Treasure

by Helen Brenna

  “I’m fine. Go help Ronny and Simon. I’ll be right with you.”

  He turned back and shoved the gun into his pack, along with the finds from the Concha. Chest deep in water rising swiftly, he trudged to the door and yanked at the broken door frame.

  The Mañana was barely holding to the water’s surface. Come on, baby. Give me a few more minutes. He pushed himself into the hall and found Annie coming out of Ronny’s cabin.

  “He isn’t in there,” she said. “He must have made it out already.”

  “Get out of here!” he yelled.

  “I’m not going without you.” She shook her head.

  Knowing he couldn’t waste time arguing, Jake opened Simon’s door. Water from the hall forced the door fully open and flooded into the cabin. Simon’s lifeless body floated toward them, the side of his head swollen and bloody.

  Annie screamed. She was swimming behind him, the water now almost over her head.

  Jake felt Simon’s wrist for a pulse. “He’s gone.”

  “Hit his head when the boat flipped?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He swam past her toward the hall. “We need a tank and regulator.”

  “Jake, we’ve got to get out of here! There’s only about six inches of oxygen left.”

  “Our cabin door didn’t jimmy itself.” He took a deep breath, ducked under the water and slowly worked the equipment room door open. He resurfaced. “Someone probably loosened the hull fitting, making it appear to be an accident. What if they’re out there now waiting for survivors to surface?”

  He dove under. She followed. The room’s contents had gotten jumbled when the boat flipped. They tugged at a mess of masks, fins and hoses, finally finding an oxygen tank near the bottom. He yanked it out, and they both resurfaced, sucking in what little air remained in the room. He felt the boat slip below the surface and slowly descend to the ocean floor.

  “This won’t do us any good without a regulator,” he said.

  Only seconds remained.

  “I saw one in the corner!” she said.

  They took one remaining breath before the water completed its job. There wasn’t a bubble of air left in the equipment room. Frantic, they searched through the debris. She found the regulator and gave it to him. He attached it to the tank, handed the breathing apparatus back to her and unscrewed the tank valve. She took a quick breath and handed it back.

  They weren’t safe yet. If they didn’t get out now, they could get trapped when the boat hit bottom. First they needed fins. They might not make it to shore without them. He dug around and handed a pair to Annie before slipping some on himself. Motioning for them to move forward, he took a breath as they made their way through the hall. They pushed themselves along the stairwell and darted out from beneath the deck only seconds before the boat settled on the sandy ocean floor.

  For a moment they hung suspended in the water relatively motionless, taking turns oxygenating their bodies. Jake looked up and saw exactly what he’d dreaded. The faint outline of another boat’s hull. Spotlights lit the surface. Someone was searching for survivors, all right, but most likely not with the intent of saving them.

  He pointed upward, and Annie motioned with her hands, putting actions to his own thoughts. Now what? He indicated they should swim under the other boat and away from the Mañana. With the oxygen tank, they could make it to the island as long as they knew which way to go. They swam upward toward the other boat and quietly surfaced near its bow. The spotlight activity seemed to be concentrated at the stern.

  “Guess they didn’t make it.” They heard a man say from the boat deck. Jake didn’t recognize the voice, but this was Westburne’s Wild Rose. “Too bad,” the same man continued. “Accidents have been known to happen with older boats.”

  “What have we done?” a different man yelled. “It’s not too late to save them.”

  “That was Ronny’s voice,” Jake whispered to Annie. “I can’t believe he’s involved in this.”

  “Take the boat, Manny,” another man said.

  “That was Westburne,” Jake said quietly.

  “It’s all yours,” Westburne continued. “Then we’re even. Let me get Jake and his crew out.”

  “Even?” The man they’d called Manny laughed. “Do I look like a used boat salesman to you?”

  “I don’t want any part of this,” Ronny yelled.

  “Me, neither,” Westburne agreed.

  Lightning exploded in the sky and large raindrops pelted Jake’s face.

  “Well, boys, you’re both in too deep to back out now,” Manny yelled back. “Westburne, you promised me the Concha. Find it. Then we’ll be even. And you, Ronny, promised me that Santidad Cross. Where is it?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jake whispered.

  They sank below the surface, and Jake led Annie several hundred yards east of Westburne’s boat before turning toward Andros Island. Annie stayed close to his side, and they took turns with the oxygen along the way. With no moon above and no headlamps below to light their way, the going was slow and strange. The Caribbean’s daytime beauty of brightly colored fish, coral and plant life had given way to black and even blacker shades of shadows.

  A particularly menacing one in the form of a ten-foot lemon shark swam toward them from above. This variety of shark hunted in warm shallow waters at night for squid and small fish, but its size, nevertheless, seemed daunting. Annie pointed frantically toward the injury on Jake’s head. He was no longer bleeding, but sharks could smell traces of blood from more than a mile away. Curious, the shark swam within a few frightening feet of them before a school of bonefish, much easier prey than two humans, caught its eye and it swished away.

  Instinctively, Jake put himself between Annie and the direction the shark had taken, and they bolted toward shore. After fifteen more minutes of hard swimming and no further intimidating visitors, the water was shallow enough to stand. They stopped to take a rest with only their heads out of the water. Heavy winds whipped at the lagoon’s surface and rain pelted their faces.

  “What are we going to do about the shoals?” She nodded toward the shore.

  The sandbar along the west side of Andros made the water too shallow to approach the island by boat. They’d be visible for at least fifty feet to anyone on Westburne’s boat watching for them. It also meant that once they got there, they’d have nothing except heavy woods to greet them. Because of shoals the island’s entire western side was virtually uninhabited. They’d have a long hike through dense, tropical forests to the nearest town or village on the island’s east side.

  “We’ll have to stay under water for as long as we can.” He studied the sky. “We’re lucky for the storm cover. Moonlight would have made us sitting ducks.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “You ready? We need to find some shelter before the storm gets any nastier.”

  They swam as far as they could before crawling on their stomachs. With only twenty feet left, and the sky dumping all the harder on them, Jake looked back at Westburne’s boat. All he could see was the running lights. “With this rain, chances are they’re all inside. Let’s make a dash for those trees.”

  They stood and ran. Within minutes, they were sheltered from the heavy wind and rain by some of the thickest woods Jake had ever encountered. He stopped a few feet in and looked back. As far as he could tell, no one had seen them, and the storm would wash away any evidence of where they’d come ashore. “I think we’re safe for the time being.”

  “We won’t find any help on this side of the island, will we?” Annie asked, sounding tired and not a little desperate.

  “The only development on Andros’ west side is a small village called Red Bays. Some think the settlers are descendants of African slaves who survived a shipwreck. I’ve heard the tribe follows old rituals, so they probably wouldn’t have cars, phones, or radios. For now, we need some place out of the rain to get a little sleep. At sunrise, we’ll hike to the island’s east side.”

  He took the lead t
hrough the bush, carefully forging a narrow path. Though the thick trees protected them from much of the rain, the low, heavy vegetation slowed their progress. “Try not to break any branches along the way. Best to keep evidence of our presence to a minimum.”

  Before long, they happened upon a narrow, freshwater creek, running fast. Annie scooped up a handful of water to take a drink. Listening intently, they heard the din of crashing water above the sound of the storm. The creek led them to a clearing with a pool, a small waterfall, and a shallow, but thankfully dry, cave.

  “At least we’ll be out of the rain.” Jake untied his pack and dropped it onto the dirt floor. He ditched the oxygen tank, regulator and fins at the back of the cave and covered them with palm fronds.

  Annie found several more palm and fern fronds and stacked them on the ground. “This’ll have to do.”

  “If you take off your clothes, they might dry by morning.” He stepped out of his shorts and shirt and laid them on some rocks near the mouth of the cave. Annie didn’t move. “You okay?” He stepped toward her and felt goose bumps on her skin. “You’re cold. Let’s get you out of that wet stuff.” He helped her undress, pulled her down with him onto their makeshift mat and covered them both with several more palm fronds.

  Though the sky outside was dark and menacing, the air inside their cave was surprisingly warm and dewy. He snuggled her tight against his chest, but she remained tense. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and lay quiet, listening to the sounds of the raging storm. “Relax,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”

  She shivered. “In the morning, Westburne and Ronny will start diving,” she said softly. “It won’t take them long to discover Simon’s body on the Mañana. And no one else’s.” She shivered again. “What if they come looking for us?”

  An unbelievable rush of protectiveness surged through him. “Claire and D.W. are probably already at Morgan’s Bluff,” he said, reassuring her. “In the morning, Harold’ll send out every boat he’s got.”

  He didn’t see the point in mentioning that if the storm turned into a hurricane, no OEI ships would be coming to their rescue. He and Annie would be on their own.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “D.W., I THINK WE NEED to beach it,” Claire yelled above the pounding wind and drone of the small engine. Steady rain pelted the rubber raft and a wave hit, causing seawater to splash over the side. “The storm is getting worse.”

  “Give me a minute,” he yelled back. “I think I see something ahead.”

  Restless, worried and tired, she turned her face into the wind and searched the shoreline.

  “There’s the harbor!” D.W. yelled. “We’re at Morgan’s Bluff, Claire. Hold on.”

  Her spirits lifted when the outline of a pier took shape. Normal protocol required permission to access the island, but under the circumstances they simply heaved the raft onto shore and quickly tied it to a tree trunk. With a little luck, they’d get through to Harold as soon as they reached the settlement.

  There was no activity or phone at the harbor, so they headed inland. Morgan’s Bluff was quite a small village. The few buildings were simple, painted in brightly colored hues, and shuttered down in anticipation of the storm. They found no cars or people. Either it was too early in the morning, or they’d all headed to a larger town for safety.

  A few blocks down the main road, they found an Esso gas station, boarded up and locked tight. Thankfully, a public phone booth sat at the corner. They squeezed inside, grateful for the reprieve from wind and rain, and Claire called collect to Harold’s home. After several failed attempts, she finally made a connection.

  “Hello?” Harold’s voice sounded as clear as if he were across the street.

  “It’s Claire.”

  “Thank heavens! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?”

  “With D.W. in Morgan’s Bluff.”

  “Milly and I have barely been able to sleep a wink all night. I was about to call the Bahamian police.”

  “Late yesterday, we found the Concha.”

  “I don’t give a— You did?” He paused. “Annie was right?”

  She briefed him on their underwater finds, the radio situation and their suspicions about Simon and Ronny. “You need to send Jake backup ASAP.”

  A heavy pause thrummed over the line.

  “I hate to tell you this, Claire, but that tropical storm’s been upgraded to a hurricane. The eye could miss Andros by a hair, but it’s moving right toward Miami. I can’t send anybody out there right now.”

  “What about Jake? Annie?” Distressed, she glanced at D.W. for reassurance. “Without any communications, how are they supposed to know how serious this storm’s getting?”

  “Claire, honey, what do you want me to do? Threaten the safety of another crew for the Concha?”

  “No. For Jake.”

  Silence hung like barbed wire between them.

  “As soon as it’s safe, I’ll send every boat we own out there.”

  “In the meantime?” Tears built in the corner of her eyes. D.W. wiped them away with the edge of his thumb.

  “Jake knows hurricanes. When the winds pick up, he’ll have to make a choice, won’t he? Let’s hope he makes the right one.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Harold sighed.

  “He wanted me to tell you he’d be your best man at the wedding.” She played the guilt card. “Said he’d walk Mom down the aisle.”

  “Is that right? What changed his mind?”

  “A certain archaeologist you hired.”

  Harold chuckled. “She didn’t seem his type.”

  “Oh, she’s his type all right. And she’s stuck out there on the boat with him!”

  “We’ll be out as soon as we can, Claire. Best I can do. You and D.W. button down where you are. Hear me?”

  “Loud and clear!” She slammed the phone onto its hook.

  “We got a hurricane coming?” D.W. laid his hand on her shoulder.

  Claire nodded and threw herself into his arms. “I know Harold’s right, but I can’t shake the feeling that Jake’s in trouble.”

  “He’ll be all right, Claire. He won’t set out there like a bobber drowning in the waves. Before it gets too bad, he’ll head to shore.”

  “It’s not only the storm. It’s Westburne. He’s never pulled stunts like this before. Someone could get hurt.” She hadn’t been able to lift one finger while Sam was dying. No way was she going through that again. She pushed her way out of the phone booth and started toward the harbor. “I’m hiring a boat and heading back.”

  “Whoa, Nelly!” He gripped her arm. “You stop right there and think about that for one minute.”

  As if to prove his point, the wind whipped a handful of rocks and a spiky palm frond against her bare legs. The rain stepped up its deluge. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

  “You don’t want to lose Jake.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you. Before we do anything stupid we need a good meal, a couple hours of sleep and a current fax from the island weather bureau on the status of this storm.”

  He was right. She was acting on pure emotion and adrenaline. “Afterward, you’ll hire a boat and go with me?”

  “Baby, I’ll do anything with you.” He cupped her cheek softly in his hand. “Just not on an empty stomach.”

  What would she do without D.W.? He made her laugh when she felt like crying, held her when the tears wouldn’t stop and had the ability to stir up a need in her unlike anything she’d ever before felt. Maybe he was right. Maybe her heart was coming along, slow and sure.

  A BAHAMIAN PARROT, its white head contrasting vividly with its coral chest and rich emerald body feathers, squawked from a perch in a nearby rhododendron. Annie flicked a piece of papaya toward the ground a few inches from the bush to see if the bird would come any closer. He merely cocked his head at the peachy-orange-colored chunk and flew off obviously disgusted she�
�d no better fare to offer.

  “Maybe you can get fresh papayas practically any day. I can’t.” She took a bite of the juicy native fruit she’d plucked from a nearby tree.

  Annie and Jake had awakened that morning to a cloudy, fitful sky, but only intermittent light rain. Last night’s burst of weather had likely been a precursor to the tropical storm on its way, so they took advantage of the situation and had headed toward shore to check for any OEI ships. Either Claire and D.W. hadn’t made it to Morgan’s Bluff, or the imminent storm had kept Harold from sending backup. The only boat in sight had been Westburne’s Wild Rose, and its crew was already busy diving, either searching for the Concha or checking out the Mañana.

  Annie and Jake had had no choice. They’d hiked eastward through the thick Andros wilderness in search of the nearest village. Now, they sat in a small clearing taking a short break and had found themselves surrounded by a virtual wild orchard, with papayas, mangos, guavas, and passion fruit all within easy reach.

  Annie leaned against a giant, shaggy coconut palm, her tired legs kicked out in front of her, sampling their discoveries. Jake sat next to her with a scowl on his face. He’d barely said a word since discovering no OEI ships had come to the rescue, and while she understood his reaction to their circumstances, her own feelings left her confused.

  Her senses seemed heightened, her body completely in tune. It wasn’t the right time, wasn’t the right place, but her awareness of Jake, his movements and his scent, was overwhelming. It was all she could do to keep herself from climbing onto his lap. After all they’d been through, maybe because of what they’d been through, she wanted him. Again. To feel him close, to feel safe, to feel alive.

  She sighed and did her best to refocus. “Worried about Claire?” she asked.

  “She’s tough. And D.W.’ll take care of her.” He threw a rock into the thick brush. “They probably made it to Morgan’s Bluff, and Harold’s being a stickler about the weather. They don’t know the Mañana capsized.”