This got TJ’s attention. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He knows she’s hurt and would expect us to get help. I’m guessing he called his buddy and has a deputy sitting in front of Fishermen’s just waiting for us. If nothing else, they’re still looking for answers about Celia’s boat.”
He could tell TJ wasn’t convinced, but before he could speak, Mel yelled up from below.
“She’s conscious.”
TJ went down to the deck.
“Just hang in the channel and let’s see what happens,” Mac told Trufante and followed TJ down.
They were all around her now, but it was Cheqea by her side. “How is she?” TJ asked.
“Just opened her eyes. Let’s give her some space,” Mel said, pushing the men away.
Mac and TJ stood on the back deck, staring at the mangroves on the side of the channel. “Let’s get that bastard,” TJ said. “Take the treasure and hang him out to dry for what he did to her. We’re really close to solving this, and now that we have Cheqea--”
He didn’t finish his sentence. While they were talking, Hawk’s boat had pulled up alongside. Mac turned to TJ. “Don’t tell him she’s alive,” he whispered.
Hawk was at the rail, facing them as both boats held their positions, Trufante and Ironhead skillfully manipulating the controls to hold the boats together. “What do you want? We need to get to the hospital,” Mac called across to the other boat.
“Shame, Travis. It didn’t have to go like this,” Hawk said. “And I’d be careful about that. You see, the authorities are already alerted and looking for you.”
Mac got little satisfaction from having correctly deduced his intentions. “You’re the one that did this to her. They should be after you.”
“You know the sheriff’s got it out for you,” Hawk said. “The building department too. There’s even a mechanic I know over at Bill’s place,” he threatened. “Why don’t we work together here? I’ll help her and you help me.”
Mac stared at the man, wondering how anyone could be so greedy that he would trade a life for some information. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you’re hiding on that laptop. And then it’d be good to know what that crazy Indian woman’s doing aboard.”
Mac had no bluff to call now. “Call off your dogs, and I’ll work with you,” he conceded. “But we’re partners.” He had to say it, even if he didn’t trust him.
“Mac. I have it,” Alicia yelled from the cabin.
Both men stared at each other. Mac spoke first, trying to evaluate how to play this. “Seems we are at a standoff now, if she’s figured it out and you have the computer.”
Hawk stared at him. It was a long time before he spoke. “We can work something out. Why don’t we pull over to the side dock at Burdines?”
“That’s fine, but first I want to hear you make a call to the sheriff. Call him off and we’ll talk,” Mac said, having no intention of setting foot on land, and then he realized that even sitting here, they were vulnerable.
Hawk took his phone from his pocket and pressed several buttons. Before he could put it to his ear, Mac stopped him.
“On the speaker. I want to hear both sides of this.”
Hawk laid the phone flat in his palm. Mac could barely hear it ring, but Hawk didn’t know that. On the fourth ring, a gruff voice answered. Hawk went back and forth with the voice that Mac immediately recognized as the sheriff’s. He couldn’t really make out what the sheriff was saying, but Hawk was clear—he would get his cut if he cooperated.
“Just a second,” Mac called to Hawk and then looked up at Trufante at the helm. “Watch him.” He gave one last glance at Hawk and went inside.
Alicia was sitting up on the bench. Her short wet hair, unrestrained after she’d sacrificed her elastic tie for the paper gun, was plastered against her face and she looked pale.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. That was quite the shock,” she answered and moved her gaze to Cheqea. “Show him.” Cheqea laid her forearm out on the table. “I saw it when she helped me,” Alicia said.
“Hello, Mac Travis,” the woman said. “Always in trouble. You and Trufaaante.”
Wondering if Cheqea really had helped, he answered respectfully, “Old mother.”
“See. Mac Travis asks for help and here is Cheqea,” she said.
Mac knew this could go on for hours and thanked her, then looked at Alicia.
“The tattoo is a star chart. This is it,” she said.
Mac could see the excitement on her face; the paleness he had seen just a minute ago had faded, and her color returned. He looked at Cheqea’s arm and saw what looked like constellations, and he knew she was right. Ancient mariners had used the relationship of stars to each other and the horizon to navigate—this was the key.
“Do you want to see this through?” he asked Alicia. He could feel his adrenaline kick in now that the answer was close, but after what she had been through, it would be her call.
“To the end. I want him to pay for this,” she said, rubbing her neck. “We need the computer. He shut off the Wi-Fi when he locked us in the hold. I never backed up the data.”
Mac went back on deck and called to Hawk. He agreed to meet, and the two boats separated. They crossed the channel, swung around, and pulled up to the side of the gas dock. Mac hopped over the gunwale and went to one of the groups of tables and chairs on a concrete patio. Trufante was about to follow, but Mac called him off. He was little protection, and the beer cooler inside the store was too close.
Sitting across from each other, the two men were silent for a few minutes, each calculating how to make the best deal for themselves. Mac wanted to say something, but after a few years around Mel, he had learned a few things. Better to let your opponent open. He didn’t have long to wait.
“Come on, Mac. Let’s help each other out here,” Hawk started.
“There’s no reason to help you,” Mac said.
“The sheriff was already looking for you before the unfortunate incident with Wallace,” he said, rubbing his head as if he had remorse. “Your fingerprints are all over that room.”
Hawk looked to the left at the parking lot. Mac followed his gaze and saw the sheriff’s car. Two uniformed men leaned against the hood: the deputy from the other day and the sheriff himself. The sheriff caught his glance and tipped his hat.
Mac turned back to Hawk. It was either work with him or go to jail. “Go on,” he said, knowing it would be better to let him state his offer and then counter.
“Fifty-fifty partners. Whatever we find, we split. Each of our costs are our own,” Hawk said.
The split was fair, but he had Alicia. “You cover all the expenses. We bring the coordinates.”
Hawk rubbed his head and appeared to think for a minute, but Mac knew he had him. He had no options.
“We work off my boat, then,” Hawk said.
“No. You work off your boat and we’ll use the sportfisher. Lend me a rebreather setup and pay the gas.” They were close now.
“Done. Tomorrow morning. We meet at five thirty a.m. by the last marker leading out of Sister Creek. If the seas cooperate, we stay out for several nights. If not, we will come in and anchor together. At all times, the boats stay in sight.”
Mac extended his hand, skeptical about making any kind of deal with Hawk, even though he knew that both men didn’t intend to honor it. They did have a better chance of finding the treasure with his help and equipment than without it. The problems would arise when it was found. He knew that if they found it, Mel would insist on documenting the recovery and doing things legally. Especially with the permit in his name, he was leaning that way as well. There were no illusions as to what Hawk would do when they found it—they would need to be prepared.
“I need the laptop back, then,” Mac said.
“No tricks, or the sheriff’ll be all over you,” Hawk said.
They each walked to their own boats. Ironhead app
roached the sportfisher a few minutes later with the laptop, the rebreather and a tank of nitrox mix. Alicia took the computer and gave the case a cursory examination before heading into the cabin. Mac gave the gear a brief inspection before handing it to TJ. Hawk’s engines were already running and he departed immediately, heading back into the harbor.
Mac called up to Trufante to start their engines and went to get the dock lines. He tossed them aboard and hopped over the gunwale, indicating a narrow channel where they would anchor tonight. The spot would give them a clear view of the exit to Sister Creek and the main harbor. With their manpower, they could set up a watch schedule and make sure Hawk remained in the harbor.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As they headed toward the anchorage, Mac realized that provisions could be a problem. With a crew of five, and facing the possibility of being out for several days, they needed to replenish their food and water. Even in the Keys, there were no grocery stores with docks, and without a dinghy, they would have to improvise. Expecting Hawk would dock at his ex’s house tonight, Mac guided Trufante to the interior of the harbor. Where the channel split, instead of bearing right toward Sister Creek, he pointed to the smaller arm on the left. They passed several condos, and he heard Trufante remark that Dockside, a favorite haunt of his, had lost their lease and been forced to close.
Passing the closed restaurant, they followed the canal to its end by a deserted marina. TJ guided the sportfisher into one of the slips, and the group huddled on the deck. There was no way that Mac was going to let Trufante, Pamela, or Cheqea off the boat—that was a sure recipe for trouble, so he assigned TJ to watch them. Alicia went back into the cabin to resume her work. Mel stepped onto the dock in front of him and they started the five-minute walk to Publix, the local grocery store.
Inside, they cruised the aisles, loading a cart, bantering over what to buy and what not to. At least there was no discussion when Mac passed the beer aisle without stopping. It was heartwarming being with Mel. Even doing a mundane task like shopping with her brought a smile to his face. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he knew better than to bring it up now. The watch schedule he had drawn had purposely placed them together. The midnight shift would have a few long and hopefully quiet hours for them to catch up.
Each hauling four heavy bags, they walked back to the marina and loaded the food into the galley. As soon as everything was stored, Mac cast the lines and called up to TJ to start the engine. He wanted to secure their station for the night. After several maneuvers, TJ had the large boat turned, and they headed back out the channel. Back at the fork, Mac climbed up to the bridge to check the depth finder, and after determining how the current and tidal swing would affect them, he gave the order to drop anchor.
The boat swung, facing bow to the current, and after checking that the line was taut, Mac tied it off to the bow cleat. The holding here was good, maybe too good, making a quick exit difficult. He thought about the problem for a minute before walking across the foredeck to the bridge. “Have you got a quick release ball?” he asked TJ.
“In the port cabin,” TJ called down from the bridge, giving Mac a thumbs-up signal to ask if the anchor held. Mac returned the signal, and he cut the engine. “Stay there, I’ll grab it.”
A minute later, the two men were on the bow. Mac was pulling the extra line from the locker.
“No need,” TJ said, taking a section of line downstream of the cleat. Doubling the line on itself, he tied a simple overhand knot and pulled, leaving a small loop to which he clipped the ball. “Drop out some more line so this is in the water and retie it. If we have to make a run for it, we’ve got two options: either we cut the line, or if we have time, we can pull the rest out and release it. Either way, the buoy in the water will mark the gear.”
Mac nodded at the simple trick, having used it tarpon fishing. With the red ball floating next to the bow and the line tied off, Mac pulled the remaining line from the locker and coiled it on the deck. “Be a shame to lose that much line if we have to make a run.”
They shared a meal together and split into shifts. Mac set the schedule by couples, leaving Cheqea out of the roster. First up were Trufante and Pamela. She seemed excited about the adventure, but soon became bored. “I’m going down to get some sleep. Wake me at midnight,” he told Trufante and climbed down from the bridge, having assigned them the early shift as a preventive measure. He was pretty sure there was no alcohol on board, but Trufante had a nose for it, and he preferred to have others awake during their shift.
On the way to the forward berth, he passed the bench and table. Alicia and Mel were hovering around Cheqea.
“You see, Mac Travis, I am helping you. Now what are you going to do for me?” she asked with a snort.
He ignored her, thinking they should take pictures of her arm and dump her somewhere. Her true craziness was still there; it just hadn’t reared its ugly face yet.
“Making headway?” he asked Alicia.
“It’s slow,” she said, looking up from her work. “If I blow the scale, it’s going to be way off.”
“Okay. Let me know. I’m going to try and get a few hours of sleep,” he said, moving forward to the berth.
The boat was still, with only a rare passing wake upsetting the peace, and he started to nod off, but TJ was on the port bunk snoring, making sleep difficult. Just as he was about to give up and go back to the cabin, he heard Alicia call out.
“We have it!” she said excitedly. Mac climbed out of the bunk and went to them. He was standing over the group, trying to figure out what was going on. “You were right—it’s the stars.”
Mac looked closer. On the screen was the night sky, but the date in the corner was 1733. “What am I looking at?” he asked.
“The answer. I already have the other tattoos scaled and marked here as coordinates.” She showed him the same chart she had been working with on Hawk’s boat. “Assuming it’s the 1733 wreck, it was probably sometime the next day—July sixteenth—that the wreckers were on the site.”
“We know all that already,” Mac said, wondering how this was going to tie together.
“If you were out there in a boat, with no navigation aids—no GPS or compass—how would you mark your location?” she asked.
Mac wasn’t in the mood for any more riddles, but he thought it through. “The stars, and maybe the depth. Depth would be easy—just drop a lead line. The stars, though… ” He thought for minute and it came to him. “I would orient myself north to south using Polaris and then look for a star rising over the site.”
“Exactly. We find that star and we know where the site is,” she said, opening the window with the star chart. “That’s Canopus, the second-brightest star in the night sky, but mainly visible in the Southern Hemisphere. Look at it hovering over the surface like it is marking something.”
“Canopus is the key?” Mac asked.
“It appears so,” Alicia said. “Watch.”
Mac stared at the screen as she moved a day at a time. Every day, the stars moved slightly, each at their own angle. “So, how do we know when?”
“I’m having to guess here. Assuming they had no instruments, I would figure the stars’ positions were recorded just after sunset, when they became visible,” Alicia said.
“I’d agree,” Mac said.
“On the night of July sixteenth, 1733, Canopus was here, at one hundred and sixty degrees.” The star chart disappeared from the screen and was replaced by the chart with the compass roses. “I’m going to add that line and—”
“X marks the spot.” Mac squeezed her shoulder. “What are the coordinates?”
She wrote something down on a pad of paper and left the cabin. The entire group, less TJ, who was still asleep, climbed to the bridge and huddled around the chart plotter, watching her enter the numbers. “Here we go.”
A symbol appeared marking the waypoint.
“Not too far from where we were,” Mac said.
“Far enough
that you never would have found it,” Alicia said.
Mac knew she was right. A typical dive covered a very small area, and this was almost a half mile away. “One hundred sixty feet,” he said.
***
They were here together, but Mac felt they were worlds apart. Sitting on the bridge, under a waning moon, with just enough clear sky to make out a few constellations, Mac searched for an icebreaker. Conversation had never been his strong suit. Throw in a relationship and he didn’t know what to say.
“That dive’s pretty deep. What’s your plan?” she asked.
Thankful that she had started the conversation, he explained the rebreather and side-mount tanks they would be using. “Dark and cold, mostly,” he said, describing the previous dive.
“What about Hawk’s man?” Mel asked.
“He’s a good diver, but underwater would be the place to take him out if I had to,” Mac answered. He had been thinking about Ironhead, knowing that it would be up to him to deal with the man. Underwater was the logical venue—but that might go both ways.
“Just be careful down there,” she said.
“Not going to try and talk me out of it?” he asked.
“I’ve learned some things over the last year, Mac. One of them is that there’s no changing people. I always thought that if I could tame you just a little, things could work out between us, but I know if you’re going to be happy, you need to be you.”
He was quiet for minute. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been happy since you left.”
She looked at him with a tear in her eye. “But, I just don’t see—”
He reached in and kissed her. It wasn’t that romantic, and it didn’t last that long. The moment was more like the signing of a peace treaty, an agreement that somehow they could find a way to be together without changing each other.
They sat with their bodies pressed together, and the night passed quickly, the slight chill to the air pushing them closer. TJ came up to take the four a.m. shift with Alicia dragging behind him, but Mac waved them off. There was only an hour left until they needed to get up anyway, and he was too content to sleep.
Wood's Reach: Action & Sea Adventure in the Florida Keys (Mac Travis Adventures Book 6) Page 19