by David Wood
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.”
Maddock nodded. He’d called Avery this morning and given her the news that there was no clue among his father’s papers. The disappointment in her voice had been 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. Maddock 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?” Maddock 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,” Maddock 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?” Maddock 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.”
Maddock 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. Maddock 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 were 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, Maddock 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.” Maddock 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.”
Maddock 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,” Maddock 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, Maddock 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 th
eir 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 extent. Locke had no such compunction, but this task was more important. “Jacob, you may go. Meet me in the training room.”
Jacob nodded and left quietly.
“There is something 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.
She struggled to return to her work, but her duties as director of the British History Museum suddenly seemed mundane, even trivial, in light of what her people might soon uncover. Rock-hard discipline overrode any distractions, and she made quick work of her list of emails and telephone messages. She then took a half-hour to compose a carefully crafted opinion piece for The Times in which she questioned, but did not criticize, the Prime Minister’s position on a key budget item.
Since being elevated to the leadership of the Sisterhood, she had used her connections to gradually raise her public profile, meticulously honing the image of one who took great pride in her nation’s heritage and fought for its history without being perceived as backward. Though never presenting herself as having any interest in politics, her name was already being bandied about as a candidate for Parliament, even Prime Minister. Her aspirations, of course, were higher.
By the time she’d sent her submission to the editor, she could no longer curb the flow of energy that coursed through her. She buzzed Jacob.
“Close the offfice and meet me in the fitness room.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He almost managed to cover his tone of resignation. The fitness room was never fun for him.
Smiling, she tapped in a code on her telephone keypad and watched as the painting on the far wall, “Le Morte D’Arthur” by James Archer, slid to the side, revealing her private collection of weapons. Morgan’s eyes swept lovingly across the sharp, gleaming blades and angry spikes. She excelled at hand fighting and with firearms, but medieval weaponry was her true love. She selected a long sword and held it out in a two-handed grip, savoring its weight and balance. With a step and a twist, she sliced a whistling arc through the air. Yes, this was the one.
She caught sight of her distorted reflection in the blade. Like this image, the world did not yet see her for what she truly was, but they would. Oh yes, soon they would know.
Chapter 7
Maddock drifted in for a closer look at the cross. He shone his light across it and saw a thin circle carved around the image.
Matt ran his fingers across the surface of the carving, his fingers gently probing the recess.
“Careful,” Maddock warned. There was something odd about it, but he could not put a finger on it.
“I think I can get a grip on it.” Matt shoved his fingers into the groove and twisted.
“Matt! No!” But Maddock’s warning was too late. The stone circle rotated a quarter turn and, with a whooshing sound like a drain opening, the stone vanished, pulling Matt’s arm into a hole in the wall.
Matt shouted and struggled against the force of the water that was being sucked into the hole. Maddock grabbed hold of Matt’s free arm but, before he could pull him free, he heard a hollow thud and Matt’s cry of pain burst through the transmitter.
“My arm!” Matt yelled.
Maddock directed his light into the hole and saw, to his horror, that a section of wall had come down,
crushing Matt’s arm and trapping him. The smooth, regular edge of the stone told him in a single glance that it was not a natural rock fall.
“A booby trap,” Maddock said. “Hold on.” He called into the transmitter. “Bones, Willis, Corey, you guys copy?”
Nothing.
He made a second attempt and again got no reply.
“We’re too deep under the rock.” Matt’s voice was thick with pain. “You’ve got to get closer to open water if they’re going to hear you.”
“I don’t want to leave you here.” Maddock knew Matt was right, but he hated to leave an injured man behind.
“What? You think I’m scared of the dark? I’m a Ranger, not some girly SEAL.”
Maddock grimaced. “All right. How much air do you have?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go.” There was just enough light that Maddock could see Matt glaring at him through his mask. “I’ll watch my air supply. If you aren’t back when it gets to ten minutes, I’ll cut my arm off and swim the hell out of here. Now go.” Matt closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rock wall.
Maddock swam with desperate fury, all the while calling for his team members. He squeezed over the pile of rubble and, with powerful kicks, zipped back up the passageway toward open water. He had just caught a glimpse of light when one of his calls finally got a response.
“Yo, Maddock, what’s keeping you? We’re done.” Bones said.
“I need you guys here quick. The tunnel was booby-trapped. Matt’s stuck and he’s hurt. Bring pry bars.
“Roger.” Bones and Willis spoke over the top of each other as they acknowledged Maddock’s message.
“Corey, you call for help.”
“Already on it,” came the reply.
Maddock gave Bones and Willis a quick description of the underwater tunnel, then turned and headed back down the passage. When he reached Matt, he feared the worst. His friend sagged limply against the wall, his trapped arm supporting his weight.
