Treasure Sleuth

by Amy Shaw

  Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, Mark flicked the switch off putting the room into a dark blue and sat down beside her. The outline of the cove appeared instantly below, the two parts of Inner and Outer Hope separated by a black emptiness of beach. A thin line of street lights connected the two joined by a cliff top hotel emitting light out onto the cliff edge. In the distance, lights sat on an invisible sea like space ships floating in the night's sky.

  "I've had an idea," Abby started off. Mark didn't say anything and let her continue. "I want to continue Grandpa's research."

  "That's great!" said Mark.

  "And, I want to join you on the hunts."

  "Absolutely," Mark said, "We can do what I did with Gene and take the GoPros, set you up on the monitors…"

  "No!" Abby interrupted. "I mean I want to join you. In person."

  "Abby, I don't think that's such a good idea. It can be dangerous. Demanding. Tough. What if…"

  "I don't want to hear it Mark. I want to be part of this. I don't want to just see it on a screen or read about it in a newspaper. I don't want to see it behind a glass screen in a museum. I want to see it in the ground. Touch it with my fingers. Experience the thrill of the hunt just like you."

  "It's not always a thrill, most times it's heart breaking and disappointment after disappointment."

  "It has to be, else even finding treasure would become dull if you always knew where it was."

  "What about your job?"

  "I'm not sure yet. I need to figure that aspect out. But I want to be doing the actual recovering too, not just researching. Today I recovered a ring that had been in the ground for over seventy years."

  "You did?"

  "I met Mrs. Prescott who lost her diamond cluster ring."

  "Like the one you found on the beach?"

  "Yes, which is why I want you to take it around to her tomorrow. She thought she lost it at home but I couldn't find it. What I did find was a United States Air Force ring which belonged to her late pilot husband. You should have seen her Mark, it was so lovely. She was overwhelmed with emotion. And that's when I got it."

  "Got it? Got what?"

  "Why my Grandpa came over here on vacations. Why he searched for the San Pedro. Why you are out treasure hunting every weekend. It's the thrill of the hunt, of using research to track down history to locate artifacts lost or hidden. It's the satisfaction of recovering an artifact and bringing it back into the world. But most importantly it's the story each artifact holds."

  Although it was dark in the lantern room, and Abby couldn't even see Mark's face he wondered if she could sense him smiling.

  "Take the ring for example. It's been sitting there in the garden. At the end of the day it's just a band of metal with a stone on. But to Mrs. Prescott it represented so much more. It was lost the day her husband left for his final mission. He never returned from the war and she has lived in that house ever since not knowing what was only a few feet away from her. I don't want to never not know Mark. I want to help people recover their lost and forgotten history just like Grandpa did."

  "You're talking about finding people's lost rings on the beaches or in their gardens? That's different from going in pursuit of treasure."

  "I'm talking about it all. Yes, recovering lost items like rings gives me a buzz but I want to go after important artifacts that have been lost for generations. Hoards and caches that have been forgotten about. Artifacts that have been stolen. Secrets that have never been known, just sitting there waiting to be discovered."

  "Wow, you really have been bitten by the treasure bug."

  "I can hear it whispering to me."

  Sensing he would be unable to reason with her, Mark took a long sip of coffee and thought for a moment.

  "It can be hard work."

  "I'm not afraid of hard work."

  "It can be dangerous."

  "You'll be by my side protecting me from danger."

  "Your heart will get you into trouble unless you use your head and think logically about situations."

  "My head controls my heart."

  "You've got to be able to detect with one hand and dig with the other."

  "I'll learn and I'll get stronger each time I go out."

  "You've got to be able to separate fact from fiction."

  "I work for a heir investigation agency. I know the difference between fact and fiction."

  "Sometimes where we go is not permitted."

  "You can't expect treasure to be delivered to you like a pizza."

  "Sometimes what we do isn't legal."

  "Sometimes what the police and governments do isn't legal."

  "Are you prepared you may go to prison for your quests?"

  "Are you prepared? I'd rather not get caught."

  "Are you going to have an answer for everything?"

  "Yes, are you finished now?"

  "No, there's just one more point. There's a treasure hunter in your country, a hero of mine, who would tell anyone who wanted to join his team on an expedition that they must be able to run seven miles carrying a full pack, and a rifle, must be a marksman, must not be timid about shooting someone if necessary, and…"

  "And, must not be afraid to die. I read that passage in one of my Grandpa's books by W.C. Jameson. I'll leave the shooting to you, but I can run seven miles and I'm not afraid to die. Now, let me ask you something... are you afraid to die?"

  "No. No I'm not. I've had my share of close calls and I'm not ready to take it easy just yet."

  "But you are afraid to live?"

  "Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm not afraid to live."

  "So if treasure is your passion, why aren't you doing this full time? Why live in a small London apartment, building websites for clients who don't pay you on time, when you could have clients pay you to do what you love, going in pursuit of lost artifacts?"

  Mark went quiet. It was true, he didn't enjoy his job and lived for the weekend so he could be out pursuing lost worlds. Except for those weekends when clients and bosses made their demands and he was forced to work through. He had proved time and again that he wasn't afraid to die. But living? Surely he wasn't afraid to live?

  "So what's your idea?" Mark asked tentatively.

  "We go into business together."

  "Business?"

  "You can build a website for us and do the marketing and I'll use my heir hunting expertise in tracking down lost family members and instead track down clues for treasures like Grandpa did."

  "Whoa, steady there... marketing? These expeditions are supposed to be secret. How the hell can we advertise treasure hunting like it's a window cleaning service?"

  "The same way Grandpa advertised his private investigations. Discreetly. He had a website that gave him credibility but it was only seen by the people he wanted to see it."

  "And how did he do that?"

  "He built contacts with lawyers who used his services when they needed something special. The real clients who belonged to the lawyer had no idea Grandpa was doing what he was doing, or doing it on their behalf. Discreet."

  "So who do we go to? Lawyers?"

  "No. Private investigators. People who hire a PI need a special service doing. Sure they can stake out cheating partners, watch insurance frauds and work with the police on certain matters. But some things are out of their league of expertise."

  "Like treasure hunting."

  "Exactly. Do you know how many private investigators have already got in touch with Grandpa who have clients wanting to locate missing heirlooms, find out where a deceased family member hid a hoard of gold or recover pieces of value from a crash site?" Without waiting for Mark to speak, she answered for him. "Three box files full of cases."

  "Shit. I guess being a PI himself helped Gene make contacts."

  "Yes it did, and not just with other investigators. Dr. Budzynski from the museum is an interesting guy too. He has connections with royalty including your Queen. And did you know there's a letter downstairs from th
e Spanish government?"

  "Saying what?"

  "It's a classified communication from a high level. It talks about the manifests from several of the Spanish galleons that were lost and destroyed around the British Isles and Ireland. And it mentions one San Pedro el Mayor. They offered to fund an initial investigation into some missing gold that belonged to them, with a finder's fee for it's safe recovery and return."

  "And what? You're going to carry on Gene's research and we're going to recover treasure as a team?"

  "Yes, that's exactly what I had in mind."

  "I see you've thought of everything?"

  "I've done more than just thought. I've set it all up."

  "Set what up?"

  "HART."

  "Hart? As in Abby Hart?"

  "Yes, and after Grandpa Eugene Hart. It also happens to be an acronym for Historical Artifact Recovery Team."

  "Nice."

  "Glad you like it, because you're a director and are on the books of the company."

  "I am?"

  "I took over Grandpa's mailing address, closed his bank account and opened a new one in the name of HART which is where you transferred your money into today. I felt it only fair that as you shared Grandpa's coin with me, when you could have kept it for yourself and nobody would have known, and you were willing to buy into a lighthouse, that we should split everything down the middle. On the table you'll find the paperwork and I'll just need a couple of signatures from you and we'll be in business."

  "A director? Goodness, you don't hang around do you?"

  "This excites me more than anything. When I get back to the States I'll be looking into Visas. I'm going all in and not wasting another moment. What you said about Grandpa being too old to enjoy his passion to the full... it... it got to me. I love my job, tracking down families and making sure they get estates left to them, but seeing Mrs. Prescott's face when she saw her late husband's ring... that was pure magic. This is the next level and I want to be part of that magic, exploring, investigating, uncovering…"

  "Okay, okay, so we need to get you a pair of night vision goggles," Mark interrupted as he stood up and flicked the light back on. "Where do I sign?"

  18

  Last Chance

  "You okay?" Mark asked, clearing a stray strand of hair from Abby's eyes. Standing at the side of her Volkswagen rental and looking up at the lighthouse, her face was sullen.

  "Are we stupid for buying this place back through the auction? Should I have convinced my Mom to accept a smaller offer and close the auction early? Isn't this a stupid, expensive thing to do?" Abby asked.

  "Under normal circumstances, I'd say 'yes'. But these are not normal circumstances, and I believe there is far greater value in potential down in the Amber Room that makes this worth it. Think of it as an investment where we're looking to make a great return," Mark said calmly.

  "But if I could get Mom to accept three hundred, we might save ourselves fifty big ones."

  Abby was shaking her head. It all started to seem so silly to her, and the numbers were huge. If it wasn't for the rare coin this would be an impossible situation. If it wasn't for Mark's gold contribution, it would be an impossible situation. How long did it take him to accumulate all that anyhow? Mark put his hands on her shoulders and stared deeply into Abby's eyes. His grip was strong and she immediately stopped her fidgeting.

  "Listen to me," he said. "This is an investment. And think of the overpayment as a privacy tax. It will be worth paying auction costs and even fifty grand more to have total anonymity. Privacy is hard to get these days but this way gets it for us. So what if we pay a little for it? Your family is out of it then and that prick Brad won't even know he lost to you."

  "I'm nervous. What if this doesn't work out? I mean, all Grandpa's stuff just sitting down there... the contacts... the safes... I'm so scared Mark," Abby said staring at the door of the lighthouse.

  Mark placed Abby's bags into the trunk of her rental and turned embracing Abby. "We will pull this off don't worry," Mark said in a calm voice and kissing her forehead reassuringly. "What time are the agents getting here?"

  "Any moment. Once I've given them the keys, that's it you know. If we get outbid at the auction we'll never be able to set foot in here again."

  "I will. I have another key. I'll be back tonight with a van and will clear the Amber Room in the middle of the night. But I won't need to because this place will belong to us by the end of the afternoon. We have enough for the deposit to be paid within twenty four hours and the rest is on the way."

  "And if we don't? I'll never come back to England again. I couldn't face it."

  The noise of a car interrupted them as it climbed the steep hill leading to the lighthouse. It came into view and pulled up outside the cottage.

  "What the hell are they doing here?" Abby asked.

  Mark watched as two men exited the car.

  "Uncle Brad! What are you doing here again?"

  "Hi Abby!" Uncle Brad beamed. "We've just come back for a quick snoopy before we buy the place."

  "So, you really like it then?" said Abby.

  "There's a lot I could do with this sweetheart," Brad said.

  Mark was lost in thought transfixed on Brad's male colleague. Another engine could be heard making its way up the hill and then the Fargo & Pitt Land Rover came through the gates.

  "Good morning Miss Hart," the agent said. "Beautiful day to be selling a house."

  "Yes, it sure is a nice day."

  "Mr. Hart and his colleague asked if they could have one last look before the auction, and as we were going to see you today anyway I thought why not," the agent said.

  Mark stood motionless watching as they all walked into the cottage. He then opened the door to the lighthouse and took off running up the steps like a mad man. Reaching the top he went over to the kitchen area and began filling the coffee jug with water.

  "Mark!" Abby shouted from the bottom, her voice echoing around the twisting stairs. "You up there?"

  "Yes, just having one last look at the view," Mark shouted back down.

  Abby led her Uncle and business partner up the steps with the agent in tow behind. As she came round the last few steps they were all sodden wet. A small stream of murky water trickled down the wall and pooled before soaking into the concrete.

  Brad struggled up the last few steps wheezing, "What's all this water?" he asked.

  Abby looked at Mark's serious face. Thinking as fast as she could, while wondering what the hell Mark was up to, she blurted out, "It rained last night."

  Brad started coughing and finally managed to get his breath back under control. "It rained? For shits sake," he said.

  "Yeah," Mark chirped in. "It seems to be coming from the flashing or the upper window, I'm not sure."

  "Well you can't expect there not to be any repairs on a property of this age, especially so close to the sea," the agent said as he walked into the lantern room.

  Abby looked at Mark who quickly shook his head and looked away.

  "That's it I'm afraid gentlemen," the agent said. "I need to be back at the office with this paperwork."

  Abby gave her Uncle a hug goodbye and wished him luck.

  "You make your own luck in this world," he said with a smug smile. "Have a nice flight when you scurry back to the States, your tan is fading."

  "Yes I will thanks Uncle Brad, you go easy on those English breakfasts, not sure your buttons could hold another hash brown in," Abby snapped back.

  "Son-of-a-bitch," Mark muttered as he watched them disappear down the drive.

  "Yes, I told you my uncle is a complete prick," Abby replied with a scour on her face.

  "No, not your uncle, although yes, he is a prick. That guy he is with. His so-called business partner."

  "What about him? He seems to have an odd relationship with my uncle."

  "I knew I recognized him that night at the church. Remember I told you about a security guard?"

  "Yes? No!" Abby said s
haking her head. "Not him."

  "Yes, him. That was him. I was standing right in front of him while he smoked himself to death looking up at the stars. I could see him clear as day and it was him."

  "What shady shit is my uncle involved with now?"

  "I don't know, but he's the last person on earth I want buying this place."

  "What happened back there in the lighthouse? Tell me you didn't unzip yourself at the top of the stairs?"

  "No, I didn't need the toilet. It's water from the coffee pot. Nothing puts people off property more in this country than water and damp. Hopefully they'll have all sorts of rotten images, and mounting costs when they sit at that auction," Mark said with a wink.

  "Let's hope it works," Abby said.

  "Listen, I've got to go, I'll see you later," Mark said kissing Abby on the cheek.

  "Go? Go where? I thought we were heading to the auction?"

  "I'll meet you there. I need to see someone first."

  "Don't be late. Two thirty Mark, remember. Promise me you won't be late."

  "I promise. See you later," Mark said and accelerated out down the drive in a cloud of blue tire smoke and noise leaving two thick, black tread marks behind.

  ***

  Mark stood behind the glass window of the drab office watching the bank staff strut amongst the customers. Waiting for the manager to give his loan application the okay, Mark's eyes soon lost focus and his head tilted towards the shiny floor zoning out into an ocean depth of thoughts.

  In a last ditch attempt to raise additional funds and be a hero, Mark wasn't feeling hopeful. A sense of helplessness washed over him and he began feeling like a child waiting for his parent's permission. Had he been a good boy? Good enough for a financial treat? It wasn't like he was asking for a gift, a loan would be repaid after all. And with interest, so technically it was in the bank's interest to lend him the money. The interest was their profit and would pay for the staffs salaries, and the cleaner to keep the shiny floor shining.

  As quickly as Mark's rational thoughts raised his confidence, the doubts came flooding in reminding him of his frequent overdrawn status. Building websites was a good earner, when the clients paid. But they were always late. An unspoken rule in the world of business that seemed to state payment terms were only a guide and ninety days after the work was completed was more than acceptable.