s headphones from a pocket and placed them over his head and ears. After attaching the cord to the handle of the device, he powered it on and started sweeping.

  Jake busily scanned through his night vision riflescope. Several times, a car would pass at the main road sending a quick green streak across his black and green field of vision. He detected movement behind him up the wooded slope — a rabbit. Back near the farmhouse, all looked quiet. He couldn’t see well due to the spotlight illuminating the rear parking area. The white light burned like the sun inside his scope.

  The barn, to the right, was another matter. The three horses generated a large heat signature. They could plainly be seen through a side window. They were agitated, knowing intruders had trod on their turf.

  Within minutes, Joe hit pay dirt as a loud beep screeched in his ears. He lowered his headphones and whispered, “Jake, I’ve got something!”

  “Okay,” acknowledged Jake. “I’ll start digging. You keep on the look out.” Jake unslung his rifle and set it on the ground next to him. He grabbed his shovel and slammed it into the soft earth, scooping out his first load.

  Jake continued digging for several minutes, breaking a sweat under his balacl
ava. He paused to catch his breath and also to make a quick security scan with his rifle. A red fox bounded down to the northern creek’s edge. A truck whistled by up at the main road. The horses still danced in the barn and the main house was lit like a bonfire. And Uncle Joe sat on one of the boulders eating a candy bar. Jake gave a chuckle under his breath and went back to work.

  Three feet down his shovel hit something hard. He pulled out his flashlight, dropped the shovel, and bent down into the hole before flicking the light on. He also pulled out his multi-purpose tool and locked in place a four-inch knife. Joe was already at his side.

  “Whatcha got?”

  “Let’s see,” whispered Jake. “Hold the flashlight inside the hole so no one sees it.” He handed it off, then started scraping around the hard item the shovel had struck. It was a curved metal band attached to rotten wood. Scraping quicker, his heart raced. He scooped out the excess dirt with his free glove. Slowly a circular shape emerged. Sure enough, the metal ring framed the top of a small wooden barrel sealed with a plug. Jake stopped and looked up at Joe with a glimmering smile. Joe smacked his nephew on the back.

  “I don’t believe it.” Jake shook his head as he scooped more dirt out around the barrel.

  “I thought it would be bigger than this,” whispered Joe, as he too helped dig around the edges.

  “Well, it’s a gun powder keg for foot soldiers. They strapped them to horses and mules. They needed to be small to transport. This is about what I figured. Ten inches in diameter and probably about a foot long.”

  A frantic few more minutes of digging and finally they plucked the fragile keg out of the ground. It was heavy. Jake estimated about thirty pounds. No wonder Boyd and McTavish were sick of lugging it around with the rest of their equipment, he thought. He checked the bottom of the keg to see if it was rotted and any of the contents had spilled out. It remained intact. He sat back, the keg on-end between his legs. Joe moved the light beam on it as Jake brushed away more dirt. The rotted barrel was bursting at the seams. If not for the two rusted metal end caps and thick metal belt holding the middle together, the keg would have long since lost its structural integrity. Jake fingered the plug on top and searched for a way to open it. Simply prying it off would probably work, he thought. But as he reached for his multi-purpose tool a loud neigh arose from the horse barn.

  “Kill the light,” forcefully whispered Jake. Joe fumbled with the switch and the flashlight beam died. Darkness again enveloped the pair. Jake immediately sprung to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and scanned the barn area through his riflescope. The horses snorted louder, echoing their displeasure across the pasture. He could clearly see one of them through the window, bobbing its head up and down. Then, for an instant, he thought there was a flash of bright green near the house, back behind his Tahoe. He wasn’t positive though, because the damn spotlight hindered his vision. “Joe, do not move,” he ordered in a whisper. “Stay still. I thought I saw something.”

  “Them horses are spooked,” replied Joe. “The path to Atotarho’s crown has been unearthed. They can sense it.”

  “What?” Jake took his eye off the scope and looked back at his uncle for just a split second. The distraction caused him to miss a bright green-silhouetted figure run from the barn and disappear behind the house.

  “The evil has awakened.”

  “Stop talking, dammit!” demanded Jake, looking back through his scope. The miserable conditions hampered his view. He held his position for a full two minutes until he was satisfied nothing was there. Maybe Joe was right. He placed the rifle back on the ground.

  “Let’s get the keg inside the backpack in case it breaks open,” ordered Jake.

  Joe held the backpack open. Jake gingerly lifted and set the keg inside, still on its end. Joe switched the flashlight on, inside the backpack. Back on his knees, Jake used his multi-purpose tool and started prying at the plug with a knife. With a crunch, a piece broke off and fell into the backpack. A few more chips and the plug disintegrated.

  Both men peered inside.

  Same time. Same place.

  “Jasper, you move again I’ll skull cap you myself. You understand?” whispered Rousseau to his young minion. His binoculars were up to his eyes as he tried to pinpoint the flash of light he had just spotted at the back of the horse fields.

  Nothing. The snow flurries marred his vision. His ears were freezing because of the biting cold wind. They had come unprepared.

  He pulled back from the corner and bent down. “You blow our cover and we’re going to have more than this Tununda guy to deal with. Look what happened to Kantiio.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” apologized Mr. Jasper. “I didn’t know there were horses in that barn.” Breathing heavily, he sat at Rousseau’s feet, at the side of the house. “I need a smoke. Those horses scared the shit out of me.”

  “When he comes back I’ll confront him first,” stated Rousseau. “I want you to circle around the front of the house and sneak up on him from the rear in case he bolts. If he runs, we take him out then and there. Otherwise, I want to make sure he’s got the buried shit Nero is looking for. Then I’m going to beat the fucker to death.”

  Jasper lit up a cigarette and offered one to Rousseau. Rousseau gladly accepted. After all, he had been hooked on nicotine since he was twelve years old. Exhaling and shivering in the cold, they waited for their prey to return to its nest.

  Same time.

  Headlights from a vehicle swept across the field as it pulled a U-turn in front of the house. Jake looked up toward the main road. He noticed the car had a silhouette of a police patrol as it pulled off the shoulder of the road. He grabbed Joe’s flashlight and clicked it off. “Get behind the rocks and lay flat!” Jake ordered.

  Suddenly, a large spotlight appeared from the patrol car. The white beam hit the house and barn then swept across the fenced-in pasture coming toward Jake and Joe.

  Both men pressed their faces to the ground just as the spotlight moved over them. It crossed the entire field. Then it turned off. The police car’s emergency red lights then turned on and it sped off north. The two men watched the revolving lights as they climbed Henderson Hill Road and disappeared.

  “Do you think he saw our truck?” asked Joe, standing up with a huff.

  “Don’t think so. I parked well behind the house. But they’re on patrol. They’re anticipating something happening out this way. We’ve got to blow out of here now. That was too close a call.”

  “Where do you think he went?”

  “Maybe got another call, the way he hauled ass out of here,” replied Jake, as he grabbed the shovel. “Come on, help me fill in this hole.”

  “What about the keg?”

  Jake bent over and stuck his hand inside the keg. He fumbled around then pulled it back out. Whispering for his uncle to come closer, he told him to get down low. Turning on his flashlight, Jake opened his palm to reveal a single shining British gold Guinea coin displaying the royal crowned shield. Flipping it over revealed the side profile of a chubby King George III along with the wording: GEORGIVS III DEI GRATIA.

  Joe smiled. Jake placed the coin back inside the keg and zipped up the backpack. He killed the light. “We wait until we get to a safe spot, then we check the contents.” He stood and shoveled dirt back into the hole. Joe remained on his knees and scooped with his hands.

  After replacing the patches of grass on top of the filled hole, they grabbed their equipment and headed back to the truck. Jake took the lead — backpack with keg, rifle across his chest, and shovel in hand. As he neared the fenced-in pasture, he gave a quick night vision scan. Illuminated ahead near the base of the ridge and creek, about fifty yards away, were two grazing deer. Their bright green silhouettes clearly stood out as sources of heat against the cold dark shapes of trees and black ridge beyond. Both were doe, one head down and eating, the other looking his way with bright white eyes. He turned back and checked on his uncle.

  Joe lagged behind, weighed down with
the metal detector and his shotgun. He was clearly winded after the labor of filing in the hole and being so out of shape. Jake turned and marched on, smiling. He picked up his pace, then keyed his microphone to speak into the two-way radio. “Come on soldier, pick up the damn pace,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Screw you Major,” Joe radioed back. His breathing was heavy. “The most exercise I get is moving on and off that stool back at the shop.”

  Jake grinned. “You know, an ass is a terrible thing to waste.” He glanced back as he increased the distance between them.

  “If I wanted to hear from one I would have farted myself,” said Joe, through slight static. “I’ll meet you back at the truck. Make sure you heat it up too. I gotta take a quick break. Catch my breath.”

  “Well, hurry up twinkle toes. I want out of here ASAP.” A minute later Jake entered the circle of bright light at the rear of the house. As he approached his SUV, he smelled something peculiar. He couldn’t place the aroma at first but then instantly realized it was cigarette smoke. Dropping the shovel and backpack, he lifted his rifle.

  Too late.

  A hard piece of metal cracked him on the back of his head. He saw stars. Shooting pain bounced inside of his brain.

  “Take that muthafucka!” said a male voice.

  Jake crumbled to the gravel driveway — face up. He lay just underneath the rear bumper of his truck. He blinked several times, barely conscious. The pain sliced through him like a nail had been driven through his skull. Strange, he thought, a blurry red light blinked above him. He frowned.

  “Get his rifle,” ordered a second male voice.

  The voice sounded somewhat familiar to Jake.

  “I’m on it,” said the first man.

  Jake’s vision faded in and out. The red light confused him even more. He wasn’t sure where he was. He heard footsteps crunch up near his head and the metal scrape of his rifle being unsnapped from his 3-point chest harness.

  “Now, let’s see what’s inside of his backpack here,” said the familiar voice.