Mary Dear - Redux

by de Gallegos, Alfredo

  ‘Costa Rica’s pretty peaceful you know,’ he said, ‘nothing bad happens to tourists...not particularly, not if they’re sensible,’ he seemed convinced and Joe could see he was doing his best to reassure him.

  ‘Tim’s certainly that,’ Joe assured him ‘and thoughtful too,’ he added, ‘which is why we’re all a bit concerned...’

  ‘Understood. I’ve good contacts with the police here. They’re good chaps. Quite efficient in their way,’ he was saying almost to himself.

  ‘And you’ve heard...?’ Joe was asking more in hope than expectation.

  ‘Nothing at present; not to say investigations aren’t proceeding...there’s a certain element of mañana here but they get there in the end, that’s what matters.’ He was smiling conspiratorially, ‘I’m sure they’ll have something soon, try not to worry too much. Meantime is there anything else I could do for you. Accommodation satisfactory is it?’ He was in Ambassadorial mode now and Joe felt he needed to say something.

  ‘Everything is fine thank you, but please let me know the moment you have something,’ he said, adding: ‘His mum...you know. She worries.’

  ‘The moment I hear. Shall we?’ he said, pointing to the restaurant and inviting Joe to go in.

  Chapter Seven

  London, 2007

  Elliott had travelled from his cottage in Trowbridge, near Bath in Wiltshire and taken lodgings in The Sloane Club. He was in London on various errands but principally to attend a lecture at The Royal Geographical Society at 1 Kensington Gore, on the subject of Caribbean pirates.

  Although Elliott was concentrating on the Nazi treasure he had not abandoned his project to find the Gold Virgin. When he heard about the lecture, he decided it would be worth attending; after all, sooner or later he was going to be in Cocos Island and everything he could find out about the place—and the pirates that years earlier had made it their home—was bound to be useful.

  Elliott arrived at the imposing redbrick Queen Anne building and checked the time under the watchful eye of the statue of Dr. Livingstone. As usual he’d cut it fine.

  He made his way to the theatre and found a seat just as Professor Jonathan Hyde approached the lectern to begin his address, joining in on the applause that greeted him.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.’ A muffled hubbub greeted the old prof’s words. Jonathan Hyde was in his late sixties and looked every inch the nutty professor. Rumpled tweed jacket, horn rimmed glasses and a shock of unruly white hair that, though not quite up to Einstein’s standard, lent him the look that most people associate with eccentrics and learned academics. He riffled through his notes putting them into some sort of order on the lectern. He took a sip of water and turned his attention to his audience, his face warm and friendly like a favourite grandfather.

  ‘We have all heard the term buccaneer,’ he began, ‘but who exactly were they and how did they get their name?’ The professor asked without expecting an answer. ‘That, and other questions I hope to cover during this short lecture.’ He ran his eyes over his audience trying to see if there were any faces he recognized and plunged right in.

  ‘Let’s start with the word buccaneer,’ he said, ‘it derives from the Arawak word bouccan, a wooden frame for smoking the meat of sea cows, hence the French word boucan and the name “boucaniers” that the English colonists anglicized to “buccaneers” when referring to the native inhabitants of the West Indies.’ That went down well he thought, pleased with himself. It was clear that there were also tourists amongst the scholars in his audience.

  Hyde continued: ‘An innocent enough word, you may think; but eventually, an assortment of international refugees, slaves that had managed to escape their masters and criminals who travelled along the coasts of the islands came to be known as buccaneers and the term has become synonymous with the pirates of that time.

  ‘I have chosen the Caribbean because it provides us with a great many interesting anecdotes about the most famous buccaneers that ever lived and in particular because of an Island—an Island that as early as 1683 was reputed to be the site of incalculable riches.’

  He scanned his audience over the top of spectacles precariously perched on the end of his nose.

  ‘Cocos Island, as some of you may know, is some four hundred and eighty kilometres southeast of Costa Rica in the Pacific. To be precise, its latitude is 5 32' north and its longitude 86 59' west, about 532 km southwest of Cabo Blanco in the eastern Pacific Ocean. It is known that at least three pirate treasures are hidden there, perhaps more.’

  He allowed himself a brief pause while he pretended to study his notes. The atmosphere in the room had changed to one of lively interest and expectancy.

  ‘In 1819, the island served as refuge to a famous pirate with the colourful name of Benito “bloody sword” Bonito. Some historians have it that he was, in fact, Captain Bennett Grahame, a British naval officer who had served with no less a personage than Lord Nelson. The same historians assert that Grahame, in command of H.M.S. Devonshire, had been sent to survey the coast between Cape Horn and Panama; but tired of the task and turned to piracy. On one of his many forays, Grahame spotted five Spanish ships, three men-o-war and two galleons and successfully engaged them but, in doing so, the Devonshire sustained such damage as had to be abandoned. Benito decided to load his treasure onto the captured Spanish brigantine Relampago and he set sail for Cocos Island.’ He searched his audience for signs of impatience, and saw none.

  ‘He died two years later at the hands of the British and did not live to enjoy his plunder but, unlike others before him, left clues as to the hiding place of his treasure.’

  After a suitable pause intended for dramatic effect, the professor said: ‘In 1880, the grandson of one of the men that had sailed with Benito showed a map to a German sailor named Gissler. It was of an island that the old pirate referred to as “Las Palmas” where, he said, his grandfather told him that Benito had buried the treasure. Gissler copied the map and four years later found another that he compared it with and came to the conclusion that Cocos and “Las Palmas” were one and the same. He went to live on the island and spent the next twenty years searching in vain for the treasure but finally died a pauper in New York in 1930. By a quirk of fate, Bonito’s treasure was discovered two years after Gissler’s death by investigators using modern metal detectors. The gold appeared more or less where it had been shown to be on the maps. That only goes to show that some treasure maps are accurate.’ Hyde chuckled at his little attempt at humour.

  Elliott was particularly interested in a certain captain and he did not have to wait long before his name came up: ‘The hiding place of The Lima Booty, probably the most valuable of all, is indicated on a map that the Scotsman Thompson himself drew when he was dying. This treasure forms part of the immense riches accumulated by the civil and religious Spanish authorities during nearly three centuries of Spanish occupation of Peru and is the most coveted of all the treasures of Cocos Island.’

  If there were any treasure hunters in the audience this part of the lecture was certainly for them. Hyde picked up the story.

  ‘When in 1821 the liberation army under Simon Bolivar and Jose de San Martin approached Lima—capital of the viceroyship of Peru and one of the richest cities of the continent—it caused panic amongst the civil and ecclesiastic community. Thompson’s ship, The Mary Dear, had just completed a commercial crossing and was the only ship anchored in the port of Callao. The Spanish authorities, desperate to salvage whatever they could of the treasures that they had amassed, soon came to an agreement with the captain.’ Hyde glanced up from his notes to look at his audience.

  ‘The plan,’ he said, ‘was for The Mary Dear to set sail loaded with treasure and under Spanish guard to prevent them falling into the hands of the army of liberation. If the city emerged victorious from their encounter with the revolutionaries, Thompson would return the booty in a few weeks time. If Lima surrendered the captain was to set a course for Mexico, since it was still
under Spain, and there they would offload the treasures, among which was a solid gold, gem encrusted life-size statue of the Virgin Mary and Child.’

  Hyde had arrived at the part Elliott was really interested in and from now he paid particular attention to all that the professor said.

  Professor Hyde cleared his throat. ‘The Mary Dear raised anchor ready to leave the port of Callao but, from the start, Thompson had no intention of keeping to his side of the bargain. Once on the high seas he easily disposed of the Spanish guards and set a course for Cocos Island. When The Mary Dear vanished, the Spaniards sent the San Agustin in search of it. There are accounts relating to the fact that they engaged The Mary Dear but that she was rescued by Benito Bonito’s ship, Relampago, and got away.

  ‘It is widely believed that Thompson buried the treasure on the island and rumoured that he was caught by a Spanish frigate near Cocos and sunk with all hands lost, except for Thompson and his first officer who managed to swim ashore and hide on the island. When his first officer died, perhaps as a result of the hardship he had endured it left the Scotsman the only man who knew the exact location of The Lima Booty. Thompson later left Cocos onboard a whaler that had come to the island in search of fresh water. He meant to go back but hard as he tried he was never able to put together the money needed to return and claim the booty. At the end of his life he made friends with a man named Keating and it was to him that he confided the map when on the verge of death.

  ‘The mystery that still shrouds the resting place of The Lima Booty depends on whether you believe Thompson really told Keating the truth or took his secret to the grave. Equally it depends on whether the Scotsman was sunk on his way to Cocos to bury his treasure or as he was leaving the island having buried it, since that would determine whether it is still on the island or the bottom of the sea.’

  The audience were engrossed in this amazing tale of pirates’ treasure. The professor stopped to check his notes. ‘Keating was luckier than Thompson. In a short time he found a person to put up the funds and accompany him to Cocos. Some rumours have it that he found the treasure and took most of it with him, making a comfortable life for himself and his family but leaving the statue of our Lady of Lima and the rest of the booty behind for a later trip—one that he never made. While others say he never found it.

  ‘Since 1870, Cocos Island has been subject to numerous expeditions by treasure hunters. Legends and rumours are plentiful. In fact,’ he said, ‘there are as many theories as there are treasure hunters regarding the location of The Mary Dear and its final resting place and just as many as to where The Lima Booty is to be found. Is it on the island as many believe, or at the bottom of the sea? I will leave you to ponder that question.’

  On that rather enigmatic note the lecture ended. When the audience was filing out of the hall after the usual time for questions and answers, Elliott seized his opportunity and approached the stage; Hyde was gathering his notes to put in a tattered and much travelled briefcase. Elliott introduced himself, produced a copy of the professor’s book, simply entitled ‘Thompson’, and asked if he would mind signing it. The professor was happy to oblige.

  Elliott took the opportunity to casually mention a paper that the professor had written for an archaeological society based in Chicago where he had expressed an opinion regarding the treasures he believed were hidden in Cocos Island. The article had been well received by the society in Chicago but had been derided by some of his colleagues. This had annoyed and hurt Professor Hyde and now, finding an ally in Elliott, he was happy to answer some of his questions. Elliott wanted to learn as much about Thompson as he could and asked the Professor if there was any more he could tell him about this man and about Cocos Island.

  ‘Well, there’s really not much more to tell,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware that the first mention of the island was in 1541 in Nicolás Desliens cartographic map. It’s assumed that it was discovered before but the exact date is not known. In Deslien’s map it’s identified as “Coques”. They say that the Island owes its name to the abundance of coconut palms and fruit. A captain by the name of Colnett mentioned loading two thousand coconuts onto his ship on a visit to the island in 1793, so maybe that’s why.’

  What the professor told him did not add much to what he had already given in the lecture—except for a historical footnote. Around 1869 the president of Costa Rica, Jesus Jimenez, had ordered that the island be formally included as part of Costa Rica’s territory. In order to accomplish this, the president sent an expedition headed by Don Rafael Oreamuno who raised the Costa Rican flag on the island for the first time. Jonathan Hyde looked impatient to leave so Elliott decided he’d heard enough, thanked him and left the Professor alone to finish collecting his notes.

  Elliott kept thinking that what he had landed was a great opportunity to find two treasures. Everything pointed to Cocos Island as the likely site for The Lima Booty and again he thought back to Julian’s letter...it was definitely worth a look. After all, he was going to be there, wasn’t he?

  After leaving the lecture, Elliot set off at a brisk pace along Kensington Gore for the short walk to the Royal Albert Hall, to collect two tickets for the evening’s performance of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. He was a fan of the opera, particularly the Italian variety and his date for the evening shared his interest; if he played his cards right, he might fare better than Pinkerton had done with the ill-fated Butterfly.

  He planned to take his date to dinner after the performance and had booked a table for two at L’Incontro, a delightful Venetian restaurant at 87 Pimlico Road, within walking distance of The Sloane Club. He had discovered it a few years ago and made sure he dined there at least once every time he was in London. Posh and uncompromisingly Italian, the restaurant boasted that it does not use anything so vulgar as cream. Elliott’s favourites were the antipasti of crab salad and scallops ‘alla veneta’ that he always followed with sea bass and balsamic vinegar. Tonight would be no different. He would order a chilled bottle of Arneis, a light, delicious wine from Piedmont. He particularly liked the fact that the name meant ‘rascal’ in the local dialect and fancied that the wine suited him rather well.

  He had managed to get Gianfranco to reserve him a table in the private room downstairs that Lord Linley had designed. He felt like pushing the boat out and Lady Tina Sweyne-Devalois was the right person to help him do it. Educated at West Heath boarding school near Kent and Mont-Fleuri, the famous finishing school in Switzerland, she also had a sociology degree from London University, which she had passed with honours; add to that the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous and Elliott felt that the evening had the makings of a huge success.

  He had stationed himself at the main entrance of the Royal Albert Hall and was looking down, reading the programme that he had bought for her, when his eyes strayed to a pair of elegant black, Jimmy Shoo high heel open-toe mules. He followed his gaze slowly upwards—along a pair of long shapely legs that ended where an elegant above the knee black dress took over—and slowly on past an hour-glass figure to a delicate long neck adorned by a thin platinum chain, from which hung a pear-shaped one-carat diamond-drop from Tiffany’s, before his eyes finally came to rest on Tina’s almond shaped violet eyes.

  At five foot nine inches, Lady Tina was tall and had all the poise born of money and privilege, with straight shoulders and an assured and graceful bearing complemented by an oval face with full lips, aristocratic nose and blond shoulder length hair tied into a ponytail. Elliott thought she was quite simply irresistible.

  Tina was fashionably tanned and had arrived unfashionably promptly for their theatre and dinner date. She greeted Elliott with a warm friendly smile.

  ‘Elliott, how wonderful to see you and how thoughtful of you to invite me, you know how much I love Puccini and Madame Butterfly is one of my favourites.’

  Tina was twenty-seven years old and her accent, not quite the cut glass you might expect given her lineage and upbringing, had a gentle, musical m
id-ocean intonation. He leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks and her skin had the refined fragrance of Calèche with its delicate blend of rose and iris.

  ‘The pleasure, is mine, Tina,’ he said. ‘I’m so glad you were able to come, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’

  He took her arm and led her up the stairs to the main foyer. He had chosen the best stall seats that were available, in the centre, towards the middle and nearest the stage. They went into the bar for a G & T, made with Bombay Sapphire, before the start of the performance and Elliott took the opportunity to get his order in for the interval.

  Tina accepted his arm, ‘Elliott, where have you been hiding? The last I heard of you, you were in South America on some special assignment or other for the BBC I seem to recall.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s a bit of a long story but I promise I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.’ They were finishing their drinks as the bell rung announcing the start of the performance. Elliott took Tina’s arm and guided her to their seats.

  The orchestra were tuning their instruments, making that strange cacophony that usually precedes a musical performance. There was a slight pause in the general chatter coming from the audience as first one, and then more people noticed the entrance of the conductor and they erupted into tumultuous applause. The performance began.

  David Freeman’s production of Puccini’s tragic tale had received rave reviews; as had designer, David Roger’s scene of an expansive water-garden where the plot evolves; from the onset the audience had been enthralled. The beautiful soprano voice of Ai-Lan Zhu filled the Albert Hall and could not fail to move as she sung the wonderful aria ‘Un bel di vedremo.’ Tina was completely lost in the timeless love story that has been told and retold in countless opera houses around the world. Elliott had always wondered how the first performance in the ‘Scala’ in Milan could have been such a fiasco and was grateful that Puccini had persisted and glad that he had added one of his favourite arias, that of Pinkerton’s famous ‘Addio, fiorito asil’—an aria that, when the opera had its second debut in Brescia, had been so well received that the opera as a whole was hailed as a great success; one that has become a staple of the operatic calendar. Tina was visibly moved when the opera reached its dramatic conclusion.