Out at the very end of the park was a hillock and field, and beyond that, the water. To the right was the Coast Guard shooting range, which was bounded by numerous warning signs about the use of live ammunition. Ray stared at one such sign with his eyes wide.
“Cover me,” I said.
Ray held his palms up. “With what?”
I continued beyond the perimeter set for tourists. Once up the short hill and through the tall grass, I could see the water clearly. Jack’s flotilla was still in place—and so was Betty.
Through the binoculars I could see men moving around on their boats. No sign of divers. Maybe Jack figured he needed to maintain their presence here in order to cinch his preposterous claim on all things related to Henry Morgan, or maybe he was more of an optimist than I had assumed. The moment he pulled anchor on that site, he’d be acknowledging that they’d pissed millions into the water there.
Of all the people I observed, I hadn’t spotted Gunner, Jack, or Heather. Gunner’s words from yesterday had left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of Blackwell Rum last night or Blue Mountain coffee this morning could cleanse.
Past Jack’s boats I spotted our own smaller group, the tug and barge all prepping to pull anchor. A whistle sounded—a Coast Guardsman at the fence perimeter was waving me back into the approved area. I’d seen what I hoped to and returned to Ray.
“Let’s go.”
As we walked back through the fort, I made a call.
“Mr. Buck, tell me something good?”
“Are you still out on the water?” I said.
“Wind and waves finally settled. We just clearing out now.”
“Damn, Johnny, that cost me an extra ten thousand—”
“Nobody want off this rolling mess more than me, mon.”
“I’m almost to Kingston now. Meet me at the harbor.”
He paused. “You got news?”
I glanced at Ray. His face soured the minute he knew who I’d called.
“I do, Johnny. But I’m not broadcasting it on a cell phone, so meet me in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
Once the phone was back in my pocket, I looked at Ray.
“I still don’t like that guy,” he said.
“We don’t need to like him, but we do need him.”
As we drove back past the airport, Ray kept an eye on the harbor.
“Speedboat hauling ass toward Kingston,” he said. I assumed that was Johnny.
By the time we were at the harbor he’d already tied up his boat and was talking on his cell phone. He hung up seconds after spotting us, his eyes wary as he watched us approach. It occurred to me that Henry Morgan’s men probably wore that expression when they were about to be told their share of the booty was far less than anyone expected. Trust between privateers was no doubt as rare a commodity back then as it was today amongst treasure hunters. In any case, that steely taste was back in my mouth.
“What’s up, gentlemen?” Johnny’s usual smile and effervescent demeanor were gone.
“The boats headed back to port?” I said.
Johnny glanced back over his shoulder. “Should be. That game’s over.” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Why? Where we going?”
I turned back to face him and gave him a smile.
“Moore Town. Colonel Stanley has news for us.”
“Grandy? Why we need to go there?”
“You want in on this or not?”
Ray returned to the Jeep and got in the backseat. I followed, then Johnny came a moment later. We began the journey around the coast. The questions I expected from Johnny were slow to come.
“You going to tell me what you found?” he said.
“First, give me an update on Dodson’s activities out on the water.”
He shrugged. “Nobody diving these past few days. That big bastard left a couple days ago—”
“Gunner?”
“Yeah. Been some screaming and shit we could hear over the water. After the constable told us we had to get out of here, Gunner followed them off. Not been back, neither.”
“What about Dodson?”
“Still out there—least I saw him there this morning.”
I looked out my side window at the crystal blue ocean.
“And the supermodel?”
“Ain’t seen her all week—come on, mon, tell me what’s going on?”
Still no “Mr. Buck.” Still no smile. He’d been too busy texting—continuously—while we were driving.
“Turn that phone off and put it away. We’re going into blackout mode.”
He held the phone for a moment. When I gave him a side-glance he made a show of holding the power button down until the chime sounded, then put the phone in a pocket.
“I’m all ears, mon.”
We still had a long ride ahead of us, so I decided to provide a recap that would set the stage for when we reached Stanley. I gave him details of the meeting with Michael Portland and the colonel , including their demand that the people of Jamaica get 90 percent of whatever we found—
“That’s steep, mon. You agree to that?”
I nodded and sailed on: finding the petroglyphs at the Blue Mountain crossing, Gunner showing up with Cuffee making threats and taking my sketch of the circles … Johnny was on the edge of his seat, soaking up every detail as we turned down the dirt road that led to Moore Town.
“Remember when I told you Nanny and I were headed to meet Henry Kujo at Accompong? That was the same afternoon we got jumped near Albert Town and Nanny was abducted.”
“Damn, mon. Lucky they didn’t kill you.”
“Yeah, I guess. Knocked me silly, though—damn sure have a concussion.”
I left out going to Firefly and cut straight to the cave system that resembled the petroglyphs.
“It was a match to the ovals and circles, but like I feared, it was just a Taino reference to a burial ground. But somehow, Gunner and his goons found us out there anyway.”
“And here I been stuck out on those damn boats.” I glanced in the rearview mirror.
“So that’s all you find, mon, a burial ground? The suspense is killing me.”
Ray, who’d been quiet in the backseat, caught my eyes in the rearview. His lips were tight and he shook his head. I smiled.
The river disappeared off our right side as we approached the outskirts of the old Maroon village.
“Buck, what the fuck?” Johnny said. “You got something to tell me or not?”
“I don’t, but Colonel Grandy called this morning and said he did. That’s why we’re here.”
Johnny sat back and crossed his arms.
Just then we pulled into Moore Town and parked in front of Stanley’s house.
“Let’s go see what the colonel has for us.”
When Stanley opened his front door, he greeted us holding a sawed-off shotgun pointed at all of our chests.
“Welcome to Moore Town, gentlemen. Now get your asses inside.”
“Buck, what the heck—”
“Step inside, Ray. It’s okay.”
Johnny spun, lowered his shoulder, and bulled past me.
I sprang off the door jamb, caught up to him in maybe three seconds, dove, and hit him square in the back. We went down hard, the air squeezed from Johnny’s lungs when I landed on top of him. I got his right arm pinned behind his back and my left arm around his neck.
“Going somewhere, Johnny?”
I yanked him to his feet. When he tried a drop move I jammed my knee into his ass—another groan. I pulled my arm tight around his neck and spun him to the left, back toward Stanley’s house. Then marched him inside.
“On the chair,” Stanley said.
A final push toward the chair against the wall—Johnny whirled back toward us, only to come face-to-face with Stanley’s double-barreled shotgun.
“Don’t think I won’t use this, punk-ass.”
“Sit down,” I said.
Johnny looked from face to face, sucked in a deep breath, and lowered himself onto the chair. Slowly.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he said. “Why you doing this to me?”
“We need to check out some coincidences,” I said.
“Goddamn, mon, you couldn’t just ask me whatever the hell you talking about?”
“You’re the one who ran,” I said. Then to Stanley, “You can lower the gun.”
Ray was still back by the front door, and knowing him as I did, he would stay as far away from what was happening here as possible.
“We can have a civil conversation,” Stanley said. “But I’m damned mad, as you can see—so we need truthful answers.”
Just then a woman who had to be at least a hundred years old carried in a tray of iced drinks. It was Tarrah, the Obeah woman Nanny and I had met downriver on the raft.
“Coconut water?” She placed the tray on the small table, handed glasses to each of us. Parched after the long drive and the action, I guzzled mine. The liquid, thicker than water, was cool and soothing.
Stanley kept his glass tilted up, swallowing until it was empty. Ray sipped at his, savoring the drink. Johnny drank deeply, then wiped his lips on his bare arm.
I did my best to stare at his face the way he’d stared at the side of my head in the car.
“Remember on the ride up here when I was telling you about how Gunner intercepted us at the crossing near Blue Mountain?”
“What about it?” Johnny said.
“And then again when Nanny and I were attacked outside of Albert Town?”
Johnny crossed his arms—tightly, as if he were holding himself together.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, you were the only person I told about either of those trips.”
Johnny slid lower in his seat. He was blinking rapidly.
“How long you been feeding info to Gunner?”
He started smacking and licking his lips.
“Damn, woman, how much you put in his drink?” Stanley had turned to face Tarrah.
Her laugh was a deep cackle that made me shiver.
“I give him enough so he talk to get the antidote, or he die,” she said.
Johnny sat back up fast. His eyes bugged out and a rapid shake began in his extremities. Tarrah stepped up to him and bent at the waist to peer in his eyes.
“I say you got ten minutes before you no longer able to breathe. Five or six before you no longer talk.”
Johnny tried to jump up but fell out of the chair—his legs no longer functioned. I rolled him onto his back.
“Get him some water!”
When he drained the small water glass, he cleared his throat.
“Four minutes,” Tarrah said. “Talk.”
The sentences came out jerky and he kept clearing his throat, but Johnny talked.
“When they were selected, he made me an offer—you were gone, so why not?” He cleared his throat. “Then you came back.” Again he cleared his throat. “Nanny—she persuade you—but Gunner … he … had me—”
“Is Nanny safe?” I said.
Everyone leaned closer.
“Yeah, mon. She—”
Johnny’s eyes rolled behind his head. Tarrah knelt down and slapped him hard—his entire body convulsed, then his eyes opened.
“She told me about … the drawing … caves …” He tried to clear his throat again. Stanley poured water into his mouth. “Canoes—up in the air.”
I signaled Tarrah. “He’s telling the truth.”
“He don’t tell us nothing we don’t know, yet,” she said.
Dammit!
I grabbed Johnny by both of his biceps and lifted him up to a seated position.
“Where is she, Johnny?”
His eyes rolled around like balls in a pachinko machine.
“Give him the antidote!” I said.
Tarrah shook her head.
“Stanley!” I said. “Tell her!”
“I told Nanny someone would die!” Tarrah dropped her voice to a bone-chilling whisper. “Won’t be her alone.”
“He said she’s alive—she’ll die if we don’t get to her!”
“Give him the antidote,” Stanley said.
Silence. Nobody spoke, nobody moved.
Then Tarrah grimaced, reached into her waistcoat pocket, and took out what looked like coffee beans. She pulled Johnny’s head back by his hair, dropped the beans into his mouth, poured a small amount of coconut water in, and massaged his jaw until he swallowed.
But Johnny had drifted out of consciousness—I was terrified she’d waited too long. We sat watching in a circle around him for minutes that seemed like hours. The only sign of life was his breathing—
His body convulsed.
Tarrah slapped him hard on the cheek. His eyes popped open, his eyelids fluttered, and he convulsed again. After a few moments, he balled and then relaxed his fists.
“Where is she, Johnny?” Tarrah said. “Nanny? Who has her?”
He licked his lips and his eyes focused on me.
“No woman, no cry.”
I looked at Stanley. “Bob Marley—where was he from?”
“Nine Mile,” Stanley said.
Johnny shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Trench Town?” Ray said from behind us.
Johnny’s eyes popped open. A slight nod followed.
Tarrah bent over him.
“You take these men to find her?” Tarrah’s voice sounded like a challenge from the devil’s own lips, at least to me.
Johnny nodded rapidly.
“You best,” she said. “If you want to live.”
The sky swirled with Van Gogh shapes and colors as the sunset exploded over Kingston Harbor. We were fully loaded and armed for rescue, but needed recon to confirm the other assholes were occupied and distracted. Johnny had told his cohorts he was on his way, which we would be shortly.
The moon hovered above the water’s surface, maroon and rising. We were parked with the motor running at the edge of Port Royal, the Jeep surrounded by Coast Guardsmen holding rifles. Their commander had his fists balled on his hips, his legs spread wide as he faced me from fifty yards away.
I checked the time and rubbed my palms together.
Come on, Ray.
Through the binoculars I could see Jack’s crew pulling lines. And then I heard engines starting. Gray-black smoke hovered over the flotilla. They’d finally pulled the plug on the dive and restoration project. Had they given up, or had they found the submerged cavern in the Cockpit Country cave?
Wait.
I adjusted the focus on the binoculars—yes!
Jack was still on the main boat—
A low grumble caught my attention from the north. I turned, and the Coast Guardsman also turned to see—yes!
The Beast flew low. Ray must have gotten clearance this close to the airport—he’d never break the rules. He was maybe a thousand feet above the water, coming hard and fast.
I swallowed, remembering Gunner’s men shooting at us the day we’d arrived.
Would Jack?
I forced myself to focus again on the flotilla. Someone pointed toward the sky, weapons were raised—
There! Jack shouted something. More guns were raised. A big man ran out from the salon—
Gunner!
The Beast buzzed them. Everyone ducked except Gunner, who gave Ray the finger.
Now guns were trained on the Beast. I held my breath. But Ray was hauling ass, gaining rapid distance from the fleet.
Gunner shouted something. The men lowered their weapons. My knees stopped shaking and I released the long breath I’d held.
The Beast shrank in size and I retrained the binoculars on Jack—Gunner gave him a high five.
“That’s right, assholes, we gave up and are headed back to Key West with our tails between our legs.”
Steely stares watched us inside the Jeep.
&nbs
p; “Tell Colonel Grandy he owes me,” the commander said. “Now get the hell out of here.”
“Thanks again for letting us enter the prohibited area.” But I really just wanted to make sure that what Johnny had told us was true, that Jack and Gunner were not where Nanny was being held, and then to make sure they saw the Beast depart. Hopefully they bought it and would no longer think they had to race against me.
Pierce sat next to Johnny Blake in the Jeep’s backseat. The passenger seat was empty, but hopefully not for long.
“I told you they don’t know shit about Nanny,” Johnny said. “You always playing misdirection games, Buck. That’s what cause all this.”
Our eyes caught in the rearview mirror.
“I learned long ago not to trust people in this business,” I said. “I let my judgment lapse with you.”
“I had her grabbed for her own protection, mon,” Johnny said. “Gunner wanted to torture and kill her—after he rape her, he said.”
“Very noble, Johnny.” I rubbed my palm across my scalp, the lump from the beating I’d taken still tender. “She’d better be okay, for your sake. And your giving Gunner our whereabouts risked our lives.”
Pierce slapped the side of Johnny’s head, and he flinched.
We set out past the airport, along the waterfront and through Kingston. By the time we arrived in Trench Town, one of the poorest communities in Jamaica, darkness was complete. The sound of dance hall music blared from open doors, men and women roamed the streets looking for action of any kind. I drove fast with my doors locked. The rental Jeep was already a target, but with me behind the wheel it would be an invitation—
“Turn left at the light,” Johnny said.
The traffic signal turned red before I could reach the intersection. Three young men rushed the vehicle with a bucket and rags—two began to wash my windshield.
“No thank you! No!”
My voice made them split, then two came toward my door while the third went to the passenger side.
“One thousand dollar, mon!” the one outside my window said. The exchange rate being a hundred to one.
The light changed and I stomped on the gas pedal. A couple more turns as directed by Johnny led us into a neighborhood of squat rundown shacks, several of which had no glass in their window frames.
Maroon Rising Page 20