Glen & Tyler's High Seas Hijinks (Glen & Tyler Adventures Book 4)

by JB Sanders

  “Dr. Harding, I’m Dr. Glen Merriwether. Our fields aren’t in the same area, but you might have seen my paper in Historicals on Medieval smuggling?”

  For the first time there was a flicker of interest in Harding’s face. Then she looked Glen up and down. “On sabbatical, Dr. Merriwether? Or vacation? What is this nonsense all about?”

  “Could we talk in your office?” Glen looked up and down the corridor, which was largely empty.

  Dr. Harding frowned again, but made a gesture to come in. To her obvious surprise, Kevin pushed past Glen, Tyler, and the Professor to survey the office, and then motioned them in.

  “What the devil?” She said.

  As Glen and Tyler settled into the chairs across from desk in the small, book-choked office, Kevin took up what space there was behind them and Tracey, another of their bodyguards, closed the door with her on the inside.

  “Sorry, Dr. Harding, but we have an unusual level of security concerns, just at the moment.” Glen smiled apologetically.

  “Security concerns? What kind of an historian needs —“ She looked at Kevin and Tracey a little more closely. “—Bodyguards?”

  Tyler sighed. “The kind who lets his husband pull him along on adventures.”

  She sat down. “Husband?”

  Glen and Tyler held up their hands and twiddled their rings at the same time, something the two of them had done more times than they could count.

  “I — oh, you’re that gay billionaire.”

  Tyler smiled thinly. Glen admired him for it. Tyler hadn’t sighed or rolled his eyes. Progress!

  “Yes, Dr. Harding, that’s us. As I was trying to explain earlier, we want to hire you.” Tyler tucked his sunglasses into the neck of his t-shirt. “For a treasure hunt—“

  “Oh, for goodness sake! I don’t do that. Get out.” She pointed at the door.

  “If I could finish?”

  She nodded, perturbed.

  “My husband,” Tyler nodded at Glen. “Gave me a pirate treasure map for our first anniversary—“

  “Ah, the paper anniversary.” Dr. Harding murmured, slightly amused despite her sour state.

  “—Exactly. But I haven’t had a chance to take advantage of it until now. We’ll be sailing the Caribbean and vicinity for the foreseeable future, and now is as good a time as any.” Tyler leaned back in his chair. “All of which is obviously irrelevant to you. Here is what is relevant: I will fully finance the hunt for the treasure, and everything recovered from the mission will go to whichever museum you designate, without reservation, even if I have to build the museum in question.”

  Dr. Harding raised her eyebrows, and also leaned back in her chair. “Alright, I’m intrigued. Tell me what you have that justifies an expedition.”

  Tyler smiled. “We have a map.”

  Dr. Harding looked unconvinced.

  Glen pulled a color copy from his cargo shorts. It showed a corner of an old style map with a florid signature. “A map set in the Caribbean with Olivier Levasseur’s signature on it.”

  Tyler leaned forward. “And we had the map authenticated by three different experts. It’s genuine.”

  She regarded Tyler for a moment, then turned and shut down her computer.

  “Very well, Mr. Conrad. You’ve said the magic words. I am an historian, not a treasure hunter nor a fortune-seeker. I’m only interested in the historical importance of the find. If I can have that stipulation in writing, and you get the man I want to run recovery operations, I’ll do it.”

  Tyler beamed. “Awesome! When can you start?”

  Dr. Harding flipped through a paper appointment book. “February 2016.”

  “What?” Tyler looked bewildered.

  Dr. Harding frowned at Tyler the way Glen imagined she might at a particularly thick student. “The semester ends in two weeks. I have a week to finish grading papers and submit grades after that. This summer, I have three speaking engagements, and a book due to my publishers in August. I teach in the fall, a full load, and I have two papers due to various journals by the end of January. After that I’m all yours. I’m on sabbatical in the spring and I can put off the research trip I was going to make to Oxford.”

  “Uh?” Tyler said.

  Glen cleared his throat. “If I might?”

  Tyler sent him a “please help!” look.

  Glen leaned forward in his chair. “We’ll provide you a private jet to get you to your speaking engagements from wherever our treasure search takes you. We’ll pay whatever penalties you have in your book contract, or even publish you ourselves, if necessary — I think we own a few publishers. That should clear your summer to give our little mystery a solid look.”

  She looked thoughtful. “That’s very generous. And your unstated assumption is correct, I could probably completely miss a book deadline and still maintain my reputation, at this stage in my career.”

  “But?” Glen tilted his head slightly.

  “You may have some trouble getting the man I want to run dive and recovery. I won’t do it without him.”

  Tyler shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hire him.”

  “Don’t be so certain. He’s a very picky man and he won’t work for most people. He’s also retired from the trade.”

  “I can be amazingly persuasive.” Tyler smiled.

  “I know you can.” She shook her head. “His name is Hurston Fields. And I have no idea where he is. When he retired, he vanished.”

  ***

  Tyler was on the phone to Tim as soon as they walked out of Dr. Harding’s office.

  “Yeah, Hurston Fields. I know, it sounds like an English country estate instead of a guy. See what you can dig up, including where he is now.”

  Tyler hung up and slipped the phone back into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts.

  “You know,” he said, looking down at the garment, “I think I should wear these more often. They’re roomy, tons of pockets, and kind of cool.”

  Glen snorted. “Don’t be an idiot. The only reason those are still on your body is because we’re under cover.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because those things make your world-class ass look dumpy.”

  Tyler grinned, and then laughed. “Yeah, ok, we’ll go back to the snazzy suits and the skin-hugging speedos after this.”

  Glen smiled back at him. “You bet your ass we will.”

  ***

  By the time they got back to the marina, and the ship, Tim had a dossier worked up.

  “It’s going to be tough.”

  “Really? For me?” Tyler pushed his sunglasses down his nose and gave Tim a look.

  “Yeah, even for you, boss.”

  Tyler sighed and sat. He looked over at Cookie, the ships resident food wizard, and made a circular motion in the air with his finger. “Iced tea? Ok, Tim, spill the details.”

  Tim looked down at his notes. “Hurston Fields, better known as Happy Fields—“

  “Seriously? Happy Fields? I gotta meet this guy just because of his name.” Tyler pulled on his own nose.

  “—Yeah, he sounds like a pip. Anyway, when he was a kid his father was an amateur diver and had a little success on a small treasure find in the 80’s. Father passed right after he graduated high school. Then Hurston did two tours in the Navy and the SEALS, decorated. Cashed out after Gulf One, came down to Florida and started up a salvage business. From what my friends said, he ran the place as straight-up as you could ask for — worked only for the university expeditions, and made sure his divers were all trained in artifact removal. Never a hint of scandal on any of his, er, digs. By the book.”

  Cookie came out with a tray of glasses and a large pitcher of iced tea, slices of lemon floating in it. He poured and handed around.

  “Vices?” Tyler raised his eyebrows over his glass as he drank.

  Glen sipped his, too. He wasn’t sure how just plain iced tea tasted so damned refreshing, but it did.

  “Women and rum, the usual, but in moderatio
n and never — ever — while on duty. The Admiral—“

  “The Admiral?” Tyler half-smiled.

  “Yeah, my buddy. He said that Fields has a passion for really old, really pricey rum. Fields is a friend of a friend, and supposedly this friend got him a fifty-year-old bottle for Christmas last year. Cost five hundred bucks.”

  Tyler nodded as if that was a lot of money. “Ok, current location?”

  “His son owns a bar out on one of the keys, and I think he’s been retired there since his last expedition. Claims he’s completely out of the game now. Doesn’t leave the place. Not that people won’t go all the way out there just to ask his opinion, mind you.”

  “What are our chances?”

  “Our chances? Almost nil. Yours?” Tim shrugged. “You hired me, and you hired Rosa away from a serious government job. You could probably get anyone, with some work.”

  Tyler tilted his head and considered. “Right. We’ve got one more errand to run. Should be back in time for lunch. Tim, could you find me the highest of high end liquor stores, one that sells the antique stuff?”

  “Sure.”

  “And Tim? Great work.” Tyler socked him in the arm.

  ***

  The store was tucked away in a side street off the most expensive strip of stores in Miami. Glen felt more underdressed in this side street than he had when the two of them had worn Bermuda shorts to the Yacht Club. Tyler walked confidently up to the door, pulled … and nothing happened.

  “Oh, do not tell me they’re closed!”

  Glen pointed at a sign. “It’s one of those buzz-us-in places.”

  Tyler peered at the sign, then through the glass door at the fussy forty-ish proprietor who could clearly see them at the door.

  A box bleeped to their right. “I’m sorry gentlemen, but I’m sure you can find what you’re looking for at another establishment. We’re very expensive.”

  Tyler snorted, and then goggled at the man. Then Tyler patted his cargo shorts pockets and looked sheepish. “Uh, did you bring any of the cards or I don’t know, that cash stuff?”

  Glen looked down at Tyler with a slightly smug expression. He tried to control himself, but it was too funny. “You’re pissed the guy won’t buzz us in because we’re dressed like college dorks, and you don’t even have a dollar on you?”

  Tyler shrugged, caught between amused at himself and embarrassed. “Tim does the buying thing lately. I’ve gotten out of the habit.”

  Glen nodded at him. “And now you feel like a super-rich jerk, don’t you?”

  Tyler nodded.

  “Don’t worry, I remembered to bring my cards.” Glen fished in his own shorts, briefly flashing Tyler his flat stomach as the shorts dipped below his waist, and pulled out a slim wallet. He took a card from it, the all-metallic black American Express thing that didn’t believe in credit limits and pushed it up against the glass door.

  After a moment, the door buzzed and popped open. Kevin pushed past them into the store for a look around, and then at his signal the rest came in.

  “I’m sorry for the brush off. You understand I have to be quite careful — oh my god.” The man was staring at Tyler after he’d taken off his sunglasses.

  Tyler just gave him a tolerant smile. “I’m looking for a rare bottle of rum.”

  “Aren’t you — but you couldn’t be!”

  “Aren’t I?”

  “Tyler Conrad! And oh god, it’s your husband, too. Mr. Merriwether, Mr. Conrad, please accept my apologies. I had no idea!”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Tyler made a dismissive gesture.

  “Oh, but I should have recognized you. It’s the lack of suits that threw me.” The man prattled happily. “You two always look as well dressed as Tim Gunn. Please, come in, sit down.”

  He gestured them at a plush sitting area. The place was slightly dim, deliciously cool after the intense Florida heat, and effortlessly gave the impression of being a wine cellar, while still being above ground. The wood of the wine racks and the tiled floor gave the place a European and Caribbean vibe. Glen felt himself relaxing.

  They sat. The security guys walked about the store, which was empty except for them. Kevin took up station near Tyler.

  “So, I was hoping—“ Tyler started.

  “No, no! First, I insist on refreshments. I just got in a case of Gosling’s Old Rum, and you simply must have a taste. I assume neither of you are driving?”

  Kevin snorted. Tyler shot him a smile.

  “Nope. We don’t drive ourselves anywhere these days. Sure, we’d love a taste.”

  The man retrieved a black bottle from behind the counter, and a tray with two brandy snifters. He used a knife to cut the wax around the cork on the bottle, then gently eased the cork out. He poured a dark, almost black liquid into the glasses and passed them to Glen and Tyler. He looked at them expectantly.

  Tyler peered into his glass, and gently swished the alcohol. “This is a rum? It almost looks like molasses. Well, the color.”

  “It is! Goslings doesn’t produce very many bottles, and for years they didn’t sell what they did make. Now it’s more available, but certainly not ubiquitous. It’s quite likely the most exceptional sipping rum in the regular market.”

  Tyler took a tentative sip, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He swallowed. Glen watched, amused, as Tyler seemed to melt slightly.

  “Like it?” Glen asked.

  Tyler moaned quietly. “Wow. I didn’t even know they made sipping rums. It’s like that brandy we had in London last March.”

  Glen looked into his glass in surprise. “Really? You were pretty orgasmic about that.”

  “Yeah, really.” Tyler gestured at Glen to sip, and then promptly took another himself.

  Glen did, and the stuff suffused him with a slightly sweet fire. Glen could taste molasses, and caramel, and smoke like he was sitting next to a roaring fireplace full of oak logs.

  Tyler sighed, and then looked up at the proprietor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Alfred Stanhope. So you like it?” He smiled.

  “Mr. Stanhope, I like it a whole lot. How many cases can I buy from you?”

  Stanhope grinned. “I only have one in the store, but I can have three more delivered today.”

  “MMMM.” Tyler sipped again. “Yes, have them shipped to this address.” Tyler handed the man a card from his pocket.

  Glen hoped he didn’t look as exasperated as he felt, though with the rum it was hard to tell. “You remembered the cards for the marina address, but you didn’t remember your credit cards?”

  Tyler stuck his tongue out at him.

  Glen snorted and sipped his rum.

  “So, uh, Mr. Stanhope—“ Tyler said.

  “Oh, please, call me Al.”

  “Ok, Al, I came here looking for a very rare bottle of rum. Something antique if possible. I want an extremely special gift.”

  Stanhope nodded, and leaned against the counter. “Hmm. And I assume, for my own advantage, that you don’t particularly care what it costs?”

  Tyler half-smiled. “Well, I’m not planning on spending mega-yacht money on it, but yeah, anything below that.”

  “Hmm, well, I do have a fairly unique bottle, one I’d intended to auction rather than attach a specific price to, but I suspect that an immediate sale to you now would be simpler than trying to run an event, talk it up, and try to find other bottles to put in the auction to fill it out.”

  Tyler raised his eyebrows. “It’s that unusual?” He smiled. “Tell me more.”

  “It was recovered from the wreck of the Purple Rose, one of six intact bottles pulled from the site. Of those, two were held aside for archaeology, three were auctioned last year and one was sold directly to me. As near as they can tell, the bottle was corked and waxed in 1725, in Haiti and remains untouched to this day.”

  Tyler was practically grinning. He turned to Glen. “Am I salivating? I think I’m salivat
ing.”

  Glen inspected Tyler’s face with mock seriousness. “Yup, I think you have a bit of drool. Let me get that.”

  Glen leaned across and kissed Tyler. He tasted like an excellent rum. And Tyler.

  Tyler got up from the comfortable lounge chair and went over to the counter. “Al, I think you’ve got a deal.”

  ***

  Tim and Glen were rowing. Kevin and other security guys were watching. Tyler was sitting in the prow of the rowboat pontificating.

  “So you really have to pull and extend, making an oval in the air with your end of the oar.”

  They were rowing up to the dock of the Mouthy Parrot, an odd little bar on Forthright Key. You could reach the place by road, if you really wanted to, but it looked like most of the patrons moored their ships and rowed in. Or pulled their launch right up to the dock. It wasn’t a big crowd for the middle of a perfect afternoon, but it was more people than Glen thought they’d see at two o’clock on a Tuesday.

  They’d moored the Douglas a little ways out, and rowed one of their boats in. Tyler wanted to make the right nautical impression, and you just couldn’t get that in four large bullet-proof SUVs.

  Glen glanced over his shoulder as he kept time with Tim. “You do remember that I was on the rowing team in college, right?”

  “Of course! I always thought I’d make a great caller, too.”

  “They’re called coxswains, or more regularly, the cox. As you’re demonstrating right now.”

  Tyler snorted and then hooted, laughing himself nearly out of the boat. Once he’d calmed down, and was tying the boat off to the dock, he looked chagrined.

  “Sorry, I was being an ass.”

  “It won’t be the last time, but you mean well.” Glen put an arm around Tyler’s shoulders and gave him a kiss. “But you do have a tendency to professor everyone.”

  Tyler sighed. “Yeah, I should see about teaching a class or two sometime. Get it out of my system. I do really enjoy talking.”

  Kevin went ahead inside to check the place. The outside of the Mouthy Parrot wasn’t much to write home about. It had a derelict air, with a sea theme. It was a clapboard one-floor ramshackle building, with storm shutters propped open, everything well worn, and just a bit salty. There was a parrot painted on the wall next to the door, a cartoon speech bubble next to it and a chalkboard inside that. On the board was written “Work is the curse of the drinking classes.”