by David Wood
“How about some help? Two of us can get through it faster than one.”
“All right.” He shrugged. “You know what we’re looking for: clues to a treasure on Oak Island. I don’t think a document old enough to be a clue from Kidd himself would have escaped my notice the first time I went through this stuff, so keep an eye out for anything that looks like a scan or copy of something older.”
They set to the task, working in companionable silence. Occasionally, Angel would call his attention to a mention of treasure or the island, but they found nothing like what Avery was looking for.
The night wore on and he found that, the deeper he delved into his father’s research, the more academic the endeavor became. His malaise melted away as he focused his thoughts on the subject. It was interesting, but shed no light specifically on the Oak Island mystery. By the time he finished reviewing his share of the material, he found himself eager to take a look at the rest. Angel, too, was eager to keep going.
When both sets of eyes had passed over every paper, he was forced to admit defeat. Whatever Avery was looking for, had it even existed, was not here.
“Sorry, Maddock.” Angel gave him a quick hug.
“Thanks for getting me through it. Avery’s going to be disappointed, but it was a pipe dream anyway.” He gathered the papers and returned them to the safe, but held on to The Gold Bug. Perhaps a bit of pleasure reading would help him relax.
Retiring to his room, he dropped down on the bed, opened the book, and froze. There, on the first page, was an inscription from his father. The date was December 25 of the year his parents died. This was to have been Dane’s Christmas gift. They had lost their lives only a few weeks before the holiday. His father must have written this shortly before his death.
Dane,
I know you think my search for a pirate’s treasure is a fool’s game. Perhaps, by the end of this book, you will wish to join me on this adventure.
Dad
He closed the book, dropped it on the floor, and turned out the light. He’d always, perhaps a bit childishly, believed his dad’s pirate research to be something from which Dane was excluded. But now... He rolled over and stared out the window, his mood as black as the night.
Rodney cursed and shifted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable sitting position. He was battered and bruised, and was pretty sure he had at least one fractured rib. He’d get his revenge on that Maddock guy, but that wasn’t foremost in his mind at the moment.
He’d only caught snatches of the conversation Avery had with those jerks, but he’d heard enough. Captain Kidd had a treasure and he’d hidden the clues in old chests. Now, the treasure bug had bitten Rodney, and he was determined to be the one to find whatever it was Kidd had left behind.
Like many locals, he’d done his share of poking around on the island in his youth, but gave it up as hopeless. So many treasure hunters had excavated Oak Island that no one knew which pit was the original. Besides, he lacked the knowledge and equipment to carry out a proper search but, if he could find something definitive, a treasure map, maybe, he was sure he could get help in that area.
He looked at the monitor screen and his shoulders sagged a little. He’d never been much for research, or anything related to education, for that matter. Classes were just hoops to jump through so he could play football, wrestle, and meet girls. Tonight, he was wishing he’d paid a little more attention in school.
He’d tried the obvious research sites, searching for any mention of Captain Kidd’s sea chests, with no success. He’d felt a momentary thrill when he found an account of Kidd burying a treasure on some place called Gardiner’s Island, but read on only to find the treasure had been recovered shortly thereafter and used as evidence in Kidd’s trial. The more he searched, the more discouraged he became.
Finally, he stumbled across a website that focused on the Oak Island mystery. Navigating to the forums, he was pleased to see an entire section dedicated to legends about Kidd’s treasure. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to use the search function, but he got there in the end. He typed in “Kidd chest maps legend” and hit the enter key.
Nothing.
Finally, he overcame his revulsion at the thought of being a big enough loser to actually join an internet forum. He created a sufficiently masculine username, HotRod69, and made his first post.
does anyone know anything about a legend where captain kidd hid maps or clues inside sea chests
He stared at the screen, waiting for a reply, but to no avail. After ten minutes, he went to the kitchen for a beer and two pain relievers, but returned to more disappointment. What the hell? People were logged in to the forum. He could see the number of users online down at the bottom of the page.
And then he remembered the circular arrow at the top of the browser. He didn’t remember what it was called, but Avery had shown him how to click it to update the page back when he’d been following a football game he’d bet on, and wondered why the score wasn’t changing. Proud he’d figured this out on his own, he clicked the button and was happy to see he’d gotten a reply.
Do you mean the Gardiner Island treasure chest?
He gritted his teeth and banged out a harsh reply.
no idiot i dont
That shut the guy up. A few minutes later, he received a private message from a user named “Key.”
Not familiar with a sea chest legend. Where did you hear of it?
Frustration at this idiot wasting his time dueled with pride at actually knowing something that, apparently, no one else did. This was a new, heady experience for him, and pride quickly won out. He typed a reply.
I know a researcher who found one of the chests
Key’s reply was immediate.
Who?
Rodney didn’t like the question. For one, it was none of the guy’s business. What was more, it made Rodney seem less important if he was simply passing along information someone else had given him.
don’t matter do you know about it or not??
He added the second question mark to show he meant business. He waited for Key’s reply, but none came. Returning to the forum, he was puzzled to discover his post was gone. That was weird. He re-typed his initial message, posted it again, and watched the screen. Two gulps of beer later, the screen flickered and the website vanished, replaced with an error message.
“What the hell?” He banged his fist on the desk, spilling his beer all over his keyboard and lap. Upending the keyboard over the wastebasket, he drained the remainder of the foamy liquid, then rubbed it on his shirt. It didn’t help. The keyboard was dead. Using the mouse, he refreshed his browser a few times, only to get the same error message. The website was down.
He shook his head. Just his luck. Maybe it would be up and running again in the morning. In any case, he wasn’t beaten. If web searches didn’t pan out, he’d simply have to try another tactic. As he settled into bed, he vowed he’d find a way to get to that treasure before Avery and her new friends did. And he didn’t care what he had to do to get it.
Chapter 5
“One more quick dive and we knock off for lunch.” Bones squinted up at the midday sun that hung high overhead. “Maybe for the day. I’m hungry and I’m bored. This whole thing is a wild goose chase.”
Dane nodded. He’d called Avery this morning and gave her the news that there was no clue among his father’s papers. The disappointment in her voice was palpable, but she’d thanked him and asked him to contact her if he found anything. So far, nothing they’d seen today gave him any reason to believe he’d have any good news for her.
Every channel they’d explored had been natural. Not a hint of chisel marks or anything that would indicate human hands had altered it in any way. Each time they finished exploring a passage, Charlie set a crew to sealing it off. Dane thought this was a waste of money and effort. The island sat on what was very much like a giant sponge. The hope of eventually sealing off all the waterways beneath its surface seemed futile
to him. But, Charlie had the resources to make it happen, and remained undaunted by the lack of discovery. He bounced around the island, inspecting the work sites and keeping up a steady stream of encouragement.
“How long do you think Charlie will keep us at it?” Dane sat down on Sea Foam’s side rail next to Bones. “I know he can afford it, but I feel a little bit bad taking his money.”
“Don’t.” Bones grinned. “If he doesn’t give it to us, he’ll just spend it on his latest bimbo girlfriend. Anyway, he’ll keep us working until he can prove to the local authorities that the pit’s a hoax, or a natural formation.”
“What?” Matt stood nearby, making ready to dive. “You mean we’re not here to find a treasure?” He looked affronted.
“I mean Charlie always has a backup plan. If we find the treasure, great. If we prove there never was a treasure, he’s already laid the groundwork for building a pirate-themed casino on the island.”
“And by laying the groundwork, you mean greasing the palms of local politicians,” Dane said.
A knowing grin was all the answer Bones gave.
“So, who’s got tunnel seventeen and who’s going to inspect the next stretch of shoreline?” Dane asked.
“It’s you and Matt in the creepy, dark tunnel this time,” Bones said. “Me and Willis get the easy duty.”
“Are you sure about that?” Matt asked.
“Yep. I checked the schedule and everything.” Bones exchanged evil grins with Willis, who had joined them at the rail.
“Maddock, you never should have delegated that job to Bones,” Matt said. “Somehow, the Army guy keeps getting the crap duty.”
“Seems fitting,” Bones said, leaning away from Matt’s playful jab.
“All right, y’all better get going,” Willis called. “Don’t be mad, now. Nothing but love for you.”
Dane rolled his eyes, pulled his mask on, and flipped backward into the water.
The cool depths enveloped him and he swam through shafts of green light, headed in toward the channel they’d labeled number seventeen. The entrance was well hidden in the midst of large, jagged rocks where the surf’s ebb and flow surged with relentless force. He led the way, swimming confidently through the perilous passage.
A few feet inside the tunnel the light melted away. Dane flipped on his dive light, setting the passageway aglow. Like all the others they had explored, the passage was wide enough for a man to swim through comfortably, the way irregular, and the rough edges worn smooth over time. This time, though, something immediately caught his eye.
A groove, two inches thick, had been carved up each side of the entrance and across the bottom. There was no way it was natural— the lines too sharp and straight, the groove almost perfectly square. His first thought was someone had slid planks into this groove to form a cofferdam.
“Matt, do you see this?” he asked through the transmitter. The long-range communication devices were state-of-the-art, and came courtesy of Charlie’s generosity.
“Yeah. Looks like someone tried to block this channel. Pirates?” He said the last in a comic, throaty growl.
“Or treasure hunters. Charlie isn’t the first to try to dam up the channels under the island.”
“You, my friend, are no fun.”
Grinning behind his mask, Dane led the way into the passageway, which ran back only about forty feet before it made a sharp bend to the left and came to a dead end.
“That was easy,” Matt said. “We’ll check this one off the list and be back on deck, drinking a cold one, before Bones and Willis drag their soggy carcasses back.”
“Hold on.” Dane played his light slowly up and down the wall that blocked their way. He saw immediately that it wasn’t like the sides of the passage. Instead of a smooth, regular surface, a pile of rubble blocked their way. A thorough inspection revealed an opening at the top, and darkness beyond.
“Think we can make it through?” Matt moved alongside him, reached out, and gave the topmost rock a shove. It gave an inch. “I think we can move it.”
Dane nodded and together they worked the stone, which was the size of a small microwave oven, free, and let it fall. Matt vanished from sight as a cloud of silt roiled in the water.
“There’s no current carrying it away,” Dane observed. “I don’t think this tunnel goes much farther.”
“Then there’s no point in wasting time waiting for things to clear up. Let’s keep working.”
Three large stones later, they had cleared a space large enough for one man to swim through. After securing one end of a strong cord to a length of branch that jutted up from the pile of rubble, Dane went in first. He held on to the rope in case he lost his way and moved slowly due to the limited visibility, not wanting to injure himself or damage his equipment on an unseen snag. As he cleared the pile of debris, he felt a tug on the cord and knew Matt was behind him.
As he had predicted, the passage did not extend much farther, perhaps another forty feet, before it came to another dead end. This time, it wasn’t a pile of stones blocking their way.
“Holy crap!” Matt’s voice was dull with disbelief.
The twin beams of their dive lights shone against a wall of stone, and a carving of a Templar cross.
Chapter 6
Morgan plucked the phone from its receiver on the first blink. Her sisters never answered immediately, thinking it a subtle way of showing they had more important things to do than to take a telephone call. She brooked no such nonsense. She was a firm believer in immediate, positive action in all things, even the smallest.
“Yes?”
“Locke is here, Ma’am. He wishes to speak with you if you will consent.”
“Of course.” She hung up the phone, closed the file folder she had been reviewing, and stared expectantly at the door, which opened a moment later. Jacob knew her philosophy on wasting time, and made a point not to do so. He appeared in the doorway, his shaved, black head gleaming in the artificial light, and his broad shoulders filling the door frame. He gave her a respectful nod and stood aside for Locke.
The two could not have been more different. Where Jacob, formerly of the Elite Royal Marines, was built like a bull, the tawny-haired Locke was lean like a puma and moved with the deadly grace of one of the big cats. Formerly of MI-6, his whiskey-colored eyes shone with intelligence. Every member of her personal staff was an asset, mentally and physically, and he was her top man.
“Ma’am,” he said without preamble, as was always her expectation, “we have a potential lead on the Kidd chests.”
She felt her entire body tense. Locke often surprised her with information, but nothing of this magnitude.
“How strong a lead?”
“We can’t be certain yet. Someone in Canada posted a query on a message board. He claims to have been tipped off by a researcher who gave him the location of one of the chests. An agent in the area is following up on it as we speak.”
“A message board? I assume the post is gone?”
“We actually took down the entire site. We’ll restore it, the post in question deleted, of course, after we’ve investigate the claim. Could be a crackpot.” He sounded doubtful.
“For three centuries we have suppressed every mention we could find of these chests. It is not something one would accidentally stumble upon.” She turned in her chair and gazed out the window. Truro lacked the size and bustle of London, and she liked it that way, but the modern world intruded here too. There was too little appreciation for the old ways, and old powers. “I want you there. Depart as soon as possible.”
“As you wish. Should I wait until after your training session?”
“Jacob can train with me today.” Morgan turned around just in time to see the ghost of a smile play across Locke’s face. Jacob hated their training sessions. He was averse to striking a woman, which was a fatal weakness Morgan exploited to its full extend. Locke had no such compunction, but this task was more important.
“There is somethi
ng else.” His hesitation was so brief that none but Morgan would have noticed. “A potential complication.”
“What?” Her word cracked like a whip as suspicion sent hot prickles down her spine.
“Two others viewed the post before we eliminated it. I traced the ip addresses. One is an American from a small town in the south. A bit of a nutter who blogs about Bigfoot and aliens and the like.”
“Erase him and his internet presence.” Morgan would not accept even the tiniest risk of the legend of the chest spreading across the internet.
“Already done,” Locke said. “It was a house fire. Truly, those so-called mobile homes are veritable death traps.”
“Very good. And the second person to see the post?”
“That one is problematic. It took a great deal of doing, but I traced the source to Germany. BÜren, to be precise.”
Morgan froze. “Wewelsburg?”
“I cannot say for certain, but...” Locke shrugged.
“Herrschaft,” Morgan whispered. “We must assume they have the same information we do.” Her eyes met Locke’s. “We will get there first.”
“It will be as you say. Anything else before I go?”
“No, that will be all.”
Morgan returned to her desk as Locke saw himself out. She performed a series of calming mental exercises to slow her racing heart, opening her eyes when she was, once again, her serene, rational self.
She gazed at the family portrait on the far wall. How unlike sisters they looked—Tamsin, a raven haired beauty, Rhiannon, with her coppery tresses and emerald eyes, and Morgan, a blue-eyed blonde. They were not sisters by blood, only distant cousins, but they were bound by something deeper. How she longed to call the assembly and deliver the news that a chest had been found. Soon, perhaps, she would be able to do just that. But not until it was in her possession. To tip her hand too soon would be an unnecessary risk. Her position at the top of the order was strong, but she was not immune to the machinations of her Sisters.
