Brotherhood Protectors: GUARDIAN ANGEL (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Jesse Jacobson

  Maddock smiled. Kaylin was the daughter of his former SEAL Commander, Hartford “Maxie” Maxwell. It was Kaylin who had brought the news to him that Maxie had been murdered while seeking a biblical artifact, lost at sea on the Dourado.

  “Please sit, Ms. Blumenstock,” Maddock said, waving at the seat next to him. He sat after her.

  “I hear the oysters here are amazing,” she said.

  “They are, and you’re in luck,” Bones said. “I’m going to have them bring over a plate full of them.”

  She smiled, “Good. I’m buying.”

  “Even better. I’ll order two plates, then.”

  The waitress brought Bones’ clam chowder and sat it in front of him.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “Can I get a spoon, too? Or do you expect me to eat it like cats?”

  The waitress frowned and picked up a place setting from a different table and slapped it down beside the bowl. She flashed Bones a sour look, flipped him off with her middle finger and walked away.

  “I think she’s hot for me,” Bones remarked.

  “Yeah, that has to be it,” Theresa replied.

  “Why did you seek us out?” Maddock asked.

  “Kaylin tells me that you are seekers of lost relics and buried treasure,” she said, “and that you’re the best and, most importantly… you can be trusted.”

  He shrugged, “We’ve been known to...”

  “I have a job I need performed,” she interrupted. “I’ll warn you in advance. It will be out of the box for you.”

  “What do you mean, out of the box?” he asked.

  “I know you typically seek treasures on old shipwrecks, cities of gold or secret scrolls. This job does not involve magic stones, mythical sea serpents, ancient pyramids, or lost cities. On the surface, this seems a little more… vanilla… mundane.”

  “What is the job?” Maddock asked.

  “Safe cracking,” she said.

  “So, when you said out of the box,” Bones began, “you meant astronomically out of the box.”

  “You’re right, it’s not my area of expertise,” Maddock admitted.

  “First, it has to be found,” she replied. “That is your area of expertise.”

  “And inside the safe is…?” Bones asked.

  “As much as $7 million in cash or Liberty gold coins, or both, it’s rumored,” Theresa replied. “Perhaps other things, too.”

  “What do you mean, rumored?” Maddock asked.

  “No one knows for sure,” she said. “No one is even positive the safe exists.”

  Bones rolled his eyes. Theresa didn’t catch it. Maddock did catch the eyeroll, understood his intent, and was in full agreement. This was sounding worse and worse as it went along.

  “But you think it does exist?” he replied.

  “I do,” she said.

  “Who did the safe belong to?” Bones asked.

  “Dutch Schultz,” she said.

  Maddock sighed, “Oh boy,” he said, somewhat sarcastically.

  He knew all about Dutch Schultz and the infamous hidden safe. There was not a treasure hunter in the world that didn’t know the story. Schultz was a notorious gangster from the 1930’s. He had been arrested for tax evasion but was acquitted. The way the legend had it, Schultz hid all his money and his valuables in tobacco sacks and stuffed them in a container: a safe, iron box or steel suitcase, and buried it in a secret place, until such time conditions allowed him to recover it. Unfortunately, he was murdered the day after he was said to have buried his treasure. On his death bed, he had made a number of statements, many of which were nonsensical and assumed to have been spoken in a feverish, delirious state. Every word he spoke has been analyzed over and over ad nauseum in an effort to decode some secret message as to the whereabouts of the safe he buried. In over 80 years of looking, no one had come close.

  “I know the story,” Maddock said. “I also know that hundreds of people have tried to find it. Some of them were pretty darn good archaeologists and treasure hunters.”

  “More like thousands,” Theresa admitted.

  “I know the story, too,” Bones added. “I also know that rumors of the hidden treasure never surfaced until after the man died. I never bought into the story myself.”

  “Really? Why is that?” she asked.

  “Dutch Schultz was a con artist, a murderer and a thief,” he said. “He trusted no one. All the clues he allegedly left were probably made just to throw people off track—one last kiss my ass before he checked out. I know people who tried—tried and failed. They were good men. They would have found the safe by now if it actually existed.”

  The smile on Theresa’s face disappeared. “It does exist.”

  “You seem certain,” Maddock said.

  “I am certain,” she replied.

  “And you want to look for it?” Bones asked.

  She nodded, “Yes, I do. I actually believe what you said, Bones.”

  “You do?” he replied, incredulously. “Women don’t normally say that to me. I never know why?”

  “Yeah, I wonder,” she said turning back to Maddock. “I do think Dutch may very well have left clues to intentionally throw people off track.”

  “Why do I feel there is a but coming?” Maddock asked.

  “Touché,” she replied. “But… what if Dutch left other clues privately to someone he wanted to find the safe? What if he left those clues to someone he loved? Clues that no one else knew about?”

  Bones studied Theresa’s face, as if deciding whether she was serious or not.

  “That would put a different spin on things, then, wouldn’t it?” Bones finally said.

  Maddock finished an oyster and took a swig of beer, “You haven’t told us what your connection to all this is.”

  “Dutch Schultz was my great-grandfather,” she replied. “I was named after my great-grandmother.”

  “Dutch’s wife was named Frances, not Theresa,” Bones said.

  Maddock looked at him quizzically and raised his eyebrows.

  “How the hell did you know that?” he asked.

  “I watched the documentary on The History Channel,” Bones replied.

  “My great-grandmother was not his wife,” she said. “She was his mistress. She was pregnant with my grandmother at the time of Dutch’s death.”

  “So, your interest in this is personal, we get it,” Bones said. “That doesn’t make the facts of the situation any different. Hundreds of skilled treasure hunters have tried to uncover the Dutchman’s treasure, and no one has come close. I’m sorry, it’s a waste of time.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men have tried their hand at hunting down my great-grandfather’s treasure. But...”

  She reached into her handbag and pulled out a book. She sat it on the table and pushed it toward the two men.

  “None of them had this.”

  Dane Maddock picked up the book and inspected it. It was old, perhaps an original first edition. “Mary Poppins?” he noted, opening the inside cover, “published in 1934.”

  Bones gaped his mouth open and raised his eyebrows in faux shock, “Holy crap!” he exclaimed. “You’re right. This changes everything! I don’t think any of those treasure hunters carried around an 80-year-old copy of Mary Poppins. What? Do you think Dick Van Dyke is going to find the money in a chimney sweep? Or maybe we’ll find it in the old gal’s umbrella?”

  Bones began to chuckle.

  “Keep laughing,” Theresa snapped. “You won’t be laughing for long.

  Bones continued to chuckle. He looked at Maddock thinking he’d be chuckling, too. He wasn’t. Bones’ snickering faded as he realized his joke had bombed.

  “You aren’t actually buying into this, are you?” he asked Maddock.

  Maddock had been reading the inscription. He turned the book around and slid it to Bones, who picked it up and read Dutch Schultz’s words aloud.

  “Happy Birthday, I wish I could have kept you safe,�
�� he read. “And there’s a date, but it says 1910? Schultz was killed in 1935.”

  “The date inscribed is my great-grandmother’s birthday, 10-19-1910.”

  “Okay, well that’s an odd inscription, I’ll give you that—but so what?” Bones noted.

  “He used the word ‘safe’ in the inscription,” Maddock replied.

  Theresa nodded.

  “It’s a coincidence,” Bones said.

  Maddock flipped through the pages, “There’s a note here in the margin, Speaking of the Devil. He faces southeast.”

  “So?” Bones replied.

  “Son-of-a-gun!” Maddock blurted out.

  Theresa nodded again.

  “Would one of you two mind sharing this revelation?” Bones asked.

  “Devil… ‘faces’ southeast. Devil’s Face,” Maddock said.

  “I’m not following you,” Bones replied.

  “The Devil’s Face rock formation in the New York Catskills was one of the more popular theories as to the location of the Dutchman’s lost treasure.”

  “That could be coincidence,” Bones said.

  “The words safe, Devil and face—all written on the inside leaf?” Maddock snapped. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “That was my thought,” Theresa added. “This book was handed to my great-grandmother’s brother literally minutes before he was murdered. He died on October 23. He bought the book earlier that day. That means he wrote these comments a few hours after he buried his treasure.”

  “And just before he was killed. There are notes made in the margins throughout this book,” Maddock said. “These notes were written by Dutch Schultz himself?”

  “They are,” Theresa said. “I believe this is far more than a book. I think it’s a code that, when deciphered, becomes a map to the Dutchman’s buried safe. I believe he was writing a code to communicate the location of his treasure to my great-grandmother—a code only my she might understand.”

  “It sounds like horse hockey to me,” Bones exclaimed.

  Theresa shook her head, “It isn’t. His world was collapsing. Dutch Schultz knew he didn’t have much time. The attorney general was hot on his trail and the Mafia Commission had ordered a hit on him. He was panicking.”

  “And no one else has ever seen this book before?” Bones asked.

  “That’s right,” Theresa said, “just my great-grandmother, my grandmother, my mother and me, as it was handed down.”

  “If this book is authentic and these notations were truly written by the Dutchman, I’ll grant you that it does make this whole thing very interesting,” Maddock said, “but you realize that Devil’s Face is already well known as one of the probable locations of the treasure. Every inch of the area has been already been searched.”

  “I know,” she said, “but flip through the book. There are notes written throughout many of the pages—clues. I need help deciphering them, and then finding the safe’s location.”

  Maddock began to flip through the pages. There were at least a two dozen handwritten notes written in the margins of the book. None of the notes were relevant to the Mary Poppins story. They seemed to be nothing more than idle ramblings.

  “Read some of the notes,” Bones said, his curiosity aroused.

  “Read the note on page 34,” Theresa said. “It gets more interesting.”

  Maddock flipped to page 34 and read aloud, “Maybe if Max had a Coke in the good old U.S.A. Hamas would have had a chance. His stock was on the rise until he fought Max in Nazi-land. Instead, it was a certified KO.”

  Bones scrunched his face, “What the hell does that mean?”

  “KO is boxing slang for knockout,” Maddock said.

  “I know what KO means in boxing,” Bones scoffed. “I’m Cherokee. I’ve been knocked out a lot, you know.”

  “Max could be a reference to Max Schmeling, a very famous boxer during the Dutchman’s time,” Theresa said, ignoring Bones’ comment. “Dutch was a huge boxing fan. Who is Hamas, though?”

  “I’m looking it up now on my cell,” Maddock said.

  Bones picked up the book.

  “There are handwritten notes in the margins throughout the book,” Bones said, thumbing through the pages. “Listen to this: When I see you at Christmas we’ll take in the countryside. The train ride has beautiful scenery. I love red.”

  “I wonder if this is truly a clue?” Maddock asked.

  Theresa shrugged, “I think that note may be misdirection. There is not a train that intersected his drive from New York to New Jersey.”

  “What the hell does I love red mean?” Bones asked. “He was talking about the scenery. Is he talking about the leaves changing color in the fall?”

  “I thought so at first,” Theresa said, “but he mentions Christmas time. That’s winter, not fall.”

  “Okay, I found it,” Maddock said. “Max Schmeling fought an American boxer named Steve Hamas on October 3, 1935.”

  “That was twenty days before Dutch’s death,” Theresa noted.

  “The fight took place in Hamburg, Germany,” Maddock continued. “Max knocked Hamas out in the 9th round. Hamas had beaten Schmeling in Philadelphia the year before.”

  “So, Dutch was saying if Hamas had come back to the U.S., he may have beaten Schmeling again.”

  Maddock nodded, “That’s what it appears, but I’m not understanding the relevance.”

  “Me either,” Bones replied. “Why the reference to Coca-Cola and the use of the term certified KO? And why is this even a note in the book?”

  “All good questions,” Maddock said. “More coded messages I suppose—some message that might lead to his cash.”

  “I’m not interested in the cash,” she said.

  Bones and Maddock exchanged glances, “Ok, now we’re really confused,” Bones said.

  “Allow me to explain,” she said, pulling a printed report from her bag. “This is a report prepared by a friend of mine who works on Wall Street. He did some digging for me. The report shows that, in 1929, Arthur Flegenheimer bought five shares of stock in Coca-Cola for $40 per share. The purchase was issued as one negotiable paper stock certificate. It was never redeemed.”

  “Who is Arthur Flag In Jingle Himer Schmidt?” Bones asked.

  “Flegenheimer,” Theresa corrected. “That’s the real name of Dutch Schultz. ‘Dutch’ was a nickname he picked up because he didn’t think Flegenheimer sounded very intimidating.”

  “He’s right about that,” Bones agreed.

  “I’m not following you,” Maddock said.

  “Well,can you imagine, you’re somewhere, and a guy comes running up to you while screaming, ‘Oh my god! Take cover—Arthur Flegenheimer is here?’” Bones feigned.

  “No, I don’t mean that,” Maddock scoffed. “I don’t get the stock reference.”

  “I’ve been giving that section a lot of thought. I think the note you read was a clue,” she said. “With regard to the phrases Coke, certified, stock and KO, I think it was code to let my great-grandmother know that the safe held those five shares of Coca-Cola stock, purchased in 1929. The reference to ‘Coke’ is obvious, but the interesting reference is to ‘stock’ and ‘KO.’ ‘KO’ is the stock market ticker symbol of Coca-Cola. Dutch also wrote, ‘his stock is on the rise,’ and there was also use of the term certified, as in ‘certified stock certificate.’”

  “Ok, so what?” Bones said. “Five shares of Coca-Cola, big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” she said. “One share of Coca-Cola purchased in 1929 would be worth about $9.8 million today, give or take.”

  “Holy crap!” Bones said, now perked at full attention.

  Theresa nodded.

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” Maddock said. It could have been just a boxing reference. It was well known that the Dutchman was a big boxing fan.”

  “Which is precisely why I believe this is a code,” Theresa said. “He took my great-grandmother to a few boxing matches. I know this because sh
e saved some of the programs as souvenirs—they were in her scrapbook.”

  Dane nodded, “You may be onto something.”

  “And you think ‘Certified KO’ is a reference to Coca-Cola stock certificates?” Bones added.

  Theresa nodded, “They were bought by the Dutchman; they were never redeemed. There may be close to $50 million in Coca-Cola stock certificates in that safe. Those were purchased legally and in his name. My family is blood-related, and if you look at the note on page 132, you will note that Dutch intended for my great-grandmother to have the safe and all its contents.”

  Maddock turned to page 132. The scribbled note said, “Theresa, Stay safe. All that I have is yours. Seek it out. I give you everything.”

  Maddock read the line again and sat for a moment, reflecting.

  “He used the word ‘safe’ again,” Bones said.

  “I noticed,” Maddock replied.

  “It very much looks like he wanted your great-grandmother to find his safe and that he wanted her to have the contents,” Bones said. “I think if you can prove this was written by the Dutchman himself, you’d have a strong legal claim.”

  “That was my conclusion as well. My great-grandmother was pregnant with my grandmother at the time. Dutch knew he wasn’t going to be around. This was his way of providing for the woman he loved and her daughter—I’m certain of it.”

  “How do we know Dutch is the one who wrote these notes?” Bones asked.

  “All the handwriting is the same,” Theresa said, “and I have strong evidence the writing is Dutch’s. I had two separate handwriting analysts compare it to known documents written by Dutch Schultz—it’s identical. I have notarized written documentation from both analysts. The handwriting in this book is authentic; it will hold up in court. I’m sure of it.”

  Maddock began to rummage through other notes, all of which appeared cryptic, “Some of these notes seem to be totally at random with no obvious relevance. What do they mean? Take this one as an example: Have you ever been to Chicago? I hear it’s a great town. I’d love to see it one day.”

  She sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know. I need your help figuring it out and, of course, to find the safe, open it, and retrieve its contents. I’m convinced that the notes lining those pages provide clues to finding its location. No one has ever had access to this information before. If you and Bones help me find the safe, I’ll give you a third of everything I get to keep.”