Caribbean Gold: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  Kang bowed deeply. Manny grinned broadly.

  “I guess we can be friends after all, Mr. Kang. What will you do now?”

  “First, we find a doctor to get these shotgun pellets out of my rear end, and then I will go home to tell my leaders what happened. How about you? What happens next for you?”

  Manny thought for a minute as they walked.

  “I guess I’ll go back to New York, tell my family what I’ve been doing out here, and why I came. They’ll probably offer me money, but I don’t think I want it anymore. My grandpa earned his, by being smarter than people around him, and doing what he thought was right at the time. I guess that’s what he was trying to teach me too, you know? How to do what feels right, instead of doing what will benefit me the most. There’s more to life than pirate treasure, illegal drugs, weapons dealing and volcanoes, after all.”

  It felt good to laugh. It felt great to be alive, walking away from an erupting volcano, with his new friend, the Chinese spy with no name. Manny felt good, because of everything that had happened. He hoped that if there was an afterlife, that his grandfather knew what he had done here on Montserrat, and that he was proud of him.

  Epilogue

  Manny stood by the ancient mahogany desk and looked out the window. The expansive lawn that stretched down to the now deserted duck pond was covered in a blanket of spotless, white snow. He half smiled to himself and scoffed. The one thing about Montserrat that he had thought he would miss was the balmy weather, but Manny found he couldn’t even fathom missing that. It had been a long week on the volcanic island, he had been to hell and back- he and Kang both- but the lessons he had brought back with him were priceless…the gold and gems were too, of course.

  Yes, they had found the chest. In fact, the most profound epiphany he’d had on that fiery mountain had been when they discovered it lying at the bottom of a huge lava flow that had made its way down to the road after the main eruption.

  The two men had been surprised by the glint of metal in the sunlight as they sat on the side of the road resting and hoping that a vehicle of tourists or the local reservation guards would come along and give them a ride into Salem.

  “What’s that?” Kang had asked, squinting his eyes against the glare.

  He was pointing to the edge of a river of lava that had snaked down the slope closest to them. Manny looked up and shaded his eyes with his hand. He distinctly saw something catching the rays and shimmering in the light.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “It could be one of the guns.”

  “I think you should go see what it is,” Kang had advised him in a weak voice.

  Manny wasn’t very keen on trudging back up the hillside in the heat of the morning. It was only about nine o’ clock but it felt like they were sitting in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Still, he got up and started walking. It was cooler under the shade of the trees in the little forest at the foot of the hills and he made a mental note to break some branches to shade themselves with at the roadside. They had decided not to walk it into town. Someone had to come along sooner or later; after all, there was only one road on this island! Kang had lost too much blood and it was now confirmed that Manny had a broken rib.

  Near the tree line, he came across one of the backpacks Quincy’s men had carried with them during their hike through the tunnels; it was barely damaged. He rummaged through it and couldn’t believe his luck! There were two huge bottles of water, a light blanket, some packages of what could be those army issued M.R.E. meals and a first aid kit. In another pocket, he found an army survival knife which he put in his pocket. Ha! He hung the backpack in a nearby tree and continued toward the shiny object on the ground, all the time asking himself what the point of it was.

  He soon found out, because as Manny approached the object a wave of disbelief washed over him. Was he hallucinating? A mirage; maybe he had finally lost his mind. In front of him, lying inconspicuously in a still soft flow of volcanic ooze, was the same box of tungsten steel that Quincy had forced him to carry over the precarious land bridge in the cave. At the thought of Quincy, Manny looked around nervously, hoping he wouldn’t see any of the man’s remains in the lava as well. Of course, there weren’t any.

  Gingerly, he walked towards the box and stooped beside it. He licked a finger and touched the lock to test how hot it was. It was fairly cool. Instantly, Manny was nervous. He looked around quickly, checking his surroundings for any possible attackers; satisfied that he was alone, he snatched up the chest and ran back to the safety of the tree line.

  Looking back at the events of that day, he still couldn’t believe how he had reacted. It was just more confirmation that the person who came out of that erupting cave wasn’t the same as the one who had been arrested for antagonizing tourists in his mindless search for pirate’s treasure. Many shook his head and smiled again as he continued to look at the peacefully falling snow outside the window.

  The backpack was one of those gigantic army issue ones with the frame that supported its weight against the wearer’s back. Manny zipped open the main compartment and adjusted all the buckles and straps, widening the bag to its full capacity. The box barely fit in it but he managed to get it in and zip it closed. He hoisted it onto his shoulders trying to ignore the intense pain in his chest as he stood up under the bag’s weight. The trek back to the road was easier and at the edge of the woods Manny took the knife from his pocket and deftly cut a long branch from a tree to use as a makeshift umbrella for his friend.

  “What was it?” Kang asked him feebly as Manny laid him on the blanket and propped the tree limb up to shelter him from the sun.

  “It was the chest from the cave,” Manny answered softly, but saying nothing more.

  “What!?” Kang exclaimed, “Did you open it? What’s inside?”

  “I didn’t look” Manny replied as he sat down beside him and started to tear pieces of bandage from a roll he found in the first aid kit. “It’s not important what’s in it, Kang, I’ve already got everything I came here for.”

  “That is profound, Grasshopper,” Kang joked, “but you came here for money; everything else you got is extra.”

  “I know but the money isn’t as important as the things I’ve learned. I realize that now.”

  “Fair enough, Manny, but have you seen the wisdom in this event as yet?”

  “What do you mean?” Manny asked as he dabbed his friend’s wounds with hydrogen peroxide.

  “What are the odds that the box would be pushed out of the volcano, and even if it did, that it would end up practically at your feet?”

  “Slim.”

  “Indeed! Your final lesson here, my friend, is that of patience and providence. It is always when we stop searching for what we think we want that everything we truly need appears in our lives. When we have accepted the things that we need, then the things that we want come right within our grasp and we are free to take them.”

  Manny smiled again and turned from the window just as the study door swung open. Mansfield stepped into the room and held the door open.

  “Mr. J. William Wright, esquire to see you Mr. McMillan,” he announced in his haughtiest voice.

  “Thank you Mansfield. Could you send in coffee, please?”

  “Certainly, Sir.”

  Manny smiled to himself again. A few weeks ago, Mansfield would have slashed his own wrists before he addressed him as Mr. McMillan; such was the level of disdain everyone had held for him that even the staff wouldn’t speak to him respectfully. All that had changed within days of his return to New York and now the family lawyer had arrived to let him know exactly how much more things were going to be changing around McMillan Manor.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Wright,” Manny said cordially. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you, Manny,” the old man replied, “I must say, I was very surprised when you called to tell me about your trip. It seems you really had a coming of age over there in Montserrat. I’m sad that Padraig never got to see
it.”

  “So am I, Mr. Wright.”

  “Jeffrey, please. Call me Jeffrey; everyone else does.”

  “Jeffrey,” Manny repeated, touching the metal box that was beside him on the desk.

  He walked around and took a seat in his grandfather’s office chair pulling himself up to the desk.

  “I still don’t know why you insisted on coming to see me after I told you what happened though, Jeffrey. I really only called you so you could be aware of the situation in case any suits came against me or ‘at the very least’ when the hospital bills and insurance claims started to roll in. There’s just two things, really. I need to know what the costs are since I intend to pay all those bills myself and also if anything comes in regarding Mr. Kang, I’d like to pay those as well, please.”

  “Oh dear, you really have changed, Manny and I ‘for one’ am very impressed by the new you. It doesn’t seem to be an act at all; you’re a completely new person.”

  “Who thought I was acting?”

  The lawyer paused and looked down at the ground instead of answering. That pretty much answered the question for Manny; his entire family thought his ‘new leaf’ was a sham but he couldn’t find the strength to care.

  “Anyway,” Jeffrey continued, “There’s the matter of your grandfather’s will that I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “The will? We already went through that, didn’t we? It’s how I ended on that blasted island in the first place.”

  “You seem to have forgotten about the caveat, Manny, and that shows me even more how much you’ve changed. That’s an entirely fantastic thing, by the way, because it was really only me that you had to convince in order for it to be put into action. I have to say I am certainly convinced that you have become the man your grandfather hoped you would, if not more so.”

  Just then Mansfield came in with the coffee tray and placed it carefully on the desk in front of them.

  “I’ll serve it, Mansfield,” Manny said. “Thank you.”

  Manny turned over one of the cups and poured coffee for Jeffrey, who watched in amazement.

  “How do you take it?” he asked the elderly attorney.

  “Black, thank you.”

  Manny placed the cup before him and then poured himself some coffee.

  “Anyway, back to the matter of the proviso.”

  Manny’s eyes widened at the mention of the vaguely familiar legal term.

  “I remember that. It was something Grandpa said on the DVD. What did he mean?”

  “Ah, he wanted to be sure that in the event you turned out to be a more enterprising person, you would receive an inheritance from the estate that was more in lines with your status as a grandson. In this case, that comes to the tune of approximately thirty million dollars in cash, real estate and investments. Didn’t you wonder why there was no mention of who would inherit McMillan Manor?”

  Manny suddenly burst out laughing. He shook his head disbelievingly.

  “Well, that ought to make your life a bit easier, now that everything has been properly allocated at last.”

  “You wouldn’t have a clue how much so, Manny.”

  “Well then. Here’s something to complicate it again,” Manny said as he stood up and opened the steel box that sat on the edge of the desk, revealing a fortune in gold and silver coins and large gemstones of various colors. “Tell me what you think we should do with these.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading

  Caribbean Gold

  I hope you enjoyed it.

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Also available:

  SASQUATCH

  A novel

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Check target. Reload. Check magazine, cock weapon. Holster weapon. Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Holster weapon. Check target.

  Her aim was off by only a fraction on perhaps two bullets out of eight. She should have given herself the time to fully sight the target. She had been relying on the speed of her cognitive functions to align her gun with the distant target and fire on it in one fluid movement. If she could correct that, her aim would have been good enough to make an Olympic team.

  The thought came unbidden.

  That was part of a past that she didn’t particularly cherish, so she put the safety on her Ballester-Molina pistol and stepped back from the target range. The weapon was a relic by anyone’s standards, reconditioned twice. The legend goes that this was one of the pistols made in Buenos Aires from the steel reclaimed from the Nazi battleship Graf Spee after it was scuttled in the River Plate during the war. It was just a fairy story, but one she had been happy to cling to. Not that she was a sentimental person, but Lux always found herself with better things to spend her money on than a new gun. Not that she had seen any fresh influx of cash in a while.

  Had it been so long since Mexico? In any case, she couldn’t see herself parting with the old pistol, or her old truck, any time soon. And on that note, she would not be letting go of her upcoming project, that was for sure. Lux had a reputation to uphold if not the lifestyle to go with it. It wasn’t like she had much else other than her truck, her gun, and her boots. She wondered if she could get any government grants for being the most Texan woman of all time, but reminded herself that that wouldn’t be a very Texan thing to do.

  Leaving the weapons free area, pausing to grab a soda and sparking her last cigarette, she looked at her truck through the window of the shooting range over the head of the balding receptionist, Tony. Tony, as usual, tutted at her and pointed to the no smoking sign without even looking at it. She enjoyed their game, although they had perhaps spoken only twenty words to each other in the two years she had been frequenting this place. She knew his name was Tony from his name badge. She stepped outside and put a booted foot on the thirty-five inch tire of her truck. Her rundown 1978 Ford F-150 pickup sat by the curb like a sad puppy, the headlights giving her their best dejected gaze. The vehicle was definitely in need of some repairs, if not scrapping completely. Hopefully, when she was paid for this job, she could finally get some of the mechanical work done that was becoming rather urgent. Maybe even some of the aesthetic work, too, or at least swap out the seat covers for something that hadn’t fallen out of an 80’s sitcom. She was glad she had invested in getting the brush guard installed and the suspension lifted. If this contract was going to be as rough as the client had surmised, those improvements would certainly come in handy. If it turned out to be as lucrative as the client had predicted, then old Betsy would be getting the ultimate mud truck spa treatment.

  She looked around and then snuck a peek at her watch. It was three o’clock, right on the dot. The sweltering Texas heat poured down on her head from the sun high above her. Through her open window, she grabbed her straw cowgirl hat and swept her hair back from her face as she put it on and sat back to wait. Tardiness was not one of her customs, although it appeared apparent to her after fifteen years of adulthood that this philosophy was woefully under-subscribed. Like her services, it appeared.

  Fortunately for her limited patience, it wasn’t long before a sleek sedan pulled up to the park. The midday light reflected off the shiny surface, momentarily blinding her despite her knockoff aviator sunglasses. She squinted at the sedan, fixing her customary impassive expression to hide her irritation. It wouldn’t do to piss off the client, at least not until he’d paid. The door opened and a twiggy driver popped out and bobbed around the side to the passenger door. The driver opened the rear passenger door with a magnificent sweep, as if displaying some sort of grand treasure to the world.

  The treasure turned out to be a very thin and very old man who hobbled out, flailing a stick to get leverage on the baking asphalt. He was so wizened he could barely have topped five foot. Without that cane, she was sure that he would ha
ve toppled in the breeze like a dried-up leaf. He had a thin white beard, but only a handful of long white hairs sprouting from the top of his head. Certainly anyone else would have cut them off by now, she thought. He reminded her of the KFC colonel in miniature and he could have been older than God. But she kept her face well-schooled. The little man may look ridiculous, but he was paying her an even more ridiculous amount of money for the most ridiculous project of her life. Low on cash and lower on luck, she needed that money; so she needed that little man to see respect on her face instead of disdain or merriment at his appearance. She felt unkind for thinking it. She had been without the company of people too long, and it was as usual, having a misanthropic effect.

  “Hello,” she said when he had painfully made it several steps closer. “You must be Dr. Stevens.”

  The man wobbled, tottered over to her and sat on a bench opposite her truck with a great sigh. It was a louder sound than she had expected him to be able to produce, but she forced herself to appreciate his effort in getting out of his car at all to say what he had to say. She spun and parked her behind on the hood of her car, and then had to stand again. The hood was easily hot enough to cook meat on.

  So cool, she thought.

  Stevens at least pretended not to notice, but she was sure that the little man’s mouth curled slightly in a smile.

  “Aye. I am Dr. Stevens. And you must be Lux Branson, I assume?”

  “Yes, sir,” she grinned, only partly falsely. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She bent in slightly to take his hand, trying not to break it off in her grip. There was nearly a foot of height difference between them.

  “You’ve quite the handshake there, dear. It’s a lost art, don’t you think?”